Behind Every Lie(90)
Inside, I stood in the middle of the living room, letting memory after memory assault me. Liam’s hands gently massaging my feet. The tender caress of his fingers on my cheek. We could sit and talk for hours and it felt like minutes. I had loved him, and I knew he’d loved me too. Just not in the right way.
“Why did I love him, and trust him?” I’d asked my therapist in our last session. “Shouldn’t I have known on some level he was my rapist?”
She’d leaned forward so I was forced to look her fully in the eye. “Trust involves a unique juxtaposition of a person’s loftiest hopes and deepest fears. You were deeply, deeply hurt, but you still wanted to be loved. You just needed to learn to love and trust yourself first. Don’t be afraid to give yourself permission to accept both the love and the betrayal. You’re allowed to trust all your emotions, not just the easy ones.”
I went to the garage and lifted Fiona Hudson’s urn from my work desk. Using kintsugi to mend it had taught me so much: that true repair requires transformation, that our full potential is impossible to see until a crack opens us up.
Ginger came running when I opened the door and called for her. I tucked her into a cat carrier, grabbed my art nouveau lamp, and left. I didn’t look back.
On the way to the ferry, Andrew stopped by the Crafted Artisan so I could say good-bye to Melissa. She’d just returned from the lunchtime yoga class, her legs lean, arms sinewy under her I Am a Warrior T-shirt.
“It’s so good to see you!” she said, hugging me warmly. “And your hair, oh my God, it’s gorgeous!”
I’d dyed it back to its natural mahogany red. It had grown out a little, the waves flicking along the collar of my shirt.
“Thanks. How’ve you been?”
“Oh, you know!” Melissa rolled her eyes. “Claire wanted lessons on the tuba. I think she likes a boy in band class or something. So I got her a private tutor, but every time he’s over she suddenly needs to poo. Like, blowing makes her need to have a shit! Last week she was in the bathroom for half an hour. That’s half her lesson, for Christ’s sake!”
I laughed. Melissa never changed. It was refreshing.
“And, big news, I’ve reinstated Claire’s weekend visits at her dad’s house.”
“That is big news!”
She shrugged. “She’s been asking, and so has he. He’s still her dad and he loves her. I have to make the best choice for her, right? I guess I’ll see how it goes. What about you? Are you staying in Seattle, then?”
“For now,” I said. “I have so much work coming in lately.”
The truth was, I didn’t have to work right now. There was enough in the savings account Mom had for me in London. That was what Andrew hadn’t wanted to tell me about the will without the lawyer being there to explain. But I found kintsugi therapeutic, the pottery I repaired a canvas for my scars. And I was busy. It turned out people loved the art of kintsugi as much as I did.
“I called that gallery in Seattle about their spring art exhibit,” I said. “I asked if they’d be interested in displaying a few of the pieces I’ve repaired with kintsugi, and they said yes.”
“That’s fantastic! I’m so proud of you. Oh! Before I forget—!” Melissa dug in her purse and pulled out a blue ribbon. “Mr. Ayyad wanted you to have this. He won that race last weekend. He dedicated his win to you.”
I grinned and took the ribbon. “That’s so sweet! I’ll visit him next time I’m back.”
“So … Eva Hansen.” She gave me a hesitant smile. “Or is it Laura?”
I hesitated. “I used to be Laura.”
“Are you going to change it?”
I think having two childhoods, two identities at such a young age gave me a warped sense of identity. I didn’t know who I was supposed to be for a really long time.
But I did now.
“No. I’m Eva.”
fifty
eva
ANDREW AND I RELEASED Mom’s ashes into Puget Sound on the ferry home. It was hard to describe how painful saying good-bye was. Like she’d slipped through my fingers.
I wanted more time, just a little bit, to tell her I loved her. To say thank you for everything.
Afterward, Andrew dropped me off at home and I drove myself down to the beach to build a bonfire.
It wasn’t easy. The pain in my shoulder was still pretty bad, but a crapload of kerosene and some dry kindling got the fire going fine.
It had been a beautiful day. One of those November days that makes you feel like winter will never come. A child’s moon dangled low in the sky, floating against a strip of blue that hung opposite the sinking sun, two personas inhabiting one body. I sat in front of the flames and opened the folder Detective Jackson had given me.
I fed the pictures into the flames. And in that moment, I was fine. Everything was fine. And sometimes that’s all you can ask for. Fine.
The heat from the fire warmed my face and I leaned back to stare at the sky. The moon lit the world in ethereal shades of pale yellow, the velvet-black tapestry littered with pinprick stars.
In my head I drew the lines connecting the five stars of the Big Dipper, remembering that they came from just one cloud of gas and dust, yet formed one perfect constellation. Just like me. There were so many parts to me. Scared. Brave. Insecure. Worthy. But that was okay.