Rewrite the Stars by Christina Consolino (classic fiction TXT) 📗

He pried my fingers away from his clothing but continued to hold them within his hands. “Listen, it’s not my place to tell anyone. As far as I’m concerned, no one besides a few folks here and the sheriff’s office know about the suspicion.”

The bell of the breathing machine to which Theo was attached made its ascent upward and then downward, and the vitals monitor beeped its signal. My strong and formerly still-capable partner couldn’t even breathe by his own accord. Why did he do this now? Had our argument and my admission instigated this? My breathing rate picked up, and I clenched my fists against my sides as an indescribable anger rose within me. In a small hospital room, my fury would have no outlet, so I slumped back into the chair next to the bed and stared at Theo.

His face, so pinched and drawn, looked like the product of an epic battle he’d barely come out of alive. Epic battle, indeed. For the last several years this man had taken up a fight against an opponent that perhaps, he’d never beat. And years before, with his dad? Theo fought an enemy for far more years than anybody should have to.

The doctor took a piece of paper and a book from the bedside table and handed them to me. “The team found these in the coat Theo had on him. They’re meant for you, obviously, but they may need to be seen by the police. The note is important enough to let you see it before it gets lost or taken. I’ll leave you two alone now.” The doctor’s slow stride took him closer to the door before he glanced back once, pity on his face.

Flipping the book over, I gasped at the cover: Dante’s Inferno. Was this a sign? What was Theo trying to tell me?

My fingers traced the edges of the same thick, ivory paper Theo had used back at Walloon Lake, and my stomach turned at the thought of what the paper had represented that day: detachment. And now, this huge attempt—if that’s what it was—at complete separation. When had he decided this? Why hadn’t he spoken to me? The tears pooled in my eyes, and my lips quivered. Fearing what I’d find inside the folded-up square of paper, I turned it over several times before plucking up the courage to face those fears. With trembling hands, I lifted the top half of the paper.

Dear Sadie,

You tore my heart into a thousand pieces with your admission, but once I thought about everything you’d said, I realized you were right. We had been damaged for a long time before we agreed to separate, and I was partially to blame. My inability to want to seek help and my lack of confidence in my abilities—both played a huge role in our demise. My choice wasn’t fair to you or the kids or to me or to our marriage. I understand and accept responsibility for that.

Life can be hard; marriage can be hard. Those statements are true. And you, Sadie, would have worked your tail off to make this marriage work, had I let you. But I didn’t, and then, I didn’t let you go either. And that’s not fair. To you or to the kids. Or even to me.

It took a long time to realize, but I’m not made like you. Each day, I step toward a life I never wanted and one I’m having trouble accepting. There’s a way to change the path, a way to make life less difficult, but choosing that route won’t help anyone but me.

And then there’s Andrew. It’s clear he reveres you. He made me realize I should have held tightly to you and never let you go. He also made me realize the two of you could be happy together, really happy. Imagining you and him in the cottage almost kissing was like experiencing Dante’s inferno the whole time. All seven fucking levels.

Just remember this: I loved you then, and I love you still.

Yours, Theo.

I crumpled the paper in my hands, threw it to the floor, and stomped on it in a fit of rage so full of heat, it took my breath away. When had he written this? Its presence implied he’d meant to drive off the cliff, and I turned toward the window, trying to calm myself with the early December Ohio sky, mottled with thick, gray clouds and dotted by a group of birds headed south.

But my mind was quick to pick up the fury again. The Theo I married would have been stronger than this! How could he leave his kids this way? “They’ll remember you as a coward, not as the strong character you wanted to leave them as. Why couldn’t you see that?” I whispered.

Tears streamed down my face as I leaned in toward him, extending my fingers to his pale cheek and tracing the line of his jaw. I longed for him to open his eyes, move his jaw, and begin speaking. I’d listen to anything: the weather, his job, baseball stats, fractals, current events, anything. Just talk to me.

The hinges of the door creaked, and I sensed someone behind me. Glancing over my shoulder at Mom, my eyes watered. She clutched her hat in her hands and an expression of deep sorrow lined her tired face. She’d gone through a lot on this last day, and how she managed to get here so quickly—I’d address that another time.

“How are you doing?” Mom said.

“How do you think?”

“Not so good, I’d say.”

“You’ve got that right, but what did you expect?”

“True. I only came to sit and listen. I thought it might help.” She pushed a second chair close to the one I had been sitting in and settled into it. Then, she leaned down, picked up the letter, and silently handed it to me.

Letting go of Theo’s hand, I sat next to her, our shoulders touching. The physical connection stood out