I put my briefcase on my desk and sit down at my chair, immediately busying myself with the contents so I have something to do. “So, what’s on your mind, Melissa?”
“A lot of things,” she says, leaning against the desk just enough so that I can see down her top. I immediately avert my eyes, feeling just a tad uncomfortable. “But mainly Natasha.”
My head snaps up. “How is she?”
She smirks at me. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”
I frown, not wanting to play games with her. I pause and then say, “I haven’t seen her in such a long time, and when we last spoke, I’m afraid it didn’t end on good terms.”
“Well, your wife and child died,” she says bluntly.
That was a blow, the icy cold image of Hamish by the pond slicing through my mind.
She continues, oblivious, “I’m sure that would make a man say a lot of things he doesn’t mean. But that’s kind of my point here. I just wanted you to know that there’s no point going after her, no point talking to her. You’re in her past and you need to stay there. Frankly, she asked me to ask you to stay away and leave her alone for good.”
Her words leave paper cuts on my heart. “I haven’t…I haven’t contacted her,” I tell her, my voice raw.
“But you want to, I can tell. I’m just saying, forget it. She wants nothing to do with you. You should be with someone who doesn’t come with a whole pile of baggage.” She bites her lip and studies me with sly eyes. “You know what she was doing in France? Having a nervous breakdown. You should have seen her after…well, you know. She couldn’t eat, sleep, couldn’t even talk. She was a fucking mute for a month. She dropped out of school, dropped out of life. Finally, her father brought her to France where he took care of her.”
My stomach churns and I resist the urge to double over.
My Natasha.
Reduced to that.
All because of me.
Melissa continues to look at me, examining my face. I try to keep it as expressionless as possible, but I know she sees the pain there. She likes it.
She traces her finger along the edge of the desk. “You know, Natasha was always a bit unstable anyway. That was part of her charm, wasn’t it? Not exactly the type for a professor like you to be involved with.”
I breathe in slowly and give her a steady look. “Is that all you wanted to discuss?”
“Yup,” she says, straightening up and flashing me a big smile. She might just make it to the movies after all—she’s conniving enough. “See you on Monday.”
She leaves the room looking awfully proud of herself, sending me an odd smile over her shoulder. I should probably pull out my teacher card and remind her about grading papers or what’s ahead for next week, or when she plans to guest lecture, but I don’t have the strength.
All of it is being used as I try and process what she said, what happened to my poor Natasha.
I thought I recognized the sadness in Natasha’s eyes, that change that happens when you lose yourself. I don’t think you ever get every part of you back. She’s still missing something.
But so am I.
Closure.
And peace.
I’m not sure I can have one without the other. But I do know there’s only one way to get it. I have to get it through Natasha. No matter what Melissa said, no matter how much of it makes sense or doesn’t make sense, I can’t stay away from her. I can’t ignore her. She’s a ghost that roams these halls. She’s a ghost who roams my heart.
But it doesn’t have to stay that way.
I’ve never really believed that things happen for a reason, and that became even more apparent the night I lost Miranda and Hamish. But this, having her here now, when we’ve both crawled out of the hole and are teetering on the edge, that can’t be for nothing.
We’re either here to save each other.
Or one of us is going over.
With that thought, I open my computer and log into the university system. I do a search for Natasha through the student database and come up with her phone number and email address.
I open up my email account, absently noting that my cousin Keir emailed me back, then start to compose a message to Natasha.
I pause, my fingers on the keyboard, but the words refuse to appear.
What do I say? Last time she physically ran away. This time she could see my name and refuse to even open the email.
So then you should write what’s true, I tell myself. If she might not even see it anyway.
I hate it when I’m right.
In the subject I just put “Please.”
Then I type:
Natasha,
I can’t explain what it was like to see you again the other day. The only way to describe it is that you gave me hope I hadn’t felt in a long time. I have many things I need to say to you, a million ways to apologize, and I can only hope that you’ll hear me out. I just want a chance to say these things in person, like you deserve, and then I’ll leave you alone.
You know this goes against everything I used to believe, but time can change a man and I believe you’re in my life again for a reason.
I don’t want to disappoint fate.
Brigs.
Natasha was once thrilled to discover my rather poetic side hidden beneath all the scholarly film talk. I can only hope she still feels the same way.
I take a deep breath and press send.
Then I become obsessed. I try to work, but it’s impossible for me to do anything other than check my email. An hour goes by. She hasn’t responded and I’m losing my mind.