CHAPTER 11.

AUTHOR NOTES:

This is the end of book 2: Salt, and the end of the story.

I know you all are sad, but I thought ending it would be better than dragging this on, and on, and on while I try to wake my muse from her coma. Besides, I can, and hopefully will, at some point come back and write sequels or companion pieces for it. When will that be? I don’t know, the only thing I do know is that I will continue to use Carl Sandburg’s poetry as titles, if not inspiration.

Thank you to everyone who took the time and read this story, especially those who reviewed. I know this isn’t a popular pairing, so I really do appreciate anyone who gave this story a chance. And who knows, maybe I inspired someone.

I’d also like to say thank you to my wonderful, and very patient beta Debbie.

When did Catherine’s house become my home? I have asked myself that question repeatedly over the following days. I still don’t have an answer. It’s a terrifying thought, especially with memories of Claudette being forcibly dug up.

It’s like Catherine said, third degree burns don’t heal without leaving scars and I have some ugly ones. What she didn’t mention, is the blame game that you play for years afterward. There is a voice in the back of your head that constantly asks, what if? What if, you were a better girlfriend? What if, you didn’t work so many hours? What if, you were more sexually adventurous? What if, what if, what if . . . It makes you wonder what you did wrong, why you deserved to be betrayed. It is irrational, and if you don’t watch out, it can be all consuming. Most of the time you blame yourself for being a failure, and that perceived failure colors future relationships.

The bottom line is, the hardest person to forgive is yourself. But, you have to, or you can get stuck. Catherine’s seems to have forgiven herself, now it’s my turn.

It took nearly a week, but we caught him; or rather Sara caught him. The motives were as old as time, jealousy and revenge. The dumb fool fell in love and no matter how hard he tried; he couldn’t fall out of love. He went to her home and caught her with her pants down, literally, and he lost it. I can still remember eavesdropping on the interrogation. His confession was both heart wrenching and disturbing. And while I knew what it was like to fall in love and to be betrayed by Claudette, I also knew, it wasn’t worth losing my freedom, my life, to get back at her.

Ultimately, I can’t say that I’m surprised; live by the sword, die by the sword, right? I know that sounds cold, and I’m by no means saying she deserved it, but if you knew her like I did . . . you wouldn’t have been surprised either.

The funeral is small, with less than a dozen people milling around. Most of the attendees are lab personnel, paying last respects, a few family members and perhaps a few who are like myself, just trying to find some closure. Catherine’s here, as both Claudette’s boss offering condolences to her mother, and as company to me. I think, no I know, I would’ve chickened out if she weren’t here, and I need this. I need to say goodbye, and I need to find forgiveness for both her and myself, because for all my talk of not letting the past interfere with the future, I can still feel her presence, her ghost, hovering over my head like a black cloud. I don’t want that, what I have with Catherine is too precious to me.

There’s another reason why I would’ve chickened out, and she’s making a bee-line straight toward us; Rosalind King, Claudette’s mother and one of the sweetest human beings you could ever want to meet. Once the pain of betrayal lessened a bit, I think I was more upset that I wouldn’t be able to spend time with her, than I was with the fact her daughter had cheated on me. Mrs. King is the type of person that you would give your right arm to have as a mother. It never bothered her one bit that her daughter was bi, unlike my own mother, (but that’s another story) and she welcomed me into the family at first sight. We hit it off right away, and she was like a second mother to me, I’m certain I gained at least 15 pounds on her cooking while I dated Claudette, and lost 20 once we stopped.

Basically, she was everything that her daughter wasn’t. I’m certain, it will go down in the history books as one of the great mysteries; how the hell does this sweet, kind woman give birth to a monster like Claudette?

“Sofia,” she calls out when she’s close enough. For some reason I feel embarrassed and ashamed, and I have no idea why. Claudette was the one who cheated, the one who destroyed our relationship by being stupid and greedy. Only Catherine’s calming influence is keeping me from turning and hightailing it out of here. Rosalind ignores her and throws her arms around me in a bear hug. Her head barely reaches my shoulder and I am shocked at just how grey her hair has gotten in the two years since I last saw her; she’s lost weight I think, and there seems to be a deep sadness that radiates like an aura from her. I can’t help but return her hug. “I’m so glad you came, Sofia, I never thought I’d see you again.”

“I’m sorry,” I say lamely. “I just thought that . . . ”

“I know, my dear,” she interrupts as she pulls away. Pale, thin hands wipe away errant tears that have escaped. Once again, I’m struck at how much she has changed in the past two years, there are new wrinkles creased into her face, and one of her eyes was showing the milky whiteness of cataracts. “My daughter didn’t do right by you. I still don’t understand what I did wrong, I did my best, but I was alone, and it was hard.”

“It’s not your fault,” I say. I glance over to Catherine and see her quickly look away, some of Rosalind’s words hitting a little too close to home. “No one forced your daughter to do what she did, she had free will and she chose to lie and cheat.”

“I know, I thought she’d changed when she brought you home. I thought she’d finally settled down, found someone who could keep her grounded.”

“I’m sorry,” I repeat, not sure what else to say, if possible I sound even lamer than before.

“Don’t blame yourself.” Once again she pulls me into a hug, and we stand there several minutes.

Forgiveness is a strange thing. I don’t think many people really understand what it means. It’s not about allowing yourself to be walked over like you’re a doormat, it’s about not letting the past hinder you from attaining a better future. Standing there, hugging Rosalind, I feel as if I am being absolved.

Catherine takes a step closer, as if sensing I need her, and places a hand on my lower back. “It’s no one’s fault,” she says sagely. Her voice is barely above a whisper, but it carries to both our ears easily. “You both did the best you could to love her unconditionally, she was the one who threw it away, she was the one who chose to betray the two of you. We’ll never know why she did what she did, but you need to forgive yourself.”

The other thing about forgiveness is that it’s better to forgive yourself, but sometimes it’s easier when someone else forgives you first. It’s like a road being paved, Catherine and Rosalind helped paved that road and, because of that, I’m able to finally put Claudette to rest.

End book 2