<br><br><center>*Remember me, even if it's only in a corner and secretly. Don't let me go.*
― Carlos Ruiz Zafón</center>
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<br><br> Lorraine’s gone but her spirit still speaks to me.
I’m staring at the deserted hallway where her ghost appeared. It’s still imbued with her aura.
What did she mean—I was only thinking of myself? That I betrayed her by sleeping with her best friend, or that I’m so whacked up with guilt now I’m punishing myself and denying Autumn a mother?
<br><br> I go round and round, trying to unravel the conundrum, until finally, exhausted and worn out with grief, I fall into a fitful sleep.
I awaken in the gray light of dawn to begin again brooding over the same theme.
At noon, my sister Lainey drops by with homemade soup and babysits for a few hours so I can get out.
She worries about me and shows up each day. Says she loves to see Autumn, and it’s true, but she really wants me to get my life back, whatever that means.
<br><br> I go downtown—my goal is just to walk the streets, but I eventually end up in a small café across from the park.
I take a window seat, sip coffee and stare at the leaves.
“Hi, Mark.” A familiar voice rouses me from my reverie. I look up into Tessa’s lovely face.
“Can I join you?”
I awkwardly stumble to my feet, “Tessa! Of course, please, have a seat.”
<br><br> She looks radiant—her blonde hair a bit wind blown, a few strands across her eyes.
I take her coat, holding out a chair as she sits down, the faint scent of her perfume lingering in the air.
“It’s lovely here, isn’t it?” she smiles. “I often come to relax and clear my head.”
“It is lovely,” I reply, thinking more of her smile, than the crimson Maple leaves outside.
<br><br> A look of compassion crosses her face. “How are you doing, Mark?” She reaches out her hand to touch mine.
Her touch ignites a fire in me. I want her more than I ever wanted anyone.
I hang my head in shame.
“It’s okay, Mark, I understand—Lorraine was my best friend and I miss her too.”
<br><br> I nod, feeling miserable. If only she knew what I was feeling inside, but that’s a truth even I can’t face.
“I ran into Lainey at the market the other day—she says you don’t get out. You know that’s not healthy, Mark.”
“I know.”
“There’s the Fall Fair on Saturday—why don’t you come? It’ll get you out of the house. You can bring Autumn, or maybe Lainey will babysit. What do you say?”
“I’d like that,” I smile.
Tessa’s eyes shine and I feel as if I’ve just been caressed.
<br><br> That night, in the darkened front room, I watch storm clouds race across the sky.
I think of Lorraine, our struggles and pain, and it grieves in me a song more dismal than a sparrow’s protest to the freezing rain.
I’m not sure where we derailed, or what might have happened if Lorraine survived.
Would the birth of Autumn have turned it around, or were we fated to live separate lives?
<br><br> I could go on forever, tormenting myself with questions, when there are no sure answers. I only know Autumn needs me now.
Lorraine is gone. The thought impacts me like a hammer shattering rock.
I’m left with the memory and the guilt of what could have been, should have been, might have been, but was not.
<br><br> Life is long. Autumn needs a mother, and for all I know Tessa might be God’s plan for us to help us through these days.
I can resist, stubbornly continue the martyrdom, in a self-imposed exile of twisted, misplaced virtue.
But as Lorraine said, I shouldn’t be thinking only of myself.
<br><br> I stare out the window at the rain of red leaves, and decipher my fate.
It will never end for me now. From now on, I will agonize over consequences—weigh benefits—and forever consider other’s needs.
And somehow, I’ll mange to carry on.
<br><br><center>© 2019, John J Geddes. All rights reserved</center>
<br><br><center>[Photo]( https://www.dailypaintworks.com/fineart/elena-katsyura/c0cb9957-05b0-4d3c-b8cf-a3d819d1bd28 )</center>
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