Kim Karr - Torn

Looking over at River I can see he’s stressing out. “Everything okay?”

He runs his hands through my hair. “Yeah, everything is fine.”

Fighting back the urge to kiss him, distract him to take away his stress, I take his face in my hands. “They didn’t look fine.”

“We’re just going through a list of details for each stop. Boring shit, really. You can join us if you want?”

“Ummm . . . I’ll pass on the boring conversations, but thanks anyway.”

Laughing a little he says, “I don’t blame you, I wish I would have passed.”

I shake my head at him. “You sure about this?”

His arms frame either side of me and he presses me up against the wall. He drags his tongue over his bottom lip and drops his head to my neck. “Sure about going back out there? No.”

I push him back. “I mean the tour.”

“I really don’t want to talk about the tour,” he says before his tongue finds mine and we both momentarily forget what we were talking about.

I hear Caleb clear his throat before saying, “Sorry to interrupt.”

We both turn our heads and River stands up straight. “What’d you find?”

“Like I thought, I have to order a new board. It should be here tomorrow,” he tells us as he walks past us and reaches for the doorknob.

River nods and says, “Thanks man.”

“No problem. I’ll call you when it comes in.” Caleb closes the door behind him.

Feeling relieved that all went well, but sad that Caleb and I seemed so distant, I tell River my plans for the day. “I’m going to go get a new phone and meet Grace for lunch.”

He looks at me intently. “Do you want me to come with you?”

“No, it’s fine and besides,” I say motioning outside, “you’re in the middle of a meeting.”

With a glance over to the group huddled around our patio table he says, “That’s not important. I can bag out if you need me.”

Taking his face in my hands and looking into his eyes I say, “I think I need to talk to Grace on my own.” There’s a long pause before I remind him, “But I always need you.”

I arrive at Aestas’s first and the hostess shows me to a table. Sipping my water, I wait nervously for Grace. The restaurant is busy and people are animatedly talking around me. Playing with my new phone, I assign River his old ringtone, “Sexy Back.” Then I send him a quick text.

Dahlia: Just wanted to tell you I have my new phone in case you want to tell me how much you miss me :)

River: I always miss you and I was just thinking about you.

Dahlia: What were you thinking about?

River: The way you looked walking out the door in those boots.

Dahlia: You’re in a meeting, why are you thinking about my boots?

River: Because I’m bored as hell and trust me, it’s not only the boots I’m thinking about.

Just as I’m about to text River back, telling him that I’d be happy to entertain him during his boredom, I feel a hand on my shoulder. “Dahlia, honey,” Grace says, standing over me, and I drop my phone in my purse before standing up to greet her.

Looking down into her face, I see she looks older, worn, even. Her natural glow seems to have dissipated. Her usually tidy blond hair is disheveled. Her blue eyes look dull and there are dark circles under them. The tranquility I usually feel when I see her just isn’t there. When I hug her, her body is shaking.

Clinging to her, I hope to calm her trembling. “Oh Grace,” is all I can manage before she pulls back. Her voice is shaky and I can see that this has really taken a toll on her. “Let’s sit down and talk.”

We both settle in at the small table draped in white linen and place our napkins on our laps. I don’t even know how to begin this conversation. But Grace, being true to form, leads the way.

“Dahlia, how are you holding up?”

I shrug my shoulders, “I’m okay.”

“I’m glad you called me.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t call sooner. I just needed some time.”

Grace looks at me for a few moments and then asks point-blank, “Aren’t you glad Ben’s alive?”

Taken aback, I stammer. That’s the one question I had yet to even ask myself. “God, of course I am.” Because it’s true, of course I’m glad he’s alive and not dead. Who wouldn’t be?

Her next question comes rapidly and I try to remain calm. “Then is it because of the way we told you? I’m sorry for that, that was not how I wanted you to find out.”

“Grace, I’m not upset about how I learned that Ben’s really alive. I get that there was no easy way.”

“Then is it because of the attack? I am so grateful that you’re okay, but you have to know he had no idea you’d be in danger.”

“No, I was only upset that all of you knew and none of you told me who attacked me.”

“Dahlia, that was for your sake. I wanted to be there when flashes of Ben’s death would inevitably come flooding back to you. Hearing the news that Ben’s shooter was released was so upsetting, but then learning it was him that attacked you would have been overwhelming. I just wanted to be with you, to tell you myself.”

“Grace, I’m stronger now. I’m not that same girl you gave the necklace to—the girl who needed to hold on to the past. I don’t like things to be hidden from me; it wasn’t your decision to make to withhold that information. But honestly, all of that has nothing to do with Ben.”

“I thought I was doing what was best for you.”

“I know that. And Grace, I’m not upset at you for it anymore.”

“So I’m confused, Dahlia. Why won’t you forgive him? Talk to him again?”

Before I can answer, the waiter approaches our table and I order an extra dirty martini and Grace orders a sparkling water. When he leaves I pick up where we left off. “The word forgive means something different to each of us and we each chose whether we can do it or not. I did hear him out and once he started to explain everything it only made me angrier. I just don’t think talking to him again will change anything. It won’t make me forget what I went through—or help me forgive him. It would be like saying I’m okay with what I went through because of him and I’m not okay with that. I don’t know if I ever will be.”

Leaning closer, she squeezes my hand. “I’m not sure about that, Dahlia. I think if you just calmly sit down with him and really listen, you could try to understand why he left. He left to protect you—and if you can understand that, you’d be able to forgive him.”

“I’m sorry, but I’ve really had enough with everyone always wanting to protect me. And how is causing me so much pain and suffering protecting me? Grace, I’m not mad at the fact that he didn’t actually die. I just can’t forgive the act itself—pretending to die.”

Grace reacts more dramatically than I would ever have expected. “Dahlia, you just have to get past this wall you’ve put up and let him in. Forgive him. He gave up a lot for you! Surfing and now his life.”

As I stare at her, trying to understand where this conversation is headed, the waiter brings us our drinks and without even glancing at our menus, we both order a salad. Taking a large sip from my glass, I set it down and prepare to tell her what she doesn’t want to hear.

“His reasons, what he did, why he did it—they don’t change the impact his death had on not just me, but all of us. We all felt the pain and mourned for him in our own way for a long time. And it was his choice, his choice to leave, his choice to keep evidence. Don’t you get it—he made a choice . You may have been able to forgive him for all that and that’s fine, but that doesn’t mean I can.”