Other Side of the Wall Read online

  Scott didn’t need to know all that, so I just smiled. “I will when the time is right.”

  Scott ended up telling me about his family. They all pretty much lived here, too, including his in-laws. I could tell he was trying to remain emotionless when he spoke about his wife, whom he had known since he was a kid, and her family. I even noticed that he rubbed his wedding ring as he spoke. I thought it was sweet that he still wore his ring. I’m pretty sure Peter didn’t even wear his all the time while we were married, which probably explains why he is a daddy now. Really, Ava, just let it go.

  Between our conversation we ate and then ate some more. We talked long enough to pick the whole pan clean. It felt nice. It was also nice to hear someone compliment my food. I used to think I was a good cook; at least I was where I was from. Actually, Scott was very complimentary.

  We eventually moved to his couch. He was really easy to talk to and he was quite interesting. His job was fascinating. He specifically worked in the oceanarium portion of the aquarium. I learned more about whales and dolphins than I ever had before, and that was saying something considering where I grew up. He wanted to know about my job too. I didn’t know if there was anything fascinating about it, but I had some interesting stories to tell about some of my humorous patient encounters. He laughed and laughed. I didn’t think I was that funny, but I think he just needed to laugh. In fact, we both did.

  Then we debated the merits of professional football versus college. Hands down college was where it was at, but of course being a lifelong Bears fan, he disagreed. I told him you didn’t know what football was all about until you lived in the south, particularly Alabama. We agreed to disagree.

  As the evening wore on, we inched closer on the couch. I hadn’t really noticed until we were practically touching. By this time, it was well past midnight. I hadn’t meant to stay so long, but the time had passed so quickly in his presence. It was the best evening I’d had in a long time. If I had to guess, I think he felt the same way too.

  It was all going so well, but then it happened. I’m not sure how (ok, I know how) or why it happened. Maybe it was because we were both so lonely, or maybe because it was late and we weren’t thinking straight, but no matter the reason, it happened.

  I had just looked at my phone and the time. “Wow, I didn’t realize the time, I should probably go now.” I looked up to thank him for a very lovely evening, and that’s when I noticed him looking at me intently. I smiled.

  He smiled back. “I’m sure you’ve heard this from plenty of men, but I think you may be the most beautiful woman I’ve ever met.”

  I was so surprised by his words that I didn’t know what to say. I had been called beautiful before, but I don’t know if anyone had ever said it so sincerely. Unfortunately, sincerity was my undoing. My eyes began to water. He touched my cheek softly and smiled, and I whispered thank you. He leaned in closer, and for a second, I held my breath. It seemed so surreal, but yet natural. Without a second thought, he closed the distance, and his lips gently brushed mine. He was so tender. It had been so long since I had been tenderly kissed, and I had missed it, craved it even. Maybe that’s why I didn’t think that this was a bad idea when I should have.

  After a few gentle kisses, he placed his hand behind my neck and pulled me closer. Instinctively my lips parted, and he kissed me deeper. I don’t know if I had ever been kissed with such emotion. He kept kissing me, and then he kissed me some more.

  “Scott,” I whispered between kisses.

  He immediately froze and released me at the sound of his name. I’ll never forget the look he gave me. I knew instantly he had regretted it. He started spouting that he was sorry and it was a mistake and he shouldn’t have and that I really should be going. He didn’t need to tell me. I got up quickly and walked to the door as fast as I could. He didn’t even see me out. He just sat on his couch and cried.

  Chapter 2

  For days I berated myself. What was I thinking letting a man, who was clearly still grieving his dead wife, kiss me, and I mean really kiss me? I had just become another man’s regret. It seemed to be my lot in life. It hadn’t taken long for me to see that Peter regretted marrying me, and now I was my neighbor’s regret. The worst part was, I didn’t regret it, and under different circumstances, I wouldn’t mind if Scott kissed me again. In fact, I would welcome it. I liked my neighbor, and if the truth be told, I liked him a lot. But now there was more than just a wall dividing us, there was something bigger and more intrusive: embarrassment and remorse.

  We wouldn’t even make eye contact with each other. As the days and weeks went on, we avoided each other like the plague, which at times was difficult considering our living circumstances. If ever we did see each other, we just pretended not to.

  I hated it.

  I mean, it wasn’t like I was ready to jump into a relationship with him, but he was the first person I had really connected with since I moved here. I was just looking for a friend. At work I had a hard time making any connections. First, it was because I was new and the other nurses were territorial; some felt threatened that I had more education. I realize, too, that I played a part, but Peter had me so wound up. He hated that I had to work night shifts, but that’s what happens when you’re new and the low person on the totem pole. Then he would complain that I was too tired in the morning when we saw each other between me getting home and him leaving for work. He complained that all he saw me in was scrubs, so I started changing, reapplying make-up, and fixing my hair at work before coming home. I tried my hardest not to act tired when I was home, even though I had never been so physically and emotionally exhausted. I think my coworkers saw me as vain and stuck-up, but I was just trying to make my husband happy and love me. Then I did my job too well in some people’s opinion, and I was promoted quickly. That didn’t engender happy warm fuzzy feelings either.

  After my promotion, I was the supervising nurse for the day shift. I think people were only nice to me after that because I was their boss, but at least it was better than before. In addition, I had relaxed a lot since the divorce. I didn’t even think most people I worked with realized I was going through a divorce. I never spoke of it.

  I was trying to be the old Ava again, the carefree, loving Ava. But sometimes I was afraid to be her, because I felt like that wasn’t enough—at least not enough for Peter. After we moved back to his hometown, I could never seem to please him. I don’t know what happened. The first few months of our marriage had been perfect. He had a paid internship with an architectural firm in Mobile, and we rented a condo on the beach. He came home happy every night to see me. We spent most of our time like most newlyweds: wrapped up in each other. Every day he would tell me he loved me, I was the best thing that had ever happened to him, and getting stung by that jelly fish was heaven sent.

  That’s how we met. The year before we were married, he interned for the same company in Mobile. One weekend he and some of the other interns made a trip to the beach, and he ended up in urgent care. I had always made it a rule never to date patients, but he was the most handsome man I had ever met. He spoke fluent Italian, and he swept me off my feet. We dated that whole summer, and then he went back to Chicago to finish his Master of Architecture degree at the University of Illinois Chicago. He wanted me to go with him, but I said no. I’m a very traditional girl when it comes to marriage and dating. He was disappointed, but he wrote me beautiful love letters all through the year; that’s how his grandfather had won his grandmother’s heart, and it worked like a charm on me. Of course, he called me every day too, and then during Christmas he came to visit and proposed. Happy didn’t even describe how I felt at the time.

  The only damper was my parents; they were worried. My mom said he was too smooth and we hadn’t lived enough real life around each other. I wished now I would have listened, but sometimes love makes us blind and dumb. Peter and I married the following June and, like I said, it was wedded bliss. Then he was offered a job by two firms, the one in Mobil
e and one in Chicago. I wanted to stay in Alabama, but it was Peter’s dream to be an architect in Chicago. He fancied himself the next Frank Lloyd Wright. So, I tried to be the unselfish wife and I followed him to the land of cold and snow. He promised me it would be great.

  He lied.

  Now I found myself divorced and alone in a strange, cold city, and to top it off, I now had to avoid my widower neighbor because we shared a passionate kiss one night. Whatever happened to my life?

  Thankfully, summer finally came. I reveled in the warmth. While everyone around me complained about the heat and humidity, I soaked it in. I rode to work every non –rainy morning with the top down on my Jeep. Each day that passed I felt more like myself. I even tried to venture out into the city and experience what it had to offer. I had wanted Peter to do that with me when we were together, but he always said he was too busy with work and promised there would be time later. I really had to stop thinking about him. He was my past. At least I tried to keep him there. Unfortunately, sometimes he still showed up in the present, and not just in my head. Once in a while he would send me a letter or try and call me. I didn’t answer any more, and the letters were promptly sent back return to sender.

  Then, one beautiful summer day in July, she came into the hospital. It was only the second time I’d seen her. I hadn’t seen her since the day I’d found out my marriage was over and I was the last to know. You know, it’s impossible to forget the day when your whole life changes in just seconds. The day when you find out that your husband is all of a sudden being so sweet and warm, not because of love, but because of guilt. That day for me was May 15 of last year, the first time Stacy Marino walked into my ER. Neither of us had any idea how tangled our lives were at the time. We had no idea we were each in love with the same man.

  For me, May 15 was a routine day, and I thought Stacy was a routine patient. Her symptoms were simple enough. I didn’t even need the urine culture to tell me she had a urinary tract infection. And it didn’t take a genius to figure out what her other symptoms and late period meant either. I had seen it too many times: a young unmarried woman, pregnant and scared. She wasn’t the first young woman to break down. I tried to be reassuring and informational.

  “Peter is not going to be happy,” she said as I handed her a prescription for antibiotics.

  There are thousands of Peters in Chicago, I thought.

  She took the prescription. “He told me I was a mistake and he loves his wife.” She began to cry. “I told him I loved him and he said I could never replace his wife, I think her name is Ava,” she rambled between sobs.

  I thought my heart stopped for a moment. I tried not to panic. Surely there was more than one couple in Chicago with the names Peter and Ava. I turned back toward the counter. “So, how did you meet Peter?” I tried to sound casual.

  “I’m a receptionist at Atkinson’s Architect Firm and…”

  I began to shake and felt like I was going to vomit. I barely even heard what she said next. All I could think was, that’s where Peter works. I gripped the counter for support. “Did you know he was married when you began to see him?” I’m sure she wondered what the third degree was about, but I didn’t care, I needed to know.

  “Yes,” she said as if she was embarrassed.

  “How long have you been seeing him?”

  “A couple of months.”

  I couldn’t help it. My own tears came.

  I could still hear her crying. “What should I do?”

  “You need to tell him.”

  She began to cry harder. “I don’t know how to contact him. He would never give me his number and he’s in Boston now at a conference.”

  I carefully removed my wedding ring (the one that had belonged to Peter’s grandmother), and I pulled out my prescription pad again. I wrote out Peter’s number and slowly turned around. She looked stunned and confused to see me crying. I handed her the paper and my ring. “Tell Peter his wife, Ava, gave you his number.”

  She just looked at me, wide eyed. I looked at her and thought, this must be what Peter wanted. She was Italian and dark just like him. She talked like she was from Chicago, and she was voluptuous. I’m sure his Mother would be happy. I quickly ran out of the room and lost it. I told my boss I was ill, and I went home and immediately pulled out our old packing boxes. I packed up all his clothes and anything else that I could that belonged to him, including all the letters he had sent to me. Most of the furniture I owned before we got married. Anything that was his I would have moved to his Mother’s place. Then I went to the bank and took half of the money out of our account and took my name off the joint account. Most of it was my money, but I didn’t care. Then I called a locksmith and had the locks changed. I parked his car in front of the townhouse and filled it with his belongings, and then I placed the rest on the porch.

  Then I waited. I didn’t have to wait too long. He called and I didn’t answer. He called again, and I still didn’t answer. I lost track of the amount of times he called that night. I made some phone calls of my own. First, I called my mom. I had been lying to her for months about how great life was. I didn’t want them to hate Peter. There was no stopping that now. I hated him too. My parents begged me to come home, but I just couldn’t. I needed to prove to myself that I wasn’t weak and sheltered and naïve, and I knew Peter wasn’t going to make the divorce easy. I talked to my brother, Tucker, next. We didn’t talk long. He was a man of action, not talk. He jumped on the next plane to Chicago. He was ever the protective big brother.

  Peter arrived before Tucker the next morning. He had left his conference early. I had listened to some of the messages he left me. “Ava. Please answer, Ava. I’m coming home now, Ava. I love you, Ava. I’m so sorry. Please, Ava, please.” Then he came home to find he didn’t live there anymore. I had never heard or seen him cry before that day. He stood there, just banging on the door and pleading for me to open it. Finally, through the door, I just asked him to leave. I sat on the floor in front of the door silently crying and just letting the tears fall to the floor. I loved him, and he had betrayed me in the most intimate of ways. He kept saying we could work it out and that we could move back to the beach if I wanted to. He said he was willing to do anything to make it right, but there was no making this right. Peter was going to be the father of a baby that wasn’t mine, and his coldness and indifference had been slowly killing me for months.

  There was nothing left to salvage.

  To make matters worse, Scott came out from his home and told Peter to leave, that any man worth his salt wouldn’t have cheated on his wife in the first place. Peter didn’t take it kindly. I was mortified, on the other side of the door, that my deepest pain was now public knowledge. Peter told Scott to stay out of it, but Scott wasn’t backing down; he told Peter to just leave me alone. Then Peter jumped to the conclusion that Scott had a thing for me. Scott laughed at him and said he had a lot a nerve and he was an idiot to let such a healthy, beautiful woman go. Peter flew off the handle about him calling me beautiful. I almost opened the door, but then my brother came and saved the day. Peter had no desire to mess with my brother. It was a good thing too, because you don’t want to mess with a southern boy, especially when family honor is at stake.

  I opened the door quickly to let Tucker in. I caught a glance of Peter. He looked terrible, but I had no sympathy for him. He made his bed, or should I say he jumped into someone else’s, and now he had to lie in it. But maybe that was the worst part of it all. He didn’t even want Stacy. He told me over and over she meant nothing to him. I know he thought that would make it better, but it didn’t. It only meant that he threw me away for nothing. It would have been better for me if he would have fallen in love with her.

  Over a year later, on that beautiful day in July, here Stacy was, once again in my ER, but this time with a baby girl in her arms, Peter’s daughter. It still stung. I had so badly wanted to get pregnant, but Peter kept telling me we needed to wait, we were still young. I was twenty sev
en when we got married and he was twenty eight, but he wanted to be more settled in his career. It wasn’t until right before I found out about Stacy that he had changed his tune. Looking back, it was a blessing that never happened for us.

  Stacy cautiously approached the nurse’s station. She looked scared. I couldn’t imagine why she would come here to see me, but I was sure it was me she wanted to see.

  “Ava”, she said quietly. “Could I please talk to you?”

  I looked at the set of charts in my hand and then the clock. Why did she want to talk to me? Peter and I had been separated for well over a year, and the divorce was final this past February. It would have been finalized sooner, but he kept dragging it out in hopes I would change my mind. Thankfully he ran out of money, and my parents had hired the best lawyer money could buy for me.

  I asked her to follow me to a less public area. “Why do you want to talk to me?” I whispered.

  She started to cry, which made me feel terrible. I knew I owed her nothing, but she must have been desperate to search me out. I told her to follow me. I led her out to the courtyard and we sat at an empty picnic table. Her daughter began to stir, so she sat her on her lap. She was six months old now, and she was darling. I could see Peter in her. She had his dark brown eyes and black hair. I had to choke back the tears.

  She looked down at her daughter nervously. “Ava, I know you probably hate me.”

  You could say that.

  “And I’m sorry for the pain I’ve caused you, but I need your help.”