We Both Reborn And I Let Go This Time Chapter 10

We Both Reborn And I Let Go This Time Chapter 10

The days kept moving forward.

Arthur helped sort out the issues with our family’s background record. The shadow hanging over the Vances

for years finally lifted, and Dad could hold his head up at work again.

Mom moved into the little house Arthur had found, and she told anyone who’d listen that her new son-in-law

was the best thing that had ever happened to this family.

Clara’s life, meanwhile, was falling apart.

Sharon told me Raymond had been driving out to the country frequently, and nobody knew why. Some said he was looking for someone; others said he was digging into something.

I knew exactly what he was doing.

He was chasing down the truth about what happened when we were kids. He wanted to know once and for all if I was the one who saved him, and what else he’d gotten wrong.

But even if he found the answers, what difference would it make?

Clara was the one who finally reached the breaking point.

That day I was at my sewing machine in the shop. Arthur had helped me rent a small storefront, and the clothing business I’d started was doing well enough to stand on its own.

Clara pushed through the door.

She’d lost weight, and the color had drained from her face. The lines around her eyes had deepened, and her hair hung loose and uncombed.

“Eleanor,” she said.

I set my work down. “Clara?”

She sat on the stool by the door, dropped her head, and said nothing for a long time.

“I can’t do this with Raymond anymore,” she said.

I didn’t answer.

“He leaves before dawn and comes back after dark, and when he’s home he won’t say a word to me.” Her voice sounded far away, like it was coming through a wall. “If I ask what’s wrong, he says nothing. But the

way he looks at me now… it’s different.”

I handed her a glass of water.

She took it, held it in both hands, and didn’t drink.

“He used to look at me like I was everything. Now he looks at me like I’m… a stranger.” She raised her head, and her eyes were shot through with red. “Eleanor, is it because of you?”

“What do you mean?”

“Is it because of you that he…”

“No.” I stopped her. “Clara, this has nothing to do with me. From start to finish, you were the one he chose.”

“But the way he looks at you…”

“That’s his problem,” I said. “It has nothing to do with me.”

Clara stared at me for a long time. Then the tears came.

She didn’t stay long. She wiped her face and left.

She didn’t come back after that.

Later, I heard she asked Raymond for a divorce.

He agreed without much of a fight.

The day they signed the papers, Clara walked out of the courthouse and kept going without once looking back. Raymond stood on the steps watching her leave, and whatever was on his face was hard to read, something between relief and loss.

Then he turned and looked toward my shop for a long time.

I pulled the shades and locked up.

After the divorce, Clara took her settlement money and opened a small convenience store in Greenfield.

She changed.

She stopped wearing flashy clothes, stopped putting on makeup, cut her hair short and pinned it back, and threw herself into the work.

I went to see her once.

She was stocking shelves when I walked in. She stopped for a second, then smiled.

“Hey,” she said. “Come sit.”

I sat on the stool behind the counter, and she poured me a glass of water.

“How’s business?” I asked.

“Getting by,” she said. “Keeps the lights on.”

“That’s enough.”

“Yeah.”

After a stretch of quiet, she said, “Eleanor, was I an idiot?”

I didn’t answer.

“Back when you came home soaking wet, he talked about you behind your back, and I didn’t believe a word of

it.” She let out a dry laugh.

“I was even trying to find you a husband, get you out of going to the country. And look where it got me. I walked into that fire with my eyes open, and I had to dig myself out alone.”

“Clara…”

“I’m not blaming you,” she said. “I’m blaming myself. I thought too highly of myself, and I thought too highly

of him.”

She went back to wiping the counter.

I watched her, and something shifted. Clara wasn’t so hard to look at anymore.

She’d just been the favorite for so long that she forgot the world didn’t revolve around her.

I left her fifty dollars and two skirts I’d sewn myself, and walked out.

Clara’s store did well after that.

She was sharp, and she knew how to talk to people. She built up a steady crowd of regulars.

Eventually she expanded into the space next door and started carrying household goods. The life she built wasn’t glamorous, but it was solid.

She remarried later, a steady, hardworking man, divorced with a daughter of his own. He treated Clara well.

The day Clara got married again, I had a handmade wedding dress delivered to her. Ivory satin with lace I’d stitched myself, more beautiful than anything you could buy off a rack.

She sent word back through the same person: the dress had arrived, it was beautiful, and thank you.