“We’ll check him into a center for a twenty-eight-day program. He’ll learn the twelve steps, hate life, hate me and his mother, but hopefully come out with the ability to fight his addiction.”

His bleak assessment takes me aback. “He’s lucky he has you.”

“I don’t think he’ll see it that way.”

“He’ll come around. Speaking of coming around, did you call Serena yet?”

His demeanor, his attitude, they all shift gears and he seems somber, maybe even uncertain. “I’m not going to call her until tomorrow morning. She thinks he’s at his dad’s so she’s not worried. By then I hope the fevers and chills have subsided.”

“Okay, Ben.” He’s right, Trent looks terrible and I’d hate for Serena to see him like that. Knowing there’s nothing else I can do, I reach for my keys and head out the doorway. “Alright, I’ll check in with you later.”

“See ya, Dahl, and thanks,” he calls after me.

I turn to face him before I say, “Ben, I am really glad you’re alive.”

“Thanks, Dahl. That means a lot. And I really am glad you’re happy,” he calls.

I smile at him and our eyes meet, but he quickly averts his gaze. Then I leave the house, probably for the last time.

As I pull out of the driveway, I can’t help but be sad for Trent, but for some reason I’m sad for Ben, too. There’s so much sadness surrounding me right now; focusing on any one facet of it is difficult. Something Grace told me comes to mind as I drive down the street. “There is something beautiful about each and every scar we bear no matter where it comes from . . . I will always be here for you,” and it hits me she has been there for me, and I should be there for her. I’ve never stopped to think about how Ben actually being alive has impacted her—she had scars, too.

***

Regardless of the reasons why I acted the way I did; I should never have walked away from her. I realize this as I drive by the beach and look at the families so effortlessly playing, swimming, and smiling, happy to be together. I have to talk to her and apologize for my behavior.

When I reach her house, I open the front door and call out her name.

She’s sitting at a small desk in the corner of the living room, going through some papers with only the desk reading light on.

She looks up from under her reading glasses. “Dahlia, honey, is everything okay?”

In a haze of emotion, I run to her and hug her as tight as I can, blurting out, “I’m so sorry.”

Glancing down, I notice documents with Ben’s name on them—his death certificate, a life insurance policy, and the coroner’s report.

Breaking our embrace, she clears her throat and in a small, almost raspy voice says, “Dahlia, you’re not the one who needs to apologize, I’m the one who should be saying I’m sorry.” She sets her glasses on the desk. “Come on, let’s sit down over here and talk.”

Walking over to the couch I can’t help but think how much this room feels like home to me. How all I want to do is sit here and just be near this woman who has been like a mother to me for my whole adult life. My intention was to come here and apologize to her, but now all I want is the comfort she has always brought me.

I try to disagree, but as she tucks a piece of my hair behind my ear, she keeps talking. “Sweetheart, listen to me. All I wanted was for you to try to understand why he did what he did, see if you could forgive him.”

I take a deep breath and start from the beginning. “Grace, I understand that now. And I have talked to him . . .”

I tell her everything that happened since his return—how I feel like walls keep going up between all of us and we are all being torn apart. We talk for over an hour. She interjects and gives me advice every now and then, but she mostly listens. She tells me that when people love each other, telling them things they know will hurt them isn’t always easy. I can tell she’s also talking about herself.

When I’m all talked out, she explains her feelings to me. “All I want is for Ben and you to be happy, but I know that doesn’t mean together. I know you’re happy with River. It’s just that I’m concerned for Ben. He’s lost and the life he knew is gone. I just thought the reason he hasn’t made any decisions on what to do with his life is because he still thinks you may go back to him. That’s the only reason I wanted you to forgive him. So he could see there was only friendship left.” She pauses to catch my eye. “And Dahlia, he called me a bit ago and he now understands.”

She doesn’t elaborate, but I know what she means. She smiles a small smile and releases my hand. My heart breaks a little for the love Ben and I once shared, but that love is gone. I can’t bring it back, nor do I want to. I can only hope that someday Ben will find what I have found with River.

Standing up, Grace says, “You need to go home and talk to River now.” As she ushers me toward the door she opens it and clutches my hand. “Be honest with him about everything—your feelings, how you feel toward him, your wariness concerning his behavior, all of it. Don’t hold back. If you can open up to him, you will work it out because the love River and you share isn’t a love that happens for everyone. I know this, Dahlia, because every time I see the way the two of you look at each other, I’m reminded of the way my husband and I used to look at each other. That’s how I know what you two have is unbreakable. What I had with my husband was so strong that I will never forget it, even after all these years.”

Hugging her goodbye, I can’t help but think how right she is. I know how much she loved her husband and although I never met him, I saw her love for him every day. As we stand embracing at her door, I feel compelled to tell her something I never have before. “Grace, you know how much I love you. You’re not just like a mother to me, you have been my mother.”

Her chin trembles and with the smallest of nods, she hugs me even tighter. “Dahlia, I love you so much. And thank you for that.”

When we pull away, I look more closely at her. She looks so worn out. I notice dark, bluish circles under her normally sparkling eyes. “Grace, please don’t worry so much. Ben will work everything out. I know he will. He’s tough and resilient. He will be fine.”

“I hope so Dahlia, I hope so. Now go home and talk to River,” she says as she motions me down the steps and into the rain. Then she calls out, “Dahlia honey, where’s your umbrella?”

I have to laugh because she knows I can never find any of my umbrellas.

As I get in my car, I watch her standing in the doorway through my rearview mirror. I open my window and call out one last time, “Thank you, Grace. Love you.”

She blows me a kiss and waves goodbye, then wraps her arms around herself and goes into the house. I’m so happy we talked and everything is back to how it’s always been.

Serena pulls into the driveway as I’m pulling out and she honks her horn repeatedly at me.

Putting my car in park, I open the window.

She hurries over, the rain soaking her clothes. She looks furious. “Who the hell do you think you are, keeping something like that from me?” she says, trembling with anger.

I know she’s talking about Trent, but don’t know what to say. “Serena, I’m sorry . . .”

She leans down into the window, her fists clenched and her eyes flashing with anger. “How could you of all people not tell me? I thought you believed in telling the truth!” With that, she storms off toward the house.

I get out of the car and run after her. “Serena, I do, let me explain.”

“No Dahlia, you don’t get to explain. Just remember I’m his mother,” she says, slamming the front door in my face.

I stand there trying to figure out if I should go into the house or not. She’s so mad, but I can’t blame her. She had a right to know. I decide it’s best to not try to talk to her right now. I’m sure she wants to talk to Grace about Trent and I’m not sure anything I say will make a difference in her state of mind.

Driving off, I once again find myself heading back to LA. So much has happened in the last twenty-four hours since I made this same trip home, yet it seems so little has changed. Well . . . Grace and I made up. It feels right that we were able to put our issues behind us. Ben and I seem to have come to an understanding—we may even eventually be able to be friends. He’s back, but our lives will remain separate and I think he has accepted that. Then there’s the bad . . . Serena is not talking to me, and neither is Xander. Then there’s the unchanged . . . River and I haven’t talked all day, he never came home last night, and I’m not sure what’s going to happen when I get home.

As I think through all of this, I can’t help but notice the damp chill in the air and the steel gray color of the sky.

Chapter 21

All In

As I pull into the driveway, I glare at Ellie’s car parked in the same place it was yesterday. I take a deep breath and blow it out. I just can’t deal with her right now, so I decide it’s best not to go in. I want to talk to River and try to get past all this, but I know seeing her again will just enrage me. I just can’t stop thinking about the look of betrayal on Serena’s face—the same look I know I had a few times in the past week.

I decide I should probably go see Bell and make sure she knows I’m not upset with her. I haven’t had a chance to call her, and, hopefully, by the time I come back, Ellie will be gone.

River’s mom lives less than five miles from our house. When I arrive at the large two-story house, I ring the doorbell. As I wait, I keep my eyes fixed on the large metal doorknocker. I know Charlotte’s at work, but I can’t stop from wondering if she knows about Bell and Ben. I’m sure she does. Bell tells her everything. I’m suddenly nervous and my heart starts pounding. When Brigitte answers the door, I jump, suddenly feeling more nervous as she greets me.

“Hi Dahlia, come in. What a nice surprise.” The longtime housekeeper is more like a part of their family. The short elegant French woman has her curly brown hair pinned up and is wearing a white shirt and black pants, looking the same she does every time I see her.

“Hi Brigitte. How are you?”

“Fantastique!” she says with a heavy French accent. Her enthusiasm makes me smile.

“Dahlia!” I hear and I look up the staircase to the balcony. There stands Bell—she could be River’s twin, with her light copper-brown-colored hair pulled back in a ponytail, wearing a USC sweatshirt that must be Xander’s, a pair of jeans, and chewing her bottom lip.

She rushes down the stairs. “I’ve been calling you. I thought you were mad at me.”

“Excuse me ladies, I’ll let you two talk,” Brigitte says as she makes her way toward the kitchen. Then she turns around and looks at Bell. Shooting her a wink she says, “See Missy, I told you she wouldn’t be mad at you.”

Bell smiles and says, “You’re always right, Brigitte.”

“If you need anything, let me know, girls,” Brigitte says and leaves the room.

“Bell, I’m not mad at you. It’s just . . .” I shake my head. “I didn’t even know your name was S’belle.”

“It’s not. I spent my freshman year in France with my aunt and everyone there called me S’belle. When I came back to the States I thought it would be fun to keep my French name, so I told everyone at USC to call me that.”

“Okay, that makes sense, I guess . . .”

She cuts me off as she pulls me through the kitchen and into the large family room. Before we have a chance to sit down, Bell asks, “Why haven’t you called me back, then?”

I can’t help but notice her vibrant green eyes are teary.

“I’m sorry, Bell, I didn’t know you called. I haven’t been able to find my phone.”