Page 6 of Letting Go
“Hey, what’s going on out here, folks?” Detective Johnson walks toward us as Jack gently takes my arm, pulling me back a few steps.
“Just an unwelcome guest trying to make a scene at a private event, Detective Johnson,” Jack speaks up. “I believe Dr. Bishop was leaving though, as I’m sure she doesn’t want to make an even bigger deal of this. Oh, Detective, by the way, are those reporters still near the other entrance?” Bianca’s face blanches realizing her dirty laundry may be heard by the press. Evidently, she’s not interested in having her salacious personal issues made public.
Poor thing really should work on her poker face.
After seeing how uncomfortable she is at the mention of reporters, I will ensure that any and all dirt on this woman is aired not only to her husband and in-laws but as publicly as possible. I may look like a basic suburban mama, but this tramp made the mistake of hurting someone in my family. It looks like this boring housewife just found herself a new hobby. I will find where it hurts and I’ll poke it with whatever stick I can find.
Bianca smooths the front of her dress as she turns toward the detectives. “It appears we had a misunderstanding. I was just onmy way out, gentlemen.” She briefly looks over, shooting me a cunning look before clearing her throat. “Detective Johnson and Detective Taylor, please let me know if you need anything else from me. You have my contact information, and I look forward to hearing any and all updates on Trent’s case. I sincerely appreciate everything you’re doing to find justice so he can rest in peace.” Bianca gives them a phony, contrite smile and dabs at invisible tears with a tissue before she turns to give us a smirk as she walks away. Momentarily confused as to how she knows the detectives by name, it dawns on me that of course the mistress in the hotel room would be in contact with the detectives. Not only was she involved with Trent, but she was one of the last people to see him alive.
“Is it common practice for the Chicago Police Department to include floozies in their investigations? Wouldn’t y’all consider them to be an unreliable witness with such questionable character?” I make sure to ask loud enough so Bianca and anyone else nearby would hear me. Bianca stops in her tracks and looks over her shoulder to scowl at me before continuing down the street.
“Let’s go find Viv. I think we’re done here; we should get her and Eloise home.” Liam starts to open the door to the funeral home but is forced to take a step back as Shane walks out.
“Savannah, what are you doing out here?” Shane asks annoyed as though we were taking a midday stroll, instead of taking out the trash.
“Where were you, Shane? That whore showed up and tried to talk to Eloise!” I point down the street as Bianca gets into the back of a black SUV. “Vivian slapped her, and I almost took a turn before those detectives came out here.”
“Vivian slapped someone?” Shane looks incredulously from me to my brothers. “You’ve never hit anyone. What happened?” Liamgives Shane a dismissive look before shaking his head and opening the door for us to go back inside.
I turn to follow my brothers inside. “You would know all of this had you been here, Shane. I needed you. What were you doing?” I ask him in a hushed but pissed off tone as he follows me.
“I had an urgent client situation. It was just a quick phone call. I’m sorry, darling.” He seems remorseful and unfortunately, client situations are not uncommon when he is one of the highest paid, white-collar, criminal defense attorneys in the state.
“It’s fine, Shane. Let’s find our girls and get out of here.” Shane wraps his arm around my waist and pulls me toward him for a small hug, giving me a kiss on my head. Jack, Finn, and Liam lead us back through the crowd to the family lounge.
As I finish packing up the toys and books we brought to entertain the kids in the family lounge, I realize I just unintentionally lied to my husband. Shane being absent wasn’t actually fine, but I had other pressing issues that needed my attention. We used to be a team and I never had to question if he had my back in a situation, big or small. But lately it feels like I’m more of a lone wolf than part of a dynamic partnership.
Shane helps our girls zip up their winter coats we had to purchase for the trip. Chicago is so cold—I don’t know why anyone would choose to live in this climate. After Finn helps Vivian put her coat on, she picks up Eloise, and I pull them into a big hug. Keeping my arm wrapped around Vivan’s shoulders, I pull back and tell her, “Let’s get out of here, okay? Tomorrow will be long enough.” Vivian nods and we turn to walk out together as Daddy comes up and puts his arm around the other side of Vivian.
I’ll be right by her side tomorrow, and we all have her back. The Callahans take care of their own, without fail, and without question. We will face tomorrow and any other storm that may come like we always have—together.
Chapter three
Vivian
Two Months Later
As I gaze into the mirror, I barely recognize the devastated woman in the reflection. When Eloise was a newborn, I remember being physically exhausted, but there was also a sense of wonder and joy that kept me going. Despite the exhaustion, the joy of having a baby made it worth the lack of sleep. The concept of joy feels foreign and elusive these days.
I don’t remember my cheeks ever looking so gaunt, nor my skin looking almost gray and lifeless. I stopped stepping on the scale; I know I’ve lost weight that I didn’t necessarily want to lose, but food is not appealing, and I easily just forget to make myself eat anything. The bags under my eyes are reminders of the heavy emotional baggage I drag around daily as I try to put one foot in front of the other. The mere effort of existing, let alone functioning every day, is exhausting and yet, at night sleep evades me.
My grief and anger are slowly drowning me. If it weren’t for my darling girl, I’m sure my current condition would be even worse. But who knew heartbreak could physically hurt so much?
I am so incredibly angry that some days it feels like it’s going to consume me. Not only am I mad at Trent for cheating on me, lying to me, and ruining our lives, but I am furious at him for having the nerve to get shot, for leaving us, and for the incredible pain he has caused our little girl. I didn’t know I could feel rage like this, and it is suffocating me. Maybe it would be easier if I could unleashthese emotions on him; scream at him, throw something at him, anything to make him hurt like I’m hurting. But he’s gone, so this scorching fire just burns in my heart and soul.
From the bathroom, I walk into our study and curl up on the couch with a blanket. The clock on the mantel tells me I have ninety minutes until I need to pick up Eloise from preschool. I kept her home for a week after the funeral, but her therapist said the routine would be beneficial. Even if it was a new routine, Eloise needed consistency. I pull the blanket up to my chin as I continue my own new routine of feeling sad, incredibly pissed off, and empty all at the same time. Two months have passed, but some days it feels like it’s only been a few hours. I try to take a deep breath before another anxiety attack pulls me further under. The medication my doctor prescribed is in my purse, but I prefer to avoid taking it if at all possible.
Trent’s murder was highly publicized in our community. The police still don’t have any suspects in the shooting and unfortunately because of crime rates in Chicago, most people seem to believe it was a random shooting between rival gangs, or simply a case of him being in the wrong place at the wrong time. Instead of calling it a murder, most people referred to his passing as a tragic accident, but that doesn’t feel right to me. Trent wasn’t accidentally at the hotel; he chose to be there with another woman. He wasn’t accidentally lying to his wife of eight years; he chose to make a fool of me and our life. His death was tragic, but he was responsible for why he was in front of the hotel that day. If he had been at the hospital, or at home, none of this would have happened. My anger toward him is multifaceted, and it runs so deep—almost as deep as my pain.
Another layer of devastation from the affair was realizing my own naivete, which provided exceptionally sensational gossip for our social circle. I thought I had a decent group of friends inChicago but it quickly dwindled until I didn’t feel like I could trust any of them. Initially, those I once considered friends pretended to be there for me, but really, they were Gossiping Karens hunting for juicy details so they could spread rumors like wildfire with the other traitorous gasbags. There were enough salacious details to give the clucking hens impressive material to exchange over mimosas at the country club, and despite how awful the actual truth was, I still heard exaggerations of what happened.
Someone said I was the one that had an affair first and he went to Bianca Fucking Bishop brokenhearted. Another concerned individual started a rumor that I found out about the affair and paid for a hitman. According to another clucking hen, Trent left our marriage years ago and didn’t even live with us when he died. The last one would have been helpful if it were true; I wouldn’t have to figure out what to do with all of his clothes and belongings if he hadn’t lived here. I’ve tried to go through his clothes a few times, but I quickly get consumed by thoughts of the unknown.
Did Trent wear this shirt with her? Did he really pick out that belt, or did she buy it for him? Did she wear his favorite Georgetown T-shirt to bed after they disrespected our marriage for the umpteenth time?
I gave those blabby witches plenty to talk about when Bianca Fucking Bishop attended Trent’s memorial service. I couldn’t believe she would ever imagine it was okay for her to be there, and then she had the audacity to try to give her condolences to my daughter. The slap across her face was worth the price of gossip at my expense. My only regret is that I wish I had hit her harder. On some level, I blame her for Trent’s death. She didn’t shoot him, but their affair is why he was in front of the Plaza Hotel. If he hadn’t been leaving their room, he wouldn’t have died. He would still be a lying, cheating bastard, but at least Eloise would still have her daddy.
My sweet baby is so innocent in this mess, and yet in a cruel twist, she’s the one hurting the most. Her nightmares started the night after his funeral when she overheard people talking about how he died. Eloise usually sleeps for an hour or two before she wakes up screaming for her daddy. Her screams break my heart all over again every single time.
