In This Life by Christine Brae

answered.
    “What you said about fate. I really believe that we have the power to change it.”
    I yielded to my exhaustion, wondering how I could recover from the events of that night. I lost my mother and I gave away my heart. And I was left with nothing to take home with me. Not one single thing.
    I woke the next morning to find a wooden strand of beads wrapped around my hand, a beautiful rosary made by the children of the mission. Despite the crashing of the waves and the piercing screams of the hungry seagulls, that day was marked by the blaring silence all around me. My mother was dead, my heart was gone, and I was left all alone.

 
     
    “ The streets of town were paved with stars;
    It was such a romantic affair.
    And as we kissed and said “goodnight”,
    A nightingale sang in Berkeley Square.”
     
    A Nightingale Sang in Berkeley Square
    Manhattan Transfer
     

 
     
     
    “WELCOME BACK, BABY,” Dante gushed, sticking his head in the window of the driver’s seat as I unstrapped myself from the car. He greeted me excitedly with a kiss. Mikey was settled in the passenger seat, eyes closed, earphones in place, iPhone in hand.
    “Hi.” I kissed him back, tired as heck but happy to be able to spend two days with him at our apartment in midtown Manhattan before having to head back to work at the hospital.
    We’d just arrived from the long drive from New York City to Tully Hill, a trip that we made at least once every other month. The three hour drive to the rehab facility where my father stayed was an easy one, lovely and scenic during the early fall when the bold red and golden colors of the leaves blanketed the ground, and the cool crisp air was a welcome respite from the hot days of summer. But the hours that followed were difficult and discouraging. Michael needed to see him more than I did, and I was determined to be there for my little brother despite the toll that seeing my father took on me. Life had bombarded me with lessons, and I’d learned most of all that promises were made to be broken. I never heard from Jude again. By the time Dante arrived from Thailand one week after I left, the callback on the number that was saved to Dante’s phone had been shut off. I counted the months to the day he was supposed to be done with his trip to Australia. I waited for him to call, gave him the benefit of my trust, detached myself from the world around me, and stayed suspended in anticipation. I would have tried to find him, but I didn’t know where to look. Sure, I knew that he was from Westchester and all, but then I began to doubt the stories that he had told me. And then the months became years, and the years ran away with the hope I had held in my heart.
    “How was your visit?” Dante asked as he pulled the handle on the car door. The parking garage looked empty. Not that it mattered because Dante held two prime spots right in front of the elevator.
    “Same. Apologies, tears, Mikey having a hard time saying goodbye.”
    He smiled weakly before walking towards the trunk of the car.
    It had been five years since my mother had passed away. I arrived back in New York in time for her funeral. It was a quiet event attended by family and friends.
    And her lover, of course. He reminded me of Delmar—blond with blue eyes, a slim build, very well put together. He looked much older than his years, aged since the last time I saw him at the restaurant. The man she claimed to have loved stood steadfast among the many faces of disgust and resentment, unwavering and committed. He watched as we cried and mourned, watched as we committed her to the dust, and then he disappeared forever.
    Two years later, we lost everything. The house, the cars, the money that she made and set aside for Michael’s college education. My father sank into the depths of despair, found comfort in bottles of whiskey and gambled away the life we once lived. Our beautiful house in upstate New York, our cars, our things, all repossessed by