Читать онлайн книгу "The Secret Of Us"

The Secret Of Us
Liesel Schmidt


When your other half leaves you…After her fiancé breaks up with her in �their restaurant’, leaving her with no explanation other than an apology scrawled on a napkin, Eira no longer feels at home in North Carolina. So she leaves for the Florida coast, hoping that rebuilding her life will be easier somewhere new. But while her new home may hold no trace of the past, life doesn’t always turn out the way you planned…and suddenly, a chance meeting turns Eira’s life upside down.…how do you know who you are?Finally faced with the opportunity to ask her questions about love, lies, and the life she thought was hers, Eira realises that hearing the answers is going to hurt. Yet if she is brave enough to listen, finding the missing piece of the past might lead her to a brighter future than she ever thought possible…The Secret of Us is the bittersweet new novel from Liesel Schmidt, perfect for fans of Cecilia Ahern, Lucy Dillon and Jojo Moyes.







When your other half leaves you…

After her fiancé breaks up with her in �their restaurant’, leaving her with no explanation other than an apology scrawled on a napkin, Eira no longer feels at home in North Carolina. So she leaves for the Florida coast, hoping that rebuilding her life will be easier somewhere new. But while her new home may hold no trace of the past, life doesn’t always turn out the way you planned…and suddenly, a chance meeting turns Eira’s life upside down.

…how do you know who you are?

Finally faced with the opportunity to ask her questions about love, lies, and the life she thought was hers, Eira realises that hearing the answers is going to hurt. Yet if she is brave enough to listen, finding the missing piece of the past might lead her to a brighter future than she ever thought possible…

The Secret of Us is the bittersweet new novel from Liesel Schmidt, perfect for fans of Cecilia Ahern, Lucy Dillon and Jojo Moyes.


Also by Liesel Schmidt (#udc479be4-d12d-5852-b787-df2e41aecf00)

Coming Home to You


The Secret of Us

Liesel Schmidt







Copyright (#ulink_8ab79661-02cd-5b1d-b152-e61d456d5de0)

HQ

An imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd.

1 London Bridge Street

London SE1 9GF

First published in Great Britain by HQ in 2015

Copyright В© Liesel Schmidt 2015

Liesel Schmidt asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.

E-book Edition В© June 2015 ISBN: 9781474033589

Version date: 2018-07-23


LIESEL SCHMIDT

lives in Pensacola, Florida, where she spends her time writing, drawing, and reading everything she can get her hands on. She is currently working on her next novel and spends most of her days busily writing freelance for a list of local magazines that sometimes makes her head spin in a dizzy attempt to keep all the deadlines straight! When she has a few free moments, Liesel plunks away at her blog, Finding Words (http://fyoword.blogspot.com/ (http://fyoword.blogspot.com/)), where she posts product reviews and offers her readers a peek at the inner musings of a writer slogging her way through the challenges of living a creative career and early-widowhood.

Having harbored a passionate dread of writing assignments when she was in school, Liesel never imagined that she would ever make a living at putting words on paper, but life sometimes has a funny way of working out…When she’s not writing, reading, or drawing, Liesel likes to indulge her guilty pleasure of watching competition television shows like Top Chef, Chopped, and Project Runway. Follow her on Twitter at @laswrites (http://twitter.com/laswrites)


Acknowledgements (#udc479be4-d12d-5852-b787-df2e41aecf00)

To my editor, Clio, thank you for giving my words the chance to find life in other people’s hands and in their hearts. Thank you for believing in me!


Dedication (#udc479be4-d12d-5852-b787-df2e41aecf00)

This book is dedicated to my family, who showed so much faith in my dreams of writing and never once doubted that I could do it. I love you and thank God for you everyday! Thank you for believing in me, for encouraging me, and for supporting me––in so very many ways. Always always, always remember how much I love you.


Contents

Cover (#u550240f6-b71b-5fa3-a1b3-fc9c38e409c8)

Blurb (#u92905f59-a53e-53a7-af10-c73b05d979af)

Book List

Title Page (#u3c139c89-149e-5a02-bc26-2005f7ecc72b)

Copyright (#ue35b5855-c5eb-5e96-8999-0e62eb1f5666)

Author Bio (#u9ccba427-ac45-5074-beff-305876943d2e)

Acknowledgement

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Endpages (#litres_trial_promo)

About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)


Chapter One (#udc479be4-d12d-5852-b787-df2e41aecf00)

November 2005

I burned them all when I got home that day, a thick stack of bridal magazines that were dog-eared and flagged with a rainbow of Post-its that peeked from the edges of the pages. It’s strange, the acrid smell that comes from burning magazine pages – glossy and slick and heavily coated in ink. The pile seemed to burn painfully slowly as I watched, perched on the couch in my darkened living room, staring unblinkingly until the blaze became an indefinable blur of angry oranges and reds.

It was over. He was gone, and I was alone.

It sounded so simple, but it wasn’t. The situation was far from simple, at least for me. For Matt, it seemed the most uncomplicated decision of his life, one even easier to make than his decision to propose. The words slid from his mouth smoothly, almost silkily, as we sat across from each other at the table in the restaurant.

Our restaurant. The one we had eaten at on a weekly basis for the past three years.

Matt looked up from his nearly empty plate of cheese tortellini and said it as though he was telling me he was disappointed by the consistency of the sauce.

I think this engagement is a mistake.

I felt the floor falling out from under me as I sat in my green vinyl-padded cafe chair.

I think this engagement is a mistake. I need some time to figure things out, to know what’s best for me.

The handsome man sitting across the table from me suddenly seemed a stranger, a soulless replica of someone I loved and trusted. The face I knew – every angle, every freckle, every line etched by time – became an unfamiliar arrangement of features dulled by those crushing words.

Words that I didn’t even have the presence of mind to answer. How could I? The man I loved, the man who was supposed to love me, was now sitting across from me and saying words that eradicated every confidence I had in that love. There was a sick desperation growing in the pit of my stomach, a roiling mix of panic and anger that seemed to make speech impossible.

It was incomprehensible, this sudden revelation that the past five months of his life – of both our lives – were a mistake.

A mistake.

The words echoed in my mind like the report of gunfire in a tunnel.

He shook his head and expelled a puff of air, suddenly seeming aware of the effect of his words.

“This isn’t to hurt you, Eira. Please believe that,” he said, almost pleading. He reached out a hand and splayed it, palm down on the tabletop near me. A gesture of supplication, an attempt to bridge the distance between us that now seemed to be thousands of miles instead of the mere inches that it truly was. My gaze dropped from his eyes to his hand as I sat silently, feeling diminished and cold.

A hand that was so capable, so strong, yet so able to communicate tenderness. And so able to destroy things, just as his words had done. His hand continued to rest on the table while I stared at it, my eyes losing focus as tears stung them and threatened to escape. I blinked rapidly to clear them away, thoughts darting through my mind with the sharpness and speed of arrows. And just as painful.

A mistake.

I looked down at my own hands, resting limply in my lap, and saw a glint of platinum from the band of my engagement ring. The room seemed to darken as pinpricks of blackness danced in front of my eyes, threatening to shut out everything else and steal the air.

I couldn’t breathe.

“Eira?” The voice seemed distant, hollow and tinny, as though it was being telegraphed along string between two soup cans.

“Eira?” It sounded more urgent now, but still so distant.

I shook my head and shot up from my chair, barely clearing the table in my haste to rise to my feet. I had to get out of there, had to get some air. I had to be able to breathe.

Breathe.

I had to consciously think about it as I lurched frantically towards the ladies’ room, each rasping gulp of air a struggle.

I stumbled into the bathroom, reaching desperately for the nearest sink and clinging to it for support. I fought against the bile rising in my throat, the suffocating absence of air. How could this be happening?

When had the man who was supposed to love me fallen out of love?

How had I missed the signs?

Come to think of it, where had the signs been?

I gripped the white porcelain sink, my knuckles and fingertips turning ghostly under the pressure. I was never going to be able to go back out there and face him. How could I? I shook my head and clamped my eyes shut against the unbidden tears that burned them.

This wasn’t happening, I thought again. This was not happening.

“Are you okay, honey?” a small voice behind me asked.

“Uh huh,” I managed, sounding unconvincing even to myself. I sniffled and nodded, my eyes still clenched tightly. “I’ll be fine.” It came out like a squeak, resonating harshly off the black and white subway tiles that lined the walls.

“Are you sure? Do you need me to get someone for you?” the voice offered.

I shook my head silently.

No, I wasn’t sure.

And no. No, there wasn’t anyone she could get for me. Not any more.

I opened my eyes and straightened up, venturing to look in the mirror. The reflection wasn’t me – it seemed like a stranger, like a woman I’d never seen before. The woman staring back at me looked drawn, her bloodless face punctuated by eyes dulled with despair.

She looked hollow.

Hollow. That sensation of hollowness seemed the only thing I had in common with this strange woman in the mirror, this woman who was really me.

I felt somehow like something had been stolen. Maybe – in a way – it had.

I shifted my focus to the reflection of the petite woman standing behind me, concern deeply etched on her face. Her eyebrows were knitted so tightly together they formed almost a straight line above her bright blue eyes. Blonde curls had escaped from her ponytail, an odd contrast to her otherwise blunt features. She looked to be about ten years older than me, but I knew from experience that looks can belie actual age. Even though I was twenty-five, most people took one look at me and assumed me to be younger.

I gave her a weak smile in the mirror, then took a deep breath.

“I’m fine. Really.” My voice became a little more determined. “Thank you.”

She nodded, still looking less than convinced. She hesitated a moment, giving me one last look before she wordlessly opened the door and disappeared, leaving a breeze of spicy, floral scented air in her wake.

The bathroom was empty now, and I was alone. The feeling seemed to echo off of every surface of the harshly lit room. I crossed the tiles on unsteady feet to look for some way – any way – out of there besides the door that would lead me back to the dining room and the man who sat at my table, waiting with empty plates and broken promises. It seemed impossible, this change that had happened to my life in five seconds.

I had been expecting a quiet evening with my fiancГ©, an evening in which we left nothing behind at the restaurant other than the tip. Instead, I was leaving all the dreams I had been dreaming since I was a little girl, discarded with the crumpled napkins beside my empty plate.

There was nothing to do, no other way of escape from the bathroom that now seemed like a cage rather than a refuge. I wanted to go home, to crawl into bed and sleep and wake up to find that this had all been a nightmare. I closed my eyes as the room started to spin, my chest feeling heavy with the pressure of all the unanswered questions.

Deep breaths, I reminded myself.

I was going to have to go back out there. I had no choice in the matter. But I did have a choice in how I handled things from this point on.

Maybe Matt was just feeling nervous as the number of days until our wedding dwindled. Normal cold feet, right? Surely that’s all this was. Once he had a chance to think this through, he would realize that he really didn’t want to call off our wedding. That everything we’d planned for our life together was still what he wanted. Nothing had changed between us, so this was the only logical explanation.

Right?

I took another deep breath and opened my eyes, steeling myself to walk out the door. I had to be calm and rational. I had to be the one to keep a level head right now, since Matt seemed to be temporarily incapable of that. Sure, he was putting up a great front and giving the appearance of complete control, but it had to be just that – a front. Underneath it all, he was probably just feeling the pressure of the countdown.

If we could just talk about this…

I reached for the door handle and pulled it open, the weight suddenly seeming far greater than I remembered. As I made my way back to the table, I tried my best to gather my thoughts into some semblance of order, and to find any measure of composure possible.

And then, I lost it.

When I reached the table, I found it empty. Aside from the detritus of our shared meal, the only thing waiting for me in the dining room was a napkin, its white paper layers interrupted by a hastily scrawled message.

I’m sorry.


Chapter Two (#udc479be4-d12d-5852-b787-df2e41aecf00)

There seemed no explanation – –no reasonable, traceable steps showing how we got from two people so in love to this place.

To the napkin I held in my hand as I sat on the couch, three hours later.

Three very long, very tear-filled hours later.

There was a headache pressing now at the base of my skull, my penance to pay for allowing myself to finally fall apart once I’d come home.

I’d held a very tenuous grip on it all until then, managing to very carefully, very quietly ask the waiter for the bill, unsure of whether Matt might have had the decency to at least pay for our final meal together. To my relief, he had taken care of it, one last gesture of kindness tossed in my direction like another balled up napkin.

I’d continued to hold on, feeling my grip losing strength, as I walked home, four miles that Matt had undoubtedly assumed would be travelled in a cab.

I had walked slowly, barely registering my surroundings as I took each step, trying to make some sort of reasonable sense of what had just taken place.

Not that any of this made any reasonable sense.

My fiancé had ended our relationship without a real explanation, leaving me nothing but a hastily scrawled apology – on a napkin. It sounded almost like the headliner on one of those ridiculous, sensationalist afternoon talk shows. I wasn’t sure whether to start laughing hysterically at the absurdity and outrageousness of the entire thing or to start crying.

My instincts suggested the latter action, but the tears burning my throat seemed to be warring with both shock and anger.

Had this been my fault? Had I pushed him too hard, put too much pressure on him to get married? We’d been together so long, and it had seemed like the next logical move. Logic aside, even – it was something I’d been dreaming of since the early stages of our relationship. I loved Matt so much, and there was nothing I wanted more than to share a life with him. To build a family and a home with him.

And now the whole thing was being torn apart, finalized by words on a napkin.

When had he stopped wanting a life with me?

When had my dream become a nightmare?

I couldn’t stop staring at the napkin.

I’m sorry.

I shifted on the couch, wondering if throwing the napkin in the fire with the nearly destroyed stack of magazines would reverse the words and set everything back to the way it was supposed to be. I looked at the sparkling engagement ring on my left hand and contemplated hurling it into the fireplace along with everything else. It would simply end up charred by the flames, sticky blackness masking the radiant beauty that it had once been.

The flicker of the fire gave the room a warm glow, but I still felt chilled. I pulled my legs up under me and reached for the throw I kept folded in a basket next to the couch. I was so tired and so cold, but I couldn’t bring myself to go to bed.

Not yet. I knew I wasn’t anywhere near sleep, not with everything that was going on in my head right now, despite my extreme fatigue. It wasn’t physical exhaustion – it was emotional. I felt as though someone had died, that same nebulous sense of loss and hopeless helplessness, and it was draining.

I put the square white napkin on the floor beside the couch and looked up at the ceiling as shadows danced over its surface, set in motion by the flicker of the firelight. I felt so alone, but there wasn’t really anything I could do about that. Sure, I could call someone – my mother or my sister, but the idea of having to pick up the phone and explain everything when I didn’t even understand it myself seemed almost too much to handle. I couldn’t string two coherent thoughts together at this point, much less an entire conversation.

I closed my eyes and tried to turn everything off, to feel nothing, to numb every part of my brain and my body and just… float.

Float up to the ceiling and dance through the shadows.

Matt wasn’t answering his phone. I’d called twice, already, and I knew calling any more than that would do more harm than good. I couldn’t let myself become that girl – the needy, desperate girl who called every two minutes in tears. As much as I wanted and needed answers, I couldn’t allow myself to do that.

I had to be stronger than that.

Tomorrow, I thought. Tomorrow everything would make more sense. To me, and to Matt. And I would be glad that I’d kept silent and not alerted anyone to what was going on right now, at this moment. Because tomorrow, it would all be straightened out, and Matt would realize that we were meant to be together. We’d been so happy – maybe he had just lost sight of that. Maybe it had been eclipsed by a momentary case of nerves.

All very normal. All very fixable.

Yes, that had to be it, I thought determinedly as I closed my eyes. We would talk and work it out, and everything would be back the way it was supposed to be. We would get married, and I would be Mrs Matthew Noble, and we would have our two-point-five children and a dog and a house with a white picket fence in the suburbs.

It would all be okay. It would all be just fine in the morning, in the cleansing light of day.

Matt just needed to remember how we got here, why we got here. Maybe he just needed to be reminded. Sometimes, in the happy glow of ease, pain is too easily forgotten. All the steps and the struggles that have shaped us become softened by time, and complacency blurs reality to make us believe that any new bump in the road is justification for surrender. As though we have been stripped of our fighting spirit. He needed to be reminded that we were too important to throw away on a whim.

On a napkin.

I shook off the fingers of doubt that were creeping back in, threatening to strangle the faith I was so desperately clinging to.

He would remember. Matt would remember.

Remember how we met, how we fell in love. How much we both wanted this life together.

Tomorrow, he would remember.


Chapter Three (#ulink_8ab79661-02cd-5b1d-b152-e61d456d5de0)

February 2002

“My mother always warned me to watch out for redheads,” a voice behind me said. “They’re dangerous.”

The words were hardly audible above the din of the darkened bar. Music rumbled in the background, competing for everyone’s attention against raucous laughter and a thousand different conversations all shifting shape under the neon glow of lighted beer signs.

I turned from my table companion to see who was speaking and came face to face with the man I wanted to marry. It was that simple and that complicated.

Of course, it wasn’t something I knew right then, in those first moments. Nothing I could have known, and, I think, nothing I would have believed if someone had told me. In those moments, it was simply a meeting between two strangers, a smile exchanged, witty banter volleyed like a tennis ball.

“Are we now,” I said, taking the bait and feeling a stupid smile slip beyond my control to light up my face. Light it up and set it on fire.

All under my flame-colored hair.

Luckily, the handsome face returned my smile, revealing perfect, white teeth. He had a slightly crooked nose, long and narrow, set between eyes the color of melted dark chocolate.

“Very. Hot tempers and all that,” he drawled.

“Ah. And here I thought we were just horribly blush-prone.” No matter that the red hair pulled back into a low ponytail at the nape of my neck was compliments of L’Oréal rather than genetics. Most people assumed that it was natural, given my coloring and the authenticity of the shade, and I felt no need to give a perfect stranger such insight into my beauty habits. A lady has to have some secrets, after all.

“Well, I wasn’t going to mention it, but – your face does sort of match your hair.” The more he spoke, the more I wanted him to say. He seemed magical.

“You sure do know how to charm a lady, don’t you?” I said, still blushing profusely and smiling so hard my face hurt. It seemed impossible to stop either one, even though I would have given my right arm at that moment to be able to return my face to a normal shade.

“It’s a God-given gift, what can I say?” he laughed, running long fingers over a small patch of the stubble that shadowed his jaw.

“One of many, I’m sure.” I’d finally managed to lower the wattage of my smile, but I was betting I was still pretty red.

“Definitely. And I can build a Lego castle like nobody’s business.”

I leaned closer, crooking my finger at him so that he would bend down. “I wouldn’t advertise that,” I whispered.

“Noted,” he whispered back, smiling broadly. His eyes were warm and seemed to dance under the overhead lights. “Does that mean you’re not impressed by Lego?” he asked, straightening and pulling a chair up next to mine. His gaze flickered over to my table mates, and he flashed a small smile at them. “Sorry I’m late, guys, traffic was a nightmare.”

Surprise must have registered on my face, because the smile broadened when he looked back at me.

“I guess I’m going to have to do the honors, since this bunch seem to be inept at introductions.” He leaned forward in the chair he was now occupying and extended his hand. “I’m Matt.”

I grasped his proffered hand, realizing that I hadn’t yet recovered from my initial shock at his joining us.

“Eira,” I stammered back.

His grip was cool and strong, the size of his hand making my own seem small and delicate by comparison. A look of confused interest flashed through his eyes and tugged at the corners of his mouth before the question passed from his brain to his lips.

“Sorry?”

This was definitely not a new response to my name.

“Eira,” I repeated. I smiled patiently, realizing that he was probably embarrassed at his reaction. “Eira,” I said one more time, just to make sure he caught it above the ambient noise of the bar. “E-I-R-A. It rhymes with Tyra.”

“Is that short for something?”

“No, actually. Full name.” I reclaimed my hand reluctantly, feeling a little silly to notice that neither of us had let go. “It’s Norse for help or mercy. And, yes, it’s a real name,” I said, absently smoothing a wrinkle from the lap of my jeans.

“Well, Eira, it sounds to me like you’ve gotten more than your fair share of crap over your name,” Matt said sheepishly.

I cocked my head and smiled with the slightest trace of acidity.

“It shows, then, does it?”

He held up his hand, thumb and index fingertips spaced millimeters apart. “Tiny bit.” He grinned and dropped his hand into his lap.

“So tell me. How do you know this lot?” he asked, indicating the group around us, all of whom now seemed completely unconcerned with our presence.

“I was just about to ask the same of you,” I replied, arching an eyebrow. “But since you asked first, I guess I’ll have to wait.” I reached for the seltzer water in front of me, rolling the skinny red stirring straw between my fingertips as I formulated my reply.

“You want the short story or the long one?”

“I’ll take the Reader’s Digest condensed version for now,” he answered, his eyes leaving my face long enough to catch the attention of our waitress. She gathered her round plastic tray from the corner of the bar where she’d been holding post and began to weave her way through the packed tables dotting the room.

I held my answer until she’d left us to retrieve Matt’s requested bottle of beer.

“Let’s just say we all met through a mutual acquaintance, and I got custody of the friends in the divorce.” I lifted a shoulder and pressed my lips together in a rueful smile.

Matt widened his eyes. “Ah.”

I realized my cryptic answer was a little too cryptic and left too much to speculation. “Not that there was an actual divorce,” I said hurriedly. “Or even a marriage,” I continued, growing more and more flustered by the second.

And redder.

Let’s not forget redder.

“I think we should keep all the paper in the place away from you, or you’re liable to start a fire.” Matt chuckled, enjoying my embarrassment entirely too much.

“Oh, shut up,” I muttered, glaring at him good-naturedly.

“Wow. Five minutes I’ve known her, and already she’s telling me to shut up,” he said in mock injury. “Feisty spirits to match the hair.” He was smiling crookedly at me, so I knew he wasn’t serious.

“Oh, stop it!” I lobbed a balled up napkin at him. “Seriously, though,” I continued, trying to regain some sort of grasp on a serious expression. “Just a bad break up.”

“And you got to keep the friends,” Matt supplied. “Must have been really bad. Anyone I would know?” he asked, his curiosity obviously piqued.

I pursed my lips. This was really not something I wanted to get into–not here, not now. Not with a guy I’d only just met. Wasn’t there some sort of rule against that, anyway? Not dredging up old flames and old wounds on a first date? Not that this was actually a date, just a chance meeting of two people who seemed to be hitting it off quite well.

But still.

“How �bout let’s not and say we did?” I suggested, smiling mirthlessly. “Spotlight’s yours, Matt. How did you come to be part of this merry band of misfits?”

He shifted in his chair, settling against the back and bringing an ankle up to rest on his knee. He rounded out the move by draping his right arm across the back of my own chair, the picture of cool and casual.

“Nothing as interesting as your story, I’m sure. I work on base with a few of these knuckleheads,” Matt replied with a shrug.

I watched him closely, unsure of where this conversation could possibly go now.

“I wonder where that waitress is with your beer,” I said, looking around the bar with a curiosity I didn’t really feel.

Matt followed my gaze, then shrugged.

“Maybe she had to fly to Belgium to personally pick it out,” he said with a small smirk. “Either that, or she got lost on her way back to our table. She didn’t seem all that bright.”

I turned my full attention back to him, raising my eyebrows in surprise. It seemed such a rarity that intelligence trumped looks in the eyes of the male population.

“You mean you noticed that, what with those boobs staring you in the face and all?” I asked, smiling sweetly.

“Oh, I see,” Matt laughed, his eyes twinkling.

“See what?” I narrowed my eyes.

Matt looked left, then right in mock furtiveness and leaned forward. He motioned me in closer so that I would be able to hear him.

“Boob envy,” he whispered soberly.

I frowned at him and punched his forearm. “You’re ridiculous.”

“And you’re violent,” he teased. “Has anyone ever suggested anger management classes?”

“Only once or twice,” I laughed. “Right before I introduced them to my mean left hook.” I held up my balled up fist and broke out into a devilish grin.

“Brains and brawn, huh? Aren’t you the full package.” Matt studied me for a moment, and I felt myself start to flush again.

“Well, when your cup size sounds like a battery size,” I said, glancing down at the nearly imperceptible bumps that occupied the region of my body required to classify them as breasts. My eyes widened, and I looked back up at Matt in horror.

“Did I just say that out loud?”

Fortunately, he was laughing.

“Wow,” he chuckled, shaking his head. “You know, not every guy out there is concerned with that. At least, not the ones who actually have their priorities straight.”

Our overly-endowed waitress magically appeared with Matt’s bottle of beer and set it down in front of him with a flourish.

“There you go,” she declared breathily. She twinkled vacantly at him, ignoring my attempts to get her attention until I tapped her on the shoulder.

“I’m sorry, I can see that you’re extremely busy and all, but could I get some more seltzer?”

While my sarcasm wasn’t lost on Matt, it seemed to fly right over the waitress’s head. The smile plastered on her spackled face slipped for a second, then slid back into place. She’d turned off the sparkle, though, since I wasn’t a muscle-bound member of the male species.

“Sure thing, sweetie,” she said, heading off to get my drink, her hips swaying pendulously in her skin-tight jeans as she moved.

We watched her progress towards the bar, a steady succession of male heads swiveling to note her passage as she walked by them. I shook my head silently and smiled humorlessly.

“No one watches me that way when I walk across the room.”

Matt’s eyes held mine steadily, not a trace of mockery in his reply. “How do you know?”


Chapter Four (#ulink_8ab79661-02cd-5b1d-b152-e61d456d5de0)

I never considered myself particularly adventurous – I didn’t itch for adrenaline, I didn’t have a need to trek up the side of a mountain or plummet thousands of feet towards Earth after jumping from the belly of a plane. Some people make lists of things like this, determined to complete every item on their list before they kick the proverbial bucket.

I, on the other hand, tended towards lists of the more attainable kind – the less adventurous kind. The kind usually classified under the heading of “To Do.” It was safe, it was controllable (at least, to some extent), and it was satisfying enough to stave off any niggling need I had for something more. It kept me distracted, kind of like chewing gum to keep your mind off the cigarette you really want.

What I really wanted wasn’t adventurous.

At least, not in most people’s minds.

What I really wanted was to get married, to wake up every morning and know that someone loved me and wanted to share their life with me. To know that my toothbrush wasn’t the only one in the holder.

Not exactly a harrowing, exhilarating existence; but it was what I’d been dreaming of, what was on my list.

It was what seemed so impossibly unattainable, what I tried so hard not to think about.

Sometimes I stood in line at the checkout of a store, my eyes roving aimlessly over the magazines that flanked either side like paper sentrymen. The bridal magazines mixed in with the tabloids and fashion glossies seemed as irrelevant to me as an issue of Men’s Health or Forbes, touting inapplicable advice. I may have been young for such a jaded perspective, but I’d had enough frustrations with dating, with laying my heart on the line, for the sentiment to seem reasonable. After all, in every situation I’d encountered so far, the guys had all presented themselves in such a way that made them seem far more interested in settling down to start a family than they actually were – especially after a few weeks with me, a girl who left no doubt that my own personal convictions would allow nothing more than a bit of making out. The sentiment of, “Wow, that’s so great, that must take a lot of self-control,” were replaced by attempts to get me to cross my own line, to give in to their particular brand of magic and my own human tendencies. And when I didn’t… the boredom crept in, and they let me see just how immature they could be.

It was a pattern I had grown to expect, one that made dating lose its allure. Still, it kept me from wasting my time with dead-end relationships, since it seemed to weed out the players; so in its own way, my self-imposed celibacy was insurance. But it definitely left me struggling to see why anyone would truly consider the dating scene “fun”. For me, all it seemed to produce was stress.

Little wonder, then, that I had basically resigned myself to the idea that I would never have my own chance to walk down the aisle in the frothy white dress towards Happily Ever After. Somewhere along the way, the sharp-edged pain of that realization had become like the dull arthritic ache that warns of impending rainstorms.

Which was why, when I met Matt, I never seriously considered the possibility of anything more than flirtatious friendship with him. I was so used to my dating life hitting dead ends that I’d lost any hint of the spark of anticipation that usually accompanies a first date. I was more in the “let’s just get this over with” school of thought. Matt seemed to be just another guy I could add to the buddy list – not that I hadn’t ever noticed how handsome or charming or perfect he was.

Quite the contrary, actually. I noticed with regular frequency, but it wasn’t an observation I allowed to go any farther than that. I was too afraid – too afraid that the feelings I had for such a great friend would catapult me into dangerous territory. I wasn’t ready for that kind of vulnerability, not after the rough relationships I’d been through in the past. While I’d never done more than date, I’d certainly invested my whole heart in a few guys who had never come to see me as anything more than a friend. Unrequited love that lasted for years, so loyal was I. And, in that compromised position, I had allowed myself to be hurt, to go out of my way, above and beyond the call of duty, in the slim hope that they would finally, finally see the light and realize that I was their soulmate.

No, it was better this way, to remain friends with Matt. Better to test the waters with other people I wasn’t emotionally involved with, in case the waters turned out to be unfavorable. It was less messy that way.

None of this was anything we actually ever discussed, of course. It was an implied knowledge, a silent agreement under which we seemed to operate, and one that seemed to satisfy us both.

After our meeting that first night in the bar, there was an easy rapport between us. Matt and I ran into each other with an increasing regularity that went from serendipitous to intentional, with the occasional midnight rendezvous in the cereal aisle of Wal-Mart thrown in. After a few months of the intermittent meetings, we slid into a comfortable routine.

Regular trips to Starbucks to sip coffee and talk as people walked by, movie dates that turned into marathon premiere parties. A weekly table at Marinara, a small Italian restaurant that was a few miles from each of our apartments that became our place. We killed countless hours talking about anything and everything – misspent youths and relationships, both past and present.

But as much time as we spent together, as intimately as we knew each other, as much as we loved one another, we’d never explored anything beyond friendship.

Some people might have wondered at that, but we both considered it to be the wisest move.

It kept things simple – until it didn’t.

After a year of the non-dating-dating and an emotional intimacy so deep we could finish each other’s sentences, there was an unconscious shift in our relationship.

On my end, at least.

Sometimes it was easy to forget, to lose myself in the comfortable familiarity we shared, and think of us as a couple. And then reality would come crashing down on my head when he relayed the events of a date he’d had the night before or asked my advice about what a certain woman might be thinking.

It wasn’t as though he didn’t know how I felt – how much I loved him and wanted to try, to give us a shot.

I’d told him once, one night when I was sufficiently emboldened by the frustration of a particularly bad blind date. I had come home to find a message from Matt on my machine, eagerly awaiting details on the meeting, and just the sound of his voice had calmed me down enough to make me realize that I wasn’t simply tired of the madness of the dating game. I was tired of wasting my time with guys I knew I would never connect with the way I did with Matt.

Guys I would never love the way I loved Matt.

I had needed to see him, to talk to him face to face. I rushed back out of my apartment, fueled by the immediacy of my need, the urgency I had for him to know.

I screeched into a parking spot in front of Matt’s place, never giving thought to the fact that he might have company of his own or that I might be interrupting something. It hadn’t mattered to me at that point. All that had mattered was that I knew now that I loved him, was in love with him, and that he needed to know.

“Do you ever wonder, Matt?” I had asked after finding him sprawled out on the couch, resplendent in a ratty tee shirt and the Superman pyjama bottoms I’d given him the previous Christmas.

He had looked at me quizzically and shifted on the couch, silently patting the spot he’d cleared for me. I flopped down, feeling an odd mix of excitement, nervousness, and boldness.

“Wonder what?”

I turned sideways to face him, pulling my legs up under me and resting my head on the back of the couch. I’d closed my eyes for a brief moment and taken a deep breath, feeling my resolve slip ever so slightly.

“Wonder what?” Matt repeated softly, reaching out to tuck an errant lock of hair behind my ear.

I opened my eyes to see him looking at me intently, concern written clearly on his face.

Now or never, Eira, I thought.

“Do you ever wonder if we should try – if maybe we could,” I had paused, unsure of how to phrase the question. “What about us?”

The question had been almost a whisper. My chin was starting to quiver, and I could feel tears forming. I had wanted so badly to hear him say he felt the same way I did, but I was terrified that he wouldn’t.

And that then nothing would ever be the same.

How could it have been?

He’d ducked his head, dropping his gaze to his hands and then raising his eyes back to meet mine. They were full of undisguised affection, but there was a seriousness in them that gave it all away before the words had even left his mouth.

“Eira,” he’d started, his hushed voice cutting through the absolute silence of the room as effectively as if he was shouting. He had taken my hands in his, enveloping them in his warm strength, his thumbs rubbing gently over the tops of my hands.

“You know I love you, Eira. You know that, right?” he asked.

I nodded mutely, not trusting myself to say anything.

“I love you, but not the way that you need me to – the way that you should be loved.” He smiled a small smile edged with sadness. “Besides, I’m screwed up. You don’t need that, Eira. You deserve better than that – I want you to have better than that.”

There. He had said it.

All the things I knew I’d already known but was hoping had changed in the past year. I had listened silently, my heart breaking a little more with each word. I realized then, of course, that these were so many of the standard responses to this situation, the quickest route to damage control. But I also knew that the man saying them wasn’t just any man. He was my best friend, and someone I didn’t ever want to lose. I had trusted him not to serve me with platitudes, trusted him to be honest with me about his feelings. Even if he couldn’t give me the answers I wanted to hear.

I’d wondered as I looked into his eyes if I would be able to live like this, to continue to be his friend while he dated other women, when I loved him, was in love with him, and wanted more. He squeezed my hands, the gentle pressure communicating his understanding of the struggle going on in my head and in my heart.

“I’m not ready for you, Eira. You should have someone who will be fully committed to you, and right now I’m not emotionally in that place.” He looked away for a moment. “There’s a reason I haven’t been on a date in three months, and it’s not because I haven’t been meeting women anywhere. It’s because right now, I don’t think I should be dating. Anyone.” He smiled at me fondly. “But if I was, you would definitely be at the top of the list.”

The conversation was done, the subject was closed. I felt so many things – hurt and confusion and disappointment. And a strange desire to argue, as though presenting my case well enough might change his mind, make him see that we were perfect for one another. That he really did love me enough, that he loved me the way that I loved him. I bit back the urge and swallowed the words I so desperately wanted to say.

“Will you tell me if you ever change your mind?” I asked quietly.

Matt nodded.

“You’ll be the first to know,” he said soberly.

I looked down at my hands, still ensconced in his, and blew out a long breath.

“So, what’s on the tube?” I asked, extricating my hands and turning to face forward on the couch. I felt more like fleeing the apartment, burying myself in the safety and solitude of my bed, and hiding from the world while I cried. But I was determined to put on a brave face, to soldier on as though nothing had changed between us.

As much as I wanted it to be true, it wasn’t.

Nothing was the same, and nothing would ever be the same.

Because I knew for certain that I loved him – and that he didn’t love me back.

Months later, not even that was certain.


Chapter Five (#ulink_8ab79661-02cd-5b1d-b152-e61d456d5de0)

From:Eira Larson

To:Matthew Noble

Subject:Please Read This Right NOW: I’m Going to be Totally Honest

Date:October 12, 2004

Right now I’m terrified.

Again, I don’t really know how I should be feeling, but terrified is one of the first things that comes to mind.

I want to be happy.

I want to be able to take the memory of Friday night and for it to be simple.

I want to take the memory of your face, your hands, your taste, the ridge of your jaw, your hair in my fingers–the feeling of you so close that all I wanted to do was get closer–I want to be able to think about all of those things without the sickening feeling that it was all a lie.

Was it?

Was it just some conjuring of my imagination that’s going to dissipate in the next gust of wind? I feel like I’ve lost my equilibrium, and I have no one to talk to about this except you. Only you know what you were thinking, so please tell me, Matt.

We crossed the line we’ve been dancing next to for so long, and now I need to know where to go from here. I have no choice but to take your lead. As much as I trust you, I’m afraid of what you could do to me. You already knew you had the upper hand, but now I have nothing. I laid down all of my defenses, and now I feel like I’m waiting for the destroying blow, like I’m playing Battleship with someone who can see my board.

When will I sink?

Is this the part where you forget my name?

Is this the part where our friendship dissolves, and I never hear from you again, or the part where you tell me it was all a mistake?

Are you simply going to tell me that you were just feeling adventurous and wanted to see how far you could push the limit? I’m not asking this out of anger. I’m asking it with the heart of someone who has been stripped completely bare. I’m aware, as I write this, how cynical this all sounds. It makes me sad, how quickly fear follows on the heels of happiness.

For one night, I was in a fairy tale.

But I’m not naive, and you’ve plainly stated so many times how much you don’t want a relationship. With me. So now I’m anticipating something, some explanation of things in the same vein.

Or maybe I should just expect silence.

You wouldn’t be the first man in history to decide to throw friendship under the wheels of a bus, giving in to hormonal whims and walking away as though nothing has happened. But I’m hoping you’re above that.

I’m trusting that you’re above that. Please don’t prove me a fool. You have so much power in your hands right now, and I don’t know if you’re even aware.

I need to talk to you, I need to be able to look into your eyes and see what’s going on with you. We owe each other that much, I think, because at this point, the most damaging thing we could do to our relationship is to not talk about this.

Face to face.

You’ve become my best friend, Matt, and I thought you felt at least that much for me. Please don’t prove me mistaken on that, as well.

I’m feeling so alone right now in this attempt to sort things out. All of the women’s magazines and relationship books ever published have articles that scream at women over their stupidity in situations like this. All of the evidence, all of the patterns should be enough to keep me on my toes, strapped in to a bullet-proof vest.

But maybe I really am a fool.

I wanted to be able to go home and talk about things with someone–my sister, my mom–someone.

Someone who would listen to me excitedly relay the events of a date and the possibility of more dates in the future.

I wanted to run up and down your street shouting at the top of my lungs that you had finally kissed me. Instead, I had to go home and try to fall asleep with an excited rush of blood pounding in my ears, all the while trying to keep a firm grip on reality. Because this is the reality: I want there to be a later, and you don’t.

I’ve heard experts say that couples should expect nothing from each other. That way, when one of them does something–washing the dishes without being asked or putting a load of laundry in the dryer or bringing home a bouquet of roses–it’s a surprise and that much more appreciated.

I never expect anything from you, and maybe that’s been my problem.

Having no expectations works within the commitment of marriage, but outside of that, it leaves you terribly vulnerable.

I never expect anything from you, so when you call–at 4 a.m. in the middle of a hurricane, from California when you’re on your way to a buddy’s wedding, while you’re out having new tires put on your truck–I come running. I come running in the hopes that maybe something will make you change your mind, and I live with the delusion that maybe being your fallback plan will change. I’m worth more than being a fallback plan, just as you are worth more than being some woman’s one-night stand.

I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t wondering how you spent your weekend and if you were thinking about me at all.

I’d be lying if I said I really didn’t care.

I don’t know if your kisses were a lie, but mine weren’t, and I won’t say it was a mistake.

Please talk to me, Matt. We need to talk about this–no phones, no computers, no fumbled explanations in a restaurant parking lot.

Please.

Yours,

Eira

From:Matthew Noble

To:Eira Larson

Subject:RE: Please Read This Right NOW: I’m Going to be Totally Honest

Date:October 12, 2004

Eira

I was out all weekend with friends, so it isn’t that I chose to ignore you.

All I can say is that I think you’re a great person, and I care about you as a friend. I wanted to feel more, but as I told you before, I don’t.

I thought maybe Friday night would change things, make me feel something I didn’t already–that it would be different to kiss you and hold you–but it wasn’t.

I can’t make myself feel something I don’t. That’s the bottom line–I was trying to make myself feel something I don’t; and in retrospect, it was a mistake.

But I wouldn’t have known, had I not tried.

I think we should be able to take Friday night, keep the memory of it inside for warm, great thoughts of times past, and press on.

I won’t do it again, make you suffer again–but you also have to understand that there will be nothing more. We never will be more than friends, but I don’t want to lose our friendship over this.

I know it hurts, but you’ve been nothing but honest, so I want to give you honesty in return.

Matt

From:Eira Larson

To:Matthew Noble

Subject:RE: RE: Please Read This Right NOW: I’m Going to be Totally Honest

Date:October 12, 2004

Matt

Thank you for getting back to me. And for being honest.

As I said before, the rational part of my brain knew that this was coming.

It struck me, though, as I read your e-mail, that you seem to be looking for instantaneous lightning bolts.

Sometimes, lightning never comes. Sometimes, it’s a whisper.

I won’t lie and say that I want to take anything that happened on Friday night back.

The heart wants what it wants, and I’ve wanted that for almost two years.

You didn’t do anything wrong, and I don’t think either of us should regret anything. I guess neither of us would have ever known if you hadn’t taken the initiative; there always would have been that little bubble of wondering.

So maybe I should thank you for finally taking the risk.

I don’t want our friendship to be damaged, either, but I also know it will be a little while before the sadness will wear from the memory of Friday night.

Still, I’ll pick up and move on.

I always do, right?

But there’s always sadness that comes along with the loss of hope, the realization that someone you trust with so much of yourself doesn’t love you back.

So this is the part where I tell you there’s nothing to worry about.

I’ll be okay.

We’re okay.

Everything’s fine.

And eventually, maybe it’ll be true.

Eira

Those e-mails should have been the end of things. I should have shown some backbone, some courage, and allowed myself to get angry, rather than letting it so completely shatter me that I was weak enough to let things go on. It would have made more sense, really. But by then, I was past making sense of things. Sensible decisions seemed almost something I was incapable of, when it came to Matt. Or any guy in whom I’d invested my heart, if I was perfectly honest. I created my own problems, but I was too blinded by emotions to see it.

Instead, though, I had allowed our “friendship” to continue. I sucked it up and decided that I was going to be a big girl about the whole situation.

When all was said and done, I was too afraid of losing him. Even though Matt wasn’t mine, I didn’t want to lose the relationship we did have.

And I was just delusional enough that I was still clinging to a tiny shred of hope that maybe he would change his mind. If I proved to him that I was strong, that I was willing to stay, that I was loyal – maybe, just maybe Matt would realize how much he loved and needed me.

To say that out loud to someone would have made me sound pathetic, and I knew it.

But I was still determined, and I was a determined woman in denial.

And a determined woman in denial is hard to derail.

True, he’d told me countless times in the past two years that our relationship would never be more than friendship. Yet he knew how much I loved him, how much I wanted a future with him, and he made sure he maintained a deep friendship that would most assuredly keep me emotionally bound to him.

If that didn’t say he wasn’t completely convinced of his own lack of feelings for me, then what did it say? I had allowed that supposition to completely blind me, to rob me of rationality that would have, in other areas of my life, made me stand up for myself and my own dignity. But I had never been completely confident in myself when it came to my dating relationships, never quite convinced that there was really enough in me to make someone take notice and decide that they wanted a future with me.

It was an emotional flaw I could hardly trace to my parents’ relationship. They were exemplary in the marriage they had created, the way they complemented one another. True, they were hardly perfect, and they were quick to admit that to one another as well as to Claire and me. So they’d never conveyed the expectations of fairy tales or the unattainable hope that love came easy – but they did show what was possible when both hearts were dedicated. They had always shown us that true love could last, but it required mutual respect and honor. And they raised their daughters to know that they were worth being honored and cherished. So why had I never fully been able to embrace that lesson when it came to my own relationships?

It was actually something that both my mother and my sister had addressed with me many times in the past, always raising their concern for my heart and their desire to see me happy in a relationship, without having to compromise myself to someone who couldn’t see me, who couldn’t cherish me.

Little wonder, then, that when I fell for Matt, I fell hard; and that that tendency to let my heart get thrown under the bus repeatedly kept me from observing the signs and actually listening when Matt told me he would never be interested in more than friendship. I was naive enough, insecure enough, to hope for more – all the while allowing my heart to ride a sickening rollercoaster of emotions.

And what about all those long, meaningful looks?

What about the familiarity we’d shared for so long and all of those times we had come so close to kissing?

Two years of the air between us crackling with electricity, of becoming so close people often assumed we were married.

And then, that untaken step had been taken, and he’d kissed me.

We had started the evening much like any other Friday night, draped on his couch, watching a movie. When he came back to reclaim his spot after getting a glass of water, there was a palpable shift in the room. He was focused – tightly wound – and his gaze seemed to sear through me.

He leaned forward, closing the distance between us.

In those seconds, time seemed to grind to a halt, and my mind raced.

I searched his eyes, hoping for some sign of something, wondering if this would be the beginning of the change I’d been waiting so long for.

Wondering if I should stop him from blurring the lines any more than they already were.

Wondering if I had the strength to.

And then silencing all of my logical instincts, laying down my defenses, and giving in to my emotions.

Now I was left with the knowledge that everything had changed for me, while he seemed to want to retreat to what was looking strangely like cool civility. It was heartbreaking, and I had no idea how to proceed, other than to take it on the chin. After all, we were both adults, right? I wasn’t just going to pack up my toys and go home when I didn’t get my way.

I was not going to be the one to hide, and I spent the next five months proving it.


Chapter Six (#ulink_caf63caa-8ff5-573b-a5f6-b28a49f1bfe5)

I grew up in a military community, surrounded by the sight of uniforms and crew cuts and the sound of planes buzzing the skyline. The lifestyle was one I grew accustomed to, the ever-changing sea of people in my life a testament to the fluidity of the military, while I remained static. People were there one day and gone the next – sometimes without warning or explanation, sometimes for short blocks of time, sometimes permanently.

It all came with the territory, and I’d learned to roll with the punches.

Growing up around all of that prepared me for Matt and everything that his own military career entailed. He was sent on deployments so frequently that his days home were far outnumbered by his days away. Still, though, I always knew when it was coming. When Matt left, it was usually planned, expected, and definable. He’d never had to leave suddenly or without notice, never had to go somewhere that he couldn’t discuss.

I knew he had an upcoming deployment, and part of me was glad that he would be away for those few months.

It would give us some time apart, provide some space for me to think without it being a question of avoidance. It would grant me a reprieve from the façade I was so desperately trying to maintain.

During the five months between our kiss and Matt’s deployment, we continued to see each other regularly, to do things together just as we always had.

But there was always an underlying current of pretense, an unspoken barrier that had never been there before now.

We avoided the topic of what had happened between us as though it was forbidden, a strange source of shame. I wondered sometimes what would happen if I broached the subject, if I asked him if anything had changed. If he ever thought about that night with anything other than regret.

My tenacity was diminished in the face of this – this fear. That’s what it really was, if I was honest with myself.

I was afraid.

Afraid of losing him.

Afraid to let go of the tight control I’d kept on my heart, in case letting go meant realizing that it had been crushed to pieces.

A more “modern-thinking” woman might have been able to view our kiss with cool detachment, writing it off as a failed experiment – but for me, kissing had always been far too intimate a gesture to be passed out willy-nilly at the end of a date. Matt had known this – had always known this – which made the fact that he had finally made the first move so much more significant to me. And why I’d been struggling so much to let go of it.

The day of Matt’s upcoming deployment was circled on my calendar in red, an inky reminder that there was an end in sight, even if it was only a temporary one. Maybe then I’d be able to take a step back and regain some sense of control. I watched time dwindle as that circled date approached, a strange mix of relief and dread filling me every time I crossed through the calendar days.

I couldn’t remember the last time I’d felt so alone, so at a loss as to what to do.

I had friends that knew both of us, obviously, but none of them were close enough for me to lean on. Which also meant that none of them knew me on a deep enough level for me to trust them with such confidences as this.

It was times like this that I lamented my lack of having a sister nearby – or, at least a close female friend. Which was another reason that the whole situation with Matt was so hard to deal with. He was my best friend, my closest ally.

My confidante.

And everything I was struggling with was related to him and our relationship.

I drove him to the airport the morning of his deployment, wondering what would happen between now and when I picked him up again, ninety days from this moment.

Would he change his mind and realize that he loved me and was in love with me?

Would he come home and want to start a life with me?

Would I, in the meantime, be able to decide that I was going to move on to a life without him, or would I be able to satisfy myself with friendship?

So many questions and emotions crowded my mind that the trip to the airport passed in thick silence, and when Matt walked through the sliding doors of the airport’s main entrance, I felt something break. Every brick I’d had so firmly in place for the last five months crumbled into dust, and there was nothing left for me to do but cry.

He’d asked me, his friend, to take him to the airport and drop him off. No parking, no long goodbye, no loitering outside the security gate while he wound through the throng of travelers lined up to go through all the checkpoints and x-rays.

Just drop him off.

I could do that, right?

Of course I could, or so I thought. We were friends.

Which was why I was now sitting in my car, falling apart at the seams.

I had the next ninety days to figure out my life, but I had no idea if anything would change.

Or even how it needed to change.

All I knew was that I was miserable, and I was alone, and I needed not to be.

I needed my mother.

I reached into my glove box and rummaged around for some tissues to wipe my soggy face. No doubt there was mascara running rampant streaks down my cheeks, but at the moment, all I really cared about was talking to my mother. My wise, loving, understanding mother, who would have the answers I was looking for.

My mother, who still didn’t know about the kiss.

I hadn’t told her for fear of what she’d say. My relationship with Matt had been a bone of contention between us – not because she had anything against him, but because she knew how much of myself I’d invested and didn’t want to see me hurt. Sometimes mothers know too much, even when they don’t know everything. They know you well enough to read between the lines and see that your heart is on the line, even when you’re too blind to see the danger you’re rushing headlong into.

I knew how much she wanted to see me happy, but I also knew how she felt about my continuing such a close relationship with Matt, despite the fact that he’d told me it would never be more than friendship.

Despite that fact that I was in love with him and wanted more.

Despite the fact that she’d advised me on countless occasions to end it before my heart was smashed to smithereens. All of which explained and – in my way of thinking, at least – necessitated my withholding the details of the night that Matt and I had kissed.

For all she knew, nothing had changed between the two of us.

For all intents and purposes, that was true – we were still nothing more than friends.

Now, though, there was also a huge complication that was making everything even more painful than it had previously been.

It was torturous.

I felt like I’d walked across broken bottles on numb feet and had no idea when I would regain sensation. All that was certain was the fact that when I did, the pain would be excruciating.

There was nothing left to do but tell her.

It wasn’t like it could really make things any worse, could it? Sure, she would probably tell me that I should have known better and kept better guard of my heart, but I also knew she wouldn’t lord it over me just for the sake of making me miserable. She was my mother. She loved me, and all she really wanted was the best for me.

I pulled my phone from the purse on the seat beside me and stared at it for a moment, trying to find the words I was going to need. I shook my head at my own foolishness. There was no way I would really be able to prepare for this phone call. I was just going to have to suck it up and do it.

In the end, it was the best thing. I needed support and advice, and there was no better source for that than my own mother.

I guess you never really do outgrow that need, do you?

“Hi, babydoll, what’s up?” my mother said breezily when she answered.

“Oh, you know. Stuff,” I hedged, wondering how I was going to ease into this one.

“Stuff?” her voice was laden with skepticism.

She knew me well enough to read every nuance in my words, no matter how subtle I thought it was. The woman was truly superhuman.

“Uh huh. Stuff. Lots of stuff,” I said heavily, a sigh escaping unbidden. I closed my eyes and leaned forward to rest my forehead on the steering wheel. “I just dropped Matt at the airport. Actually, I’m still at the airport.” I sniffled and dabbed my runny nose with my already damp tissue.

“How long is he going to be gone?” she asked.

She knew how this worked; my parents were no strangers to the military machine. My father had retired after more than twenty years in the Air Force, and she had been with him for the majority of his career. My mother could easily sympathize with my concern for Matt and the feelings that came along with his absence.

“Ninety days,” I said flatly. “The usual. So,” I breathed, still not ready to dive into why I was actually calling. “How are you and Dad?” I was quite aware that my feeble attempt at evasion was transparent, but I was hoping my mother would take the hint and allow me some room to ease into things.

“We’re fine, just fine. Your father’s out washing the car, and I’ve just put the meat on for the spaghetti. We’re staying busy, I guess. But never too busy to have you up here for a nice long visit, if you ever find the time,” she hinted.

“Mama, you’re as subtle as a two-by-four,” I said, laughing.

“One of the many reasons you love me,” she replied, the smile evident in her voice.

“Yes, one of the many,” I echoed, realizing that I was going to have to talk.

Now or never. I sucked in a deep breath and held it.

“As is your wise counsel, which is actually why I’m calling,” I said as I released the breath.

“Ah hah,” she said soberly. “So tell me, honey. What’s really going on?”

I straightened in my seat and shifted my gaze to the headliner of the car, wishing there were words up there to read. It would have made things so much simpler.

“Matt and I kissed, Mom,” I blurted.

There was silence on the other end of the line as she processed the information I’d just imparted. I knew she would be choosing her words carefully, but I also knew she would be completely honest with me. She was one of the few people I knew would give me the unvarnished truth, and that was what I needed right now.

“I was wondering if that might not have happened yet. When?” she asked.

“Five months ago. It wasn’t planned. At least, not for me,” I replied. “It kind of just… happened,” I finished lamely. I realized how cliché I sounded, but it was true.

It had just happened.

“And then?”

“And then, we acted as though nothing happened. Or, at least, as much as we could. It’s there, now, though, and we both know it’s there. It’s like this big elephant in the room; there’s a palpable difference in our relationship. We do things together, just like always, Mom, but,” I paused, shaking my head. “It’s not the same. We’re not the same,” I sighed.

“How could you be?” she asked, reasonably. “He knew how seriously you take your relationship, and he knows the way you feel about him. It’s a mighty risky thing to do, Eira, for someone who thought it wasn’t going to go anywhere.”

I traced the seams on my steering wheel with my index finger, wondering what I was doing, where all of this would lead. I felt like I was on a runaway rollercoaster.

“I guess I was just deluding myself in believing that maybe we would be able to have a life together. A real life together,” I explained.

“You were hoping that Matt would open his eyes and finally see you.”

“Ludicrous, wasn’t it?” I barked out a little laugh of self-ridicule. I knew how stupid it sounded, how childish and naïve.

Maybe that was my problem.

Maybe that was the way Matt saw me, as a hopelessly naГЇve child.

“No, Eira, it wasn’t ludicrous. It was optimistic and romantic, and both of those things are traits I hope you never lose. Life has quite a way of jading people until they believe that real, selfless love isn’t possible, and that it’s not even worth the risk to try and find it. They won’t even admit it, but they’re afraid of the complications that love will have on their lives. People want everything to be perfectly definable and all wrapped up in a nice little box, and love isn’t like that. It’s messy. It’s complicated. It’s painful. Anything involving other people is like that, and when you open your heart, you make yourself vulnerable. Vulnerability is also a liability in many people’s eyes. A weakness. And so they run from it.” My mother sounded almost sad as she spoke, her insight obviously drawn from experience.

“Do you think that’s what’s happening now, with Matt? Do you think he’s running away from how he really feels about me, or do you think that he’s telling the truth? That he doesn’t have any feelings for me more than friendship?” I knew the answer I wanted, and she knew the answer I wanted. But I also knew she would be honest.

“I don’t know Matt’s heart, Eira. Maybe not even he knows what he’s really feeling. But maybe these next months away from you will give him time to figure all of that out.”

For almost as long as I could remember, my father drove a 1986 Saab 900S – a seemingly immortal piece of machinery and Swedish craftsmanship that wore its battle scars with pride. It was unmistakable – in more ways than one. Its approach was loud enough to hear halfway down the street, a sound that resembled the roar of jet engines, and its curving silhouette was what my father fondly described as “slipper-like.” As it aged, it also ailed, and my father had to find more and more ingenious ways of nursing the car along. Engine turnover required just the right combination of jiggles, wiggles, and cajoling – and even then, it wasn’t always a sure thing.

The car drew an interesting parallel to life, the way relationships must be handled with a degree of care and commitment peculiar to each person and each situation. Some need just the right sequence of jiggles and clicks, some require holding your head at a certain angle while you stand on one foot – whatever the mitigating circumstances, it all comes down to a decision that all the effort is worth it.

And then seeing it through.

Somehow, somewhere along the way, I’d made the decision that everything here was worth it. That my relationship with Matt was worth all the effort, all the nurturing, all the patience that sometimes felt exhausting and painful. There were days that I wanted to throw in the towel, to pick up the phone and tell Matt that this relationship we had was poisonous, dangerous, and that we would both be better off if things ended now. No more contact.

Just over.

And then I would remember how much I loved him, how much I wanted him to be part of my life – even if the degree to which he was part of my life wasn’t exactly what I wanted. I couldn’t imagine things without him, not after all the time I’d had to get used to him being there.

There would be such a chasm, a void, if he was gone. And I was afraid to face that.

So instead, I held on to what I considered the lesser of the two evils, a known entity, and reasoned that things would change eventually. Either he would come to his senses, or I would become blissfully desensitized.

That was where things seemed to stand the day Matt walked through the doors of the airport to start his deployment. The situation between us seemed about as firm as Jell-O when it’s in that state of not-quite-solid-not-quite-liquid before it’s set.

Which left the possibility of us figuring things out together any time soon seeming slim, too.

Matt’s ninety days of deployment seemed to pass both too slowly and too quickly. There were days that crept by endlessly, and days that were over before they’d even started. One thing that each of those ninety days held in common was the silence. No word – no phone calls, no e-mails, no letters. Nothing from Matt in the way of communication, and I felt sometimes as though I was going to go insane with worry.

All of the previous deployments during our friendship had been consistently peppered with e-mails and fairly regular phone conversations. Now, there was nothing. Nothing except the maddening absence, the deafening silence.

And the ambiguous way we’d left things before he’d gotten on that plane.

So here I was, stuck in limbo and caught in a state of indecision.

Maybe a more logical person would have taken those ninety days of silence and decided that none of it was worth any more thought, any more heartache.

Maybe those ninety days would have been used to rebuild a separate life, one that completely closed Matt out and cut him off, but I seemed unable to think past the immediacy of my need to fix this awkwardness between us.

And my inability to do it.

It was, strangely, like having my feet encased in cement.

And maybe just as dangerous.

I didn’t know what to do or really how to feel, and so I did what I always did when I didn’t know my next move – I worked, I worked some more, and when I wasn’t working, I took out my fine-tip pens and sketchpad and drew. For me, there was escape and release in the creativity I found on the white expanse of the page. I could express my emotions – my turmoils and joys – in the strokes of my pen, and people seemed to like the results.

I filled three sketchbooks while Matt was gone, creating a visual diary of sorts. Maybe one day I would know what to do with them, but for now, they were mine, tracing the arc of my heartbreak even as I hoped to find the beauty in all of this.



When Matt came home, when his deployment was over, and he walked past the security desk to meet me in the waiting area at the airport, the air seemed thick with all the words we weren’t saying. All the words that hadn’t been spoken in the ninety days he’d been gone, all of the words that needed to have been said in the now eight months that had passed since we’d kissed.

Now, they all seemed inescapable.

I knew – standing there, in the midst of all the people welcoming their loved ones home, teary as they wrapped each other in warm embraces – that things were going to have to change. We would have to decide, once and for all, where we stood. I wanted so badly to reach out to him, to close the gap between us that seemed like a chasm as wide as the Grand Canyon, but all of the uncertainty kept me rooted and silent.

And then it happened.

He took a step.

He placed his hand on my cheek, his touch feather light and tender, and whispered so softly that the words were nearly swallowed by the chaotic activity of the terminal.

“I love you, Eira Larson. Please tell me it’s not too late for me,” he breathed.

Matt’s eyes were moist with tears, all the pain and pleading and hope nakedly exposed on his face. I saw my own power to break him reflected in the depthless pools of his warm brown eyes, my own vulnerability mirrored by every emotion so plainly written there.

A choked sob escaped my lips, every moment of insecurity and pain and wanting bubbling to the surface and pushing past all the defenses I thought I’d so painstakingly constructed. I wasn’t sure I could trust my voice enough to tell him everything I wanted to say, but I also knew the gravity of this moment. Whatever I said or didn’t say now would resonate forever, the same way a bomb blast seemed to ring forever in the ears of anyone close enough to hear it.

This moment was deafening.

This moment was sweet.

This moment would determine our fate.

I closed my eyes and tipped my chin, feeling warmth spread slowly through my body, a liquid heat that was purely joyful.

I realized as I opened my eyes that I was smiling – a closed bud rather than a fully opened blossom – the first blush of a smile. Tears whispered at the rims of my eyes, softening my vision.

Matt pursed his lips and then opened his mouth to speak again, but I shook my head to stop his flow of words. I was still silent, still smiling, as I reached up and placed my hand on his chest, just over his heart. I felt it pounding under the palm of my hand, steady and strong through the thick fabric of his uniform.

“It’s never too late to say I love you,” I said, so soft it was nearly inaudible in the din.

It was all I could manage, but it was all Matt needed to hear.

He told me, later, that being away had given him time to realize just what he stood to lose.

He had realized that I had become much more than a friend, and that he truly wanted more.

He wanted me, forever.

“Forever,” he said, holding my hand in his as we sat, side by side on the steps of his apartment. Fireflies were floating through the air all around us, lighting the darkness with their magical glow and lending romance to what might have been an ordinary evening. He lifted my hand and kissed my fingertips, my nose, my forehead.

“Forever, Eira,” he whispered again. “That’s what I want with you. Will you marry me?”

He spoke the words almost too softly to hear, as though he was afraid the sound of his voice might break the spell. But they were there, floating like gossamer in the evening breeze, dancing in the dark with the fireflies all around us. Slowly, carefully, Matt reached into his pocket and pulled out a ring, a small and simple gold band set with a single diamond that might have seemed unimpressive to some – but for me, the glistening facets of that round-cut stone were more beautiful than any others I had seen. For me, that stone meant that the dream I had dreamed for so long was now finally coming true.

“Yes, Matt,” I whispered back. “For now and forever, yes.”


Chapter Seven (#ulink_b4a36e46-934c-5c1d-8ede-1f4ec7bc25d4)

November 2008

Three years.

Thirty-six months.

Roughly eleven hundred days.

It had been over three years since I’d seen or heard from him, but here he was, in the flesh.

Impossibly, it would have seemed, as in those three years, I’d moved a thousand miles away, leaving the home I had so loved in North Carolina to transplant my broken life into Florida sand, where I shared no history with Matt. Where I thought the tides of the Pensacola Bay would wash away the pain and leave me with a fresh future, like the unmarred sand on a shoreline after a wave has receded.

I’d begun rebuilding here, in this small community set along the shores of Florida’s Panhandle, trying to find my own treasures in this jewel-box so famously known as the Emerald Coast. I’d spent the last three years trying to get over him, to forget how much I loved him, to forget how much he’d hurt me. Thinking of what I’d say to him if I ever had the opportunity to say it to his face – and now here he was.

Right in front of me, smiling at me as though he had no idea who I was. Talking as casually as he would with someone he’d never met, someone with whom he had absolutely no history.

And I had absolutely no idea what to say.

“Can I get that rare, or is that against the rules?” he asked, flashing me another smile.

A smile.

A smile that I wanted to slap off of his face.

A smile that I wanted to scream at him for, to demand explanation for.

How could he sit there, smiling at me like that, when he’d done what he’d done?

I forced my attention back to the present and reached for the menu he’d extended towards me, realizing I was going to have to pull it together. Otherwise, I risked looking pitiful and desperate, the wounded woman who’d never gotten over being dumped. No matter that I wasn’t the one at fault, that I’d been left with no real explanation.

This was my proving ground, and I was determined not to fail.

I summoned every muscle in my face to rearrange my mouth into something resembling an easy smile as I answered.

“Rare it is,” I replied, my voice sounding strained and unfamiliar to my own ears as I stood there, trying to convince myself not to reach out and dump ice water in his lap.

Trying to talk myself out of hauling off and punching him hard enough to break his nose.

Instead, I was trying to remember to breathe, to remember that I was strong.

Why didn’t I feel that way?

“Did you get that?”

It wasn’t until then that I really took notice of the man sharing Matt’s table, looking up at me with a bored expression that seemed less than respectful of my place on the food chain.

I smiled tightly at him. “Why don’t you repeat it so that we can both make sure I got it right?” I asked, my pen poised above my pad while I stared at him as though in rapt attention.

The man was positively vile. There was nothing outright about it, as he was handsome at first glance, but the attitude he seemed to exude like bad cologne ruined everything about his looks.

“Prime rib. Rare. Bordeaux mushrooms, asparagus. And get another round while you’re at it,” he added, holding up his highball and rattling the ice cubes around in the empty glass. “Got it now?” He arched an eyebrow in naked condescension and waited with exaggerated patience as I scrawled his order.

I realized as I wrote that I was almost grateful for his presence. It was absurd, but the outrage he was arousing in me was like a balm for the confused feelings of frustrated anger that Matt was bringing to light. It certainly was a distraction, at any rate.

I smiled down at him and then at Matt, upping my wattage as I shifted my gaze.

“Okay, then. I’ll go put your orders in and be right back with those drinks,” I said breezily.

I shoved my pen and pad in the pocket of my apron, turning on my heel to retreat to the sanctuary of the kitchen. There were way too many warring emotions coursing through me right now, and I wasn’t quite sure which one would end up winning. It was a little too important for me to be able to keep my cool, both for the sake of my dignity, as well as for the sake of my job.

“Eira, honey, what’s wrong? You don’t look so good,” Maggie said, sidling up next to me as I punched the order into the computer. She laid a hand lightly on my back and gave me an appraising look.

“Oh, I’m fine,” I sighed, not meeting her eyes for fear that I would give myself away.

“Tell me another one,” she replied.

Obviously, I needed to work on being more convincing. The woman was relentless, though, and I knew she would refuse to leave me alone with my thoughts if she had any inkling that something might be wrong. I gave her a sidelong glance, trying to be discreet about it so that she wouldn’t catch me looking. I didn’t want to give her any more reason to probe for details. There wasn’t enough time or enough energy in me right now to get into explanations about what had me so tied up in knots.

“Really, I’m fine,” I said firmly, finishing up at the computer and stepping away, hoping she would do me the favor of taking the hint.

“Eira, I know you, and you’re not fine.”

I stopped in my tracks and looked over my shoulder at her, leveling my gaze.

“You’re right. I’m not. And I can’t really explain anything right now, but I need you to have my back on this.” I tossed my head in the direction of the dining room. “There’s something out there that I really…” I paused, unsure of how to explain. “I’m clocking out, Maggie. Right now. There’s enough staff to cover dinner tonight, so I’m going to clock out. Then I’m going to pick up the drinks that I left on order at the bar and deliver them before I leave. After that,” I swallowed a growing lump of apprehension in my throat, “after that, I don’t know. But I need you to back me up on this. I’ll explain everything later.”

I closed my eyes, willing Maggie not to press me for details.

“Please, do this for me, Maggie. Please,” I pleaded.

I opened my eyes to find her staring at me, studying my face and my posture. She bit back the protest that was obviously working its way off her tongue and nodded silently. I turned back towards the swinging doors of the kitchen, pushing through with a determination I didn’t really feel, leaving her staring after me with concern.

Maggie was my best friend these days, someone I knew I could count on for anything, any time. We’d known each other for a couple of years now, but most of that time, it had just been on a casual level, the kind of acquaintance that is sporadic at best. We ran into one another at parties every once in a while, maybe caught a glimpse and exchanged a friendly wave or a smile across the room if we found ourselves in the same restaurant. But it had never really gelled into anything until the previous year, when I’d started waiting tables.

Porterhouse was a small steakhouse with an intimate atmosphere, an exclusive menu, and a discriminating wine list – all of which made it an up-and-coming gem in the eyes of the region’s most persnickety foodies.

The locale didn’t exactly hurt, either. With its red brick façade, leaded windows flanked by vintage lamps, and an antique door, the restaurant had an architectural charm that meshed seamlessly with its surroundings in downtown Pensacola, occupying a corner of Cervantes Street that was within walking distance of the city’s cultural hub and most treasured scenery.

I’d put in an application on a whim, needing a respite from the monotony of the corporate scene I’d somehow become mired in. I wanted a job I could leave without worry of what was waiting for me the next day, something to take my mind off the life I was living that was so far from the one I thought I would have.

Maggie Blake was the restaurant’s owner, manager, and head waitress – and her smile was more than a welcome sight on my first day of work. I had an ally, someone to show me the ropes, a familiar face among all the strangers whose names I would have to learn along with the menu. Since then, we’d forged a friendship that had gotten me through some pretty low times, days when the burning pain of loneliness felt as fresh as if it had all happened yesterday.

Even without the fifteen-year age difference, Maggie and I were, by all admissions, complete opposites. She was petite and voluptuous with bright, bottle-blonde hair cut in a disheveled pixie that placed her features front and center. Big, round blue eyes were fringed by long eyelashes and offset with expertly tweezed eyebrows that seemed, at times, to be even more expressive than her tongue. She had a pert little nose and bee-stung lips, two attributes of which I was insanely jealous. Genetics had blessed her with a cup size that regularly made men swoon, though at the end of a long shift, she seemed to consider it more of a curse.

These were not the least of the ways in which Maggie and I differed from one another. She was fearless, candid, and brash. If Maggie saw something she wanted, she went for it without fear of failure.

I, conversely, was over-analytical, diplomatic, and level-headed.

Most of the time.

I was also constantly second-guessing myself and extremely self-conscious. Right now, I would have given anything to have half of her self-possession and fearlessness.

Would Maggie dump a drink in Matt’s lap or slap that oh-so-innocent smile off his face?

Probably.

I, however, was far too aware of the repercussions, so the drink would stay in the glass – and my hands would stay a safe distance away from Matt’s face.

I tapped my info into the time clock and headed to the bar to gather the drinks from the bartender. I made my way back to the table, willing myself to forget how well I knew one of the men sitting there – how he took his coffee, what kind of toothpaste he used, where all of his scars were.

I had to forget, if I was ever going to survive.

Obviously, it was possible to do – he seemed to have done it so well himself.

“We were beginning to think maybe you had to grow the corn and distill the Scotch yourself,” said Matt’s dinner companion as I started to place his drink on the table. The man was nothing if not a bottomless font of insults.

I felt my anger boil as my grip tightened around the highball glass.

And suddenly, the Scotch was no longer safely contained in its glass. It was dripping down his face, into the lap of his overpriced Italian suit trousers.

The man stared at me in shock, suddenly silent as his brain processed what I had just done.

Before my own mind had a moment to reconsider, I picked up the remaining glass from my tray and dumped its contents into Matt’s own awe-slackened face.

I felt strangely liberated.

“That, sir,” I said, directing my first words to Matt’s dinner companion, “was to teach you to treat people with a little more respect, even when they’re just a waitress.” My voice was low with extremely controlled rage.

I felt more like shrieking, but I knew I’d already gotten enough attention simply by dumping out the drinks. My eyes flashed hotly in Matt’s direction.

“And you,” I spat. “Matt.” The name came out like a dirty word. “You. What the hell do you think you’re doing here, acting like you don’t know me? Are you really that callous that you couldn’t just leave me alone? You had to come here and see just how messed up I was, have a little laugh at my expense?” I fumed. “Sorry to disappoint you, Matt. I’m doing great. You did me a favor, you know that? At least I found out what a selfish coward you are before it was too late.” I paused, trying to get my breathing under control. “I only hope to God no woman is stupid enough to ever get involved with you.”

I straightened my spine and tucked a strand of hair behind my ear as I regained my composure. Hair that was now back to its natural color, a light shade of brown that I had once considered unremarkable. Once Matt had left, returning to nature seemed almost a show of defiance, destruction of the red hair he had loved so much. It seemed to be a symbolic gesture, even though he wouldn’t be there to see it.

Or so I had thought.

“Enjoy your dinner, gentlemen. Your new server will be with you shortly.”

I turned sharply on my heel, so swift that I was a little afraid I might stumble and ruin my exit.

My last glimpse of Matt and the other man at his table was satisfying, if I’m being honest. They were both silenced by shock, and my tirade had been swift and deadly, leaving them without much opportunity to respond before I was gone again. I dashed out of the restaurant to my car and slumped into the driver’s seat, exhausted and victorious.

Maybe all of this would finally, truly be behind me.



“Where are we going, Matt?” I asked, laughing as he drove excitedly down the busy street.

“You’ll see,” he said simply, grinning wildly as he darted his truck in between the gathering afternoon traffic.

“Why won’t you just tell me and put me out of my misery?”

“And spoil the surprise? Uh uh.” He slowed suddenly as we approached a turning lane and flicked his turning signal to life.

“This is a car wash,” I said, stating the obvious as we pulled into the parking lot of an automatic car wash. “Didn’t you just wash the truck yesterday?” I looked at him inquisitively. I knew the man was a bit anal about keeping the exterior of his beloved little blue truck gleaming, but this was a whole new level I’d never seen before. It hadn’t rained, and from what I’d seen, there was hardly a speck of dirt anywhere.

“Yes, but that was different.” He snuck a quick peek at my face. “Don’t look at me like that. I can explain,” he said. “When I was little, my dad would take me to the car wash, and we’d sit in the car and watch all the wired brushes and sponges whipping around and covering everything in soapy bubbles. We had a rule that we had to hold our breaths for as long as we could–otherwise we’d drown. Winner got an ice cream,” Matt continued, his voice far off as he remembered those happy moments of his childhood. He’d never told me this one, and I felt as though he was letting me just a little farther into his heart. “I always won,” he said with a smile.

“So what do you think?” I asked Maggie three hours later, when we were sitting on her couch. The restaurant was closed for the night, and she’d called me to insist that I come over and enlighten her on the evening’s events.

As her employee and as her friend, I knew I owed her that much.

For the first half hour I’d been there, I’d talked about anything and everything except the man who has inspired such uncharacteristic behavior in me – but I couldn’t dodge her questions any longer.

Not that I really cared by that point.

There were too many questions all swirling around in my head for me to sort out, and I needed some outside input. I was hoping that maybe Maggie could help inject a dose of reality into everything, help me make sense of it all.

Or at least commiserate with me and come up some interesting scenarios to entertain my overworked brain.

“Eee,” Maggie said, calling me by the nickname she’d given me. “As your boss, I should be pissed and fire you for lack of professionalism,” she intoned, playing with the empty coffee mug in her lap.

“But as a woman,” Maggie leveled her gaze at me soberly, then broke out into a wicked grin, “as a woman, I want to give you a high five and tell you how much you rock. And you do,” she continued, her smile deepening, accentuating her dimples. “The guy deserved everything you gave him. More, actually. He broke your engagement and didn’t have balls enough to really talk to you about any of it. He just up and disappeared like that,” she finished, snapping her fingers. The sound seemed harsh in the otherwise quiet room.

“He’s a total coward, and you were way too easy on him, if you want to know my honest opinion. I think if it was me, I’d have castrated him.”

“You know, he didn’t start out that way,” I said, sounding more than slightly defensive. “In the beginning, Matt really was a wonderfully guy,” I stopped, registering the words that had just come out of my mouth.

Wait a minute. Was I defending him or me?

I met Maggie’s stare and shrugged sheepishly.

“I know, I know. Was. I’m going to shut up now and try to be satisfied with the fact that I got the last word.”

I was silent for a moment, relishing the memory of Matt with Scotch dripping off his chin.

“This whole thing is just so… I don’t know. It’s a whole new level of cruelty that I really didn’t think he was capable of.”

Was I babbling?

Maggie raised an eyebrow. “And you know this because you know him so well.”

I looked at my hands, feeling a little like I’d been slapped.

“I thought I did,” I said quietly.

“That was unnecessary, even for me. I’m sorry, Eee,” Maggie said, sounding more apologetic than I’d ever heard her. The pain must have been written plainly across my face.

“On the upside, though, after you left, he really didn’t seem to want me to fire you or put you on probation or anything.” She shook her head in mild confusion. “His friend, though. Wow. That guy was hot for me to chew you out. He was practically foaming at the mouth, insisting that his brother-in-law was a lawyer, and he could sue you so hard your children’s children would still be paying him. Matt had to calm him down and talk him out of it, but they didn’t stick around long after your grand gesture.” She smiled at the memory.

I gave her a shaky smile of my own, one that probably resembled something closer to a grimace.

“Well. Thanks for understanding, Mags, and for letting me keep my job. I’m just glad it’s over now, and I never have to see him again. It’s fine. I’m fine. It’s aaaall fine,” I said flatly, drawing out the word longer than necessary.

“Uh huh.”

I sighed and buried my head in one of the throw pillows.

“How did my life turn out like this?” I wailed into the cushion.

It might have been a little hard to understand, what with the stuffing and all, but Maggie seemed to translate just fine.

“Honey, when men are involved, nothing is ever simple,” she soothed, gently rubbing my back. “Once you realize that, things become so much clearer.”

I removed my face from the pillow and looked at her.

“I should have known better than to ask a thrice divorced woman for advice on men,” I said soberly.

“Oh, stop it, you,” she shot back, laughing. “I may actually be somewhat of an expert by now. After all, what better way to learn things than through mistakes? Now I just know better what to do for the next time.”

“Next time?” I asked incredulously. “You mean there’s going to be a next time?” I paused and peered at her suspiciously. “Is there something you’re not telling me? I know you’ve been seeing some mysterious man, but have things gotten serious between you two? Or have you got a man holed up in here that I didn’t know about?”

I made a show of looking around the room for signs of another person. “Oh, Lover! Come out, come out, wherever you are!”

We both started to laugh, the tension in the room lessening noticeably. I was well aware that Maggie wouldn’t be able to give me the answers I still wanted, even after all these years, but talking to her seemed to lessen the load my mind was trying to shift into some sort of order. The only one that would be able to clear all of this up was Matt, and I knew that I would never get those answers from him.

But did I truly want to stir all of that up again? I’d worked so hard to move on and rebuild my life after Matt’s disappearance, and now I was thinking about dredging all of it up again, opening up old wounds. Allowing him access to the parts of myself that I had so tightly closed off from most people.

Would he take that power and abuse it?

Would I end up with closure, or simply left with even deeper wounds?


Chapter Eight (#ulink_eafb0ed5-cc42-5d13-a07f-099e51dd2612)

I added the last tightly-rolled bundle of linen-wrapped silverware to the pile and let out a sigh.

I could tell it was going to be a long day. I’d just gotten to work, and I was already ready to go home.

As much as I enjoyed my job, the previous day’s events had completely upended me.

As naïve as it might have sounded, I hadn’t considered the possibility of encountering Matt again. Maybe it had something to do with the fact that so much time had passed – maybe I’d become complacent.

He had become part of another lifetime.

The idea of ever looking up to see Matt sitting at one of my tables had never even occurred to me, so it was a sucker punch to the gut. I’d tried to explain it to Maggie, but I wasn’t sure she quite understood. She seemed used to running across her exes, as though it was a regular experience for her.

And maybe it was – she had quite the growing list to pick from, a seemingly endless catalogue of men she’d cast aside.

Maggie, quite amazingly, had never been dumped. Somehow, she had managed to avoid having her head on the chopping block in all of her relationships.

I suspected it might have been a simple case of timing in several cases, but I also knew Maggie well enough to know that she seemed to avoid getting too close to people.

Mostly men.

Which would translate itself into a need to jump ship from even the most promising relationships for fear that they might demand too much of her emotionally and leave her vulnerable.

Maggie didn’t do vulnerable.

Maggie did fierce.

Which was exactly what I had tried to be the night before; and I’d done a pretty good job of it, I thought proudly. Still, though, I felt strangely unsettled.

“I’ve always wondered where all those magically wrapped knives and forks came from. I thought maybe there were little elves that did it,” a voice said behind me, ripping me out of my reverie.

I whipped around to face Matt, who was smiling widely at me.

Smiling.

Why was he smiling like that, when I’d dumped a drink in his face the last time I’d seen him? And why hadn’t he insisted on having me fired?

He looked like a little boy, so mischievous and bright was his grin. He was obviously completely oblivious to how unnerved I was by his presence, not to mention his proximity. There was hardly space between us to allow any semblance of propriety, so I took a step back. I felt like I could barely breathe.

“The elves are on vacation this week,” I said, trying to squelch my urge to run.

I had no idea where the words came from, since I was feeling in no way witty. Quite the opposite, actually. I was trembling inside, a roiling mix of anger, confusion, and… love?

Was that what that was?

Did part of me still love him?

I hadn’t really taken the time to examine whether or not I still had feelings for Matt, since I’d not really considered the possibility of ever seeing him again.

Yes, in the beginning, I had gone through all of the scenarios in my head – what I would do, what I would say, what I would be wearing. How he would react.

Sometimes, in those imagined scenarios, he would watch in quiet awe as I confronted him, stunning and strong and completely over him.

Sometimes he would tearfully plead and beg forgiveness from his knees as I towered above him, stunning and strong and completely over him.

Sometimes we saw one another from across a crowded room and ran breathlessly to each other’s arms, and our fairy tale love would erase all the past hurts.

Whatever direction my imagination took me, though, it had never resembled anything like this. Matt acted as though we had never met before last night, and I had no explanation for that. I had no idea how to respond to that. Now, after I had finally stopped exploring the feelings and the possibilities, I was being catapulted into what felt like an alternate universe.

“Well, you seem to be taking up the slack quite nicely,” Matt replied, indicating the carefully rolled pile of silverware resting on the bar beside me.

His eyes sparkled and danced under the warm lighting of the restaurant. The room, which generally seemed to have an air of cozy intimacy and warmth, now seemed overheated and claustrophobic.

Had I not been determined to be brave, I would have made some excuse about needing to use the ladies’ room and gone in there to hide. Instead, I decided to make an excuse about needing to get into the kitchen to get ready for my shift.

Somehow, hiding out in the kitchen seemed like the more grown-up thing to do.

Plus, there was an endless array of options in sharp objects with which to slit my wrists.

Not to mention the well-stocked liquor cabinet.

“What do you want?” I asked wearily. “After last night, I’m surprised you’re not at all worried about the possibility that I might throw another drink in your face. I realize I owe you a thank you for not having me fired, I suppose that does show you have some shred of decency in you. So, as lovely as it is to see you again, I really could do without this. And, in case you haven’t noticed, I’m at work. Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to go talk to the chef about some things on the menu today.”

I stepped forward, hoping he would take my not-so-subtle hint and allow me to pass.

Maybe, just maybe, he would go away and let me get back to the satisfied glow of last night’s surge of chutzpah.

“Lovely, huh? I was hoping more for exciting, but I guess I could settle for lovely.” He flashed a huge grin, then replaced it with a more sober look of contrition. “Seriously, though, I actually came to find out exactly why you felt a need to throw a drink in my face.” He shook his head sadly. “I can see why Charles might have deserved it. When he’s having a bad day, he has a terrible habit of letting everyone know it, and he was definitely having a bad day. Still, it’s no excuse, and it’s one of the things that I’ve had to call him on more than a few times. But as much of an ass as he can be, Charles really does have his good points – even if they aren’t always readily apparent.”

He paused, leveled his gaze at me.

“But me? What did I do? I’ve never even met you, yet you seem to have quite an impressive level of contempt for me.” Matt paused and cocked his head questioningly. “Ever thought that maybe I’m not who you think I am? That maybe, you might have me confused with someone else?”

I realized I was staring at him, almost mesmerized. It had been so long since I’d seen his face, heard his voice. I was still having difficulty processing his presence, wondering if seeing him this way would become a regular occurrence and how it would affect me.

I blinked my eyes, forcing my gaze from his face as my brain suddenly processed his words.

Not who I thought he was? Just how stupid did he think I was?

“You’re amazing, you know that? Truly amazing. You break up with me – after proposing, no less – without telling me why, and never return any of my calls. And three years later, you pop up where I work and expect me to believe you’re someone else?” I shook my head in awe. “You must think I’m a complete idiot.”

I reached past Matt to grab a fistful of the silverware.

“Leave. Now. I appreciate that you didn’t try to get me fired, but I don’t think I owe you anything.” I turned, taking a step in the direction of the kitchen, a safe haven within my line of vision.

“Wait!” Matt called after me. “Please.”

His voice had a plaintive tone.

Part of me wanted to keep on walking, pretend I hadn’t heard him or was too busy to stop. To leave him standing there and walk away while I still felt like I was in control. But the small part of me that still loved him kept me in thrall, and I looked back over my shoulder.

His head tilted slightly, and his eyes twinkled under the lights. It was the way he used to look at me, so long ago. A look that had always made my heart skip a beat and my breath catch.

And then a shadow passed over his face and his eyes.

Just as suddenly as it had come, the look was gone, replaced by one of confusion.

I shook my head and turned away again, leaving him to watch me walk away.



“Don’t!” My whisper may have been a bit loud, but that was only because I was trying to make sure that Matt could hear me above the din of the restaurant. It still qualified as a whisper, in my book.

“What? Come on, they’ll never notice.”

“I know your mama taught you better than that,” I shot back, still in loud whisper mode. I darted my eyes around guiltily. “They’re going to catch you, and then we’ll never be able to show our faces in here again.”

“They won’t catch me–stop worrying so much, Eira.” Matt shook his head, his brown eyes twinkling. “You know you want one,” he teased.

“That, my love, is beside the point,” I mumbled back, feeling a grin creeping across my lips despite my best efforts.

“I beg to differ. Think of it as seizing fortune.” Matt slid out of our booth, crouched low as he darted forward to dip his hand into the oversized carton of fortune cookies near the server’s station just around the corner from our table. As busy as the small Chinese restaurant was that evening, no one seemed to notice the handsome man as he stealthily hunched over the box to raid its contents and unearth a few extra treats.

“Literally,” I said with a wry grin. “I love you, Matt, you know that?”

“And I love you. Now here, eat the evidence,” he whispered as he slid a cellophane wrapped cookie towards me on the tabletop.

I unwrapped the little cookie and broke it in half, carefully tugging the slip of paper from its folds and reading as I popped the first half into my mouth.

“What’s it say?” Matt asked as he unwrapped his own piece of contraband.

I cleared my throat and tried to sound serious. “�You will travel far and seek many new horizons.’” I giggled. “Uh huh. And I’m going to be a millionaire, too,” I said, crunching into the last half of my almond flavored treat. “What does yours say?”

Matt arched his eyebrows expectantly as he read. “�Trust few with your future happiness or your trials will be great.’” The smile slid from his lips as he said the last words, and he seemed suddenly sobered. Gone was the playful look that had been there all evening as we had sat in our tiny booth, tucked into a corner and savoring our time together.

Now there was only worry on his face, despite his attempt at disguising it as he finally looked at me. The smile that was there now seemed doubtful; as I searched his eyes, I felt a tiny shudder of dread.

There’s a low dividing wall that edges along the bottom of the I-110 on-ramp at Gregory Street, unruly vines creeping over its red bricks to do battle with the graffiti so boldly and artfully executed across its rough surface.

One phrase etched in bright yellow block lettering offered an unexpected source of encouragement to anyone who happened to catch a glimpse as they drove past.

You are beautiful.

The first time I saw it, I cried. I couldn’t help it. Something in me had needed to see those words that day, in that particular moment – and it was almost like a gift meant just for me.

I looked now, just like I always did, for those words as I drove towards the ramp, needing something to boost my spirits. What I saw was as sharp as an unexpected blow to my solar plexus. The wall had been scrubbed clean, the overgrowth trimmed back to reveal a recent attempt at city clean-up. I felt tears well up in my eyes, disappointment tipping my precariously-balanced emotional state so that it finally fell and shattered.




Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.


Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию (https://www.litres.ru/liesel-schmidt/the-secret-of-us/) на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.



Если текст книги отсутствует, перейдите по ссылке

Возможные причины отсутствия книги:
1. Книга снята с продаж по просьбе правообладателя
2. Книга ещё не поступила в продажу и пока недоступна для чтения