“I thought I was okay with it. B-but I’m n-not,” I stutter. I take a calming breath. “I know I was a bitch and maybe I deserved what happened to me. But I want to remember Joelle having her twins. The first time I sold a painting. When I met Oliver. I even want to remember the bad things like when Lydia and I had our falling out. I want to know who Anna Jorgensen was and what we were doing the day of the accident. I feel like I lost such a big piece of myself, Denver. Why did that happen to me?”
Sobs start bellowing out of me. Denver steps forward and pulls me into his arms. I lay my head on his shoulder and cry into him. I let out all the frustration I’ve felt since the day I remember waking up. I never once let myself break down. Not until this very moment.
“Shhh,” he whispers in my ear as I fall apart in his arms. “It’s okay.”
“It’s not okay. It’s never going to be okay. I’m so confused. One day I feel … and then the next I want … and I just can’t … and I don’t feel like I belong anywhere.”
My broken sentences are punctuated by desperate sobs as he rubs a soothing hand down my back.
“It’s understandable that you’d feel this way, Sara. Expected, even. But let me tell you something,” he says, pulling away and looking me straight in the eyes. “You did nothing to deserve this. I don’t care what you were like before. What happened to you is not fate or karma or God punishing you. It was pure bad luck. It was a flat tire that happened at the wrong place and the wrong time. And you’ll be okay one day. I promise. But it will take time. You know that as well as I do. We both lost our parents. We didn’t heal right away. I’m not sure we ever will, but it got better. We got better. And this will get better, too. You have to believe that.”
I look up into his eyes, vulnerable and afraid, wondering if this is how we looked at each other the night we met.
He brushes a tear off my cheek. And then it happens. I’m not even sure if he leans down or I stretch up, but somehow, our lips come together. We stumble back against the wall as our mouths devour each other. He tastes even better than I remember. His hands are strong on my body. He cups my neck with one of them while the other embraces my back.
When we run out of air, his lips move to my neck. A moan escapes me. A sigh escapes him.
“Sara,” he says as he tastes a spot beneath my ear.
I’ve never been more lost in another person than I am right now. The confusion. The guilt. The frustration over the past. The worries about the future. None of that matters when his hands are on me. Nothing matters but us.
His lips find mine again and time stands still. I don’t ever want another minute to pass. I don’t want the hands on the clock to move forward. I just want to be in this moment forever. Because right now, everything is perfect. His lips. His hands. His kiss. Us.
The ringing of his phone startles me.
“Sorry,” he says, quickly reaching into his pocket.
He pulls the phone out and goes to shut it off, but not before I see who’s calling. It’s Nora.
I pull away.
“Sara …” He looks down at his phone and then at me, looking guilty.
Then I hear my name being called from the front door. I wipe my mouth and then any leftover tears, thinking about what a mistake we’ve made. This is wrong on so many levels. And there’s only one thing I can think of to try to fix it.
“Back here!” I yell. Then I turn to Denver. “I’m going away for a while. Ollie’s taking me to London for a few weeks.”
Denver runs his hands through his hair, looking more than a little upset. Over what just happened or my proclamation, I can’t be sure.
“When?” he asks.
“Soon.”
“There you are,” Ollie says, walking through the door to my studio. He comes over and kisses the top of my head as he often does.
He notices Denver, who is crouching in the corner, looking like he’s browsing through some of my paintings. I wonder if he’s trying to hide an erection. I get so mad at myself for allowing that to happen. How could we have been so stupid?
“Hey, mate,” Ollie says.
“Hi, Oliver,” Denver says from his place on the floor.
He doesn’t get up, and I feel my suspicions are correct.
Oliver looks between Denver and me. Then his eyes focus on my face. “You’ve been crying,” he says.
I wonder if he can sense what just happened. Perhaps my face is flushed or my lips are plump from kissing. He doesn’t deserve to find out this way. He doesn’t deserve this at all. He’s never liked my having a relationship with Denver, and now I’m beginning to understand why. Maybe he sees more than I gave him credit for.
“Just having a bad day, I guess. But I have good news,” I say. “I was just telling Denver that we’re going to London. And he’s agreed to watch Kokomo for us while we’re away.”
Oliver’s demeanor changes in an instant. He smiles brightly. “We are?”
“As soon as you can arrange it,” I say.
Ollie picks me up and twirls me around. “Brilliant! I’ll make the plans straight away.” He turns to Denver. “Stay for a drink to celebrate?”
Denver shakes his head. “I’ve got to head out, but thanks.”
“I’ll go pour one for the two of us,” he says, pinching my behind on his way out. “Don’t be too long.”
“You kind of blindsided me, don’t you think?” Denver says once Ollie leaves the room.
“I know. I’m sorry. I’ll find someone else to watch Kokomo.”
“It’s not that. Of course I’ll watch him. Don’t you think you’re being a bit hasty with the whole going to London thing?”
“Ollie says I love London. And I’m supposed to get back to doing the things I used to love, aren’t I?”
He gives me a reluctant nod. “Yes, but …” He glances over to the wall where he had me pinned moments ago.
“Don’t you have a phone call to return?” I ask.
“I’m not with—”
“Here you go, darling,” Oliver says, coming up behind me with a glass of wine. He nods to his own glass and then to Denver. “Are you sure you won’t join us?”
“Thanks, but I have to go. We’ll work out the details with Kokomo as soon as you have your dates set.”
“Thanks for helping out with him,” Ollie says. Then he turns to me. “I’m going to go draw you a bath. I know how sore your leg gets after therapy.”
“Thank you.”
I watch him walk away and then I look back over at the painting. I pick it up and hand it to Denver. “You should take it.”
“But you said you’d never let it go,” he says, narrowing his eyes at me.
“I know. But I have to, Denver. I have to let it go.”
He nods, taking the painting from me. Neither one of us says another word as he walks out the door.
Chapter Twenty-seven
The flight attendant comes over the speaker, asking us to stow our belongings for landing.
I put away the small puzzle we were working on. Well, I was working on. Oliver pretended to do it with me, but he let me fit all the pieces. In the past week, he’s been doing more and more of my therapy exercises with me. He even learned how to play Tetris despite the fact that he loathes video games.
Oliver has become more involved in every aspect of my life since I agreed to come to London. Maybe he felt because I was doing this for him, he was going to do something for me. He’s become the perfect fiancé.
It’s for the best. Especially given that Denver has been too busy to visit me ever since the day I told him I was going to London. I saw him briefly on the way to the airport this morning when we dropped off Kokomo at his place. Oliver waited in the cab, so Denver could have easily talked to me on the stoop of the townhouse. I wanted him to talk to me. About what, I wasn’t sure. Maybe in the back of my mind, I wanted him to give me a reason not to go to London. But he didn’t. He didn’t talk about anything other than Kokomo. But he did stare at me. And I
stared at him. And it made me wonder what he did with the painting I gave him. Is it hanging on the wall of his bedroom where he can look at it and remember what he dreams about? Or did it end up in the back of a closet so he can try to forget? Forget the hundreds of hours he spent sitting by my side. Forget the countless conversations we had and the endless card games we’d play. Forget the forbidden kisses we shared.
“Are you ready?” Oliver asks, taking my hand in his as we exit the plane.
“I’m nervous,” I say. “This is the first time I’ve been to another country.”
“Your passport tells a different story, hun.”
“I know.” But I can’t remember, I want to say but don’t. I know everyone is tired of me saying that.
When we get through customs, an older couple approaches us. The woman pulls Oliver into her arms.
“My boy!” she exclaims while holding him tight.
“Hi, Mum,” he says. He shakes his father’s hand as he embraces his mother. “Dad.”
He finally extracts himself from his mother and introduces us. “Mum, Dad, this is my fiancée, Sara Francis.”
I draw my brows at him. “You make it sound like we never met. Is that for my benefit?”
His mother wraps her arms around me. “We haven’t met, luv. You and Ollie were always on the go, popping into town for just a day here and there on your way to some exotic location. We were never able to make it happen,” she says, flashing Ollie an accusing stare.
I look at Ollie, confused. “But you said I love it here. You said we come a lot.”
He shrugs. “We do. But we were always so busy.”
His dad hugs me as well. “Sara, we’re so happy to finally meet you.”
“May I see the ring?” his mom asks.
I raise my hand. She studies it and then her eyes tear up. “I never thought it would happen to my Ollie.”
She hooks her elbow with mine and talks to me all the way to the car. “I do hope you’ll let me help you plan the wedding. Will you have it in New York or London? Are you thinking a spring wedding?”
“Mum,” Oliver chides her from the front seat of the car.
“Uh … I’m still getting used to things, Mrs. Compton. We’re not really making plans yet.”
I don’t tell her that Oliver and I haven’t even consummated our engagement. I don’t tell her that although we share a bed, we do little more than kiss and cuddle.
“Please call me Enid. Or, if you prefer, Mum.”
“I … I don’t think—”
A hand comes up to cover her mouth. “Oh, dear. You lost your mother. Of course you don’t want to call me Mum. Can you forgive me for being such a daft cow?”
“It’s fine, Enid.”
She grabs my hand and gives me a sympathetic, motherly smile.
I gaze out the window as the three of them have a conversation. I recognize landmarks that are in my paintings. Paintings I don’t remember creating. When we approach the London Bridge, I stare at it, knowing I must have spent time there as it was the focal point in the painting I was told I did for a New York socialite a few years ago. The bridge is amazing. How can I look at something so incredible and not remember being here?
“Can we go there, Ollie?” I say as we pass.
He turns and smiles at me from the front. “We can go anywhere you fancy. I will have to work a bit while we’re here, but there should be plenty of time to go sightseeing.”
“And while he’s working, I’ll take you wherever you want to go, luv,” Enid says.
As we drive through the city, I can understand why Oliver said I liked it so much. Who wouldn’t?
My phone vibrates with a text. I look at it and see Denver’s name.
Denver: Please let me know when you arrive safely.
Denver: And Sara, I’m sorry about this past week. I was being an immature jerk. Your friendship means a lot to me.
Denver: Kokomo says to tell you he misses you but that he likes hanging out with me.
“You have such a lovely smile,” Enid says.
“Ma’am?” I look up from the phone.
“Your smile. It’s lovely. Just now, when you were looking at your phone your face broke into the most brilliant smile.”
I look guiltily into the front seat. Then I say, “I just heard from a friend.”
“We’re here,” his father announces.
A girl comes running out of the house and through the front gate, flinging herself into Oliver’s arms as soon as he exits the car. I recognize her from a picture. She’s Oliver’s sister, Octavia. She’s almost twenty years younger than Oliver. He told me she was an accident but that she’s the light of their parents’ lives.
“Ollie! I wanted to come, but Mum and Dad wouldn’t let me ditch school.”
“Hey, sis.” He twirls her in his arms and then sets her down next to me. “This is Sara.”
“We’re going to be sisters,” she says gleefully. “I always wanted a sister.”
“You’re very pretty,” I say, taking in her long blonde hair and toothy smile. She has a slightly crooked smile that I recognize as Oliver’s. In fact, she looks so much like him that if he were younger, they could be twins.
Twins. I think of Denver. He’s been wanting me to meet his sister, Aspen. He talks about her all the time. I can tell they are very close. I told him I would, but she’s coming to town in a few weeks, when I’m still in London.
Unlike Denver, Oliver doesn’t mention Octavia much. I guess it’s because they didn’t grow up together. He only lived in London the first few years of her life. Still, they seem to be very comfortable with each other. It makes me wonder why we’d never met.
“What grade are you in?” I ask Octavia.
“I’m in year nine.”
Oliver takes my suitcase and pulls it up the walk. “That’s seventh grade to you Yanks.”
Over the next few hours, Enid and Harry regale me with tales of Oliver growing up. I have a hard time staying awake, but they tell me it’s best to push through and stay up until bedtime or else the jet lag will kill me.
I yawn for the millionth time as I crawl into bed. “I can’t believe I traveled so much. Didn’t I have issues with the time differences?”
“You learn to handle it,” he says. “You used to take sleeping pills a lot so you could sleep when you were supposed to.”
I recall seeing a prescription for them in my cabinet at home. I wondered why I had them.
“That can’t be good for me, can it?”
“I guess you do what you have to do.”
“Well, I don’t want to do that anymore,” I tell him.
He looks at me thoughtfully before turning out the light. “Don’t want to do what—take sleeping pills, or travel?”
I shrug in the darkness.
He crawls into bed behind me. “We used to talk about moving here, you know.”
I stiffen. “Moving to London?”
“Yes. It’s much closer to a lot of the places you like to visit. Europe is where the real art is. The culture. It would be easier for the jet lag not having such a large time difference between the places you travel to the most.”
I turn around in bed, facing him for perhaps the first time when lying together. I can somewhat make out his face with the moonlight coming through the window. “But what if I don’t travel anymore? I’m not painting like I used to, Ollie. I may never get back to painting like that again.”
He kisses my forehead. “You’ll get back to it. You’re too talented not to.”
“But what if I don’t want to move to London? What then?”
“Then we don’t move to London,” he says. “Or we postpone it. I told you we’d take it slow. Your happiness is all I want.”
“It’s been months, Oliver. Why are you being so patient with me?”
“Because”—he hesitates, and something gnaws at my gut—“because I love you, Sara. And shouldn’t we do anything for the ones we love?”
It’s b
een thirteen weeks since my accident. Eight since I went home with Oliver. And he’s never said those words to me. Maybe he was afraid of scaring me off. Maybe now that he’s back home, he feels more confident and secure.
“I … I …” I close my eyes, squeezing a confused tear out of them.
“It’s okay, luv. You don’t have to say it back. Not yet.”
He brushes a hair out of my face before leaning in to kiss me. I let him kiss me. I always do. Because that’s what fiancées do—they kiss. They kiss and a lot more. I know he wants more. I know he deserves more. I’m just not sure I’m ready for more.
“Sleep now,” he says. “You’re exhausted and we have a busy day tomorrow. I’m going to take you to the church where your parents got married.”
I smile thinking of my parents and their love story. They met in London and decided to come back here for their wedding. I can’t wait to see the cathedral. I know I’ve seen it before. I’ve painted it. Joelle told me I came to see it about a year after their death. But like so many other things, I don’t remember.
I turn around and Oliver spoons me, drifting quickly to sleep. I find my hand searching around the bed for Kokomo before I remember he’s not here. He’s with Denver.
I miss you, I whisper to myself, pulling a pillow tightly against my chest.
I think of the very first words I wrote in my journal eight weeks ago. And once again, I wonder who I was writing them about.
Chapter Twenty-eight
“Last stop, as promised,” Oliver says as we exit the red double-decker bus onto the steps of the ornate cathedral.
I spent the morning with Ollie’s mother and sister, who gave me a tour of Westminster, where Oliver grew up. They took me under their wings while Oliver handled some business. They’re fabulous. His whole family is. I’ve found myself completely at ease with them, and it’s made me realize how much I’ve missed being a part of something. Enid and Octavia have accepted me completely, faults and all. They didn’t look at me like I was damaged goods when they saw me limp. Or when I had a little trouble reading the history of some of the landmarks we visited. Enid treated me like a daughter. And Octavia, a sister.
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