The Road She Left Behind

by Nolfi, Christine

  Lost in her own counsel, she coasted her fingers across his skin. Wrist to elbow, the strokes long and languid. The heady assault teased his senses. During their short romance, they’d spent hours on hot, unsatisfying foreplay. Long hours fumbling in the dark on the banks of the Chagrin, their skin damp and their hearts thundering like the untamed river.

  They’d never been lovers.

  “Tell me about the parking lot aggression.” He set his jaw in an unsuccessful attempt to blot out the sensation of her meandering caresses.

  She gave a bizarre accounting of Rosalind shouting at popular Morgan Harbert. Morgan ran an insurance agency in the Falls.

  Catching the story’s more salient bits proved impossible. He couldn’t clear his head, not with Darcy’s fingers weaving indulgent circles across his skin. She seemed unaware of her actions, her voice gaining animation as she described her mother’s odd behavior earlier in the day. Michael realized he didn’t care about another one of Rosalind’s feuds with yet another woman. Not at the moment.

  Her caresses moved higher. They circled the sensitive patch of skin at the base of his upper arm. He’d rolled up his shirt sleeves before leaving the house and Darcy, her eyes still distant, seemed unaware of her warming touch slipping beneath the fabric.

  He laid heavy fingers atop her roving hand. Clarity snapped into her gaze.

  She read the warning on his face. At a nearby table, a chair scraped back. A slender brunette rose to greet a friend. Their voices seemed a million miles away.

  Embarrassment flashed through Darcy’s eyes.

  She began to pull away. Michael caught her by the wrist. Their gazes meshed. His predatory instincts ticked through the reasons he should let her go. She didn’t understand the crushing shock he’d experienced when she disappeared from Ohio. She didn’t know he’d continued to want her, the craving strong and irrepressible—a need that drove him to self-disgust. He’d thirsted for Darcy like a man in the desert, even after he entered into a dry marriage of convenience. Now self-loathing crowded his mind. It led him to a painful truth.

  A man craved what he couldn’t have.

  Surrendering to the greedy impulse, he glided his free hand through her hair, savoring the silky texture. Taking his time, he steered the heavy locks over her shoulder. When his fingers brushed her cheek, she trembled.

  The reaction felt like triumph. He wasn’t the only one she’d put at risk.

  “Do us both a favor, Darcy. Stop flirting.” With a self-deprecating smile, he added, “Why bother? I’ve been attracted to you my whole life. That doesn’t mean I want to pick up where we left off. We did enough damage the last time.”

  “Forgive me. I didn’t mean . . .”

  The apology drifted into a muddled silence.

  He let her go. “We have a natural attraction,” he said, glad they were getting this out in the open. “We always have. Doesn’t mean we should let it pull us off course.”

  “You’re right.” Tipping her head back, she sent her anxious gaze across the night sky. The stars were out, a canopy of twinkling light. “I need a friend, and you’ve been so good to us. Switching your schedule around to help with Emerson and giving Samson a job. Answering my SOS tonight. I’m sure you had more interesting plans for the evening.” She covered her face with her hands. “I was coming on to you. What’s wrong with me?”

  “Nothing. It was just a mistake.”

  She flopped her hands into her lap. “Gallant to the end. You never change, do you?”

  “I guess not.”

  “Even when we were kids, I had a major crush. Losing you when I was twelve . . . I didn’t think I could bear it. I cried for weeks.” The admission came at a price, and she looked away. “When we found each other again, right before I graduated from college, it felt like a miracle. As if we’d survived a divine test and proven ourselves worthy. I was sure everything would work out, somehow.”

  “I felt the same way.” Pride lanced him, sure and swift. “I loved you, Darcy.”

  The words struck her with more force than he intended. He didn’t want to hurt her.

  Stricken, she searched his face. “You never told me.”

  “I never got the chance. I woke up one day, and you were gone.”

  Speechless, she stared at him. She looked fragile, her features creasing with regret. The urge to take her into his arms nearly overrode his common sense.

  “Let’s walk,” he announced, pushing out of his chair. Having waded this far into a painful conversation, they might as well discuss the rest.

  They darted across the street to the park. In the shadows, an older couple chatted quietly at a picnic table. Behind the brick walk leading deep into the park, the Chagrin River bubbled and leaped.

  Michael said, “Will you clear up the stuff I don’t understand? For starters, why were you out drinking on the night of the accident? We were supposed to meet for dinner. I called repeatedly from the restaurant. You never picked up.”

  It was the better part of valor not to mention the rest. Pacing in the lobby of the four-star Beachwood restaurant. His confusion switching to anger as the minutes wound out. The diamond solitaire tucked in a blazer pocket. Earlier in the week, he’d purchased the ring in the starry bliss of a man deeply in love.

  “I’ll tell you everything,” Darcy said. “Just promise not to judge me too harshly.”

  A weight pressed his unprepared heart. Judgment was the last thing on his mind. But he did want answers.

  “I’m listening,” he said.

  Chapter 18

  An unexpected calm stole through Darcy.

  She was tired of running. From the guilt she wore like a second skin, and the fear over the difficult tasks sure to darken the coming months. What point was there in running from past guilt or future trials? Doing so only made it harder to appreciate the blessings in her life. In the last, precious weeks Emerson had become the bright center of her world. And there was still time to build a semblance of a relationship with her mother before death took Rosalind.

  And Michael? As she listened to the river’s tumbling song, Darcy confronted just how much she’d hurt him. More deeply than she’d understood. If the unvarnished truth provided the means to bring healing, she would tell him everything.

  “After I left Ohio, I rarely let you into my thoughts,” she began. “I couldn’t, Michael. My guilt over Elizabeth and my father crowded out everything else. That’s why I traveled from one city to the next. Keeping people at a distance made handling the grief easier.”

  “What did you do for work?”

  “Temp management jobs. Finding work was never a problem.”

  “How many cities?”

  “Eight.”

  “You moved once a year?”

  “Moving around kept my emotions in deep freeze. I didn’t know how else to survive.”

  He gestured at a park bench. They sat down, and he lowered his elbows to his knees. “The night of the accident—tell me about the bar. When you went out drinking . . . who were you with?”

  The intensity of his tone surprised her, but not as much as the subtext to his question. He assumed she’d been cheating on him.

  Quickly, she checked her outrage. With no clear understanding of the reason for her disappearance, why wouldn’t he question everything?

  Needing to put him at ease, she said, “You were the only man I cared about. There was never anyone else. I was so upset, I forgot we’d made dinner plans. I went out alone.”

  He shut his eyes tightly. With regret, or relief? There was no telling, and the pain etching his features drove sorrow through her. With the sorrow came the question she’d avoided for too long, beating a miserable tempo against her heart. By leaving him, what had she given up?

  Everything.

  He asked, “Why were you upset?”

  “I’d argued with my father. A real shouting match. Our first, ever.” Grimly, she stared into the darkness. “It was ironic on so many levels.”

 
; “Why ironic?”

  “Other than the occasional small talk or question about my academics, we rarely talked.”

  “Dr. Jack Goodridge, the original absentee father. When we were kids, his disinterest hurt you. I remember.”

  “After Elizabeth’s pregnancy upended the status quo, he became even more distant. Drumming up reasons to work late or meet with colleagues after hours. Anything to avoid dealing with the changes at home. In fairness, none of us were prepared for the changes a baby would bring. My parents were entrenched in their careers and their country club life. And I’d found you again.” She paused for a beat. “Don’t get me wrong. I did fall in love with Emerson. How could I resist? But the household was thrown into turmoil by his bouts of late-night crying and Elizabeth’s mood swings. Some days, she cried more than the baby did.”

  “You never mentioned the problems at home. I knew your home life was tense, with Elizabeth dealing with a newborn. I had no idea it was really bad.”

  “My home life wasn’t a compelling topic at the outset of a romance.” She shrugged. “I would’ve told you, eventually.”

  He gazed at her steadily. “The argument with your father. What was it about?”

  “He told me to break up with you. Not a request—an ultimatum.”

  “Hold on. You agreed?” Betrayal thickened his voice.

  “I didn’t have a choice!”

  “Why not? I sure as hell don’t understand. You’d better explain.”

  No easy task, and she failed to quell the nerves batting around her rib cage. “After my sister came home from the hospital with her baby, my parents began arguing day and night. It was unnerving, listening to them go at it in their room late at night or shout at each other in the kitchen before they left for work. The house became a war zone.” Her shoulders slumped beneath the weight of the memories. “My father insisted I break up with you for the sake of our family.”

  “Because of the fight between our mothers?”

  “He said it was a lot worse than I’d ever understood. If I kept seeing you, I’d dredge up all those hard feelings. It would be more than my mother could handle. My parents didn’t need another upset—with a new baby in the house, they were already on edge. My father warned me that another mistake could make our family fall apart.”

  A heavy silence fell between them. Michael scrubbed his palms across his face.

  At length he said, “Your father told me essentially the same thing. Break up with you, or I’d destroy the Goodridge family.”

  The disclosure snatched her breath away. “When?”

  “A few days after we ran into him at the restaurant in Beachwood. He showed up one night at my mother’s house. She’d gone out to dinner with friends. My conversation with your father was pretty heated. He didn’t go into the details about dealing with Elizabeth and a new baby, but he made his desires clear.”

  “What did you tell him?”

  “I dug in my heels and refused to stop seeing you.”

  Overwhelmed, she pinioned him with a look of disbelief. “Why didn’t you tell me? On our next date, or when we were sneaking in phone calls at midnight? Why did you keep this to yourself?”

  “You were nervous enough about dating. All the bad blood between our mothers—you worried constantly about Rosalind finding out about us. Why would I add to your concerns? Your father’s opinion didn’t matter. Not to me, at least.”

  He nearly added something else. Instead, he held his tongue.

  An unnecessary kindness. She knew what he’d declined to add.

  Her father’s opinion should not have mattered to her either. She should’ve ignored the threats. Like Michael, she should’ve held fast and refused to give up a relationship that was pure and good.

  But she wasn’t like Michael. She wasn’t strong. Eight years ago, she’d caved beneath her father’s demands.

  On rubbery legs, she got to her feet. “It’s getting late.”

  There was nothing left to discuss. She’d failed Michael.

  She’d failed herself too.

  He nodded. “I’ll walk you back to your car.”

  In a giddy arc, Emerson swung the bags at his hips. “Aunt Darcy, what about jewelry? Should we buy earrings or a necklace for Latrice?” After an hour of looking through the booths at the Handmade Heaven craft fair, they were still in search of the perfect gift.

  The sky was overcast and dreary, the crowds thick. Emerson hardly noticed. After filling four bags with handcrafted toys and various gifts, he was the vision of sunny skies.

  Veering into the next booth, he selected a garishly bright necklace. “What about this? I like the colors.”

  The moon-faced teenager working the booth drifted off to help another customer. Darcy lowered her voice.

  “I don’t know, Emerson.” She studied the necklace’s neon green and orange beads. Naturally, Halloween colors would appeal to an eight-year-old boy. “Isn’t this necklace better suited for a girl? Latrice is a mature lady.”

  “What’s ‘mature’?”

  “You know, grown-up. Latrice likes bright colors, but neon isn’t her thing.”

  Emerson returned the necklace to the rack. “Can we keep looking? We found nice gifts for Samson and Grandmother. I don’t want Latrice to feel left out.”

  “We won’t stop looking until we find something fabulous for her.”

  “What about Nella and Tippi? Should we buy them gifts? We don’t have to worry about Michael. He told me not to get him anything.”

  If the generous boy returned home with gifts for the Varano women, Rosalind would blame Darcy. Lately, they had been getting along fairly well. Why rock the boat?

  She glanced at her watch. “It’s already after two o’clock, kiddo. Why don’t we find Latrice a gift and call it a day? We should head back soon. You’re supposed to study this afternoon for at least two hours.”

  “Boys shouldn’t have to study in July. Summer vacation is supposed to be a vacation.”

  “That’s Samson’s opinion.” Despite her poor health, Rosalind continued to design elaborate study plans. She clung to the established routine as if her diagnosis wouldn’t soon alter their lives. “What’s on today’s agenda?”

  “The branches of government. Judicial, legislative, and executive. I have to read three boring chapters.” Emerson hung his head. “Grandmother will ask lots of questions about the judicial branch. She loves anything to do with judges.”

  “No worries. I’ll help you ace the test. We’ll read the chapters together.”

  “You’ll help me study?”

  The expectancy on his face brought a twinge of guilt. She should’ve offered to help weeks ago. With all the other tasks occupying her days, doing so had never crossed her mind.

  “Count on me as your study partner for the rest of summer,” she promised. “As a matter of fact, I’m on standby if you need help when the new school year starts in August.”

  “Thank you, Aunt Darcy!”

  He tugged her toward the next booth, and she tried to ape his enthusiasm. It was no mean feat. She’d felt blue since daybreak. Despite her best efforts, her thoughts kept stubbornly wending back to last night’s conversation with Michael.

  She still wasn’t sure why she’d followed the mad impulse to ask him to meet at the martini bar. Granted, Rosalind’s altercation with poor Morgan Harbert and the subsequent conversation about funeral plans left Darcy feeling out of sorts. Add to that Latrice joining them for dinner, then everyone scattering from the dining room afterward. But none of yesterday’s surprises explained why she kicked off a night out with Michael by flirting.

  She hadn’t meant to reignite their romance. Not consciously.

  For too long, guilt over the accident had blotted out everything else. Everything, including the affection she’d once felt for Michael. Before meeting him, she should’ve prepared for their attraction to come flaring back to life. She should not have encouraged it.

  A second worry nudged into her thoug
hts. She’d spent precious little time reflecting on the argument with her late father. During all the intervening years, she’d avoided the memory.

  Why had my usually even-tempered father become furious when he demanded I stop seeing Michael?

  At the time, Darcy assumed he meant to spare Rosalind further pain.

  Now she wondered whether his reaction was more self-serving than she’d understood. She couldn’t recall a time in her parents’ marriage when her father had behaved protectively toward Rosalind. He was respectful and courteous. Never outwardly affectionate, and certainly not protective of the accomplished judge.

  Drawing from her reverie, she heard Emerson say, “Aunt Darcy, look in here! There’s lots of stuff for mature ladies.”

  Her nephew ran into the next booth. Racks of embroidered peasant blouses hung in attractive displays. In the back of the booth, dozens of pretty scarves were laid out on a table.

  “What about this one?” Emerson selected a shimmery black scarf with dashes of crimson thread knit through.

  “This is beautiful!” She dropped a kiss on the crown of his head. “Kiddo, you did good. Latrice will love it.”

  Emerson beamed. “Aunt Darcy?”

  “Hmm?”

  “Can we visit the Grand Canyon?”

  In response, she cupped the side of his face. Questions regarding future vacations were becoming part of the daily routine. Yellowstone, Yosemite, Disneyland, and now the Grand Canyon—it didn’t escape her notice the destinations involved miles of walking or required hiking boots. The sort of vacations that Rosalind, well into her sixties, would never suggest. She also suspected Emerson wanted reassurance she would remain in his life for the long haul.

  “The Grand Canyon is a great idea,” she said, wishing there were a simple way to steer him toward other, more difficult topics. Since the night when they learned of Rosalind’s prognosis, he’d shied away from the subject. “Hey, if we plan a trip to the Grand Canyon, we should visit Sedona at the same time.”

  “What’s Sedona?”

  “A city about two hours south, in Arizona. There are cool rock formations in Sedona. I’ve always wanted to see them.”