“I’m guessing part of that has nothing to do with me.”
Joy groaned. Her friend wasn’t going to let up with the Oliver stuff, was she? “You got me. Obviously, I’m enjoying the scenery too.”
“I’ll bet you are.”
They laughed and the fire on the television danced.
What can I give Him, poor as I am?
“Joy.” Sophia’s words came out soft, cautious. “Are you ever going to tell me what happened between you and Oliver in London?”
Yet what I can I give Him, give my heart.
“Of course. I’ll tell you everything, friend.”
Chapter 12
“Hey, Mom.” Joy slipped from the warmth of the giant manor where Sophia’s rehearsal lunch was in full swing.
Though it was a surprising fifty-two degrees and the recent snow had never reached the town of Wendall where the wedding venue was located—about fifty miles from Port Willis—the air still vibrated with a chill. She stepped into a gorgeous garden that wound from the house down toward a magnificent, ancient-looking tree that overlooked a bluff. Many plants in the garden lay dormant, but other flowers and trees of all colors and varieties decorated either side of a crushed gravel walkway.
Joy stared at a pink rhododendron bush as she tried to focus on her mom. “How are you feeling?”
“Oh, just fine, dear.” The vague tone in her mother’s voice indicated that she might not remember who she was talking to—despite that she had called Joy—but she was putting on a good show nonetheless. A wet cough rattled across the phone.
Joy straightened. “That didn’t sound good.”
“It’s just this cold I’ve had. It’s been bothering me for days.”
“You have a cold?” She’d called her parents two days ago on Christmas, but Mom hadn’t been up to talking, and Dad hadn’t mentioned Mom was sick.
If Joy had been there, she’d have known. Instead, she’d spent the time helping Sophia with last-minute details and fitting in as much time with Oliver as possible. She should have tried calling them again before now.
“Are the nurses taking good care of you?” Joy stuck her free hand into her parka pocket.
“Of course, of course.”
Another cough put Joy on high alert. “Mom, are you sure you’re okay? Has Dr. Lieberman been to see you yet? He should check your lungs, make sure they’re clear.”
“Stuff and nonsense. I’ll be right as rain after a few nights of rest.”
“Can I talk to Dad, please?” She started walking in order to stay warm. As she rounded a bend in the garden path, the sun popped out of the shade and warmed Joy’s cheeks.
“No, he . . . well, I don’t remember where he went.”
“That’s okay, Mom. Don’t worry about it.” Joy breathed a sigh of frustration. In about three days, she’d be back in Florida, monitoring Mom’s care more closely. She simply had to trust that her mother would be fine until then and that others were capable of caring for her in the interim.
Yeah, right. There was nothing simple about that.
After a few minutes of sharing the wedding plans for the next day, Joy came into view of the tree where Sophia and William’s rehearsal had been held an hour ago. The wedding party had stood along the cliff, which offered a stunning prospect of the ocean but also wind that had pummeled them. Thank goodness for a blessedly brief ceremony and strategically placed outdoor heaters, or Joy would have frozen solid.
Now that same wind howled across the phone, making it difficult to hear Mom. “Sorry, what was that?”
“I’m tired.”
“I’ll let you go. Thanks for calling. Love you.”
Mom hung up without saying another word. Even though Joy knew the disease was the reason Mom rarely acknowledged her love anymore, it felt like rejection and rejection always stung.
She stuck her phone into the back pocket of her jeans and leaned against the tree, watching the swirling depths of the ocean below. Her chaotic hair tickled the tips of her ears as it twirled with the gushes of air being sent upward.
“There you are.” Oliver’s comment nearly got lost on the crazy gale as he joined her at the tree. “The bride was looking for you. Apparently it’s time for them to say a few thank-yous.”
“All right.” Joy couldn’t keep the sadness from tingeing her words. With every moment that passed, normal life beckoned her back. Never had she been one to run away from her problems, but if she could only slow time . . .
“What’s wrong, love?”
She bit her lip, tears nearly finding her eyes. “I just talked to my mom.”
“Ah.” His arm slipped around her shoulders, and she felt safe there, buffeted from the roiling draft coming up from the sea. Amazing how he understood her—that she didn’t necessarily need to talk out the pain again. That she simply needed a companion to walk through it with her.
Oh, goodness. She really was going to full-on cry if she didn’t get out of here and back to Sophia, so she put her arm around Oliver’s waist and directed them toward the garden.
As they neared the house, Oliver stopped, holding Joy with him. He dropped his arm and framed her face with both hands, stroking her cheeks with his thumbs. “I’m sorry for your pain, Joy.”
And that was all it took. Big plops of salty water streamed from her eyes onto his fingers. He took her into his arms and held her while she sobbed, soaking his brown cashmere sweater in the process.
After her tears died down, she pulled back slightly and looked up at him. “Thank you.” Her nose felt nearly blocked and her makeup was sure to be in shambles. “You wouldn’t happen to have a handkerchief, would you?”
“I’m not that old.”
A smile flitted across her face at the tease. “But it would be British of you, wouldn’t it?”
“I’m sorry to disappoint.”
“Guess you can’t believe everything you see in the movies.” She knuckled away the excess moisture from under her eyes as she laughed.
“Real life can be better than the movies.” He swooped in for a kiss that was over far too quickly. But the look in the depths of his brown eyes speared her. “This is madness, Joy.”
“What?” Her words were soft as the petals of the Christmas roses blooming in the bush to their right.
“The way I feel about you.”
She was afraid to ask what he meant by it.
He snatched her hand in his. “It came on like that winter snow the day we were in London. So quick, I’m not sure either of us saw it coming. And I don’t know about you, but I’ve never experienced something this powerful before.”
That certainly couldn’t be true. “What about with Jana?”
“Jana and I were childhood chums, and things between us developed slowly. Looking back, I’m not sure I loved her in the right way, as a husband should love a wife. It was more like best mates who settled into a romance.”
“My favorite romantic movie trope is friends-turned-lovers.” Anne and Gilbert. Harry and Sally. Emma and Knightley. “I always imagined that’s how my story would go.”
You don’t have a story. This is it. A chance encounter. A winter romance. Nothing more.
But she wanted it to be more.
For the first time, she allowed herself to dream. What would it be like to leave responsibility in the dust and pursue a relationship with Oliver after Sophia’s wedding and beyond? To see it through?
Ugh, she was a horrible daughter to even consider it. Her parents had always been there for her when she needed them. How could she possibly do any less?
They began to saunter down the path arm in arm. Oliver’s cologne wafted toward her, the scent fresh and deep. “What’s going on in that brilliant mind of yours?”
“Just thinking.”
“About . . .”
“The future.”
The pressure of his arm around her increased slightly as he kissed the top of her head. “Don’t borrow trouble.”
Might as well say it
. Break the bubble now. “What are we doing, Oliver? There’s no future between us.”
“You don’t know that.”
She gently disengaged herself from him. “I like you, Oliver. I really do. But that doesn’t change the facts. And we’re too old to play make believe.” Her throat burned with the admission because that is just what she’d been doing—allowing herself to be swept away by the magic of the season, of Sophia’s fairytale ending.
“I’m not pretending, Joy.” Oliver moved toward her again, his boots crunching the gravel.
If only he’d stop looking at her like Charles Bingley looked at Jane Bennett, like Joe Fox looked at Kathleen Kelly, like Luke Danes looked at Lorelai Gilmore. “I’m not saying there’s nothing between us. Clearly, there is. But it’s just not realistic. There’s nowhere for it to go. I’m not the kind of woman to pursue a relationship that’s impossible before it begins. And you don’t strike me as that kind of guy either.”
“Why is it impossible? Simply because we live in different countries?”
“Don’t you see that as a problem?”
“I admit it’s not ideal, but it doesn’t make things impossible. Just more complicated. But Joy, you’re worth complicated.”
Why did he have to be so wonderful and smooth and . . . wonderful? Clearly, her brain was mush around him. She closed her eyes at the thought, focusing on the problem at hand. “I appreciate you saying that. But there’s no way I can abandon my parents. They depend on me, and I won’t let them down.” Not again, anyway.
“And you have no idea how much I admire you for it.”
Her eyes opened again, and she tilted her head. “Then you wouldn’t ever ask me to do it. And unless you’re willing to leave your business behind . . .”
His jaw clenched.
“Exactly.” She softened her voice and squeezed his upper arm.
“You’re not leaving room for another possibility.”
Was there really something she hadn’t considered? “And what’s that?”
“That there’s some other solution that neither of us can see right now because it’s not the future. Only God knows what will happen, and he can work anything out.”
“I know that God can work things out but he doesn’t always.” Case in point—instead of Mom and Dad living out their retirement traveling the world as they’d always intended, they were stuck in the clutches of Alzheimer’s and a slow, agonizing separation thanks to the disease. “We have to make the best decisions we can with the information we have right now.”
“Normally I would readily agree to using logic in decision making. But sometimes the heart can’t be told how to feel.” Behind him, a radiant display of yellow flowers adorned an evergreen shrub. “Joy, do you know the last time it snowed in Cornwall? It’s been years. And do you know the last time it snowed here at Christmas time? Even longer. Yet, it happened. A year ago, we couldn’t have predicted it. In fact, a year ago it was unusually warm at Christmastime. So, we can’t tell the future, true. But you’re forgetting one thing about the information we have right now.”
“And what’s that?” She couldn’t keep the tremble from her voice.
“That what we’re feeling for each other, it’s rare. And it’s a gift.”
This was crazy. She’d always scoffed at the movies in which a couple met and fell hard for each other in a matter of days, yet that’s what had happened.
Oliver looked at her with such longing that it stole her breath. All she wanted to do in the moment was burrow into his arms, forgetting that such things as Alzheimer’s and oceans and responsibility even existed. But what good would it do? In a matter of days, she’d return to the United States. He’d return to London. And their time together would be nothing but a lovely and picturesque memory she’d hold onto when times got even tougher.
Joy swallowed, hard. “You’re right. It’s a beautiful gift. And I don’t want to ruin the memory of it by arguing. It’d be easier to end it now instead of allowing things to grow bitter between us.”
“Joy.”
“I’m sorry, Oliver. I have to focus on Sophia right now. I’m supposed to be here for her, after all.”
Then she rose up on her tiptoes, kissed his cheek, buried her hands into her jacket so she wouldn’t reach for him again, and headed inside the manor.
Chapter 13
There couldn’t be a more beautiful day for a more beautiful bride.
Joy’s heart snagged at the sight of Sophia standing before a floor-length mirror in her A-line dress with beaded appliqués and capped sleeves. The basque waistline, tulle skirt with a lace hem, and chapel train worked together to perfectly highlight Sophia’s allure. Her bright eyes and red lips popped even more than usual against the white of the dress. Tendrils of black curls framed her face, and her mouth pulled into a soft smile as she allowed her mom to hug her shoulders from behind.
She was Snow White about to marry her prince, and despite Joy’s woes in the love department, she couldn’t have been happier for her best friend.
“You are lovelier than any bride I’ve ever seen—and I’ve seen a lot.” Sandy Barrett’s voice wobbled as she squeezed her daughter. Stepping away, she straightened the portrait neckline of her elegant silver gown. Not many women of sixty-one could pull off the asymmetrically ruched bodice, dropped waistline, and cascading ruffles, but Sandy wore it well.
Sophia batted away the beginning of a tear before it could fall. “I won’t cry. I won’t cry.”
Joy flounced past fellow bridesmaids Ginny and Mary with a box of tissues extended. “Yeah, right. We all know better than that. Stick some of these in your bouquet.”
“Good idea.” Sophia pulled a few tissues from the box then leaned forward to embrace Joy. “Thank you for everything you’ve done since you’ve arrived. I couldn’t have accomplished this without you.”
“Anything for you.” After the rehearsal lunch the day before, they’d returned to Sophia’s so her friend could pack luggage for the honeymoon. Joy had spent the time gathering everything they’d need to bring to the wedding venue today. Of course, during the packing, Sophia had demanded to know the reason for Joy’s smudged mascara—the woman was way too observant—and Joy had spilled everything. At least she’d managed to reign in her tears that time.
“You look absolutely amazing.” Ginny pushed forward in her ice-blue lace, empire-waisted gown. “Like the perfect chocolate truffle layer cake. Ooo, or better yet, a black-tie cheesecake with a raspberry topping. Elegant and classic but decidedly delicious.”
“Uh, thank you?” Sophia’s laugh sounded like tinkling glass as she embraced Ginny.
Mary, who was six feet tall but not intimidating in the slightest, slid a final bobby pin into her blond updo. “Now you’re just making us all hungry.”
“Good thing your family is catering today, then, because it means we’re in for the best food ever.” Sophia lowered herself daintily onto the edge of a chair.
“Between them, me as a bridesmaid, and my brother as the photographer, you couldn’t have gotten married without the Hammett family.” Mary slid a white faux fur wrap over her bridesmaid dress. Even though William and Sophia had rented portable heaters for the outside ceremony, Joy was grateful they’d have some extra coverage from the wind.
A knock sounded on the door of the bridal suite.
“Come in,” Sophia called.
A handsome man stuck his head into the room, a camera slung around his neck. He was even taller than Mary with brown curls and the same bright green eyes as his sister. “If you’re ready for photos, we can begin.”
“Great, thanks, Michael.”
“Sure. Would it be possible to grab the rings from you? I’d like to take some shots with them in the foreground and you and William in the background.”
“Of course.” Sophia turned to Joy. “Where are they?”
“They should be in the box with all the other things we brought with us today.” Joy strode to the back corner of the roo
m where she’d placed the box. Though it was normally the best man’s job to hold on to the rings, William’s brother Garrett hadn’t been available to participate in the pre-wedding festivities. When Joy had volunteered to be in charge of the rings instead, the bride and groom had gladly agreed.
The box was kind of tall, so Joy had to strain to see into it. She sifted through the contents—a sewing kit, stain-remover wipes, breath mints, pain relievers, floss, extra buttons, deodorant, and more—and was about halfway done before a slow panic built inside her.
She remembered grabbing the rings and placing them on the dresser when she was gathering items the day before. But had she actually placed them in the box?
Or had she been too distracted by her break-up with Oliver that she’d forgotten?
“No.” The word whooshed out and clanged an invisible bell that signaled doom.
“What’s wrong?” Sophia appeared at her side.
Joy’s hand skimmed the bottom of the box for the third time but didn’t come up with anything else.
She’d failed her best friend. How was this possible?
“Joy? Are you okay?” Sophia’s gentle touch was way nicer than Joy deserved.
Determined to stand her ground though faintness threatened, her eyes flitted to Sophia. “I forgot the rings.”
Sophia’s jaw went slack.
“I’m so sorry, friend. I can go get them—”
“You’d never make it back in time.” Sophia chewed her bottom lip, leaving imprints in the red color. Her friend bravely straightened her shoulders and visibly shook off the concern. “It’ll be fine. We just won’t do the ring exchange part, or maybe we can find some twisty ties or something like that.”
“On it!” Ginny took off out the door and down the hall, presumably toward the kitchen.
Sophia deserved so much more than twisty ties for rings. She didn’t even have her engagement ring to show off because she’d chosen to have it soldered to the wedding band the week before.
How could Joy have allowed herself to become so inattentive to the people who mattered most in her life? First, she’d failed Mom. Now her best friend.
Like a Winter Snow Page 9