by Olivia Miles
“Henry.”
Jane’s eyes glistened with tears, but the joy in her smile made his breath catch. Henry gritted his teeth, tightening his resolve.
“I’ve just had the most amazing news. I—I can’t even believe it. It’s Sophie. She’s… the custody… Adam dropped it.”
Henry stepped farther into the shop, careful to maintain a healthy distance. “That’s wonderful news.”
Jane’s brow furrowed as her smile slipped. “You don’t seem surprised. Did you—the lawyer said someone wrote a letter.”
He pulled in a long breath. It would be so easy to tell her the truth, but taking credit for it would only make what he had come to say all that much more difficult.
“It sounds like someone was looking out for you.” His smile felt frozen on his face, his words stilted. He hated disappointing her again.
Jane looked down at the phone she still clasped in her hands and studied it. When she lifted her eyes to him once more, doubt clouded the space where so much light had just been. “I don’t know who it was, but… I’ll always be grateful to that person. I hope they know that.”
Henry held her stare. “No doubt it was someone who recognized what a good mother you are. Sophie’s your world. Anyone could see that.”
Jane nodded, seeming uncertain. “I just wish I could thank the person.”
“I’m sure seeing you smile is the only payback that person is looking for.” He shoved his hands into his pockets. “I actually came in to see you.”
“Oh?”
“Ivy will probably find some excuse to come down here, but she needs her rest. I’m sure you understand.”
Jane nodded, then tipped her head. “Henry. Are you sure you didn’t write the letter?”
“I learned long ago to stay out of people’s business. I saw firsthand what happens when people get involved in situations they shouldn’t.”
“What are you trying to say?” Jane asked, stepping forward.
Henry roved his gaze over her face, taking in the confusion that clouded her eyes. He swallowed hard, knowing what he’d come to do. “I shouldn’t have gotten involved with you, Jane. You have enough going on without me coming in and turning your life upside down.”
“Last night…” Jane shook her head. “I was upset. I didn’t know what else to do.”
“You put Sophie first. You did what any good mother would do.”
Jane took another step forward, stopping within arm’s reach. He let his eyes drift to her lips, remembering the tease of her smile, the way she tasted, and felt… Henry’s jaw pulsed, and he cursed to himself, wishing he could stop now but knowing he couldn’t. She looked so lost and bewildered, and he hated himself in that moment. Hated himself for taking the joy out of this moment for her. Hated himself for crushing her hopes. But he hated himself more yesterday, when he saw how much he’d almost cost her.
He thrust his hands in his pockets. “I’m heading out this week,” he said, his voice gruff and thick. “My editor’s got me on a new assignment and I fly out of San Francisco next week.”
“Will you be back for the holidays?” Jane inquired after a long pause.
“I’ll be on the road, no doubt.”
Jane’s eyes searched his in confusion. “I just thought…” She gave a sad smile. “I guess I just thought—”
His heart skipped a beat, and he cut in before he could hear what she had to say. Knowing that he’d meant something to her, that she cared, and that she’d want him to be there, after everything, would only make things worse. He started it, and now he needed to end it.
“Jane,” he said, his voice softening. “I meant what I said the other day about all those things you deserve. You deserve a man who is home every night for dinner, who tucks Sophie into bed and imagines more children with you. You deserve someone who loves all the things you do, and who makes it his mission every day to make your life a little better. That’s not me.”
Jane blinked but said nothing.
Henry ground his teeth, forcing himself to go on. “You deserve friendship and love and laughter. And stability.”
“But you—”
“I’m none of those things, Jane,” he said flatly.
She shook her head. “No,” she said firmly. “I don’t believe you. Look at all the nice things you’ve done for me since you’ve been back. You can’t dismiss that.”
No, he couldn’t. He leaned a hip against the counter, feeling the pull in his chest. “Did you ever wonder why I got a divorce?”
Jane looked confused. “No.”
“My wife cheated on me.” He dragged out a long sigh, but anger kicked at his pulse. Even now, there was still that sting when he thought back on it.
Her eyes widened slightly in surprise, but otherwise her expression remained steady.
“She wanted all the things you need, Jane. I… couldn’t give them to her.” He shrugged. “I tried.” And failed.
“But that’s no excuse for her to cheat on you,” Jane said. “You were the one who told me not to blame myself for Adam’s unfaithfulness.”
“True, all true. But it doesn’t mean I’m any good, Jane. It doesn’t mean I can make you happy.”
“But you did make me happy.”
“And then I nearly cost you your daughter,” he reminded her. She opened her mouth to say something, but he held up a hand. “You want to come home to the same house every night, eat dinner, and curl up into bed. You want to walk down Main Street and wave at the people you’ve known since you were too young to talk. I don’t want those things.”
“I think you do,” Jane insisted.
Henry shook his head. “You’re a family person, Jane. You were raised that way, it’s natural to you. It’s not to me.”
“I wouldn’t cheat on you, Henry.”
“You don’t know that for sure,” Henry remarked. “And I’m not willing to take that risk. Of hurting you.” Of hurting myself.
“But Henry—”
“I’m sorry, Jane,” he said, backing up to the door. “I’m really, really sorry.”
He turned and walked away, through the back door and into the alley, turning his collar against the biting wind. He hurried around the building and followed the streets back to the B&B, stopping to look at no one. In a few days he’d be gone anyway, and this time he wouldn’t be coming back. This town was nothing but bad memories. Bad times. Dark reminders. He’d be better once he was on the road, in his routine, putting one foot ahead of the other and never staying in one place long enough to get too close.
It was only here, when he was in Briar Creek, that he dared to think of all he’d once wanted, and all he would never have.
CHAPTER
29
Grace was hunched over the seating charts when Jane came into the kitchen. She pulled out a chair and slunk into it with a sigh. Though she was grateful for the extra work hours, especially with the holidays quickly approaching, she was also bone tired.
Fortunately, their mother was cooking tonight, and from the smells wafting from the oven, Jane could tell her roasted chicken would be ready soon.
“Only a week to go until the big day,” Jane said. “Can you believe it?”
Grace’s expression lit up. “This all feels like a dream come true, honestly. I keep waiting for something to go wrong.”
“Don’t say that,” Jane said, thinking that she had once worried the same, only with good reason. “Ivy was just unwrapping the vases for the centerpieces today, and you know Anna won’t let you down with the cake.”
“I wouldn’t,” Anna unwrapped her scarf as she came into the kitchen, “if I could finally start the thing.” She turned to Grace. “Please tell me you have finally decided on the flavor.”
Grace winked at Jane before glancing back at Anna. “Red velvet.”
“Of course.” Anna tossed her hands up in the air. “I believe that was the very first one I suggested, back when Luke popped the question.”
“I needed to be su
re,” Grace replied.
“Well, so long as you’re happy.” Anna settled into a chair and tipped her head at Jane. “And speaking of happy… Shouldn’t you be beaming from ear to ear?”
Jane forced a smile and forced back the pain in her heart every time she thought of Henry’s coldness the last time they’d spoken. “Of course. I’m just still in shock, I guess. I came so close to losing Sophie that it’s hard to believe the threat is gone.”
“And you still don’t know who wrote the letter?”
“No…”
Grace set down her pencil. “I’ve been wondering, Jane. Do you think Patty wrote it?”
Jane stared at her sister. “Adam’s mother?” The thought had never even occurred to her, but now that Grace mentioned it, she could see the possibility. Patty had certainly seemed conflicted the day she’d stopped by the bookstore, and there was the fact that she wouldn’t want Sophie so far from her, either.
“Well, whoever it was,” Kathleen said, bustling into the room, “it seems like they wanted to remain anonymous. All I know is, had I known—” She gave Jane a stern look. “Had I known, I would have written the letter myself!”
Jane smiled. It had been such a relief to tell her mother what was going on once the threat had passed. It felt good to deliver good news for a change.
“Maybe it was Patty, then,” Jane mused. She chewed on the edge of her thumbnail, replaying the conversation with her ex-mother-in-law. She hadn’t seen or spoken to her since, and if it was her, she’d want to thank her. Still, a part of her couldn’t shake the feeling that it had been Henry.
“You don’t look convinced,” Anna pointed out. She stood and filled the kettle with water as their mother opened a tin of cookies, fresh from Anna’s kitchen.
“I guess I just hoped it had been Henry,” Jane admitted.
Grace raised her eyebrows. “Hoped?”
Jane felt her cheeks flush. “I mean, thought. I thought it was Henry.” She gritted her teeth, annoyed with her slip. “Stop looking at me like that.”
“Like what?” Grace mouth curved into a pleased grin.
“It’s okay to have feelings for Henry,” Anna said from across the room. “We always wished you’d have picked him instead of Adam anyway—”
Kathleen flashed Anna a stern glance and Anna quickly clamped her mouth shut.
“Is this true?” Jane demanded of her mother.
Kathleen just lifted her hand, sighing. “Henry was always so sweet to you. When I think of the way he showed up on our doorstep to take you to the prom…”
“Because Adam asked him to,” Jane pointed out.
Her sisters and mother exchanged glances but no one said anything. Jane frowned, as everything began to come clear. Adam had never even called to tell her he was canceling, and then the doorbell rang, and there was Henry, all dressed up, with that warm smile, and she’d just assumed…
He must have picked up the flowers, too. Pink peonies. Her favorite.
Good grief, he’d come on his own. Covering Adam’s mistakes, making sure she was taken care of.
Judging from the existence of that letter, he was still doing it.
Even Henry had to admit the old house had never looked better. With the new roof and fresh gray paint covering the dingy white siding, it was almost cheerful. Ivy had hung a fresh pine wreath on the door, secured with a dark orange velvet ribbon. “Curb appeal,” she said with a wink. The windows were washed, the yard was picked up, and even the detached garage didn’t look so sad anymore.
“I guess we should walk through one last time to make sure we didn’t miss anything.”
Henry nodded his agreement. The house would be listed Monday. With any luck, they’d find a buyer before the first big snow hit.
He took the steps slowly, knowing this was going to be the last time he ever set foot in the house he’d grown up in, and for some reason, he struggled to accept that. His mother was gone, and soon this house would be, too. There was nothing to hold on to anymore, nothing to blame, nothing to remind him of a time he wanted to forget. In a way, the finality of this saddened him, suddenly seizing him with the notion of all he’d once had here—good or bad—and all he was permanently leaving behind.
The first thing he noticed upon entering the house was the light. Their mother had kept the curtains drawn at all times, but with the heavy drapes gone, the darkness that seemed to bear down on them and fill every day with dread and despair had vanished. The front hall glowed with morning sunlight that bounced off the freshly painted linen-colored walls. The floors had been sanded and stained, the dark woodwork was painted white, and the banister rail leading up the curved stairs was almost inviting. Henry shifted his eyes to the living room, now empty, and instead of picturing himself and Ivy as young children sitting on the old stained rug, he could imagine other children happily playing, their toys filling the corner, maybe a television above the mantel.
“You’d never know it was the same house,” he murmured, turning to Ivy. Even though he’d stopped in to oversee the work, seeing the house in finished form left him awestruck.
“I’m almost sad to let it go,” Ivy said. “It wasn’t a bad house; it was just… a bad time.” She gave a brave smile. “It deserves to have some happier memories.”
“We all do,” Henry said quietly. He frowned, and turned back into the hall. He’d seen enough, and there was no sense in getting sentimental now. It was a fitting ending to this house and this town, he supposed. Next time he came through, a new family might be calling it home. By then, he wouldn’t have any more excuses to look back.
“It seems like you’ve had a good visit,” Ivy commented. “Does any of it have to do with Jane?”
He tried to keep his tone light. “Why would you say that?”
Ivy just shrugged, but a knowing smile played at her mouth. “You spent a lot of time with her, that’s all.”
“I was always fond of Jane,” Henry replied gruffly. He bit back on his teeth and gazed out the window. He still was fond of Jane, and that was all the more reason to put distance between them. How many times had he seen the hurt in her eyes and tried to take it away? It was different when he was the one causing it. He’d done it once, and he’d be damned if he’d do it again.
And he couldn’t trust himself to think there wouldn’t be a next time.
He wanted to give Jane everything she deserved and then some. But if he couldn’t? The mere thought made his blood run cold.
“Then why’d you go to Adam’s wedding?” she countered.
“Why do you think?” he shot back. “Besides, you know I’m not looking for anything serious. I was married once, and it wasn’t for me.”
“It didn’t work out. That doesn’t mean it isn’t for you. Caroline just wasn’t the right person for you.”
He couldn’t deny the truth in her words. He’d cared about Caroline, maybe even a part of him had loved her, but what he’d loved more than her, he knew, was everything she represented. A stable family life. A good background. But he’d still run from it. Still traveled too much, still invested too little.
He wouldn’t be making the same mistake twice.
“Will you come back for Thanksgiving?” Ivy asked hopefully, once they settled into the car. His bags were packed and loaded in the trunk with the intention of dropping her off before he headed to the airport in Burlington.
“Why don’t you come out to San Francisco for Thanksgiving?” he asked.
Ivy’s expression became tight. “I have some traditions here. Ones I created for myself, I guess you could say. Nothing much—usually a night out with girlfriends after a meal at the Madisons’…”
“You’ve really found your home here,” he observed, the bitterness over this fact now gone.
“It’s your home, too,” Ivy said.
Henry gripped the steering wheel and shifted the car into gear. He stared out the windshield, focused on the winding road straight ahead and not the small house on the hill, growing
smaller with each passing second, wishing with everything in him that he could believe that.
CHAPTER
30
The weather in San Francisco was mild this time of year, and Henry lifted the windows in his studio apartment, letting the fresh air filter through the stale room as he went to the small kitchen and flung open the fridge. It was empty, of course, just like the cabinets.
His bags were propped near the front door, and he eyed them steadily, somehow unable to bring himself to unpack. Normally, he didn’t bother. He rarely spent more than a few nights each month here, and it showed. Not a single picture hung on the walls. The bedspread was basic, the black leather couch cold and sterile, and no frames rested on the mantel. Nothing to remind him of where he came from, or who he’d left behind.
It was as uninviting as the hotel rooms he spent the majority of his time in. About as generic, too. He’d never put much thought into it, seeing no point in making roots when it was wheels up the next day, but now, having been away for more than a month, he felt a bit depressed to be met with these surroundings. It wasn’t a home—a home was something to come back to. This was just a room. It was functional. It fit his needs. Or it had, until now.
He picked up the phone and dialed his editor, who on occasion was up for dinner when he was in town. They agreed to meet at the steakhouse one block from the office, leaving Henry an hour to read over his article one last time.
He powered up his laptop and set his feet on the glass coffee table. The remote was inches from his fingertips and he flicked on the television. Soon, sounds from a random sitcom filled the room. He glanced up as he opened his document. The usual setup: parents squabbling about something the teenager had done, meddling neighbors popping by at inopportune times, and loud meals where everyone was talking over one another.
He flicked off the television. There was no use pretending anymore. No use filling his life with makeshift families. This was his life, alone, in this sterile little room he’d carved out as his own in the world. This was the life he had chosen for himself. So why was the thought of continuing this way starting to feel unbearable?