by Bella Andre
"Liam. Christie." Henry's pleading voice had them stopping their departure from the kitchen. "Please stay for dessert. Your mother went to all the trouble of baking a second cherry pie after the first burned."
Leaving would be easier. So much easier than staying. But she also knew deep in her heart that if Liam left like this, it would only make things worse between him and his mother.
Christie put her hand on his arm. "I do love cherry pie."
Everyone held their breath. For so long that Christie was half expecting one of them to turn blue and pass out.
Finally, Liam said, "Can the inn survive without you for a little longer?"
She wanted to pull him down for a kiss. Because he was a good son. And family meant everything to her. "Absolutely." She turned to Susan. "Any chance you have vanilla ice cream?"
The relief in the other woman's eyes nearly brought tears to Christie's own. "I wouldn't serve warm cherry pie without it."
The next twenty minutes were entirely made of small talk about the town, the weather, and pro baseball prospects. When their plates were finally cleared of pie and ice cream, they said their good-byes.
As they walked out to the car, Liam said, "I thought that went well."
His deadpan comment was completely unexpected--and just what she needed to unravel the tension that had been coiling up tighter and tighter inside. For the first time in far too long, Christie laughed freely.
All because of Liam.
*
"Did you see that?" Susan was standing at the kitchen sink trying to wash dishes, but her hands were shaking so hard a plate knocked into the porcelain and almost broke.
As steam rose up from the sink, Henry rushed over to shut off the water. "You're going to burn yourself!"
But Susan felt numb. Too numb to notice a little hot water. "There's something going on between them." She turned away from the sink and looked at her husband. "Didn't you see it?"
"See what?" There was annoyance in his voice. He never used to talk to her like that. Even though she'd likely deserved it many, many times before now.
"The way Liam looked at Christie at dinner." Her voice was shaking now just as much as her hands were.
"He likes her. Everyone likes her."
"Are you blind?" Her words were sharp. "He could hardly take his eyes off her. And she blushed every time he spoke to her."
"Fine. So maybe they like each other as more than just friends. What business is it of yours?"
She whirled from the sink, water and suds flying all over the kitchen floor. "She has already driven away one of my sons. I'm not going to let her drive away another. I'm not going to let her ruin their lives one by one."
"Whatever Wesley's reasons were for leaving, that sweet girl couldn't have driven him away."
"Stop saying how sweet she is!" She was yelling now, long past the point of being rational.
"Damn it, she is sweet. You say I'm the blind one. Now it's time for you to open your eyes. Can't you see that a woman like Christie is exactly what Liam needs?"
"You don't think I know what my own son needs?"
"No."
"And you do?"
"Yes, I damn well do. He needs a woman who will love him no matter what. Regardless of how hard things get. He deserves a woman he can love with his whole heart. A woman he isn't afraid to share anything with."
Oh God, he wasn't talking about Liam and Christie anymore. He was talking about the two of them. About what they used to have. About who they used to be.
Until she stupidly went and ruined everything, in one weak and horrible moment that she'd regret for the rest of her life.
"Henry--" She needed to tell him. She should have told him twenty years ago, right after she'd screwed up. She shouldn't have held it all inside. Because instead of the years making her betrayal seem less bad--every single year, every week, every hour had magnified her mistake a thousand times over.
But before she could tell him anything at all, he said, "Stay out of it, Susan. Whatever is going on with Liam and Christie, let it be. If they've got something growing between them, it's their business and no one else's."
She knew he was right. She could feel it deep inside her torn-up heart. But fear had her saying, "She was Wesley's fiancee."
"If Wesley and Christie were meant to be together, they would be married right now. You read his letter. He didn't want the marriage any more than she did."
"But what will people think?"
"If Liam and Christie end up together, I hope people will think they're a beautiful couple. I hope they'll look at the two of them and see love. Real love. I hope that all anyone will want is what's best for them."
With that, he got back to work loading the dishwasher, and she was so tired, so weak--so scared--all she could do was sit on a kitchen chair and watch him work.
How had she ever forgotten what a beautiful man her husband was? Thirty years after she'd met him, he was still muscular, with broad shoulders, and strong arms and legs. His brown hair was mostly gray now, but it looked great on him. She could see both of her sons in Henry: Liam's build, his large hands and serious eyes; Wesley's artistry, his ready smile, the way he could get along with absolutely anyone.
She wanted to say so many things to her husband, wanted to tell him how much she loved him, but she could see how angry he was with her. And how she'd only dug the hole between them deeper with her comments about Liam and Christie. There had been a time when they could have talked about the women their sons were interested in without fighting about it. But not anymore.
He closed the dishwasher. "Will the sander keep you up?"
"You're not coming to bed?"
"There's a lot of work to do still on the floors."
Just yesterday, he might have asked her to come upstairs and help him. But she'd had her chance. And now she couldn't stand the thought of begging. Of being turned down. Of knowing for sure that he didn't want her.
She forced herself to keep what was left of her pride intact. At least until she left the kitchen. "Don't worry about me. I'll put my earplugs in."
She went through the motions of getting ready for bed in the guest room, where they were sleeping while they worked on the master bedroom. She lay down on the bed, curling up on her side with her arms around her knees.
Even with her earplugs in, she could feel the vibrations from the sander moving through her and was glad that they would keep her awake until Henry came to bed. Until she could put her arms around him and show she was sorry without actually having to say the words.
But even after the vibrations stopped, he never came.
And she had never been able to sleep without him beside her.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Back at the inn, Liam walked Christie upstairs. The laughter had gone a long way to relaxing her, but standing with him in front of her door made her feel as skittish as a teenage girl on her first date. Even though no one in their right mind could have called that tense dinner with Liam's parents a date.
"Thank you, again, for going with me tonight," he said. "I'm really sorry I put you through that."
Wanting to say something to make him feel better, but knowing she didn't have the words, she couldn't stop herself from reaching up to cup her palm over his jaw instead. More than ever, she needed to be closer to him. Needed to touch him. Needed him to know that despite how difficult the night had been, she would do it all over again if he asked. And when he turned his jaw into her hand, actually letting her give him comfort, her heart melted even further.
He'd needed her once already tonight, as a buffer between him and his parents, and she'd given in to that need. Now, just steps away from her bedroom, she knew he needed her again. Only this time, it wasn't because he had a difficult relationship with his mother.
No, tonight he needed her for all the same reasons she needed him. Heat. Sparks. Undeniable attraction.
They were less than five seconds from a kiss, and her heart was fluttering
like mad. But then he abruptly took a step--a large one--away from her, so that they were both backed up against opposing walls in the hallway.
Neither of them said anything for a long moment, one where the sexual tension was palpable between them. Finally, he said, "Don't be afraid to wake me up if you hear more noises tonight."
Disappointment flared so strongly that her, "Sure," came out sounding more like a croak than a word. Groping blindly for the doorknob, she somehow got her key inside and said good night.
*
The next morning, after tossing and turning most of the night--and wondering if Liam was doing the same thing--Christie decided to go see Jean again. Maybe today she'd be able to get more of the story.
She walked through the maple forest on her way to Jean's cabin. Christie had never seen anything like it before coming here. In the fall, the display of colors had been nothing short of mind-blowing. She hadn't expected the budding leaves of spring to even come close to matching that beauty, but she'd been wrong. Because as their bare branches reached out all around her, above her head, into the blue sky, she was overwhelmed by beauty. Growing up in Connecticut, she'd loved being outside, to go to the park or swim at the local pool, but being outside at Summer Lake was different. As though she was part of nature, rather than just being witness to it.
Four months ago, as fall had begun to give way to winter, she'd conceived of the Tapping of the Maples Festival on a walk through this forest. She'd felt as though she could take root like one of the seedlings between the large trees, that the mature growth would shelter her from storms and let through enough light for her to grow and stretch and become strong. Sap had been leaking from the trees, even then, and she'd reached out to brush some onto the tip of her finger. The pure maple syrup had tasted like magic. Like happiness. And she'd wanted to share that joy, that sweetness.
She still did. But now, with the petition...
She sighed and leaned against one of the maples, pressing her palm flat against it. Maybe there was a reason for all of this. For Wesley leaving and Liam appearing and Mr. Radin trying to stop her festival. What was it people always said? That when one door closed, a window opened? That sometimes the best things in life sprang from the most difficult?
She'd always been optimistic. Some might say blindly so, given her track record with jobs and men. But these past weeks were certainly doing their best to test that optimism.
"Good morning."
She nearly jumped out of her boots at the shock of finding Jean at her side. More than once Christie had thought the woman was as silent as a ghost. Just like her grandson, in fact.
"You really remind me of Liam," she told Jean. "You're both really good at sneaking up on people." When Jean laughed with obvious delight, Christie did the same. "And you both make me laugh at the most unexpected times."
"Liam makes you laugh, does he?" Jean raised an eyebrow. "Well, then. That's certainly something, isn't it?"
Christie didn't know how to respond. Instead, she said, "I haven't been able to stop thinking about what you told me yesterday. About your husband, Thomas. And how he disappeared just like Wesley."
"Well, there were quite a few differences. You and Wesley were never going to get married, for one."
"How did you know that? He didn't say anything to you before he left, did he?"
"Oh, honey, he didn't have to. Anyone with any sense knew it."
"Why didn't somebody tell me, then?"
"Some things you need to figure out for yourself," Jean said as they slowly headed through the trees toward her cottage. "Just like I needed to figure things out for myself way back when."
*
1945...
For three days, and two more long and lonely nights, Jean told no one that Thomas was gone. Everyone assumed they were simply having a perfect honeymoon when they didn't even come out of their rooms for meals.
She picked up the food left outside the door three times a day and flushed most of it down the toilet so that no one would know there was only one person in the honeymoon suite. She stared out the window for hours, keeping watch for him, even though she'd know the second he was back, would feel it deep in her soul.
Every day the room grew colder. And every night, as she dozed in the chair by the window, she dreamed she heard crying coming from the walls and woke up with tears on her cheeks.
When the sun rose on the fourth day, she held her head high as she carried her suitcase downstairs, then turned in her room key at the front desk. She knew people had long thought of her older sister, Olive, as the strong one. But Jean had hidden reserves of strength she'd never had to tap into.
Until now.
"I need to leave my things here for now," she told the innkeeper, a lovely young girl who was new to town.
"Of course. Will your husband be back for them later?"
Jean simply said, "Thank you," before turning and heading for the door.
She walked the mile to her father's house along the beach, but she saw little of the beauty around her, barely noticed the sun beating down on her back.
Olive, who was visiting their parents, saw her first. "Did you walk from the inn? Where's Thomas?" Her sister stepped closer. "Have you been crying?"
Jean put her fingers to her cheek and wiped the moisture away. "I need to speak with Father."
"He's in the middle of a meeting with--"
But Jean was already moving past her sister, heading for the study. She'd thought the next time she walked through these doors, her husband would be beside her. Where was he? Was he hurt? She prayed he was okay.
"Father." She'd been told her voice had a lyrical quality, that she might have been a professional singer if she'd had any interest in it. Today it was flat as she stepped into the room. "I need to speak with you."
Three middle-aged men stood up quickly, their eyebrows rising as they took in her sleepless, tear-stained face. Smoke from their pipes swirled and curled up to the ceiling.
"Gentlemen, this is my daughter, Mrs. Thomas Kane." Still gracious despite her interruption, he said, "I'm in the middle of a meeting, honey. I'll come find you later."
She shook her head. "I need to speak with you right away." After three days in the inn's honeymoon suite, waiting and praying and hoping for the miracle of Thomas's reappearance, she'd decided that if her husband was, in fact, in trouble, she needed her father's help now, not later.
"If you'll excuse me, gentlemen, I'll be back shortly." She could tell her father was upset with her by the hard set of his jaw, the tight way he was holding his shoulders. He waited until they were out of earshot. "You embarrassed me back there."
"Thomas is gone."
Shock stopped him in his tracks. "What do you mean, gone?"
"I woke up the morning after our wedding and he had disappeared."
"He disappeared three days ago?" When she nodded, he all but yelled, "Why on earth did you take so long to tell me this?"
"I was waiting. Waiting for him to come back."
She looked up to see myriad emotions cross her father's face. Empathy for her, disappointment, confusion. And, finally, anger.
"I gave him my money." With her father's help, Thomas had planned to start a new business in town. "Have you checked the account?" he asked.
"No." She hadn't thought about money. But now, she did. And she suddenly knew what her father would find when he went to speak with the bank manager. But there was relief there too. Because if Thomas had disappeared with her father's money, then it was less likely that he was hurt, wasn't it?
"Wait here," he commanded.
She knew he was going into his office, that he was rescheduling his meeting. She stood perfectly still, not moving a muscle as the three men filed out of the study to the front door.
"Come with me, Jean." He wasn't calling her honey anymore.
Thirty minutes later, all was confirmed. Thomas had come into the bank the morning after their wedding and withdrawn all of the funds but one hundred do
llars.
Jean silently followed her father out of the bank and down to the public dock next to the inn. On this cool spring day, despite the bright sunshine, they were the only two people out on the lakeshore.
"You should have known better." His words were uttered through gritted teeth. All of them had been taken in by Thomas. Her father's pride would never live that down.
"We don't know why he took the money," she said, instinctively defending her husband.
"He took it because he's a crook."
But Jean could have never fallen in love with a bad man. "What if he isn't? What if he's in trouble? What if he needs our help?"
"That money he stole from me is the last help he'll ever get," her father vowed. "He was a con man. You were his target. The perfect, innocent little target."
Only, though Jean's heart was aching, she couldn't believe that it had all been a lie. Yes, she could accept that perhaps Thomas might have come into their lives as a con man. And, yes, she might have been his target. But by the time they had their wedding night, she knew with absolute certainty that their love had been real. Which meant there had to be another reason he'd left.
"We will have the marriage annulled right away," her father decreed.
She'd never talked back to her father. Never really stood up to him. But something had happened to her between that first kiss with Thomas and saying I do, between the love they'd made in the inn's honeymoon suite and waking up alone in an ice-cold room.
"The marriage was consummated, Father." He blinked in shock at her plain speech. "Thomas will always be my husband, even if he never comes back to me."
Her father's face twisted with disgust. "Listen to me, and listen close. From this moment forward, your new husband died in an unfortunate car accident. You will move back into our house and grieve him for an appropriate period of time. And then we will all forget this ever happened."
But six weeks later, she threw up her breakfast. And by the end of the week, her mother proclaimed it morning sickness.
Jean was pregnant with Thomas's baby.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN