Ella nods.
“Damn, girl.” Davie’s eyes are huge.
Ella yanks a towel from the dispenser and dabs the corners of her eyes and roughly exhales through pursed lips. “He left yesterday. But it started last summer. Maybe before that. I don’t know. I can’t remember.”
“You poor thing. I can’t believe you didn’t text me!” Davie gives her head a hard shake and holds up both hands. “Screw the article. We’re having drinks, and you’re telling me everything.”
They find a bar around the corner and order appetizers. Ella tells her everything she knows from what Damien and Nathan told her and what she read earlier in the day. Everything except the news about Damien’s sterility. That would betray his confidence, and it’s not her secret to tell.
Three dry martinis for Davie and two ice waters for Ella later, Ella wraps up the seven months before the accident. She glances at the time on her phone. Ten o’clock p.m. She’s going to be up all night without a clue how she’ll string ten thousand words together. She can barely think straight.
Davie downs the remnants of her martini and slides the glass aside. “Remember when you first came home from the hospital and asked me if you’d said anything to me while you were there that might have seemed odd? I didn’t think it worth mentioning, but after everything you just told me, it might be important.”
A muscle twinges in Ella’s chest. “What is it?”
Davie leans forward. “You told me you wished you never told Damien that you wanted a baby. I figured you wished that because you were sad about everything that happened with the accident and Simon. Do you think you . . .”
Davie continues talking but Ella tunes her out. Hands trembling, she realizes what she did. Ella didn’t set out to forget Nathan. She wanted to forget that she has always wanted a child. She wanted to believe that, like Damien, she didn’t want kids either.
CHAPTER 32
Panic! at the Disco’s “Say Amen” blares in Ella’s ear. Buried deep in the depths of her comforter and sheets, she thrusts out an arm and roots around for her phone, snatching it off the nightstand.
“Hello?” she groans.
“Where are you? I’ve been waiting for thirty minutes,” Andrew barks into the phone. Stress adds irritation to his tone. He really hates shopping for clothes.
Ella peeks at the clock. One fourteen p.m. She had texted him last night that she’d meet him today but had forgotten to set her alarm. “I’m coming. Give me twenty.” She tosses aside the covers and drags herself to the bathroom.
“You’re still asleep?”
Not just asleep, but seriously passed out. She slept through two alarms. She vaguely recalls slapping the snooze button on her clock.
It was 5:00 a.m. when she finally toppled into bed, unable to keep her eyes open and head up any longer. Thank goodness she found the article she drafted last summer. Otherwise she doubts she’d manage tonight’s deadline.
Ella meets up with Andrew at the Espresso Bar in the Westfield San Francisco Centre. Bundled in a thick hoodie, jeans, and Ugg boots, with a trucker’s cap covering her still damp hair, Ella whips off her reflective Ray-Bans and Andrew grins.
“Rough night?”
“Long night writing. Coffee first.” She points at the bar.
With one vanilla latte with a double shot of espresso in hand, Ella turns to her brother. “Okay. Show me what you’ve picked out so far.”
He shows her his empty hands. “I got nothing.”
“Nothing? What have you been doing for the past hour?”
“Waiting for you.”
“You’re hopeless. Come on.”
Giving him a nudge, Ella leads her brother up the escalator to the men’s furnishings floor in Nordstrom. “Tell me about this girl,” she says, sipping her coffee.
“Corey?” Andrew’s face lights up. He leans a hip on the moving rail. “She’s cool. Nah, that’s not right. She’s real.” His grin spreads. “There’s nothing fake about her, if you know what I mean.” His brows waggle.
“Stop.” Ella smacks her brother’s chest. “Gross.”
Andrew’s expression sobers. “She isn’t like most women I’ve dated.”
“You mean she has a brain?” she lobs.
“High expectations,” he returns. “A lot of people I work with want big rewards for minimal work. Not Corey. She works her ass off.” He cringes and clears his throat. “Sorry. I mean she’s driven. She’s earned everything she’s been offered. She’s genuine with people. Just an all-around great lady.”
“You’ve been dating for two months? I can’t believe you haven’t told me about her.”
“She works in marketing at Talbert & Dean.”
Ella’s brow furrows. “Isn’t T&D the investor in your app?”
“Mm-hmm.”
“Ah.”
“We’ve been keeping it under the radar, but now that we’re getting serious, we don’t want to hide anymore. Aunt Kathy always said, ‘Honesty’s the best policy,’ right?” He nudges her in the ribs.
“You could have told me.”
“I wanted to but . . .” He shrugs. “You’ve been dealing with your own stuff. I didn’t want to add to it.”
The escalator drops them off on the men’s floor. Ella touches his upper arm. “I’m happy for you.”
“Thanks. I can’t wait for you to meet her.”
“Me too. Where are you taking her tonight?”
Andrew slides his fingertips into the front pockets of his jeans. “Dunno. Dinner? Maybe a jazz club after?”
“Impressive. My little bro is growing up.”
“Bound to happen at some point.” He snorts a laugh. “Might as well start acting my age.”
“Nah, I like you the way you are. Let’s see what we can do with you.” She taps her chin, taking in Andrew’s SpongeBob shirt, unzipped hoodie, faded baggy jeans, and Converse sneakers. His hair is a mess even by cute surfer-boy standards, and his facial hair is long past trimmed and contoured.
“What you need is a button-down shirt and dark wash jeans. I’m going to insist they’re fitted.” She points at his baggy rear. “A blazer of some sort would be nice, too.”
Andrew blanches at the mention of the coat.
“Oh, come on. A few nice pieces in your wardrobe won’t kill you. First, we need to get you cleaned up. Then we’ll find an outfit.”
An hour later, after a shampoo, trim, and shave at the salon on the other end of the mall, Ella walks Andrew through the various sections of the men’s department, picking shirts and jeans along the way. A stylist latches on to Andrew at one point, selecting her suggestions from the racks of tailored jackets. Arms full, she escorts them to a large dressing room. Ella settles onto a leather bench, sipping her second latte, which she’d purchased on the way back from the salon. As Andrew strips to his boxer briefs, everything Ella has avoided thinking about since her conversation with Davie suddenly starts pounding around her brain.
She glances at her phone. No calls or texts from Damien. Nothing from Nathan either. She owes him a call and the truth. But Damien is her priority. She just needs to get Nathan’s article off her list.
Andrew pushes an arm into a blue-checked shirt. He already stepped into a pair of Citizens of Humanity dark wash jeans. So much better than the saggy Levi’s she would bet he sleeps, works, and eats in. He nods at Ella’s phone. “Expecting a call?”
“No, why?” She drops the phone into her purse.
“No reason other than you can’t stop looking at it. Is this shirt supposed to be this tight?” He swings his arms, crossing them over his chest, then jutting back his elbows.
“It’s extraslim. Here.” Ella sifts through the pile of shirts she brought in. “Same shirt, one size up. I’m glad you’ve got a girlfriend. You’ve been spending too much time alone at the gym.” His chest is wider and biceps larger than she remembers.
“That’s why I have a girlfriend.” He grins.
Andrew has the look of their father
: brown eyes, sandy-blond hair, divot in his chin, and deep creases in his cheeks when he smiles. She knows this more from photos than from memory. Both she and Andrew are older than their parents were when they passed, Ella by almost ten years.
“Do you think of Mom and Dad much?”
“That’s a weird question.” Andrew tosses aside the shirt he just tried on and takes the one Ella hands him.
“Looking at you now, I was reminded of Dad.”
“You look like Mom. She was pretty.”
“Is that a compliment?”
Andrew winks at her, buttoning the shirt.
Ella never gave it much thought, but she does wear her hair in the same long, straight style as her mom. Their coloring and build are also similar.
“Do you wonder if they would have stayed married?”
“I don’t wonder. I know they wouldn’t have lasted. They argued too much.” He pauses in buttoning the shirt. “The accident was my first vivid memory. I heard what Mom said to Dad about how she didn’t love him. When a guy hears that from his wife, I dunno.” He lets his arms fall against his sides. “It’s hard to come back from that. Truth?”
“Truth.”
“I think that’s why I’ve never gotten serious with anyone until Corey. I didn’t want to find myself so hopelessly in love and wake up one morning to find out she never loved me back. Arguing’s one thing. You can always kiss and make up. Own up to mistakes and forgive. But once you stop loving the person you’ve pledged your life to? How do you come back from that? I don’t think you can.”
He turns his back to the mirror and, with a glance over his shoulder, inspects the shirt.
“When did you know you loved Damien?” he asks.
“The night we met.”
“How did you know?”
She taps her chest. “I felt it here.” Still does.
“That’s how I feel with Corey. She kind of had a rough childhood, but she’s been open with me about her past. I’ve done the same with her, and I try to be honest about everything. I don’t like keeping secrets.”
“Unlike Mom and Dad.”
“For real. Those two had communication issues. How’s everything going with you and Damien?”
Ella feels her face pale. “Fine, why?” She isn’t ready to delve into her marital problems. What would Andrew say if he knew Damien left her because she’d had an affair? Not once, but twice. That’s one secret she isn’t divulging with him.
“No reason other than you rarely bring up Mom and Dad.”
“They’ve been on my mind lately.” Hard not to have them there when her own marriage is imploding. She did exactly what her mother had done. The same could be said for Grace’s dad. Ella had a secret, and by the time she’d confessed that she genuinely wanted a child, the truth was enough to set her and Damien on course to where they are today: hurt, betrayed, and living under separate roofs.
Would she and Damien have married if she’d been honest with him from the beginning? That time at the soccer field when he asked if she wanted kids, what would he have done if she had said yes? Would he have been honest with her in return? Would he have told her he was sterile? She wonders if Andrew might be onto something. Maybe she and Damien can have a second chance if they truly start over, the right way this time, without any intentional memory suppression.
“What about kids?” she asks.
“What about them?” Andrew gives her an arm so that she can button the cuff.
“Do you want them?”
“Sheesh, Ella. We’ve only been on a few dates.”
Ella buttons the cuff on the other sleeve. “Not with Corey. In general.”
“I haven’t thought about it much. Yeah, maybe.”
“What if you found out your wife couldn’t have kids?”
Andrew turns away from the mirror to face Ella. “Can you still . . . ?” He chokes on the question.
“Yes, I can still have kids, or so I’ve been told.” Lynn had said so.
Andrew exhales with relief. “A little nephew or niece would be cool.”
His words bring on a touch of sadness. She looks briefly at the pile of shirts Andrew has yet to try on. Hopefully, one day, she can give him a nephew or niece. If she’s lucky, one of each.
“What about you, though? Would you adopt if you found out your wife couldn’t have them or if something happened to you?”
“Yes,” he says without hesitation.
“Why?”
“Simple. I’d want to experience everything I can with the woman I loved, including raising a child. Just because the kid doesn’t have my blood doesn’t mean I’d love him any less.”
Ella’s heart swells. “You’re a good man, Andrew.”
“That may be so, but I’m a lousy brother. I hate this shirt.”
“Oh.” Ella blinks, surprised. “It looks good on you.”
He shakes his head.
She gestures at the pile. “There are others you can try.”
“No. I don’t like button-downs. Sorry, but they’re not me. Be right back.” Andrew dashes from the dressing room, and less than five minutes later, he’s back. Hurriedly, he unbuttons the shirt and pulls on a black MadeWorn graphic T-shirt with the AC/DC logo.
Ella grimaces. “Really?”
Andrew beams. “Really.”
He swaps out the brown loafers Ella made him wear while trying on the designer jeans with his beat-up Converse sneakers. Thankfully, he keeps on the dark wash jeans while sorting through the blazers the stylist left in the room. Landing on a black tweed, he yanks it off the hanger and puts it on, turning to Ella, arms out.
“What do you think?”
“Nice. A little cas for dinner and jazz, you think?”
“Yeah, but this is me. Corey’s been honest about who she is and I want to do the same. No pretenses, no secrets. What she sees is what she gets, and if she doesn’t like it, well, that’s her problem.”
Ella leans back against the dressing room wall. “She’ll love it. She’ll love you and whatever you decide to do together. Good for you for being up-front with her from the get-go.”
“I’m scrapping my dinner and jazz club plans. I think I’ll take her to Lucky Strike, then the Metreon.”
Ella grins. “Bowling and a movie.” A date right up Andrew’s alley. “You and Corey will have a blast.”
“Think so?”
“Know so, because she’ll be with you.” Ella stands and helps her brother out of the blazer. “Go pay for these so you can get ready for your date. When you want to introduce us, Damien and I would love to have you and Corey over for dinner.”
“Thanks for your help today. I know you’re busy and all with your deadline.”
“No, thank you.” Andrew showed her what she should have done with Damien since day one. But first, someone else needs her honesty.
CHAPTER 33
One Week Later
Mid-April 2019
She thought about meeting him at a café near Union Square. She considered a restaurant off Highway 80, somewhere in Roseville, midway between them. He doesn’t like crowds and she doesn’t want to draw attention and invite media speculation. The photo of her and Nathan at Alpine Mountaineering might be last week’s news, but it’s still circulating. It surfaced in her news feed just yesterday morning. In the end, Ella settled on going to him.
A patchwork of snow decorates the ground around Nathan’s house like a winter quilt. The scent of pine and dirt with a hint of woodsmoke saturates the cool afternoon air. Nathan meets her on his porch, decked in his standard issue of jeans, boots, and a flannel shirt.
“Hi,” he says when she reaches the top step.
“Hi.” She musters a smile, keeping a polite distance. Despite how they left things in Alaska, she still wants to feel his arms around her. But that’s not why she’s here.
“About Alaska,” she begins, ready to get this over with. She has a flight to catch. She also doesn’t trust herself around him.
“I
’m sorry,” he says in earnest.
“Me too.”
A breeze ruffles her hair. Nathan smooths it away from her face. His touch is fleeting, unexpected, and her body reacts immediately. He smiles, knowing exactly what he’s doing to her.
“Do you want to come inside?” he invites, gesturing at the door behind him.
“Sure. I promise not to take up too much of your time.”
She follows him into the house. Fred and Bing greet her with lolling tongues and wagging tails. Ella doles out some affection before they wander over to the fireplace and collapse on their pillow beds, resuming their afternoon nap.
“Coffee?” Nathan asks.
“No, thanks.”
He gestures at the sectional. He settles into the chair opposite her. A restless energy rolls off him.
“So, um . . . why are you here?” he asks.
“I finished your article. My editor has it now. The issue’s printing as we speak. You’ll be on the cover.” She fishes in her shoulder bag for the manila folder she brought with her. Rising from her seat, she gives it to him. “I wanted you to read it before it hit the newsstands.”
“You could have emailed it,” he says, taking the folder.
True, but she didn’t write it to appeal to Stephanie as Nathan had wanted. She wrote it for him, and she wants him to know that before the magazine is published.
Nathan flips open the folder and skims the title page. Adventure’s End: A Grieving Father’s Tribute to His Son. He snaps the folder closed and tosses it aside.
“Aren’t you going to read it?”
“Later.” He regards her coolly. “I want to talk about us.”
“Us? There can’t be an us.” She holds up a hand when his mouth parts and continues before he can challenge her. “I’m sorry about Alaska and everything that I let happen between us, but we’re married to other people.”
“I’m divorcing my wife. I want to be with you.”
“I don’t know what promises I made to you before, but I’m not leaving my husband. I love him.”
“And me? Do you . . .” He falters, looks down at the floor before trying again. “Do you love me?”
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