Walk Me Home

by Liza Kendall

  At last, the wedding party was assembled. Lila waved over Rufus Jenkins; he’d swapped his electric guitar for a violin, but the amused grin he usually wore was the same as always. Then, Lila physically moved every bridesmaid and groomsman onto the painter’s tape Xs she’d stuck on the barn floor. When she was done, the wedding party was perfectly aligned under an archway made up of silver and red glitter-dipped balloons. Jake could still smell the glue, which meant that this, too, had been a last-minute demand; in any case, it explained why the pastor’s wife, Olivia, had an excessive amount of glitter on her face to go along with that weary expression.

  After passing out bunches of wildflowers to use as stand-ins for the bridesmaid bouquets, Lila began to explain the details of the processional. Jake could appreciate what an organized professional his wild little sister had become, but it sure was an awful lot of detail for a walk across the barn floor.

  He looked over at Charlie and smiled. She was staring at the wildflowers in her hand with a tight expression. He cleared his throat gently, and she looked up at him. Her body relaxed, and she smiled back. It got to him, feeling so in sync with Charlie. Like it used it be, where a look or a touch meant as much as—or more than—a word.

  Okay, then. This is going to be fine. Even better, it’ll all be over soon.

  Lila finished her dissertation on the finer points of moving gracefully down an aisle and sent the wedding party to the back of the barn for a test run. Will sure wasn’t saying much at the end of the line back there. Poor guy.

  After a lot of giggling and jostling among bridesmaids and groomsmen, Rufus played the intro to the wedding march and everybody shut up and took an arm. One by one, the pairs stepped out until it was just Charlie looking up at Jake with wildflowers in her hands and a sheen of tears misting her eyes . . .

  Oh God. Jake inhaled a shaky breath. The Old Barn. The wildflowers. And this beautiful, beloved girl. This should have been their wedding.

  What was he doing, kissing her in his truck, acting like a second chance was really on the table? This wedding would start; this wedding would end. Charlie would say goodbye and go home to Dallas. And life in Silverlake would go on without her.

  Charlie took a step forward and then looked back at him as Jake didn’t move alongside her. He had a second to make up his mind: See this night through and make the best of the time he had before she went home. Or walk away like a coward.

  You don’t walk away from anything, Jake Braddock.

  Jake gave Charlie a smile, escorted her down the aisle, and tried not to think too hard when her hand slipped away from his arm and he had to leave her to walk alone to the other side.

  Chapter 18

  Charlie drove with Jake in his Durango to the restaurant after the rehearsal, which made it feel like an official date. Part of her wanted it to be one; the other part shouted loudly at her to stop it already with the romantic BS.

  But it was difficult. Because the only thing better-looking than Jake Braddock in a flannel shirt and snug denim was Jake Braddock in a navy blazer and dress slacks, his blue button-down open at the collar to reveal his bronzed neck.

  Jake, dressed like this, was simply . . . unfair. Charlie found herself fixating on his collarbones and wanting to lick them, which was completely and totally unacceptable. He was not an appetizer, and the only thing she should be using her tongue for was to speak out on his behalf, which she intended to do before everyone left town again. Her family did indeed owe Jake a big apology.

  Bridezilla had chosen to have the rehearsal dinner at Jean-Paul’s, the white-tablecloth restaurant in town that was in the Hotel Saint-Denis on the square, opposite Schweitz’s Tavern. The hotel was a charming old brick building covered in ivy, and Jean-Paul’s had a capacious ground floor that seated easily a hundred and fifty people. On the second floor, accessible by either a wide wooden staircase or a gorgeous mahogany-paneled turn-of-the-century elevator, was a more intimate room that Aunt Sadie had booked this evening for Will and Felicity.

  They walked into the restaurant, and Charlie stopped dead in her tracks. Jake bumped into her from behind.

  Felicity was draped full-length along the bar, like a nightclub singer on a piano, while the wedding photographer snapped pictures. She was a sight to behold, in that shimmery silver silk cocktail dress. She looked stunning, with her red lips and black hair, but it was a little—okay, a lot—too much for a gossipy town like Silverlake and a rehearsal dinner. Even if it was her own. Will and her luxuriously dressed parents were stepping in and out of the photos at Felicity’s command. Poor Will looked dazed; he was a deer in his fiancée’s headlights.

  The few customers already here for happy hour had obligingly moved to one end of the bar to watch the show. It was hard not to.

  Charlie raised an eyebrow at Jake, who blinked, then hid a smile behind his hand.

  Jean-Paul had retreated to a corner with a couple of the waitstaff. Charlie saw him check his watch. It was the upstairs room that had been rented, not the entire restaurant, and he’d have lots of regular customers coming in on a Thursday night.

  She waved; he waved back somewhat grimly. Charlie headed up the stairs with Jake, looking forward to a drink, but alas, that was not to be, at least not yet. They found Lila frantically pulling white gardenias out of the fifty or so antique glass bottles that marched down the center of the vast banquet table.

  A waitress ran after her with a bucket, into which Lila was tossing the gardenias. And Aunt Sadie ran after both of them with a different bucket, full of red roses and greenery. She was replacing the gardenias with the red roses.

  “Hi again, everyone,” Charlie said. “You look . . . busy.”

  “Help!” called Lila. “Ouch. These suckers have thorns on them.”

  Aunt Sadie looked almost tearful. “Hi, darling girl. We’re in a bit of a crisis.”

  “I can see that. But it’s okay,” Charlie told her. “The bride is occupied in front of a camera downstairs and putting on quite the show.”

  “Oh, good.” Aunt Sadie set down her bucket and hugged Charlie. She still smelled like baby powder and looked exactly like a larger, plusher version of Grandma Babe. “Didn’t have a chance to do that before. So . . . can you help?” She said not a word to Jake.

  “Of course.” Charlie set to work, with an apologetic glance at Jake. He strode over to the bar, not that there was anyone behind it. He looked as if he might serve himself.

  Uncle Theo, who was also lurking there, had already taken advantage of it—possibly more than once. His ears had flushed bright pink from Scotch whiskey, as had his nose and bald scalp. With a flourish of his glass and a rattle of ice cubes, he bolted away as if Jake were infected with something.

  Great.

  Charlie could feel Jake’s dark gaze on her as she worked with the others. “What happened?” she asked Lila.

  “Maggie at Petal Pushers was overwhelmed at having to redo all the wedding flowers on such short notice, and there was a . . . what’s the polite way to put this? A dispute over billing. So she tried to refund the money for the rehearsal dinner flowers, but Bridezil—um, Felicity—couldn’t find anyone else to work with her on such short notice. Maggie compromised, agreeing to fulfill the original order, because the gardenias had already been delivered.” Lila sighed. “But . . .”

  Aunt Sadie was quivering with suppressed emotion. “But my future daughter-in-law threw an old-fashioned hissy fit the likes of which I’ve never seen!” she snapped.

  “Oh my.” Charlie set a soothing hand on Aunt Sadie’s plump shoulder.

  Lila nodded. “And so your mother,” she told Charlie, “personally drove these roses here from a florist in Dallas.”

  “My mother? I didn’t think Mom and Dad were coming until tomorrow!”

  “They weren’t,” Aunt Sadie said acerbically. “But Maria took pity on me.”

  Speaking o
f Charlie’s parents, at just that moment, the elevator rumbled and squealed before disgorging them, Maria pushing Dave in his wheelchair. “Hello, sweetheart!” said Mom.

  Still tall and trim, she wore a brown velvet dress that set off her curly blond hair. A burnout-velvet scarf with an autumn leaf motif completed the outfit.

  “Surprise!” Dad said. His short hair had gone more salt than pepper, and he wore a dark suit with a silk tie Charlie’d brought him back from Italy. His dress shoes were polished to a mirror shine, and she laughed when she saw that his socks were printed with tiny wine bottles.

  “Hi!” Charlie moved forward to hug and kiss them. Then she glanced over at Jake, who had turned to stone in the corner. “I, um, have a date for the wedding. Don’t know if you heard that one of Will’s groomsmen got shipped overseas. You remember Jake Braddock, don’t you?”

  The smiles dropped from their faces, and they went silent. The entire room did.

  Please, Charlie prayed, do the right thing. Be polite.

  “Jake,” Dad finally said, rolling forward in his wheelchair to greet him. “It’s been a very long time.”

  Thank you, God.

  Mom’s mouth trembled; she seemed to be struggling for something to say. Mom had always had a soft spot for Jake. But of course she wouldn’t have chosen him over her own son. And she, like the rest of them, had gone along with the recommendation of Brandon’s psychologist.

  Jake stood rooted to the ground like a six-three pillar of salt. “Yes, sir,” he said at last. “It certainly has been a long time. Twelve years.” His expression was terrifyingly impassive, his smile utterly professional. He took the hand that Dad extended and pumped it as briefly as possible before releasing it.

  Charlie’s heart broke for him all over again. She knew that inside that tough, rugged, manly exterior still lurked a devastated sixteen-year-old. Not that anyone would guess.

  He raised his chin and let his hands hang loosely by his side; he cocked a hip. Mr. Casual. “Great to see you again,” he said, just the faintest trace of irony in his tone.

  Oh, Jake. Charlie fought the urge to run to his side. She walked instead. But she made things clear: She stood with him.

  * * *

  Jake refused to even glance in Charlie’s direction. If he’d felt awkward before, he now felt blindsided. Though to be fair, the arrival of her parents didn’t seem to be Charlie’s fault.

  But here he was, stuck unexpectedly in a room at close quarters with the family who had adopted him, then ostracized him. Ripped his heart wide open, when all he’d ever done was his best for them.

  He found it hard to breathe. He fought the urge to run. But he was no coward; he never had been. He would have had to see them at the wedding anyway. Still would. But he’d planned on doing his part in the ceremony and then disappearing into the main house with Deck—or better yet, just leaving.

  He’d taken Dave Nash’s hand with as much enthusiasm as he’d take the hand of a salesman or a repairman. Dropped it just as quickly. Gave him credit for manning up and rolling forward. As Dave should have, frankly. After all, Jake had saved his life.

  He appreciated that Charlie had crossed the battle lines to stand with him.

  But it was Maria’s trembling lips that undid him. Jake closed his eyes so he wouldn’t have to see her emotion, because it might elicit some in him. And he simply couldn’t afford that.

  He kept his eyes closed as he heard her heels click forward; her hands settled on his shoulders, and she reached up to kiss his cheek. She still smelled of vanilla and grapefruit—some lotion she’d used for years.

  Maria hesitated, probably because Jake didn’t move a fraction of any muscle in his body. But then she put her arms around him and hugged him as if she’d never let him go.

  No. No, no, no . . . This was the very last thing he’d imagined. He’d much rather that she’d spit in his face or punched him. Screamed curses at him. That, he’d inwardly steeled himself for. But not this.

  This was the worst thing imaginable.

  He couldn’t have hugged her back if he’d wanted to. His body felt hewn from marble, and her hug was a chisel that cracked him in half. Agony gripped him in some nameless place he didn’t know existed. Pain that he hadn’t felt since his own mother died. And his father.

  “Stop,” Jake said, and his voice betrayed him; it broke.

  But she didn’t. “Oh, honey,” Maria murmured. “Oh, Jake.”

  As if she understood. But how could she?

  Damn her for being loving. And damn Dave, too, for being decent.

  Where were your love and decency back then, when I needed them? Tell me that! The fury came out of nowhere, shocking him. Choking him.

  Jake peeled Maria off, refusing to speak to her or even look at her. He sidestepped her and headed blindly for the stairs, but oblivious Felicity and her parents and the blasted photographer were blocking them, the bride posing like Scarlett O’Hara against the ornate railing.

  “Jake!” Charlie ran after him but stopped in her tracks when he raised his hand, palm out, and shook his head. Something in his expression must have scared her.

  He turned for the elevator, but it was on the fourth floor. He was trapped like an animal.

  Jake veered for the men’s room and careened inside. He punched the nearest wall, then punched it again, ignoring the explosions of pain in his knuckles. He had reared back to punch it a third time when the door opened awkwardly, banging against something, and he saw Dave Nash in his wheelchair. Dave opened his mouth.

  “Get out,” Jake said. “For the love of God, Dave. Leave me alone.”

  There was a long, awful silence.

  Then Charlie’s father nodded as if he, too, friggin’ understood. He couldn’t possibly.

  Nobody understood—nobody. How alone and rootless and lost Jake had been. Nobody got how vulnerable Jake had been after the loss of his parents, after the center had dropped out of his world. How mad he’d been at his brother Deck for even trying to parent them—Deck, lame substitute father, the blind leading the blind.

  Jake had been vulnerable to any crumb of affection from Brandon’s parents or grandparents. So blindly stupid he’d been, to put any stock in their assurances that he was like another son to them . . .

  Dave finally granted Jake’s wish that he leave. He rolled himself backward, colliding with the door again, wrestling with it. In a different moment, in a different life, Jake would have held it for him. But he just couldn’t in this one.

  Oh hell. He could, and he would. Jake stepped forward and opened the men’s room door.

  He was still holding it open when he heard Uncle Theo, of the two double Scotches and the hot pink ears, say loudly, “I ask you: What kind of person saves a dog over a human being?”

  Chapter 19

  Charlie wasn’t even aware that she’d rushed Uncle Theo like an offensive lineman. She ripped the drink out of his clutches and threw it in his idiotic face, dimly registering his outrage as ice cubes avalanched down his dress shirt and bounced onto the floor.

  “How dare you!” he spluttered.

  The room was a symphony in shock, people’s mouths hanging almost comically open.

  “How dare you?” Charlie fired back. “Have you ever saved even a burning slice of toast? Jake Braddock pulled my father out of the house first. Your brother-in-law.” She turned to Aunt Sadie. “Maybe, just maybe, you could express some gratitude to him instead of holding a grudge against him. Grandma’s death was awful, but it wasn’t Jake’s fault. She was a grown woman who made a conscious decision to go up the stairs to try to save our dog. She knew that it was a risk! And Jake was a sixteen-year-old, doing his best—better than any of us, by the way—who had a dog dropped down the stairs onto his head. So he dragged Mr. Coffee to the door before going back in for Grandma, figuring that he’d get her next. It wasn’t a crime
; it was a judgment call! And he had every expectation that she was coming down the stairs right after the dog.”

  The room was frozen.

  “Jake was half-dead of smoke inhalation himself when he brought Grandma out. But nobody seems to get that. Or care. We owe Jake Braddock a huge thank-you, an even bigger apology for the way we’ve treated him, and drinks on us”—she paused and looked straight at still-spluttering, wet Uncle Theo—“for the rest of his life.”

  “Nice speech, but he’s the one who started the fire!” Uncle Theo countered.

  “No, he didn’t,” Charlie said. “There’s no proof of that. It’s a nasty little piece of fiction someone dreamed up that stuck. Maybe it was you!”

  Aunt Sadie gasped and tottered backward to a chair, while Theo’s face drained of color.

  “Why, you little bit—”

  “Careful, Theo.” Dad’s voice was low and hostile. “That’s my daughter. And wheelchair or not, I can still kick your butt.”

  “We need,” Charlie said, “to start asking some very tough questions here in this family. Especially of members who aren’t here.” She looked straight at Mom, who looked away, and then at Dad, who met her gaze steadily but sadly.

  “Charlie’s right.” Dad rolled forward, into the center of the room. “Jake saved my life that night, and he tried like hell to save my mother’s. We were selfish in our shock: All we thought about was our own healing, our own grief, our own closure. We allowed rumor, suspicion, and pure speculation to misguide us into some very bad decisions. And I, for one, am sorry about those bad decisions.”

  “I am, too,” Mom said quietly.

  Bridezilla chose this very moment to emerge from her staircase photo shoot, sweeping into the room with Will in her wake. “Why is there, like, ice all over the floor?” she shrilled. “Oh my God, the flowers still aren’t done! What’s going on? Why is everyone acting like somebody died? This is a party, people!”