by Ally Blake
“I’m just considering it. You want me to tell you about Clancy?” he said, his voice rough, a muscle ticcing in his cheek.
“Are you kidding me?”
Ben shook his head. “If it’s that important to you, I’ll tell you anything you want to know.”
“Anything?”
He nodded.
And for a second, a brief suspended moment in time, with his dark, serious, warm, kind eyes locked onto hers, she once again felt as if she could ask him anything. Did he have feelings for her? What scared him most in the world? Would they ever see one another again?
But her self-protective instincts had been slumbering of late, basking in the warm glow of having Ben near, and now, as familiar feelings of being pushed into a corner ramped up inside her, it was almost a relief to feel those instincts come back to life.
“Tell me about Clancy,” she demanded. “Tell me what happened between you. Because it is eating me up inside to think the two of you, two people whom I...respect and admire, were so at odds that it ended the way it did, and I can’t take it any more.”
There, that felt better. No more pussyfooting around. It was time they had this out. Because time was running out.
Nora had no clue she was crying again until a tear fell past the edge of her lip, the salty taste touching her tongue. She swiped it away, her gaze fierce, hoping he couldn’t see in her eyes the ache that whatever it was they’d shared these past weeks was coming to an end.
Ben dropped his face into both hands and sat there, his gaze faraway, his skin stretched tight over his bones. He looked ravaged, and it had happened so fast.
It was nearly enough for Nora to drop to her knees, to take his hands in hers and tell him to forget it. To spend what time they had left snuggling and eating homemade tacos and making love.
But then he said, “I wasn’t adopted.”
“I’m sorry?”
“Clancy did not adopt me. She was my actual grandmother. My mother’s mother.”
Knees losing functionality, Nora sat gingerly on the corner of the bed. “I don’t understand. She said—”
“I know what she said. I know what everyone said. How selfless she was for taking in a quiet, serious five-year-old kid. At her age.”
“But she was your mother’s mother? For real?”
Ben breathed out hard once more. “She was. You asked me once if Clancy had a Rochester of her own. She did. My grandfather.”
“Gerald,” Nora whispered, the name coming back to her from overheard stage whispers between the widows.
“He was a war correspondent. Clever guy, quite well known in his time. Died, overseas, when Clancy was pregnant with my mother. They hadn’t married, but turned out he’d changed his will, leaving her this house. His family tried to fight it, but Clancy stood strong. She had a child to raise, after all. Aida Hawthorne. My mother.”
Nora’s head spun. What a thing to discover. “But surely that’s a happy lie?”
Ben’s gaze seemed locked in the past, as if he wasn’t seeing the room in front of him at all. “When my mother left me on Clancy’s doorstep, she told me she was going away for a while, but she’d be back. The one time I asked Clancy when that might be, she told me my parents were both dead. The truth was she’d told my mother that if she walked away, she was never to darken the door again. I figured that’s why the adoption ruse—Clancy was ashamed at what my mother had given up. The only reason I even know that much is because I happened upon Clancy when she was told the news that Aida had died.”
And Ben. Oh, Ben. That was why the armour. The desire for truth. The slow, measured, deliberate decisions. Poor guy was always waiting for the axe to fall.
Clancy, what were you thinking?
“How are you so functional?” she mumbled. “How are you so together?”
His dark gaze swung to her and her heart went off; beating like crazy for this big, clever, generous man with his big, beautiful broken heart.
“I was,” he finally said, his gaze travelling over her face as if committing it to memory. “I was functional, I was fine, till you dragged me out here to rehash all this stuff.”
His cheek twitched; a smile, even now. Another sign of his immense fortitude. His wonderfulness. His determination to protect her from his baser feelings.
But she didn’t need protection. Not from that. Not from him.
“I’m so sorry,” she said, her voice gravelly. “I’m sorry for forcing you to come here.”
“I’m not.”
Heat flashed in his eyes, leant weight to his words. And had her fingers curling into the blanket.
“Besides,” he said, “I’m the one who needs to apologise to you. For not being there to look after my imprudent grandmother when she was sick. That should never have fallen to you.”
“It wasn’t your fault. No one knew.”
Ben shook his head. “That’s the thing. Clancy did. She knew she was sick, long before she let on.”
Nora’s mouth dropped open, but she didn’t know where to start. Ben’s words made no sense.
Ben clasped his hand behind his neck, the muscles tight. “I suspect Clancy knew she had cancer for some time.”
Nora shook her head. “No. That’s not right. She might have felt unwell on occasion, tired easily, but she didn’t get an actual diagnosis until a few weeks before she died.”
“She knew. She knew before you moved in.”
“Before...?” Like a combination lock clicking into place Nora realised what Ben was suggesting. “No. I don’t believe you.”
“Those recipe books we found at the back of the pantry. They were hers. She was a great cook. Her dinner parties were what originally brought people to the house.”
“Are you saying she took me in, as a tenant, knowing she was unwell? That I paid rent for the privilege of taking care of her?”
Ben nodded.
Nora’s hand shook as it covered her mouth. The first person, the one person, she’d ever let herself believe loved her for her, and it was all a ruse. “She saw me coming from a mile away.”
A tear slipped down her cheek, then another.
“Nora, honey, don’t cry. Dammit. I never wanted to ruin your good opinion of Clancy, which was the only reason I kept it from you. But you just seemed so determined to know. And I didn’t want to hide anything from you, not any more, as I know how that feels. And...”
Ben swore beneath his breath, his expression even more ravaged than it had been before. “Look, if it’s any consolation, if she saw you coming from a mile away it wouldn’t have been due to any desire to dupe you. She’d have never wanted a nurse. Or sympathy. She’d have taken one look at you, felt your youth, your vitality, your assertiveness, and figured that’s how she wanted to spend her last days: alongside a fearless young woman who carries muffins through deep dark woods, despite any and all danger to herself.”
Ben shifted closer, waited till her eyes snagged on his.
“For all that I wish she were here now, so I could have a piece of her for what she did to you, I understand that want. The urge to soak in all that you have to offer, all that you are, even temporarily. You are a force, Nora Letterman, whether it feels like it right now or not.”
Nora knew he was trying to make it better, but all she could do was shake her head. It was too much. The dogs, the house, the rewriting of the past. Her feelings for Ben all tangled and hard.
Ben reached out to brush a strand of hair behind her ear, as if she was right there beside him, when really she was outside her own body, leaving room for him to add, “I might have been able to forgive her for not telling me about my mother, but I’ll never forgive her for what she did to you. Never.”
Nora came back into her own body with a whoosh.
She was mortified. And pissed. And embarrassed as hell. But she’d been on the rec
eiving end of so much bad news over the years, she knew that, while it felt immediate, and sharp, right now, she’d live.
But Ben. Ben looked changed. As if telling her had taken something from him. As if he was honestly more upset about Clancy duping her than lying to him.
Meaning everything she’d done to help Ben reconcile with Clancy—staying, reaching out, opening up, giving up so much of herself to the cause that she’d fallen in love with the man—it would all be for nothing.
He had to forgive Clancy. And the only way that was possible was if he let it all go. The house. His anger. And her.
While her tears dried on her face, a sense of clarity came over her. Not the clarity of sunshine, but the clarity of survival.
This was no different from any other time she’d hit a crossroads; it was time for her to jump before she was pushed.
Before she could change her mind, she wiped away one last tear, steeled herself, and blurted, “In some better news, I got a job.”
“A job,” he parroted.
“Well, an amazing opportunity, really,” she said, doing a mighty fine job of not sounding as if she was paddling like mad beneath the water. “A social-media takeover at a resort in Far North Queensland. It starts in a little under two weeks, but I can head up there as soon as I please. Yay.”
Ben reared back as if she’d taken a swipe at him. “When did this happen?”
“I applied a while ago. I got the news yesterday.”
His eyes roved over her face as if looking for something. A way in. Or a way out. Then something seemed to shift. To dislodge. Leaving him open. And with a flash that felt like a knife between the ribs she saw his hurt. Deep, cavernous, ancient and immediate. If they looked anything like this when Clancy had ripped off the Band-Aid regarding her truth, she’d never have forgiven herself.
“So, you’re taking it?” he said. “Just like that. Please tell me this isn’t some knee-jerk reaction to what I just told you.”
“It’s not. It’s real. And I can hardly say no.”
Something in her words snagged him. She saw it in his eyes. A flicker. A sense of hope. “But is it what you want?”
“Sure. I mean, it sounds fine. Great, actually. A once-in-a-lifetime chance.”
What did it matter? He’d come to Fitzroy for her. She’d stayed in Fitzroy for him. And it had been magical. But now she had to go. And he had to let her. So he’d forgive Clancy. And so she could move on, knowing she’d done all she could to leave the situation better than when she’d found it.
“Come on, Ben, we’re almost done here. And you’re leaving anyway.” Ugh. She’d almost made it through before her voice broke on the last word.
“Are you saying...you want me to stay?”
Did she? Yes. Yes, yes, yes. Could she? Not in a million years. Even while the thought of walking away from him made her feel as if she were tearing out a rib, she bit her tongue and said nothing.
People weren’t to be trusted with their own feelings. Look at Nora: when the going got tough, she left. How could she ever expect Ben not to do the same?
“Look, we’ll talk later. I have to meet Misty. Promised her I’d do a thing. So, I’ll see you in a bit, okay?”
Eyes welling, she quickly turned, went downstairs, headed out of the broken back door to find it was no longer broken. There was a new lock. With a key on the inside. She used it to scurry through the back garden and out into the alley behind the terrace houses.
And she walked. She walked and walked, away from their little street. Past houses she’d never seen, parks she’d never traversed.
It was all so unfamiliar it felt as if she’d already moved on.
* * *
When Nora came home later, the house was quiet bar the murmur of Ben’s voice from his room as he spoke to someone, probably Damon, probably about work stuff. The important stuff in his actual life, back in London.
When he didn’t come to her bed that night, she lay awake, imagining his long frame curled up on the small single bed downstairs. Wondering if he was lying there in the dark, thinking about her too, till it became too much so she got up and started to pack.
And while she wished she could turn back time, and redo that entire hot mess of a conversation, she consoled herself with the fact that, right now, she was exactly where she’d hoped to be at the very beginning.
Ben had faced his issues with Clancy. And she finally had a way out.
Yippee.
* * *
Nora’s two small bags were sitting at the front door early the next morning.
In a brief flare of insight, she wondered when having so little had become a kind of flag to wave when really it only served to make her appear smaller and less of an imposition. As if that were the best gift she could give those she left behind.
In the end it was a lie. Because the memories she’d collected in this place filled ten times that much space. Her heart clutched so hard at the thought of walking away from them all, she rubbed the heel of her palm into her chest.
Speaking of people, Nora turned to find Ben leaning against the kitchen doorjamb in a Henley T and soft jeans. Barefoot with a little stubble on his usually clean-cut cheeks, a tuft of hair sitting not quite right, as if he’d tossed and turned as much as she had.
“Running away from home?” he asked.
God, he was beautiful. And kind. And forgiving. While she couldn’t be sure how long it would take her to get over him, to get over this whole place, and everything that had happened here, he’d be so fine.
She mustered a wobbly smile. “Despite appearances, I wasn’t going to leave without saying goodbye. I’m staying at Misty’s for a couple of days. Something I probably should have done earlier. To give you the space you needed to focus on what was important.”
Something hot and dark flashed behind his eyes. “And what is that, exactly?”
“Reconciling yourself with your grandmother, of course. Last night you seemed to make some giant leaps in that direction. Leaps you might have made sooner without me pressing and prodding in all the wrong places, or making you lose focus on what mattered to you. I fear my being here made things...muddy.”
“Muddy, you say.”
“I do. I do say that. I can be a lot. Sunshine or no sunshine, I can be a lot. And while I’m slowly becoming more and more okay with that, you need to just be alone here. To say goodbye.”
His chest lifted and fell. Then his strong arms folded over his chest. “I’ve never much liked goodbyes,” he said.
“Me neither. But they are a fact of life.” She shrugged. What more was there to say? “Anything you need me to do, before I go, just let me know.”
“Don’t go,” Ben said, his eyes serious. His words harking back to another time he’d said nearly the same thing. “Not yet.”
With a soft shrug she gave him one last part of herself. “For years, I’d wake up every morning, waiting for someone to tap me on the shoulder and tell me I didn’t belong there. The thing is, I knew I didn’t belong there. I don’t belong anywhere, and I’ve always been okay with that. But here? With you? I forgot. I forgot myself. I forgot my limits.
“I’ve been living someone else’s life and it’s time I start living mine again.”
She grabbed her backpack and slung it over her shoulder. Then took her battered old suitcase and held tight to the handle.
For a breath she thought they might move as one towards the middle; she could all but feel him in her arms. But neither moved.
She gave him a smile and reached for the door handle. Then turned at the last.
“Clancy called your name, the second last day, maybe the third. Did I ever tell you that?”
Ben shook his head, slowly.
“I think she thought I was you. Looking after her. At the end.”
Ben’s chin dropped, the muscles in his
neck tensing, and he said, “She didn’t need me. She had you.”
“She needed you, Ben. She loved you. She missed you. She just didn’t know how to tell you.”
Nora wondered if Clancy had seen that in her too. If part of her appeal was that they were both useless when it came to expressing how they truly felt. If she’d felt she needed someone, at the end, who wouldn’t judge. Would simply hold her hand.
“Thank you,” Nora said. “For telling me about Clancy. For trusting me with your story. For not protecting me from mine.”
She locked eyes with his, saw way too much understanding therein. He knew how she felt. Knew why she had to leave. He had to.
For the first time ever, she’d met someone who was too much for her.
With a watery smile, she grabbed the door handle, walked out onto the patio and was gone.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
BEN STOOD ON the threshold of the sitting room at Thornfield Hall, eyes glancing off the fireplace, the ottoman, the bookshelves that had been well cleaned out by the Widows’ Book Club, and found himself in an unfamiliar position.
He had not a single clue what he should do next.
For as long as he could remember, from when he woke up in the morning to the moment he finally fell asleep, he felt sure of his actions. As if he had some kind of moral divining rod in his subconscious that let him know he was on the right path. If, at one point, that metaphorical rod had spoken with Clancy’s voice, well, then, it was what it was.
But now? Nothing. Take a step forward? Step back? Scratch his nose? Clear his throat? Give up or go hard, book a flight back to London tonight and put the damn house on the market or stay a few more days and finish what he’d begun?
It was as if the divining rod had turned its metaphorical back on him right as he felt as if he were in the centre of some centrifugal vortex. Now whatever he decided to do would spin him off in a direction from which he’d never return.
The spinning had begun the moment Nora had left, with her backpack and battered little suitcase. Her tilted chin and brave smile no match for the heartache and disenchantment written all over her face.