“Return to PR? I’d rather eat the contents of my compost bin. It’s a career for—” she hiccuped. God, she was plastered “—second fiddles.” Tilly drained her glass, even though it was empty, and slammed it onto the table. She liked the sound, so she did it again. “Anyway, I’m expanding my highly successful wholesale business into a retail nursery.”
Wow. That wasn’t a throwaway statement intended to goad. She felt none of the hesitancy she had earlier when she’d made the same declaration to Ro. Double wow.
Sebastian glanced over his shoulder as if seeking reinforcements. Or was he considering a runner? Who knew with him?
“I thought you wanted to move back here?” he said.
Oopsy. She should have told him she’d shelved the England dream. But then again, she hadn’t been entirely sure until that moment. She grappled for his hand and folded it into her own.
“Nope, not staying.” Once again, she had boxed them in. But they weren’t teenagers anymore, desperate for a quick grope. They’d worn down the treads of their lives. They could take things slow. “If I leave, that doesn’t have to mean anything for, you know, us.” Us? There was no us. Damn, she was worse at this than he was. “Why don’t we just stay connected and see what happens?” Now that didn’t sound too scary.
“Forget the whole sex thing you mean?” Sebastian grinned at her.
“You look relieved.” And what did she feel? Nothing. One huge nothing.
“James brought out the tomcat in me. Made me mark territory. I was worried I had become my father’s son, thinking with my dick. And now the pressure’s off? Yes. I am relieved.”
“’Cos you’re in love with another woman?” The question sat on her chest, heavy and solid. No one had mentioned Fiona in weeks, and Sebastian had grown lighter, as if he’d wiggled free of his worries. Or maybe he had simply followed the standard Sebastian operating manual and buried his feelings deeper. He might be ripping up photos but he still loved his wife. He’d told Tilly as much that day they’d had lunch at the Hall.
“You still love your wife, don’t you?”
Sebastian eased his hand away and shuffled his chair closer. “The answers to your questions are yes and no. Tilly, can we kiss?”
She hadn’t kissed a man in three years, hadn’t kissed anyone but David in thirteen, and wasn’t sure her failed attempt with James meant anything. The equivalent of a victory dance, surely. But this was Sebastian, the first boy she’d ever kissed. And even if her brain panicked and said, “How do I do this?” her body would remember.
He flung his arm over the back of her chair. “Please?”
“Sure.” How could she refuse when he asked so politely? “Kiss me.” She threw her arms around his neck, falling into a dance she hadn’t practiced in years, but knew with clarity. Their lips fit together like the last two pieces of a jigsaw, but her pulse didn’t race. It slowed. So, that was why he’d asked for permission. Suddenly, she felt sober.
“There’s no passion. Is there?” she said, before he could.
“I’m sorry, Tilly.” Sebastian’s eyes were clear blue today. “I had to be sure.”
They remained tethered by her arms, surrounded by silence laden with history: The first time she saw him, so beautiful she couldn’t breathe; their first kiss during the school bop, with Paul Weller singing “You’re the Best Thing” and everything tingling from her toes up; the first time they made love—the latex smell of the condom, the act itself clumsy and painful; his face when she said, “I’ve met the man I’m going to marry.”
His face seconds earlier, before he kissed her for the last time.
“I guess I succeeded,” Sebastian said, “when I vowed to cut you from my life.” He hadn’t moved, hadn’t pulled away from her. They were suspended in time, delaying the moment that she had been deprived of with David—a final goodbye. She ran her fingers up into Sebastian’s hair, desperate to remember the softness. But his hair was matted with gel and her fingers retreated. It felt nothing like the memory.
“It would have been so easy,” Sebastian said, “to slip back into what was. Please believe me when I tell you part of me wanted that.”
“Just because something’s easy, doesn’t make it right.” After all, her favorite hiking trail behind Creeping Cedars wound through a forest of poison ivy and prime copperhead habitat. The other trails were less hazardous but lacked the spectacular vista. Amazing, what she’d risk for a view that stole her breath.
“I’m sorry, Tilly. I can’t love you again. It’s just…not there.”
Men who couldn’t love her seemed to be a new theme in her life.
Something snapped in her mind. She almost heard it ping.
“You know, I’m not ready for this merry-go-round of love. With anyone.” A smile sneaked out. She had fantasized about two men, neither of them David, and the sky hadn’t fallen. That was enough for now—a start, a hope for some unimagined future where love would come easily. And thanks to James and Sebastian, she had a parachute. “Will you at least send the odd email this time, so we can take a stab at friendship?”
But instead of answering, Sebastian jumped up and knocked a small, potted fuchsia from the patio table. Tilly made a dive to catch it but missed. The ceramic pot smashed onto the concrete, and Sebastian dropped to his knees, his face scarlet.
“Christ,” he mumbled, scooping up potting soil and pieces of pottery. “Sorry.”
Tilly wanted to reassure him, but he looked so pathetic that words failed her. Instead, she grabbed the fuchsia and shoved it into her glass. “Here.” She held it out. “Pack in that handful of soil.” But Sebastian stood, dirt tumbling down his leg.
“That must have been quite some kiss,” Rowena called from under the rose arch. She strode across the lawn, swinging a large wicker basket shrouded with a tea towel. “Didn’t mean to spoil the party. I assumed you’d be up at the Farm.” She lifted the edge of the tea towel and a delicious warm smell sank into Tilly’s stomach. “Got bored and did some cooking, but you know me—over the top as usual. Made three of them before I’d realized what I was doing.”
“Hmm. Pheasant lasagna,” Tilly said. Damn, she was famished. “You doll.”
“Thought I’d offload this one on Mrs. H. But here, you chaps have it.” Rowena put the basket on the table and backed up with exaggerated steps, like a cartoon character preparing to run away. “Snog on without me.”
“Wait!” Tilly reached across the table. “Why don’t the three of us have supper here? Like old times.”
“No.” Sebastian was frantically brushing dirt from his chinos. “You stay, Rowena. I’ll leave.”
“What’s going on?” Rowena scowled at Tilly. Then she turned to Sebastian. “Sebastian?” But he hooded his face with his hands and didn’t reply.
Rowena whirled around, her arms tensed as if grabbing an imaginary bar. “Aren’t you tired of this game yet, Tilly—spin Sebastian around and break his heart? Well, it’s not on.”
“Wow. Time out. Why’re you angry?” Tilly considered saying something along the lines of It’s his fault, he did it. But instead she opened her arms in surrender. “It’s not what you think. Sebastian’s not in love with me. He’s still in love with Fiona.” She made soothing downward motions with her palms. “Nothing bad happened here. No massacre of anyone’s heart. Sebastian’s fine, I’m fine. One big happy family, right John Boy?”
Sebastian raised his head. “I have to leave.”
“Did I say somet
hing wrong?”
“Drop it, Tilly.”
“Okay, so I forgot you used to hate The Waltons, but you don’t have to dash off all embarrassed. I don’t care that you still love your wife and neither does Rowena. No, that came out wrong. Of course we care. We care deeply, don’t we, Ro?”
“Stop.” Sebastian’s shout jolted Tilly into silence. She and Rowena exchanged glances. When had he ever raised his voice? “I’m not in love with my wife. Happy?”
“So why did you tell me—” Tilly stood.
“I didn’t. You made that assumption and I let you. Christ, Tilly.” He rubbed his jaw, leaving a smudge of soil under his mouth. “Why do you always force me to examine my feelings? Do you know how painful that is? I shut down, follow assumptions people make, because it’s the only way I know how to protect myself. I’m not like you and I never will be. I can’t talk about love. I’m a coward—” he held up his hands “—one who believed, up until this moment, that anything was easier than facing the truth. And its repercussions.” His glare shifted to Rowena, but the frown fell away, his face transformed by the saddest smile Tilly had ever seen. And this time he didn’t have to test his feelings with a kiss.
Expletives formed in Tilly’s mind. She opened her mouth and yet nothing came out, not even a squeak. Not that Sebastian or Rowena would have heard her. They were staring at each other, Rowena so washed out even her lips were colorless.
“I love you,” Sebastian said, his eyes dancing over Rowena’s face as if he were committing her features to memory. “And I understand if you want me out of the Farm. I can pack up this weekend.” He sucked in his chest. “If you don’t want to see me again, tell me now. I’ll have to talk with Mrs. Haddington, explain that I can’t buy Woodend.”
“No!” Rowena screamed. Inside the house Monty howled a macabre duet, and Mrs. Haddington ordered him into silence.
Rowena grappled for the back of a chair, the one Sebastian had been sitting on minutes earlier. “How dare you say that after twenty-three years of being my best friend’s boyfriend, my best friend’s ex-boyfriend, my best friend’s? Twenty-three years, Sebastian. Doesn’t that count for anything?” She shoved the chair away; it crashed into the table. “If this is some petty attempt to get back at Tilly for James, to make her jealous, I’ll rip out your gizzards. Tilly and Isaac are my family, and if you want to hurt them, you have to get through me first. Go back to the Farm and pack up your possessions before I have you evicted.” She pointed at random, waving her arm toward a revolving horizon, her bangles clanging against each other. “Get out!”
You tell him, sister. Tilly put her hands on her hips.
“No. I’ve changed my mind. I’m not leaving.” Sebastian spoke slowly, in sharp contrast to Rowena’s staccatos of fury. Tilly stared agog. He was going to get such a mouthful. “I want to make a declaration of love for the woman who has stood by me always, even though I’ve been too stupid to realize.” He stepped toward Rowena. “And I’m going to admit to the fact that I’m buying a house to be near the woman I love.” Tilly gasped. Sebastian talked over her as if she were air. “When we went out for dinner and you offered me the Farm, it was as if we were meeting for the first time. And you looked—” He gave a soft smile. “Christ, you looked like an angel come to save me. I felt as if I were returning from the dead. And then you told me Tilly was coming home, and I allowed myself to listen to uncertainty. I thought I was too messed up to know my own heart. But when James was alone with you every night, I—I wanted to kill him.”
Was Sebastian having a spiritual awakening or a breakdown? Or maybe it was Tilly who, as Rowena would say, had lost the plot. Tilly felt as if she’d rushed out of a movie for a popcorn refill and wandered back into the wrong theatre. Only it wasn’t just a different movie, it was a different genre. In Japanese. Without subtitles.
“I love you. Christ, I love you.” There was a definite touch of madness in his voice. Rowena would deck him for sure. “And I have no intention of leaving. I’m staying and I’m buying this house. Because I think that you love me, too.”
“You arrogant bastard,” Rowena whispered.
“Do you love me?” He lurched forward and grabbed her shoulders.
Rowena sagged, as if someone had suctioned out her bones. “Don’t,” she cried. “I’m begging you, Sebastian. Don’t ask that.”
“Why not? I love you!” He laughed.
Yup, crazy as a loon. Although Rowena was acting strange, too.
“Please, leave me alone. I love Tilly. I love Isaac. I—I’ve made my peace. Please, just leave me alone.” Then Rowena gave a feeble wail, as if the last thread of her voice had ripped.
Tilly fumbled for the edge of the table, a thousand blips from the past bombarding her, making sense for the first time: Rowena’s diatribe after Tilly confided her loss of virginity; Rowena’s alcohol poisoning the night after Tilly and Sebastian reunited the first time; Rowena so distracted that she cooked three pheasant lasagnas.
Rowena hung limply. She would have collapsed onto the concrete if not for Sebastian holding her up. She looked like one of the matching rag dolls Tilly’s mother had made for their eighth birthdays. Tilly knew where hers was, but what had happened to Rowena’s? Had she been as careless with Holly Hobbie as she’d been with the Roxton christening gown? How could you trust a person for thirty years and not know her at all?
“Sebastian asked you a question,” Tilly said. “Do you love him?”
“Yes.” Rowena dug her elbows into her stomach and grabbed her head. Her long, red hair flopped forward like a velvet cape. “God help me, yes. I can’t remember a time when I didn’t. But neither of you were meant to know. No one was ever meant to know. I was taking my secret to the grave, Tilly. You must believe that, you must.”
“Shh, darling.” Sebastian wrapped himself around her. And something struck Tilly. Why had she never noticed before? They were the same height; they balanced each other out, and as they held on to each other, Tilly tried to avert her eyes. But couldn’t.
“And Isaac?” Rowena broke away from Sebastian. “What will you tell Isaac?”
“That’s not your concern.” Tilly sounded as calm as she felt—hollowed out, scraped clean of emotion. “We’ve been best friends for over thirty years and you never let one thing slip. Never even hinted. How could you be that cold?”
“Because it was too awful to admit.” Rowena sobbed, and Sebastian reached for her again. “I couldn’t risk losing you, Haddy. You and Isaac are all that I have. I would cut out my own eyes before I would hurt either of you. What choice did I have? Haven’t you ever buried a secret so awful? Haven’t you, Tilly?”
Rowena couldn’t have inflicted more pain with a switchblade.
Tilly covered her mouth, trying to stifle the keening that escaped from deep inside, trying to force back the memory. She had thought that if she locked the truth away, never let it out, she would be safe. James and his truth. What did he know about a truth like hers? He would tell her to confront it, drag it to the center of her thoughts and keep it there until her mind lost interest and strayed. But how could anyone confront the horror of that last sentence spoken to a husband? The only promise she had ever broken.
I won’t leave you, my love. I swear, I won’t leave you.
But then she had fallen asleep and had awoken abruptly, her pounding heart deafening her to the bleeping technology of the hospital.
The panic, the fear—she recalled both, how they tasted aci
dic, how they stung at her like fire ants under her skin. And the terrible need to call a taxi, to go home and watch Isaac sleep, to reassure herself that unlike her husband, her child would wake the next day. She had followed her instincts, too strong to ignore, had chosen motherhood over everything else. And now motherhood was all that she had left. Because in that one hour, in those sixty minutes that she was gone, David had died. Alone.
* * *
Tilly shot back up, gulping for air, then retched into the tub of geraniums.
“Haddy!” Rowena rushed at her. “Christ, are you okay?”
“Not especially. I just threw up the last of the Bombay Sapphire.” Tilly used an elbow to shrug off Rowena, then wiped the back of her hand across her mouth.
“Please, Tilly. Please forgive me.” Rowena glanced at Sebastian.
“Let’s get her sitting down.” He walked over and wrapped an arm under Tilly’s.
“Stop fussing, the pair of you,” Tilly said, but let Sebastian guide her onto a chair. “I’ve been drinking on an empty stomach. It’s my own fault.”
She put her head between her legs and listened to her rasping breath. When did breathing become so hard?
“Look, you two are consenting adults.” Tilly dragged up her head—why did it feel so cumbersome? She longed for darkness, for dreamless sleep, for oblivion. No one to listen to, not even herself. “You don’t need my blessing.”
“No, but we’d like it.” Sebastian held out his hand to Rowena. Had he ever looked at Tilly that way? She screwed up her eyes and tried to remember how it felt to be loved by Sebastian, but there was nothing except a prick of pain above her right eye.
“I want to be happy for you.” Tilly hung her head. “And I will be, once I get over the freak-factor. Just give me some time. And you guys must have a lot to talk about. Why don’t you go, take the lasagna.”
The Unfinished Garden Page 29