Saratoga Falls: The Complete Love Story Series

by Pogue, Lindsey

  I try to think about the barn project, instead. I’m happy with how it’s turning out, and it’s projects like these, albeit generally on a smaller scale, that remind me that as much as I don’t want to be an interior designer, I do enjoy it sometimes too. I smile as I realize how close we are to the end of the year and after graduation, I’ll never have to see Professor Murray again.

  The doorbell dings, and when I look up, I’m astonished. Savannah’s standing in the doorway. Her red hair hangs down in waves around her shoulders, and she stares at me, her eyes not leaving mine as she steps closer.

  “Uh, hi,” she says awkwardly.

  I straighten and step closer to the counter, grabbing hold of it to steady myself. I doubt she’s here to schedule her first tanning appointment. I have no idea what’s transpired between her and Nick in the past five hours. All I can do is wonder if she’s here to tell me she wants Nick back.

  Whatever the reason, the fact that she’s here at all makes my stomach roll. “Hi . . .” I finally manage. It’s an uncertain sound. I’m not even sure it comes out as a word.

  “So, this is weird, so I’ll get right to it,” she says, splaying her palms on the counter. “Nick told me that you guys are together.” She pauses and her eyes don’t leave mine, like she’s still processing the news. “I was surprised, really surprised, actually, but Nick made it very clear that he wants things to work with you, so I needed to know, whatever that meant for our friendship.”

  My heart flutters a little at her words, and the tension of the day that’s been coiled in my shoulders and neck slackens a little.

  “He mentioned our friendship has caused some problems, so—I want you to know that, even though this is strange to say to you, I want Nick to be happy. Right now, I guess that means with you. I’d still like to be his friend, but I don’t want you to feel like I’m a threat on top of it—I don’t want to be the reason he’s unhappy.” Savannah’s dark blue eyes are piercing and genuine, even if her tone is a little bitter.

  Tentatively, I nod. Her admission is surprising, however she may truly feel about it, and it’s a gesture I didn’t expect.

  Savannah purses her lips. Looks around the room then down at her hands before she looks at me again. “Okay then . . . I’m gonna go.” Her head bobs awkwardly and then she turns to leave.

  “Savannah?”

  She glances over her shoulder.

  “Thanks.”

  She lifts a delicate eyebrow and gives me a once-over. “Don’t fuck it up,” she says soberly. A small smile tugs at the corner of her mouth, then she walks out the door, slides her sunglasses on, and she disappears from sight.

  I’m still staring out the window, mind reeling, when Anna Marie comes in from the back room with a box in her hands. “Who was that?”

  “Savannah,” I breathe.

  I look at Anna and her mouth is gaping. “As in the other woman?”

  I glower at her. “You don’t have to say it like that, but yes.”

  “What the hell did she want?”

  Smiling to myself, I turn to face her. “To call a truce.”

  Anna’s surprise mimics what I’m feeling, even if I’m still processing it all. “So, are you going to call Nick, then?”

  “Of course, but not now with you lurking.” I slide the scissors to her across the counter. “When did you get here? I thought you were running errands for your mom?”

  “I just got back—just in time, too. Remind me never to let Trent do inventory again,” she says as a tangent, then shakes her head. “But that’s not important right now. You need to call Nick. You’re killing me right now.”

  “My life isn’t some soap opera for your viewing pleasure, you know,” I remind her, and tilt my head. “I text messaged him earlier; he knows I’ll call him on my break.”

  “Well, whatever you do, you should make sure he’s in your corner before you go into the snake pit after work.”

  “I will. Shouldn’t you be more worried about what you’re going to wear for your date tonight?” I ask her, and she blanches.

  “How do you know about that?”

  “The walls at your apartment are paper thin,” I remind her.

  Her eyes widen. “Good to know.”

  Laughing, I pick up the laundry basket. “I’m going to put a load in. Stay up front for a sec, would you?”

  Anna nods and pulls her phone from her back pocket. No doubt texting Bobby a quick warning about tonight. “Isn’t having a roommate so fun?” I ask over my shoulder, and she grumbles something inaudible.

  I’m in the laundry room, sorting through the spray tan and hand towels, when I hear the front door ding. Knowing Anna Marie is out there, I leave it to her to deal with the next wave of clients.

  I have no idea what exactly my mom wants to talk to me about. It could be anything from coordinating Jesse’s schedule to asking me to move all of my things out of the house this week, if she’s so inclined. And, as much as I don’t want to have a face-to-face conversation with her tonight, I also wish it was over with already.

  There’s a creak in the floor as Anna comes into the room. “I’m almost finished,” I tell her and glance over my shoulder. But it’s Nick who’s standing there. His hands are in his pockets and an uncertain expression creases his face.

  “Hey,” he says. His eyes are shadowed and his brow is deeply furrowed. I’m not sure I’ve ever seen him so drained of everything that makes him Nick, and my heart hurts that it’s because of me.

  “Hey.” I set the towels aside.

  “I know you said we’d talk later, but I couldn’t wait.” He’s more solemn than I’ve ever seen him. “I hope I won’t get you in trouble being here.”

  “Ha. Are you kidding, Anna’s in the hallway listening, I’m almost certain.” It’s a joke, but Nick doesn’t smile.

  I swallow thickly. “I’m sorry I didn’t call you sooner, it’s just—it seemed like too important a conversation to have than a quick check-in between clients, you know?”

  “Well . . . I’m impatient.” He says it lightly, but it’s not the same Nick-ness I’m used to.

  “Nick, I—”

  “I’m sorry,” he says urgently and takes a step closer. He runs his fingers through his hair. “You were right about Savannah, I should’ve told her. Mac painted a very vivid picture for me, and I nearly lost my shit.”

  I frown. “What do you mean?”

  “If you kept talking to a guy—if you were friends, especially with an ex”—he shakes his head—“I don’t know if I could do it. I just—I wasn’t thinking about it like that. All I could hear was you comparing me to him, and I hate that you’d think for a single minute that I’d ever hurt you the way he did.”

  I take Nick’s hands in mine, squeezing them as I will him to hear me and understand. “I don’t think that. I know you aren’t like Mike, trust me. I tell myself that all the time. Sometimes it’s just hard not to get lost in the what ifs, you know?”

  He tugs me closer, his eyes searching mine, earnest. “I told Savannah,” he says. “I wanted you to know. I should’ve done it from the beginning, but I didn’t want to hurt her feelings, because I do still worry about her.”

  I take a deep breath and nod. “I know you told her.”

  His brow furrows again. “You do?”

  “She was here.”

  “Savannah was? Why?” He looks almost frightened.

  “Because she cares about you,” I tell him reassuringly. “She wants you to be happy. And she wanted to tell me not to fuck things up.”

  Amusement pulls at his lips, but he doesn’t smile.

  Rising to my tiptoes, I wrap my arms around his neck for a hug, because it feels like it’s overdue. He’s solid and warm and all-consuming as he squeezes me against his body. His strength is soothing and I soak it up for later tonight when I’ll need him, even if he can’t be there with me.

  Like he can feel my anxiety, he leans back and brushes a stray hair from my face. “What’s w
rong?” he asks softly and rests his forehead against mine.

  “I have to stop by my parents after work,” I explain. “My mom wants to talk.”

  He looks at me for a moment, like he’s trying to decide what to say. “Do you want me to take you? I could wait outside.”

  Knowing I have to do this on my own, I shake my head.

  “Beth—”

  “Really it’s fine.”

  “I don’t want—”

  Before he can argue, I press a kiss to his lips. I’m not sure if it’s him or me that whimpers, but everything falls away as his palm finds the side of my face, his thumb stroking my cheek as he kisses me fervently. “You’re trying to distract me,” he breathes.

  “Is it working?” I press my lips to his again, softly and letting them linger.

  Nick smiles against my mouth. “Yes.”

  With a contented sigh, I rest the side of my face against his chest. “Let’s not fight anymore, okay?”

  “Sounds easy enough. But you know, if we were to fight again—which I’m sure will never happen,” he says playfully. “I accept pickles as recompense.”

  I try and fail not to laugh. “Of course you do.”

  Fifty

  Bethany

  I sit outside my parents’ house for a few minutes before I can bring myself to go inside. Seeing Nick has put my mind at ease in a strange way, and although I don’t want to have this argument with my mom, whatever it may be, I don’t think it will affect me as much as it might have any day before today. Whether it’s my parents cutting me off or telling me to move my things, I feel like I’m ready for it. I’ll figure it out without them.

  Jesse’s bedroom light is on, flickering behind his drawn drapes. He’s already gone through his nightly routine of reorganizing his special toy piles and brushing his teeth. He’s playing his video game before he goes to bed, until he’s so tired he can barely keep his eyes open. At least he’s still got those small routines to comfort him, and knowing that makes me feel better, too. Being away from him is difficult, but the longer I’m away, the more I know it’s for the best.

  I walk toward the house, expecting it to be locked like it usually is, but it’s not. When I open the door, the house is quiet, and only a side table lamp glows in the living room. A light over the oven illuminates the kitchen and my mother’s outline at the center island.

  She sets a glass of wine down on the counter and looks at me. I rarely see her drink, so I’m surprised to see a bottle on the counter, half empty.

  “You came,” she says in a whisper, so quiet I almost don’t hear her.

  I set my purse down on the couch. “I told you I would.”

  Slowly, she lowers her feet onto the plush rug, covering the hardwood floor, and walks over to the light switch. She eases the soft glow of the dimmer up so I can see her more clearly.

  Her yoga pants and loose sweater are a surprise. Her hair is in a messy ponytail, her eyes red and puffy. I can’t remember the last time I saw her like this, a normal mother, mussed and real and beautiful in her own way. Gone is the perfectly groomed Laura Fairchild who has a different skirt and pantsuit for each day of the week.

  “Please,” she says, “sit down.” She walks over to the sink and pours herself a glass of water from the filter. “Can I get you something?”

  “Um, yeah, water would be great. Thanks.”

  I claim a barstool across the island from her, noticing my journal on the marble top. My stomach flip-flops.

  When she turns around, she catches me eyeing it. “Please, take it,” she says, nodding to the leather-bound book as she slides me a water glass, more than half full. “Part of me . . .” She sighs. “Part of me thought I shouldn’t read it, even though you wanted me to. Another part of me couldn’t resist.” She stares at the book, like it holds some powerful memory. “You’re right. I feel like I saw you for the first time.” Her eyes shift to mine, shimmering in the low light. “Saw myself, actually.”

  My grip tightens on the glass of water. “Is that why you wanted me to come over?” I ask, trying to move this awkward and unwanted conversation along. “To talk about my journal?”

  She glances at it again. “I’m not quite sure.” Her voice is distant, and her uncertainty confuses me.

  “Mom, is everything okay?”

  Her face hardens with a frown. “No, Bethany, everything is not okay. This,” she says, gesturing between us, “is far from okay.”

  “Well,” I bite back, “it’s been like this for years, so I’m not sure what you expect me to say.”

  “Nothing,” she says more quietly this time. “You don’t have to say anything. But I would like you to listen.”

  As always, my gaze shifts to the stairs, checking for prying eyes and ears. Jesse’s door is shut, and the neon light of the television illuminates that part of the dark hallway.

  “He misses you,” she says suddenly. She laughs to herself and wipes beneath her eyes. “I know you’ve seen him every day, but it’s different, you not being here.” She sits back down at the island. “Things haven’t always been this hard,” she says. “Not between us. I can see how you might remember it that way, but for a time, things were different.”

  She fingers the stem of her wine glass, eyes fixed on the beaded charm marker as her thoughts take her somewhere far away. “I’ve been trying to think back and remember at which point I started to forget what it meant to be a mother. Things have gotten so complicated over the years . . . I wish it was easier to explain it all to you.”

  She pauses, thinking. I feel like I should say something to fill the void, but I’m not sure what.

  “When you were a baby, you were my pride and joy. That’s all I’d wanted, after I married your father. He was the prom king, I the queen. It made sense back then. He was prominent in the town and had high hopes and vast dreams. He inspired me.” Her eyes shift from a memory in space to me. “I thought that everything would be better between us when I had you. That a child would add a layer of additional love and connection to our marriage.”

  “But it didn’t,” I hear myself say. Something stirs inside of me that I haven’t felt in a long time—affection for her, I think, and curiosity.

  “What they say is true—you can’t fix a marriage by adding a room to the house or a child to the mix. And I made far more mistakes than that.”

  Running my finger over the condensation on the glass, I try to imagine my parents’ lives before I was born—how lonely it might’ve been—and I wait for her to continue.

  “There’s something you should know, Bethany. I swore I would never tell you, but I would be a hypocrite if I didn’t, and it’s not fair to your father—for you to hate him and not know the whole story.”

  Her words surprise me, intrigue me, even, like the past twenty-three years are only a version of him and I might finally get a glimpse at who he might’ve been a long time ago.

  “He’s not a loving man, I know that, but he’s not heartless, even if he seems like it at times. We’d tried to have another child many times after you were born and it didn’t happen. It’s part of the reason your father and I grew apart. So, I did something I’m not proud of, my deepest shame and darkest secret. He’s a better man than you realize, if for no other reason than he didn’t turn me and Jesse away after your brother was born.”

  “What a saint,” I mutter. “He didn’t turn his own child and wife away simply because he had a broken son.”

  She eyes me without response, as if she’s waiting for me to understand. Her words are muddled in my head, and when they don’t register, I frown. “What do you mean, he didn’t turn you away?”

  She peers into my eyes, only blinking as she inhales a deep breath. “Jesse is not your father’s son.”

  “What?” I lean onto the counter, gaze unwavering.

  “I had an affair.”

  “What?” I repeat. “And you’ve been judging me, acting like I’m such a disappointment?”

  “I didn’t
want you to follow down the same path—I was scared.” Expression unchanged, tears well in her eyes as she sits there, prepared for a verbal lashing, but I can’t speak.

  I don’t know what to say. I don’t know if I’m hurt or surprised or simply confused. “Who is Jesse’s father?” I whisper and glance up at his closed bedroom door.

  She shakes her head. “One of your father’s old clients,” she whispers and tears stream silently down her cheeks. “I wasn’t going to tell your father that I was pregnant. I was going to leave him, but I was frightened. I didn’t have a job then. I was home with you at the time and when you father found out—well, the rest is history.”

  “You cheated on Dad,” I say again.

  “He tried to forgive me, and that’s the man you know today. Angry. Betrayed. Maybe even heartbroken.”

  The sudden sympathy and respect that swells inside me for my dad is strange and overwhelming.

  “He resents Jesse, but not only for the reasons you think he does. There’s so much more behind it.”

  “But—why are you guys still together if you’re both so unhappy?”

  “I started working my ass off to have a stable career so that I could start a new life for us, but it’s been so long, I’ve lost sight of why I was doing it to begin with.”

  The late nights in her office, the weekend meetings . . . This whole time there was a haunting shadow following her—a drive in her I didn’t understand. I didn’t realize how little I know my mother, until now.

  A tear trickles down my cheek, for Jesse and my dad, and I wipe it away. Looking at her, I don’t know what I feel, but I see her through a lens I never have before.

  “I hate myself for what I’ve done,” she admits. “I’ve hated myself for it since the day Jesse was born, and even more when I realized Charles would never forgive me. There has always been a life-sucking secret between us instead. I ruined us, and I’ve turned this family into something so far gone, I don’t know if I can turn it around again . . . but I’d like to try.” Even in her most revealing moments, she’s so much in control it almost hurts me to watch.