by Mary Campisi
But when money was involved, was it ever really just about the guy?
Not in his world.
Did she really love him? Had she ever loved him?
What if he believed her, opened his heart and trusted her words, and what if they were all a lie to secure a comfortable life for herself and her girls? Women did it all the time. Was Grace one of those women? Hard to tell, but the instinct to protect could make a mother do just about anything, including lie about her feelings.
He could not let her destroy him again. Max narrowed his gaze on her, wiped the emotion from his words, and said, “As tempting as the invitation is, I think I’m going to pass.” Max would never forget the look on her face seconds after he uttered the words: shock, pain, disbelief. It was all there, unfolding for him to witness. She opened her mouth to speak, stumbled, and then she was gone. Guilt and remorse tried to peck away at his conscience and sneak in, but he pushed them out, suffocated both with a good bottle of bourbon and a few lies of his own.
It would never have worked between them.
He was better off without her.
He never wanted to see her again.
Convenient lies that, when coupled with alcohol, refused to be challenged.
When Jenny called him two days later, it was not a long or pleasant conversation, just three terse statements about emailing him a few pages of reading material. No mention of Grace until the very last line, spoken with enough animosity to suffocate him. How could you?
Max poured a bourbon, settled in his favorite chair, and clicked open the message in his email. There were three links, and two lines into it, he knew it had come from Grace’s notebook.
* * *
Four days after Max’s trip to Pennsylvania
My heart is breaking, one tiny piece at a time, and I don’t know if it will ever heal. Max is gone. I love him and I sent him away. We aren’t right for one another—he’s too risky, too dangerous…too unpredictable. He’s moving down a path I don’t understand and, therefore, I can’t see where I fit, or where we fit together. I need comfortable. I need secure. I need rules, and he doesn’t have any, other than his vow to always love me.
But is that enough?
Will it be enough to carry us our whole lives, when we have no money?
When we have children, when I grow old and wrinkled and no longer attractive?
Will that be enough for him?
Will he grow tired of me because I’m no longer exciting or new, and worry about money, the children, us?
He doesn’t want that kind of life, even if he thinks he does. I know it. I can see it in those blue eyes. Max Ruhland is a wanderer, a drifter, a lover of the unknown, and in a few years, I won’t be unknown. He’ll know everything about me, and he will find me boring.
I fear I will never grow tired of him, never grow tired of the excitement I feel when he’s next to me, the breathiness that makes it hard to suck in air when he smiles at me. He won’t feel that way about me, I know it, because what he doesn’t know about me, now, is that I’m ordinary. An ordinary person with an ordinary life, who will never do anything more than ordinary. Max is so much more and it scares me. Scares me to death.
I must walk away now before I am destroyed by his brightness, like a person who looks at the eclipse and is blinded. There will be nothing left of me if I follow him. I will be eclipsed by the brightness of Max. I see it. I feel it. I must escape or be blinded by it. If I don’t he will see my ordinariness and toss me aside.
And I will not survive.
I will always love him, even as I find a husband, have children, become respected and respectable, but I will never admit it again. The truth will die in this notebook, words written by a seventeen-year-old whose heart is broken and will never be whole again.
I will bury this and not think of it again. I will find a man who fits my plan, my expectations, my ordinary life.
And that will have to be enough.
But Max Ruhland will stay buried in my soul and the one corner of my heart that no one will ever touch again.
Because that belongs to him.
* * *
Two years later
I met a man.
His name is Grant Clarke.
He’s charming, intelligent, handsome. President of the debate team. He’s going to be a lawyer, says one day he’ll have his own law firm.
He makes me laugh.
He’s everything a girl could want.
I think I’m going to marry him.
* * *
Five years later
I’m getting married in six days.
Mrs. Grant Clarke.
Everybody loves Grant. Well, maybe not Jenny, but she doesn’t count. Look at the kinds of guys she picks? Daredevil bad boys with long hair, tattoos, and motorcycles. Okay, maybe that’s not fair. They don’t all have long hair or tattoos, and only three road motorcycles. But they are definitely all bad boys.
No wonder they never stick around.
They’re too unpredictable.
Not like Grant.
He knows where he’s going and what he wants out of life. He has a plan, and it’s our plan now. Grant calls it the “Clarke Plan for Success.” I like the sound of that.
Grant says I need to teach a few years before we talk about a family, so we can build our nest egg. I can’t wait to have children, but…
He thinks once the kids come along, I shouldn’t work full-time, but maybe part-time would be okay.
I want four. He says two. Grant calculated the real cost of raising a child to eighteen before college. Wow, did I have my eyes opened! Two it is.
Life is good.
I’m happy.
I know where I’m going and what to expect.
Does it get any better than that?
Wherever you are, and whatever you’re doing, know this, Max Ruhland. You might own a piece of my heart, but could you have promised me forever?
Could you have stayed in one place and loved ordinary?
I think we both know the answer to that.
* * *
My wedding day
Max.
MAX!!!!!!!!!
* * *
He closed the email, set the phone on the small table next to him, and stared at the amber liquid in his glass. Grace had loved him, but she’d been too scared to trust that he’d settle down, not get bored with the ordinary life she craved.
All these years, and she’d really loved him…
He tossed back the rest of his drink and decided it was time to have another talk—face to face. Nineteen hours later, he parked the rental car outside of Elliot and Jenny’s house and walked up the driveway. December in Pennsylvania was cold and blustery, and the forecast indicated at least five inches of snow. Nothing like Los Angeles, where the sun peeked out daily, and gray was not a color. But Grace was here, and if he had to fight cold and snow to get to her, he would.
16
“Are you the pizza man?”
Max swung around and faced two young girls in winter vests, hats, and mittens. Were these Grace’s daughters? “Pizza man?” He glanced at the Mercedes, then back to the girls. “No, sorry.”
The younger girl with the dark, curly hair eyed him. “Are you a salesman? Aunt Jenny said salesman always come around dinnertime because they know you’re home.”
Max hid a smile. This girl was a real firecracker. “Nope, not a salesman either.”
“Who are you?” The older girl who looked like a mini-Grace spoke.
“I’m Max.”
“Oooh, Max.” The curly-haired girl giggled. “Are you the Max who was my mom’s boyfriend?” She strung out the word boyfriend for an extra five seconds.
“Huh?”
“Shhh, be quiet,” the older girl said, snarling at her sister.
Max answered the question with a question. “Is your mom’s name Grace?”
“Yup. I’m Natalie, and this is Danielle. So, are you that Max guy who was my mom’s boyfriend a m
illion years ago?” Giggle, giggle.
“Do I look a million years old?” Avoidance was the key here.
Natalie shook her head. “Nope.”
“Are you him?” This from Danielle, brows pinched together, mittened hands balled at her waist.
She had her mother’s no-nonsense stare. “I might be.”
“Aunt Jenny said she thinks you named your company after my mom.” Natalie nodded. “G-Race Technologies. Take out the dash thing and that spells, Grace.”
“Duh.” Danielle said. “Anybody could figure that one out.”
They could?
“Mom didn’t. She said it wasn’t on purpose; it’s just the name.” Natalie turned to Max. “You and my mom still like each other, don’t you? But somebody didn’t tell the truth and then somebody else didn’t tell the truth and then…” She scratched her jaw, scrunched up her nose. “I don’t remember the rest, but Aunt Jenny said you and my mom should get married.”
Danielle scowled. “What are you talking about, and where did you hear that?”
Natalie shrugged. “I snooped. Mom and Aunt Jenny were in the bedroom and I wanted another cookie and I went to ask if I could have one, but then I heard them talking, and Mom started crying.”
“Well, he isn’t marrying Mom.” Danielle squared her shoulders, studied him like he wasn’t a real person. “Not until we make sure he’s not going to hurt her.”
“And he has to love her forever and ever,” Natalie said, smiling at him.
Danielle nodded. “And he has to follow the rules.”
Rules? Now he knew this was Grace’s daughter. This conversation was so over-the-top bizarre that he couldn’t help but ask, “What rules?”
“The rules of the house,” Natalie said, like he should know better than to ask. “Be respectful, kind, mind your manners…that kind of stuff.”
“And always tell the truth,” Danielle said. “No matter what.”
* * *
Max had just finished his second slice of pizza when the front door opened and Grace called out, “I’m home! There better be some pizza left!”
“Mom’s back from her hot body class,” Natalie whispered, her lips pulling into a wide grin as she glanced at Max.
“It’s hot yoga, not hot body,” Danielle spat out, looking toward the dining room door.
Seconds later, Grace entered, hair pulled back in a ponytail, no makeup, towel slung around her neck, wearing yoga pants and a baggy T-shirt. She looked beautiful.
When she spotted him, her eyes grew wide, her mouth opened and she sputtered, “Max? What… What are you doing here?”
“He came to see you, Mom,” Natalie chirped. “He said it was a surprise. Can he help us make Christmas cookies later?”
“He likes sugar cookies.” This from Danielle as she slid Max a look across the table.
“Are you hungry, Grace?” Jenny asked, trying to hide a smile. “Plenty of pizza left.”
“Max likes mushroom pizza, too,” Natalie said. “But he likes sausage and pepperoni if it’s spicy.” She raised a hand and fanned her face. “No, thank you. Uncle Elliot likes that stuff. Gross!”
“Guess that’s more for me and Max,” Elliot said. “It’s nice to have somebody on my side for once.”
Everybody was talking but Grace…and Max. He was too busy trying to gauge her reaction to his presence. Was she pleased? Displeased? Annoyed? No doubt she was shocked, but a good shocked or a bad shocked? Her next words told him he’d find out soon enough.
“Max? Can I talk to you for a minute?”
“Sure.” He pushed back his chair, stood, and zeroed in on Natalie and Danielle. “Don’t eat all the mushroom pizza.”
This time, they both giggled. Elliot gave him a half-nod, and he didn’t miss Jenny’s not-so-subtle thumbs-up. He was going to need their votes of confidence, and a lot more to get through this next conversation. He followed Grace to the living room, shoved his hands in his pockets, so he didn’t do something stupid like try to touch her.
Grace stood a few feet from him, her expression a mix of curiosity and confusion. “I…didn’t expect to see you again, not after our last conversation.”
She meant when she’d come to California and he’d blown her off with his why-are-you-bothering-me attitude. Max held her gaze, willed her to see how sorry he was. “Yeah, about that conversation… I’m really sorry. I was a jerk; hurt, angry, not thinking straight. Take your pick. Actually, take all of them.”
“So, what changed your mind? Clearly, it wasn’t a visual of me in my yoga outfit.” She crossed her arms over her chest, waited.
Was she teasing him? He never knew with Grace and it unsettled him. Max rubbed his jaw, shrugged. “What’s wrong with a yoga outfit? I kind of like the look. Down to earth, natural, no makeup… It suits you.” But then anything suited her…because it wasn’t about the look—it was about who Grace was inside, deep in her soul.
Her cheeks splashed with pink, and she looked away, pulled at her ponytail. “Trust me, if I’d known you were coming, I would have showered, and I would not be wearing yoga pants and a baggy T-shirt.”
“I think you look beautiful.”
She shook her head. “Max, don’t. We both know that’s not true.” When he tried to interrupt, she held up a hand, stopped him. “It’s okay, I don’t mind. I always wished I looked more exotic, like Jenny, but I told myself beauty was inside, and I excelled in that area.” Her lips pulled into a frown. “But that wasn’t exactly true. I kept score, grew resentful, and so judgmental. That wasn’t inner beauty; that was pettiness and jealousy. I don’t care about the outer appearance anymore.” Grace held his gaze, eyes bright. “I’m really okay with average-looking, but I’m not okay with what’s in here.” She pointed to her heart. “Elliot says I’m repainting my self-portrait and that’s going to be beautiful.” Her voice dipped, spilled with emotion. “And do you know why? Because it’s filled with love, and forgiveness, and hope.”
Max moved toward her, said in a quiet voice, “Will you let me be a part of that?”
Her smile filled him, touched his soul. She leaned on tiptoe and kissed him. “You’ve been a part of me since the first time I saw you, but I was too afraid to admit it.” Another kiss, a murmured, “I’m not afraid anymore. I love you, Max, and I am so sorry for all the pain I’ve caused you.”
The kiss turned deep and hungry, filled with need and longing. And passion…so damn much passion. Max pulled her against him, murmured, “I’ve missed you.” One more kiss, before he eased back, cupped her face with his hands and said, “I love you, Grace. I want to marry you, be a father to the girls.” His voice turned rough. “Please give us a chance.”
“Yes.” Her dark eyes glittered.
“Say that again.”
“Yes,” she whispered, “A thousand times, yes.”
“We were always meant to be together, and I’d marry you as soon as possible, but I want to do right by the girls. We’ll take it slow, give them time to get used to me and seeing us together.” He stroked her back, said in a husky voice, “I want this. I want us. We can live wherever you want, as long as we’re together.”
“I love the sound of that.”
There was one more thing he had to tell her, because as Danielle and Natalie had informed him, if he wanted to be with their mother he had to follow the rules, like always telling the truth. “I have a confession.” Her raised brow said she wasn’t sure she liked the sound of that.
“A confession?”
“Jenny sent me your notebook.” Pause, a soft kiss on the lips. “The one you wrote about me. Seems she found it years ago and held onto it. She called it protection against your mother finding it.”
“I…that was not meant to be shared…” Pink swirled up her neck, splattered across her cheeks.
“Everything’s meant to be shared between us,” he countered, stepping back to reach for his wallet. “Since we’re sharing secrets—” he reached into his wallet and pulled out a tiny
photo “—I’ve been carrying this with me for twenty-two years. It was as close to heaven as I’ve ever been.”
Grace stared at the photo he handed her. It was a picture of them at seventeen standing next to the Chevelle, tanned, smiling, his arm slung around her shoulder. “It’s beautiful.” She fingered the photo. “We were so in love. I can see it all clearly now.” She looked up, smiled. “You, Max Ruhland, were always meant to be my happily-ever-after.”
Epilogue
Pop’s father used to tell him that tragedies came in the night, while you were sleeping. You went to bed with your world looking one way, and woke up to something else altogether. He said it was God’s way of easing us into our grief, so we didn’t have to get hit head on. But Angelo always wondered what difference any of it made if you were still going to get hit, one way or the other. Did a few hours really matter? Did a good night’s sleep make any difference if tragedy waited to knock on your door until after you woke, read the paper, had your coffee, nibbled on your toast? Wasn’t it better to face it straight on, so you could start the battle and fight it any way you knew how?
He’d wonder about that in the months to come, wonder if they all wouldn’t have done a little better on a good night’s sleep. Minutes before the tragedy struck, Pop sat back in his chair, his belly full of pasta fagioli and a slice of fresh-baked bread, compliments of Miriam Desantro. “Ah, but it’s a good day, Lucy. There’s going to be another wedding in a few weeks. The new girl in town, Elissa Cerdi, is marrying Jack Finnegan’s son, Pete. Remember him? Rabble-rouser who headed out West and made his mother cry when he left? Jack was not pleased with that boy, pretty much kicked him out, said he better learn to work for a living, and there was no embarrassment working with your hands. Well, the boy did okay for himself, and now he’s back in town, and come Christmas, he and Elissa are getting hitched.”