There wasn’t much else to do, after all.
* * *
MRS. GRAFTON WAS FIFTY-FIVE, friendly and smart with a sense of humor. That she liked children was immediately obvious, and it took Michael all of five minutes to decide he would be comfortable leaving Eva with her. It took him a lot longer to text Angie to let her know she was off the hook for Eva’s child care. He did it, though, and he got through the rest of the day, too, as well as the weekend.
He was late leaving for work on Monday and when he rushed out to the garage to warm up the car before loading up the kids he nearly plowed straight into Angie on the doorstep as she fished her keys from her handbag. She froze, her face a pale oval, her deep blue eyes darting to his face briefly before she looked away.
“Michael,” she said.
She didn’t sound or look happy to see him, but he was profoundly aware of the sudden rush of blood through his body as his heart began to pound away. He felt as though the sun was shining on his face for the first time in days, simply because she was standing in front him, because he could smell her perfume and hear her voice and breathe the same air as her. The urge to touch her, to reassure himself that she was real and warm and here, was almost overwhelming. He settled for tightening the grip on his briefcase and clearing his throat.
“Angie. How are you?”
He gave himself a mental kick for the question, but it was too late, he’d said it, and she was forcing a smile, pretending that everything was normal.
“I’m good, thanks. How about you and the kids?”
“We’re all good.”
They both fell silent. Angie didn’t look at him again, her gaze instead fixed on the corner of the doormat. A small frown formed between her eyebrows, a faint, worried crease that told him more than words how hard this was for her.
The ever-present ache in his chest tightened its grip and he lifted a hand and rubbed the spot above his heart, a fast-growing habit that never seemed to have any
effect.
“I guess you’ll be packing today, with the removalists coming tomorrow,” he said.
“Yes.”
He nodded. For some reason he was having trouble swallowing and he cleared his throat again. “Well. I’d better get the car warmed up. Running a bit late.”
“Yes.”
She stepped aside so he could pass. He walked briskly to the garage, everything in him rejecting the stiff formality of their brief exchange. Was this what it was going to be like for the foreseeable future between them?
“Jesus,” he muttered, rubbing his chest again.
Things only got worse. On Tuesday he came home to find Eva red-eyed from crying. He knew why—Angie had moved out today. He said all the right things to his daughter, assuring her that just because Auntie Angie was no longer in the studio didn’t mean she wouldn’t see her anymore. He knew without asking that Angie had delivered the same assurances, and that she would do her damnedest to honor her commitment to his children. None of it took the desolate, hurt look from Eva’s eyes.
He waited until after dinner before he went out to inspect the studio. He went with a beer in hand and stood in the empty space, staring at the spot where Angie’s workbench had once been.
He’d built this studio for Billie but in just a few short weeks Angie had made it her own. Now, whenever he glanced out the kitchen window and caught sight of the empty windows, he would think of her. Of how he’d hurt her and screwed everything up, and how he much he missed her.
Sick of himself, he returned to the house, locking the studio behind him. He put the kids to bed and went into the study and stared stupidly at plans for a house extension that he was supposed to be finessing. He couldn’t stop thinking about Angie. About how empty his house felt without her, and how much he wanted to hear the sound of her voice and touch her soft skin and hold her close….
Everything felt wrong without her. Displaced. Over the last year and more, they had woven a life together, him and Angie and the kids. They had pulled together through their grief and they had come out the other side and found happiness again. Together. And he missed her. He needed her. He wanted her.
He loved her.
He sat back in his chair, stunned by the sudden moment of self-knowledge.
Of course he loved her. When she was around, the world was a better place. He loved her laugh, the way she smiled with her eyes, her slim, supple body, her generous heart, her boundless creativity…
He loved her. The only wonder was that it had taken him this long to recognize it.
A part of him wanted to deny it, to minimize the crime he’d committed against Billie’s memory. But it didn’t feel like a crime. It felt…real. And important. And precious.
No one knew better than he how valuable love was. How fleeting and priceless and vital. He hadn’t set out to love Angie, just as she hadn’t set out to love him, but it had happened and it was good and he wanted it. So badly.
He rubbed the heel of his hand against his chest, knowing now what he needed to do. Understanding—finally—what the ache in his chest was about.
He went to bed, and the next morning he woke and went next door to beg a favor of Mrs Linton. She agreed readily, kind woman that she was, and he handed Charlie over into her care before dropping Eva at school.
He drove to the florist, the one that Billie had always favored, and bought a bright, colorful bouquet. Then he pointed the car east. The morning sun was harsh in his eyes by the time he parked and made his way along the driveway toward Billie’s grave.
The lawn had been recently mowed and the smell of fresh-cut grass hung heavily in the air. He climbed the slope, his steps slowing as he approached the marble headstone.
The ever-present ache in his chest intensified as he knelt and set the colorful bouquet on the grass. He closed his eyes, remembering the first day he’d met her, the way she’d smiled cheekily when she’d mixed up his lunch order. He remembered how her hand had trembled in his when she’d said her vows on their wedding day, and the way she’d nearly crushed his fingers when she was giving birth to Charlie. He concentrated very hard, until he had a clear picture of her in his mind.
Then he said his goodbye, and he let her go.
Because he’d lost too much already. He wasn’t going to lose again, not if he had any say in it.
After a long moment he opened his eyes and looked up at the sky. Not a cloud in sight. He took a deep breath. The ache was gone.
He’d lived with his grief for long enough now to know that it would always be with him. A scent on the wind, a phrase someone said, the sound of his daughter’s laughter from a distant room—Billie would always be a part of his life. And he wouldn’t want it any other way. He would always love her. But he would not live his life for her.
He couldn’t. He had two children who needed him. And he had Angie. Amazing, miraculous, generous, gentle, incredibly lovable Angie.
His knees were sore by the time he pushed himself to his feet and walked away from Billie’s grave. He headed for Collingwood and Angie’s new studio, impatience and fear growing within him in equal measure as he wrestled with the traffic and his own doubts.
What if he’d made it too hard? What if Angie had changed her mind? What if he’d hurt her too much, taken too long to come to his senses…?
And why the hell was there so much damned traffic on the road?
Brow furrowed, he changed lanes and leaned on the accelerator.
>
* * *
ANGIE SAT BACK ON HER heels and surveyed the shelves inside her sideboard. All her reference books were out of order, but she didn’t have the heart for making everything perfect today. Maybe in a few months’ time she’d put a day aside to set her new studio up properly. Today, this week, she was all out of puff. Exhausted by loss and regret and grief.
She stood and looked around the compact, industrial space. She’d been spoiled at Michael’s—the quiet, the view, the calmness. This new space was smaller and windowless apart from a thin aperture filled with wire-embedded glass high on one wall.
But it was her space, and she didn’t have to run the gauntlet of Michael and what could have been every time she came to work. For that reason alone, she would embrace this new studio with open arms.
The movers had set all the heavy pieces in their new places, but she still had lots to set up before she could do anything constructive. Dusting her hands on the seat of her jeans, she reached for the next box.
The scuff of a shoe on cement drew her gaze to the open door. Her heart stuttered in her chest when she saw Michael standing there, his eyes dark and serious as he filled the open doorway.
“Knock, knock.”
Angie swallowed noisily. “Hi.”
She’d had more than one fantasy over the past few days where Michael had simply turned up like this at her home or work or yoga class or the middle of the supermarket and told her all the things that she longed to hear. That he loved her. That he wanted to be with her. That he didn’t want to imagine his life without her. That all the guilt and problems didn’t matter when measured against how he felt about her.
Stupid, childish fantasies. Self-destructive and pointless, too. She’d known the score going in with Michael, and she knew the score now, too.
She wiped her hands on the seat of her jeans again, just to give herself something to do, and waited for Michael to explain why he was here.
“Can I come in?” he asked, gesturing awkwardly.
“Of course.”
He entered the studio, his gaze taking in the white-painted brick walls, the stacked cartons, the yet-to-be-arranged table and chairs. His gaze returned to her, his eyes scanning her face with an unnerving intensity. Her belly tensed. If he was here to talk about the other night again… She didn’t know what she would do, but she didn’t want to go over it all again.
It was too painful, and she was still too raw.
“How are you?” he asked.
She made a vague gesture with her hand. “Okay. Good. The move went smoothly.”
“So I see. But how are you?”
She took a deep breath. “Michael… I don’t want to talk about us. If that’s what you’re here for. Not that there ever was an us. But you know what I mean.”
He took a step forward. “There was an us, Angie. There still is.”
Her heart stuttered again. Stupid heart, still hoping. She knew better.
“I need some time, Michael. A few weeks, a month… I don’t know. I need to forget a little.”
He moved closer, stopping next to the stump. He glanced down at it, resting his fingers on the scarred wood.
“I went to see Billie today.”
He glanced at her and everything in her went very still. As though her body knew something that she didn’t. There was something in his eyes….
“Did you?” She could barely get the words past the sudden tightness her throat.
“Ever since you drove off on Friday night, I’ve had this pain in my chest. Here.” He touched the area near his heart. “I thought it was because I’d hurt you. Because I’d made you unhappy. It wasn’t until you moved out last night that I got it. That’s why I went to see Billie today. To say goodbye.”
She forgot to breathe. Michael closed the final feet between them, taking her hand in his. She shook her head, almost afraid of what he might say next.
“You don’t have to do this, Michael. You don’t have to make this right. I’m not your responsibility.”
Because that was what this was. Michael trying to do the right thing. Trying to fix things.
He lifted her hand to his lips and kissed her knuckles. “Angie, I love you.”
She closed her eyes. “Please don’t do this.”
“Open your eyes, Angie.”
When she didn’t, she felt him move closer. A sob rose in her throat. She’d dreamed of him saying those words and standing this close, even though she knew it would never happen. Yet he was standing here.
“Open your eyes, Angie.”
She felt the brush of his lips on her cheek, on her eyelids, on the tip of her nose. She clenched her hands at her sides, refusing to reach out. Refusing to take what wasn’t hers.
His mouth brushed her lips. “I love you, Angie.”
“No, you don’t. You feel responsible. You don’t want me to be unhappy.”
“You’re right. I feel all those things. And I love you.”
Finally she forced herself to open her eyes and meet his. “You love Billie.”
It wasn’t an accusation.
“I do. I won’t lie to you, a part of me always will. But I learned something these past few months, Angie. I learned that no matter how much you hide from life, it comes looking for you anyway. I learned that even when I thought I was dead inside, I could still look forward to seeing you and hearing your voice. I learned that even though I thought I’d be happy being a monk, I could still look at you and want you more than seems sane or safe.”
His hand slid into her hair, combing through the strands until he was cupping the back of her skull in his palm. He tilted her head back, his gaze holding hers, and she was utterly unable to look away from the light and fire and depth in his eyes.
“I learned that it’s possible to love one woman while falling in love with another. And I learned that I don’t want to give up on life, that I want a future, and I want it to be with you, Angie, because I’ve discovered that my life pretty much sucks without you in it.”
A small, worried frown pleated his brow and his hand tightened on her skull.
“Don’t cry, Angie,” he said, his voice very low and ragged. “Please don’t cry.”
Only then did she register the tears streaming down her face. She wanted so much to believe what he was saying. So much.
“You love Billie,” she said again, because it was a truth that was etched in her soul.
“I do. And so do you. And so do Eva and Charlie. And we always will. We will never, ever forget her. But she’s gone, and we’re not. Maybe there are people who will condemn us for snatching this chance at happiness, but I’m not giving it up, Angie. I’m not giving you up, because I need to hear your laughter and I need to make love to you and I need to be able to talk with you and to hold you close and to watch you play with and love my children and—”
Angie rose up on her tiptoes and pressed her mouth to his, the movement so abrupt and forceful she felt the hardness of his teeth against her lips, the smack of bone on bone as their noses and chins collided. She didn’t back off, and neither did he, his hand clenching on the back of her head. She kissed him with all the hope and desperation and sadness and gladness in her soul. She gave him her all, because she wanted to believe, so badly.
And he gave her his all back, unreservedly, his body thrumming with the intensity of his emotion, every muscle taut with need and sincerity and urgency as he gathered her close, and suddenly the hope i
n her chest was expanding and filling her chest and belly and throat and pelvis and she believed.
She believed.
Michael loved her. As she loved him. He wasn’t doing the right thing or trying to fix things. He wanted what she wanted. He wanted her.
Even though she wanted to kiss him for the rest of her life, she pulled back just enough to look into his eyes. He looked back at her, and she wondered if she looked as dazed and blown away and giddy as he did.
“Okay,” she said a little breathlessly.
He smiled, the wonderful lines around his eyes and mouth creasing into familiar patterns. “It’s going to be more than okay, Angie.”
She knew he was right, even though there were going to be challenges and difficulties ahead. There would be raised eyebrows among some of their friends and family. There would be judgment. There would be teething problems with the children and between her and Michael.
None of it mattered. What mattered was that this man—this beautiful, loving, loyal, sexy man—and his two children were going to be hers to love and hold and protect and nurture.
Everything else was white noise. Dust. Insignificant.
Except for one last, very important thing.
“I want you to know that I will never begrudge you Billie.” There was a quaver in her voice, because this meant so much to her. But it had to be said. She needed for it to be said. “I will never stop the children from talking about her. I will never not want to talk about her or how you feel about her. She’s a part of me and a part of you and she will always, always be with us. She’s not my rival, I don’t want to replace her. I want to keep her alive as much as we can. For the children and for us. It’s really important to me that you understand that.”
Michael’s eyes were suddenly swimming with tears. “Angie… God, I love you.”
He pulled her into his arms, holding her tight. She wrapped her arms around him and held him in turn.
Michael was right—they were going to be more than okay. They had so much love on their side, and so much sadness behind them. They knew exactly how valuable this was. How precious.
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