by Amy Woods
“I love this place,” she said, smiling at him across the table.
“So do I,” he said.
“How can you love it? Your food hasn’t even come yet.” They had both ordered sodas and the same sandwich, Paige’s favorite.
“I don’t need the food to tell me how I feel. I already know.” Paige nibbled her lower lip and he could tell she was pretending to concentrate on a groove in the wood of the table.
“I love a lot of things about Peach Leaf, Paige.” She looked up at him then and met his eyes over the small flame burning between them. He’d never seen anything as lovely as she was at that very moment. Everything he’d built up over the past few weeks threatened to burst inside him.
“Paige, can I ask you something?”
“Yeah, sure,” she said.
“Why don’t you ever talk about Mark? It sounds like he was a great guy, and it would be okay with me if you wanted to talk about him. I’m here for you for that, you know?”
She looked down at her menu and her mouth became a thin line; her brows knit together. “I guess it’s probably for the same reason that you don’t talk much about Callie.”
“It’s different, though. My wife walked out on me because I wanted kids, and she didn’t, and she chose to leave rather than find a way to make things work, but your husband died. It’s not the same, Paige.”
She blinked at him, confused, and he realized he hadn’t mentioned it before.
“You’re right. It isn’t the same, I guess, not really, but loss is loss. I gave Mark everything I had, and when I lost him, I lost everything. I didn’t even have enough left to be a decent parent to Owen, at first.” She seemed to hesitate, and Liam saw her collarbone rise and fall softly with her breathing. He hated seeing her upset, but it was important that she be able to talk to him about her past if they were ever to have a future.
He wanted one with her—he was certain of that now—but not one built on sheltered history and pain. He wanted a solid foundation for the two—three of them—to stand on.
“It’s okay, Paige. You can talk to me. I’m here and I’m listening, and I’m not going anywhere unless you want me to.”
“Probably not even then,” she said and winked at him. Moisture shimmered in her eyes.
“Why don’t you talk about Callie?” she asked.
He breathed in slowly and let it out.
“I guess I just want to forget about her, you know? Talking about her just brings back painful memories.”
Paige grimaced. “I can definitely understand that.”
“I always believed strongly that marriage is about more than just two people in love,” he said, rubbing a hand over his forehead. “To me, it’s also about working through things even when they’re hard, even when it seems like there’s no way to find common ground. Compromise, faithfulness, support, partnership…those are the things I promised to Callie when we said our vows. And even though having children was something I really, really wanted, I was willing to find a way to come to an agreement, even if that meant giving up the idea of kids.”
Paige nodded, her eyes filled with what looked like a mix of seriousness and sadness. She didn’t seem to be judging him; he could tell she was simply curious.
“To me, divorce was never really an option, even when we came to a crossroads,” he said.
Paige furrowed her eyebrows. “But didn’t Callie tell you before you got married that she didn’t want kids?”
Liam closed his eyes and shook his head before looking back at Paige. “We talked about kids a few times. And maybe I wasn’t listening, or maybe it was wishful thinking, or maybe I was just young and stupid, but from what I can recall of that early time together, she always seemed on board with the possibility of having children someday, in the vague way that newlyweds sometimes are. To answer your question, though—no, she never said outright that she didn’t want children. And I never asked her directly, which was my mistake. Then again, I’m not sure it would have changed anything. I still loved her, and I would have done what I could to keep the marriage together.”
Paige nodded, giving him the courage to continue. He hadn’t talked about this to anyone, but despite his initial reluctance, sharing his pain with Paige felt…right.
“But Callie wouldn’t budge on the subject, and it didn’t take long before that was all we talked—fought—about, and it ended up wrecking both of us. Finally, she said she wanted out, and it became clear fairly quickly that there wasn’t anything I could do to change her mind.” Liam pulled in air and let it out slowly, trying to find the right words. “Even though she always said it was about children, I can’t help believing that it was really about me. That she decided I wasn’t what she wanted anymore, and the kid thing was just easier for her to say.”
Unmistakable pain flashed across Paige’s eyes, and it was a moment before she spoke. “Well, Liam. It was her loss to give up on someone like you.”
Her words sent a flood of gratitude and affection coursing through his veins, and before he said too much, he changed the subject back to Paige.
“I’m sure it’s hard for you, too. You must miss Mark all the time.”
She nodded, and he saw sincerity in her eyes, alongside a steady calm. “At first, I had the worst time with it. It was like I stopped breathing when he did.” She folded and unfolded her napkin in her lap for a moment and then looked up at him. “But it’s better. It’s been seven months—that’s a while I’ve had to recover. Things have gradually gotten easier for me, and I have work to keep me busy—and Owen, of course. But it’s been harder on him than it has been for me.”
“He’s doing great, though, Paige—speaking in full sentences to me and to other kids at school—and it’s because of you.”
“Nonsense. You’re the one I can thank for giving him his voice back.” She shook her head. “I still cannot believe how far he’s come in the past few weeks. I think he’s really ready for Parents’ Night, and I can’t wait to see him up there with the other kids—having a great time, I hope,” she said, offering a sad smile.
“Although you’ll still be a nervous wreck.”
“You’ve got me on that one.” Paige laughed as the waitress brought their sodas. As she took a long sip of her drink, he noticed the slight unsteadiness in her hand.
“He’s your child. You’ll always worry about him. I know you don’t want to hear it, but, even after all of this, life will still throw him blows now and then, and he’ll have to have ways to cope and get through them.” He had a feeling they both knew he wasn’t just talking about Owen, but her, too. “The more tools he has to do that, the better off he’ll be.” He knew he should tell her about his weekend art-therapy group, but he wanted to make sure she would be in the right mind-set to hear him out.
“I can’t thank you enough, Liam. For helping to give him those tools.”
“It’s not just that, though.”
“Of course it is. He’s clearly improved in your art classes, and he’s talking to you and Jeremy and Kaylie pretty frequently now. Sure, he’s not giving monologues or anything just yet, but he’s getting there.”
“Those are just part of it,” Liam said. “The drawing and painting and sculpting are just media. He’s the one who has to provide the idea, and you’re the one who’s given him the strength to do that.”
She looked away and took another sip of her soda, hiding her emotions behind the glass.
“It’s true, Paige. He’s seen you open up in the past few weeks. Seeing you do what he’s been afraid of has given him the confidence he needed to do the same for himself. I may have provided the tools he needed, but you provided the strength.”
She stared into the bottom of her glass and stirred the ice around. Liam hoped she wouldn’t hide her tears from him, should they come.
“I never t
old you why I was late on the first day of school, did I?” he asked. She wiped her eyes with one hand and turned away from him to dab at them with her napkin. The waitress came then and set down their food. They both thanked her, but neither moved to eat.
“I was late because I have an engagement at the hospital back in Abilene first thing on school mornings and some weekend mornings. It takes me about an hour, on good days, to get there and back. At some point, I’d really like to have a program like it at Peach Leaf Memorial, but for now, this is something I’m committed to and passionate about.”
Paige looked back at him and then spread a napkin in her lap before pulling her sandwich closer.
“A program like what?” she asked, before taking a bite of her food.
“I work with an art-therapy group as part of my doctoral studies…to kids struggling with all sorts of things.”
She finished chewing and her hand flew to her mouth. “Oh, my gosh,” she said.
“I got that job a long time ago—well, I guess it’s not really a job since I don’t get paid—but the hospital’s about an hour outside town. So that first day when I was late, well… You can put it together. I adore teaching, but it’s the therapy part of art that’s my true love and why I’m continuing to study it further. I’m in the process of trying to convince the local hospital board to consider an art-therapy program for kids like the one I run for my dissertation research. They’re a little funny about the idea right now, but the director is warming up to me.” He winked at Paige and then tucked into his own meal.
They ate quietly for a few moments before Paige spoke again, her voice tender.
“I’m so sorry, Liam. Truly.” He held up a hand to stop her apology, but she continued. “If you’d have just told me why you were late, I would never have given you so much grief about it. I feel terrible now. How rude you must have thought I was, or maybe you still think so.”
“No, Paige. I don’t think you were rude at all. You had a job to do that day and you were doing it like you should. Despite my morning group, I should never have been late to work that day. The only rude one was me. And I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay,” she said. “Truce?”
“Absolutely.” He reached out and grabbed her offered hand, and instead of shaking it, he held it there, warm and soft, and caressed her fingers with his own. The gesture sent shivers through his entire body. Touching her skin felt so right to him. He wanted to hold her close for as long as he could.
“I think, once you’re ready, you should maybe let Owen give the group a try. I have a hunch he’d enjoy it.”
“Even though he’s doing so well on his own?”
“Yes, even still. He’s talking a little bit now, but he still probably has a lot to process. He lost his father. The selective mutism was just a symptom of the real problem. He’s so young that he doesn’t know how to manage it. For some reason, his brain has become comfortable enough lately to let up a little on the coping mechanism it gave him when his dad died. But now is when he’ll be open enough to work through his emotions, and his sadness and anger at the loss might scare or overwhelm him, Paige.”
* * *
Liam’s words settled like lead in the bottom of Paige’s chest, making it hard to take her next breath. Her first impulse was to be angry with him—but for what? For telling the truth?
She’d gone over the same information hundreds of times in her own heart, but now, hearing the same words from Liam took away some of their bite. A few weeks before, when they’d just met, she would have thought him callous and critical for implying she wasn’t doing enough for her son; knowing him now, she understood that he had Owen’s well-being in mind—and her own. But none of that changed the fact that she had a job to do, and there was never enough time in a day to give to Owen, much less enough for herself.
Owen. Even his name made her feel a pang of guilt that she’d left him home. Every time she thought of picking up the phone to ask a friend to take Owen for a couple of hours, she felt guilty knowing that he had only one parent left. It was the same emotion she felt now, being with Liam while Owen stayed at home with his sitter.
“Listen, Liam, I’ve had a great time, but I really should be getting home.”
“All right, then,” Liam said, and she was surprised that he didn’t protest. Until she noticed the mischievous glint in his eyes. “But we’re not going to your house. We’re going to mine.”
She opened her mouth to speak, but he interrupted before she could get any words to come out.
“Before you argue with me—and I know you will—let me just say this. You’re a great mom, and Owen loves you, but he will be okay with the sitter this evening.”
She started to speak, but something in his eyes pleaded with her to let him have this one, and she found herself giving up the resistance that had kept her company for the past six months. Maybe it would be okay—just this once—to let someone else take the reins for a bit.
“You’re doing everything you can for him, Paige, and guess what? It’s working. So take a break with me. It’ll be good for both of you. Let me take you to my house for a bit, and you can sit with me and a glass of wine and just relax. For one evening, Paige. Tomorrow, if you want, you can have back all of the control, but today, let me.”
His words stung a little, but he was right.
He searched her eyes across the table, and she gave him a small smile. Recalling her choice to take him to a spot designed to mask their relationship made her sandwich turn over in her stomach. She’d been dishonest with him, the person she’d become so close to, and one of the only people in whose hands she trusted her son’s welfare. How dare she?
“We’ll finish our sandwiches and then I’ll show you my humble abode. You can prop your feet up for a bit, Ms. Graham.”
She nodded, avoiding his eyes, and they finished their dinner in near silence. It was one thing for Liam to spend time at her home. It allowed her to be there for Owen and, if anyone were to question it, she could explain Liam’s time there as therapy for her son. But going to Liam’s was a different step. It would be the first time she’d been away from, or not in the same building as, Owen for more than an hour or two in a long time. Before Mark’s death, she’d gone on trips with girlfriends or to spend time with her sister, but she hadn’t left Owen overnight since. Doing so felt like a big deal.
“Okay,” she said, giving him the most genuine smile in her power. She would just have to make sure no one found out that the soon-to-be principal of Peach Leaf Elementary was going home with a member of her staff.
It was dark when Liam pulled up to Rachel’s guesthouse, and Paige was secretly thankful. She had let him drive, mostly to prove that she was capable of letting go of her need to be in charge, but she wasn’t sure she was ready to run into Rachel while sneaking into Liam’s house.
He, however, was every bit the calm, cool man she’d come to admire, and as he opened his front door for her, she wondered why it seemed so easy for him. She could tell when he talked about his ex that he’d been brokenhearted at her leaving, yet he’d seemed fully invested in Paige, almost since the first moment she’d met him. It occurred to her that maybe it wasn’t that it was easy for him; maybe, instead, he was just more willing than her to work at moving on. Maybe she could learn something from him, aside from all he had already taught her.
She walked into the living room, which was bathed in soft gold light from a table lamp beside Liam’s mahogany leather sofa. The room had only a few pieces of masculine furniture, but it had an inviting, warm feeling, just like its owner. On the wall hung a few large, framed paintings. As Liam excused himself to the kitchen to get her a glass of wine, she stepped closer to study them.
The first was black and white in a simple pewter frame. Paige appreciated artwork and home decor, but the condo she shared with Owen was best described as �
�minimalist.” She had no artistic talent to speak of and had never been very interested in making her home beautiful. She supposed it was because she’d always been happy in it, with her small family, with only simple decorations and family photographs covering the walls. But as she studied the painting on Liam’s wall, she was reminded of how a piece of art could move a person deeply. This one brought to surface a sadness she didn’t want to feel, made worse by the fact that it had clearly been created by a child.
“It’s a little dark, I know,” Liam said, coming to stand close behind her.
She wondered how long he’d been there, watching her, and she hoped he hadn’t seen the way her face must mirror the painting’s tone. “Yes, very,” she said. “Who painted this?”
“One of the kids from my therapy group in Abilene,” he answered. “It was given to me at the end of our sessions.”
He didn’t offer more, and Paige hesitated to ask, but she had to know what would cause such pain in a young person.
“What happened to him?” Liam seemed to consider briefly whether or not he should tell her, but then he looked at her, his eyes intense.
“Her mom was a police officer, and sadly, she was killed in the line of duty. Angela painted this in a class when I was a student teacher, very early in the year.”
“I see.” Paige understood now that he’d been reluctant to dredge up her own emotions. She was touched by the kind tenderness of his discretion.
“She had a happy ending, though. I watched her work through her pain every week in class, and as she put her hurt onto paper and into clay, it seeped out of her. And by the end of the semester, her work became brighter, as did Angela.”
Liam studied her face as he handed Paige her wine. She wondered if he could see the questions there.
“It’s not that easy for everyone. Each person I work with, and each person in the world, has his or her own way of dealing with grief. But losing someone never means that the world has ended, even though it may feel like that at times. There is always a way to work through it, and there is always something worth the effort on the other side.”