Both nurses shrugged. “No idea,” one said. “He looked a little ill. Washed out. I asked him if he was all right, if he wanted to sit down. But he just said he had to go.”
“Go where?”
Both nurses shrugged. “He went out, came back with the suitcase so you could have it, and then he left.”
Just like that.
Left. For good?
Ally felt as if all the breath had been sucked right out of her. As if there wasn’t enough air in the whole hospital—in the whole world—to draw in another one.
“Are you all right?” one of the nurses demanded.
Ally managed to wet her lips, to stop her knees from shaking. “I’m…fine,” she said. “I just…need to go sit down.”
And she went back into her father’s room. He opened his eyes when the chair squeaked as she sat down.
“My girl,” he said in a raspy whisper. His fingers fluttered toward her.
Automatically Ally reached out and put her hand over his. Her father needed her. Her father wanted her. But even as she felt his cool, dry barely responsive fingers in hers, she remembered how the strength of PJ’s had supported her all day long.
Until now.
Now he was gone.
It was simple, really, she told herself in the days following PJ’s departure as she sat in the hospital and watched her father sleep or stroked his hair or held his hand. PJ didn’t love her.
He’d never said he did, after all. He’d taken her to bed, yes. He’d caused her to be limp with longing and hot with desire. He’d made her crazy for him. He’d refused to sign the divorce papers because it was convenient to have a wife.
But he didn’t love her.
Did he?
Ten years ago she’d been sure he didn’t. The night of their wedding, PJ had made love to her with an eagerness and a gentleness and an awe that still had the power to amaze her, and yet she’d turned her back on it, convinced that it meant nothing.
PJ didn’t love her.
Five years ago she’d believed it again. Of course he’d come to her gallery open, eager and smiling and delighted to see her, complimentary and kind, and with a very useful—albeit very beautiful—art critic in tow, but Ally had doubted his intentions, had been suspicious and resentful, sure he was implying that she needed rescuing, that she couldn’t do it on her own.
How could he love her when she didn’t yet love herself?
And now…?
Now she tried to believe he didn’t love her again.
But she couldn’t.
Because for the first time nothing in her wanted to believe it. Nothing in her needed to believe it. She wasn’t afraid of it or of what it would ask of her.
She had the strength and the power and the convictions that came with knowing who she was and that she could be who she wanted to be. It had been a struggle, but it had been worth it.
And she hadn’t achieved it alone.
She’d never have got there at all without PJ’s gift—and not simply his gift of marrying her ten years ago, but the enduring gift of his love.
PJ Antonides loved her.
He’d walked out of her life, yes, but it wasn’t because he didn’t love her. It was because he did.
Why would he have brought her all the way back to Hawaii if he didn’t care, if he didn’t love her?
He could have put her on a plane, washed his hands of her, said so long, farewell, and gone back to his life.
Why would he have taken her out to his parents’ house? He hadn’t needed her to fend off Connie Cristopolous.
He’d taken her to show her what she was missing. He’d wanted her there because he’d wanted to share his family with her.
Why would he do any of that if he really didn’t love her?
It wasn’t PJ who didn’t love her or who didn’t trust love, she realized now.
She was the one. Ally herself.
Or rather, the old Ally. The frightened Ally. The Ally whose mother had died too young and whose father had always seemed to equate love with duty and demands.
But the new Ally—this Ally—knew better.
This Ally was beginning to understand now what love was really about. She’d seen it. She’d felt it. She’d held it in her arms.
It was PJ’s gift of faith in her ability to become the person she wanted to be. It was his interest and his generosity and his support for who that person was. It was being there—always—but not interfering.
Just believing—in her.
She wasn’t exactly sure when she started crying. Didn’t mean to. Apologized profusely for frightening the nurses who came running at the sound.
“You’re overwhelmed, dear,” one of them told her. “You need to get some rest. You should go home for a while. Your father will be all right.”
He hadn’t heard her sobs. He’d slept right through them. He looked a little better, she thought. More rested. Less fragile.
But what would happen when she told him?
She didn’t know.
All her earlier plans were still nice and sensible and eminently doable. She could still get the divorce in due time, marry Jon, have a child, be a mother, make her father happy. She could do it all, just as she’d planned—without PJ.
Because he’d loved her enough to give her that gift.
But if she did, she would do it without the other half of her soul.
* * *
Nobility and self-sacrifice were terrific virtues. They had a lot to recommend them.
But sometimes—like now, PJ thought as he slapped another coat of varnish on the deck of his house, not nearly enough. The sun beat down on his bare back, burning him, and he knew he should put on sunscreen or go inside or put on a shirt.
But the pain of a sunburn might take his mind off Ally.
There was no point in thinking about Ally. The other shoe might have hung around for ten years, but it had finally dropped. He’d signed the divorce papers as soon as he’d got back to New York, and dropped them in the mail.
Yes, he loved her. Yes, he wanted her. And yes, he probably could have convinced her to stay married to him.
But at what cost?
Killing her father?
No. He might be selfish. He might want what he wanted and go after it single-mindedly. But he didn’t kill innocent bystanders in the process. Or even not-so-innocent ones.
His back ached. It was a big deck. He wasn’t used to this sort of manual labor anymore. “Getting soft,” he muttered. It was time to get out from behind that desk.
Elias and Lukas hadn’t been thrilled when he’d left.
“How long are you going to be gone?” Lukas had asked.
“Dunno. Need some time.”
“Heads of companies don’t just up and take off,” Elias had said disapprovingly.
“No?” PJ had met his stare with a level one of his own. “Seems I recall you did.”
His brothers had muttered and grumbled. “You’ll manage,” he said flatly. “I’ll be back. I need some time.”
“Going on your honeymoon?” Lukas had said with a wiggle of his eyebrows.
Elias had kicked him in the shin.
“Hey!” Lukas yelped. “What’d I say?”
“Grow up,” Elias growled, “and you’ll figure it out.”
Was it growing up that did it? PJ wondered. If so, growing up didn’t have much to recommend it. It seemed to him he’d been a whole hell of a lot happier before Ally had come back into his life.
But the real hell of it was, he couldn’t regret it. Didn’t regret it. Still loved her.
And he wasn’t sure what the cure was for that.
Jon had been philosophical when she begged off.
“I knew it,” he said. “Knew when you went to New York.”
“I didn’t know it then,” Ally argued.
But Jon just smiled a sad knowing smile. “I think you did. I just hope you won’t regret it.”
So did Ally.
“I wish
you the best,” he said as they sat across from each other in the hospital cafeteria.
“And I you,” she said sincerely. “And I know you will continue to be a good friend to my father.”
“Of course,” he said. His mouth tipped at one corner. “I am a good doctor.”
“And a good friend,” Ally insisted. “I’m sure you’ll meet someone else. The right person for you, Jon.”
Jon smiled politely. “I hope I will.”
Ally had no such hope for herself. There was no one else. Just PJ.
So she was gutted when she went home that night to find a priority envelope containing the signed divorce papers in her mailbox.
Ally tried to tell herself that the papers were a part of the gift of his love. And maybe that was true. But they were also a signal that he’d moved on.
How many times could you spurn a man before he said that was enough? Ally knew she didn’t want to find out.
She’d have gone back to New York the minute she’d come to her senses if she’d thought her father’s health would permit it. But it was one thing to know she wasn’t going to marry Jon, and another to tell her father the truth.
But he was out of intensive care now. He was sitting in his private room doing the crossword puzzle these days when she went to see him. He was still frail, but he could walk to the end of the hall.
“Will he die if I tell him we’re not getting married?” she’d asked Jon yesterday.
And this time he didn’t give her a ten-minute opinion. He simply said, “I hope not.”
But he didn’t offer to tell her father for her. And she couldn’t blame him. The choice not to marry had been hers. So was the obligation to inform her dad.
Just like last time.
This time, though, it was worse, because this time she was afraid that what she was going to say might kill him.
She wanted to wait. But there was no waiting. He’d sensed something was wrong as he’d got better. “You’re quiet,” he’d said yesterday. “Pale. You have been pale since you got home. You’re not well? Ask Jon for something to help you.”
She’d shaken her head. “There’s nothing Jon can do.”
Today he looked up when she came into the room and shook his head in dismay. “No better.”
Ally frowned. “You’re not?” She thought he looked better.
“Not me. You.” He shook his head. “What is wrong, Alice? Are you fighting, you and Jon?”
“No. I—we’re not.” She wanted to stop there. Knew at the same time she couldn’t. “We’re not getting married, Dad.”
For a long moment her father didn’t move. His expression didn’t change. He didn’t even seem to breathe.
But at least he didn’t drop over dead.
“We don’t—I don’t—” she corrected, knowing she couldn’t blame this on Jon “—think it would be a good idea.” Pause. She watched her father. Come on, Dad. Breathe, damn it. “I don’t…I don’t love him.”
“Love—” Her father got one word out. It seemed to strangle him.
She started to reach for the nurse’s bell. He shook his head, held up his hand. Ally waited, coiled with tension.
“Love,” he said again. He breathed now, sounding less strangled this time. “Yes. You must have love.” His words were raspy, but absolutely clear.
Ally stared at him, then shook her head in disbelief.
“It’s true. I know this,” he said, nodding slowly, “because of your mother.”
“My mother?” Ally’s own voice was no more than a croak.
Hiroshi Maruyama had never talked about his wife. He’d shut himself away after her mother’s death. To Ally it seemed as if the sun had fallen out of the sky. To her father it had just been the excuse for more work.
“I loved your mother,” he said slowly. “And sometimes love hurts. When your mother died, I died. Inside. I—didn’t want to live without her. So much pain.” His eyes seemed to focus on something far off in the distance. They shimmered with unshed tears. And then he looked back at her. “I didn’t want you to know such pain, my Alice.”
Ally reached out a hand and took his. Thin fingers wrapped hers. Fingers that had some strength to them now. They squeezed. They pressed.
“That is why I wanted you to marry Ken. It was sensible. Not a love match. And if—if something happened—you would not be hurt as I was.” He shook his head. “I can be very stupid sometimes.”
“No, Dad. You just…cared…”
For me. Ally began to understand that, too. Began to appreciate his motives, if not what he had actually done.
“But I was wrong. I know that now. There is no defense against love. I had your mother for thirteen years. The best thirteen years—” his eyes shone at the memory “—of my life. Not long enough, but worth all the pain. Worth everything. I loved her. For herself. And for you, Alice. For the gift of you.”
And then holding his hand wasn’t enough. Ally fell to her knees and buried her face in his chest and felt his thin arms come around her, his lips on her hair. Then his arms loosened and he stroked her hair.
She looked up at him, at the tears on his cheeks and closed her eyes when he wiped her own away.
“You love, too,” he said. It wasn’t a question.
How did he know? She bowed her head and felt his frail fingers stroking her hair and realized that of course he knew. A man who had loved as he had loved would see that love reflected in his daughter’s eyes.
She raised her head again and blinked tears from her eyes. “Yes.”
“Go to him. Bring him to meet me.”
“I’m already married to him, Dad,” she said, her voice thick and tremulous.
A faint smile touched his lips. “Good. Then I will have a grandchild soon.”
“What do you mean, he’s not here?” Ally stared at Rosie, PJ’s assistant, feeling as if she’d been punched in the gut.
She’d arrived last night—as soon as she could after her conversation with her father. Coming with his blessing had made her almost sing all the way to New York. She’d gone straight to PJ’s apartment, eager to see him. Nervous. Worried.
She’d tried to get hold of him, but she’d never got his cell phone number. And she couldn’t call anyone who might have it. She had to see him, to talk to him before anyone else.
And he hadn’t been there.
She’d waited until dark. She’d lurked in a nearby café. She’d gone back several times. No PJ.
And now he wasn’t here, either?
“When will he be back?”
Rosie shrugged. “No clue.”
Not exactly the most professional response. But the way Rosie was looking at her made Ally think she wasn’t being given Rosie’s best professional demeanor.
“I need to talk to him. Where is he?”
“Don’t know that, either,” Rosie said. “They might.” She jerked her head toward PJ’s office door.
“Who?” Ally said. But it didn’t matter, really, as long as someone did. She went straight past Rosie and pushed open the slightly ajar door.
Lukas was behind the desk doing something on the computer. Elias was on the floor, and two little boys—his twin sons—were climbing on him while he talked Lukas through some procedure.
They all looked up, startled, when Ally walked in.
Elias recovered first. “About time,” he said. “This is all your fault.”
Now it was her turn to stare. “What are you talking about?”
“Why I’m here. Why he’s—” a thumb in Lukas’s direction “—here.”
“What? Where’s PJ?”
“He’s gone. Cut out. Split. Leave of absence.”
“Leave of his senses, more like,” Lukas muttered.
“Where’s he gone? I need to talk to him.”
“Talk?” Both his brothers looked at her suspiciously. “About what?”
She hesitated. But she couldn’t not say it. She was a believer now. “I love him. I need to tell him.”
“Hallelujah,” Lukas muttered. “There’s hope.”
“I hope so,” Ally said a little desperately. “Do you know where he is?” It occurred to her that they actually might not.
“Not sure,” Elias said, hauling himself up off the floor and making the twins start to cry. He scribbled something on a piece of paper and handed it to her. “Try this. Settle down, guys. I’m coming.” And he dropped to the floor again. “Tallie’s baking today,” he explained. “Some cousin’s fancy wedding. So I’m babysitting—and getting Lukas up to speed.”
Ally’s brows lifted. “To speed.”
“Running things,” Lukas said grimly. “Hurry up and get him back here. If you don’t, I’m going to be stuck being president of Antonides Marine.”
Kauai?
She had stared at the address as soon as she got out into the corridor. Why on earth would Elias give her an address in Kauai? She’d just come back from Hawaii. She didn’t know anyone in Kauai.
PJ had never mentioned Kauai. It didn’t make sense.
But she had to start somewhere, had to take something on faith.
So she went.
If she ever found PJ and he told her to get lost, she thought grimly as she battled bloodshot eyes that were gritty from lack of sleep, a rental car with a slipping second gear, and the conviction that she was going on a wild-goose chase, the consolation would have to be all her frequent flyer miles.
She didn’t imagine they would make up for the heartbreak, though.
She felt as if she’d been traveling forever. In fact she didn’t know what day it was anymore. She’d flown from Honolulu to New York, then back, through San Francisco, to Honolulu and on to Kauai. She hadn’t passed Go, she hadn’t collected two hundred dollars. She hadn’t even stopped to look in on her father.
She didn’t want to see the look of disappointment on his face when she turned up without PJ.
And now, it seemed, she was running out of road.
The man at the rental car office had blinked when she’d showed him the address. Then he’d looked it up on his GPS and given her directions. “Out in the boonies,” he’d said. “And then some.”
He hadn’t been lying. The macadam had turned to gravel a few miles ago, and now the gravel was gone. It had ceased to be any sort of public road and was now not much more than a track.
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