All That Remains

by Janice Kay Johnson

  And that’s why he didn’t buy the ticket. Wren had to come to him of her own free will.

  The fact that she stayed in touch gave him hope. First it was very occasional emails that over the weeks became more frequent. His heart sank when she found a place to live, but he was encouraged by the fact that she was only temping and didn’t mention interviews for permanent jobs. She was managing, though, and that was good. She’d needed to know she could cope on her own. If she’d stayed with him, she would always have wondered. Maybe he would have wondered, too, whether she was with him because she knew he would take care of her and Abby.

  More and more, Wren’s sense of humor crept through, as did her curiosity. She wanted to know about Randy’s business, about whether the two men liked each other any better. She asked about the house, and whether Alec had bought any furniture. She scolded him when he said no. He told her he would eventually, but it had become symbolic for him. He wanted them to buy everything together, so it was their home, not his. Alec had a bad feeling that the day he bought a sofa was the day he gave up on her. And he was a long way from ready to do that.

  Wren was pleased that his girls were coming for the summer. She told him that she and her mother were talking more often, that her mother wanted a new picture of Abby at least weekly.

  When Alec replied, he asked if she’d email him a picture of Abby, too.

  She didn’t respond for two days. Then:

  Do you mean it?

  His reply had been:

  Isn’t her name Abigail Alexa?

  That same night she sent a brief email with several photos attached. When he opened the first one, he felt as if he’d taken a blow to the solar plexus. Abby was smiling.

  He’d missed her first smile.

  He stared for the longest time, and that was when he came closest to despairing.

  Alec sat in his nearly empty living room, wondering if he should buy the damn couch.

  UNTIL TONIGHT, Wren hadn’t heard from Alec in days, not since she’d sent him the photos of Abby. Not a word.

  But she and Molly had renewed their friendship, big-time. That made Wren happy.

  And she and her mother had had a conversation that shook her. Her mother had actually said, “I wish you’d felt you could turn to me.” And then she sent a really big check and a note that said:

  It was scary when you were little and I didn’t have anyone to ask when I needed help. I don’t want that for you.

  Love, Mom.

  Wren stuck the note on the refrigerator with a magnet and reread it at least once a day. She couldn’t quite make herself believe she’d been wrong her whole life, that her mother really did love her and wasn’t ashamed to have a plain daughter. Disoriented, Wren had to consider the possibility that Mom merely wasn’t comfortable cuddling or even touching. That maybe some of her ambition on the job had to do with the fear of not having any support if she failed. That maybe she’d done her best.

  The worst part of Wren’s new life—well, the next-to-worst part—was having to leave Abby every day. Wren trusted Molly to take care of her, but that didn’t keep her from feeling a horrible wrench every morning when she handed Abby over and had to hurry out the door. She missed her so much all day, she ached. All that saved her was knowing that when she got off work at five she would be able to hurry to Molly’s and sweep Abby up into her arms.

  No, the absolute worst thing about this new life was that Alec wasn’t there at the end of the day. Every time she thought about him now, her rib cage seemed to have contracted, not leaving quite enough space for her heart and lungs.

  She didn’t like Florida all that much. Except that wasn’t fair. The problem wasn’t Gainesville or Florida. It was that she didn’t want to be here. She could be in Saddler’s Mill, helping Alec remodel Pearl’s house and make it his. No. Theirs.

  Then tonight Alec had called her. Mostly he waited for her to do the phoning, but not this time. After she hung up, she realized she didn’t even know why he had. He hadn’t actually said that much. When she asked if he’d gotten the pictures, he said, “Yes,” and then was quiet for a minute before he asked her something about her latest job. He’d encouraged her to chatter, and he might even have been smiling at the end when he said, “I’m glad things are going so well for you, Wren.”

  Except, she hung up the phone and knew that he’d been feeling sad. She remembered the time she’d told him she wanted to hear his voice. Tonight, Wren thought, all he’d really wanted was to hear hers.

  Her mouth opened in a silent, horrified cry. Oh, God. Was she letting something as petty as pride keep her from Alec?

  The pain was terrible. She tried hard to remember all those good reasons she hadn’t stayed in Saddler’s Mill in the first place.

  Yes, she’d been afraid of replaying her dependence on James. But she knew now that she wasn’t the same person she’d been then, and Alec certainly wasn’t anything like James. She’d told herself there weren’t any job openings in Saddler’s Mill, and probably no available rentals, either, and that she couldn’t let Alec step in where James had left off and take care of her. It had really mattered to her to prove she could manage on her own. Mom’s money had gone straight in the bank to provide backup. Wren was earning enough herself to pay her minimal bills. Regaining her pride had seemed all-important.

  Was her pride that important?

  It was a while since Alec had said, I’m here, Wren, but he hadn’t had to. Wasn’t that exactly what she heard from him every time he emailed and on the rare occasions they talked, like tonight, on the phone? Yes, Detective Alec Harper was so sexy it had been hard for her to believe he wanted her, but couldn’t she feel his loneliness? Almost from the beginning, she’d known that he was a complex, guarded man hiding a whole lot of pain. As damaged as he was, he’d let her in, which wasn’t easy for him. It might have happened because of those days in the attic, or because he’d seen her physically and emotionally naked and that made him feel safe enough to reveal his own vulnerability. It didn’t matter why, she realized now in wonder, only that he had.

  Abby was three months old today. Alec hadn’t seen her in two months. Maybe he’d been afraid to let himself love her—maybe he still was—but he asked about her in every email and every time they talked. He’d wanted pictures of her. If Wren was patient, he wouldn’t be able to help himself but love Abby, too. Not once he knew Wren and Abby both were there to stay, that they wouldn’t leave him again. Convincing him of that was essential. Too many people he loved had left him, in one way or another.

  She could only imagine how much she had hurt him by coming to Florida.

  All of a sudden, she broke into a smile, and it was huge and wobbly.

  What could be more powerful than the simple words he’d chosen?

  Come back to me, Wren.

  I’m here. He’d said that over and over.

  There was nothing in the world she wanted more than to go home to Alec.

  She barely slept that night. Come morning, feeling light and ridiculously happy, Wren dropped off Abby for the day and, instead of going right to the office where she was temping as a receptionist, she stopped at the library, went online and bought her ticket. The price was once again ridiculous because she couldn’t seem to plan her journeys in advance. Mom, she thought, thank you.

  OVER DINNER AT SALLY’S, Alec talked to his nieces and nephew about their cousins and how they would be spending the summer. He was living for the day. June 18, he would meet them at the airport in St. Louis. Carlene had decided to combine bringing the girls with visiting her father and sister. Alec would fly to Sydney with them at the end of the summer.

  Having something to anticipate kept his despair at bay.

  This week a milestone had passed: it had been three months since he’d delivered Abby. Such a short time, and yet forever. He had changed.

  Sally refused his help cleaning the kitchen after dinner. He kissed her cheek, hugged the kids and even exchanged a few words with Ra
ndy before he walked out to his SUV.

  A block away from home, he saw a strange car sat at the curb in front of his house. He could think of reasons someone might have parked there—a neighbor could have had a bunch of guests earlier, for example, and this car belonged to a straggler. Still, he was a cop, and the fact that someone had chosen to park there of all places made him wary. He pulled up behind the car, a new-looking compact, and realized the driver was sitting behind the wheel.

  Waiting for him?

  If this had been a traffic stop, he would have left his headlights on. It wasn’t, and the street lamp was only half a block away. He turned off the engine, hesitated, then got out and walked forward. He’d almost reached the car when the door opened and a woman jumped out.

  “Alec?” His name came out as a strangled cry. “I didn’t think it was you. Why didn’t you pull in to the driveway?”

  He stopped dead, his heart going into overdrive. “Wren?”

  “It’s me.” Suddenly she sounded shy.

  “You’re here,” he said stupidly.

  “Yes. Maybe I should have called, but, um, I guess I wanted to surprise you.”

  There they stood, a good eight or ten feet separating them, neither moving. He felt as if the soles of his shoes were stuck in the asphalt of the street.

  “Where’s Abby?”

  Her hand fluttered. “In the car. She’s asleep.”

  He wished he could make out Wren’s face better, tell what she was thinking. Did her arrival mean what he hoped it did?

  Light-headed, he realized he’d forgotten to drag in the next breath. “I’m not dreaming?”

  The dim light caught a new shimmer in her dark, shadowed eyes. “You kept saying, I’m here.” Her voice cracked. “And, well, now so am I.”

  Released from his paralysis, Alec didn’t think he’d ever moved faster. He had her in his arms, his face buried in her hair as he mumbled, “I tried to believe you’d come. I’ve been hanging on by my fingernails.”

  Her laugh was choked. Probably they were both remembering that moment when he’d done exactly that, dangling above the turbulent floodwaters with her grip on his wrists helping keep him from falling. She was holding him now, too, every bit as tight as he was holding her.

  “I missed you so much,” she whispered.

  “I’ve only been half-alive.”

  “Me, too. But I had to go.”

  “I know you did. I do know.” He lifted his head to look hungrily at her. “Please tell me you’re here to stay.”

  “If you really want us.” She tried to smile, but her effort was shaky. “I packed everything. I had to leave a crib behind. Poor Abby, she can’t hold on to a bed.”

  “Her bassinet is still right where you left it. Sally found someone who wanted it, but I made an excuse.”

  Those big brown eyes were drowning. He stopped the overflow with his thumbs.

  “You do want me.”

  “Oh, yeah,” he said hoarsely.

  “I love you.” Wren unwrapped her arms from around his waist only to fling them around his neck instead. She rose on tiptoe and sought his mouth. “I love you.”

  He closed the small remaining distance and kissed her with all the urgency he’d tamped down. Their tongues tangled and their teeth scraped and their bodies strained together. He was shaking, or she was. Maybe both of them. They stood in the middle of the street, kissing as though there might never be another chance.

  What happened then was out of character. He wasn’t an optimistic man, but suddenly he knew: there would be plenty of other chances. A lifetime of them. And joy swelled in his chest until it burst open like the fireworks on the fourth of July, startlingly beautiful in a sky that had been all darkness until now.

  He dragged his mouth away long enough to say, “I love you, my beautiful brown-feathered Wren,” and kissed her again, but with all the tenderness in the world this time.

  “I won’t leave again,” she promised, when they came up for air, and he believed her.

  Against all the odds.

  He’d been lost but found again. In her need, Wren had given him her trust, and he had to do the same in return.

  “I still haven’t bought any furniture,” he murmured against her throat, where he strung kisses like pearls.

  “Why not?” Wren asked in a strangled voice.

  “Because I was waiting for you.”

  “No more waiting,” she whispered, and he smiled, filled with that completely insane and absolutely convincing joy and faith.

  ISBN: 978-1-4592-1467-5

  ALL THAT REMAINS

  Copyright © 2011 by Janice Kay Johnson

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