by Cheri Allan
“What? You were never beneath me!”
“Oh. Right. Except for that one time you were on top,” he murmured, and the cold innuendo coupled with the hurt look in his eyes had the blood rushing from her head.
He looked up and down her tattered dress and battered form. “I’m sorry I’m not good enough for the new and improved Liz Beacon. But you know what? This is me, Liz. I’m a college drop-out. I don’t care what other people think. I don’t wear fancy suits or eat organic crap or pre-plan my every move like one of your master plan to-do lists. This is who I am. And unlike some people, I’m not embarrassed by that.”
“I’m not embarrassed by… I admire you!”
“Bullshit. You tore them down! You caused the fire! And what’s worse is you were going to let everyone, including me, believe it was my fault!” He shook his head. “Fuck this. I’m sick of being everyone’s fall guy. You want me to live up to my potential? How is that even possible when the first suspect for every crime committed in this goddamn town is me?”
“Carter, I—”
“Save it. You’re no different than the rest of them.”
“How can you say that? When have I judged you that way?”
His lips were a taut line. “Did you hear I’d been kicked out of the fire department? The rumors about why?”
“Well, yes, Trish may have mentioned…”
“Did you believe the rumors were true?”
Her expression must have told him the truth, because he swore again under his breath and turned toward the door again. “To be fair,” she called after him, “you never did have a squeaky clean reputation. I mean, you were the high school bad boy! I saw you smoke cigarettes… You wore a leather jacket!”
He stopped, his back to her. “That was my father’s jacket,” he said so quietly she almost couldn’t hear. He turned. “And maybe my reputation was less about the truth and more about what other people wanted to believe.”
She shook her head. How dare he judge her this way! What had she done? “You told me yourself you used to go drinking at the quarry and skinny dipping in Miller Brook!”
“So did ninety-nine percent of the rest of the teenagers in this town.”
“But they outgrew it! They became responsible adults.” Okay, only some of them, but they weren’t talking about Dan or John… “You still have beer bottles on the floor of your pickup! I mean… Dammit! What am I supposed to think?”
“That I recycle?”
“You see? When you make jokes like that, I don’t think I even know you!” But then she watched him and realized with sickening awareness that he wasn’t joking at all. Oh my God. He wasn’t.
“No,” he said. “I don’t think you do.”
“Then help me,” she said, something hot and desperate firing inside her. “Don’t shut me out…”
“Liz, you took something I gave you and blew up your parents’ house with it. I think we’re done.”
“Done? Do you hear yourself? Carter, they were just lights…”
“And I’m just another guy that will never be perfect enough for the perfect Liz Beacon.”
“I never once said you weren’t perfect!”
“No, you said it in a hundred different ways. But don’t worry. I’m sure there’s a pill I can take to fix it.”
She stared at him in shock. This couldn’t be happening! “I never meant—”
“You know the ironic part of all this?” His mouth twisted in anything but humor. “I came to your house tonight to tell you… to tell you…”
She felt the blood rush from her head then roar back again. “That you love me?” she whispered.
She shivered, her emotions raw and exposed, battered and bruised, and the only man who had the power to make it all right stood before her. She waited and prayed he could see she wasn’t trying to be perfect, wasn’t trying to make him perfect. She was only ever trying to be good enough. But…
“Love you?” he asked. “Liz, love is going out of your way to make someone else happy no matter what it costs you. Love is going into a burning building knowing it might take your life, too.” And suddenly he grabbed her arms, his fingers tight and hot on her skin. “It’s throwing yourself over someone and begging a God you were never sure you believed in to protect that person, because now that you’ve finally found them—again!—you can’t bear to lose them…”
Tears began to slide down her face, and her bandaged eye started to ache. Her heart pounded hard and fast and eagerly inside her. He did love her!
“But more than anything,” he continued, his voice hoarse with emotion, “love is knowing yourself enough to recognize when another person knows, appreciates and accepts the real you…”
“Yes,” she whispered. “Yes!”
He let her go abruptly and stepped away. “But this isn’t love,” he said, gesturing to the space between them.
She felt as if she’d been thrown to the ground. Again.
“I know who I am,” he said. “But who’s the real Liz Beacon? Or should I say, Beth? Do you even know? Because I sure as hell don’t.”
He shut his eyes and sucked in a long breath, his fingers flexing in his pocket.
“By the way,” he said, “I bought you these.”
Then he threw a package of Twizzlers at her feet. And left.
CHAPTER FIFTY
____________________
“EW. THEY WERE RIGHT. It does look worse the next morning.” Bailey lifted her chocolate chip cookie in salute as Liz pushed open the kitchen door.
Liz had taken off the bulky eye patch and left it upstairs, although she still had a couple of butterfly bandages over the gash in her eyebrow. She touched her cheek gingerly.
In the end, she hadn’t been able to face anyone after Carter walked out. Thankfully, Bailey had whisked her away from prying eyes, probing questions and would-be fiancés, threatening anyone who might challenge the plan with a thwack of a Snickers bar. She’d taken Liz home, cleaned her up, fed her take-out Chinese, and crashed on the couch without another word except to come in every hour on the hour and ask her how many fingers she was holding up.
Liz had lain alone in her room, staring blindly at the ceiling. Thinking.
It had been Carter. It had been Carter all along. Valerie said the bottle picked Dan, but Liz knew it was Carter in the pantry that night. She knew it. Just as she knew he wasn’t involved in any illegal drug use.
She knew, because she didn’t need proof to know what was in her heart.
She loved him.
And, he, by some miracle, loved her.
Or did.
Bailey gestured toward Liz’s face, pulling her out of her thoughts. “So, how does it feel?”
“How does it look?”
“Awful.”
“That’s how it feels.” Liz pulled a mug from the cupboard and filled it with coffee. She didn’t bother with cream or sugar.
“Can I get you anything?” Bailey asked.
“Have you learned to cook?”
“No.”
“Then toast will be fine.”
“Do you like it burnt or raw?”
“Burnt, please.”
Bailey set to work slicing bread and popping it in the toaster oven then proceeded to ignore it as she went in search of supplies in the fridge.
“Hello? Anybody home?”
Bailey met Liz’s gaze over the fridge door. “You better get used to it. She’s going to be your sister-in-law.”
Liz groaned into her coffee. “How did life get so messed up?”
“I’m letting myself in!” Valerie announced from the front door. Her heels clicked on the floors as she made her way to the kitchen. She thumped the door open, a bright pink cast on her left arm. “I have news!”
“What happened to you?” Liz asked. “I thought you just needed stitches!”
“Oh,” Val pursed her lips at her cast and shrugged, “apparently they think I fractured something, too. But, enough about that, I have news!�
�
“You’ve cast an evil spell on Liz’s brother?”
Valerie sniffed. “Your toast is burning.”
“Done!” Bailey pulled the smoking slices out and slathered them with butter.
“No,” Val said, to Bailey’s earlier question. She pulled some papers out of her purse. “As of fifteen minutes ago, I have a signed Purchase & Sale agreement on this house!”
“Already?” Liz asked, pulling the document forward.
“Eh!” Val snatched it back again. “You can’t see it. Confidential and all that. But your folks are thrilled. It’s just barely over their target price, but I can’t promise holding out for more will pan out. They are pleased as punch with their new future daughter-in-law.”
Valerie tucked the contract back into her purse. “Well, can’t stay. Have an engagement ring to show off and houses to sell, so ta-ta!”
“Sold.” Liz said dully as she took a bite of burnt toast. “Well, I guess that’s that.”
“What are you going to do now?” asked Bailey.
Resolutely ignoring the hollow ache in her chest, she shrugged. “Go home.”
LIZ PACKED HER SUITCASE, zipped it shut and set it by the bedroom door. With the house under contract, she was done with what she’d come to do.
“Ready when you are, Eddie.”
Eddie sat on the windowsill and stared at her. It had become his favorite spot.
“You’ll have to find a new favorite spot, Ed. Because, we’re going home.”
And, home wasn’t here anymore.
Half an hour later, Trish was driving her to the airport.
“I need to make a stop before we leave town,” Liz said. “Take a right here.”
“You’ll be late for your flight.”
“I’ll only be a minute.”
Liz directed Trish down the street and told her where to park. “Keep the car running.”
She pursed her lips, squared her shoulders, prayed Carter wasn’t home and knocked on his door.
Just as she was about to try and slip the envelope underneath, the door swung wide. Liz popped up.
“John?”
“Liz? What are you doing here?”
“I could ask the same thing.”
John opened the door wider. “I’m helping out with some office stuff for Carter until his uncle is back on his feet. Mostly cleaning up.”
“You clean?”
He laughed, looking happier and younger than she’d seen him in years. “There’s a lot you don’t know about me. Yes. But, I don’t cook.”
“Now that I knew.”
She smiled, amazed she could have a semi-civil conversation with John without all the drama. Would wonders never cease? “Can I come in?” she asked. “I wanted to drop off a letter. For Carter.”
“Heading out are you?” She nodded. “Put it in his office. It won’t get lost there.”
“Thanks.”
Liz pushed open the door John gestured to and stepped through.
The room smelled of Carter, a mixture of fresh air and hard work and sweet rebellion she recognized now as Twizzler. The combination made her feel like crying right then and there. She pushed the feelings down and sat in the desk chair for a moment, soaking in all that was Carter before pulling the letter of apology she’d written out of her purse.
She ran a hand over the envelope to smooth it, wishing for all the world she could make things right between them but knowing that wasn’t possible. She’d made too many mistakes.
He deserved more than a woman who couldn’t stand behind him or stand up for him.
She opened the drawer to retrieve a pen to write his name on the outside of the letter… and saw a large manila envelope marked “Beautification League of Sugar Falls.”
She frowned, feeling guilty, but the envelope wasn’t sealed, so she pulled out the paper inside.
He hadn’t submitted the bid? But the deadline was… today! Why wouldn’t he…?
And, then, all the self-doubt she’d heard him speak over the years washed over her in a wave. He didn’t think he could do it. He was afraid of making a mistake.
Well, she thought, take it from someone who has made mistakes. The only things worse than mistakes are regrets.
By the time she waved goodbye to John, she had the manila envelope tucked in her purse and was asking Trish to make one more stop…
CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE
____________________
JUST AS SHE HAD FOR THE past three years, Liz filled Eddie’s dish with one precisely measured scoop of urinary-tract-health cat food then pulled a box of breakfast cereal from the kitchen cupboard.
She grimaced. It was the hemp/flax-seed/high-fiber cereal Grant had recommended a couple months ago. It tasted like cardboard with just enough organic sweeteners to make it so she didn’t reflexively spit it out, and she’d tried to make herself choke down a few spoonfuls each morning before she was entirely awake, but today she shoved it aside.
She craved swiss cake rolls.
Liz looked out at the morning and tried to muster the enthusiasm to go in to the office.
Aunt Claire was right. She needed a new plan.
Eddie leapt to the table and settled bread-loaf style on the placemat in front of her. She’d worried at one point she’d need to retrain Eddie to pretend to be well-mannered. Eddie raised one leg and started to clean himself.
It depressed her knowing no one would object.
She patted his head and pushed out of her chair. She stared out the window onto the street below as she prepared coffee. How strange that just over a month ago she’d been imagining her wedding to Grant while standing in this very spot.
Now, she and Grant were kaput, Grant and Ethan were starting their own firm, and Liz had been offered Ethan’s position. It represented a huge promotion. They expected her answer today.
Dum. Dum. De-dum. Dum-de-dum-de-dum-de-DUM…
Liz bit her lip. She hadn’t taken her mother’s calls since that night at the hospital. She hadn’t wanted to face it all, hadn’t wanted to try and explain what a mess her life was.
But she couldn’t wallow in self-pity forever.
She sucked in a long breath, held the phone away from her ear and braced herself. “Hello?”
“Liz?”
“Dad?” Liz held the phone closer. “Dad? What’s wrong? Is it mom? Aunt Claire?”
“Shh. Nothing’s wrong. We’re good. I’m calling to check on you.” He paused. “How are you, Chickie?”
Her chest felt tight and she tried to deny anything was wrong, but he’d caught her off-guard. He hadn’t called her Chickie since that day so many years ago when he’d found her sobbing into her pillow because a certain boy was going to the prom with the wrong girl.
“Not good, Dad,” she finally said. “Not good at all.”
“I’m sorry, Chickie.”
That’s all he said. I’m sorry, Chickie.
I’m sorry.
When he’d said those words to her all those years ago, she’d felt fragile as glass—hurt and sad and embarrassed—but there’d been a quiet strength in her father, as if he was trying to tell her that what she felt right now wasn’t going to be the way she’d always feel. The future was sure to be brighter. And, somewhere out there the right man would recognize what a wonderful, shining star she was inside and all this heartache would be a distant memory. That’s what she’d heard, anyway, when he’d said it before.
Now, she recognized that all he meant was ‘I’m sorry.’
“Me, too,” she whispered, and then she began to cry, silently at first, trying to hold it in, trying to control the force and overwhelming wave of misery, but then the dam burst, and she sobbed out loud. Huge, gulping, ugly sobs that wracked her frame and hurt her throat. And when her dad said something like, “aw, honey,” it only made her cry all the harder—uncontrollable, hiccupping tears that flooded her face and coursed over the phone as she mopped them up with a piece of paper towel she’d hastily torn from the ro
ll.
He let her cry, silent on the other end, until she was spent, her breaths coming in long, stuttering hiccups. She mopped her eyes some more. Blew her nose.
When she was finally quiet, he said, “I love you, Chickie,” his voice hoarse and strained, and she realized with an ache in her heart he’d been crying right along with her.
“I love you, too, Dad.” Liz hiccupped into his ear. “Th—thanks for calling.”
“I’ve been wanting to for days, but your mother hasn’t moved more than ten feet from the phone. Just in case you called.”
An image of her mother tethered by the phone cord had her almost smiling. “She really needs to get a cordless phone.”
“You know she won’t listen.”
“I know.” But he had. He’d listened. Even if all she’d done was cry.
Liz took another deep, cleansing breath and hugged Eddie. Crying didn’t change a damn thing, but it felt good to let it out. It felt good to know he cared enough to call. “So, um, when do you close on the house?” Her dad cleared his throat. He didn’t answer. “Dad?”
“That’s not going to happen right away.”
“Why? What do you mean?”
“They backed out. Without the shed and with the damage to the yard, they bought another place.”
“But… couldn’t you just adjust the purchase price? Wouldn’t they renegotiate? Can’t you ask Valerie—?”
“It’s done. Don’t worry about it.”
Liz felt new tears well up. “I’m so sorry, Dad. I know this is my fault!”
“Some things are nobody’s fault.”
“But this…”
“It’s all right. John said he’d go over and help when he can. Trish, too. I’ll come home in a couple weeks to finish up. We’ll make it work.”
“But, won’t Mom—?”
“She doesn’t want to see the fire damage. You know how she is about a lush lawn. Better to leave things how she remembered them.”
“I could—”
“Hush. You’ve done enough. You take care of you.” He chuckled lightly. “And, for God’s sake, don’t let any more men chasing after you try to get your mother to help them throw a proposal party. It took me two weeks before she’d go near my laptop again. You think she was scared of technology before…”