After We Fall

by Melanie Harlow

  She hugged me even tighter, and I felt the trembling in her body as she wept. Kissed my shoulders, my head, my neck. Ran her hands over my chest and stomach, as if she had to reassure herself I was still here. “I’m so sorry. And I’m so glad you’re here. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

  I didn’t deserve her sympathy or her tears.

  “Do you know how many fucking nightmares I’ve had about that woman?” I touched my thumb and index finger to the insides of my eyes. “She’s right there in front of me and I’m begging and begging her to stop, and she doesn’t. I wake up shaking and screaming.”

  “Do you still have the nightmares?”

  “Sometimes. For a while, they got better, after I went to the doctor. I started taking meds that would make me forget what I’d dreamt. I didn’t dread going to sleep so much. But I stopped taking them after Steph’s accident.”

  “Why?”

  “Because it was my fault.” I retreated into the truth that tortured me, repeated the words that haunted me. “‘Just as he has done, so it shall be done to him.’”

  “No, Jack. You’re wrong.” She sniffed and sat up taller. “What you did saved lives, and it had nothing to do with Steph’s accident. You are not responsible.”

  I closed my eyes. “It’s the only way I can make sense of it.”

  “No one could ever make sense of a tragedy like that.”

  “Sometimes I dream about the checkpoint, and it’s Steph driving the car,” I whispered. “In my subconscious, they’re connected forever.”

  Gently she rocked me, her words laced with quiet sobs. “It wasn’t Steph, Jack. She was the love of your life, and you never would have harmed her. You made her happy.”

  “I wanted to. God, I wanted to.”

  “You did. And if she were here right now, I know she’d be saying the same thing to you that I am—it wasn’t your fault.”

  I knew she was right—Steph would say that, and she had a thousand times in my mind. But I just couldn’t believe her.

  “And she’d probably be angry that you blame yourself,” Margot went on. “She’d want you to forgive yourself so you could be happy again. Don’t you think?”

  Of course she would. She’d stand right there and argue with me just like she used to. But forgiving myself would mean giving myself permission to move on, to be happy when I didn’t deserve it. I’d never make that mistake again. “I can’t.”

  She rocked me again, her arms wrapped around me, her lips pressed to my skin. When she spoke, her voice was soft. “Have you ever told anyone about this?”

  I hesitated. “Steph and my therapist knew about Iraq. But I’ve never talked to anyone about feeling responsible for her death until you.”

  She let that sink in—both of us did. I’d just shared a part of me with her that I hadn’t shared with any other living soul. I wasn’t even sure why I trusted her so much, but I did. Again, I figured it had to do with her temporary presence in my life. It freed me to be my real self around her.

  “I wish there was something I could do for you,” she said.

  I exhaled. The truth was out. And while I didn’t exactly feel better or hopeful, I did feel less alone. I put my hands over hers on my chest. “You’re here. You’re listening. That’s something.”

  “I am here. And I’m glad you told me.”

  “I am too.” It was startling to realize I meant it. I hadn’t intended to reveal so much of myself, but it had been so long since I felt this kind of closeness to someone, the kind that compelled you to share your secrets.

  She sighed as she leaned back again. “Want to hear something ridiculous?”

  “Sure.”

  “The entire reason I took the job up here was because my mother made me leave town after the scone-throwing incident.”

  I craned my neck so I could see her face. “What?”

  “It’s true. I had to leave town until the rumors died down.”

  “Jesus. And have they?”

  “Yes. She called yesterday and said I could show my face again.”

  “That’s why you were going to leave yesterday, huh?”

  “Yes.”

  God, I was glad she hadn’t. “But you’re still here.”

  “I’m still here,” she whispered.

  I kissed her, felt her fingers stroking my jaw. Her lips were warm and soft and tasted like lavender, and I wanted nothing more than to live in that kiss with her forever, to trap it under glass and stay safely inside, cut off from memories that haunted me and a future that could never be.

  I wanted it so badly I didn’t stay the night.

  Twenty-Seven

  Margot

  The next morning, I walked to Pete and Georgia’s house just before ten. I hadn’t slept well, so I felt a little groggy as I made my way, but the sunshine felt good on my arms. Inhaling deeply, I hoped the fresh air would succeed in perking me up where three cups of coffee had failed. But I caught the scent of manure on the breeze, and wrinkled my nose. Was that fertilizer? Ugh, how did people who lived near farms ever get used to that smell? That’s one thing I will not miss when I go home.

  But there was something I would miss—being with Jack. The last twenty-four hours had been incredible. Something had changed between us. What we shared no longer felt like a meaningless little fling. I felt close to him. Protective of him. Proud of him. Fascinated by him and how he made me feel.

  I was falling for him so fast, everything around me was a blur.

  It was mind-boggling. We weren’t even dating! In the past when I’d developed feelings for someone, it had taken a while. And those feelings had stemmed from times spent together enjoying common interests rather than intense physical attraction. For heaven’s sake, it had taken me six months to sleep with Tripp! And I’d never even had a one-night-stand, let alone an extended fuckfest with someone not my boyfriend. I’d never had an extended fuckfest, period!

  And last night had been insane. I could still hear him telling me to act like a greedy little slut—was it terrible that it turned me on so much? How had he known that’s what I’d needed—permission to act that way with the lights on, while he watched? That’s what had made me nervous. Prior to that we’d always been in the dark, and letting that other side of me take over hadn’t seemed so daunting. I’d gotten stage fright, especially since I wasn’t that experienced with oral sex to begin with. But I’d wanted to do it for him. I wanted to make him feel good in every possible way.

  And the things he did to me… I stopped walking for a moment. Put a hand on my stomach. Caught my breath.

  Everything felt different with Jack. Now I knew what Jaime had been talking about when she said things like mind-blowing physical chemistry. And since I’d gotten a taste of it, I didn’t want to let it go.

  It wasn’t just physical either. Not anymore. When I thought about the way he’d opened up to me last night, sharing something with me he’d never told anyone else, shedding tears in front of me, making himself that vulnerable…God, I just wanted to hold him and kiss him and cry for him, make everything better for him, make him happy.

  But how?

  I’d been hoping he might stay over again, especially since he’d said he’d slept well in my bed the night before, but I hadn’t wanted to pressure him. I’d asked, he’d said no, I dropped it. He’d revealed so much of himself to me, he probably needed the time alone to come to terms with that. I understood that about him, and I’d learned not to push his buttons that way—he snapped and pulled back when I tried to get too close, almost like a skittish horse.

  So after kissing him goodbye, I’d said goodnight and climbed into bed, hugging the pillow he’d used the night before. Sleep eluded me for hours, which I spent replaying every moment of the day and night in my mind, struggling to keep my feelings under control, and choking up all over again when I thought about what he’d told me.

  By morning I had to face the truth.

  I had feelings for him, and I didn’t want this to end
.

  I wanted there to be a way for us.

  Was it out of the question? People dated long distance all the time, didn’t they? Two hours was practically nothing! I could work from anywhere most of the time, and I liked this little town. It didn’t have designer shops or three-star restaurants or glamorous salons, but Main Street was charming, the beach was uncrowded, and the farms were beautiful. I could even start riding again! Being with the horses the other day reminded me how much I’d missed it.

  As I waited for highway traffic to clear so I could cross, I thought about an even bigger problem than distance: Jack didn’t want to get married again. Didn’t think he could love someone again. Didn’t want to let go of his past. Part of me thought I was crazy to even worry about getting married, since I’d met the guy less than a week ago, but another part of me insisted.

  Look how intense things were between us after just five days. What if we started dating, and things continued to go well? Did I really want to invest time and energy and feelings in someone who didn’t want what I wanted in the end? And I was almost thirty—I didn’t want to wait that much longer to start a family. If there was no chance of that, what was the point?

  As I hurried across the two lanes and started up Pete and Georgia’s drive, I saw that wedding band on Jack’s finger, heard his voice in my head.

  I know what I had. And it doesn’t happen twice.

  My heart dropped. How on earth could I argue with that?

  Jack was right about the Oliver house in many ways—it needed a lot of work, including a new roof, but Brad was right, too. Like all aging beauties, it had great bones beneath layers of dust, mold, peeling wallpaper, flaking paint, smelly carpet, and rot. It would take time and money and loving care, but it could be restored.

  Georgia was beside herself as we walked back. “I knew it. I knew I’d love it that much.” Brad and Pete were up ahead, Cooper in his dad’s arms.

  I smiled at her. “It could be great. And so easy to bump out the back wall, extend the kitchen.”

  “Pete and I have been talking about making it a bed and breakfast in addition to a restaurant,” she said.

  “A B and B, I love it! And it totally makes sense if you host weddings on the property.”

  “Exactly. And if we bumped out the back wall for an extended kitchen, we could put living space for us above. That would leave the five bedrooms in the old part of the house for guests.”

  Her enthusiasm was contagious, and I found myself brimming with new energy. “Yes! Oh, Georgia, that’s perfect. Just imagine decorating that place—it could be so beautiful.”

  “I know!” Her eyes lit up. “Antique beds, a big old table in the dining room, vintage dishes and silver pieces…” Then she sighed. “But that takes money. And we haven’t got it.”

  “What about selling your current house?” I asked.

  Georgia shook her head. “We couldn’t. It’s been in the family too long. Plus it’s mortgaged with the farm, which is owned equally by Pete, Brad, and Jack. Any money we got for it would technically have to be split between the three of them.”

  “Would Jack move into it if you left?” I wondered where he was working this morning and if he was thinking about last night as much as I was. “Maybe he’d buy you out.”

  “I don’t think so. He doesn’t have the cash, and he loves that damn cabin.”

  “You’d think he might want to leave, though, given the chance. Aren’t the memories kind of painful there?” As soon as I said it, I realized that it wouldn’t matter—staying in that cabin was one of the ways he prevented himself from letting go of his past.

  “Yeah.” She sighed as we reached the path leading to their front porch. The others had gone inside already. “He baffles me sometimes, you know? The way he refuses to move on? He chooses to be unhappy, and I don’t know why.”

  I dropped my eyes to the ground. I knew why, but Jack trusted me with his feelings. I couldn’t betray him.

  “I mean, Steph’s clothes are still in the closet.”

  I gasped and met her eyes again. That was a detail he hadn’t mentioned. “Wow.”

  She shook her head. “I’ve offered to get rid of them so many times, but he won’t let anyone touch them.”

  “God, it’s so sad.” My hand covered my heart. “How can he live like that?”

  “He says that’s how he wants it. And whenever any of us try to help, he lashes out.”

  “He does do that,” I agreed, remembering how he’d snapped at me yesterday at the market. “But it’s hard not to try, because once you get to know him, you see how sad he is. And you want to help.”

  Georgia looked at me for a moment. “I will say this. He’s been different since you’ve been here. Better.”

  “Me?”

  She rolled her eyes. “Yes. You guys were like two googly-eyed teenagers when you got back last night. Let’s not pretend there’s nothing there.”

  “What could be there?” I tried for innocent, but it came out more coy than anything.

  Georgia laughed. “I don’t know exactly what it is you’re doing, but he’s never called my smile magic. I haven’t seen him that way in years. It’s a shame you live so far away.”

  “Yeah.” Frowning, I played with the braid trailing over one shoulder. “But I don’t know if it would make a difference anyway. I mean, does he ever date?”

  “Never,” she admitted.

  “And he told me the other night he’ll never get married again. Doesn’t want a family.”

  “Yeah, that’s what he says to us too, any time we suggest he try getting out there again. It’s sad, because he’d make such a great father. And he’s still young.”

  Exhaling, I dropped my hands to my sides. Tried to cover up my disappointment with a lie. “Oh, well. I don’t think I’m his type anyway, and he’s not really mine.”

  “Oh, I don’t know,” she said airily. “I think you two could be good together. And sometimes opposites attract, right? Maybe you can change his mind.”

  I smiled. Opposites attracted, sure, but attraction wasn’t our problem. We had all kinds of that. Our problem was that the attraction was getting stronger. It was bringing us closer. It was making me feel things with my heart and not just with my body.

  But he wasn’t interested in my heart.

  Georgia and I chatted a little more about the branding and social media strategies I’d outlined for them, and I was happy to hear they’d contacted a web designer and had filled out her project questionnaire. Again she asked me to please send her a bill for my time, but I politely refused. “You’re going to need every extra dollar to buy that house,” I told her. “Consider it my donation.”

  She hugged me and went inside to discuss things with Pete and Brad. Presumably Jack would be in on the discussion eventually, but he hadn’t come to see the house. I hoped he’d be reasonable on the subject of buying it.

  I also hoped I’d see him today. We hadn’t made any plans, but he had put my number in his phone before leaving last night. Maybe he’d call.

  In the meantime, I didn’t want to sit around doing nothing, since that would just mean more time spent fretting over him. Instead, I researched some of my ideas for their market stand and displays, then drove to the nearest craft store for materials. I hit the grocery store too, buying fresh items for the next few days. When I saw the potatoes, I wondered again about baking them twice and made a mental note to look that up. Maybe I could take a cooking class or something—that would be getting out of my comfort zone for sure.

  Learn to cook. Start riding again. I started a mental list of things I could do to change up my life, be happier and more fulfilled. Stop obsessing over my thirtieth birthday. Get involved with the food justice movement.

  After a peanut butter and jelly sandwich lunch, I spent the early part of the afternoon working on the display projects and mulling over possible solutions for Pete and Georgia’s cash flow problem. A small business loan maybe? But I knew next to nothing
about the loan process since I’d never needed to take one out.

  I was printing a price list on a chalkboard when my cell phone buzzed with a text. Hey you. It’s Jack. Want to meet Cooper and me at the park?

  I picked up the phone, grinning at it like a goofball. Sure. What time?

  Twenty minutes?

  That was perfect—I’d have time to finish what I was doing first. See you then!

  I set the phone down and hummed a tune as I completed the list, then held it out to make sure the writing was even and legible. When I was satisfied, I quickly put everything away, used the bathroom, brushed my teeth, and touched up my makeup. At the last minute, I decided to wipe off the lipstick I’d applied and put on some honey lip balm instead. It looked more natural and tasted better.

  As I walked to the park, my feet felt a hundred times lighter than they had this morning. Nothing had changed since then, but just the prospect of seeing him was enough to excite me. And when he came into view, standing behind Cooper, pushing him on a swing, the butterflies in my stomach multiplied. This feeling, I thought as I crossed the playground toward him. I don’t want to lose it.

  He looked up as I approached and the smile he gave me turned my legs to jelly. “Hi.”

  “Hi.”

  He glanced over his shoulder. “Didn’t you come from the cottage?”

  I cringed. “Yes, but I walked one block too far, so I came from the other side. I wasn’t paying attention.”

  He laughed, shaking his head. “It’s like three blocks away. Only you could screw that up.”

  “I know, I know.” I’d let him tease me as much as he wanted as long as I could stand there watching him push his nephew on that swing. His fitted black t-shirt showed off his arms and chest, the tight jeans hugged him in all the right places, and his aviator sunglasses worn without the usual hat made him look a little more polished, a little more military. It did things to me. In the panties.

  “Did you hear about the house?” I asked.

  He harrumphed and mumbled.

  “I take it that’s a yes.”