“She needs you,” she mouthed at him.
“I’m here now. Everything is fine.” He rubbed his hands down Summer’s back.
“I’m going home to my husband then.” Meg rose and dusted her hands off on her dirty pants.
“Thank you.” He’d hug her, but he didn’t want to let go of Summer.
“Call me if you need me.” She picked her car keys off the bench.
Summer lifted her head. “Thank you.” That was all she got out before tears filled her eyes. Meg gave her an awkward hug, since Summer wouldn’t let go of Tom either.
They watched Meg drive away. He lifted the hose and helped her wash her hands, then he walked her to his truck. He opened the door and handed her a painting.
“What’s this?” He turned it so she could see.
“Sunset over the Old Train Station.”
“Miranda had it. I’m pretty sure this one is yours.” He flipped the painting over so she could see the signature on the back.
“Did she have any blank signed canvases?” She took the painting from his hands like a treasured child.
“Yes, two that we found. But it’s going to take days to go through everything and be sure.” He walked her to the porch. She hesitated at the bottom of the steps. “I can’t go inside. Yet.”
“Fine. We’ll order pizza and eat on the porch. And I’ll tell you how bad off Miranda really was.”
Summer frowned at him. “Not sure I want to know.”
He did it quick, like ripping off a band-aid. “She had twenty-two slashed paintings of the Methodist Church. There were twenty-seven other main street paintings. She must have painted and painted and painted, slashing and destroying until she thought they’d pass for yours. There are literally hundreds of canvases filling the house, most of them she destroyed. She had a scrapbook with pictures of your Echo Falls paintings from this house. Hers were mixed in. The check from the gallery in Phoenix was in the bathroom, taped to the mirror.”
“Is that the worst of it?” Summer balanced the painting against the railing and reached for his hand.
“Yeah,” he lied. He’d never tell her what an unhealthy obsession Miranda had with all things Summer LeFey. Those were things she didn’t need to hear—not now while she was fragile and disconnected. After viewing the house, he thanked God that Miranda’s violence had been directed at herself, not Summer.
Summer walked to the swing, and Tom followed her. He sat, and she curled into his lap, letting him start the swing in a slow, leisurely rock. Her warm breath brushed his neck. He held her close; thankful the day had turned out as it had.
“I love you, baby.”
She didn’t answer him, didn’t acknowledge the words. Hurt tangled inside, but he pushed it away. He ordered pizza. He ate. Summer nibbled what he fed her.
Cars came and went. Kids flew past on bikes and skateboards, then disappeared inside. The neighborhood quieted. The sun went down with a splash of color across the sky. Light faded.
Summer kept glancing at the door, her fingers twisting in his shirt.
“We made love for the first time in this house.” Tom whispered in her ear, keeping the swing rocking. “Remember?”
Her fingers tightened, a low moan escaped.
“I picked you up here for our first date, and you blew my mind. You had me at that damn orange dress and sexy smile.” He laughed softly.
He got a half-smile, and the fingers relaxed, stroking his shirt.
“You kissed me goodnight on the porch.” He leaned to place light kisses on her eyes, her nose, her forehead.
She pulled down his mouth and kissed him hard.
“I need to go in, don’t I?” The husky question tore into him.
“Yes. Or she wins.” He tightened his arms around her.
She took a deep sigh and straightened, releasing his shirt. “Okay, but can we go to your place to sleep? I don’t want to stay here.”
“Sure. And I’ll bring you back in the morning to paint.”
Summer’s face clouded.
“She wins,” he whispered.
She closed her eyes, nodding. “Then let’s do it.”
There wouldn’t be much to see. He and Bret had taken the time to straighten everything, and the slashed paintings had been removed and taken to evidence lockup. The fake ones were stacked and turned against the wall. Regardless, the memories wouldn’t be as easy to banish.
Summer rose, took a deep breath, and went to the screen door. She didn’t pause, didn’t stop, didn’t renege. She opened the door, flipped on the foyer light, and walked in. She walked the entire house with Tom trailing her. She stopped to stare at the painting on her easel. When she went to the bedroom for clothes and her toiletries, he picked up her sketchbook and pencil kit. She paused at the top of the stairs while he turned out lights and secured windows. She hid it well, but her hands were shaking.
Downstairs, she dropped her stuff on the counter and went to the kitchen sink to wash her hands. The scent of lavender flooded the room. “Now I know why I don’t garden,” she muttered, scrubbing for the third time at the dirt embedded in her fingers.
While she finished, he checked the lock on the back door. They walked together to the foyer and stood in the living room.
“You’re going to have to tell me what happened, for my report.” Tom stroked her hair.
“Tomorrow,” she swallowed hard. “I’ll…do it tomorrow.”
He took her arm and led her out the front door. She stood on the porch while he locked up. He walked behind her to his truck and helped her in.
He paused after he shut her door and looked back at the house. So many times he’d stood here just like this, looking the house over, thinking through renovations he would do if the house was his, sure that the dream was in his grasp.
Now all he could hear was that dream’s farewell clock ticking.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Saturday dawned bright and sunny. Tom’s parents’ recommitment ceremony began right on the stroke of ten o’clock. A slight breeze dispelled the hint of heat and made the day perfect for sitting in the park.
“Dearly beloved, we are gathered here in the presence of friends and family to renew the marriage vows of Helen and Bill Applegate.” Pastor Cale’s deep, familiar voice washed over Tom.
The Applegate family was clustered in the first two rows, all fifteen of them including Summer. The matron of honor was Marla Spooner. She wore a leaf green, tea-length dress and carried pale yellow roses. Pat Caldwell, his dad’s high school friend and manager of the municipal airport, was the best man and kept running a finger around the collar of his tux shirt.
His father hadn’t missed a detail, not from the violin quartet to the four-tier cake, to the flower baskets which contained a summer mix cut from his own gardens to his mother’s elegant champagne gown. The glow in his mother’s cheeks was a welcome sight. She’d truly been surprised.
Tom was jealous.
He shifted in his folding chair and reached for Summer’s hand. She laced her fingers through his. But when he looked in her eyes, there was a wall, one that had been there since the morning after Miranda had wigged out in her living room.
Pastor Cale continued, relaying the successes of Bill and Helen’s thirty-five year marriage and how love and commitment had seen them through tough times.
At the end of his sermon, Tom rose to sing. Fortunately, his father had picked a song he already knew and there wasn’t much practice needed. Emotion rose in his throat. He avoided looking at Summer or his parents and watched Boo and Lindy instead. He made it through “Love Me Tender” with only one voice waver at the end.
He returned to his seat. Summer gave him a slight smile. She looked far away mentally, and he feared it was about to become a physical reality. That emotion sat in his chest like he’d taken a bullet again.
What else could he do?
He loved the damn sexy woman—loved her brain, loved her art, loved her body and soul. He’d attempted to show her with an under
standing shoulder, with a listening ear, with romantic kisses and tender passion.
She was leaving anyway.
Could he give up his dream and follow her? If he didn’t risk it all, would he ever forgive himself? Yet, the idea of leaving his family, his home, his job caused a pain so great he couldn’t breathe.
Pastor Cale was requiring the re-commitment now. His parents repeated vows his father had written. His dad repeated his ringing with conviction. His mom cried, hardly able to say hers, but doggedly sticking to it until they were complete.
Then the rings came out, and his mother bawled.
Tom's eyes teared. Summer’s did too.
His mom was pretty tough. He’d only seen her cry three times. Once when Grandpa Thomas died, once when Meg broke her arm, and just last fall when his dad had lost the election for prosecuting attorney.
Pastor Cale invited the family forward. Tom pulled Summer to his side and forced her to the front with him—be damned what everyone thought. They formed a circle in front of their parents, and there in the presence of their friends and community, they repeated a vow to love and support their parents for the remainder of their years.
Tom choked up on the last words and squeezed Summer’s hand. She squeezed back, and for the first time since Monday, he saw naked vulnerability in her eyes. As the only Applegate child left unmarried, he sometimes felt removed from the family. This time, with Summer’s hand in his and pure emotion in her expression, he felt a small flicker of hope. She had to see, had to think about what she was doing to them. Had to change her mind.
His father kissed the bride like she was his for a million more lifetimes.
And the festivities began.
“I should really go. This is a family thing,” Summer whispered to him.
“This is a town thing, and you’re an intimate friend of the family. Stay. Dance with me.” The indecision in her face stabbed at the ache, cracking his heart further.
“All right,” she finally said.
He snagged two flutes of champagne from the bar and then linked his fingers with hers while they sipped. His father led his mother to the dance floor next to the gazebo. Harv Kramer, the DJ from the local radio station started their song, Frank Sinatra’s “It Had To Be You”, one Tom had seen them dance to many times. As soon as they finished, his mother kissed his dad tenderly, and they left the dance floor to make the rounds and greet all their friends.
Harv started another song. Tom took that as a sign and ditched their champagne glasses. He led Summer to the floor at the same time Chad led Robin. It was several songs later before he let her out of his arms.
They ate a marvelous brunch of eggs, fruits, and sweet breads—they ate cake and drank more champagne.
“You’re picking at your food,” Tom said in her ear.
“It’s getting too hot to be hungry.” She smiled at him, the wall back. “You’re parents are almost finished eating. I have a gift for them.”
He looked around. “Where is it?”
She laughed. “Bret picked it up and brought it over hours ago when he and Meg came to do decorations.”
“Why are you being so mysterious?”
“You’ll see.” She walked around him and made her way to his parent’s table.
His parents looked up from their food and beamed at her.
“We’re so glad you could join us, Summer.” Helen reached for her hand.
Summer clasped his mom’s hand. “I was so happy to be invited, and I brought a gift to commemorate the occasion.”
Bill rose and took her other hand. “That wasn’t necessary, Summer.”
“Oh, I think you’ll understand once you see what it is.”
That must have been Bret’s cue. He disappeared behind the gazebo and came back carrying one of Summer’s paintings. The size was right, even if it was hidden by white tissue paper and had a big white ribbon and bow.
Bret set the painting on the middle step to the gazebo. Helen and Bill crossed over to it. The music ended, and every eye at the reception was on the gift. They each took a corner and removed the ribbon and paper.
A collective gasp rose from the crowd.
Summer’s painting of his parents’ garden gleamed in the morning light.
Tom’s heart swelled with love and pride. “Good one,” he whispered in her ear.
“Oh Summer, it’s…stunning.” Helen turned and hugged her, tears falling.
“Thank you, Summer. I’m speechless and thrilled and honored. Thank you.” Bill kissed her cheek.
Then he took Helen in his arms. “I guess if you’re crying again, I might as well spring the last surprise.” He reached in his pocket, pulled out an envelope, and handed it to her.
“What is this?” Her new diamond flashed in the sunlight.
He shrugged. “Open it.”
She slowly lifted the flap and pulled out two travel brochures, pausing a moment to study them. “Italy?” She beamed.
“Three weeks. I happen to know your schedule’s cleared.”
She reached out and caressed his face. “Is there anything you haven’t thought of?”
His father rocked back on his heels. “Not that I can think of, but you should turn around, because there’s the last of the surprises.”
Driving slowly across the lawn was a red Mercedes sports car with Dave Carlsson from Carlsson’s Cars at the wheel.
Helen squealed like her six-year-old granddaughters. “Mine?”
“Yours,” Bill confirmed, grinning from lips to eyes.
Summer turned and grabbed Tom’s hand. “I like your dad’s style.”
Tom used his other arm to pull Summer against him into a tight hug. “We Applegates know how to pamper our women.”
Summer laughed and kissed him, the first kiss he’d had since Tuesday.
The euphoria lasted while they ate, danced again, and closed down the party. It lasted through the drive back to her house. Lasted while her hand was tucked in his up the walk.
He opened the front door and went in first, a need of hers since Miranda’s breakdown in her living room.
He halted in the foyer, hurt freefalling.
Her bags were at the bottom of the stairs.
££££££
In Summer’s lifetime, she’d noted only two moments when an experience had been frozen in her memory. When she closed the door on this house the first time, she’d stood on the porch firm in her intention to leave Echo Falls and gazed at her grandmother’s garden. The smells, the sounds, the colors of that moment stayed vivid in her instant recall file. The other freeze frame was etched in joy from when she’d sold her first painting.
Seems now she had added one more image that would sit in her memory, forever still-life. Tom sank to the stairs and rubbed a hand over his face. “You’re leaving.”
She hated the way his statement wasn’t a question, hated the agony she’d put in his eyes. It didn’t help matters that she knew she should have told him sooner, hated herself for not finding a better way to do this, but she dreaded that moment when the hurt killed hope. She shied away from the pain that was coming for both of them.
“Yes,” she choked and had to clear her throat. “I have to go to Michigan to meet a potential client and then go back to San Francisco.”
“You couldn’t say, ‘I have to leave. I’ll call you every day, honey?’” His face had paled, but his gaze never wavered.
“I’ve done nothing but think about this for days,” she said. “I can’t come back.”
“Why not talk to me about it?” The hurt appeared in his eyes, fathoms deep. “I’m not Walter, Summer.”
She froze, trembling. She’d considered that too. Mistakes made with her grandfather still haunted her, but this was different.
“I had to sort it out for me first.” She pressed a hand to her heart, struggling against the pressure there. “There’s too much that has to be sacrificed for us to be together. Love shouldn’t be that hard.” She dropped her purse on the s
ide table.
“Define too much? I love you, Summer. I want us to make a life together however we can.”
She sagged. His love stabbed and shredded, rending her heart. Her chest tightened forcing shallow breaths. She knew what she wanted and was tempted, seduced by the whole of him. She could choose him based on his strength, his belief in them, but that wasn’t fair and would only lead to more heartbreak for both of them.
He scooted to make room for her on the stairs, and she sat, allowing him to slip an arm around her shoulder. She snuggled against his side even though her fragile walls were on the verge of collapse. “If we each present only the parts of ourselves that make this work,” she whispered, “how long do you think we’ll last? We’ve only known each other three weeks, Tom. I’ve had paintings that have taken longer than that.”
“And yet you knew in your gut what you were doing. Don’t you feel it with us?” His fingers traced the edge of her shoulder, teasing under the edge of her dress and stroking bare skin.
She hesitated. “This isn’t real. It’s a bubble in time. The day-in-day-out of what I am isn’t here.”
He stiffened and closed his eyes. “You aren’t coming back, are you?”
“I could lie. Tell you I’d think about it, but the truth is I don’t know. I don’t think so,” she choked out. “You belong in Echo Falls. You exemplify everything good and right about this town. You leaving here conflicts like blending the wrong shades of paint. And I can’t find my way to enough peace with who I was here to risk.”
“Didn’t you ever dream of having a family?” His voice was hoarse.
She thought for a minute and finally shook her head. “No, it wasn’t really something I gave any thought to. My art was more important.”
His expression killed her, and she reached for his hand. “You deserve more. Don’t you think if I thought for one minute I could give you your dream, your family, your love, I would? Don’t you think I know that’s what you want?” The tears started then, seeping down her cheeks.
He squeezed her fingers. “What do you want, Summer? Isn’t there one part of this you want to keep?”
She caressed his face. “That’s the problem, isn’t it? We’re whole people who can’t split our lives and pick and choose which parts to give someone. And anything less than whole is going to be like an unfinished painting. Never satisfying either of us.”
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