by Carrie Elks
‘Because he’s in love with you.’
She wanted to believe it, she really did. ‘But he told me it was over. He wouldn’t have said that if he loved me.’
‘I told you he’s stupid. He is a man, after all.’
Juliet looked at the black and white photographs again, trying to work out what it all meant. Sheridan could be right, or she could be wrong, but right then it didn’t make an ounce of difference. Because Ryan was in New York and she was right here.
She was going to have to wait to see what happened, even if the suspense killed her.
28
Under love’s heavy burden do I sink
– Romeo and Juliet
Ryan pulled his shoes back on and swung his bag over his shoulder, glancing up at the flight information as he left the security hall. The departure gates were thronging as usual, and he pushed his way through the familiar families and businessmen, heading for the business lounge.
He showed his ticket to the attendant at the desk, then made his way to the bar. After the anxiety of the past two days there was nothing he wanted more than a cool bottle of lager before his flight.
‘What can I get you?’ The barman greeted him before he’d even made it to the counter.
Ryan let his bag slide from his shoulder, putting it on the stool next to him. ‘A Yuengling, please.’
‘Coming right up.’
A moment later he had the bottle in his hand, the cool mist on the brown glass turning to ice-cold water, the beads pooling against his palm. Looking around he took in the people sitting around the lounge. A couple of businessmen in the corner were knocking back tumblers of spirits and laughing uproariously. On the other side a genteel old woman was knitting and sipping at a mug of something steaming hot. Coffee, Ryan assumed. But most of the passengers were in the office area, typing furiously at their laptops, printing out details and scrolling on their phones. Some of them all at the same time.
But Ryan didn’t want to look at his phone. Didn’t want to scroll through his laptop either, even though it was safely stowed away in his hand luggage. Instead he leaned on the bar and scowled at his own reflection in the mirror on the wall, not liking what he saw looking back at him.
Sighing, he took a big mouthful of beer. Then another. Within minutes the bottle was empty. He put it back down on the counter, using his finger to slide it over to the bartender, who picked it up and put it in the trashcan beneath the bar.
‘You want another?’ the bartender asked.
Ryan glanced at his watch. Another hour before boarding. He could remember a time – not so many years ago – when he would get to the check-in thirty minutes before the flight was due to take off. Not possible now, in these days of strict security.
‘Yeah, sure. Hit me up.’
The bartender grabbed a bottle from the cooler and popped the cap. ‘Can I get you anything else?’
‘No thank you, I’m good.’ The thought of trying to eat something made his throat want to close up. He hadn’t managed more than a bowl of cereal all day. Messing everything up was ruining his appetite.
‘You travelling on business?’ The bartender was cleaning the counter with a soft yellow cloth. Ryan wasn’t sure why, it was already gleaming.
‘Yeah, something like that.’ He raised his eyebrows at the man.
‘You don’t need to sound so happy about it.’ The bartender smiled at him. Ryan leaned forward to check out his name.
‘Sorry, Mike, I’ve just got a lot on my mind.’
‘I can tell.’ Mike folded the cloth up and stashed it beneath the counter. ‘You have that look on your face.’
‘What look?’ Ryan frowned, and took another glance at himself in the mirror behind the bar.
‘That one.’ The bartender nodded at him. ‘Don’t worry, I see it a lot.’
‘You do?’ Ryan’s frown deepened. What did that mean?
A couple sat down on two stools at the far end of the bar. Mike walked over to them to take their order, then poured out two glasses of red wine. By the time he came back, Ryan had finished his second beer. He turned down the offer of a third.
‘You must see a lot of people come through this place,’ Ryan said. ‘It has to be great for people watching.’ He wasn’t sure why he was still talking to the guy. All he knew was it beat having to listen to his own thoughts.
‘Sure do. A whole host of them.’ He shrugged. ‘But when it comes down to it, there are only two kinds of people.’
‘There are?’ Ryan leaned forward, his elbows on the bar. He couldn’t help but be intrigued. ‘What are they?’
The bartender leaned on the counter in front of him, mirroring Ryan’s stance. ‘There are the people heading towards a better place, and there are the people running away from it.’
Ryan laughed. ‘And that’s it. What about the people who are just going on vacation? Aren’t they doing a little bit of both?’
‘Not in my experience.’ Mike shrugged. ‘Working in this job, I overhear a lot of conversations, whether I want to or not, and I’ve not heard one yet that doesn’t fit into one category or the other. That guy over there, for instance.’ He nodded at a man sitting in the corner of the lounge, his phone to his ear as he typed on his keyboard. ‘I see him every week. Sometimes he brings his wife with him, and sometimes he travels alone. When he travels on his own, he arranges for a little bit of company to take care of him at night.’
‘How do you know that?’
‘He told me. You’d be surprised how many people let things slip to me. It’s not like I’m going to tell anybody, is it?’ The man gave him a wry grin. ‘Apart from you, that is. Anyway, he’s constantly on the lookout for something better, but the fact is, his something better has been at home all the time. What he doesn’t realise is the only person he’s trying to run away from is himself.’
‘What about me? Which camp am I in?’ Ryan looked at him with interest.
The bartender looked him up and down, his eyes narrowed as though he was taking everything in. ‘You haven’t said a lot, which makes you harder to read. But judging from the red veins in your eyes and your hangdog expression, I’d say you’re a runner, too.’
‘That’s where you’re wrong. I’m flying to New York on business.’
‘Sure you are.’
‘I’ve got a whole new life ahead of me.’ Ryan had no idea why he was trying to justify himself. ‘And it’s going to be great. What’s better than living it up in the Big Apple?’
Grabbing a glass from the sink, the bartender picked up a towel and began to dry it. ‘If that’s really the case, then tell me what are you doing hanging around here with a face like thunder? If you were really excited about your future, then you wouldn’t feel the need to justify yourself.’ He shrugged. ‘Sorry, man, but when I look at you I see a runner.’
Ryan looked at himself in the mirror again, not liking what he saw staring back at him. For the first time, he could see himself the way the bartender described.
He was a runner.
A runner.
And he was running away from the best thing that ever happened to him.
Twenty minutes later he was on the sidewalk outside of the airport, tapping his foot on the paving slabs as he waited in line for a cab. He jabbed his fingers on his cell phone to pull up her number. As soon as the call connected it went straight to voicemail. He held the phone to his ear as her sweet voice echoed through him. She wasn’t available to answer his call. Please could he leave a message?
He swallowed hard. What message could he leave? It wasn’t possible to fit into a few sentences the way he was feeling right then. He was an idiot, maybe he should tell her that. But she probably knew that already.
‘London, can you call me back when you get this?’ He winced at his words, before he pressed his screen to disconnect. Of course she wasn’t going to return his call. The last time they spoke he’d told her she meant nothing to him.
He’d lied, and no doubt she’d bel
ieved him. After all, he’d almost believed himself.
When he closed his eyes, he could picture her, the way she’d looked after he’d punched Thomas in the face. The shock in her eyes, the panic, her trembling lip, all of them he’d taken as rejection. He’d been furious at her, for throwing his support back in his face, when all she’d tried to do was calm the situation down.
What a macho idiot he’d been.
His fingers were aching with the need to touch her, to hold her. He wanted to feel her silky hair between them, tangle himself inside. He’d known no tranquillity since he’d last been with her. Without her everything seemed muted and low.
A cab pulled up, and as the first person got into it, the line shuffled up. He tapped his feet on the paving slabs again, unable to stand still, unable to wait. It was as if he was at the starting line, his body ready, muscles tense, but with nowhere to go. If he wasn’t fifty miles from Shaw Haven, he might’ve considered running there.
He needed to make things right. Even if she never wanted to talk to him again. He needed to tell her that he was a fool, that he didn’t mean a word he said, that he wanted her in his life.
That without her, a fresh start meant nothing.
Maybe, all along, he was the one who needed a knight in shining armour.
As far as he was concerned, the cab couldn’t get him there fast enough.
‘Momma, your phone is buzzing.’
‘It’s okay, whoever it is can leave a message. Come over here and hold this for me, I want to twist the ivy around the frame.’
Poppy skipped over to help, putting her small fingers on the end of the strand while Juliet threaded the leaves through the wire. It was the third Christmas wreath they’d made so far today. They couldn’t go fast enough to keep up with orders, and if she was being honest it was a great excuse not to go home and think about things too much.
‘Is this the one for my classroom?’ Poppy asked, as Juliet tied the wire off and clipped the ends with her scissors.
‘That’s right. I’ll make a garland, too. We can deliver them on Friday, all ready to put up at the weekend.’
‘Mrs Mason is going to love it.’ Poppy’s face shone with pride. ‘I bet she’ll tell everybody my momma made them.’
Juliet smiled at her daughter. The guilt she’d been feeling for not helping decorate the classroom on Saturday disappeared. She was never going to win class mom of the year, but the fact she was still making her kid happy felt like enough.
‘I’m gonna head on home if that’s okay?’ Lily walked out of the back office, pulling a red woollen hat over her blonde bob. ‘I’ll start on the Devereaux order first thing tomorrow.’
‘Sounds perfect. Thanks for all your help today. I really appreciate you standing in for me.’
‘Any time. I was happy to help.’ Lily grabbed her purse from beneath the counter. ‘Those look great, by the way.’ She inclined her head at the wreaths. ‘I took orders for another ten this afternoon.’
‘Looks like it’s going to be a busy few weeks.’ Juliet couldn’t help but feel relieved. Her business was blooming, both literally and figuratively. It was a weight off her mind.
‘Well, don’t work too late. See ya later, Poppy.’
‘Bye, Lily.’ Poppy waved at her as Lily turned the sign on the door and then let herself out, flipping the lock behind her.
Juliet glanced at her watch. It was just gone five o’clock. Outside, darkness had already descended, lit only by the orange glow of the street lamps, and the strings of festive lights the bookshop across from hers had affixed to its windows. ‘Let’s finish this one up and then we’ll head out,’ she told Poppy. ‘Maybe we should stop at the diner for tea?’ She was still avoiding going home.
‘Can I have a hot dog?’ Poppy clapped her hands together. ‘And a chocolate sundae?’
‘Why not?’ Juliet ruffled her hair. ‘As long as you promise to clean your teeth really well tonight.’
Poppy nodded, her expression serious. ‘Of course I will. Teeth are very important. I’d look stupid without them.’
It was hard not to laugh. Juliet bit her lip to stop her chuckle from coming out. ‘That’s very true, sweetheart.’
It took them another half hour to finish up, and clear all the clippings away. Juliet checked the water levels in the pots of flowers before switching the main lights off and heading toward the alarm controls. ‘Have you got everything, honey?’ she asked her daughter. ‘Your bag and your colouring pencils?’
‘Yup.’
‘Okay, let’s go.’ She lifted her hand to key in the alarm when her phone buzzed again. She’d forgotten all about checking it for messages. Sighing, she pressed her thumb against the button to unlock it, and it sprang to life. As soon as the photograph of Poppy sticking her tongue out appeared on the screen the notifications started to flash across it. Texts and WhatsApps, emails and voicemails.
Her mouth went dry. Thomas had been bombarding her with messages ever since she left his estate, and she’d managed to ignore every one of them. If he wanted to talk to her, he could do it through their lawyers.
But this time the voicemail wasn’t from Thomas. Her pulse leapt when she saw it was from Ryan. From the timestamp, he must have left it just before he got on the plane to New York.
‘Momma, can we go now?’
‘Sure.’ She slid her phone back into her pocket. She’d save that particular piece of masochism for later. Her heart was already in pieces, no need to shatter it even more.
The diner was half-empty when they arrived, and they slid into a booth and gave the waitress their order. A hot dog and fries for Poppy, and a coffee and a salad for Juliet. She didn’t bother to order anything else, she’d only push it around the plate anyway. By the time they’d finished, and Juliet had laid down twenty dollars under the check, snow had begun to fall softly outside. Poppy ran out onto the deserted sidewalk, sliding on the wet concrete, and lifted her hand up to catch a flake.
‘Look at this!’ she squeaked with excitement. ‘I caught one, I caught one. Did you know they’re all different? Every single one of ’em. Mrs Mason told us.’ She held her hand out, and her face fell with disappointment. The flake had melted on impact with her warm palm. ‘Where’d it go?’
‘There’s plenty more to catch,’ Juliet pointed out. ‘Look, it’s still falling.’
‘But not that one. That one’s gone forever. I can’t ever get it back.’
Juliet searched her brain to find the right words to comfort her daughter. To explain that though each snowflake was special, they were just fleeting moments, frozen in time, impossible to capture. Things to be admired, not held.
Of course, that made her think of Ryan. He was so much more than a snowflake, and yet he was impossible to hold, too. A snapshot in time she could never recreate.
It made her shattered heart ache.
By the time they made it home, the merest dusting of white had settled on the driveway, crunching along with the gravel as they pulled up in front of the house. Juliet grabbed their bags, hurrying Poppy onto the steps. The air had taken on a distinct chill outside.
They were about to walk inside when she saw it. She leaned down to look closer, frowning as she picked it up from the doormat.
A yellow flower.
‘That’s pretty.’ Poppy reached out to touch the orange flared trumpet. ‘What is it?’
‘A daffodil.’ Juliet held it carefully by the long stem.
‘What’s it mean?’ Poppy was used to her telling the meaning of flowers. Red roses for passion, a white daisy for innocence.
‘It means rebirth and chivalry.’
‘What does that mean?’ Poppy’s teeth chattered as she asked. Realising how cold it was outside, Juliet quickly opened the door and ushered her inside.
She placed the flower gently on the hall table, careful not to bruise the petals. ‘It’s kind of old-fashioned. It’s the code people used to live by in the olden days. When beautiful maidens were wooed by wh
ite knights.’
Oh.
Oh.
She looked at the flower again. Her hand shook as she reached out to touch it.
‘Why was it on our porch?’
‘I don’t know. Maybe somebody left it there.’
‘But why?’ Poppy demanded.
Juliet said nothing, still staring at the daffodil. She was wondering exactly the same thing herself.
29
Sweet flowers are slow and weeds make haste
– Richard III
‘So what do you think it means?’ Juliet held her phone in her hand. Lucy’s face filled the screen. She was eating an early breakfast in her Edinburgh apartment. In Maryland it was the middle of the night, but Juliet hadn’t been able to sleep a wink.
‘I’ve no idea.’ Her sister laughed. ‘I’m a lawyer not a mind reader. What do you think it means?’
‘I don’t know,’ Juliet admitted. ‘I don’t even know if it’s Ryan who left the flower. All I know is he tried to call me this afternoon, and then when we got home this evening, I found the daffodil on the front step. Come on, Lucy, you’re good with this stuff. Tell me what to do.’
‘You’re asking me for advice about men?’ Lucy grinned. ‘After I did almost everything wrong in the early days with Lachlan? You’re asking the wrong person.’
‘But you’re the wisest woman I know.’
Lucy brushed her hair from her eyes, and took a sip of her coffee. ‘What did he say when you called him back?’
‘I haven’t called him back,’ Juliet admitted.
Lucy almost spat her coffee out. ‘Jeez, you’re right, you do need my advice. Rather than sit here all night speculating, why don’t you just call the man?’
‘What if it’s not him?’ Juliet asked. ‘What if he wants to say goodbye again and rub it in?’
‘Then you’ll know he isn’t the man for you.’
But he was. He was the man for her. He was the only man. The one she saw when she turned out the lights. The one who flickered through her thoughts in the morning before she even managed to untangle them.