by Ginny Baird
“Yeah.” For a melancholy moment, Tara thought of Lyle. That made her think of Savannah, and Heath. She choked back a sob and pretended to be fussing with a cardboard stand exhibiting new book arrivals, but Jeannie read her.
“It’s okay to change your mind, you know?” she said softly. “Christmas is the season for forgiving.”
“Some things are easier to forgive than others,” Tara said weakly.
Jeannie frowned in understanding. “I know.”
“So will you help me?” Tara asked, changing the subject. “Help me donate this ridiculous mess of flowers to a good cause? Your car is bigger than mine. I thought between the two of us…?”
Jeannie beamed brightly. “You know I will.”
****
After making the retirement home flower delivery on Christmas Eve, Tara returned to her shop to lock things up for the holiday. She told Jeannie she had a few final receipts to run in order to close out the books, but the truth was Tara simply wanted to be alone with her thoughts before meeting her dad for seven o’clock church. They’d planned to attend the service together and then have chili at her place. The next day, she’d have Christmas dinner at her dad’s house, as always. Though, given all that had happened this month, their celebration promised to be a little less cheery than in years past.
Tara walked morosely around her store, thinking how much she was going to miss it. The amply sized rooms in the old house had high ceilings, and a large open area near the entrance, which served as the storefront. Two smaller rooms in the back, which had once functioned as bedrooms, were now dedicated reading areas with comfy couches and chairs. Jeannie always kept coffee going on a table in one of them, and typically brought in fresh baked goods to share. Tara enjoyed running the kind of store where people didn’t just shop—they lingered. Because it was a warm, friendly space dedicated to such high ideals: romance and love.
She paused by the register, eying the stack of cards from Heath, and her heart sank. He obviously was sorry for what he’d done, but—in this case—could sorry be enough? Just look at her dad and the unwelcomed changes to his life this bank takeover would bring. And, one of the worst parts about it was the way Heath had deceived her. If only he’d told her the truth from the beginning…
Tara’s face flushed hot when she realized where that would have led. If Heath had let on about Wellington International’s acquisition sooner, she likely would have cut their relationship off then. Perhaps that would have been better. That way, Tara wouldn’t have been made to suffer so much. Just looking around this empty room and recalling the number of flowers that had been here, Tara understood that Heath was hurting, as well. He clearly wouldn’t have gone to so much trouble, if he wasn’t equally devastated by their breakup. Unless this was simply an ego thing, and Heath was the sort of man who couldn’t stand it when he didn’t win.
Tara recalled the tender look in Heath’s eyes the moment he’d first told her he loved her, and found it hard to believe him capable of being so calculating. And yet, he had calculated. He’d made a conscious choice not to inform her, or her father, about what was going to happen to North Shore Central. Even if Heath couldn’t have changed the outcome, he might have done the humane thing by trying to prepare her, and most especially her father, for the inevitable.
She sighed heavily and sat on the stool behind the counter, recalling Jeannie’s words. Perhaps Christmas was a time of charity, but she wasn’t quite sure she could muster any for Heath. There was one thing she could bring herself to do at least. She’d read through his cards.
Chapter Nineteen
“What’s wrong, child? My Christmas ham’s no good this year?”
Tara poked disconsolately at her food, feeling a heavy weight in her stomach. She was anything but hungry. In fact her throat seemed swollen shut. She tried to force a small swallow of water down it, struggling with the effort. “I’m sorry, Dad. I just don’t have much of an appetite today.”
“This is about that banker, isn’t it? Heath Wellington?”
“I’m so sorry about what he did to you,” she said, her voice cracking. “It was awful, unforgive—”
“Wasn’t him,” Richard said, taking a forkful of scalloped potatoes.
“What?”
“Found out through the grapevine that old man Tucker helped orchestrate the whole thing.”
“Mr. Tucker? But, why? Wasn’t he the branch manager be—?” Tara’s words fell off as she put the scenario together. She gaped in incredulity. “You mean, he stepped down on purpose and let you take his job, because he knew the existing management was being replaced?”
“Sly as a fox, that one,” Richard said, gesturing with his fork. “A crooked one, that is.”
“What a horrible, self-serving—”
“I know, lass. But what’s a man to do?” Her dad shrugged halfheartedly. “I’ve decided I’m better off without those Wellington people.” He set down his fork to study her. “But now…I’m not so sure about you.”
“What on earth are you talking about?” Tara asked, perplexed.
“That ex-fellow of yours called me.”
He didn’t. Couldn’t have… “Heath?” Tara asked, aghast. “And you took the call?”
“I at least gave the man a listen,” Richard responded. “Which was apparently more than you were willing to do.”
Tara’s head spun from this turn of events. Heath had talked to her dad? When? Why?
“I told him not to worry too much about it. That’s how you are: headstrong. Your mother was like that, too. Never listened to a word I said.” He slowly lifted his wineglass. “I suppose I wasn’t too great at listening, either.”
Tara was stunned by her dad’s mention of his former wife, since he seldom brought her up in conversation. He went on, “Heath got me thinking about Sophia and what went wrong, all that time ago.”
She sat there in shocked silence as he continued.
“I always blamed her for leaving me, you know that.”
“It was us, Dad. She left both of us.”
“Yes, and that part was wrong.” He fondly patted Tara’s hand. “A parent should never abandon a child, but your mom, you see, wasn’t much more than a child herself. Only twenty-three. You were two years old, so you barely knew her, and that’s too bad. She was a fiery woman, she was. Beautiful to look at and with a very strong spirit.”
Tara swallowed past the lump in her throat.
“You look a lot like her, you know.” His dark eyes glistened. “I like to think you got all the best parts, of me and Sophia together. But it seems you got a negative aspect, too. Stubbornness.”
“Dad—”
He raised his hand to stop her. “I’m not trying to admonish you as much as myself. What I’m saying is that I started thinking about Sophia, and how she left. In some ways I think she wanted me to go after her, but I didn’t.”
His forthrightness touched Tara to her soul. “Why not?” she asked softly.
Richard hung his head in shame. “I suppose I was afraid. Scared she would reject me a second time. But, in looking back, I’m not so sure that she would have. She wanted me to stand up for us, and to fight for the love we had. Because—I’ve never told you this, Tara, but it’s true—Sophia and I did have it. We loved each other deeply once upon a time.”
“What happened?”
“I became preoccupied with work, I suppose. Spent more time reading the paper than holding her hand. She was tired after long days of being a housewife, and, at a very young age, I became a grouchy old man. I’m not proud of that, and I’ve never admitted it to anyone until now. I’ve only recently admitted it to myself. But, when your mother left, it wasn’t entirely her fault. I was partially to blame.”
He reached out and latched onto Tara’s arm. “But not for her leaving you, child. She should never have done that. Yet, her mistake has been my greatest blessing.”
Tara felt moisture on her cheeks and she realized she was crying. “Thanks, Dad. You�
��ve been a blessing to me, too. I never could have made it without you.”
“No,” he said tenderly. “But I think now my turn is done.” He folded his napkin and set it down on the table.
“What are you saying?”
“Don’t let something good get away from you just because you’re afraid… In this life, you have to work for the things that are worth holding onto. You can’t expect them to come easy.”
Heat burned in Tara’s eyes.
“Heath said he sent you flowers and more than a dozen notes.” His face was awash with compassion as his brow rose. “Did you read any of them?”
Tara nodded numbly, because she had read them all, and she’d cherished every word. She hadn’t wanted her heart to open back up, but it had…little by little, like a rosebud blooming beneath the sun. Heath had profusely apologized and professed his love. He’d also done something else. He’d begged her to give him one more chance.
“What did he say?”
“He asked me to meet him halfway.”
“That wasn’t figurative, I suspect. He meant in New York City.”
She sucked in a breath. “Heath told you?”
“He only said where, not when?”
“Today at five o’clock.”
Richard checked his watch, seeing it was just after one.
“Well? What are ya waiting for, lass? You’d better get a move on!”
Tara’s pulse pounded, as heat flooded her face. She’d be a fool to let Heath get away, and she knew it. He’d tried over and over again to make amends and Tara had selfishly turned a deaf ear. It took two to make a relationship work, but only one to sustain a fight.
She’d let her pride and her pigheadedness blind her to the fact that Heath really loved her, and that there might be more to his story than she believed. Given what they’d had, and everything she’d felt for Heath, didn’t Tara at least owe him the chance to explain? She stared worriedly at her father, fearing it might already be too late.
“Even if I left right now, I’d never make it in time. I don’t have airline reservations.”
Richard’s dark eyes sparkled. “My friend Martin has a private plane.”
Tara knew Martin didn’t own it; he piloted it for a wealthy Boston family with a vacation home in Beaumont. “It’s not his plane, Dad.”
“No, but he asked the missus and she said of course he could borrow it for such an important mission. As long as he pays for the petrol… I offered to cover it with money from my savings. And, Martin is on standby, just waiting for my call.” Richard grinned warmly. “Merry Christmas, sweetheart.”
Tara leapt to her feet and hugged him. “You did all that for me? But why?”
Richard patted the arms she’d looped around his neck. “Because, my girl, I love you more than life itself.” Then he added with a wink, “And I’ve got a suspicion that a certain Savannah banker loves you, too.”
Tara now trusted implicitly that Heath did. What’s more, she held the certain conviction that she loved Heath back—with her whole heart. There had to be a way to compromise! Isn’t that what Heath was asking her to do? Meet him in the middle? Accept his gesture by extending her hand?
There was obviously more to the bank deal than she grasped. If her father could be reasonable about understanding, then she should be, too. She couldn’t wait to see Heath and hear what he had to say. But mostly, she ached to wrap her arms around him and apologize.
Tara stood abruptly, bringing a hand to her forehead. “Oh my gosh! I don’t have a thing to wear!”
Her dad surveyed her jeans, sweater, and boots. “What you’ve got on looks just fine!”
Tara’s nerves were on edge and her heart raced wildly, but yes, she wanted to do it. She was ready to take this chance and see where it went. She stared back at her father, uncertainly, waiting for him to change his mind.
Instead, he prodded her along with a push of his hands. “Go! Go! I’ll call Martin when you leave. He said he’d meet you at the airfield. And, don’t forget your coat!” he called, when she was nearly to the door.
“What about the snow?”
“Lucky for you, there’s been a break in the storm.” Richard’s dark eyes twinkled. “Seems like Santa is on your side.”
Chapter Twenty
Heath stood at the Manhattan entrance to the Brooklyn Bridge as winds ripped across the water. It was a pretty time of day and foot traffic was heavier than he expected, with large groups of pedestrians out for holiday strolls. A heavy mist lifted off the East River as evening fell and twinkling city lights illuminated the night sky. The views of both Brooklyn and Manhattan were stunning with the Statue of Liberty lording over the landscape. Heath hoped he hadn’t made a mistake in issuing an ultimatum. Then again, he’d have to man up and face the music sometime. If he didn’t hear from Tara today, that meant things were over. He’d promised to never contact her again.
Since she hadn’t replied to any of his voicemails or text messages, and had completely ignored his flower deliveries, Heath had a hard time remaining optimistic. Yet, Richard—of all people—had urged him not to give up trying. The last person on earth Heath had anticipated as an ally was Tara’s father. The older man had warmed to Heath once he understood Heath’s intentions were sincere. Remarkably, he’d also believed Heath about the bank takeover situation, and said he was mature enough not to take things personally.
When Heath had filled Richard in on his plans for developing a charitable organization run by displaced bank workers, Richard had become even more animated. He liked people who could think on their feet, and appreciated that Heath didn’t accept the status quo—he looked for innovative solutions. Richard was particularly intrigued by Heath’s proposal that Richard move to Savannah to help spearhead the new project. He’d be in management then for sure. Richard also claimed he’d long been interested in moving to a southern climate, but that he’d never been able to consider it out of fear of abandoning Tara.
Heath anxiously checked his watch again, seeing it was five minutes past the hour. Perhaps Tara was running late, or her train—or cab—had been delayed. He shifted on his feet, bracing himself against the cold. It was below freezing tonight and predicted to snow soon.
He’d booked hotel rooms for him and Tara at the same place where they’d stayed when they’d first met. Two of them, just in case things didn’t go as anticipated. Winds gusted and Heath shivered, thinking he really didn’t know what to expect. Mostly, he just hoped that Tara would show. Heath had a plan, of course. But, just like during their very first date, so much depended on Tara to set their course.
****
Tara raced up the stone staircase leading to the Brooklyn Bridge. Since Heath had said to meet him at the entrance, she didn’t want to stray too far away. Chilly winds tore off the East River, but the cheery pedestrians crossing the bridge scarcely seemed to notice. Some traveled in large groups, others in pairs, pausing periodically to snap photos, or marvel at the number of padlocks previous passersby had attached to the bridge’s various abutments and suspension wires, as a way of memorializing their visit or perhaps paying tribute to somebody special.
She scanned the crowd, but there was no one resembling Heath in sight. With his solid build and that easy gait, she’d recognize him in an instant. Tara caught her breath and checked the time on her phone, seeing it was seven minutes past the hour. Surely, he would have waited at least ten minutes past five, anticipating her arrival? Her heart beat harder and her panic increased. What if he didn’t wait? What if he thought she’d stood him up, and had taken off?
No, that didn’t make sense, Tara reasoned. Heath was a seasoned business professional, accustomed to waiting things out.
He’d grant me at least fifteen minutes…
Sweat beaded her brow.
Wouldn’t he?
Maybe she was merely being paranoid, and Heath was the one running late. Yes, that could be it exactly.
Tara held on to that hope until five-fifteen.
****
Heath’s spirits plummeted as the minutes ticked on. Perhaps he’d been deluded to think Tara would meet him here. Maybe it was his fault for not paying for her ticket? But, no, that couldn’t be it. He had to believe that Tara would come of her own accord. That she would deem the journey worth it. For he did, with his entire heart and soul, and he’d laid them both on the line. Heath began to pace back and forth by the bridge entryway.
He could call, but she might not answer.
Text, but she wouldn’t reply.
His phone buzzed in his coat pocket and Heath’s heart stilled. He couldn’t bear to hope…was scared to look…but he had to, willing it was her with every fiber of his being.
Where are you?
It was a text from Tara!
Heath drew in a deep breath and replied quickly.
Here! On the Brooklyn Bridge.
An alert sounded seconds later.
I can’t see you?
Heath anxiously glanced around, surveying the individual faces. He couldn’t see Tara, either.
Where are you?
On the bridge! In Brooklyn!
Brooklyn? In that split second Heath knew. Tara was on the opposite end of the bridge. When he’d said to meet him on the Brooklyn Bridge, she must have assumed he’d meant on that city’s side.
I’m in Manhattan.
Heath berated himself for his tactical error in not giving clearer instructions. There was only one thing to do. He rapidly texted again and apparently Tara must have done the same. Her identical message crossed airspace with his.