The Color of a Promise (The Color of Heaven Series Book 11)

by Julianne MacLean

  At the same time, I had to question why I was having these thoughts today, when there were so many other things on my mind, crash-related.

  But of course, I knew the answer. This was Jack’s fault. Just because I knew how to detach emotionally when it counted, didn’t mean I couldn’t recognize what was causing this disruption in me. I felt passion and excitement for the first time in years—I felt alive—and suddenly it seemed like such a waste, not to feel this kind of passion with the boyfriend I was spending my life with.

  Life was short and oh, so fragile. I was squandering it. So was he.

  And really…boyfriend? What a childish word to describe our relationship when we were both in our early thirties and had been together for nine years.

  “Can I ask you something else?” I said, tilting my head back to look up at the stars again.

  “Sure.” I heard the microwave door open and close as Malcolm withdrew his Pad Thai. I imagined him carrying it to the kitchen table with oven mitts, getting ready to tell me that he’d talk to me tomorrow, so that he could eat his supper while it was still hot.

  “Why don’t we ever talk about marriage?” I asked. “Is it not something you want?”

  Malcolm was silent for a few seconds. “Is it something you want? I didn’t think so. You’ve always said you were married to your job.”

  I let out a heavy sigh, because I had indeed said that, once. And it wasn’t as if my womb was suddenly aching for a baby tomorrow, or that I wanted to move to the suburbs and get a house with a white picket fence, and become a happy housewife and soccer mom.

  But if I ever wanted children—eventually—I couldn’t continue to coast along this current path of status quo. There was a biological clock to consider. I was nothing, if not scientific and practical.

  “I did say that,” I replied, “but I was younger then.” I wandered around to the side of the hangar where there was a patch of grass overcome by dandelions that had gone to seed.

  “What are you saying, Meg? That you want to get married?”

  “Do you?” I asked, knowing it was a very dangerous question, because what if he said yes? I already knew that a wedding with Malcolm was not what I wanted.

  He didn’t, of course, say yes—which was why I’d felt safe asking. I knew.

  “I can’t imagine how we’d make that work,” he replied with a hint of humor, obviously trying to steer this conversation away from where it was heading. “You’re always on the road, Meg, and I’m always in the OR. One of us would have to give up something, and we both love our jobs.”

  Love?

  No, I didn’t love my job. It made me throw up. But for some reason, I was compelled to keep doing it. Every day, I had to force myself to be strong, to find a way to get through it.

  I almost said “Maybe I want to give this up” but I held my tongue, because I didn’t want Malcolm to think I was pushing for him to propose to me, because that wasn’t what I wanted from this conversation.

  “You’re right,” I calmly said. “It’s true. We care more about our jobs than we do about each other.”

  “Well, I wouldn’t put it that way,” he replied.

  I closed my eyes and breathed the cool night air. “I would. But it’s okay, Malcolm. I’m not mad about it.”

  He was silent. In shock, probably.

  “What are you trying to say?” he finally asked.

  I began to stroll back around to the front of the hangar, where people were coming and going and phones were ringing, even at this late hour. “That I think it’s time we take a long hard look at our relationship and decide if it’s worth continuing.”

  I heard the sound of his fork clinking against the plate. “I don’t understand. What’s going on? Everything was fine the last time you were here.”

  “Yes, it was,” I agreed. “But I want more than fine, Malcolm. I want to feel joy and excitement. I want to have a life outside of my work…maybe take vacations and travel. I want to feel grateful to be alive. Shouldn’t we all feel grateful? Shouldn’t we be in awe?”

  “In awe of what?” he asked with a note of impatience.

  “Of life!” I shouted. “Of this beautiful world! God, I’m surrounded by tragedy all the time. I want to be able to celebrate the good stuff, because I know it’s out there. I need to see it. Experience it.”

  I heard nothing but the sound of his fork clinking against his plate.

  “I’m surprised to hear you saying all this right now,” Malcolm finally said in a quiet voice that sounded almost disappointed. “You’re always so…intense when you start a new investigation. You don’t want to talk to me. That’s why I give you space. I just wait until you come around and want to visit again.”

  I thought about that, and couldn’t argue with him. It was how we always were. We backed off when the other was immersed in work. And it wasn’t just me. It was a two-way street because I backed off plenty of times for him, too.

  In that way, we’d seemed like the perfect match, but maybe it wasn’t healthy for me to be with someone exactly like me. Maybe I should be with someone who wouldn’t allow me to disappear into my work. Someone who would remind me that there is more to life than plane crashes and tragedy.

  “Maybe space isn’t what I need,” I said. “Maybe I need to feel some…connection.”

  “You don’t feel that with me?” he asked, matter-of-factly, as if he were gathering information on a chart.

  “Not really,” I gently replied. “I usually feel like you’re too busy or pre-occupied, so I don’t push to get close.”

  “You can always talk to me,” he said flatly.

  “I’m talking to you now.”

  I don’t know what I expected from him in that moment, or what I wanted him to say. Was it even possible to build a soulful connection to Malcolm when I’d never felt it before? Would he suddenly step up and…do what? Hop on a plane and fly here immediately to hold me in his arms and say that he wanted more out of life, too?

  No. Malcolm would never do that. He was content with things the way they were, and he had never been a terribly introspective person. He was a man of science. Soulful connections had no meaning for him.

  Neither of us spoke for an excruciating moment. I looked in at the steady activity in the hangar where everyone was working hard to gather all the evidence from this disaster and try to make sense of it.

  “Well, I’m not sure what to say to you,” Malcolm replied at last. “It kind of feels like you’re telling me that you’re not happy with what we have.”

  I spoke gently. “It’s been good all these years. I just feel like I need something more.”

  “Like what? Do you want to go on a cruise or something? Is that what you’re saying?”

  He truly had no idea what I was talking about, and I was quite certain there was no way to make him understand.

  “I don’t know,” I replied, giving up the effort.

  “I don’t want to lose you, Meg.”

  “Why not?” I asked. “Do you believe you couldn’t live without me? Because I don’t think that’s the case. I think you’d get over me pretty quickly and maybe meet someone else who makes you feel—I don’t know—more than what you feel with me. Maybe we both need to broaden our horizons.”

  There was another pause. “Why now?”

  I considered that for a moment. “I don’t know. Maybe it’s something about this crash. It’s hitting me harder than others. It’s making me think about life. I think we all need to make the most of it while we’re here.”

  Again, we were silent for a long time, neither of us wanting to hang up, because that would feel very final.

  It was a fellow NTSB worker who helped me over that hurdle. She was a young summer student, like I had been once. She walked toward me uncertainly.

  “Can I ask you a question?” she whispered with a grimace, not wanting to interrupt my call.

  I nodded at her and said to Malcolm, “I’m sorry but I have to go. Let’s talk again tom
orrow, okay?”

  He agreed, and I ended the call, dealt with the question and returned to work.

  By the time I arrived back at the hotel, it was past midnight and I was exhausted, both physically and mentally. All I wanted to do was curl up in a ball and go straight to bed, but as soon as I changed into my pajamas—which consisted of a tank top and loose bottoms—a text came in.

  At first I thought it was Malcolm, wanting to fix what was broken between us. But it wasn’t Malcolm. It was Jack.

  I sat down on the edge of the bed and read: Hey, are you done for the day? Feel like talking?

  My thumbs worked swiftly across the screen as I typed my reply: I just got in a few minutes ago, and yes I do feel like talking. Call me?

  Seven seconds later, my phone rang.

  Chapter Thirty-two

  “It’s good to hear your voice right now,” I softly said, which was an incredibly intimate greeting, and hardly appropriate, considering he was a professional acquaintance and I was still in a relationship with Malcolm.

  Sort of.

  “It’s good to hear yours, too,” Jack replied, his voice husky and low. “I thought about you a lot today.”

  My heart began to pound like a piston because I didn’t know where this was heading. All I knew was that I felt something intense for Jack Peterson, and I didn’t want to simply let it pass me by. I was tired of being disengaged.

  “Did you make any progress at the hangar today?” he asked.

  “A bit,” I replied. “We should be able to start the reconstruction fairly soon. And I told Gary about the Arizona crash and the connection to Reg Harrison’s oxygen company in Switzerland. The FBI is looking into all his business affairs, and my team at the airport has been going over everything that was loaded into the cargo hold with a fine tooth comb. So far, though, there’s no record of any shipments from Oxy-GeoTech.”

  “That’s good, I guess. Although it doesn’t get you any closer to the answers.” He paused. “You sound tired, Meg. Are you doing okay?”

  Sliding my body up the length of the mattress to rest my head on the pillows, I crossed my legs at the ankles and fiddled with the red draw-string on my floral pajama bottoms. “I’m all right, considering I pretty much broke up with Malcolm tonight.”

  There was a long pause on the other end of the line while I waited for Jack to respond.

  “Really,” he said at last. “What happened?”

  As I twirled the string around my finger, I found myself wanting to confess my innermost feelings to him.

  “Nothing, really, which has been the problem for a while now—the fact that we both feel completely indifferent about our relationship. It’s not like we had a big fight or anything, and I don’t even know what sparked the conversation.”

  I sat up straighter on the bed and continued. “Maybe it’s because of what you and I talked about the other day—about taking vacations. It made me re-evaluate a few things. Or maybe it’s all the crashes I’ve been working on over the past decade, finally pushing me over the edge, making me realize how fragile life is. Either way, when I tried to talk to Malcolm about it, he just didn’t get it. He doesn’t think anything’s wrong with what we have. He’s happy with his life, just the way it is, and how I fit into it—which is in a very limited way.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that,” Jack said. “So are you officially broken up?”

  I pursed my lips, thinking about it. In my heart, it was over for me—I suppose it had been over for a long time—but I hadn’t been completely clear about that with Malcolm. I just hadn’t been able to bring myself to blindside him with a sudden break-up he never saw coming.

  “Not yet,” I replied. “I suggested we talk about it again tomorrow, but I don’t think anything will change. At least not on my end.”

  “You never know,” Jack replied. “He might realize what he’s about to lose, then panic, and decide to do whatever it takes to hold on to you. God knows, that’s what I would do.”

  I felt a warm glow blossom inside of me. “That’s sweet, Jack. But he’s not like you. Honestly, I don’t think it will make much difference to him if I’m not a part of his life anymore. I can’t imagine him being heartbroken over it. He’s the least romantic person I know. He’s not the type to fly here with a bouquet of flowers and try to change my mind. He’s too consumed by his work.”

  “Maybe he’ll surprise you.”

  I slumped down on the pillows. “Maybe.”

  But I didn’t believe he would.

  Jack was quiet for a moment. “Maybe this is selfish of me, but I hope he doesn’t surprise you.”

  The very air around me felt electrified as I pondered his words. My insides jangled with excitement.

  “I know it’s late,” Jack added, “but do you want to get a drink and talk some more? I could meet you in the hotel bar.”

  I rolled onto my side and cradled the phone against my cheek. “Part of me wants to say yes, because I’d really love to see you right now and pour out my heart and soul. But I’m still with Malcolm, officially. I don’t want to do anything that might make me feel like I’m being unfaithful—even though it’s over between us, and I’m sure he knows it. Besides, I’m about to nod off. It was a stressful day.”

  Jack replied in a quiet, genuine voice. “I understand. So I guess that means it’s too soon for me to ask you out on a proper date?”

  I chuckled softly. “A little too soon, yes. But please keep it in mind.”

  “When might be a good time?” he asked. “How long are we talking about here? Days? Weeks? I’d just like to have a ballpark figure so I can plan accordingly.”

  I laughed again, very softly into the phone. “I’m not sure. I still need to talk this through with Malcolm, and make sure he understands that there’s no future.”

  “Okay,” Jack calmly replied. “And no pressure, but Meg…I want you to know that…I don’t know what’s going on here between us, but I can’t get you out of my head. It’s making me crazy. I’ll go nuts if I can’t see you again, very soon.”

  There was something seductive in the deep timbre of his voice, and it sent my pulse into overdrive. Liquid heat flooded my body and I felt restless. I wanted to get up off the bed and dance around the hotel room.

  I closed my eyes, bit my lower lip, and spoke breathlessly. “I feel the same way. Whenever I see you, I feel completely…”

  He waited for me to finish, but I was too shy to be honest with him. Too reserved to tell him that all I wanted to do was tackle him and rip off all his clothes, hold him down and kiss him hard.

  When was the last time I’d felt anything as wild as that?

  But of course, how could I forget? Back in college, I’d fallen for a bad boy and went through a phase that hadn’t ended well, but at least it taught me a few lessons. That’s how I ended up with Malcolm, who was the exact opposite of Kyle—mature, responsible, but without any zest for life.

  Surely, there had to be a happy medium in there somewhere.

  “I think I might have a bit of a crush on you,” I told Jack, knowing I had to finish what I’d begun.

  “I’m glad,” he replied in that low, quiet voice that gave me goose bumps, “because I have a crush on you, too.”

  A siren wailed somewhere in the city, reminding me where I was and why I was there. Despite all my preaching to Malcolm a few short hours ago—about wanting to take time to enjoy life—I couldn’t simply forget about my job either. I needed to know what caused this crash. Tomorrow, I would be in the meeting room at 7:00 a.m. to take part in a morning briefing with Gary and the rest of the team. I couldn’t be distracted.

  Rolling onto my back, I covered my eyes with my hand and inhaled deeply.

  “I can feel a ‘but’ coming on,” Jack said, and I began to believe that he actually could read my mind.

  “It’s a timing thing,” I said with a heavy note of regret. “And it’s not just because of Malcolm. It’s the investigation. I don’t want to drop the ball
right now. I need to stay focused. See it through. You get that, right?”

  Was I insane? Jack Peterson just told me that he had a crush on me, and I was basically telling him to back off. Had I learned nothing?

  “Let’s just take it slow,” I added, mentally kicking myself in the pants. “Give me a few days, okay?”

  “Days,” Jack replied, sounding relieved. “Sure. I can wait a few days. But I have to fly back to New York at the end of the week. When will you be going back to Washington?”

  “I don’t know,” I replied. “I could be here for weeks if we don’t find answers right away. But I don’t want to wait that long to see you again.”

  There. I wasn’t a total lost cause. At least I had the sense not to let myself screw this up completely.

  Nor did I want to keep living like I had been living. I wanted more out of life, and in particular, I wanted to be with Jack and see if this connection I felt was as meaningful as it seemed.

  Because it did feel meaningful, which said a lot, coming from me. I was a crash investigator and concrete evidence was everything. We never made assumptions or formed conclusions based on a hunch or a “feeling.”

  Yet tonight, I felt as if all the moments of my life had brought me to this place, to meet Jack Peterson under these exact circumstances—and I had no explanation for it. There was nothing the least bit concrete about what I was feeling.

  “Let’s have dinner before you leave,” I said. “I’ll find a way to take a few hours off.”

  “My flight leaves Sunday morning,” he told me. “How about Saturday night?”

  “Yes.”

  It was 1:00 in the morning, and I couldn’t stifle a yawn.

  “Meg,” Jack said, “you should get some sleep. I’ll call you on Saturday and we’ll talk more then.” He paused. “There’s actually…something else I want to discuss with you.”

  “What is it?” I asked, sitting up on the bed because I could tell by the tone of his voice that it was important. More information about the crash, perhaps?

  “I don’t want to get into it now,” he said. “You’re tired.”