by Cari Quinn
Only now the statue was a ghost of the man Shawn had been.
“I don’t know what to do,” Rachel said to Morgan as she chopped carrots in Shawn’s kitchen. She’d already prepared two appetizer platters for the small gathering they’d agreed to have after Elaina’s larger one at the mansion, and had just started a third. “He won’t talk to me. Or anyone else.”
“Rachel, he needs to grieve. You can’t force him out of that on your timetable.”
Her knife slipped out of her fingers. “My timetable?”
Morgan gave a dainty shrug that sent the diamond spheres at her ears twirling. She was dressed in sedate mourning black, her sunny hair pulled back in a chignon. But she’d still heaped on the glitters. “It’s only natural you’d want to enjoy the glow period of a new relationship.”
“New relationship? Are you frigging kidding me? The only thing new is throwing sex into the mix.” She tossed her fraying ponytail over one shoulder, her posture stiffening as she realized they were no longer alone.
Shawn was standing in the doorway, wearing his sweats and the same ripped T-shirt he’d slept in the night before. His hair wasn’t combed, and his jaw was dark with stubble. Worst of all, the telemarketer she’d tangled with on the phone that morning had shown more animation than she glimpsed in his eyes.
“You’re not dressed,” she said, ignoring the warning bells of alarm that dinged in her head. Why was he looking at her so coldly? She flipped through what she’d said but finding nothing he could object to, dismissed his expression as just more of the same.
When he didn’t respond, she took off her apron and set it aside. “The service is in ninety minutes.”
“I know when my father’s service is, Rachel.” He held up a hand, halting her approach with a thin smile that held no warmth whatsoever. “I appreciate your concern. Honestly, it’s nearly impossible to find a friend as…accommodating as you’ve been.”
“You can say that again.” Morgan leaned back against the granite island and bit into a zucchini wedge. “My friends probably won’t even be willing to move my furniture into that new town house I’ve been eyeing on Greenwood. Seeing as I’m pretty sure I’ll be out of a roommate soon…” Morgan broke off as she noticed both Shawn and Rachel staring at her. “Never mind. I’ll just leave you two alone.”
Once she’d gone, Rachel walked to the sink. Morgan’s departure only made the silence more deafening.
To give herself something to do, she soaked a paper towel in cold water and began scrubbing down the area around the chopping board. It didn’t need much cleaning, since she was a notoriously meticulous cook. “Are you mad at me?”
“Sorry to say, I don’t have any anger to spare at the moment.” He poked at the vegetables she’d fanned on a platter with dip. The gesture was so typically Shawn she didn’t have the heart to tell him to keep his paws off.
She wanted more than anything to go to him, to hold him so tight nothing could hurt him. Including her. As much as she’d tried to convince herself he didn’t blame her for what had happened with his father, she was beginning to wonder. After all, she was the sole cause of the rift between them. If it weren’t for the letter Shawn’s mother had given her yesterday, she’d probably still feel as if her actions had been mostly justified -- even though she would’ve given anything to change the last conversation she’d had with Dillon.
But that wasn’t possible, so for the time being, she’d pretend things were normal. “My parents called to see if I’d be riding with you,” she said. That she would be wasn’t even an issue, but the way things stood now, any conversational gambit was as good as the next.
“Go on with them.” He didn’t look at her, didn’t even turn his head. “I’m sure they’d appreciate it.”
She swallowed, trying to dispel the metallic taste of fear lingering in her mouth. “Don’t you want me with you?”
“We’ll see each other there.” He scratched his stomach idly, as if the matter couldn’t be less important. “I’m gonna take a shower. If you’re gone when I’m finished, I’ll see you at the mansion.”
“I’m speaking.”
He paused halfway out the door. Finally, she got a full, direct glance.
“At the service,” she added. She pushed her hair behind her ears, already rethinking the speech she’d scribbled on the back of an envelope in between cutting and dicing. Obviously her interpretation of their relationship didn’t match his anymore.
You drove a wedge between him and his dying father, for no good reason at all. What do you expect?
She forced the thought away. She’d address all of it after the service, if she didn’t throw up from nerves and grief first.
In the meantime, she was speaking to honor Dillon, not just because he was her lover’s father. Dillon had been like another one of her parents, and she owed him a huge debt of gratitude. A measly speech wouldn’t come close to demonstrating what he’d meant to her.
“You aren’t speaking,” she said, rather than the question she really wanted to ask. Why not?
“My mother is.” He started to leave. “That’s enough.”
“Shawn.” When he turned back, her thoughts tangled. So many things hesitated on the tip of her tongue, one most of all. But those three words wouldn’t come. “Your gray suit’s hanging on the closet door,” she said instead. “I ironed it, but if you don’t want to wear that one, I can hang around and --”
His lips twisted. It wasn’t a smile, but it was close. “Very wifely of you.”
Despite his mild tone, she cringed. She’d agonized over what she planned to say, crossed and rewritten the same few sentences a dozen times. In the end, she’d gone with her gut.
And her heart.
But that was before he’d acted as if it was perfectly rational for his girlfriend to accompany her parents to his father’s funeral. If she was even still his girlfriend.
“Hey, we all have talents.” She feigned a laugh as she felt the familiar pricking behind her eyes. “Mine just happen to revolve around domestic tasks.”
Since New York, she hadn’t cried once, thinking she needed to be strong for him. Instead they’d tiptoed around each other like zombies, rarely even mentioning what had happened.
Yeah, this love stuff was the ultimate, that was for sure. She could see why so many writers felt compelled to compose sonnets about the condition.
As the silence dragged again, she picked up her purse. Better if she left before the waterworks started, because there was no telling how long it would take to turn them off. “I’ll leave you to your shower.”
“Rachel.”
Holding her breath, she glanced at him.
“You have more talents than anyone I know. Including me.” For a moment, she saw her Shawn in his smile.
Then he was gone.
From the front left pew of Assumption Church, Shawn folded his hands and resisted glancing at his watch. The sooner this thing started, the sooner he’d be back on his sofa, beer in hand.
Tonight, he intended to get thoroughly plowed.
Beside him sat his mother, and beside her sat Alexis, Lee, and Morgan. Some time ago, Rachel had risen to confer with the officiating priest after a brief look in his direction.
Ascertaining he’d worn his assigned suit, probably.
He hadn’t been within the doors of this particular church since the last time death had come calling, when Rachel and Morgan’s grandmother had passed. She’d appeared to handle that better than he was handling his father’s death, but that wasn’t too surprising. They were expert compartmentalists after all. But for some reason, his surefire methods of pushing aside what he didn’t want to think about were failing in the face of this.
His father had been dead for over an hour when hotel security had come to tell him the news, and after those first shocked moments of rage, of disbelief, he’d gone cold inside. The only warmth had come from Rachel’s body moving with his last night, and even that had seemed as fleeting as her
distracted glance a few moments before.
She was slipping away from him too, before he’d ever truly had her. Just as his father had slipped away.
All he could do was watch them go.
His mother had reassured him his father had held no grudges. Dillon had understood Rachel resented any outside interference, no matter how well-meaning, just as he’d grasped the depth of his son’s feelings for her. But those words had been a shallow comfort as Shawn had stood in the rain at LAX watching his mother cry.
He’d made a choice, one that only now seemed as ridiculous as the situation it had arisen from. His father had done nothing but stand by him his entire life, but that hadn’t stopped Shawn from throwing him over to soothe the pique of a woman who’d yet to even choke out that she loved him.
His mother rubbed his hand. “Rachel requested to speak last.”
“I can’t wait to hear what she’ll have to say.”
As bitter and petty as it was, he almost wanted her to detail her reaction to his father’s phone call to the congregation. Not that that could justify his freezing out his parents’ every attempt to contact him, but maybe if someone else understood what occurred, he’d be able to unshoulder some of the guilt.
He didn’t blame her for anything that had happened. She’d had every right to go nuts over his father’s decrees, especially since neither of them had known Dillon’s health was failing. She also happened to be the love of his life. But he still wanted -- hell, needed -- to find a way to blame himself a little less.
“I think you’ll be pleasantly surprised.”
It took Shawn a moment to realize his mother was still speaking and another to puzzle out the wan smile she offered him. “You read it?”
“She wanted to run it by me first.” While Elaina dabbed at her tears with a handkerchief, she crossed and uncrossed her legs as if she couldn’t bear to keep still. “Her speech is the only good to come out of this awful day.”
“What’s she planning on saying?” he asked, catching the woman in question’s eye as she returned to her seat.
His mother’s little smile returned even as he and Rachel played you look away first across her lap. “You’ll see.”
He let out a breath. Great. More waiting. Whatever she had to say made his mother momentarily happy at least. What would really make her happy would be if Rachel finally admitted how she felt so the two of them could move toward the future. Hadn’t what happened shown her how precious time was? How there wasn’t any to waste? Yeah, something could go wrong. And it would if they turned their backs on the best thing that had ever happened to them.
He pulled his tie away from his throat. Suddenly it felt too tight. What the hell had he been thinking? He wasn’t letting her go. He couldn’t. Unless she told him they were through, he wouldn’t stop trying. One way or another he’d find a way to reach her, to prove how right they were together.
So much for getting plowed tonight. He still might later, but not until he’d laid his feelings on the line to Rachel -- again. His father had taught him to be tenacious about more than business, and he’d do whatever it took to ensure they didn’t waste the chance they’d been given.
And if his attempt didn’t work, there was always the six-pack.
The service started a few moments later, beginning with the usual complement of hymns and readings from the Bible. The casket was closed, per his father’s request, and the scent of the incense made his eyes water, as it always had since childhood. Every time someone went up to speak -- and there were a lot of someones, from colleagues to employees to Lee and Alexis, who went to the podium together -- he fastened his gaze on the plethora of flower arrangements in case someone tossed a questioning glance his way.
Just as Rachel had that morning.
He understood the looks. What kind of son didn’t speak at his own father’s funeral? Especially when that son was now at the helm of the huge corporation his father had built. The brunt of the responsibilities would be divided between him and his mother until she retired. Since she’d never shared the same passion for architecture as her husband and son, Shawn expected that time to arrive sooner rather than later.
He’d do right by his father’s company. He had to. But God, what he wouldn’t give to hear his dad’s hearty laugh just once more.
Consumed by his thoughts, Shawn didn’t notice Rachel had gone up to speak until he saw her standing at the lecturn. For the first time, he noticed the black dress she wore. If he wasn’t mistaken, it was the dress she’d worn the night of Stacia Winter’s party.
The night that had begun it all.
Her hands shook on the paper she unfolded and smoothed out carefully. The barest hint of a smile lifted his lips. Oh, how she hated wrinkles. In paper, in clothing.
In life.
Then her head rose, and she began to speak, her gaze latching onto Shawn’s as if her speech was for a room of exactly one.
“I debated speaking today, but not because I don’t have plenty to say on the subject of Dillon Griffin’s life. As many people here can attest, I’m rarely silent on most subjects.” A polite twitter swept around the church. “When he died, Dillon and I weren’t on speaking terms. Up until several days ago, I believed that to be squarely his fault. Since then, I’ve had plenty of time to think. Now I see it was mine.
“Growing up, I had two fathers. Two mothers. One pain-in-the-butt sister,” she shot a glance at the priest, but he inclined his head for her to continue, “and one brother. Or the closest thing, until I got a little older and understood it’s not right to feel for your brother what I feel for Shawn.”
More laughter erupted. Seemingly bolstered by it, she laid her hands flat on the podium and smiled. Right at him. For once, she seemed completely vulnerable. Totally bare. And she was letting him see her right down to the foundation, without any walls between them. “Sometimes when you’re a parent, your need to see your children happy can make you heedless of consequences. Or at least that’s what Dillon said in the letter he left for me, written shortly before his death.”
Shawn’s gaze whipped to his mother. “What letter?”
But she shook her head, inclining her chin toward Rachel much as the priest had done. “Listen.”
“He was a wonderful man, who adored his wife and son and his best friends, my parents. He also spent way too much time cheating my father out of pennies at poker.”
Of the three laughs she’d gotten thus far, that was the loudest.
“He loved his work and his company, and he strove to make that company the success it is today. I have no doubt Shawn and Elaina will carry on the family name brilliantly. If they don’t, well, I don’t want to be around when chains start rattling.” She didn’t bother glancing at the priest this time. “And Dillon loved my sister and I, as if we were his own. Just as we loved him.”
When she took a sharp breath, Shawn tensed. Here it comes.
“The biggest gift he gave me was his son, the man I love. For that gift, among many others, I’ll be eternally grateful.” Her voice lifted above the murmurs of conversation, even managing to rise above the rush of blood in Shawn’s head. “Dillon may be gone, but he’ll never be forgotten. All that’s left is to make him proud, and I’m going to try.”
She stepped off the podium and went straight to the priest, most likely to apologize, then took her seat with nary a glance in Shawn’s direction.
Typical. She could declare her love to him in front of a church full of people, but she couldn’t take the time to squeeze his hand.
Understandably, he didn’t hear much of the rest of the service, but he did make an effort to memorize the details for when his head was in a better place. Again and again, his gaze returned to the oil painting of his father propped on an easel beside the cherry casket. With each glance, a few more strands of the ragged knot in his gut unraveled.
It was going to be okay.
She didn’t expect him to seek her out right away. He had duties to see to. Obli
gations to fulfill.
Shawn’s word meant everything to him. As hers did to her.
Whether it took him fifteen minutes or fifteen days to come looking for her, it didn’t matter. Unless his feelings had changed drastically -- and from the fierce flare of emotion she’d seen on his face during her declaration, they hadn’t -- they’d be spending the rest of their lives together.
Or until he got sick of her antics and decided to cut bait, whichever came first.
Rachel withdrew a small tray of pills from her purse and set them beside her. Along with the declaration she’d made, she had a question to ask. Hopefully his answer would dovetail nicely with her other, spur-of-the-moment, going-with-her-gut decision.
When Shawn came upon her sitting at the back of the church, she realized the place had emptied except for the two of them. “Everyone’s already left for the cemetery?” she asked, then shook her head.
Of course they had. Why had she asked that?
“Yeah. We just finished loading the casket into the car.” Though he inhaled a deep breath, just the angle of his head revealed his spirits were higher than they’d been since their return from New York. “I have a few minutes before I have to follow.”
He nudged her aside and sat at the end of the pew. For a moment, they didn’t speak. Then they both began to talk at once.
“I have the letters --”
“I appreciate what you said, and I know you were trying to make my mother feel better but --”
She blinked when Shawn abruptly cut himself off. “You better be referring to the bulk of my speech, Griffin, and not one particular part, or I may be tempted to deck you in the house of the Lord.”
Much to her relief, his lips twitched. “What did the other letter say?”
“Good save.” She snatched her purse and pulled out the two envelopes she’d tucked inside. “Your mother gave me mine first because she thought I needed to understand more than you did. And she was right, so don’t be mad at her.” She tapped the envelopes against his chest when he made no move to take them. “Don’t you want to read yours?”