by Dawn Douglas
“Zeldie, thanks for listening to me this morning,” he said.
She nodded, swallowing convulsively.
“I’ve never shared any of that before. I wanted you to understand.”
“I think I do,” she whispered.
“I wish I could tell you how much these past few weeks have meant to me...” he faltered.
Suddenly she moved away from him, untying her apron. “I have to go out.”
“Right now?”
“Yes. Bernard has a recipe for elderberry wine he wants to share with me.”
She hurried out of the kitchen, and a few moments later Dan heard the front door close. He watched her cross the backyard, her hands rammed deep into the pockets of her jacket, her expression pensive, and he wondered if something was wrong. She opened the gate and saw him watching when she turned to latch it. Dan lifted his hand in a wave, and when she smiled and waved back, he knew everything was going to be okay.
Chapter Thirteen
She hadn’t thought she’d be this rattled with nerves. Zelda looked out at the sea of toddlers, expectant and cranky as they waited to be entertained, and her stomach flip-flopped.
“Good morning, everyone.” Her voice wobbled.
Behind the crowd of mothers and tots, Mark grinned and gave her a thumbs-up sign.
With a trembling hand she reached for Three Naughty Chickens, one of the books selected for this morning’s story time. The other book, Mr. Wolf Saves the Day, fell to the floor with a loud clatter.
“Oops!” Mark approached and picked it up, his smile reassuring.
Why couldn’t she love him?
Somehow, Zelda managed to read the stories, eliciting giggles and shrieks as she clucked like a chicken and growled like Mr. Wolf. She smiled, in spite of her broken heart.
When story time ended, she left the library and made her way to Bagley’s tiny teashop and ordered some tea and a cheese sandwich. The place had a Wi-Fi connection, and she’d planned to switch on her laptop and look for job opportunities in Denver. Instead she sat numbly watching the world go by.
She was a complete idiot.
She’d actually considered herself and Dan a couple and hoped they just might have some sort of future, even though he never mentioned the months or years ahead, even though he’d never taken off his gold wedding band, even though he’d never said he loved her. Yesterday morning on the beach all her hopes had been laid to rest.
Oh, she knew Dan cared for her—she’d shown him that he could live and love again, have a life filled with joy instead of darkness. She thought the purpose of his talk yesterday had been to make her understand everything Faith had meant to him, that she could never replace the wife he’d loved so much.
Feeling slightly sick, she discarded the remains of her sandwich and wearily left the tea shop. This wasn’t his fault. She was the one who’d wanted more than friendship. Now she had no idea what to do next. She was so in love it was a physical ache.
Zelda unlocked the front door of the cottage and let herself in. She unwound her scarf and tugged off her jacket, then froze in the doorway to the living room. Dan was seated on the couch with Poppy, their heads close together as they pored over the pages of a large album.
Poppy’s hair was a cascade of honey-colored tendrils, Dan’s was black and slightly shaggy. The contrast between them was perfect. They were perfect. Poppy was petite and feminine, and Dan looked as if he’d been made to protect her.
Suddenly, at the same moment, they looked up and saw her.
Dan’s face melted into a big grin. “Hi, how did story time go?”
Zelda cleared her throat. “It went fine.”
He turned to Poppy. “This morning was Zelda’s first time reading at the library. She’s a volunteer storyteller.”
“Wow. That’s, that’s great.” Poppy looked distinctly unimpressed. “I just popped in to give Dan some photos of himself and Faith. I hope that’s okay?”
“Of course,” Zelda said lightly. “I’ll leave you to it.”
“You don’t have to run off.” Dan rose from the couch. “Come and look at these.”
“No, thanks. I’ve got a bit of a headache,” she said. “I’ll see you later.”
“Nice seeing you again,” Poppy called after her.
Zelda hurried upstairs, filled with a jealousy and resentment she knew was unreasonable. Poppy had every right to come here and visit the man who’d been married to her sister. Why shouldn’t they take a trip down Memory Lane together and look through old photographs?
Plunking down on the bed she’d shared with Dan for weeks now, Zelda stared around at the jumble of laundry she’d brought up that morning and dumped on the bed before she hurried off to the library. A lump entered her throat at the sight of Dan’s large jeans twisted around her flowered nightie, their socks and T-shirts all lying together waiting to be folded.
Mechanically, she untangled their clothes and sorted them into neat piles, thinking of Poppy’s angelic smile. She was exactly like Faith, her twin sister. Of course Dan loved her. And it was pretty obvious Poppy was extremely fond of him.
Downstairs, she heard the front door close and breathed a sigh of relief. Poppy was leaving. Abandoning the laundry, she stood at the window and peeked out into the lane. Her relief promptly evaporated—Dan was leaving with her. He held open the passenger door of his car, smiling warmly as Poppy slid into the seat. Then he hopped behind the wheel, and they drove off.
Numbly, Zelda stared after them, then woodenly descended the stairs, feeling oddly beyond tears. The living room smelled faintly of some expensive, flowery perfume. And there, on the coffee table, was the album, its cover elaborately brocaded, the pages soft as velvet.
She wanted to ignore it, to walk right past, go into the kitchen and make a pot of coffee. Slowly, she sat on the couch, picked up the album, and opened it.
For the next half hour, Zelda turned the pages, and a new Dan was revealed to her. On his wedding day, he’d smiled like the happiest man alive, unable to believe what was happening, his eyes lit up with joy.
Seeing his smile, she couldn’t help smiling herself, even though her eyes brimmed with tears. Faith had been incredibly beautiful, and Dan kissed his new bride as if he never wanted to let her go. Behind them rose the walls of a large gray stone house. Guests laughed and applauded on the slopes of an emerald green lawn, the sun beaming from a cloudless sky. The traces of jealousy in Zelda’s heart turned to despair.
Dan and Faith’s short, sweet story unfolded before her eyes. After the fairy tale wedding had come a new home, birthdays, Christmases, countless parties and celebrations. In each picture, Dan and his wife were kissing or holding hands or looking into each other’s eyes.
They’d shared more than friendship, more than a fantastic time between the sheets; their bond had run soul-deep. Zelda felt hollowed out by the time she closed the album. She sat for a moment in silence, knowing what she had to do.
Carefully, she replaced the photograph album on the table, exactly as she’d found it. Then she retrieved her laptop and, in the kitchen, did what was needed. It took only a few moments.
Upstairs, she packed her suitcase, forcing the practical part of her brain to take over as she tucked her passport safely into her bag along with small items she’d need for the journey.
She went still as she heard a door open downstairs and the rattle of keys as Dan laid them on the hall table. Panic swept through her. She’d hoped to be gone before he returned. A short, practical note would be so much easier and cleaner than a tearful goodbye.
“Hey, Zeldie,” he called, taking the stairs two at a time.
Swallowing, she zipped up her bag and straightened, ready to face him. The door opened and when he saw the luggage on the bed, his smile faded.
“What are you doing?”
“I’ve decided it’s time for me to leave,” she said quietly.
“What are you talking about? I thought we were spending the rest of the year tog
ether.”
“I want to spend Thanksgiving and Christmas with my father.”
“And it didn’t occur to you to discuss this with me?”
She stooped to grab the handle of her case and steered it out of the bedroom, unable to bear looking at him for another second. In her head she saw Poppy at his side, just reaching his shoulder, small, golden, gorgeous Poppy, a precise replica of the woman he would always love.
“There’s nothing to discuss.”
Dan followed her down the stairs. “Has this got anything to do with Faith’s sister?” he asked, as if he could read her mind. “Because I’m sorry if you can’t handle the fact that I once had another, very happy life.”
“Can we just drop it?” Zelda deposited her suitcase by the front door, suddenly shattered.
“I think you owe me some kind of an explanation,” he said calmly. “Now, could you just tell me what all this is about?”
She turned wearily to look at him. “Let’s face it. We’re not going anywhere. What difference does it make if I go back to Denver now or in a few months?”
“How do you know we’re not going anywhere?” he demanded. “Things have been pretty good between us.”
“I want more than a long-distance relationship that’s going to fizzle to an awkward end.”
“Wow, I didn’t know you could see into the future.”
She stared at him for several long moments, her heart thumping. A car pulled up outside the house, and she guessed it was the taxi she’d called.
“I’m in love with you,” she said matter-of-factly, pulling on her jacket. “But I don’t see it working out in the long term, so we may as well call it quits right now.”
“For God’s sake…”
“I could never make you happy. You’ll end up married to someone like Poppy, someone perfect and smart…”
“Married?” he whispered incredulously. “I’m not going to end up married to Poppy or anyone ever again.”
Zelda flinched. From the lane, the taxi beeped.
“I have to go.” She grabbed her suitcase, wrenched open the door, and half stumbled from the cottage. Her heart and head hurt; everything hurt.
“All right, love?” the taxi driver inquired jovially, emerging from the taxi to take her case.
Dan strode after her.
“Let me get this straight,” he said. “You’re leaving because Poppy was here earlier, and you’ve got it into your head that I’m going to marry her?”
The taxi driver opened the trunk and stowed her case, and Zelda nodded her thanks.
Dan ran his fingers through his dark hair, leaving it sticking up in all directions. “Listen,” he said urgently. “It’s you I…”
He paused and she held her breath, waiting, feeling the rest of her life in the balance.
“It’s you I care about,” he said.
Something inside Zelda died.
“I know,” she said. “I know you care about me, and it’s been great, it really has.”
She slid into the passenger seat beside the taxi driver and shut the door. She wouldn’t look back, not at Dan or Rose Cottage or anything.
“Heathrow Airport, please,” she managed, her voice hoarse.
Chapter Fourteen
In his mind Dan played over the past twenty-four hours again and again. He’d woken around seven, with Zelda nestled sweetly against him, warm and sleepy. She was wearing her yellow pajama bottoms and nothing else.
He stroked her arm for a while, and then ran his hand down her side, marveling at the silkiness of her skin. When she stirred slightly, he kissed her neck. She always smelled of sunshine, even first thing in the morning.
They’d made love and then lay together talking for a while. She confessed she was nervous about reading stories to the toddler crowd in the library.
“Oh, God, Dan. Why did I ever sign up for it? What if they hate me? What if they think I’m crap?”
“They’ll love you.” Curiosity poked at him. “D’you ever want kids? I mean, someday?”
“Yeah—someday.” She nodded. “How about you?”
“I don’t think so.”
She moved from his arms without another word and headed to the shower. Dan lay in bed, knowing he’d hurt her a little. A part of him wanted to follow her and explain, but he didn’t know if that would improve matters. The truth was, he liked kids well enough. He just didn’t see them in his future, because that would mean marriage and he was never taking that route again. Fear twisted through him. Nope. Love and marriage were no longer risks he was prepared to take.
Zelda didn’t sing in the shower.
He kissed her before she left the cottage, wished her luck but added she wouldn’t need it because she’d do great. And he’d planned to meet her outside the library and take her to lunch, but just after he got through cleaning out the fireplace, the doorbell rang.
Poppy breezed in, full of chat and laughter, and just like before, he was taken back to another time in his life, when he’d known joy and been capable of giving it in return.
“I would kill for a cup of tea!” Poppy bustled into the kitchen and unearthed the tea bags, reminding him so much of Faith it took his breath away. But rather than hurting, he found himself smiling as he remembered Faith and how funny and wonderful she’d been.
The same feeling coursed through him as he looked through the photograph album with Poppy. There’d been a time when he couldn’t look at a picture of Faith without his heart being ripped out. Now he looked at the images of them together and there was only a sense of peace as he recalled the happiness they’d shared. He’d been so lucky she’d come into his life.
When Zelda walked in, he wanted her to see the photographs, to show her what he’d once been and maybe could be again in time. But she hurried upstairs and he told himself he’d take her out to supper later and ask how story time had gone. Poppy asked for a ride back to the train station, and they stopped on the way for a quick bite of lunch.
“Zelda seems very sweet,” she said, nibbling a salad.
“She’s wonderful.” He grinned.
“Dan...it’s probably none of my business, but I think you should be very careful about getting involved with anyone right now. You’re so vulnerable.”
He looked at her, unsure what to say.
“I mean, Zelda may be the most wonderful girl, but it’s obvious you two are very different.”
“How do you mean?” If he was being obtuse, he didn’t care.
“I’m not racist or anything,” Poppy said carefully. “But obviously there’s the fact that she’s colored and probably has a very different sort of background than you.”
“Why’d you assume that? We grew up together.”
“But you ran a successful business and will again. She’s telling stories in the local library.”
“She’s a trained chef.”
Poppy looked dubious. “But not working right now.”
Suddenly he didn’t like Faith’s sister very much.
“I’m sorry if I’ve offended you.” She reached out to touch him.
“It’s okay,” he said tightly. “But you don’t know Zelda, and I don’t think you have any right to make these judgments.”
“You’re absolutely right,” Poppy said. “I’m really sorry.”
“It’s okay,” he repeated.
But it wasn’t.
As he drove back to the cottage, Dan was infuriated. He supposed his anger and frustration amounted to just a fraction of what Zelda had carried over a lifetime; the pain of being instantly assessed on the basis of her skin color, of strangers believing they could size up her status, her characteristics, her worth in a single glance. His hands gripped the steering wheel. How dare Poppy?
Life had turned dark when he lost Faith. He’d plodded hopelessly through each day, unable to understand the point of being alive. And then Zelda came along. It was as if he’d woken from a long, drugged sleep. And yesterday, he’d told her everything, unloaded
every bit of his pain, and she held his hand while he let it all go. There was nobody else in the world he could have talked to that way. Nobody but Zelda.
He realized he was smiling. She liked to sing in the shower, and he always winced when she tried to hit a high note. She loved roses and chocolate. She frowned slightly when she was concentrating. She kissed him as if her life depended on it.
Suddenly he couldn’t wait to get back, to see and hear and touch her. But when he walked into the cottage, everything had changed. It was too late.
He couldn’t believe she was gone. Finding her packing her bag, her expression closed, the useless minutes he’d spent pleading, seemed like something from a nightmare. He’d watched the taxi disappear up the lane, confusion and anger whirling through him. Then he stomped inside, slamming the door so hard the walls trembled.
Rose Cottage grew dark as he paced around for hours, reluctant to go to bed without her. That would be like admitting she was really gone and wouldn’t be coming home. Surely she’d change her mind before she boarded the plane and threw away everything they’d found together over the past weeks.
He considered sleeping on the couch, but around midnight climbed upstairs to the bedroom he’d come to think of as theirs. The pillow smelled faintly of her. The bed was cold and empty. He closed his eyes, feeling hollow inside, giving up on the hope she’d return tonight. Fear began to take hold. What if she never came back?
The days trickled by. Dan stayed inside. When he was hungry, he boiled an egg or made a sandwich and ate standing at the kitchen window, watching for her, imagining her running up the path and flinging herself into his arms when he opened the door.
After four days, the phone rang and he grabbed it, his heart leaping. “Zeldie?”
“This is Hawkins Kitchen Supplies,” a voice said. “We’re just following up after your visit to our showroom.”