by Dawn Douglas
“Not now.” He hung up, the little spark of hope inside him snuffed out.
Later that day there was a knock on the door. Bernard stood forlornly on the doorstep holding a pot of gooseberry jam.
“I’m sorry, but she’s not here,” Dan said, his voice rough with despair. “She left.”
“Is she coming back?”
“I—I don’t know.”
Bernard gave him a hard look. “Elsie said you were entertaining another young lady here. A blonde.”
“That was, I mean she wasn’t…”
“You bloody fool,” Bernard said. “You bloody young fool.”
With an expression of withering contempt on his face, he turned and walked away. And Dan knew Bernard was absolutely right. He was the biggest bloody fool on earth.
The days without her stretched into weeks. Each morning, Dan walked into the kitchen, hoping she would be there leafing through one of her cookbooks, impatiently shoving back the curls falling across her face. He’d imagine her singing along to the radio, her voice absolutely terrible, and the way she loved to snuggle up to him in bed each night.
Suddenly it was December. Snow blanketed the cottage. Still he didn’t start work on the kitchen, even though it seemed more and more unlikely she was ever coming back. He e-mailed her and described how pretty the back yard looked right now, so white and hushed, and how the snow threw a pearly light into the cottage. He said he hoped she’d had a good Thanksgiving with her dad, and added he missed her and hoped they’d always be friends.
Deleted that sentence. Added it again. Deleted it and hit send. For the next two weeks, he checked his e-mail compulsively for a reply from her. It never came.
As he sat staring at the television and sipping a beer one night, the doorbell rang. He stood slowly, not quite daring to hope, and there was another impatient ring. He hurried to the door.
His mother stood on the doorstep, an annoyed expression on her carefully made-up face.
“What kept you?” she demanded. “I told you I’d be here. Really, to leave me waiting out in the cold...”
“Sorry,” he muttered.
He’d seen her repeated e-mails, but hadn’t bothered to open them because they weren’t from Zelda, which meant they didn’t matter.
Maggie turned her face up for a kiss, and he dutifully obliged.
“My God, Dan, you look terrible.” She peered around critically as he hung up her coat. “I thought you were going to fix this place up for me.”
“There’s a new roof, double glazed windows and I put in a new bathroom,” he said. “The upstairs bedrooms are freshly painted and these wood floors were restored just a few weeks ago.” He swallowed convulsively, remembering Zelda’s body moving beneath his as they made love in front of the fire.
In the kitchen, Maggie looked disdainfully at the old stone sink and the open wooden shelves mounted on the uneven walls, sighing dramatically. “It’s positively nineteenth century in here.”
“I haven’t got to the kitchen yet.”
“Obviously.” She sat down at the table with another sigh. “Aren’t you even going to offer me a cup of tea?”
He obediently located some tea bags and put the kettle on. “Where’s Leo? Why are you back early?”
“He’s resting in our hotel. We’ve had enough of traveling.”
Oh, God, not another divorce, Dan thought. They’d just returned from the honeymoon. This was his mother’s third marriage.
Maggie accepted a cup of tea and stared ruminatively into its depths. “The thing is, darling, I think we’ve made a mistake.”
Dan waited. Nothing his mother did or said could surprise him anymore. What did surprise him was the fact they’d grown close over the past few years, especially since Faith died. It was as if she was finally growing up.
Maggie looked at him. “Leo and I have reached a decision. We don’t know what we were thinking, buying this place. We thought it would be some sort of delightfully rustic retreat, but the truth of the matter is we’re town people. So this house is going back on the market, I’m afraid.”
“You’re selling Rose Cottage?”
“I’m sorry, darling. I know you’ve put some work into it.”
“It doesn’t matter,” Dan said. “The improvements will increase your asking price.”
It really didn’t matter. Without Zelda, all the heart and soul had gone out of the place anyway.
“You look horrible with a beard,” Maggie remarked, losing interest in the subject of the cottage. “And have you lost weight?”
“I don’t know.” He shrugged.
His mother sipped her tea. “Poppy told me you had a woman here, an American woman.”
“I did. She’s gone now.”
“Is that what all this is about?” she asked softly. “Your girlfriend left and you went into a spin, turned into a recluse, and took to drink? I saw all the beer cans in the trash as I came in, so don’t try to deny it.”
He didn’t.
“Who was she?”
“Zelda Marshall,” he said. “Remember Zelda? She lived across the street from us in Denver.”
Maggie frowned, thinking. “The little daughter of that nice mixed couple? Cute, but slightly on the chubby side?”
“She’s not chubby anymore.”
“So what is she like?”
“Mom, she’s beautiful.” Dan’s voice cracked.
There was a long silence.
He stared at the knots in the wooden table, wishing he hadn’t said anything.
“You sound like you’re in love, Daniel,” his mother said quietly.
“I don’t know.” He swallowed. “I just know I’m drowning since she walked out of here. She’s, she’s back in the States.”
“Well, you know how to buy a ticket and catch a plane, don’t you?”
He shook his head. “I don’t think I can go.”
“Why not?”
He closed his eyes. “Zelda said she was in love with me. I, I couldn’t say the words back to her. She wants more than I can give.”
“Faith died,” Maggie said. “I know how much you loved her, but it’s time to say goodbye to that lovely girl and get on with your life.”
Dan couldn’t say anything.
“Do you love her?” his mother asked gently.
He thought of Zelda pruning the rosebushes, remembered the excitement in her eyes the first time they walked into the cottage. He remembered the softness of her hand in his, and their bodies snuggled in bed when they kissed good night, and waking up beside her.
“Yeah,” he croaked.
There was another lengthy silence. Maggie stood and carefully rinsed her teacup, then stood gazing out at the snowy back yard.
“I never thought I’d say this,” she said at last, “but I am so fed up of being the only woman in my circle of friends with no grandchildren. I hate it. I feel like a complete and utter failure. It’s an embarrassment, quite frankly.”
And for the first time in thirty-one days and six hours, Dan smiled.
That night, almost ready for bed, he looked at the gold wedding band around the third finger of his left hand, the ring he thought he’d wear forever. He remembered Faith sliding the ring on, the sweet, incredulous smile she’d given him. He whispered one last goodbye, and slid the ring from his finger.
Chapter Fifteen
Zelda watched as her parents renewed their vows in the same Denver church they’d wed in exactly thirty-five years ago. Tears brimmed in her eyes as they turned and smiled at everyone, and when they walked down the aisle together, she applauded along with everyone else, her heart bursting with relief and gratitude.
Four weeks ago she’d staggered off a flight from England, weary, heartsick and broken, expecting just her dad to be waiting in the terminal. But he’d been accompanied by her mother, and they’d been holding hands. She ran straight into their arms, wanting to cry the way she had as a little girl.
“We’ve come to our senses,”
her mother said sheepishly.
“You’re not going ahead with the divorce?”
“Nope.” Grinning, Alex took her luggage and steered them through the crowds.
“I felt like a piece of me was missing without your father around,” Joanne said. “Oh, Zelda, we have so much to tell you.”
As they drove home, Zelda closed her eyes in the back seat, exhausted, listening to her parents burble excitedly about all the things they planned on doing to revitalize their marriage—a ballroom dancing class, a cruise, a renewal ceremony. She’d cried a little, happy for them, but already aching for Dan and wondering how the hell she was going to survive the coming days.
She’d challenged herself to keep busy. Forgetting Dan would be impossible. She knew that. But she also knew she couldn’t spend her life wolfing down gallons of ice cream and wallowing in grief. So she quickly found a new apartment to rent and joined a gym. Charlie, her old boss at Charbonneaus, had contacted her to ask if she’d like the position of sous-chef in the new restaurant he was starting up in the New Year. She agreed, and they were looking for premises downtown, and she was devising plans for the menu. She’d survived. She wasn’t doing great exactly, but she’d survived.
Now Zelda drove through the wintry afternoon to her parents’ home after the renewal ceremony. Already fairy lights and decorations were beginning to twinkle, and she swallowed back a sudden lump in her throat, promising herself she’d feel better soon. It would be easier once the holidays were out of the way, when the New Year arrived and memories of her time in the cottage with Dan were further away. Meanwhile she’d continue on with her keep-busy plan and try to implement some changes that would make her feel better. Already she’d lost a little weight and straightened her hair in an effort to distance herself from the old Zelda, who’d dreamed of happy ever afters and cried her eyes out over a man who didn’t want her.
He’d contacted her last week, and her heart had performed a somersault when she opened the email, before plunging downward. He’d described how pretty Rose Cottage looked covered in snow and wished her well. She hadn’t bothered to reply. Dan may have wanted them to stay in touch as friends, but for her it wasn’t possible.
For the next few hours, Zelda walked around with a smile on her face, helping out at her parent’s reception. Guests asked what she was doing these days and how her time in England had gone. Her replies were automatic, pleasant, not even hinting at the truth.
When the last guest said goodbye, she rinsed and carefully dried plates and glasses, then bagged up some trash and took it outside, shivering as she gazed up at the night sky. It was early morning right now in England. The sun would be rising over Rose Cottage, peeking in through the kitchen window. Was Dan having breakfast? Was he seeing Poppy? Zelda imagined them together, putting up a Christmas tree in the living room of the cottage, while a fire crackled in the hearth. Her heart twisted with pain, and she hurried back inside, out of the cold.
“I think everything is just about taken care of,” she said to her parents, starting to pull on her jacket. “I’m going to wish you two love birds goodnight and head home.”
“Just a moment, cupcake,” Alex said. “Your mom and I would like a quick word.”
“Okay.” Reluctantly, she joined them in the kitchen, afraid they’d ask her again if something was wrong. She hadn’t spoken to them about Dan, but her parents sensed her heartbreak.
“As you know, we leave on our cruise in two weeks,” Joanne said. “Zelda, we’d like you to come with us.”
She stared, unsure whether to laugh or cry. “I am not joining you on your honeymoon. No way.”
“Honey, it’s what we both want,” Alex said. “Your mother and I don’t feel comfortable about leaving you alone.”
Shaking her head, Zelda pulled on her gloves and stood. “Guys, please stop. I’m busy with a thousand things and I’m fine.”
“We’ve known you all your life, and we know when something’s wrong,” Alex insisted. “Why did you leave England so suddenly? Did you and Dan have a falling out?”
“I really do have to get going,” she cut off her father before he could say another word. “It’s late, and I have plans for tomorrow.”
“It’s starting to snow out there. Why don’t you let me drive you?”
“I can manage.” She smiled at them both, trying to soften her words as she grabbed her purse. “Goodnight.”
Blinking back tears, she hurried from the house. She wished they’d stop fussing and asking what was wrong. Nothing anyone could say or do would make everything that was wrong with her life come right. She just had to move forward and hope one day it wouldn’t hurt as much as it did right now.
The snow spun down from the dark sky, slowly gathering on the roads, and she drove the short distance to her apartment carefully. Her new home was small and efficient—a cheap, modern apartment on the ground floor of a small block. Unpacked boxes still sat on the floors.
Inside, Zelda switched on the lights and the radio. Her new home featured box-like rooms and white walls and seemed cold even when the furnace ran at full blast. Memories of a crooked little kitchen and creaky wooden stairs taunted her as she took a hot shower, slipped into pajamas and climbed into bed.
To distract herself, she picked up a cookbook and began to leaf through the pages, her notebook at the ready in case an idea struck. After a few moments, she let both fall to one side. It was no good. Sometimes, no matter how hard she tried and no matter what she did, the waves of grief were unstoppable. She closed her eyes and allowed herself to picture Dan, to recall the sensation of being in bed beside him.
The ringing telephone pierced through her thoughts. Zelda glanced at the caller ID and gave a small moan of frustration—it was her parents. And one thing she couldn’t deal with right now was their questions and sympathy, so she let the telephone ring and ring. When it finally stopped, the silence left her feeling even more alone.
The tick-tocking of the alarm clock was loud in the silence, and the sound seemed harsh and cruel, hammering in her brain. Miss him, miss him, miss him. Tears trickled down either side of her face and into her ears. She sat up, reached for a tissue, and blew her nose. Maybe she should watch TV for a while to distract herself until she was too tired to stay awake. Anything would be better than lying in bed remembering the feel of his arms sliding around her, reliving the way he grinned up at her when she walked in the room. The doorbell rang.
“You have got to be kidding me.”
Her parents were not giving up tonight. The doorbell rang again.
Zelda grabbed her robe. As she hurried to the door a horrific picture of herself licking an ice-cream and tagging along after her parents like a ten-year-old popped into her head. Would they ever realize she wasn’t a child? This whole thing was beyond ridiculous.
She pulled open the door. “Now listen, guys—”
Dan stood on the doorstep, snow on his shoulders, his dark eyes looking straight into hers. Zelda’s heart seemed to stop in midbeat, then take off again at a furious gallop. All she could do was stare stupidly up at him.
“Can I come in?”
She nodded and managed to step aside, her heart still going a mile a minute.
Dan maneuvered his bulky luggage inside. Zelda closed the door behind him and tried to get a grip. Was this really happening?
He cleared his throat. “I called at your parents and they gave me this address. They said they’d call to tell you I was on my way.”
“They did, but I decided not to answer the phone.” Her voice came out rough and croaky. She stared at him. Stubble sprouted from his chin and shadows brushed his eyes. He looked exhausted. “Can I fix you some coffee? Or hot chocolate?”
“Anything hot.”
She scurried into the kitchen, her nerves jangling, hands trembling so badly she spilled ground coffee all over the counter.
What was he doing here? What the hell was he doing here? Did he want to clear the air between them somehow, mak
e sure they were still friends? To tell her gently he was engaged to Poppy?
She wiped up the mess and turned when he walked into the kitchen, trying to sound casual. “Are you in Denver to see your father?”
He shook his head. “I came to see you.”
Her heart lurched. She swallowed, switching on the coffee pot and staring at the little green light because suddenly she was afraid to look at him in case she cried and made a fool of herself.
“You did something to your hair,” he said.
“I straightened it.”
She poured two coffees and took them through to the family room. Dan sank heavily onto the couch and closed his eyes for a moment before taking a grateful sip. Zelda perched beside him.
“How are you?” he asked.
“Fine,” she lied. “How are you? How’s Rose Cottage?”
“I’m not fine,” he said. “And the cottage has been sold.”
She gazed miserably into her lap. Was he angry with her?
“The last conversation we had was kind of rushed, with your taxi waiting,” He set down his coffee. “You said you loved me, right?”
She stared at the polka dots on the knees of her pajamas and nodded. Heat suffused her face.
“I love you, too,” he said quietly. “I was just too scared to admit it. Scared to start looking forward again because I’d made a habit of always looking back. But I do love you, Zeldie.”
She finally dared to look him in the eye. Her heart drummed madly, and she couldn’t seem to move.
Dan reached into his pocket for something and laid it on the table. It was a large black key, a key she recognized.
“I bought Rose Cottage,” he said. “I bought it for us.”
Her hand flew to her mouth, stifling a sob. She stared at the key, and at him, as if they were apparitions.
He smiled. “You’ve hardly said a word since I walked in the door.”
“Dan, I, I just…” Her voice trembled and her words trailed away. Joy rushed through her, a wave so deep and sweet she began to cry.
He pulled her gently onto his lap and she laid her head against his shoulder, letting her sobs subside.