This Love of Mine

by Miranda Liasson

  “You love him,” her mother said.

  She nodded . . . and proceeded to cry a big, snotty cry.

  Because she did love him, and not from afar, not with the moony dreaminess she’d used as a crutch for so many years, but with a deep, aching tenderness she felt might just kill her.

  Her mother paused and wiped a tear that had trailed down Meg’s cheek. “I’m so proud of you, Megan. You’re everything a daughter should be and more. If Ben doesn’t see that, then he doesn’t deserve you.”

  Meg cracked a smile through the veil of tears. “I love you, Mom.”

  “The hell with the garden,” her mother said. “Let’s go order pizza.”

  Ben had walked four blocks from his grandfather’s neighborhood before he realized he’d left his car parked in front of the old house and had no time to get it if he was going to be back at the hospital by one. But his legs weren’t walking him to the hospital, they were walking to the lakefront. Then he did something he’d never done before. He called Jax, who was working, and asked if he’d cover for him for another hour, promising he’d make it up to him next time their shifts overlapped. His legs led him straight to Reflections, his brother’s restaurant on the lake.

  Brad was in the kitchen, bent over a saucepan with his head chef, Phillipe.

  Ben gave a nod to the chef but honed in on his brother. “I have to talk to you.”

  Brad held out a spoon. “You’re just in time to try the beurre blanc.”

  “The burr-what?”

  “It’s a sauce made of white wine and butter. Except we used champagne and it’s to die for.”

  Ben paced a little. “Look, Brad, I’ve got to get back to work. I just wanted to talk with you for just a few—” Ben broke off. His big brother was assessing him with a look he hadn’t seen since one awful Saturday night when Ben was seventeen and had come home drunk or high or both. Brad had cleaned up his puke and put him to bed and the next morning, Ben had awakened to find that his Mustang had vanished. And he didn’t get it back for six months.

  “Phillipe, this is excellent,” Brad said. “Let’s serve it with the lobster tonight.” Then he walked his brother back through the kitchen to his office, which overlooked the pier, stopping to grab a couple of wrapped sandwiches out of the fridge. They walked through a door and sat outside on a little deck with an overhang. “What’s going on? You look like hell.”

  “The thing with Meg sort of went from fake to real.”

  Brad sat down, propped his feet on the wooden deck rail, and tossed his brother a sandwich. “We sort of surmised that when Annabelle handed us an empty box of condoms this morning.”

  “Shit.” Ben set the sandwich down and trolled his hands through his hair, making it stick up in seven different directions. “I thought I took care of that.”

  “On my couch, though? Really?”

  “Just for the record, it was not on the couch,” Ben said. It was mostly in the bedroom. And once on the kitchen island, but he wasn’t about to admit that. “That’s all I’m saying.”

  “Thank God. Please continue,” Brad said.

  “I asked her to come and look at Gramps’s house with me today.”

  Brad paused before he bit into his sandwich. “I ran into Mike Garcia, who’s done a lot of work on our place. He said they’re demoing it next week.”

  Ben nodded. “The whole reason I got into this mess was because I knew Donaldson was looking for a family-oriented candidate. Someone sure to stay here. So I faked a girlfriend. Only today, I turned her into a fiancée. Without her approval.”

  Brad set down his sandwich and sat forward. “You didn’t.”

  Ben nodded, his lips pressed tight. “I told him we were engaged.”

  “And Meg let you have it.”

  “Yep.”

  “You’re a real a-hole, you know that, little bro?” Brad slapped him on the back—hard. “Just saying.”

  “It gets worse.”

  “You’re giving me indigestion.”

  “I told her it was only temporary, that we’d break it off in a couple of weeks. She basically told me to go fuck off.”

  “I knew I liked that girl.” Brad set his plate on the floor and dusted off his hands. “So now what?”

  Ben squinted out across the water, at the lake he loved. A few sailboats slid effortlessly across the horizon. Motorboats puttered back and forth, cutting paths through the water. Seabirds swooped and dove and squawked. But everything that used to calm him made him feel ragged as an old knife’s edge.

  “She talked to old Doc Manning about her brother’s autopsy report—for me. Turns out hitting his head on the quarry bottom is what killed him. For so long, I’d believed it was my incompetence, that after I pulled him out, I had no clue what to do, how to breathe for him or do chest compressions. I felt . . . helpless, that if I would have known what the hell I was doing, there might have been a different outcome.”

  “You never told me that.”

  He shrugged. “It wouldn’t have changed anything. And I was too ashamed.”

  Brad put an arm on his shoulder. “So you never told me that, but you told her.”

  “She found out the truth. For me.”

  “I’m sure that was tough on her.”

  Ben drummed his fingers on the wooden railing. “I just keep thinking about Gramps. He knew exactly what to say to make people laugh, to make them feel better. He cared, you know? And he had the most integrity of anyone I’ve ever known.”

  “Gramps was a kind man,” Brad said. “Hardworking and . . . you’re right. He really cared about people.”

  “I just feel like I’m made for that job. I want to make him proud. I want to step into his shoes and try to be all he was for this town.” Ben rubbed the back of his neck. “That committee is meeting this afternoon. I’m this close to getting that job. I don’t know what the hell to do.”

  “Gramps would be proud of you, Ben. You’ve come a long way.”

  “He wouldn’t be proud of me today.”

  Brad put an arm around Ben’s shoulders, for comfort, but then he squeezed a little hard, for emphasis. “I think you may have just answered your own question.”

  Ben thought about that for a long minute before he stood up. How could he have done so much damage when he’d started out with the best intentions? “I’ve got to get back to work. Thanks for listening.”

  “Anytime. But there is one thing I have to ask from you in return.”

  “What is it?”

  “Please don’t have sex in my house ever again. It gives me the creeps.”

  Jax was a little ticked off when Ben finally showed up in the ER at two o’clock.

  “That was a mighty long lunch hour. Considering I’ve been here since midnight and I want to get the hell home.”

  Ben pulled an electronic tablet out of Jax’s hands. “I wasn’t fooling around if that’s what you’re implying. And I really appreciate what you did. I’ll come in two hours early for you next time.”

  “Well, when Stacy has the babies I may be calling on you to take a shift.”

  “Happy to help out.”

  Jax signed off on a couple of loose odds and ends, and Ben was relieved that for once the ER was fairly quiet.

  “Jax,” Ben said before Jax took off, “can I ask you a question?”

  “Sure. What is it?”

  “Do you want this job?”

  Jax paused long and hard. “Yeah, I do. We love the community, and it’s a short distance from Stacy’s family. And I like the staff here. But this place isn’t perfect. There are things that need to be done to make it excel.”

  “Well, Donaldson said the committee’s meeting for the final time today. I just wanted to wish you good luck.” Ben held out his hand.

  Jax shook it. “Thanks. Good luck to you, too. Although I think you’re the man.”

  “You never know.”

  A nurse walked up to Ben. “There’s a non-urgent patient we just put in room seven.”
<
br />   Ben headed there and snaked back the familiar yellow curtain.

  Meg’s mother sat on the gurney, looking like she’d rather be getting a colonoscopy than sitting there fully clothed.

  “Mrs. Halloran,” he said.

  She nodded. “Benjamin.”

  He leaned against the counter and crossed his arms, trying to look like he looked every day—competent and casual. But the hair on his arms had raised up and a bad sensation in his stomach told him his shitty day was about to get even worse.

  “I’m not really sick,” she said, clutching her handbag a little nervously. “I told Gina I needed to talk with you.”

  “I gathered that.” He’d have to talk to Gina about letting half the town back here to see him at will. He glanced at the chart. “Your chart says ‘Feels sad about something.’”

  “That’s why I’m here. To say I’m sorry.”

  Whoa. She looked nervous. Uptight. Maybe even a little scared. Humor always served him well in situations like this. “I could have made a house call for that,” he said with a slight grin.

  “No. I needed to come right away.” He should be shocked, or surprised. Instead, his first thought was to wonder if Meg had put her up to this.

  He rolled a stool closer to the gurney and sat down. Maybe she was sorry that her daughter had the misfortune to get involved with him and she was here to give him hell.

  And if that was so, he deserved it.

  “I’m sorry I’ve given you the cold shoulder for so long. I know what happened to my son wasn’t your fault. And . . . I’m sorry if the way I’ve treated you has caused you pain.”

  The words registered, sort of. But all he could think was that this was Meg’s doing. She’d talked to her mother about him, despite being furious with him. How could she have done such a generous thing, even after what he’d done to her? “Look, you don’t have to . . .”

  “Yes, I do. That night, his father and I—we’d been arguing. I had no idea Patrick had heard us until I heard the door slam and his car start, and I knew he was upset. My daughter told me today how you went looking for him. You were all by yourself. I always thought you’d said that to protect yourself, that you’d been there drinking with him the whole time.”

  “Maybe I should have been. Maybe if I had been there I could’ve stopped what happened.”

  She shook her head. “I can’t imagine what that was like for you to find him like that. You were just a boy. I was too wrapped up in my own misery to understand. I didn’t understand the guilt you felt.”

  Ben shrugged. “I was just a kid. It was traumatic, and I was ashamed.”

  “I hope you can forgive me.”

  “I think it’s time for both of us to put our regrets to rest.”

  Ben could only see a blurry image before him. He reached over and hugged Meg’s mother. She was crying, and oh, hell, they were both crying. But some of the tears were filled with relief. At last, he was free to mourn his friend. And to start to leave the past behind where it belonged. “I loved Patrick as if he were my own brother,” he said. “I can’t tell you how much I still miss him.”

  Almost as much as he missed her daughter.

  Oh, God. He was such a dumbass. He’d used her and hurt her, all for the sake of a job he didn’t deserve to get. He’d lost the woman he loved and thrown his integrity overboard in the process. But instead of feeling lighter, he felt like he was sinking without her. How could he have ever thought a job could be more important than she was?

  He glanced at his watch. “I love your daughter, Mrs. Halloran. I did something wrong that I’ve got to fix. But I swear, I will fix it.” He kissed her on the cheek. “I’ve got to go.”

  Jax wasn’t happy when Ben paged him in the parking lot and begged him to cover him even longer. But for what Ben was about to do, he figured one day Jax might even thank him. The conference room in the administrative wing of the hospital was full of a dozen women and men in suits sitting around a big table drinking coffee and shuffling paperwork, some of it with his photo on it. Ben knocked but then entered without waiting for permission.

  Dr. Donaldson, who was seated at the head of a long, shiny table, rose in surprise. “Why, Ben. We were just discussing—”

  “I don’t want the job, Dr. Donaldson, Committee,” he said, looking at the faces staring at him in shock. “Because I lied. Something my grandfather never would have done. I wasn’t really dating Meg Halloran. She agreed to help me because she wanted me to have the same shot at the job as everyone else. I let my desire for the job cloud my judgment, and I’ve hurt people in the process. I’m not the person you want.”

  He could have told them they were crazy to impose their restrictions on the job. That he could take them to court if he wanted to because what they were doing was discriminatory. But he’d blown it. And worse, he’d chosen the job over the one woman he’d ever really cared about in his life.

  “You’re saying you made up a relationship to impress us?” the director of cardiology asked.

  “That’s correct.”

  Dr. Donaldson spoke. “But I saw you together earlier at your grandfather’s house—kissing, holding hands. Was that fake, too?”

  “No, but I haven’t asked her to marry me yet.”

  Yet. Holy shit. An idea had come to him, a big idea that made his knees quiver and his hands tremble from the scope of it. “Although I want her to be my wife, because I love her. More than I’ve ever loved anyone.”

  “I’m not understanding,” the hospital CFO said. “This whole thing started out fake, but now it’s real?”

  “It was real, until today when she dumped me after I lied. I’m sorry, I have to go.”

  “This is most unusual, Dr. Rushford,” Dr. Donaldson said. But Ben barely heard. He’d made his peace, and he no longer cared about the job. He had to find a way to show Meg he loved her, more than this job, more than anything. Because there was no way he was going to lose her for good.

  CHAPTER 21

  “What do you mean the band’s a no-show and we’re missing three people for the bridal show?” Meg asked late that afternoon as she sewed and safety-pinned one of Sam’s college girlfriends into a plum-colored bridesmaid’s dress. She was busy directing and dressing everyone who was involved in the bridal show that was to begin at 5:00 p.m. at the marina. And almost too busy to feel the skewering stabs of pain that pierced her gut every time she thought about Ben. Which was at least once every twenty seconds or so.

  Gloria, Effie, Olivia, and Meg’s sister Sheri had all come to help prepare for the big show. Sam was helping a gaggle of women, dressed in any of a wild rainbow of bridesmaids’ gowns, with their makeup. Regardless of her heartache, Meg was determined to see this through to the end. She refused to fall apart until then. Her shop and everyone who worked so hard to help this show get off the ground meant too much.

  “My friends’ car broke down on the way from Providence,” Sam said. “And I don’t know what exactly happened to the band.”

  Meg glanced at her watch. “We’ve still got a half hour. Are your friends close? Maybe we can send someone to get them.”

  “No, they’re . . . like an hour away,” Sam said.

  Meg frowned. “And you’re just telling me this now?”

  “Um, their cell phones died. They’re . . . not going to make it. Sorry.”

  “The idea is to make this part of the show look like real weddings, with bridesmaids and a bride. How can I do that if I’m missing one bride and two bridesmaids?”

  This show was the representation of her shop. They had sold tickets and the waterfront was filled with chairs. Vendors were set up—bakers and photographers, wedding planners and limo companies. They’d invited a bunch of last year’s brides to model their own wedding dresses. And everyone was expecting a fashion show, which would be done as a series of mock weddings where the bridal party would march down the dock and the designated bride would follow.

  “Take a deep breath,” Olivia said, placi
ng her hands on Meg’s arms. “Sheri and I will go into the crowd and recruit a few more women. It’ll be okay.”

  “I’ll go right now,” Sheri said, being surprisingly helpful for once. She’d even come from Greenwich for Meg’s big show today. There hadn’t been time to have more than a brief discussion with her and their mom, but Meg felt that at last their family would have a chance to come together again.

  “Sam, do you have any local friends we can call?” Meg asked.

  But Sam was barely listening.

  A sleek black Jaguar had pulled up to the shop. A dark-haired man with a white polo shirt got out, lifted his sunglasses to the top of his head, and knocked on the window.

  “Meg, I’ll be back in a sec, okay?” Sam said as she ran out the door and began talking heatedly with the man. A few minutes later, she opened the door and yelled in for one of her friends to please hand her purse to her. A minute after that, she came back in without the purse, carrying an armload of junk—a wallet, a brush, a sample bottle of hair spray.

  Everyone looked up when she closed the door behind her. “Harris said I shouldn’t be in the bridal show,” she said. Friends and family stopped dressing, sewing, and pinning to listen. “That it would be putting myself on display. That one day, I could potentially be a politician’s wife, and anything I did would be heavily scrutinized.”

  “It’s a bridal show, not a striptease!” her friend Jess said.

  “That boy has far too many rules to follow,” Gloria said.

  “And I’m done following them,” Sam said, dumping her stuff on the nearby desk and dusting her hands clean. “I told him to stuff the Dooney & Bourke purse he just bought me right up his entitled, from-the-Mayflower—”

  Just then, a very noisy muffler scraped the road in front of the shop, so hard that sparks flew. A vintage Camaro with rust spots and mismatched tires pulled up and a man walked in. With a black cast and a shit-ton of attitude. “I wanted to let you know I’m leaving,” Spike said, mostly to Sam, but there was a good chance the twenty other women or so in the shop might have heard, too.