The Wonder of You

by Susan May Warren

The words had the power to bodycheck him, right into the boards, leaving him cold and stunned.

  Because really, how could Casper know that although Max had made sure he’d never have biological children—and inadvertently pass along the gene—he’d also settled on a truth?

  No kids. Ever. They’d had that conversation while lying in bed, the breeze blowing through the window of their suite in Mexico. He’d told her quietly, I know I said we could adopt, but I just can’t bear it, Grace.

  She’d taken his hand, tracing it with hers before she pulled it to her chest. Said nothing as she rolled into his arms, but he could feel tiny pieces of his wife’s heart breaking.

  Now he watched Tiger run away, then glanced at Grace. She wasn’t looking at him, just quietly wiping the pan. The microwave dinged and Raina pulled out the bottle, began to shake it.

  “Yeah,” he said quickly. Then he walked around the island, picked up a towel, and grabbed a pot.

  Grace glanced at him. “That goes in the pantry, third shelf down.”

  Now, Grace. Let’s tell them now. He put the pot away, then turned to her, that message in his eyes.

  She nodded. Put the cloth down. Took a deep breath. Reached for his hand.

  The door slammed in the entryway, and everyone looked up to see Amelia enter and pull off her boots. It was the way she sighed, mumbling to herself, that stalled their announcement. Then Grace’s question: “Amelia, are you okay?”

  She came into the kitchen, dropping her messenger bag on the counter. Then she slid onto a stool and buried her face in her hands.

  Grace let go of Max’s hand. “Honey . . . ?”

  “I’m such an idiot. I just don’t learn. The guy has some kind of weird power over me.” She lifted her head, looked at Grace. “I was there, had it all figured out, even said the words. But then . . . I don’t know—suddenly I thought, what if we’re supposed to be together? It was a feeling, really, more than a thought. And then . . . I was just angry.”

  “What are you talking about?” Raina said. “Did you and Seth have a fight?”

  Amelia sighed. “Yes.”

  “Oh, honey, did you break up?”

  “No. I mean, maybe, but probably not. I don’t know. It’s all so complicated. He’s so angry—and I don’t blame him, but he’s already got us down the aisle and married, and maybe I don’t want that. Yet.” She pressed her hands to her face again. “Or ever. And he did come all the way here, just to see me.”

  “Seth?”

  She looked up again, her eyes a little red. “No.” She glanced at Casper, made a face. “Roark. He’s here. We just had dinner.”

  A beat of silence passed, the kind in which everyone, including Max, traveled back to that moment, almost a month ago, when Roark St. John appeared on the Evergreen Resort doorstep, bearing flowers and jewelry and asking, in his highbrow British accent, for Amelia to forgive him.

  Max didn’t know why Casper had nearly taken off his head. Something about him stepping out on Amelia, abandoning her, leaving her in Prague with a broken heart. It had been enough for Max to join forces with the brothers and Jace to step between Amelia and the foreign invasion.

  “He’s back?” Casper said finally, his tone dark even as he took the bottle from Raina. Maybe someone else should take the baby. But Casper rocked Layla gently, humming softly as she ate.

  “He moved here. Has a job at the Java Cup.”

  “He moved here?” Max said. “Why?”

  “Because he wants me to give us another chance. Because he loves me. Is that so hard to believe?”

  He held up a hand. “Whoa. Down, girl. No, and yes. Of course he’s crazy about you. Who wouldn’t be?” He saw her hackles lower. “But moving here?”

  “I know. But he seems . . . honest. And . . .” She caught her lip in her teeth. Glanced again at Casper, who wore a grim look. “I think I still love him.”

  Casper nodded, looked back at the baby. “I understand having a hard time getting someone you love off your mind.”

  “Well, it gets worse because . . . it looks like I’m dating two guys.” Amelia dropped her head into her arms on the counter.

  Grace went over to Amelia, put her arm around her sister. “It’s okay, Amelia. We’ll figure it out.” Then she lifted her gaze to Max, something of apology in it.

  And there it was. The look that told him he would be sleeping in the den again tonight.

  Alone.

  THE QUIET TICKING of her bedside clock and the gleam of the moon spearing into the cool darkness of her bedroom dissected Amelia’s thoughts, laying bare one clean, clear realization.

  Roark St. John just might make a fool out of her again.

  She rolled over, hit her pillow, then gave up and sat up, pulling her laptop to her legs from where it rested next to her on the floor. Across the room, Grace’s bed was empty. In the opposite alcove, little Yulia lay huddled under Eden’s pink-and-red patchwork quilt, a bundle of mystery and sorrow. Tonight Amelia had caught Grace singing to the little girl as she put her to bed. She could have used Grace’s singing when she sat in her Prague apartment, alone and brokenhearted.

  Yes, foolish. She should have listened to her brain, clung to her resolve to dispatch Roark back to England. Send him trotting over the pond once more.

  Except for the way his blue eyes latched on to hers, a genuine apology in them. And the fact that he looked so good in that wide-shouldered jacket, his lips tweaked in the slightest of hopeful smiles.

  Still, the shards of her broken heart managed to keep her focused, the sharp pain of memory enough to urge the words from her mouth. I think we need to recognize what we had for what it was. . . . A fling. The words could make her cringe, and she wanted to wipe from her memory the hurt that flashed in his eyes.

  It was a word she’d latched on to the past few months to soothe the ragged wounds of seeing him with someone else. Clearly, however, he meant his soft-spoken yet deadly serious words: Amelia, I do not consider what we had a fling.

  Oh, Roark. Why couldn’t he just leave her to mop up the mess she’d made of her life, her pride, and start over again?

  I’m looking for something else. She didn’t know exactly where the words emerged from, didn’t even know if they were true or just convenient, but she held on to them, a ledge rock on which to perch her Dear John speech.

  Because even at the moment, she could feel the something breaking through, pulsing like a heartbeat. The wounded, naive, adventurous side of herself bursting to life inside.

  Wait.

  Like a breath, the word had gathered inside her, filled her pores until she escaped to take the shot of the otter, just long enough to let it dissipate.

  To let her common sense helm her resolve once again.

  If not for Seth, she might have walked away, sent Roark out of her life.

  She didn’t know whether to thank him or hurl her maybe-boyfriend from the dock. Even now, she wanted to knock him upside the head for his Neanderthal behavior.

  So, what? You’re dating this joker?

  Seth always had the ability to ignite in her a sort of fiery rebellion. Like the time he told her she wasn’t athletic enough to join the powder-puff football team during homecoming. She joined, played center, and took out the quarterback on a blitz or whatever it was called. So she sprained her ankle—Seth certainly hadn’t minded carrying her around school for a week while it mended.

  Jerk.

  Maybe she shouldn’t be so hard on Seth. After all, she had agreed to date him. He just needed to get his inner Neanderthal in check. Needed a little training. European manners.

  And just like that, Roark returned to her thoughts—the smell of his cologne, the touch of his hand on her elbow as he opened the door of the restaurant for her.

  Sweetie.

  Oh, what was she doing? She opened her computer, the light cascading onto her lap. She’d emptied the SD card from her camera onto the laptop and now scanned through the pictures in the file—the Girl Scouts, sh
ots of the river tragedy, and more. Leftover shots from Prague in winter. Icing folding over the gothic spires and Narnia lampposts, the river metallic, the air crisp as it turned words to crystal.

  She clicked on a folder marked Christmas Market to see a festive gallery of thumbnails depicting the glorious celebration on Wenceslas Square—the soaring evergreen cut from the Krkonoše mountains, bedazzled with lights, and the live Nativity, replete with goats and sheep, a donkey, and actors portraying Mary, Joseph, and the baby Jesus. She could easily close her eyes and stroll through the market, picking out embroidered lace, scented candles, knit mittens, marionette dolls. Smell the hams roasting on spits.

  Hear Roark’s voice as he tempted her with a fresh buttered trdelník.

  Roark. From the first day in Prague, he seemed to be always there, embedding her explorations, sharing the beauty. Helping her discover the magic of her great adventure.

  Perhaps the magic only happened in Prague. And maybe it should stay there.

  She closed the folder and clicked on the remainder of her Prague photos, uploading them to her album on Facebook.

  A tapping at her window made her jump. She moved the laptop onto the bed and got up, peering down.

  Seth?

  He stood, hands in his pockets, peering up into the darkness, wearing a jean jacket and jeans, his long blond hair like a halo of gold. Then he reached down, grabbed another pebble from their gravel drive.

  Oh no.

  Amelia grabbed her sweatshirt and tugged it over her head just as the pebble flew to the sash, plinked against it, and trickled down the roof.

  She took the stairs two at a time, landing on the slick wood floor, then scrambling toward the door.

  She switched on the outside light and pulled the door open as Seth crouched for more ammunition. “What are you doing?” she hissed. “You’re going to break a window!”

  He dropped the rock. “You didn’t mind so much in high school.”

  Amelia flicked off the light, then closed the door behind her, having slipped on Casper’s hiking boots. She tromped over to Seth, the wind whipping through her pajama pants. “We’re not in high school anymore. And you can’t just come over here in the middle of the—”

  He wound his hand around her waist, pulled her to himself. “I’m sorry, babe.” Then he ducked his head and kissed her.

  She could so easily fall into his embrace. Familiar, his tree-trunk arms curling around her, molding her to the solid planes of his body. He wore the beginnings of a beard, scant copper highlights scruffy against her chin, and when he kissed her, she tasted an urgency, a passion he usually kept banked.

  It felt so easy, so terribly like home that she couldn’t help but surrender, the moon casting a downy glow upon the night, the cicadas serenading from the shores of Evergreen Lake.

  He pulled her closer, deepening his kiss, and the turmoil rose inside her. How could she kiss Seth when Roark too easily filled her mind? She leaned away from him, her hands palming his chest. “Seth, wait—we have to talk about today.”

  He ignored her words, his eyes finding hers, his hands cupping her face. “I don’t want to wait.”

  “Seth—”

  “No, Amelia. Please, listen to me.” His voice held a tremor, and the emotion in his eyes cut off her words. “I’m tired of waiting.” He let go of her face, clasped her hands in his. “I love you. I’ve always loved you, and yeah, I know we broke up when you took off for Europe, but—” He swallowed, and her heart could weep for the longing, the sadness in his expression. “But I didn’t want that, not really. And now you’re back. It’s time to . . .” He sighed. “It’s time we stopped kidding ourselves. You belong here with me. Seth and Amelia.”

  “Seth, please.” She made to pull away, but he gripped her hands.

  “No! Don’t you get it? I don’t want anyone else. I’ll never want anyone else. You’re my girl.”

  She caught her lip with her teeth, her eyes burning. “Please don’t say that. I’m not . . . I’m not ready. . . . I don’t know what I want.”

  Her words looped out into the night, the spaces filling with her thundering heartbeat. Then he stepped back, his expression dark. “This is about him, isn’t it? I thought you might be yankin’ my chain tonight—trying to get me to man up and propose by saying you’re dating 007. But . . .” He turned away from her, let out a word that made her shrink back.

  Then he whirled around to face her. “He’s not sticking around, you know. He’ll leave once he breaks your heart again, and you’ll have no one.”

  She winced, his words like a slap, and she realized with a jolt how much Seth, too, was embedded in her world.

  This world. Deep Haven. Her home.

  Seth was the world of evergreen forest, pizza, and football under the stars.

  Roark was the glitter of a night market on a cobblestone square, sugary European pastries, and the sky stretching out to forever.

  “Seth . . .” She reached for him, her hand on his arm. “I just need time. I don’t know why he’s here, but . . .”

  He hadn’t moved under her grip, his chest rising and falling. “Time.”

  “Maybe I just need to know that—”

  “I get it. You want me to be romantic. Buy you dinner? Flowers?”

  Well, not exactly, but—

  He sighed. “Okay, I’ll play your game.” He took a strand of her long hair, ran it between two work-worn fingers. “Flowers. Dinner. And you’ll see I can be every bit a gentleman. Would you like that?”

  “Seth, you don’t have to—”

  “But then, Ames, you’ll have to choose. Me or him. Deep Haven or the world, whatever it is you want out there.” He leaned close, his lips against her cheek. “I can be enough for you if you give me a chance.”

  Amelia closed her eyes as he moved his lips to hers, whisper soft, sweet. She gently pushed him away before he became too ardent.

  He gave her a sad smile, then left her alone, shivering as a spring wind dug through her flannel pants, his words swirling through her. I can be enough for you if you give me a chance.

  Why wasn’t he already enough?

  She let herself into the house, tiptoeing up the stairs, feeling like a sinner to have gone traipsing out into the night. Especially with Seth’s kiss still lingering on her lips.

  Until she saw the door to the den open below, light streaming into the dark hallway, followed by Grace, who slunk out of her fiancé’s room.

  Amelia ducked into her room, scampering under the covers just as Grace crept into the bedroom and slipped into bed.

  Quiet as a burglar.

  Apparently Amelia wasn’t the only one harboring secrets.

  The Skype call, ringing through the padding of darkness, jolted Roark out of the quiet place where he relived Amelia smiling at him from across the table.

  Welcome to Deep Haven.

  Magic, beautiful words—the entire evening had turned out like something he’d only wildly hoped for.

  No, she hadn’t let him take her hand as he walked her out to her car. Yes, she’d left him standing on the curb instead of responding to his hint that they stroll along the shore. But she hadn’t ordered him to leave her town, hadn’t continued to taint their past with her use of the word fling.

  Maybe God had decided to forgive Roark. Or at the very least, leave him alone.

  As the ringing continued, Roark reached for his laptop, pulled it onto the bed, and clicked on the icon.

  The light could sear his eyes, but through it he saw Ethan sitting in his office, his back to the window overlooking the skyline of Brussels, the sun high, the world of Constantine Worldwide bustling around him. Roark could easily close his eyes and picture his uncle Donovan’s penthouse office, see his own expansive office scrubbed and ready for him next door.

  Not yet. “Ethan. Do you know it’s after midnight here?”

  “Sorry, mate. Early morning, and I wanted to let you know that we sold the flat in Paris. I’m dispatching a check t
o Cicely per your orders.” Ethan had cut his hair, wore it short and slicked back, his suit coat draped over a butler’s hanger behind him, his shirtsleeves rolled up. As part of the legal team—and Roark’s personal barrister—the man probably used the sofa in his office more often than he slept at home.

  “Very good.”

  It was the sigh that stopped him from disconnecting.

  “What?”

  Ethan made a wry face. “I just wanted to say that I know today’s a tough one for you. I’ll raise a pint to your family tonight.”

  Today. Roark stilled, his breath caught behind the place where his heart had stopped, sitting like a boulder cutting off the air to his chest. He didn’t have to look at the calendar to know, but the fact that it had so neatly slipped his mind . . . “Quite right. Thank you, mate.”

  Silence on both sides of the ocean then. “Want me to reach out to the Spanish police, see if they have any new leads?”

  “After twelve years? Probably not.” Roark ran his hand behind his neck, massaged a tight muscle. Because really, how could they when their key witness had run from the crime, not looked back?

  “It just seems so wrong that they’ll never have justice.”

  Justice. Roark looked out the window to where the night blackened the windows, save for the wan light over the municipal parking lot across the street. “How can there ever be justice for murdering an entire family?”

  Well, not an entire family. Roark had lived. Ethan, however, stayed mercifully quiet on that point.

  After a brief silence he asked, “Are you ready to come home?”

  “No.” In fact, at this moment, without much of a shove, he might climb into his rental, push the throttle north.

  “Very well. I’ll wire your funds to the local bank. Send me the routing number.”

  “Thank you,” Roark said and hung up. He closed his computer and sat back against the cool wood of the headboard, listening to his heart filling his veins, his throat.

  He stared out the window into the darkness, watching the waves on the shore. It seemed somehow poetic that the anniversary would arrive just when he might be finding peace. A reminder that he’d never truly escape.