The Goodbye Bride

by Denise Hunter

  Chapter 39

  Zac arrived at church half an hour early the next morning. He’d spent a sleepless night tossing and turning, scanning Lucy’s two short texts repeatedly, trying to read into them. Was she angry? Confused? Afraid? About to bail?

  He turned off his ignition and settled back in his seat to wait, yesterday’s conversation replaying over and over. Questions surfaced.

  Why had she assumed he was leaving her last fall? Why hadn’t she talked to him instead of running away? Why had she referred to her dad as leaving? Obviously there were things he didn’t know.

  He wanted to understand. He couldn’t forget the pain he’d seen in her eyes yesterday. The anguish on her face. His leaving had hurt her. Destroyed her.

  He’d hurt her. The thought of it made his heart twist. It was the last thing he’d ever wanted to do. Every instinct drove him to protect her, to make her smile, make her laugh. But he’d been so worried about his own problems the day he’d left that he hadn’t even given her a single thought. He’d been in an ugly mood, and he could see now how she could’ve taken it personally. There’d been no gentle word of reassurance, no sweet goodbye kiss to reassure her that everything would be fine.

  And when he’d returned from his weekend trip to find her gone, he sure hadn’t given her emotions a second thought. He’d been too worried about his own feelings. Too busy holding up his shield of righteous indignation.

  He pinched his lips together. How’s that for selfish, God? Clearly he needed a refresher on the Love Chapter.

  A car pulled into the lot, and he whipped around, hope pumping in his heart.

  But it was only the organist, Mrs. Pritchard. He gave her a wave as she passed in her silver Buick.

  The parking lot slowly filled. Beau and Aunt Trudy arrived with fifteen minutes to spare. His aunt made her way into the chapel while Beau headed toward Zac’s truck.

  Zac put down the window, eager for any news he might’ve received through Eden.

  But his brother only greeted him with a dark look. “Really, Zac? You let her walk home in a storm?”

  “She said she wanted to be left alone. What was I supposed to do? Force her onto the bike?”

  “You could’ve stayed with her.”

  His stomach sank to his toes. All right, so it wasn’t his most brilliant moment. “Have you heard anything this morning?”

  Beau gave him a long, withering look. Probably just to make him suffer a few extra seconds. “No,” he said finally. “But they should be here any minute.”

  “Do you know what happened? Did she say anything?”

  He lifted his shoulder. “Just a recap of your argument. There was other stuff Eden didn’t feel she should tell me.”

  Zac dropped his head back on the seat, closing his eyes for a long second. “This is killing me. I was hoping we’d get a chance to talk before church.”

  Beau checked his watch. “You might start with an apology.”

  “No kidding, Sherlock.”

  Beau held up his palms. “Hey, don’t shoot the messenger.”

  Zac had more questions than he’d ever fit in before church. There was so much he didn’t understand. But he did know one thing. He couldn’t lose Lucy again. He knew only too well what kind of pain and suffering that entailed. And call him stupid, but he didn’t think Lucy wanted to lose what they had either.

  “Any other words of wisdom?” he asked, half sarcastic, half desperate.

  Beau read straight through the sarcasm. He gave Zac a long look, his eyes softening around the corners. “Try to be patient. I get the feeling she’s dealing with some heavy stuff.”

  He reminded himself of that when Eden pulled into the lot a few minutes later. The passenger seat was empty.

  Lucy had almost been relieved when she’d awakened at six o’clock with a full-blown migraine. Thank God she wouldn’t have to face Zac yet. She found some ibuprofen in Eden’s medicine cabinet and took a prescription-strength dose. It probably wouldn’t touch the pain, but her migraine meds were at the Roadhouse.

  She woke briefly when Eden slipped into the room to gather Micah’s clothes and said she wasn’t going to make it to church. Then she promptly fell asleep and didn’t wake up until almost two o’clock. She couldn’t believe she’d slept so late. Then again, she’d been up until almost three in the morning, crying and praying and crying some more.

  The sleep had worked wonders on her migraine though. And the praying had helped her assimilate her thoughts. She’d come to a realization in the early hours of the morning. She didn’t know what the future held. But she knew what she had to do next.

  The sound of the TV filtered through the walls, and the smell of coffee lingered in the air, pulling her from bed. She brushed her teeth and face. Her eyes were swollen and her hair was a frizzy mess, but she couldn’t find it in herself to care. She followed the smell of the brew down the stairs.

  Eden was sitting on the couch, Micah napping in her lap. A stair squeaked under Lucy’s feet.

  Eden looked up. “Hey . . . you feeling any better?”

  “Much.” She cleared the huskiness from her voice. “Is it too much to hope there’s still coffee?”

  “There’s half a pot warming. Help yourself.”

  “Bless you.”

  “I’m surprised you’re not at Beau’s,” Lucy said when she returned to the living room. Sunday dinner was a tradition for the Callahans. She’d only just started joining them. Her heart plunked to her heels at the thought of Zac. How could she long for him and be afraid of facing him at the same time?

  “I didn’t want you to wake up alone.”

  “You didn’t have to do that. How was . . . church?”

  “Church was fine, but I suspect you’re really asking about Zac?”

  She was desperate for news of him. She’d been so distraught yesterday that the look on his face hadn’t registered until she was

  quiet in bed last night. The feverish intensity of his eyes. The protective posture of his body. His emotion-choked voice. And finally that last pained stare. The memory of it slayed her.

  She took another sip of the hot brew, willing the caffeine to kick in. Her hand trembled in midair. “Is he—is he okay?”

  Eden ran her fingers idly through Micah’s hair. “Depends what you mean by okay. He’s worried about you. He’s desperate to talk to you. He stopped by about half an hour ago. Brought your purse.” Eden tilted her head. “He looks so pitiful, Lucy. Those big gray eyes all bloodshot, his face all haggard. You should put him out of his misery.”

  Lucy felt a sharp pinch in her chest. “He told me he loved me yesterday, before everything happened.”

  The corner of Eden’s mouth lifted. “That can’t be much of a surprise. I assume the feeling’s mutual.”

  The admission formed in her throat. But before it moved to her tongue it got sucked into the cold, hollow place inside. It shouldn’t be so hard to admit her feelings.

  What is wrong with me, God?

  It wasn’t normal to hold back such a big piece of herself, was it? Whatever was going on, it was tied somehow to her father, and she was going to get to the bottom of it, no matter how much it hurt. Zac was worth it.

  “Do you have any idea what you’re going to do? I mean, you’re welcome to stay here as long as you need, but I hope you’ll try and work things out with Zac.”

  She wanted that more than anything. But God had laid something on her heart last night, something so solid and real it felt like a block sitting on the center of her chest. And there was only one thing that would relieve her of the weight.

  She met Eden’s gaze. “I need to go back home, to Savannah. I’m hoping to get a flight later today.” Having money did come in handy. A month ago she couldn’t have afforded a last-minute ticket.

  Eden’s eyes had tightened in a wary look. “Lucy . . . you can’t do that to him again. From what I heard—”

  “No, not permanently. I’ll be back soon, I promise. And I’m going t
o stop by his place and let him know what’s going on and let Miss Trudy know I’ll need a few days off. I spent a lot of time in prayer last night, and it gave me clarity. There’s something I have to do, and I have to do it alone.”

  Lucy’s hand shook as she knocked on Zac’s apartment door later that afternoon. Her knees were as flimsy as cooked spaghetti. Her heart hammered against her ribs, and her empty stomach twisted. She was so hungry for a look at his face. So desperate to be in his arms again. Despite her need to get a grip on what was happening inside her, she didn’t think she’d be able to refuse if he tried to kiss her.

  She knocked again, but she was beginning to think it was a lost cause. She hadn’t noticed his truck in the parking lot, but then, she hadn’t really looked for it either. She’d been too lost in thought.

  When one more knock proved ineffective, she took the stairs down to her room and packed what she’d need for a couple days. When she was finished, she went out to the restaurant again and peeked into the kitchen.

  Cal, his cook, turned from the grill. “Hey, Lucy.”

  “Hey, Cal. You know where Zac is?”

  Cal shoved a plate under the warmers and grabbed two orders from the wheel. “I think he’s at Beau’s house.”

  Her heart sank. As much as she’d been dreading his questions—questions she didn’t have answers for—she’d really wanted to see his handsome face before she left.

  “Oh. All right, thanks.”

  She checked her watch as she wandered through the dining room. Her plane left in two hours, and she still had to drive to Bangor. There was no time to stop at the farm. She exhaled deeply, frustration bubbling up.

  She didn’t want to talk about this over the phone. She wasn’t ready to talk about her dad, and she knew Zac would somehow pull it all out of her whether she was ready or not. He might even talk her into staying. And she had to go home. Needed to sort this out once and for all.

  A text was too impersonal, but a letter . . . a letter was perfect. She went to her room and pulled a sheet of paper from the notebook on her bedside table.

  He was trying to be patient. He really was. He’d stopped by Eden’s after church with Lucy’s purse, but she’d been sleeping. At least that was what Eden had said. She wouldn’t have lied. Would she?

  He lost all track of the Red Sox game on Beau’s TV. Couldn’t even remember who they were playing. Next to him his brother let out a dissatisfied grunt. Aunt Trudy’s knitting needles clacked across the room. The savory smell of beef stew hung in the air, turning his knotted stomach.

  His phone had been annoyingly quiet all afternoon. Despite its silence he kept checking for texts. He was pulling his phone out for the umpteenth time when he felt a thwack to the back of his head.

  He turned a dark look on Beau. “Hey . . .”

  “Call her already.”

  “You told me to be patient,” he said.

  “There’s patient, and there’s stupid.”

  “For your information I stopped by before I came here. She’s sleeping. I don’t want to wake her.” God knew if her night had been like his, she needed it.

  He fretted through the rest of the game, finally giving up during the seventh inning stretch. He swung by Eden’s on his way home, but there was no answer at the door.

  When he pulled up to the Roadhouse, his eyes fell on the empty space where her car was usually parked. A dark, heavy feeling bloomed inside.

  No. Not again. Please, God. I can’t take it if she’s left again.

  Defeat closed in around his neck like a noose as he strode toward Lucy’s room. In his mind’s eye he could already see the perfectly made bed, the empty closet, the clean dresser. He’d seen it all before. He had trouble swallowing against the hard knot at the back of his throat.

  When there was no answer to his knock, he opened her door. She always kept the room picked up, the bed made. He checked the bathroom first, dread tightening the noose. The countertop was empty, her curling iron gone, along with her hair spray and cosmetics.

  With anxious feet he moved toward the closet, his heart beating up into his throat. His hand closed over the knob, turning.

  At the sight of her clothes his breath rushed out. He gripped the doorframe with trembling fingers, his eyes scanning the closet. There were quite a few empty hangers. His eyes dropped to the floor where her favorite heels were lined up in a neat row. The tension drained from his shoulders. She’d never leave those behind.

  Maybe Eden had brought her over to get a few things. Maybe she needed a few days away. He remembered his own escape last year—the one that had caused all this. Maybe she was just stressed and needing a little space. With everything she’d been through with her memory loss, he could hardly blame her. That didn’t make it any easier though.

  He treaded upstairs to his apartment, sadness falling over him like a heavy fog. He had to talk to her. He needed to hear her voice and know she was okay.

  He pulled his phone from his pocket. She wouldn’t answer though. He was sure of it. Just like last time and the time before that. All those familiar feelings washed over him. His hands felt tied behind his back, and the helpless feeling knotted his muscles all over again.

  Come on, God. Cut me some slack here.

  He unlocked his door and flung it open so hard it bounced against the wall. Something fluttered off the ground, landing at his feet. A sheet of notebook paper, folded in half. He bent down and grabbed it, opening it.

  Lucy’s neat script filled the page. Equal parts of dread and hope filled him as he began reading.

  Dear Zac,

  I stopped by to see you before I left town, but you weren’t home. I’ve been all messed up since yesterday, and I know you have been too. You must be as confused as I am. The memory that came back has really thrown me for a loop. I don’t know what to think. But I do know you were telling me the truth when you said you weren’t leaving me last year.

  I’ve been praying about this, and I need to go home to Savannah. I have unfinished business to deal with, and I need to do it alone. I have some work to do on me. It will be hard, and I can’t tell you how much I’m dreading all the feelings it will dredge up. But I think it will be worth it if it helps me move forward.

  I know it’s asking a lot, but . . . please be patient with me, Zac. I’m sorry to leave you with only a note and with so many questions, but trust me when I say I don’t have any answers for you yet.

  I haven’t booked my flight back to Maine, but I don’t anticipate being gone longer than a couple days. I would appreciate your prayers.

  XXOO,

  Lucy

  Chapter 40

  Magnolia Memorial Gardens was located outside of Savannah to the southwest. Mature trees towered over the grassy landscape, shading the gently rolling hills. Colorful flowers proliferated even in the August heat. Despite the well-manicured setting, the narrow, grass-edged lane winding through the cemetery lent it a country feel.

  Lucy hadn’t been here since they’d buried her mother, and those memories did nothing to calm the storm welling up inside. She’d never been to her dad’s graveside. He’d died while she was away at college, and she hadn’t gotten word until several days after his funeral.

  Her aunt’s arrangements, she remembered now, had been handled from Portland. Audrey had requested no funeral or memorial and only the simplest of arrangements.

  It was only a vague sense of direction that led her to the back of the cemetery where the grassy lawn met the woods. Towering pine trees formed a canopy overhead, blocking out the evening sun. She’d arrived last night and had dithered away a whole day, dreading this moment.

  She parked the rental alongside the drive and stepped outside. Even though the sun was setting, the heat felt blisteringly hot after the coolness of the car’s air-conditioning, and the air was so heavy with humidity it was hard to breathe. The scent of magnolias swept by on a hot breeze.

  Lucy wandered around the garden, searching for her family’s plots. He
r clothes were damp and sticking to her skin by the time she found her aunt’s no-fuss marker.

  Going by some distant recollection, her eyes wandered back a row to the base of a white pine. She followed the direction of her gaze and stopped at the foot of her mother’s grave. Heart pounding, she read the inscription on the flat marker:

  GLORIA JEAN LOVETT

  BELOVED WIFE AND MOTHER

  NOV. 2, 1965—SEPT. 19, 1996

  GRACE WAS IN ALL HER STEPS

  HEAVEN IN HER EYES

  IN EVERY GESTURE DIGNITY AND LOVE

  A knot formed in Lucy’s throat as the marker blurred. She closed her eyes, her mother’s image blooming in her mind’s eye. The wind whispering through her brown hair, the smile sparkling in her blue eyes, the smell of sunshine and flowers on her soft skin. She breathed in a steadying breath, words clogging her throat, the loss still fresh after all this time. The one person who’d loved her right.

  Thank you, Mama.

  She bit her lip, helpless against the tears that flowed down her cheeks. Her eyes drifted to her dad’s marker, an avalanche of emotions flooding in. Her feet were rooted to the spot. The walls of her chest closed in, smothering her with their weight. She labored to draw in a shallow breath. Her heart pounded too quickly, and fear sucked the moisture from her mouth.

  That cold, dark pit opened up inside, filled with so many emotions she could barely contain them. She was helpless to find words. Lucy Lovett, whose words tumbled too easily from her mouth.

  She focused on her mother’s marker, not able to think about her dad just yet. She didn’t try to stop the flow of tears, just let them come, all of them for her mother.

  One thing at a time. One memory at a time.

  She wept until she became aware of darkness falling around her, then headed back to the car. Exhaustion weighted her shoulders like a leaden cape. Despite the powerful grip of grief, she was disappointed in herself.