Build it Strong (The Ballard Brothers of Darling Bay Book 2)

by Rachael Herron

“Mom! How long have you thought this?”

  A harsh sigh echoed down the phone. “A long time. But you’ve been acting so damn fragile.”

  Tuesday could only blink. She had been fragile. That was why she’d acted that way.

  “Honey, you’ve always been so strong. That’s what you seem to have forgotten how to be. Remember Thomasina’s funeral?”

  Thomasina Welks, one of her favorite students, had died of leukemia the year after she’d been in Tuesday’s class. Tuesday had planned most of her funeral, since her single mother couldn’t get out of bed and she had no other relatives close by. It had been horrible and awful and Tuesday had been honored to do it. To be the strong one. “Yeah.”

  There was a clatter and then a whine, as if her mother had just put her on speakerphone. Her voice was hollow when she next spoke. “That’s how you always were. Ready to bolster anyone. What about Diana?”

  “What about her?”

  “Have you called her?”

  “She doesn’t want to hear from me.”

  Her mother whispered, “Idiot.”

  “Mom!”

  “You didn’t support her.”

  That’s not fair.

  “Honey, you have to find that core strength inside you again.”

  “What if it’s gone forever?”

  “Then you pretend.”

  “What?”

  “It’s what the rest of us do every day. We just pretend, and then it becomes real. What are you going to do with that young man of yours?”

  Right. Her mother didn’t know. “I broke it off with him.”

  Another long sigh. “Of course you did. You said he was the one.”

  He was. “He deserved better, Mom.”

  “Like what?”

  “Like a woman who could give him children, for example.”

  “Give me the phone, Margo.”

  Tuesday heard a scuffle. Her mother said, “It’s on speakerphone, Ron, just talk to her.”

  Her father bellowed, “Just trust the man to love you!”

  Salt stung her nose. “Daddy—”

  “For the love of God, Tuesday! Give him the damn choice whether he wants to stick around!”

  Another clatter. “Figure out how to be strong again. You can do it.”

  Ten minutes after the call ended, Tuesday still sat in frozen silence. She ached to the center of her perma-chilled bones.

  She had gotten everything so very wrong.

  A bit of motion down below caught her eye. The gate to the hot spring.

  Ella was just disappearing through it.

  Tuesday didn’t have the bravery.

  Not today.

  Then she heard her mother’s voice in her head. So go apologize.

  Maybe it was a place to start.

  Maybe.

  Chapter 35

  T

  uesday pushed open the gate.

  Ella sat on a low, flat, moss-covered rock, her legs in the water up to her knees. She had a book in her hands, and was looking down at it. She didn’t move when the gate creaked.

  But she was listening.

  If Tuesday knew anything, it was when a child was pretending to not be paying attention.

  “What are you reading?”

  Casually, Ella turned her head. “Oh, nothing.” She closed the book and turned it upside down on her lap, but Tuesday knew the spine at one glance. She’d know it anywhere.

  “The Secret Garden, huh? My favorite. I thought this place was like her garden when I first saw it.”

  Ella didn’t answer.

  “Did you think of it, too? This place?”

  A short nod.

  “Can I sit here?” Tuesday pointed at a rock just a few feet away from Ella’s.

  A quick shrug.

  “Thanks.” Tuesday put her feet into the water and sighed. “It’s heaven.”

  “The last people to live in your house never let me in here.”

  “They didn’t?”

  “That was a couple of years ago. I think they thought I would drown.”

  “But you’re older now.”

  “And there’s the whole hot water thing.” Purposefully, Ella touched the scar on her neck.

  “Yeah. I get it. Well, you’re welcome here.”

  Ella shrugged.

  “I have something to say to you,” said Tuesday.

  The girl sighed. “Do you have to?”

  She sounded like a teenager suddenly. Tuesday realized with a thud that she wanted to be near this girl while she was growing up. She wanted to see the angst, the heartache, the pain, and then the beautiful growth. “I’m so sorry.”

  Ella kept her eyes forward, watching the steam rise from the center.

  “I made you feel like I was rejecting you.”

  “You did reject me.”

  “But it really was me.”

  “It’s okay. It’s fine.” Ella’s words painfully echoed Diana’s.

  “I’ve heard that before, and it’s usually said when something isn’t fine. I have to tell you a secret. I didn’t tell you before because I was trying to protect myself.” Aidan’s words echoed in her head. You don’t give a good goddamn who you hurt, as long as you keep yourself warm and dry. “But I’m learning we can’t protect ourselves from everything. It’s the reason I came to Darling Bay.”

  This, at least, got the girl’s attention. “Why did you come here?”

  “Because I was in a car crash, the one I told you about. Where I got my scar. I had my best friend’s kids in the car. Twin girls. They both got hurt. Now they’re not twins anymore.”

  Ella looked startled but then scowled. “Yeah, they are.”

  “No. One’s in a wheelchair, and the other has a scarred face. All because I wasn’t paying attention to my responsibilities.”

  “That’s so stupid.”

  It was a jolt. “What?”

  “I mean, sure you feel bad, but it’s not like you’re God or something. They’re still twins.”

  “But—”

  “I get it. They look different. But I bet they still feel like twins. I know that. I’ve always wanted one. I wouldn’t care if she looked different from me, I’d just care that we were together.”

  Tuesday shivered again even though the heat of the water on her legs was making her sweat. “Are you a little bit mad, though?”

  “At you?”

  “No. At the person who put the water on the stove, the pan that you pulled down.” Ella would say yes. It would prove Tuesday’s point.

  “Of course not.” Ella rolled her eyes. “It was an accident.”

  She made it sound so simple.

  So simple.

  “I’m sorry.”

  “It’s okay,” Ella said again.

  “Really, I saw your face when I said I wouldn’t help, and it broke my heart.”

  A smile finally broke over Ella’s face, and it was like the sun coming out. “Fine. My mom always says you have to either accept an apology or not. So I accept it.”

  Relief tasted like honey in Tuesday’s mouth. “My mom says the same thing.”

  “Moms.” Ella put her hands on the rock behind her and leaned back, looking up at the sky that was just beginning to clear.

  “Moms,” agreed Tuesday, doing the same.

  “So you’re staying?”

  “I think so.” If she could keep her broken heart from bleeding all over the place when she passed Aidan on the street, in the café, in the bar.

  “I’m glad.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I liked you from the very start.”

  “Ditto, Ella.” Tuesday felt the tiniest sprig of hope uncurl in her heart, green and strong. “Ditto.”

  Chapter 36

  A

  idan had a mission. Finally.

  He sat on the brown leather couch in the small living room of his small condo, his laptop balanced on his knees. The small clock on the mantel chimed the half hour. The falcon painted on the clock’s face ra
ised its wings to either side of its glass face.

  Aidan had always thought Bill had given the clock to him because Aidan was late too often. And maybe that was partially true.

  But maybe it was also because Bill knew he’d always loved tracing the falcon on the clock with his finger.

  Maybe it was because Bill thought he would someday soar like the bird.

  Aidan felt the tattoo under his shirt grow warm as he looked around the living room with new eyes. I hate this place.

  He’d been angry when he’d asked Liam to list the condo, but it had been the right thing to do. He’d buy a different house and start over.

  Maybe he’d bring nothing with him but that clock.

  Start fresh.

  He fired up Facebook. He had a hundred and twenty-three notifications waiting for him, but considering that he hadn’t logged on in at least six months, that didn’t seem too bad.

  Two or three clicks got him to Tuesday’s Facebook page, which was unlocked, lucky for him. There was no Diana listed under her friends (who had unfriended whom?) but there was a Margo Willis, who looked like an older version of Tuesday. Funny, she should have been plain—with her mousy gray hair, wire-rimmed glasses, and medium brown eyes—but there was a twinkle in her eye that Aidan recognized. A particular sparkle that lit up the older woman.

  God, this had to work. This much hope had never traveled through his fingers. From Margo’s page, he found a Diana Majors. Was that her, maybe?

  Yes, it had to be. Diana’s page was locked down, but her profile picture showed a pretty dark-haired woman with two girls flanking her. One girl had a shiny pink scar running from the side of her nose to under her jaw.

  As Aidan hit the Friend request button, his heart pounded like he’d just shifted a pallet of roof tiles.

  With any luck, she was online.

  But on second thought, what woman these days accepted the friending by a man across the country, a man she didn’t know or have connection to—

  There it was.

  Diana Majors had confirmed his friendship.

  Holy shit.

  Was this like putting in the chrome in the bathroom? Was he overstepping Tuesday’s wishes again? How was he supposed to know if he was screwing all of this up?

  Aidan put his fingers on the keyboard and closed his eyes. Feeling slightly stupid, he waited to see what he felt.

  It felt right. The chrome had been a push.

  This was different—he didn’t have Tuesday, but maybe he could help make her life better anyway.

  He wasn’t a good typist—more of a hunt-and-pecker—but he was fast.

  Dear Ms. Majors,

  I have come to know Tuesday Willis.

  God, that sounded weird.

  Tuesday Willis is a friend of mine.

  If Diana and Tuesday weren’t friends anymore, that might sound like a weird type of bragging.

  I’ve fallen in love with Tuesday Willis.

  In for a penny, right?

  I really don’t know how you two left it between you, and it’s none of my business, I know that. But I bet this is what happened: Tuesday panicked and ran. That’s what I would have done if I were in her shoes. My brother is going to be a father, and suddenly, the one thing I don’t want to do is hold that baby because I’ll be so afraid of dropping it.

  But I will. Because that’s what family does.

  When she talks about you, it sounds like she’s talking about family.

  I can’t fix anything between the two of you, and it’s more than possible you don’t want it to be fixed. If that’s so, please delete this message, no hard feelings.

  But first, I want to tell you this: She’s been writing you an email for months. She says she writes it late at night and early the morning. She says she tells you everything.

  You should ask her to send it to you.

  I blew it. I stepped over her wishes, and I assumed about a thing I should never have assumed. You want the truth? I thought it was a sign when the woman of my dreams moved into the house I’ve always wanted.

  I assumed too much.

  But you have the history with her.

  She loves me.

  He looked at the sentence for a long moment, and then erased the last word. His lungs hurt from holding his breath.

  She loves you.

  He clicked send.

  The falcon clock chimed the next quarter hour. That had only taken fifteen minutes.

  Now what the hell was he supposed to do with the rest of his life?

  Chapter 37

  S

  itting at the kitchen island, Tuesday finished digitally signing the employment application. It was a formality—the local school district was short on fifth and sixth grade teachers and the superintendent had told her she was in.

  Good. That was good.

  That’s what she kept telling herself.

  Tuesday clicked send, and the application on its way to the district office. Out the window, she saw the mailman walk by. She raised her hand in case he could see her inside the house.

  He waved back cheerfully. Damn, she’d forgotten his name again. She had to get that right soon.

  Tuesday would have a job and a home in Darling Bay. Exactly what she’d wanted. Her parents were coming to visit the next week, and they were thinking about buying a small place in the area. She’d had a friend-date coffee with Felicia, and Tuesday had been the one to start the baby-is-coming conversation. By choice. She’d honestly wanted to know.

  It didn’t hurt. Not like she’d thought it would.

  Maybe losing the man she loved made losing imaginary babies she could never have a little easier.

  Her cell jangled with a text.

  Send me the email.

  The skin of Tuesday’s face tingled, as if she’d been slapped. How did Diana know? How could she—

  Aidan.

  He was the only one she’d told about the ongoing drafted email. He had told her? How? Tuesday went cold at her very core.

  The text sat on the screen, making the phone feel heavier.

  Dread.

  And hope.

  In equal parts.

  Diana knew? And she wanted the email?

  Well, hell. She could have it, then.

  Tuesday pulled up the drafted email as she did every day. Her trigger finger hovered over the send button. She should at least reread it a few times.

  No, goddamn it, she didn’t need to read it—she knew it by heart. She knew every I’m sorry and I love you and I’m so so so sorry. She knew every I have to tell you that and I’m worried that.

  God, she was being cautious again. Always so careful, especially when it came to anything about emotion.

  Her finger landed on the computer keyboard with a heavy thud. She hit send.

  Then she covered her mouth. “Oh, shit.” She shouldn’t have done that without reading it.

  The whole thing was a love letter.

  An apology.

  An entreaty.

  And she’d just sent it.

  Tuesday stared at her phone in abject terror. The kitchen, normally her favorite place in the house, seemed suddenly too small. The walls closed around her, and for a second she longed for Aidan’s sledgehammer.

  Seven and a half minutes later, her phone rang.

  Tuesday stared at Diana’s face on the screen of her phone—she hadn’t seen that photo in so long she forgot it flashed when Diana called.

  It rang again.

  It took every ounce of bravery she’d ever felt, all piled together, to answer. “Hello?”

  “You left me.”

  Tuesday choked on the lump that rendered her temporarily unable to speak. “Diana—”

  “You left us.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “You’re not sorry. That’s the thing. You’ve gone to this new town, and you love it, and you have the best house, with a natural hot spring, and you’re having hot sex with that guy Aidan—”

  She’d read the e
mail.

  Oh, God.

  “And it seems like you love it there, and this whole email made me miss you so much I honestly want to punch you in the nose.”

  Tuesday gasped a laugh. Once, at a movie theater, Diana had punched Tuesday in the nose while putting on her coat. “You’re good at that.”

  “No, like really punch you. Hard.”

  “I would deserve it.” That and so much more. She’d hurt Diana’s children.

  “Not for the accident, you complete and total idiot. For leaving me behind without even saying goodbye.”

  “I couldn’t.”

  “You could have. And you should have.”

  “I know.”

  “Then why didn’t you?”

  Tuesday clenched her free hand into a fist so hard her fingers ached. “You know why.”

  “Because I forgave you?”

  “No.”

  “Because you didn’t believe I forgave you.”

  “Yes.” That was it. That was the truth. Now it was out there.

  “Yeah, well, who makes you the person who gets to decide what my words mean? You don’t get to do that. I get to decide how I feel, and you deciding I feel differently means that you’re not listening, that you’re not trusting me.”

  “You’re right.”

  “And by the way—wait. What?” There was a clatter on the end of the line, as if Diana had dropped something.

  “You’re totally right. I should have believed you.”

  Diana’s voice was almost a whisper. “What happened to you out there?”

  “I…I fell in love.”

  “You poor thing.”

  “You should know.”

  “I do.”

  “How’s Nicholas?”

  “Handsome as ever. And twice as annoying.” The fondness in Diana’s voice warmed Tuesday to her bones.

  “How are the girls?”

  Diana’s tone softened. “They’re good. They’re really just fine, Tuesday. They miss you.”

  “I’m so sorry, Diana.”

  “For what, exactly? I just want to hear it.”

  “For everything.”

  An impatient huff. “You can do better than that.”

  It was true, she could. Tuesday kept her eyes fixed on the white mailbox that was painted with her house’s numbers. “I’m sorry I didn’t listen to you. That I didn’t believe you forgave me.”