“Go on.”
Georgie rubbed her forehead. “Maybe insecurity?” She remembered what Faye had said, “The need for control? He got mad easily. About a lot of things.”
“What kinds of things?”
Georgie closed her eyes and pressed her lips together, visualizing Ian and the ways he’d lost his temper. “When he couldn’t get cell service. Or his steak was too done at the restaurant.” She frowned. “He’d get upset if my opinion didn’t match his. He hated being teased.” She paused, thinking of Jace. “Playful banter made him mad.” She wondered how she could have ever been with someone like that. They’d had instant chemistry at the beginning. But it had soured so quickly. She had only ever wanted something good and true. Why had she hung on?
“How are you feeling right now?”
Georgie hadn’t realized her fists were clenched. She found it hard to breathe. “Like I want to call Ian a jerk for treating me that way. Like I want to tell him all the reasons I would never marry him. Like he was a controlling egomaniac.” A tear squeezed out the corner of her eye. “But then I remember I shouldn’t say those things.”
“Why not?”
Georgie wiped the tear. “Because he died, and that’s worse than anything I could say.”
Laurel watched her for a moment. She laid the pen down. “Georgie, you’re talking like you believe that Ian dying in that car crash was his punishment. A sentence too harsh for whatever happened between the two of you.”
Georgie blinked, wondering if that was true.
“Let’s say, for the sake of figuring this out, that you hadn’t broken up with him yet, that you’d decided to wait until he pulled up to your apartment that night to drop you off. Let’s say that on the way home the car still hit a curve going too fast and you sped down an embankment and crashed and Ian still died. What then?”
Georgie ran the scenario through her brain. She still would have been quiet in the car. He would have been teasing words out of her. He didn’t like it when she was quiet, but he might not have been angry. If he’d taken the curve too fast—if he’d still died—
After a minute, she said, “I guess I would have thought of it more as an accident. A life taken by circumstances. And less the other way.”
“What other way?”
She paused, gathering her courage to say the words. “Thinking that the accident was my fault.”
“Would you still have felt guilty?”
“No, not as much.”
“Why not?”
Georgie sighed. “Because I would’ve known his last moments of life weren’t spent upset with me. I would have known the accident wasn’t my fault.”
“What if he had been driving recklessly because he was happy or showing off for you?”
Georgie couldn’t argue those possibilities down.
“What if you hadn’t been in the car, and upset or happy, he’d just decided to race through the canyon?”
Again Georgie didn’t have a response. These were real possibilities with Ian, possibilities she hadn’t considered in all her nights spent awake and weighed down.
Laurel continued. “As I understand it, if there had been no accident, you still would have called off the engagement, even knowing how angry he would become.”
Georgie nodded, her thoughts spinning. “I couldn’t have married him.”
“No. You couldn’t.” Laurel sighed and removed her glasses. “You mentioned control. What if I suggested to you that Ian became angry when you broke up with him because he felt loss of control?”
“That . . . actually makes sense.” He hadn’t become angry—or sad or heartbroken—because he’d lost her love. He’d become angry because he’d lost control.
“Georgie, you and I share the same belief system, right?”
“Yes.”
“Do you mind if I incorporate that here?”
“Go ahead.”
“We believe in an afterlife. What do you think that is for Ian right now?”
The thought was not new to Georgie. She’d often begun to wonder only to shut the ideas down. She was too close, too hurt, too upended, and she’d decided to leave the judging to God. “I’ve been telling myself that’s between him and Heavenly Father.”
“That’s wise. It is. But I want to try something. Now, excuse the visuals. This isn’t scripture here, but I’m trying to simplify. Close your eyes and picture Ian standing in front of the gates of heaven; imagine his life laid out before him like a movie.”
Georgie did that.
“Now imagine one of the officials—let’s just say Peter—sets his hand on Ian’s shoulder and turns him to look back on the earth, to look at you.”
She imagined it. Her heart pounded.
“And because he’s been shown his life from every angle, he understands. He knows why you called off the engagement. He knows exactly why.”
A sensation Georgie couldn’t identify formed in her center and slowly worked its way outward. Her breathing quickened, but it wasn’t from fear. Because if he knew why . . . if he understood why . . .
More warm tears formed along the seams of her closed eyelids.
“Georgie,” Laurel spoke quietly. “There’s a chance Ian is past holding you accountable. You need to do the same. You need to forgive yourself.”
The warmth continued to spread to her limbs and fingertips and to spill out of her eyelids.
Ian, if you know why I couldn’t marry you, then you also know that I would have never wished for you to die. I would never wish for anyone to die.
* * *
Jace watched Georgie with concern. She’d come to work wearing dark sunglasses, and when she’d taken them off, he’d seen that her eyes were puffy and red. She’d said it was just allergies, but her smile hadn’t come after several lame attempts to coax one from her.
Something had definitely changed since earlier that day when they’d cooked together, laughing and smiling. A lot of smiling.
He’d left her house just after noon and had taken advantage of the dry weather to start priming the duplex for painting. He’d used that time to brainstorm food. A fresh spin on the halibut with some kind of salsa. He couldn’t wait to run ideas by Georgie and was even considering asking her to stay at the restaurant with him after closing to plan the trip for tomorrow. But now she looked exhausted.
If he was honest with himself, he’d say she looked like she’d been crying. He wondered if this had something to do with her appointment or why she’d come to the island in the first place. Once again he wished he knew more about her.
Since his first few attempts to engage her lighter side had failed, he decided to try another tactic. She’d gone to the walk-in fridge for something, and he followed. She barely turned when he entered.
“You again?” she asked with mild sarcasm.
He smiled at that. “We’ve got to stop meeting like this.”
As she loaded her tray with bread, he pretended to look over their supply of cream. He tried to sound nonchalant. “Are you okay, Georgie?”
When she didn’t answer, he turned.
She stood staring down at the loaves. She nodded.
“What if I don’t believe you?” he asked.
She shrugged. “I’d say you were an observant guy.”
He wanted to go to her and take the tray and brush her hair off her forehead. “What if I don’t believe you have allergies?” he asked instead, reaching for a pint of cream and pretending to read the label.
“What if I don’t believe you need any cream?”
He paused. “I’d say . . . I find your lack of faith disturbing.”
And then she smiled, slowly shaking her head, but she smiled. “That’s something my brother would say.”
He smiled back. He took a couple steps closer. “And what would your brother say if he found you so down after he knew what kind of victorious morning you’d had in the lab?”
She lifted her gaze to his. “He wouldn’t say anything. He’d just . .
. put his arm around me and . . . wait until I felt better.”
Jace rubbed his chin. “That’s it?”
Her eyes widened. “That’s it? That’s the best. That’s . . .” Her eyes turned glassy, and she looked away.
Crap. He hadn’t meant to make it worse. He began to reach his arm out, but then as she looked back at him, he scratched the top of his head instead, like an idiot. “Do you wish he were here? Your brother?”
She nodded and took a couple more loaves of bread. “I miss him. He’s coming though, next week.”
“Oh. Good. From where?”
“School,” was all she offered.
“Well, I’m glad.”
“Yeah.” She looked up at him, her expression only slightly brighter. “Thanks, Jace. I’m just tired, and I’ve got a lot on my mind. I’ll be fine.”
He nodded. “Good. It doesn’t . . . it doesn’t have anything to do with this morning, does it? Because—”
“No.” And then she did smile. A real smile. “This morning was great. Incredible, I mean. I can’t wait for tomorrow. I mean—” She looked down and shook her head. “I mean, to see what you come up with next for the menu.”
“What we come up with next.”
She glanced up and rolled her eyes.
Jace swallowed. “Georgie, I was thinking that tonight—”
The door to the cooler opened with a blast of kitchen noise. Caleb called loudly behind him. “Here they are!” He faced them as Georgie hurried past with her tray. “What the—? Guys? One of you goes, fine, but both of you? It’s chaos out here!”
Jace held up his carton. “Just getting cream.” He thumbed back toward the other cartons. “A couple of those are expired.”
“Yeah. Tell that to Reuben.” They exited the fridge.
“Reuben isn’t here tonight.”
“Oh, yes, he is.” Caleb pointed. “He came in to pick up a bill and saw how crazy it was.”
Jace turned and saw Reuben furiously turning steaks and manning a lobster plate with Haru while Georgie hurriedly pulled out two—four—s—eight salad bowls and several side cups.
“Crap.”
Reuben looked over and pointed at him with his tongs. It was not a delicate gesture.
Jace started to move but halted, looking down at the carton of cream still in his hand. He didn’t have a clue what to do with it. Nice, Jace. Nice job.
* * *
Georgie worked through her break time. If Reuben had noticed she was skipping her break he would have said something, but the restaurant was packed, and the kitchen clattered and sizzled with nonstop activity, and Reuben was in his element. After being caught in the walk-in with Jace, she had no desire to claim her break while they were so busy.
Jace, however, noticed. He simply began helping make salads while she sliced bread. “Take your break, Georgie,” he said quietly.
She would have argued with him, but she was exhausted, and he’d offered the perfect opportunity to slip away while he took over her station. She gave him a quick look of gratitude and pulled away from her counter, wiping her hands, hung her apron on a hook, and headed straight for the back door. She pushed it open and took a deep breath as if emerging from deep water and kept walking to the old picnic table. She didn’t sit. An evening rain had come in off the water, and though the table was partially covered, she stood and lifted her face to the sky. Her eyes were closed, but she blinked as drops hit her lids.
You need to forgive yourself.
The words had been going through her head since her session with Laurel.
But I made him angry. I made him angry. He was angry. She automatically reached for the place where her arm had been bruised. He’d been very careful to let her know of his anger and appear calm at the same time. That was his way. To threaten and reassure at the same time. That was his power over her. The simmering volcano.
And she’d learned to be careful around that. To bow to it. To appease it. Because the reward was his charisma. His charm. His pride in her.
His love.
She shook her head.
It wasn’t love.
Somehow, on that drive home, he’d lost his power. He’d lost control of the car. She’d failed to be careful around the volcano. But that didn’t make his death her fault, did it?
“Georgie?”
She turned abruptly and found Tyler holding an umbrella.
“I’m on break too, and I saw you come out here.” He stepped forward and held the umbrella out so they were both sheltered from the rain. “It’s really coming down, huh?”
She hadn’t minded the rain. “I hardly noticed. I guess I was getting pretty soaked.”
He frowned. “You’re shivering.”
She focused on the ground. “I’m fine.” They were silent for a bit. Then she said, “Thanks, Tyler.”
He shrugged, looking out at the unimpressive lot behind the restaurant. “No problem.” He remained quiet and seemed to be deciding what to say next. He got up the nerve to speak again. “Is everything okay? I mean you seemed kind of sad when you came into work, and I just wondered if everything was all right.”
“I’m good. Everything’s fine. How’s dishwashing tonight? Nonstop, I bet.”
He looked down, and she knew her attempt to change the subject would fail. “Georgie, I have sisters. I could tell you’d been crying. Is there something I can do? Is this about the accident? Or work? Is someone . . . bothering you?”
His frankness caught her off guard. “Is someone bothering me?” She clenched her fist, nearly laughing with contempt. Her thoughts spun. Well, let’s see. I had a therapy session that pretty much knocked the wind out of me, and I keep talking to a dead guy I used to think I loved, but now I can’t even understand how I was with him, even though I’m mourning his loss, which, by the way, has also been the source of humongous guilt on my part because of the accident I can’t remember . . . and I’m kind of angry because I think I’ve realized that I could have avoided all this—all of this—by simply keeping my head and not falling for some charming guy who could captivate a whole room and me with his smoldering looks and bold confidence. She turned away from the umbrella. He was attractive and popular. Popular. And I seriously allowed a potential eternity to be based on that. Because he was a returned missionary. And that was supposed to make it okay. She let out a sound of disgust. “No offense, Ian,” she yelled at the sky.
She turned and caught the bewilderment in Tyler’s expression before he hid it. She rubbed her forehead, slightly out of breath, trying to recover from her small and slightly insane inner monologue. “I just yelled that out loud, didn’t I?”
He nodded, eyes wide. “Who’s Ian?”
She shook her head. “Someone I used to know. Look, Tyler, you’re right. Somebody’s bothering me. But it’s not who you were thinking.”
Tyler’s cheeks reddened, and he watched the ground.
She felt remorse and nausea. “Tyler, I’m sorry. I’ve just got . . . I’ve got weighty . . . things going on, and I’m trying to work them out, and I guess . . . I guess today has been a rough day.”
He gave a nod and kicked some gravel. When he spoke, it was quiet. “Was this what you were talking to Jace about in the cooler?”
She rolled her eyes. “Seriously? That was about food.”
“Food?”
“Yeah, the new menu. And . . . cream. But he did ask me if I was okay.”
“And did you . . . you know . . . freak out like you did just now?”
She blinked and shook her head. “My freak-outs seem to be random and unpredictable. I’m blaming the head injury. You are today’s lucky winner.”
A corner of his mouth lifted in a smile, to her relief.
“I am sorry. I promise I used to be totally normal. My biggest worry used to be my calculus final.”
He shook his head. “That explains a lot.”
She twirled her finger in the air next to her ear.
He chuckled but sobered. “Were yo
u talking to the guy who died in the accident?”
“Shouting at, you mean? Yeah, I kind of didn’t want you to know that. Gives off a crazy vibe.”
He hesitated, and she knew he was thinking it was too late for that anyway. “If you ever need to talk or, you know”—he made an exploding gesture—“you know where to find me.”
Georgie looked at the ground. “Thanks. Hopefully I won’t be exploding anytime soon.”
He laughed uncomfortably, and then they both stood in the rain, he under the umbrella and she still getting wet.
“So about that movie . . .”
Was he serious? “Tyler, you don’t have to—”
“Don’t worry. I can see you have a lot going on. I was thinking of asking you to see a late show tonight, but it sounds like you need sleep more than sci-fi.”
She nodded, relieved.
“You’ll need an escape sometime though.”
An escape. That was one reason she’d come to the island. To escape but also to begin again. “Yeah, sometime.”
Mai came out the back door in her rain jacket, signaling to Georgie.
“Looks like my break is up. Thanks, Tyler.” Georgie meant it. He’d only been trying to help. But she walked away with that empty, queasy feeling that came with revealing too much to someone.
She passed Mai. “Hey, Wings,” she said.
Mai smiled. “Hey there, Rain Girl.”
Georgie freshened up in the bathroom and retied her damp hair back. The morning with Jace seemed like a long time ago. A week. She looked in the mirror.
“Hey there, Rain Girl,” she whispered.
With her apron back on, she walked to her station. As she passed Jace, he looked up and followed her.
“Have a good break?”
“The best,” she answered.
He gave her a funny look. “Great. Feel better?”
“A little.”
He helped her switch the bread loaves, which was completely unnecessary.
“I can do this,” she reminded him.
“I know. I just . . .” He put his hands on his hips, then leaned forward. “Listen, if you don’t want to go tomorrow—”
Kisses in the Rain Page 17