by Vicki Essex
She didn’t think he could go paler. He glanced away from her, then around, searching for answers. “Quite a time to be springing this on me,” he murmured lowly.
“I’m sorry.” All she wanted to do was put her arms around him and never let go. But she didn’t. “There’s something else I have to tell you. I wasn’t working at my parents’ diner yesterday. I was in New Jersey doing the interview. That’s the real reason I couldn’t go to the wedding with you. The editor at Haute Docs Books called me the day before. I didn’t have a choice.” She swallowed thickly. “That was why your dad was yelling at me. Simon found out before I had a chance to explain.”
He stared at her, then hung his head. The silence was worse than his anger.
She forced herself to go on. She didn’t want him to take the blame for anything—not his son’s outburst, not William’s heart attack. It was probably selfish of her to think of this as her final gift to him. But it was all she had to offer. “Simon saw me when I was heading out. My parents told him where I was going. That’s why he and your dad are mad at me. I lied to all of you, and I’m sorry.”
He sat unmoving, unblinking. She waited for him to acknowledge her. “Chris?”
“Why didn’t you tell me the truth to start with?” he asked quietly. His glassy gaze slowly traveled up to her face. He looked at her as though she were a stranger. “Why didn’t you say you were going to a job interview?”
“I wasn’t sure I was going to get the job. I didn’t think it would matter to you.”
“Of course it matters to me. You matter to me. And I want to be in on the loop when you make life-changing decisions.” He blew out a long breath, rubbed his palms over his face.
“I’m sorry.” She would never be able to say it enough. His disappointment was clear. This was almost as bad as the moment she’d told her parents she’d won a scholarship to NYU and was majoring in English. At least then she’d felt justified and righteous in her decision. Right now, she felt like crap. “I didn’t want to spoil the time we have left.”
“What time?” he demanded, voice rising. People glanced over. More quietly, he said, “If you’re starting work on Monday, that’s barely a week. And instead of telling me so I could figure out something... A way for us...” He shook his head, pressed a fist against his mouth as his eyes went distant.
“No. Never mind. You told me at the very start you would leave.” All emotion drained from him. He turned his ice-blue eyes on her. “That’s why you kept your distance. That’s why you didn’t think to share even this little piece of your life with me. I should’ve known better.” His voice hitched and he clenched his jaw, meeting her gaze unflinchingly. “Look, my dad might be dying. I have too much to deal with right now to have to handle you on top of it, so could you just...leave?”
That last word punched her in the chest. “You don’t have your car here. You—”
“I’ll call Jane. Go. Live your life, or whatever it is you think you’re doing. Just do me a favor and stay out of mine from now on.”
She rose, light-headed and off balance. She wanted to say something to make Chris feel better. But he’d turned to stone in his chair, staring straight ahead, pain digging deep trenches in his brow and around his eyes and mouth. Hesitantly, she started for the door. When he didn’t stop her, she turned away and didn’t look back. She refused to acknowledge the jagged emotion clawing in her chest, ignored the hot sting in the back of her throat.
Outside, the air-conditioned chill slid off her skin as she readjusted to the summer heat and fading sun. She smelled a summer storm brewing. A migraine drummed lightly on her temples.
A different sensation filled her when she spotted Simon sitting on the walkway with his back against the brick wall, hugging his knees.
She padded up to him. “Simon?”
He hastily wiped at his wet cheeks. “What do you want?”
That question was getting harder to answer by the minute. “Will you give me a chance to explain?”
“Explain what? That you’re going to leave? I don’t care.”
It hurt more than she thought it would to hear him say that. “I have a life to get back to. A career—”
“I already have a mom who screws around with me. I don’t need you to play house with us, too.”
She didn’t think she could have handled another blow, but there it was, and she staggered. “I’m sorry.” She could say it a thousand times, but she doubted her apology would sound any less pathetic or make her feel any better.
Simon shook his head and let out a long breath through his nose. For a hopeful moment, she thought he’d forgive her. “If you leave...don’t come back. I can take it, but Dad’s not that strong. Don’t call him. Don’t email him. If you’re going to visit your family, fine. But I’ll know, and I’ll make sure you don’t go near my father, you hear me?”
The lump in her throat stuck as she acknowledged unhappily, “Loud and clear.”
She turned, made her way to her car, got in and started the engine. Every muscle and joint in her body was stiff. A weight settled in her chest as she pulled onto the long, deserted road back to her parents’ house.
The sky opened. It started to rain.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Four weeks later
New Jersey
“‘IT WAS A DARK AND STORMY NIGHT....’” Tiff read aloud in her most ominous voice.
“Holy crap, people actually write like that?” Maya laughed.
“This isn’t even the worst of them,” Tiffany said as she put the manuscript back onto the reject pile and rubbed her aching eyes. “I need to talk to the boss about putting some restrictions on these submissions. They won’t stop pouring in.”
“Admit it. You love it.”
Tiffany didn’t say anything at first. The work had been nonstop since she’d arrived at Haute Docs. At first she’d wanted to write personalized letters back to every author, but there simply wasn’t time. No matter how quickly or efficiently she worked, she couldn’t dig out from under the massive piles of unsolicited manuscripts. She didn’t want to admit she was nearing burnout only three weeks into the job, though, so all she said was, “Yeah.”
Maya picked up her momentary hesitation. “Hey, if nothing else, you have somewhere to wear your nice business clothes.”
“I still can’t believe you didn’t tell me.” She glanced at the big paper shopping bag sitting in the corner of the room.
“Hey, my clients have a right to privacy. I can’t run around telling everyone who bought what.”
“Yeah, but this is my dad we’re talking about.”
Her father had helped her move out. Before he’d left, he’d presented her with a gift. “Your mom told me how happy you were to get this job. I’m glad you’re working and doing something you want to do. We’re proud of you, Ah-Teen. So, I bought you some new clothes for your new job. I got a great deal for them, too.” He’d grinned impishly. “Just don’t tell your mother.”
She’d been speechless as she drew out every piece of clothing she’d sold at the consignment shop. She wasn’t sure if her dad had known they’d originally belonged to her. That twinkle in his eyes was hard to decipher. She didn’t ask as she hugged him tight. “You have no idea what this means to me.”
“Bah.” He waved her off and said, “I’m your father,” as if it explained everything. And in a weird way, it did.
Outside, someone leaned on a car horn. It was nearly ten at night, and she made a noise of frustration.
“Ah, the sounds of the city.” Maya snickered. Tiffany cradled the handset between her neck and shoulder as she pulled the window down, leaving it cracked an inch. The mild breeze was the only thing keeping her from cooking alive indoors. Freakin’ global climate change, she muttered to herself. Mid-September and it was still in the high eighties. “I gotta say, I don’t miss the noise one bit. Never had a better sleep than I have in Everville,” Maya added a touch smugly.
“Jersey has its charms,�
� Tiffany insisted, then wrinkled her nose at the stench of garbage from the Dumpster below. She closed the window the rest of the way. Despite the sounds and smells and lack of air-conditioning, she couldn’t complain. The beautiful old apartment was only a few blocks from the Haute Docs offices, and it was three times the size of her old apartment in Manhattan.
“Well, if nothing else, I’ll have someone I can stay with when I go on purchasing expeditions?” Her voice rose in a question, and Tiffany chuckled.
“The couch is yours anytime you like.” She surprised herself by how easily she’d issued the invitation. The old Tiffany would have felt manipulated, but Maya had been a good friend these past few weeks. She hadn’t been nosy and asked about what’d happened between her and Chris, though Tiffany was certain rumors must have been going around town since her departure. Instead, they talked about books, movies, music and girl stuff. They had a surprising amount in common, and had already planned to get together in the city for a weekend. Talking with Maya over the phone kept the loneliness at bay.
Tiffany glanced over at the stack of manuscripts haunting her coffee table and grimaced. “Listen, it’s getting late, and I should finish this reading before I go to bed.”
“Such a hard worker,” Maya admonished. “All work and no play...”
“Makes Tiffany a better editor,” she quipped dryly. “I’ll call you tomorrow with more chilling tales from the slush pile.”
“Can’t wait.”
They hung up, and the evening’s levity fizzled. She faced the sterile, empty apartment and sighed into the silence. Everything inside her rebelled at the thought of doing any more work today.
She abandoned her duties and turned on the TV to a rerun of Frasier. The crotchety old dad, Martin Crane, reminded her of William Jamieson. She wondered how he was doing after the surgery. Rose had told her he’d been released from the hospital about two weeks after his heart attack. Simon had been working part-time at the diner and seemed to be doing well there, too. She wondered if he was having any troubles with his classes. It couldn’t be easy working and doing school on top of taking care of his grandfather. She couldn’t begin to imagine what Chris was going through.
Her heart squeezed. She wondered how he was holding up, whether he was still mad at her. She’d been so stupid to lie to all of them. The weight in her chest grew as she mentally recited all the accusations the Jamiesons had leveled at her.
Moh gwai young.
She was heading for a shower when someone knocked. Wondering who would be calling on her this late, she peered through the peephole and squeaked in surprise.
Tiffany quickly unlatched the door chain. “What are you doing here?” She threw her arms around her brother. Sudden tears sprang to her eyes. He smelled a little stale, and his stubble scraped her cheek, but he was solid and alive. “Where have you been? How did you know I lived here?”
“Mom told me. I’m sorry. I should have called before I came.”
She ushered him in. She’d never been so glad to see Daniel. She cleared the couch for him, then fussed as she made him a cup of jasmine tea and put together a plate of dinner leftovers.
“This is pretty good,” he said, shoveling the fried rice, beef and broccoli into his mouth. She wondered when his last meal had been—he looked thinner. “Takeout?”
“I cooked it,” she said proudly. “There’s an Asian grocery a couple of blocks from here. I even got ingredients for one of Poh-poh’s soups, but I haven’t mustered up the courage to try making it yet.”
“What’s to make? You throw the stuff in boiling water and it’s soup.”
“Well, I’ve been thinking about writing a blog about it. You know, doing the Julie & Julia thing.”
He grinned. “Go for it. Maybe someone will want to turn it into a book.”
She looked him over, noting the dark shadows under his eyes against his pale complexion. “I don’t see a tan, so I’m guessing you didn’t make it to Florida. Where have you been?”
“Here and there.” He wiped his mouth and set the plate down. “I drove along the coast mostly. Visited a couple of friends in Boston. Nearly made it to the Canadian border, but decided to turn around.”
“What happened to Key West?”
“I couldn’t go that far,” he said quietly, staring at his hands.
“Selena?”
He nodded, unable to meet her eyes. “I tried to get away. I really did. But I kept driving back to New York. I’d trap myself in traffic just for an excuse to hang around. I was getting seriously stalker-y.” He rubbed at the hollows beneath his eyes. “I passed through her neighborhood and drove by her office three times, thinking I should try talking to her. But I couldn’t.”
Pity wasn’t something she thought he’d appreciate, but he sounded so forlorn all she wanted to do was hug him. “Are you heading home?” she asked instead.
“I’m not sure.” His gaze was fixed on a spot on the floor between his feet. “How can I go back? You were right about me. No woman’s ever going to want a man who lives with and works for his parents.” He rubbed his temples. “I’ve wasted my life.”
Tiffany felt a spurt of outrage. “Hey, you’re a catch, okay? Any woman would be lucky to have you.”
“You’re just saying that because you’re my sister.” His words were muffled by his hands.
“No, as your sister, I’m obligated to make fun of you and push your self-confidence into the mud. Unfortunately, I did my job too well.” She rubbed at her aching head, shame sweeping through her. “Look, you love Selena, don’t you?”
Slowly, he nodded.
“Then nothing else matters. Not what she does or what you do or who you live with or any of those things I said. When have you ever listened to me, anyhow? Have I ever said a smart thing to you in all my life?”
His brow wrinkled in confusion. Tiff hated that she’d been so hard on him.
“Look, when I said all that stuff about you and Selena not being suited or whatever, I was being a petty bitch. I was jealous you had someone in your life.” Feeling lighter as the sour admission left her lips, she pushed on. “Forget everything I said about what Mom and Dad will think. All that matters is how you feel for each other.”
“I’m not sure she’ll take me back after all this.”
“At least give her a chance to tell you that herself. If it’s really over like you think it is, what’s the worst she can say?”
“How about ‘you’re a worthless human being and I never should have dated you and you smell funny and I hate the way you dress’?”
“Okay, what else could she possibly say?”
He smiled crookedly. “Does this spurt of relationship wisdom mean you’ve worked things out with Chris?”
The ache in her chest returned twofold. “It’s more like he worked me out of things.” Haltingly, she told him what had transpired, trying hard to keep the tears out of her voice.
Daniel sighed. “Man, what a pair we are. Sorry about Chris. I know how much you lov— Liked him.”
She didn’t miss his slip. “It’s for the best.”
“‘For the best’?”
“Well, of course. I’m finally where I should be. Chris has his life, I have mine.” She gestured vaguely around her with a tight smile. “I’m doing work I love, work I was trained to do. And look at this apartment—I’d have to pay through the nose for a place this size in Manhattan. I’d say I’m doing pretty well.”
Daniel’s sage look bordered on pity. “There’s more to life than having a dream job and a nice apartment. What about a husband? A family? All that domestic stuff?”
She collected his empty plate and made herself busy refilling his tea and washing up. “That’s not for everyone. I certainly never wanted any of that. I’m not a people person. Marriage and the white picket fence aren’t for me. Besides, I could never have anything with Chris.” That bone-deep ache expanded painfully until she thought she couldn’t breathe.
“Why not?”
Her brother arched an eyebrow. “So? Lots of people get married a second time.”
She struggled for a logical, straightforward explanation, but her feelings mixed themselves up with the facts and the cold hard truth. “There’s baggage. I abused his trust. I made promises to Simon I couldn’t keep, and to him, that’s unforgivable.”
Daniel rubbed his jaw. “Chris isn’t like that—”
“He is,” she snapped. “He doesn’t want to be involved with someone who can’t be satisfied with what life has handed him, the way he is. Don’t you get it? I want more in my life than a farm. But all he sees is Daphne and the way she’s treated Simon. We can’t have anything together,” she said, voice cracking. “We’re too different. We want different things. I can’t share my life with him—he’ll only drag me down and it’d end horribly.” She was getting too close to the raw nerve where her pain lived, but she plowed on, driven by the momentum of her fear and hurt. “Look at Mom and Dad. They’ve been together more than thirty-four years, and they fight all the time. They’ve never met eye to eye on anything. All these years, and they still can’t work things out. Compare me and Chris to that. We wouldn’t stand a chance.”
Her brother’s eyes rounded. “Are you seriously judging your ability to have a relationship based on Mom and Dad’s marriage?”
She blinked slowly. Okay, when he said it like that, it sounded like the silliest thing ever. She dropped onto the couch and drew her knees up. “I know I wouldn’t be good at it. Having kids probably makes things worse. I’d make a terrible mother and an even worse stepmother. You know I don’t...get along with people easily. I’d be a selfish mother. Any kids I had would be screwed up.”
“Good God...if I could get Dad to pay for therapy...” Daniel’s head hit the back of the couch as he stared at the ceiling. “Just because Mom and Dad’s marriage sucks doesn’t mean you’re going to end up the same way. There are tons of people from stable families who don’t know how to have a relationship. We can all suck at it equally with or without our parents’ help.”