“Thank you for telling me.” Her voice cracked. “I completely understand.”
“Sarah.” He turned to her, put his arms around her and drew her down so they were lying together under the quilt, fresh Maine air cooling their faces, waves gurgling and tumbling down under the cliff.
She burrowed against him, trying to relax, forcing her breathing as steady as she could manage, and feeling as if someone had just hollowed her out with a giant drill.
“I’ll miss you, Sarah.”
“Stop.” She spoke sharply then made herself giggle as if it was all a big joke.
Her panic rose. This was no joke. She had to get out of there. She couldn’t lie next to him anymore and pretend. She was going to cry, she was going to scream, she was going to throw up. This pain, this dread, it was all her fault.
“You’ll be busy, Joe, you’ll have a new city to get to know, a new...everything.” A smiling blonde with Joe’s babies, Joe’s arm around her, Joe’s mouth on hers. Joe, the man she would depend on for love, support, friendship—everything Sarah had been greedily lapping up for the last near-decade, giving nothing in return.
She threw off the quilt and stood. Nausea threatened. She ran from him, behind a clump of alders and fell to her knees, breathing deeply.
“Sarah! What happened? What’s the matter?” He spoke sharply from worry. He’d cared about her so deeply for so long and she’d taken it all for granted.
The cool air slowly settled her stomach. She collapsed back onto her bottom on the mossy ground.
“Just...too much beer. I thought I was going to lose it. I’m fine. Really.”
“Sure?”
“I should get to bed.” Where she could fall apart in earnest. “Thanks for telling me your news. And congratulations, Joe. I’m proud of you.”
“I’ll walk you to the house.”
Of course he would. If she’d thrown up he would have stood behind her and stroked her back, held her hair out of the way. He’d do that for his wife, for his kids, always steady, always reliable.
A real man.
She let him help her up, waited while he gathered the quilts, let him take her arm and guide her back, lighting the way with her flashlight.
Inside the house, a few who’d deserted the beach fire had built another one in the fireplace, sipping something from steaming mugs and chatting or reading.
At her bedroom door, Sarah smiled gratefully at Joe and gave him a quick hug, sickened by the irony of having realized how much he meant to her now that she was losing him. What a cliché. She felt utterly stupid and defeated.
In her room alone, she changed into her pajamas, used the bathroom and crawled into bed, not even trying to sleep, just letting the misery and pain wash over her, quietly bearing it, knowing this was what she deserved.
She could try to stop him. She could plead with him, beg him to stay, promise things would be different. But she wouldn’t. She had no right to sabotage his happiness. And she was too confused right now to be sure of what she could offer him, and what she could realistically promise.
Sarah groaned and pulled the covers over her head. This maturity stuff was the absolute freaking pits. She wanted to cry, but if she cried she’d look like hell for her brother’s wedding, and worry everyone, so she couldn’t even do that.
Hours later, or not, she had no idea how long, Addie came in. Sarah pretended to be asleep, turned toward the wall, clutching the covers under her chin, breathing slowly and a little too loudly. She couldn’t talk to anyone, even though Addie might need an ear or a shoulder. She and Derek must have had a hell of a morning and afternoon. They’d shown up just as the rehearsal dinner started, looking blissfully stunned. Sarah would ask tomorrow, listen tomorrow. Do what she could to advise. Not right now. She hadn’t become that selfless.
Hours later—or not, she still had no idea how long—Addie’s breathing slipped into its own slow, regular pattern, only Addie probably had no reason to fake being asleep. Sarah lay still awhile longer then threw off the covers. This was torture. She couldn’t lie here anymore or she’d go stark raving nuts.
Tiptoeing across the pine floor, she unlatched the door as quietly as she could and shut it behind her, hoping she hadn’t disturbed Addie.
In the living room, watching the dying embers of the fire, sat Carrie.
Ew.
Sarah hesitated, not exactly jumping at the opportunity to share her insomnia with Carrie, then gave a quick wave and made a beeline for the bathroom, buying time to decide what to do. She could go outside, but it would feel cold and lonely out there. Back to bed wasn’t an option, at least not yet. Maybe she could light a lamp and pretend to read something? Find another room in the house where she could sit? The kitchen?
In the end she decided to stay in the living room where it was warmest. Maybe Carrie wouldn’t turn out to be such bad company. Or maybe she’d shut up.
“Mind if I join you?”
“Nope.” Carrie lifted the blanket she’d been sitting under and offered half to Sarah.
The gesture reminded her of Joe, and brought on a fresh wave of pain. “Thanks, I’m fine.”
“Insomnia a regular demon for you?” Carrie asked.
“Not usually.” Sarah sat near the other end of the couch, hoping she could answer in monosyllables and then lapse into miserable silence and that Carrie would get the hint.
“It’s my regular companion.” Carrie got up and put another log on the fire. “My mom was the same way.”
“Yeah?” Sarah wondered why Carrie wouldn’t rather enjoy the warmth of Kevin, then she remembered Kevin and Paul were in the same room tonight. Ha.
“So if it’s not a regular problem for you, what’s up tonight?”
Sarah shrugged.
“Did y’all fight with Joe?”
Huh? Sarah stared at her. Joe couldn’t have told her. He wouldn’t.
“I saw you two together when I was coming back up from the beach. You both looked miserable. I thought maybe you were on the outs.”
“We’re just friends.”
“Oh, I know that.” She chuckled, making Sarah feel like an idiot for protesting against something Carrie hadn’t implied. “Believe me, I know. Joe is totally the friend type.”
Sarah bristled. She did not like this woman and she did not like the way she was talking about Joe. “What type is Kevin?”
“Kevin? He’s a jerk.”
Sarah blinked in surprise then snorted. “Good choice, then.”
“I always go for jerks.” She spoke as if she was talking about shopping for a type of shoe. “They’re perfect when you don’t want to get serious.”
Sarah started feeling queasy again. “You go after jerks deliberately?”
“Well sure, honey.”
“What about Joe?”
More of that annoying laugh. “I wasn’t going after him. Just flirting. He seemed the type who needed to be flirted with.”
Sarah made herself breathe. And unclench her fist. And not think any more about putting it into Carrie’s face. “I’m sure he was grateful for whatever crumb you tossed him.”
“I know, right?” Carrie completely missed Sarah’s sarcasm.
“So why don’t you want to get serious about anyone?”
“Are you kidding?” She gave an ugly guffaw. “Me? Marriage? No, thank you, ma’am. I saw what it did to my mom. I’m steering clear of that slavery.”
Sarah swallowed audibly. Her mother had described marriage the same way to a friend. Sarah had overheard her, and even though she’d been too young to understand, the tone of her mom’s usually sweet voice had made the words stick in her head. “Well, then don’t marry a jerk.”
Carrie snorted. “They’re all jerks. And if you make the mistake of thinking you found a good on
e, as soon as you fall for him, trust me, he turns jerk.”
This was sounding familiar. Wheels started turning so hard in Sarah’s brain, she would not be surprised if her scalp started steaming.
And then, there it was, what she’d been on the edge of figuring out all day. She was always falling for unavailable men and jerks, all along thinking what she wanted from them was a serious relationship. But, like Carrie, she was essentially making sure she’d never have one. The only difference was that Carrie knew that about herself and acted that way on purpose. Sarah had been ignoring her subconscious, acting on pure denial, moaning and bitching and playing the poor-me victim to whomever would listen.
But she’d just figured it out. And she knew she really had because now instead of waves of pain, she was getting a huge sense of relief, like her subconscious had been trying to tell her this for years and she resolutely ignored it, but now thank God she had finally paid attention.
Sarah was choosing the men deliberately out of fear. She was setting herself up to fail because she was afraid of taking that risk she’d been thinking about earlier, the risk of being that vulnerable.
That night on the beach with Joe, she’d wished on a falling star that she’d find someone to love who’d love her back. Joe had told her she couldn’t see what was right under her nose. Tonight when she found out he was leaving Boston, her whole world threatened to collapse.
Oh, Joe.
She could totally see it now. See everything she’d been lucky enough to have for the last decade, and all she’d done was try to find it somewhere else.
Maybe...maybe if she hadn’t screwed this up too badly, after the wedding she’d be able to show Joe exactly what she’d learned about men, and about relationships and most of all, about what this new Sarah wanted to try. With him.
12
DEREK THREW OFF the covers. What time was it, 1:00 a.m.? Two? He’d given up trying to sleep. What a messed up day. One of the most blissful afternoons he’d ever had, with a woman who affected him deeply, then during Paul and Ellen’s really fun rehearsal dinner—lobsters that put every other one he’d eaten to shame boiled in a huge pot right on the beach—the whole afterglow aura had drifted away. He wasn’t even sure when the downshift had started, or at what point he noticed. The evening started with warm glances between him and Addie and occasional surreptitious touches. By unspoken agreement, they both seemed to want to keep their new bond private.
As the evening drew on, as the partying intensified, as Paul and Ellen became more demonstrative, and the toasts longer and drunker and funnier and more poignant, the obvious hopelessness of his and Addie’s situation had hit him. And it must have hit her, too, because her eyes had dulled, her smiles and cheers became as forced as his own. Not that he wasn’t happy for Paul and Ellen, he couldn’t be happier. Theirs was a strong and good relationship that would only grow stronger and better through marriage.
The problem? He and Addie had that potential, he could feel it in his gut no matter how much his sensible side tried to explain it away with theories about animal attraction and infatuation, the fool’s gold of love.
But there was no way they could make their happy-ever-after happen.
Part of what he loved about Addie was her strong and sensible side; she’d be a woman he could depend on to tackle life’s decisions calmly. She’d never be a woman like Sarah, a maelstrom of impetuous and random choices. But that very characteristic meant she was unlikely to give up her life after a short affair and go trotting around the globe with him. Derek couldn’t blame her. Neither was he willing to give up life aboard Joie de Vivre and stick himself into a suit and between four walls.
After dinner as the crowd dispersed, he’d taken Addie into a private place in the woods for a quick good-night. He’d kissed her, and they’d embraced fiercely. His body had responded to hers, he’d lowered his lips to her hair, inhaling her scent. She’d clung to him, pressing her face into his neck. Then they’d gone to bed, neither suggesting they do so together in his room. He wasn’t sure of her reasons, but Derek knew his: if he got the chance to hold Addie in his arms all night, leaving her on Sunday would be that much more painful.
Now, body tortured by physical memories, and brain tortured by emotional ones, he was giving up the farce of trying to sleep and going downstairs. Maybe get a glass of milk or herbal tea or whatever he could find that might help him relax.
Though he had a feeling nothing would help get Addie out of his system.
He clumped downstairs with his flashlight and headed toward the glow emanating from the kitchen. Someone else up? Or had someone left a light on?
Joe was slumped over, face pressed against the wooden tabletop, a bottle of Irish whiskey by his head. Derek took two steps into the room and he sat up, squinting blearily to see who’d disturbed his beauty sleep, hair sticking up on one side, cheek and forehead red where they’d been resting on the table.
“Joe, man, what happened to you?”
Joe shook his head wearily. “Love.”
“Love, huh.” Derek opened the refrigerator, searching. Milk, water, lemonade, beer... He glanced back at the table. If they were going to be talking about love, maybe he needed whiskey, too. Though he’d get a bottle of water out for Joe. Looked like he could use a little dilution of the alcohol in his blood. “It’s that bad?”
“It’s worse.”
“Uh-oh.” Derek got a glass down from the cabinet and poured himself a couple of fingers of Jameson’s, his favorite. Poor Joe. Something must have happened with Sarah. “Tell me about it.”
Joe frowned. “Tell me about it like, ‘yeah, I know what you mean,’ or tell me about it, like really tell you about it?”
“Both.” Derek lifted his glass in a toast. “You talk first.”
“Mmph.” Joe stretched and yawned, then hunched back over his whiskey. “I got my dream job offer today.”
“Yeah? Congratulations.” That clearly wasn’t the bad news. Derek toasted Joe again and took a sip of whiskey. Its smooth burn coated his throat. Delicious. He should start stocking the stuff in his cabin for when he was there alone every night and needed anaesthetizing. “That’s a very big deal.”
“Thanks. The job is in Phoenix, which means I’d have to move.”
“Ah.” There was the problem. “Yeah, that’d be a helluva commute from Boston.”
Joe acknowledged the joke with a bleak nod. “If I take it, then I have to say goodbye to Sarah. Which also means I’m saying goodbye to—”
“Don’t tell me. Let me guess. All your hopes and all your dreams about a future with her.” He laughed bitterly. Yeah, he sorta knew what that could feel like.
Joe looked bewildered. “How did you know?”
“I have my ways.”
“Addie?”
Derek’s turn to look surprised. “Uh...”
“Shit.” Joe glowered at the table. “Just shit.”
“Well put.” Derek took another sip of whiskey. Looked like he and Joe had a lot in common right now. “So that’s that with Sarah?”
“That’s that.”
No. Not after all they’d been through together. Derek couldn’t accept that. He’d seen Sarah around Joe; she lit up like the moon. “She won’t go with you?”
Joe laughed bitterly. “Oh, like that would happen.”
“Did you ask her?”
“What, are you kidding me?” He laughed again, so painfully Derek had to hide a wince. “I think I’ve suffered enough humiliation tagging after her like a puppy for the past however many years.”
“Hey, Joe. You love her.”
Joe snorted, noticed his glass, picked it up and tossed back the tiny amount left. “The saddest part? I know exactly how long I’ve been her puppy. Nine years, eight months and four days since I met her at the Vassar bookstore in
the checkout line. She’d cut in front of someone by mistake, and he was all bent out of shape. I stepped in and smoothed it over for her. We got talking. I fell for her in about five minutes.”
“Does she know?”
“Of course she knows. Everybody knows.” He flung out his arm and nearly knocked over the bottle, grabbed it at the last second, looked at it in surprise, then sloshed another finger into his glass. “Good old Joe, panting after Sarah while she goes after every guy she meets who’s my most polar opposite. Including you.”
Oof. Yeah. Derek would go back and erase that for Joe’s sake if he could. “But look, none of those guys worked out. Including me. I never touched her by the way.”
“Yeah, I know.” He blew out a frustrated breath and let his head hang. “I’m not angry. It’s not your fault you’re incredibly good-looking and charming and exciting, or whatever else she needs that I’m not.”
Derek contemplated the top of Joe’s head, half feeling sorry for him, half wanting to tell him to grow a pair. “What do you think she needs?”
“The whole bad-boy shtick. That’s not me.” His head was nearly touching the table again. “It’s never going to be me.”
Derek leaned toward him, prodded him in the shoulder. “If Sarah really wanted that she would have stayed with at least one of these guys, right?”
“They all dumped her.”
“Oh.” This was not easy. Derek frowned, struggling to organize his thoughts. “Okay, here is my advice. If I was you, I’d start by telling her straight-out how you feel.”
Joe’s head lifted, eyes dull. He looked like hell. No way would Sarah go for him that way. “What if she tells me to get lost?”
“Dude, you’re moving to Phoenix, how much more lost can you get?”
Joe nodded thoughtfully. “Good point.”
“Then...” Derek gestured with his glass, gaining hope as his proposal gained momentum. “Then, you ask her to move to Phoenix with you.”
Joe reacted as if he’d been stung by a bee. “Huh?”
Half-Hitched Page 13