“Mississippi Mud brownies.”
“Ooh, those are good. Let me pull up the recipe to make a grocery list.”
She continued to study me while I checked the recipe on my phone, looked in my mother’s pantry to see what was there already, and scribbled a quick list of what we’d need to purchase. We’d been getting along really well since New Year’s Eve, although never again did we discuss Henry or what had happened that night. She knew I’d been working at the winery, but if it bothered her, she never said anything about it.
She’d been pretty sad and clingy while in California, but I hadn’t blamed her. That was an emotional weekend for us all, and it didn’t help that Brett was preoccupied with soothing Kimmy’s ruffled pregnant feathers the whole time. He did manage to spend some time with the kids, but I knew it wasn’t the kind of time or attention they were craving from him.
I knew it all too well.
* * *
Later that evening, Keaton was doing his homework in his bedroom and Whitney and I were baking in the kitchen. My parents had gone out to dinner with friends, so we had the house to ourselves. Outside, the wind was whistling against the windows, and the temperatures continued to drop, but inside it was warm and cozy, and the kitchen smelled delicious.
Whitney was more cheerful and talkative than she’d been this afternoon, and I was enjoying her stories about new friends at school, a cute boy from her English class, what color she wanted to paint her room at the new house, what she wanted to name the horse we were planning to purchase. It was just the kind of evening I’d envisioned for our new life.
“Mom, can I ask you something?” Whitney kept her eyes on the mixing bowl as she added more powdered sugar to the frosting.
“Sure.”
“Why didn’t Aunt April ever get married or have kids?”
“I guess she never met the right person.”
“But she’s so pretty.”
I smiled. “It’s not just about looks, honey. You have to find someone you can be your real self around. Someone who finds you beautiful inside and out.”
“Does she want to get married?”
“I think so. But it’s not always easy to find the someone. And sometimes you do, but it doesn’t work out.”
“Where did you meet Daddy?” she asked.
“In Chicago. I was in college and he was working there at the time.”
“Were you in love?”
I thought carefully about how to answer. “We were back then. Yes.”
“Is that why you got married?”
I looked down at my left hand, recalling the moment Brett had slipped the diamond solitaire on my fourth finger and asked me to be his wife. In all honesty, I’d been torn—my plan had always been to travel after college. But I’d been in love with Brett, and he’d made me all sorts of promises about the beautiful life we’d have together if I’d marry him and move to California, where an executive position waited for him at his family’s investment firm. He said he loved me. He said I’d have everything I could possibly want. He said he’d do anything to have me . . . except wait.
Being twenty-two, blinded by love, and dazzled by the dream life he dangled in front of my eyes, I’d said yes. I’d believed him. I’d done everything he’d asked, including set my own dreams aside, and followed him across the country, where we did indeed build a beautiful life—on the surface.
But I couldn’t say that to Whitney.
“Yes. That’s why we got married. And I’m glad we did, sweetheart. Because as difficult as the last few years were, I’d do them all over again just to have you and Keaton. Being your mom is the best thing I’ve ever done.”
She turned on the electric mixer and didn’t say anything else while she beat the frosting. But a few minutes later, as she spread the frosting on top of the marshmallow-covered brownies, she said, “Daddy says he loves me. But I don’t believe him.”
“Oh, Whitney, don’t say that.”
“It’s the truth. I don’t believe him anymore. You know what he gave me for Christmas?”
I shook my head. Brett had given the kids their gifts while they were out to dinner with him and Kimmy, and I hadn’t asked for any details.
“The same necklace he got for me last year. The exact same one.”
“I’m sorry.”
“And he sat there telling me how expensive it is, how I need to be sure I take care of it and don’t lose it because it’s so valuable. And I was sitting there looking at him, thinking, Dad, you don’t know jack shit about taking care of things that are valuable.”
I laughed, although it wasn’t funny. “God, Whit. You’re exactly right. And I don’t mean to make light of it, but you are so exactly right. He used to buy me expensive gifts all the time too, when all I really wanted was for him to spend more time with us.”
“It made me so mad,” she said, setting the bowl of frosting aside. “What kind of person is he?”
“Your father isn’t a bad person,” I said, willing myself to be generous. “But he’s always been the kind of guy who thinks he can buy people’s love. His father was the same way. It’s the only way he knows. It makes him feel like a big shot, and that’s what’s important to him.”
“It’s not right.” Her lower lip jutted as she smoothed the layer of frosting.
“No, it isn’t.”
“I feel sorry for that baby they’re having. Because it’s not like he’s ever going to change.”
I took a deep breath. “That’s hard to say. But I hope for the sake of that baby, he learns to love less selfishly.”
“Me too.”
I thought it was a good sign that she had empathy for Brett and Kimmy’s unborn child. Maybe I wasn’t totally fucking up this parenting thing. Grateful for my precocious, resilient, lovely daughter, I grabbed Whitney in a giant bear hug from behind.
“Mom, you’re choking me,” she complained.
“Sorry, honey,” I said, squeezing her tight. “But you’re just so huggable, I couldn’t resist. I love your big heart.”
“Okay, but can you please let me go?”
“Never.”
“Mom!”
“Okay, okay.” I released her. “Why don’t you go up to bed, sweetheart? I’ll clean up. We’ll cut them into squares in the morning, and then I’ll pack them in a box for you.”
“Okay. Thanks, Mom.” She wiped her hands on her jeans and headed for the hallway, then suddenly turned around and rushed into my arms, bursting into tears. “I’m sorry,” she bawled. “I don’t even know why I’m crying.”
I embraced her, stroking her hair and gently rocking her, although she was nearly as tall as me. “It’s okay, honey. Believe me, I get it. Happens to me all the time.”
“I just feel really bad all of a sudden.”
“You don’t have to explain it to me. Just let it out. I’m here, and I understand.”
She cried for a few minutes, then pulled back and wiped her nose on her sleeve. I pulled a tissue from the box on the counter and handed it to her. “Here. Use this, please.”
“Sorry.” She blew her nose and threw the tissue away before grabbing another one. She mopped up her eyes and was about to toss that one in the trash when someone knocked on the front door, making us look at each other in surprise.
“It’s after nine,” I said. “I wonder who that is.”
“Do I have to be seen?” Whitney looked scared that anyone might see her blotchy face. “I look hideous right now.”
“No, it’s okay,” I told her. “You go upstairs, and I’ll be up soon to say goodnight.”
She hurried into the front hall and scooted up the steps, and I waited for her to reach the top before I opened the front door.
It was Henry. “Hi.”
“Hi.”
Neither of us smiled.
“Chloe said you were sick.”
“I’m okay.” I forced myself to meet his eyes and realized he knew I was lying. “Actually, I’m not okay.”
Henry nodded. “Maybe we should talk.”
Resigned, I stepped back, dreading the next few minutes. “Come in.”
He stepped into the foyer, and I closed the door behind him. Then I stood in front of it with my arms crossed over my chest.
“What’s going on, Sylvia?”
“I . . . I don’t think I should work at the winery anymore.”
He pressed his lips together. “Why?”
Fighting tears, I told him the truth, like we’d promised each other we would. “Because I’m in love with you, Henry.”
He closed the distance between us and took me by the shoulders. “It isn’t going to matter where you work, Sylvia. Or where you live. I love you too. And I’ll wait for you. I’ll wait as long as it takes to prove to you that I’m not going anywhere—because you’re worth it. You’re worth everything.” Then his lips were on mine in a hot, commanding kiss that broke down all my defenses.
I threw my arms around his neck and felt myself being wrapped in his strong, safe arms and lifted right off the floor. For a full minute, I let myself be swept up in the feelings—in the release of my pent-up yearning for him, in the desire he ignited within me, in the blissful haze of hearing he loved me and wanted me and was willing to wait.
But I couldn’t let him.
“No, Henry.” Tearing my lips off his, I forced the words out, although I nearly choked on them. “Don’t wait for me.”
“Sylvia, please, can’t we—”
“No!” I pushed against his chest, and he set me on my feet, releasing me from his embrace. Unable to meet his eyes, I turned away from him and stared at the door. “We can’t go on like this, Henry. It’s too hard. I came racing over to the winery today so excited to see you, and when I got there, I was so desperate for you to put your arms around me and so sad when you didn’t.”
“I’d have given anything to be able to put my arms around you this morning,” he said quietly. “You have no idea how badly I wanted to. But I was trying to respect your wishes, Sylvia.”
“I know,” I whispered, failing to stop the tears from falling. “I know how unfair it is. And I’m sending mixed signals—even to myself.” I finally turned around again. “But I don’t want to be sad anymore, Henry. This is too hard.”
His eyes held so many emotions—love, heartache, frustration, pain. “Tell me what to do, and I’ll do it.”
I looked at him, this gorgeous, sexy, strong man so willing to do anything for me, and wondered if it could be possible he was telling the truth. If it was possible he could love me the way he said he did. If it was possible I was worth it.
If it was possible he’d stay forever.
But I couldn’t bring myself to believe it.
Instead, I opened the door, letting the cold air rush in. “You need to go, Henry. Forget about me.”
He stood still for a moment, his chest out, his hands curled into fists. Then he shoved the door closed again. “I’ll go. I just want to say one more thing, Sylvia—something I’ve been thinking about all day. I grew up in a crazy household with three reckless, lunatic brothers and two devoted parents who managed to stay married and raise us without losing their minds. Did we fight? Hell, yes. Were we rich? Hell, no. We didn’t have a huge home or fancy cars, we didn’t take luxury vacations, and for me new clothes meant hand-me-downs full of holes that my older brother Anthony had outgrown. But it was a great way to grow up, because we were there for each other. We took care of one another. We always knew, no matter what, we had family. That’s the feeling I miss as an adult. That sense of belonging and loyalty. That’s what I wanted to recreate. Because what I love more than anything is the idea of taking care of people I love, protecting them, providing for them. And I want to be the one that takes care of you, Sylvia. Because you deserve someone who adores you. Who will put you first while you’re busy putting everyone else first.”
“Henry,” I croaked, tears dripping from my eyes.
He held up one hand. “Let me finish. I know you’re a mother first and foremost, and I’d never get in the way of that. But I love you, and I couldn’t walk away without a fight.”
His eyes pierced mine so deeply I felt it in my soul. I wanted so badly to throw myself in his arms and say yes, take care of me, yes, protect me, yes, adore me. You’re exactly what I want, what I need, what I wished for. Together we’ll show the kids what real love looks like. We’ll make them believe in it.
But the words wouldn’t come out—they were prisoners of a fear that ran too deep in my veins.
“You have to walk away, Henry,” I wept softly. “I don’t know how to let myself be loved that way. And I’m too scared to try.”
He stared at me, his jaw clenched. “Okay, Sylvia. You win.” Then he yanked the door open, and a second later he was gone.
I shut the door quickly so I wouldn’t have to watch him walk away. Leaning my forehead against it, I continued to cry as quietly as I could.
That’s when I heard the voice behind me at the top of the stairs.
“Mom?”
I gulped back a sob and tried to speak normally. “I’ll be right there, Whit.”
She paused. “Are you okay?”
“Yes. I’m fine. I’ll be fine.” I used the bottom of my sweater to dry my face. “Give me a minute, all right?”
“Okay.”
I did my best to pull myself together before going upstairs, but it was a futile effort. Thankfully, Whitney’s light was already out when I entered her room. She was tucked beneath the sheets, holding her bear at her chest. I sat at the edge of her bed and smoothed her hair back.
“Who was at the door?” she asked.
“Mr. DeSantis.”
“Oh.” She was quiet for a minute, playing with her stuffed bear’s ears. “Mom?”
“Yes?”
“I knew it was Mr. DeSantis. And I heard you talking.”
“Oh.” I struggled for the right words. “I’m—I’m sorry you heard us. It must have been very upsetting. But I promise, Whitney, there is nothing going on between us. We are not dating.”
“I know. I heard.”
“After you and I talked on New Year’s Eve, he and I decided we wouldn’t get romantically involved.”
She hesitated. “Because of me?”
“No! No, honey, it wasn’t because of you. It’s because it was too soon. I wasn’t ready. Ever since then, we’ve only worked together. But even that is going to stop now.”
She rolled onto her side, facing me. “He said he loves you.”
“Yes, he did.”
“Do you believe him?”
I swallowed hard. “I don’t know, Whitney. That’s part of the problem.”
“Do you love him?”
“Not the way I love you.”
“But do you love him?”
“That’s . . . that’s complicated.”
“No, it’s not. It’s a yes or no question.”
Oh God, I was totally fucking this up, wasn’t I? What was the right thing to do? Tell her the truth and risk her feeling guilty and scared? Or lie to her to make her feel safe? I searched my heart and found myself unable to do either one. Instead, I tried to think about what my own mother would have said.
“Yes, Whitney. I do love him. But I don’t want to. My feelings are all mixed up right now—I’m working on sorting them out. The important thing is, nothing is going to change. All the promises I made to you, I’m going to keep. We’re going to move into our new house, fix it up just the way we want it, fill our barn with animals to take care of, and have the best time ever.”
She looked at me a moment longer. “Okay.”
I leaned over and gave her a long hug. “You and your brother are the most important things in my life,” I told her. “You’re all I need to be happy.”
It was when I was leaving her room, the door nearly shut behind me, that I thought I heard her say, “I don’t believe you.”
But she said it so quietly, I couldn’t be sure she’
d said anything at all.
Twenty-Three
Henry
Two weeks went by.
Two endless, miserably lonely weeks during which I didn’t see her at all.
The vineyard seemed lifeless without her at my side. The cellar felt like an inescapable dungeon. But the walls of my empty house seemed determined to close in on me, so I spent more time than ever at work.
For the first few days, I kept hoping she’d change her mind and show up to work at the winery. But she didn’t, and when Chloe began emailing me responses to the job listing she’d posted for tasting room manager, my heart sank—she really wasn’t coming back.
I went to the gym every morning and sometimes in the evening too, nearly busting my hands taking my anger out on the bag. I was fucking furious with myself for forcing the situation. Why couldn’t I have had a little more patience? Given her a little breathing space? Let her come to me when she was ready? Instead I had to go charging over there like a bull in a china shop, destroying everything with my clumsy attempt to win her fragile heart.
And every night, I lay awake yearning to be with her and wondering how the hell you got over losing someone who was never yours in the first place.
* * *
Valentine’s Day fell on a Friday, and I decided to spend the evening at the gym. I’d just come through the door when I heard a voice call my name.
“Hi Mr. DeSantis!” It was Keaton. He was standing near the entrance, probably waiting to be picked up.
“Hey, Keaton. How’s it going?”
“Good.”
“How was your class tonight?”
“Great.” He smiled enthusiastically. “I really love it, and the coach says I’m really improving.”
“I bet you are.” I gave him a grin. He looked healthy and happy, maybe even taller than when I’d last seen him on New Year’s Eve. Kids grew so fast.
“Hey, I wanted to ask you about something,” he said. “It’s for my science fair project.”
“Sure, go ahead.” I shifted my bag higher on my shoulder.
Unbreakable Page 23
