by Alys Murray
“Because I’m in love with Daniel and I need to tell him.” Angie flinched as if the word vomit were actual vomit and had landed squarely on her nose. With no time to reflect on how liberating it was to finally confess it out loud, she pressed on when all she really wanted to do was go skipping around town screaming it at the top of her lungs. I’m in love with Daniel Best. I’m in love with Daniel Best. I’m in love with Daniel Best… And being with him is impossible. “And I need him to know how sorry I am. I don’t need him to forgive me or love me back. I wasted my chance, but…” She swallowed hard. “I have to tell him.”
“Okay.” Angie carelessly tossed her plastic fork at Samantha, sending pie viscera flying. She collected her things. “I don’t give a shit. You broke his heart. You fucked him up.”
“I know.”
“You’re a fucking bitch.”
“I know.”
“I don’t think you have one soft bone in your body.”
Samantha was willing to listen to a lot of abuse against herself, all abuse she’d earned. She may have done a heartless thing, but she wasn’t heartless. Even if Angie didn’t help her, she didn’t want her walking away thinking she was.
“That’s not true,” she shouted to Angie’s retreating form. “I was hiding it.”
Angie paused. The British wind clung to them, tripping the hairs on the back of Samantha’s neck up and sending her wave after wave of the other woman’s anger and hurt. Anger and hurt Samantha understood.
“Why’d you do it?” she asked.
Sam gave her rehearsed answer. “Because I wanted love so badly I was blind when it was right in front of me.”
Angie shook her head.
“Bullshit.”
“Because I thought I wanted something else more.”
“Again.” Another wry laugh. “Bullshit.”
“Because I was afraid.”
“Of what?”
Music played in the edges of Samantha’s thoughts, the notes dancing and weaving and filling her with bitter, forgotten warmth that she would give anything to feel again.
“Of loving him.” But that wasn’t all, and they both knew it. “And getting my heart broken.”
“Of having done to you what you did to him?”
The appraisal of the situation was blunt, but she wasn’t wrong. Daniel was the best of men, the rare breed who hoped for love with everything he had in him. He was everything Samantha desperately longed to be and feared she would become, if only because she knew how easy it was to lose the things one cares about. Out of fear, she’d turned him into a shadow version of himself, or a reflection of her. Dark, lost, cynical—just like her.
“Yes.”
Anything could have happened in the time it took for Angie to respond. She could have punched Sam in the face. She could have stormed off. She could have told Sam to go fuck herself. She could have called Daniel and demanded he come here so they could sort everything out. The world could have ended. Instead, the redhead inclined her head back toward Sam, her crinkle-edged eyes now soft and hesitant.
“How’re you gonna tell him?”
“That’s what I need you for.”
Hope lifting her like an injection of helium, Sam rose and bounced over to the other woman. Her gears turned and spun as plans and thoughts and ideas and requests formulated in her head, organizing themselves into a tight order she could efficiently explain. There was so much to do, and every second she wasn’t doing something was another second Daniel believed she didn’t love him.
“I’m listening.”
Their “listening” turned to four hours of conversation and phone calls, condemnations, tears, and apple crumble. And when it was all over, Samantha left the park with renewed hope and an entirely fresh sense of dread. Sometime during their planning, they each built their own to-do lists to complete by the next time they met. The first item on Samantha’s list?
“What do you want?”
Nan’s house was everything Samantha expected it to be. The tiny cottage could have been ripped from the illustrations of a Beatrix Potter novel, with its lush garden and smoking stone chimney. Even from her place on the small porch, she could see the entire house was stuffed with tchotchkes and trinkets from a life well lived. But the woman’s withering stare—the stare of a woman ready to take on an entire army—made it pretty clear that she wouldn’t be getting a closer look inside. The woman wore an oversize raincoat, as if she’d planned to go out for a walk but couldn’t bear the thought of going out when the sun was shining so brightly. Even after going over this interaction in her mind countless times, Sam’s request still stuck uncomfortably in her throat.
“I wanted to talk to you.”
“No.”
She’d been expecting something like I’m afraid I’m rather busy or I’m frightfully late for an appointment, but it seemed that Nan wasn’t messing around today.
“But it’s about Daniel.”
“I know it’s about Daniel. That’s why my answer is no.”
“Angie told me you’re the only person he listens to anymore.”
“So.” She sniffed and crossed her arms. “You thought you’d get me to put in a good word?”
“No.” Deep breaths. Just breathe. “I wanted to apologize to you.”
The angered, tense lines of Nan’s face slipped into drawn shock. “Me?”
“Daniel means a lot to you. And I hurt him. So…” Sam swallowed hard. This was the right thing to do. Just because it was something she wouldn’t have done before she lost Daniel. “I hurt you. And I’m sorry.”
“Ah. Well. I—”
The halting response fell to the wayside when Sam spotted something strange over Nan’s shoulder. Though there was a large water stain on the hardwood floor of her entryway, the ceiling directly above it had been patched over. Without her consciously deciding to do it, she smiled and exclaimed, “Oh, they fixed it.”
“Fixed what?”
“Your roof. Daniel told me there was a leak, and—”
The hardness of Nan’s eyes broke, and it seemed to Sam that she was being looked at for the first time, as if Nan had never met her before and was only just now understanding her. “You sent those men to fix my house?”
“It just seemed like the right thing to do.”
“Yes. Well.” The older woman stiffened, tugging on her sleeves and not bothering to look at Sam again. “They did a fine job.”
“I’m glad. I’ll send them back next week to fix the floorboards.” Shoving her hands in her pocket, she tried to remind herself why she’d come here. Not to win Daniel back, but to be able to live with herself. The apology wasn’t to weasel her way back into Nan’s good graces, but to know in her heart that she’d done the right thing. “Well. Thanks for talking to me. I’d better go home.”
“Wait.” Sam’s heart hovered in her chest before slamming against it in a furious, grateful tear. “Would you like to come inside? I’ve just put the kettle on. We could talk.”
“I’d like that very much.”
The gesture wasn’t a huge one. It wasn’t a promise of things to come or even a hint that Daniel could ever forgive her. But it was a start.
Chapter Twenty-Four
He’d never seen Crowdwell’s this empty on a Sunday night. The sight of the empty room as Daniel tidied up for closing almost proved cathartic, in its own way. The place was as barren as he felt. Where there used to be music, now there was silence. Fitting.
As much as he could, he found himself avoiding the places where he and Sam used to be. The ghosts of her were everywhere, in the stacks where he’d pinned her for hot, fantasy-inducing kisses, in the farthest window where she used to stand and people-watch, in her favorite chair where he’d pull her into his lap and beg her to go on stage and sing with him, which always earned him the same rebuke. You wouldn’t catch me dead up on that stage. He’d even confined himself to the strictest, smallest corners of his other job so as to never catch sight of her. For a while,
these tactics worked. He should have known it wouldn’t last.
“Are you all right, Danny Boy?” Nan asked from behind the coffee counter as Daniel restocked the last of the paperbacks.
“Yeah. Fine.”
“Come here.”
“Gotta close up, Nan.”
“Your old grandmother dragged her old bones to make you a cup of tea and now you’re going to let it go cold?”
Dammit. The guilt trip always worked. Closing his eyes to hide an eye roll, he gave in.
“…No ma’am.”
“Good. Now, sit.”
He moved, as he had been since That Night, as if through a jar of honey. When he finally sat across from his grandmother, he took the teacup in his hands, hoping for its warmth to radiate through. Daniel answered her questioning looks with a long sip of too-strong stuff. Sam always knew how to make the perfect cup of tea. Just enough milk to turn the color and one sugar. And there he went again, thinking about her.
“Aren’t you going to say anything?” Nan asked, after a torturous moment of silence.
“What do you want me to say?”
“I asked you a question.”
I said I’m doing fine, he wanted to snap. But as soon as his mouth opened to form the words, his head dropped into his hands, as if the weight of his jaw dragged his entire skull down with it. He’d been so successful at hiding his emotions behind bulletproof glass. But one crack took the entire facade down with it. “Miserable, Nan.”
Speaking the truth didn’t feel nearly as liberating as he thought it would.
“Why?”
“Why? You told half of Oxford what happened to me and you’ve forgotten?”
“No.” She waved a dismissive hand. “Why are you still miserable?”
“Because I miss her.”
The truth was out before he could contain it.
“Ah.”
“No.” He shook his head, wishing for a time machine to take him back and keep him from admitting it. “That’s not what I…”
But one of Nan’s slightly wrinkled hands covered his own, bringing him back down to earth.
“You’re miserable because you need each other.”
“I didn’t say that.”
Not only did he not say that, but it wasn’t true. It couldn’t be true. How could they need each other when they’d been nothing but a lie?
“You didn’t have to. It’s incredible, you know. You’ve turned into each other. One heartbreak and you’ve given up on love and she’s just starting to believe in it.”
“I haven’t given up on love.”
Liar, his conscience whispered.
“So, you’d forgive her?”
He didn’t even want to consider it. Thankfully, something else caught his attention.
“Wait. You talked to her?”
“Yes.”
“And what’d she say?” he asked, his voice too breathless to be anything less than eager.
“It’s not for me to tell. That’s her burden. But you’d have to listen to her.”
“I don’t ever want to see her again.”
Liar. Nan seemed to know it, too.
“Then you are a wasteful fool. And you’re going to go through the rest of your life regretting it.”
“I don’t understand… You hate her.”
“I don’t hate her. I didn’t understand her. But now… I see who she used to be written in you. Hurt. Bitter. Trying to protect yourself. And I know she’s changed. You changed her.”
That was the last thing Daniel wanted to hear. The pain she’d dealt him was a boulder he’d been forced to carry around since That Night, but now, he didn’t want to give it up. Because giving up the pain meant forgiving her. It meant accepting he was still in love with her.
“I thought you were on my side,” he spat, staring down at the still lake of his teacup.
“I am on your side, Danny Boy. It just baffles me.” Nan let out a long, low whistle, leaning back in her chair to marvel at him. “You’ve spent your entire life writing love songs and dreaming about love stories and you can’t see when you’re living in one.”
“I’m not.”
“Well. If you say so. But she did ask me to give you this.”
Nan extended a business card, stamped in gold, reflective letters to him. He took it, drinking in the words.
“She says Alanis is interested in giving you another shot. All you have to do is call that number.”
“Why didn’t Sam give it to me herself?”
“Because she knows you don’t want to see her. But she still wanted you to have this chance. And Danny Boy. You should take it.”
The business card reflected in the fluorescent lights. He gripped it so tight the edges started to crumple.
“I don’t have any songs. I got rid of them all after that night. They were all her songs.”
“Sure, you don’t have any songs now, but you do have a lot of life experience. And now, you can use that to write your song.”
…
When Angie told Sam she’d have to make her peace with Nan before anything else could be done, she’d assumed that would be the hardest item on her to-do list. Nan was as imposing a figure as the Queen, and she held twice as much power since it seemed that Daniel listened to Nan much more readily than he ever listened to his monarch. But she was wrong. Nan wasn’t the scariest apology on her list. Her brother was.
“Thomas?”
At the doorway to his bedroom, she shifted her weight from one foot to the other, nervous energies twitching her muscles and pushing her back and forth. A sea-storm swirled in her stomach. He’d been right about everything and she’d ignored him, even hated him for it. Would he forgive her? Did she even deserve it?
“Thomas, I know you’re in there.” Her voice dropped and quivered. “Please talk to me.”
She thought about lifting her hand and pounding on the door until he was forced to face her, but she held back, instead slumping down to the floor beside it.
“No, it’s okay,” she muttered, twisting her hands. Maybe it was better to be a heartless automaton. At least you didn’t have to apologize to anyone. But one flashing thought of Captain and the Animos Society cured her of such temptations. She never wanted to be like them, men of power who used it to trample over everyone without remorse. Never again. “You don’t have to come out. Just listen, please. You were right. I’m in love with him. I’m so in love with him; I was cruel and horrible, and I need him to know I’m sorry. I need you to know I’m sorry.”
How had she ever been so willfully blind to the good in her life? She had such love in her hands and she threw it away because it wasn’t the “right way,” because she wanted to prove something to her stupid sixteen-year-old self. To her father. She wanted to belong but didn’t realize she had found a place to belong in Daniel’s arms. Her voice shook.
“You have been such a good, kind, wonderful brother. I never could have dreamed I’d ever have someone who looks after me the way you do. And I spit on that like I spit on everything else.”
She listened for any sign of a response, but none came. Well… At least she’d tried. She’d failed, but at least she tried. Back on her feet, Sam tried to figure out a plan B. Plan C, actually. Plan A was apologizing. Check. Plan B was asking her brother to teach her piano. The apology was most important. At least she’d gotten that much done.
“I hope you can forgive me,” she sighed, then mumbled mostly to herself, “I can’t forgive me.”
“You should.”
Sam barely had time to face her brother, who’d apparently heard her entire speech not from behind his doorway but from the landing of the stairs behind her, before he wrapped her in a spine-crunching hug. The last time she’d hugged someone was her father on the night of the ball, and she couldn’t believe how starved for contact she now felt.
“I forgive you. I understand,” he whispered.
She’d thought it was going to be much, much harder than this, with mo
re groveling and promises to be better. Internally, she was doing both of those things, but externally, she held onto him, not wanting to let him go again. She should have known better. Thomas was never one to hold a grudge. The only grudge she’d ever seen him hold was against the Animos Society and himself.
“You’re my kid sister. You think I wasn’t going to forgive you?”
“It did seem like you wouldn’t.”
No sigh of relief would have been big enough to express how she felt.
“Now.” Thomas let her go, holding her and inspecting her at arm’s length. “What are you going to do about Daniel?”
“Can I ask you something first?”
“Sure.”
This question was maybe not the best one to ask, but it was the one she needed answering right now. If she was going to try to make things right with Daniel, she needed to know. “Do you ever think about Iris? Your Mud Duck?”
He recoiled at the phrase Mud Duck, but his answer was almost immediate. “Every day.”
“Have you ever thought about, you know, trying to reconnect with her?”
Samantha wanted hope, wanted a reason to think that this could work. But Thomas didn’t have the hope she sought.
“She wouldn’t want to see me.”
“Daniel probably won’t want to see me. But I still have to try to make things right.”
“As long as Animos exists, there isn’t any hope for us. Believe me. Some of us don’t get our redemption stories. But I’d like to help you with yours, if I can.”
“Right.” Disappointment flooded her, but she made a promise to herself. One day, she’d help Thomas make things right with Iris. He’d done so much for her; it was the least she could do. She nodded toward the staircase, leading him down. “Well, I have a pretty big favor to ask you.”
Minutes later, they stood in front of his black grand piano. Unlike everything else in this house, the instrument was not an antique, but a new creation built to Thomas’s specifications and keen ear. At seven, while Samantha was getting lessons on how to take the subway home by herself, Thomas was getting piano lessons. While he’d never expressly confided in Sam he would have been a pianist if he hadn’t been a lord’s son, she always suspected it. They stared down at the sheet music artfully arranged on the piano’s stand.
