Melanie laughed at that, then sighed. “I wish she’d just dump him.”
“What did it take for you to leave Adam?” he asked.
“Honestly?” Melanie sighed, her mind going back to that painful day. “I was sitting in a diner much like the one Tilly and I were just at. I wanted some sort of privacy, as well as greasy food, so...” She smiled wanly. “An older woman passed my booth and she gave me this look as if she’d seen this a million times already, and she said, ‘If I was as pretty as you and as young as you, I wouldn’t waste another tear on him. You have a lot of life left.’”
“What did you say?” Logan asked.
“Nothing. She kept moving, and I gave it some thought. I knew women who put up with their husband’s affairs because they had too much to lose, and I had just as much on the table, you know? Adam and the kids were my world. My social networks, the neighborhood I lived in, the comforts I enjoyed were all because of Adam. But I’d lived with a whole lot less, and I could again. Then I thought of the woman I’d become if I stayed...and I didn’t like her. I’d become jealous, bitter, self-centered... So I finished my cake, and I called a divorce attorney.”
“I’m glad you left him,” Logan said softly.
“Me, too. But it was the hardest thing I ever did,” she said. “And it’s not going to be any easier on Tilly to leave Simon. So I don’t know if what I said will make any difference to her at all, but maybe it will sink in and give her the strength she needs.”
“Maybe her father will go intimidate the kid into submission,” Logan suggested.
“Yeah, maybe.” Melanie chuckled. “It couldn’t hurt.”
But it wouldn’t last. The Simons of the world got older and meaner. Sometimes they hid their behavior better, but ever so slowly, they sucked away a woman’s sense of self-respect. They made the world seem harsher, crueler, lonelier. They made her question if she really had what it took to start over again.
The hotel door opened, and Tilly came out with her suitcase in tow, followed by Simon who stopped in the doorway. Tilly paused to kiss him, and Simon turned his face away. Melanie got out.
“Where are your other bags?” she asked.
“In the trunk, still.”
Simon got them out, and after Logan got them stowed in the back of the vehicle, Simon headed back toward the hotel room.
“Did you want the front, Tilly?” Melanie asked.
“No, I’d rather have the back.” Tilly settled herself in the back seat and Melanie and Logan got back in.
Simon stood in that doorway until they had driven away, and Melanie looked over her shoulder at her stepdaughter.
“What did you say to him?” Melanie asked.
“I just said that I’d called you all the way out here, and I couldn’t make you go back without me. You’d tell my father he was a monster and my dad would call the cops on him.”
Melanie chuckled. “That’s it?”
“I also told him that if he’d been decent to me, I would never have called you. And I need time to think.”
“You’re going to be okay, Tilly,” Melanie said.
“I don’t want to talk anymore,” Tilly said, her voice shaking.
“Okay...” Melanie picked up her phone and typed in a text to Adam.
Tilly called me, and I picked her up from Brigham, and she’ll be waiting for you to come get her tomorrow.
There was no immediate reply—he might even be on a flight back already, she wasn’t sure. She tucked her phone away again and she leaned her head back, watching the dark road.
This wouldn’t be the last time Tilly faced this kind of thing. But every time a woman stood up for herself and decided on her own self-worth, it became a little bit easier.
Logan reached over and took her hand. She hesitated, then twined her fingers through his, because while Melanie was perfectly willing to face life alone, for tonight, she’d accept a little comfort.
* * *
LOGAN DROVE BACK to the lodge where Melanie took his place behind the wheel. Tilly had fallen asleep in the back seat, and Melanie unrolled the window to say goodbye.
“It’s almost morning,” Logan said. “In fact—” he looked at his phone “—it is morning. It’s five.”
“What time is the funeral?” she asked.
“It’s at noon, but Mel, you don’t have to come with me,” he said. “You have your own stuff to take care of.”
“How about you give me the address, and I’ll do my best without promises,” she suggested.
That sounded a lot fairer, so he texted her the address of the church and tucked his phone away again.
“Thank you for coming along tonight,” Melanie said, her warm gaze meeting his, then she stifled a yawn.
“Not a problem,” he said. “Glad I could help.”
What he felt was much deeper than that, however. He was glad he could be a part of this, be a support for Melanie. He owed her that much—to make a few of her burdens a little easier to bear. Maybe this was atonement—like delivering the box to his father had been.
Logan tapped the hood of the vehicle in farewell and headed up toward the front door of the lodge. The sun’s rays were peeking over the tops of the mountains, and he swallowed a yawn of his own. He’d sleep for a few hours, and then get ready to bury his father.
Maybe it was better to have been out tonight—distraction from deeper feelings seemed to be his MO. He’d be dealing with his father’s death for a very long time to come, he was sure. But not at this moment.
* * *
THE FUNERAL WAS held at a local church in downtown Mountain Springs, an ornate building with a tall steeple nestled between lilac and rose bushes. The lilacs were in bloom and the roses only had buds, but the fragrance was comforting. A discreet sign had been erected in front saying that the church was reserved for a private event, but that didn’t stop a few tourists from stopping to take photos, anyway.
Logan wasn’t sure if Melanie would come. She’d be exhausted and he wouldn’t blame her if she didn’t make it, but a few minutes after he arrived dressed in an appropriately dark charcoal-gray suit, he spotted Melanie coming through the front doors of the church. Her sleeveless black dress was simple, and a pair of pearl earrings were the only jewelry he could spot.
She was gorgeous, her chocolate-brown hair falling in soft waves around her shoulders, and she paused, scanning the crowd until she spotted him. She didn’t smile, but she crossed the foyer toward him, pausing to say hello to a few people as she went.
“Hi,” Melanie said when she reached him. “I made it.”
“You look great,” he said quietly.
“I tried.” She smiled faintly then. “How are you holding up?”
“I’m—” He licked his lips. He wasn’t sure how he felt. This was a strange farewell to a man who’d held himself back for all of Logan’s life. “I’m not sure if what I’ve planned to say is going to go over too well with this crowd.”
“Most of these people aren’t his children,” she replied. “I don’t think it matters if they like it or not. Funerals are for the family, aren’t they?”
Logan shrugged. “You might have a point. My siblings might not like it, either, though.”
She smiled at that. “You always were a bit of a rebel, Logan. I say roll with it.”
Logan raised an eyebrow. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
Organ music swelled from inside the sanctuary. People were already taking their seats, murmuring quietly to each other, shaking hands, nodding sadly... At the front, there were two large photos of Harry, one from when he was a young man and the other more recent. There was a wreath of white flowers and a casket, the lid open. Logan’s gaze landed on that casket, and he froze.
“Do you want to go pay your respects?” Melanie asked softly.
“I should,” he rep
lied.
“I’ll go take a seat, and you can meet me there when you’re ready,” she suggested.
“Sure.”
Logan went slowly up to the front. He waited while an older woman looked sadly into the casket, then stepped aside for him. As he looked down at his father’s placid face, he thought he looked almost too peaceful. Harry had never been a tranquil man—he’d been active, annoyed, determined. Whatever had made his father who he was had flown. He didn’t want to wait for a wave of emotion, so he turned and headed to where Melanie had taken a seat behind Junior’s family.
As Logan slid into the pew next to Mel, Junior turned to give him a nod of greeting. His wife turned, too. She was a pleasant enough looking woman—a little reminiscent of Dot, actually.
“Nice to meet you,” Logan murmured, shaking her hand, then nodded to the kids who turned to regard him. The youngest son, Taylor, sat next to Junior, and Logan could see just how much he looked like his dad. Harry had been right—those Wilde genes seemed to have skipped him and Graham.
The minister stood up to speak, saving Logan from finding something to say to his nephew. There was a scattering of other people he didn’t recognize, and it was just as well. He really wasn’t interested in making acquaintance with other relatives.
“We’re here to celebrate the life of our friend and loved one, Harry Wilde,” the minister began. “Life is so much shorter than any of us are ready for. Harry was a family man, and he spoke often about his children and grandchildren, boasting about their achievements as only a loving father could.” There was a ripple of soft laughter. “I think you all know what I’m talking about! He would have wanted to live longer—I know that. Even though his health was failing, he wasn’t finished...”
The minister continued speaking, moving into more spiritual grounds for a short sermon, and Logan leaned forward, letting out a slow breath. He wasn’t a part of this. Maybe he should have been, and maybe he even had a genetic right to it, but reality was starkly different.
He felt Melanie’s touch on his arm and he slid his hand over hers, centering himself with the feeling of her cool, soft fingers.
“And now, we’re going to hear from Harry’s son—” The minister cleared his throat, looked toward Junior questioningly, then when he received a nod, he continued, “Logan McTavish.”
Logan could hear the murmurs behind him. Logan stood up and headed for the podium, and his hands started to sweat. He gave the minister a nod of thanks, and then turned to face the crowd. Most were staring at him wide-eyed, but there was one face that was fixed on him with sympathy. Melanie.
“Hello, everyone,” Logan said, his voice sounded strange to him through the microphone. “You were expecting to hear from Junior, no doubt. Sorry—he’s a grown man now, and people call him Eugene, or better yet, Dr. Wilde.”
There was a trickle of light laughter.
“For those of you who don’t know me, my name is Logan McTavish, and I’m Harry’s son from a previous relationship, before he met Dot. But I was never really part of the family. I’m just going to say that, because it’s easier than dancing around it. Junior has been trying to fix that lately, and I’m grateful, but the way the rest of you remember my dad—I never saw that side of him.”
The room fell silent, and Logan looked over at Junior, his son sitting next to him with wide shocked eyes.
“The thing is, none of us are perfect, and neither was my dad,” Logan said. “But I can tell by the way you all remember him that he meant a lot to all of you. You saw the kindness in him, and the nobleness. He did right by you. And I’m glad you have that.” He nodded at Junior’s son. “But for whatever reason, my dad had a harder time connecting with me. Maybe I wasn’t like him. I certainly don’t have the Wilde looks, do I? I’ve been thinking about what I could say about Harry, and here is what I’m left with—my father tried hard to live a good life, and I can see the evidence of that around this room. I think that’s important—that we all try. Sometimes, we’re going to fall short, and for that, we have to hope that people will forgive us.”
Logan looked toward the casket, and for a moment, emotion choked off his voice.
“But I forgive him,” he said, tears misting his eyes. “I forgive him for messing it up with me, because that’s all I can offer him. But he was proud of you, Junior.” He turned to see his brother’s ashen face. “Really proud. I got to talk to him a couple of days before he passed, and he talked about Eugene most of all. So I’m grateful that you included me today, and but I’m going to let Eugene take over now and talk about the memories he has about our father. And I’ll let you all grieve for the man who loved you.”
A lump closed off Logan’s throat, and he couldn’t have said another word if he’d wanted to. He looked toward Melanie pleadingly, and she stood up, and made her way to the aisle. He joined her, and she slipped her hand into his as they made their escape.
“Uh—thank you to my brother for being willing to speak...” Junior’s voice carried behind him, but Logan wasn’t staying to listen. Let Harry’s family grieve in peace.
As they erupted outside into the sunlight, Logan rubbed his hand over his eyes.
“That was bad...” he muttered.
“No, that was honest,” Melanie replied. “You don’t have to stop existing to make other people more comfortable, you know.”
Logan looked over at her, and managed a shrug. “Ironically, it’s what my father would have wanted—me to back off and let them mourn.”
Melanie shook her head.
“No, I’m serious,” he said. “Whatever my father’s limitations when it came to loving me, he could have made up with me anytime over the last twenty years.”
“I’m sure he was a more complex man than any of his children realized,” she observed. “That’s the way of parenthood—our children simplify us to make themselves comfortable, but even you are more complex than Graham knows.”
Melanie slipped her arm through his once more and they started down the sidewalk. At the corner, they took a side street down a tree-lined road, away from the tourists and bustle of the town center. She felt good next to him. Too good, but instead of putting some distance between them, he covered her hand with his.
“You loved him,” Melanie said quietly.
“What?”
“You did,” she said. “You loved your dad, whether he loved you back or not, you did love him.”
“Yeah.” His voice was tight.
“I’m so sorry for your loss, Logan.”
Such a simple thing to say, but it started a crack in his reserve that crept deeper and deeper as the tears welled in his eyes. He hadn’t cried for his father yet, and he’d hoped to do this in private, but he couldn’t seem to hold back the flood of emotion. Tears trickled down his cheeks, and Melanie wordlessly wrapped her arms around his waist and leaned her face against his shoulder, holding him tight. He pulled her close against him, buried his face in her hair and cried.
She didn’t move, or hurry him. She was like a rock there, holding him up, and when he’d finished, he wiped his eyes, feeling somewhat foolish.
“Sorry,” he muttered.
“For what?” she asked softly. “For mourning your father at his funeral? Logan, you’ll have to forgive yourself, too. You were enough, you know. You really were.”
It was a nice sentiment, but not true. He hadn’t been enough of a Wilde to fit in with his father’s family, and he hadn’t been enough for his wife, either. When it came to Caroline and very likely Melanie, too, it wasn’t about his intrinsic worth—this was about his own behavior, his defense mechanisms, his knee-jerk reactions. He might not fit in with Harry’s family, but Logan was his father’s son in more ways than one—he had the same stubborn streak, the same tendency to clam up about his feelings and the same way of pushing away the people he loved. Given enough time, he’d probably do it with Me
lanie again, too, and that thought tightened his throat. He bent down and pressed a kiss against Mel’s forehead.
“I’m glad you’re here,” he said gruffly.
She didn’t answer, but she slipped her arm through his again, and they continued their slow walk down the sidewalk, the tree-dappled shade cooling the summer air.
“I have to leave tomorrow morning,” he said.
“I know. Will you come say goodbye this time?”
“Of course,” he said. “You can count on it.”
Logan missed her already. But they’d both go back to their lives, and that was as it should be. Sure, they could stay in contact, but it wouldn’t be the same. Whatever was happening here would stop. And Melanie would be better off with a proper goodbye and moving on.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
THAT EVENING, MELANIE awoke from a heavy nap, still feeling foggy. Something had woken her up, and she pushed her hand through her tangled hair, trying to pinpoint what it was. Then she heard the sound of the front door opening and voices—Tilly’s and Adam’s—and she woke up the rest of the way, her heart speeding up in her chest.
So, Adam had come.
Melanie got up and headed out toward the living area. Her ex-husband stood by the door, and for a moment, he didn’t see her. He looked older, with a few more lines on his face. But his old way of standing—legs akimbo, hands in his pockets—brought a lump to her throat. When would that feeling stop? Why couldn’t she just hate him and be done with it?
When Adam saw her, he smiled hesitantly.
“Hi, Mel,” Adam said. “Sorry to wake you.”
Such an ordinary thing to say—something he’d said a thousand times over their marriage. Looking at him in this lake house, she thought it could have been any other summer, when Adam worked long hours and came to see them with that easy smile on his face. Now, of course, she knew what else he’d been up to besides working, and it still hurt in a very deep and personal place in her heart.
Their Mountain Reunion (The Second Chance Club Book 1) Page 19
