Made to Last

by Melissa Tagg

  He paused before the next part, and the pain of knowing what was coming sliced through her. “Pregnant.”

  At the word, she sprang from her chair, tears damming again behind her eyes. She shook her head. “No, no, I don’t want to talk about this.”

  “We have to.”

  “We don’t. There’s nothing to talk about anyway. If you read my journal, then you know. I wasn’t pregnant. It was a mistake. End of story. And you can’t just show up on my doorstep demanding answers when you disappeared the way you did. Just . . . go. Please.”

  “My father died,” he blurted.

  Her emotions stilled, her heart quieted. Despite the mix of anger and despair swishing inside her, she allowed herself to look at him, really see him. The circles under his eyes. The pounds missing from his frame since she’d seen him last. The regret pulling at his every feature.

  He’d been amazingly close to his father, in a way Miranda had admired. Even coveted, at times.

  “I’m sorry, Robbie,” she whispered.

  “I only wanted to be around someone who would understand. I was not able to get back to Brazil before he died. After the funeral . . . I could not stay.”

  Another man she might have embraced, might have spoken words of comfort or faith. But how was she supposed to respond to the man who’d broken her heart?

  “One day, Miranda. That is all I ask. Let me spend one day with you remembering the good times.”

  No. No, don’t let him in. Someone else can comfort him.

  “Okay. You can sleep on the couch.”

  Why? Why are you doing this?

  Perhaps because she understood loneliness was a lethal addition to hurt. She remembered far too well the morning she’d awoken to realize there was no pregnancy. And there was no man at her side to share her disappointment.

  Sunshine filled his eyes despite the darkness blackening the kitchen window. “I’ll get my things from my car.”

  When he turned, she closed her eyes. But his voice returned. “Oh, I should tell you—I know you’re not married to that man.”

  Her eyes shot open. “What . . . h-how?”

  His eyes went straight to her hand. The ring. His ring.

  And as Robbie walked away from her a second time, it wasn’t hurt or pain or even anxiety cutting through her.

  It was fear.

  Sunlight fell into the cabin bedroom like a waterfall, hitting Matthew’s eyes and cajoling him awake. He yawned and stretched, flopping his arms out, only to have his right arm flung back at him. His palm landed on his chest, and a grunt sounded beside him. He jumped, the bedsprings whining. “What the—”

  “Lord have mercy, dude, you toss way too much in your sleep.”

  As Matthew’s heartbeat calmed, Blaze’s sleepy voice from the other side of the bed carried in the memory of last night. Miranda’s ex-fiancé showing up. The hours he and Blaze waited at the roadside café in Pine Cove, trying to stay out of the way. Finally, their return to see that Prius still sitting in the driveway.

  They’d padded up the porch, knocked lightly. Miranda had creaked open the door. “Hey, guys.” Telltale puffiness rimmed her eyes, but she offered a smile.

  “He’s still here?” Matthew asked.

  She’d motioned behind her to the man’s sleeping form on the couch. “He asked for a day. Can you sleep in the cabin, Blaze?”

  A day? What did that mean? A day to do what?

  “And, um, I told him the whole story about Blaze.”

  “You what?”

  She was shaking her head, already beginning to close the door. “He’d already figured it out. He . . . knows me. A day—that’s all he wants.”

  A cold wind had played haunting music through the trees as Matthew and Blaze walked the path to the cabin after leaving the house. The translucent white of a harvest moon illustrated the otherwise blank canvas of dusk’s sky. The Midwest would probably always be home in his heart, but it wouldn’t be hard for these mountains to take up residence right alongside Minnesota. They pulled a person in, wrapped him up in a quilt of beauty and wonder.

  Why, then, had that walk from the house to the cabin felt like a funeral procession?

  Because he’d allowed himself to think he might have a place here, that’s why. By shielding Miranda’s secret, teaching her to dance, he’d thought he was winning a place in her life.

  Only to be usurped by the man she hadn’t been able to let go of in three years.

  “Miranda’s couch is definitely better than sharing a bed with you,” Blaze now said drowsily. “If that Robbie guy is sticking around, one of us has to find somewhere else to stay.”

  “If he stays, I’ll be happy to.” What was Miranda thinking, opening her home to him?

  Matthew stepped onto the chilled wood floor, still wearing his jeans from the night before. He glanced out the window, spotted the Prius still mocking him from the driveway. But Miranda’s truck was gone. “I’m going to run over to the house for coffee. I’m out.”

  Blaze mumbled an okay and rolled onto his side.

  Frost still whited the lawn, glistening against unfiltered sunlight. At the house, Matthew found a note taped to the door.

  Robbie and I are going to Audrey’s house. Be back later. —M

  Impossible to read between the lines. Or maybe there wasn’t anything to read. She was spending the day with the man. Okay.

  Not okay. It gutted him. Had last night’s kiss meant anything?

  Apparently not.

  Matthew forgot about the coffee, skulked back to the cabin, and grabbed his messenger bag. “Blaze, I’m going to Asheville.”

  Blaze’s mumbled reply followed Matthew out of the cabin. He slammed the door of his Jeep.

  “Someone actually lives here?”

  Robbie’s voice was incredulous from the passenger seat, and Miranda couldn’t blame him. Audrey’s home looked more dilapidated than ever. Clothing, apparently hung out to dry, draped over the porch railing she and Matthew had repaired the last time they were there. A white frost glistened over the clothing, the lawn. And that pile of lumber Miranda had dropped by weeks ago, meant for roof repair, was still on the lawn, covered with tarp.

  Robbie trailed behind her as she made her way up the porch, knocked on the door. Robbie. She still had trouble believing he’d slept on her couch last night, not Blaze—he’d shared a cup of coffee with her this morning, then accompanied her to the shack, not Matthew.

  She still couldn’t process his nonchalant reaction to her explanation about Blaze. “You did what you thought you had to in order to save the show. If I hadn’t left you, you never would’ve had to.”

  At least he acknowledged that. But she’d started wondering more and more these past few weeks if both she and Robbie were wrong—she hadn’t had to keep up the ruse. Oh, she’d told herself it was her only option. But truth had always been an option. She just didn’t want to face it.

  “Nobody should live in a dump like this,” Robbie muttered as Miranda knocked again. “Remember all the houses we built in Brazil?”

  As if she could erase those years from her memory.

  Don’t let him too far in.

  She’d repeated the reminder over and over already this morning. Just one day. Because he’s hurting.

  “I remember.” Her voice blended with the cries of Audrey’s baby from inside the house. Why didn’t Audrey answer the door?

  She knocked a third time. When there was still no answer, she reached for the doorknob. Audrey’s baby was crying like something was seriously wrong. And if the woman wasn’t answering the door . . .

  The knob gave, and she pushed, creaking open the door. Immediately, a sour smell wafted from the house. Miranda wrinkled her nose but stepped forward. “Hello?”

  More clothing hung in the living room—over a lampshade, on the back of the dilapidated sofa. The baby’s cries continued.

  “Perhaps the baby’s mother isn’t home,” Robbie offered.

  Anger sliced th
rough Miranda at the thought, and she marched down the hallway toward the sound of Lola’s cries. “Look for Audrey,” she said over her shoulder.

  “Where do I look?” Robbie called after her. “This place is not big enough to hide.”

  Miranda hurried into the nursery, Lola’s screams piercing her ears. “It’s okay, it’s okay,” she said gently. She reached for the infant, lifted her from the crib, gasped. Heat radiated from her skin. “Oh, honey, you’re sick.”

  The baby’s cries became coughs. Miranda closed her eyes as she held her against her chest, palm cradling Lola’s head, her hair sticky and wet.

  Robbie walked in. “There is no one else here.” He stopped. “That cough sounds bad.”

  “It is bad. I can feel the croup in her chest through her back. I don’t know what to do.” And she was so very hot. Miranda swayed, whispering, worrying as Lola continued to cough and cry. What should she do?

  And why was Robbie staring at her like that? Feet rooted in place. Eyes glazed and lips pressed tight. “We could’ve had this,” he whispered.

  Yes.

  No!

  She blinked, swallowed a lump in her throat, and then swallowed again. “I’m going to help you, Lola. I don’t know how, but . . .”

  The smack of the front door sounded through the house. Next thing Miranda knew Audrey was in the nursery, stringy hair framing her pale cheeks, purple circles sagging under her eyes. She stared wordlessly.

  “Where have you been?” Miranda blurted the words, then clamped her mouth shut. No need to scare the girl. “Lola’s very sick. Why did you leave her alone?”

  “She kept crying,” Audrey murmured listlessly. “Crying and coughing and crying. I couldn’t . . . I needed to . . . I just went on a walk.” She blinked, seemed to snap to life at the sight of Robbie watching from the corner of the room. “Who is that?”

  Miranda ignored the question. “Audrey, have you taken Lola’s temperature? She’s burning up.”

  “No.”

  “Do you have a family doctor? I think we need to call someone.”

  Audrey only shrugged. Miranda’s worry unfolded into an all-out dread. “Take Lola. I’m going to make a call.”

  “Can’t you hold her a little longer? I’m awfully tired.”

  She could’ve yelled. Maybe did. Who would know with Lola’s pitiful cries filling the room? With one hand balancing the baby, Miranda whipped her phone from her pocket with the other. She jabbed the number she’d entered into her contacts the other day and propped the phone between her ear and shoulder.

  “Why are you here?” Audrey asked again. “Is it about Jimmy?”

  She shook her head as the phone rang in her ear. Come on, pick up! “No. When was the last time you saw him?”

  Audrey shrugged limply. “A few weeks ago.”

  “You mean he hasn’t been here since—”

  “Hey, Miranda!” A perky voice interrupted her.

  Thank God. “Izzy, I need help.”

  “Matthew, what are you doing here?”

  Liv’s pumps clacked against the wood floor of Open Arms’ entryway. Matthew fiddled with the canvas strap of the messenger bag slung over his arm. Maybe he should’ve called Miranda’s friend before showing up at her place of employment.

  Liv halted in front of him, her pink wrap dress so unlike anything Miranda would wear. How had the two become friends, anyway?

  “Sorry to show up without calling or anything,” Matthew said. He held out his hand.

  “You seriously want me to shake your hand? Isn’t that a little formal?” But Liv grasped his palm anyway and gave a hearty shake.

  “Sorry. Habit of the trade, I guess.”

  “The trade. So you came for, what, an interview?”

  Matthew shook his head, irritation at his own lack of poise prickling him. These past few days had thrown him so far off his groove, it was like he walked through a house of mirrors.

  Why am I even here?

  “No, not an interview exactly,” he answered Liv. The piney scent of evergreen and fir filled the open entryway. “Hey, why does it smell like a Christmas tree farm in here?”

  “All the kids have daily chores. Today’s was polishing all the woodwork in the house. They may have used enough Old English to fuel a car. So, what can I do for you?”

  She could start by explaining her best friend. What made a woman welcome a man who’d broken her heart back into her life?

  He flipped open his bag and pulled out a set of DVDs.

  “The other day when we were here, you mentioned what a hard time a couple of the newer counselors have had picking up ASL. Some of the kids, too. When my brother married my sister-in-law and brought Celine home, he needed to learn. I wanted to, as well. So we found this DVD set online. Total miracle worker. I was in Minneapolis over the weekend, so I picked it up.” He held out the plastic case.

  “Oh, Matthew, this is great. I knew there had to be something out there to help us. Truly, thanks so much.” She paused, one toe tapping against the floor. Then, “But did you really drive all the way out here just to deliver this? Not that I’m not grateful. Seriously, it was so thoughtful of you. But I fancy myself a good people-reader and—”

  The chimes of a child’s laughter sounded overhead, followed by the patter of footsteps running down the hall.

  “I should let you get back to work.” Matthew closed his bag. It was silly to come here. Liv wouldn’t spill on her bestie.

  “Nice try, Knox, but I’m not going to let you go all Artful Dodger on me. Come on back to my office.” She was already heading toward the French doors leading into what Miranda had told him used to be a parlor. It had been remodeled into a grouping of offices years ago.

  He shrugged and followed Liv into a closet of an office, lavender-colored walls brightening the small space. Behind Liv’s desk, a kaleidoscope of kids’ drawings crowded a hanging bulletin board. A lit candle on her desk replaced the smell of furniture polish with vanilla.

  Liv reached into a miniature fridge and pulled out a Diet Coke. “Want some?”

  “Sure, thanks.” His stomach reminded him he’d skipped breakfast. A Coke would do for now.

  Liv dropped into her swivel chair. “You obviously came to talk about Rand. So talk.”

  He lowered onto the chair across from her. Only he overestimated its height, his backside bumping onto the seat when his knees buckled. An “Oomph” escaped from his lips as he landed.

  Liv lifted a fist to her mouth to cover her giggle. “Sorry, I’ve usually got kids in here. There’s a lever under the chair to raise it.”

  “As if I didn’t feel like enough of an idiot.”

  “I don’t allow the kids to use the word idiot. Now, like I said, talk.”

  “You’re bossy.”

  “And you’re upset. So spill.”

  Why did he feel like a patient in a psychiatrist’s office? Miranda had said Liv liked to fix people’s problems. “You know I know she’s not married to Blaze, right?”

  “Yeah, I was in the car when she told Blaze on the way back from the hospital.”

  “Right.” He popped the tab on his soda. “Her fiancé came back.”

  Liv’s hand knocked into her pop can and it fizzed over onto her desk. She grabbed a couple Kleenexes and wiped up the spill. “Sorry. That surprised me.”

  “Surprised all of us. He just showed up out of the blue last night.”

  “Robbie. You should’ve brought him here. I’d love to kick the guy in the teeth.”

  Somehow he had trouble picturing the blonde in the pink dress so much as sticking her tongue out. “Yeah, well, that wasn’t Miranda’s response. He spent the night and now they’re off working together for the day.”

  Concern etched into Liv’s face, pulling her lips into a frown. “I don’t like that.”

  “Me neither. I don’t get why she’d allow him back. What kind of hold does he have over her?”

  Liv lifted her pop can to take a drink, then slowly l
owered it onto the desk. “I didn’t know Rand before he left. But we’ve talked about it since then. It’s usually me coercing her into it. Getting her to talk is like pulling teeth, yeah?”

  Actually, that hadn’t really been Matthew’s experience. How many evenings had they spent out on the porch or in her workshop, chatting to the tune of sandpaper against wood?

  “Miranda fell for that man oh-so-hard in Brazil. If you ask me, she was still hurting from the loss of her grandparents and the fact that her parents were so distant. Robbie became a lifeline. And when he left . . .”

  Liv didn’t need to finish. Matthew had seen all the evidence already of Miranda’s pain. “So why let him back into her life now?”

  Liv shook her head. “I don’t know. Maybe she needs closure. Maybe there are things she needs to say to him. Like . . .” She paused, uncertainty hovering in her unspoken words.

  “Go on,” he urged. “I want to understand. Not as a reporter. As her friend.” As the man who’d kissed her last night. Who ached to make things better for her.

  “She thought she was pregnant when Robbie left. Found out a few weeks later it was just a false alarm.”

  Surprise whooshed through Matthew. That and . . . hurt. Hurt at the reminder of the way Miranda had given herself to the man. And hurt for her—how she’d faced not only rejection but certainly confusion, as well.

  “Look, Matthew, Miranda needs someone like you on her side. Someone who sees and values her strengths, but who can also handle her weaknesses. She needs someone who will allow her to stand on her own two feet at the same time as he cares for her, provides for her, gives her someone to lean on. Don’t give up on her.”

  He leaned forward, his untasted can of pop encased in both hands. “What are you saying?”

  “I’m saying, don’t abandon her now.” Liv smiled. “She likes you more than she’s liked any man for a loooong time. Believe me. Robbie coming back? It’s just a blip. I’m sure of it.”

  A seed of determination bloomed into the full thing. He stood, knowing what he needed to do, to say.

  Chapter 15

  “This reminds me of old times, Rand.”