Barefoot in White (Barefoot Bay Brides)

by Roxanne St Claire

  Why was he sad? Because maybe that wasn’t the nicest rejection in history. Maybe he really, really did care about her and wasn’t willing to have meaningless sex just for the sake of having it. Wasn’t that better than what she’d been asking for?

  So much better! She quietly put a hand over her mouth, clamping down the sudden urge to run to him, instead of away, and promise him…everything. Her heart slammed against her chest at the thought of how close she was to real happiness. Not pretend happiness—the way she had been living. But real, true…joy.

  True love.

  Taking a steadying breath, she dropped her hand, and her fingers landed on his duffel bag. She glanced down at the neatly folded T-shirts and shorts. She touched the soft cotton of one of his favorites, a Z-Train shirt, of course.

  She rubbed her finger along the collar and touched the edge of…something. A card? A …photo. What picture was he packing from his month in Barefoot Bay? What memory was he taking away?

  Unable to resist, she slipped it out, surprised to feel the matte finish of an old-school photograph that—

  The Eiffel Tower caught her eye. Angling the picture toward the ambient light, she hissed in a soft breath when the image became clear and all the blood and hope and joy evaporated as quickly as they’d arrived.

  Fat Willie Zatarain just as unattractive, unappealing, and unsexy as she could be. She swayed a little, looking at an image she’d worked so damn hard to erase from her brain. She closed her eyes, but couldn’t unsee it.

  How did he get this? Why did he have it in his bag?

  As if she didn’t know.

  Thank you, Ona. Sabotage successful.

  Her mother had managed to stop everything with one picture, one stark reminder that Willow would always, always be that fat girl to him…and to herself.

  No damn wonder he turned her down. Again.

  She let the picture flutter to the floor, then went straight back into the bathroom where she put her running clothes back on with shaky hands, refusing to look in the mirror for fear of seeing Willie Zatarain.

  He was still on the patio when she stepped back into the room. She softly cleared her throat, but he didn’t turn.

  Defective hearing or…not?

  It didn’t matter. But just in case, she held back her sob until she was out the front door and halfway down the path.

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  “I’m scared, Donny.”

  Ona’s admission earned an amused glance from her husband. “I think it’s possible that, in thirty years, that’s the first time I’ve ever heard you say those words.”

  He was probably right, because the bone-deep terror that gripped her gut and seeped through her veins right now felt entirely foreign. Fear wasn’t an emotion that had a hold on Ona Zatarain. Regret, remorse, guilt, and an ocean of sorrow had their way with her most days, but very little scared Ona.

  After all, she’d broken the code on death. Now, if she could just earn the forgiveness she didn’t deserve but so profoundly needed, she could concentrate on the one that mattered most: love. Would that be possible today?

  Of course! Nothing was impossible. Hadn’t she learned that firsthand?

  Donny steered her across the lobby of the upscale resort, slowing their steps and guiding her toward a mosaic wall.

  “What are you doing?” she asked.

  “We’re fifteen minutes early, babe.”

  “But she’ll leave,” Ona said, imagining how the wedding planners would plaster smiles on their faces and make up some excuse for Willow’s absence from their scheduled meeting.

  Donny angled his head. “How many times have you told me this is meant to be? Predetermined? As seen in your dreams?”

  “It wasn’t a dream,” she muttered, staring up at the Moroccan-inspired stones, half of her head thinking about her daughter, the other half imagining an entire summer collection in those gorgeous blues and golds. “But our daughter is like liquid mercury, and you know she’ll slip out of my grasp.”

  He nudged her. “Not if you grab her now.”

  Ona turned just as Willow came through the lobby doors and headed to the registration desk, a sea foam green dress skimming her lovely body, her posture as confident as if she were sailing down a runway.

  “Oh.” The soft exclamation slipped out as she drank in her daughter from a distance, trying to memorize every angle of her face, the tilt of her head, the way her wheat-colored hair picked up sunlight through the windows.

  Seeing her near-naked at the villa yesterday had been such a shock. Ona really hadn’t had much time to appreciate the sight of her—not just her newly sculpted body, but her.

  “She’s a beauty,” Donny whispered, fatherly pride in his voice.

  “She always has been.” Ona’s voice hitched as her throat squeezed. But I was too dumb and dead inside to see it. “Let’s talk to her.”

  Donny didn’t move. “Don’t ambush her out here.”

  But even her husband’s determination couldn’t stop Ona from moving forward, magnetically drawn to her daughter, arms already aching for that first embrace. Just as she took a step, Willow turned and looked directly at Ona.

  For a second, time stopped. Willow’s eyes flashed ever so quickly, just a glimmer of panic that was almost instantly wiped clean, replaced with an icy calm. She straightened her back, lifted her chin, and gave an infinitesimal nod, as if to say…Game on.

  Oh, why was it always a fight with them?

  Not anymore. Willow wasn’t the only one who’d changed. Her transformation might be more obvious, but Ona had transformed, as well. She’d created a new person, too. But Willow would have to be willing to take some time to get to see that Ona.

  Please, God, give me that opportunity.

  Ona strode so fast across the lobby, she heard Donny swear softly as he hustled to keep up with her. Halfway there, two more women came out of the door to the side of the registration desk, flanking Willow as if she’d called for support.

  The other wedding planners, Ona assumed, quickly taking in the dark, exotic beauty of one and the over-stylized vibrancy of the other.

  The dark-haired one whispered something to Willow, who gave a quick shake of her head and smiled. As she expected—fake, plastered-on smiles from Willow and her close friends, who stood with her in solidarity against the evil mother.

  Ona’s heart slipped a little. She had so much wrong to make right.

  “Welcome to the Barefoot Brides,” Willow said. “We’re so glad you’re here.”

  And a fake, plastered-on greeting. Undeterred, Ona closed the space, holding Willow’s gaze. The petite girl with a platinum wig reached out her hand, and Willow did a round of stilted introductions.

  “Let’s go back to the Barefoot Brides’s office,” Gussie suggested.

  Where there would be no chance of privacy. Ona shook her head. “I want to talk to you, Willow.” The name seemed formal and unfamiliar on her lips, but Ona was determined to make it clear she’d accept her daughter’s obvious desire not to be called Willie anymore.

  “Absolutely,” Willow said with more of that phony, accommodating tone. For the first time, Ona noticed the shadows under her daughter’s eyes and some puffiness on the lids. She’d been crying. Ona’s heart dropped so fast and hard it was a wonder they didn’t all hear it hit the ground. “We can talk in our office.”

  “No,” Ona said. “I’d like to go outside and talk alone.”

  For a few heartbeats, nobody spoke, the pause just as awkward as it could be. Willow and Ona looked at each other—and the others looked at them while everyone waited. This was it. She’d say yes or no, and Ona would have to accept it if it was no.

  Willow’s eyes shuttered slightly as if something hit her. She’d not only been crying, Ona thought, she was tired. Weary and spent. Her chest tightened with the need to help her daughter, who still teetered on the fine point of an important decision.

  Please, Willie. Please.

  Willow let out
a sigh of pure resignation. “Okay.”

  Ona’s knees nearly buckled.

  Donny squeezed Ona’s hand and leaned in to kiss her cheek. “Go, Mom,” he whispered.

  The tiny bit of encouragement was all she needed to walk with Willie—Willow, she corrected herself—to the door that led to the beach. On the way, Willow self-consciously smoothed a wrinkle from her dress and tucked an invisible hair behind her ear.

  She’s as nervous as I am. The realization gave Ona much needed courage as they stepped out in the sunshine.

  “How horrible to have a mother who makes you so skittish,” Ona said softly.

  Willow just smiled. “I’m not skittish.” Then she laughed a little. “That didn’t take long.”

  “What didn’t?”

  “For us to disagree.” They crossed the wide patio, threading tables around the pool. Willow paused at an empty one and gave Ona a questioning look, but Ona gestured toward the sand.

  “Let’s walk,” she suggested.

  Blessedly, Willow didn’t argue. They took a few steps down to the sand, both of them slipping off their shoes before going any farther.

  “All the way to the water,” Ona said.

  Willow turned and sighed. “Is that necessary?”

  “Humor me,” Ona replied, giving her a gentle prod toward the hard-packed wet sand and the frothy white lace left by the last wave. “Because when I saw you, it was here, and you looked like this.”

  “When you saw me…” She drew out the words, no doubt ready to roll her eyes or maybe make a patronizing comment about Ona’s experience. She was used to the response to her mystical journey. “I take it this was when you were in the hospital?”

  “I wasn’t in the hospital.” At Willow’s look, she added, “My body was. The part that matters was somewhere else altogether.”

  Instead of skepticism, she saw a hint of interest and even a little regret in her daughter’s eyes. Encouraged, Ona ventured a little closer to the water’s edge, thinking about all the different versions of this speech she’d prepared.

  None of them sounded genuine right now. She let some cold water cover her pink-tipped toes and nearly dampen the handkerchief hem of her long gauzy dress. She studied the horizon and the swells that formed the gentle gulf waves.

  “I bet I wouldn’t have gotten caught in a riptide in water this calm,” she finally said.

  Willow came closer. “So that’s what happened? It must have been terrifying.”

  Lifting her face to the sun, Ona closed her eyes, basking in rays she rarely let hit her aging skin. Today, age didn’t worry her.

  “I didn’t really feel much fear, because I was unconscious fairly quickly,” she finally said. “And, yes, that’s how it happened, but I don’t think that’s what’s important. That day I could have been hit by a car or fallen off a ladder or been pulled into the Pacific’s undertow. I was summoned, and I had to go.”

  After a few seconds, Willow asked, “Where exactly did you go?”

  “I guess some people would call it heaven or the afterlife or the other side.”

  “What do you call it?”

  She turned to look at her daughter. “There’s no name, not in this world. And, really, if I tried with every glorious word in every language on earth, I couldn’t describe it to you. The beauty hit senses I didn’t know I had. The message hit…emotional places I didn’t know a person could feel.” She took Willow’s hands, surprised by how slender and strong her fingers were. “For an hour, I existed on another plane, able to see everything here, including you. Mostly you.”

  Her voice cracked on the last word, and Willow flinched slightly, as if that vulnerability actually hit her.

  “And that’s why I’m here. To tell you that my…my mistakes were made crystal clear to me. And, honey, I regret every time I put you down, every day I acted like you weren’t good enough, every word I spoke that wasn’t a mother’s love.” Her eyes filled, blurring Willow’s face. “I don’t expect you to fall into my arms and shower me with forgiveness, but I am standing here offering an apology and begging for a chance to start over with you.”

  The slightest hint of a wry smile tipped her lips. “You know, Mom, you can’t rewrite history. I’ve learned that in the most excruciating way.”

  “I’m not trying to,” she said. “I’m not denying what I did or how I acted. I’m not asking that you forget it. On the contrary, maybe in some twisted way, I’ve taught you to be a better mother when your time comes.”

  Willow gave a soft choke, as if she thought that time would never come, but Ona didn’t let it take her off track. She inched her daughter closer to make her point. “I’m not trying to change the past or even obliterate it, but I am desperately attempting to not let it own us.”

  Now she did smile, but there were tears in her eyes, too. “You sound like someone else I know.”

  Ona suspected she knew who that was. “What do you think?”

  Willow nodded, looking toward the water rather than meet Ona’s unwavering gaze. “I get that you had an experience that changed you,” she finally said. “Dad told me. And I get that you want to smooth things over with me and you felt you had to pull strings and lie to people and make complete strangers complicit in your schemes. So, fine, all that’s done. But let’s just move on and not dwell on it anymore, okay?”

  “No, not okay.” Ona reached up to turn Willow’s chin, forcing their eyes to meet. “Willow, I cannot erase the mistakes I made with you.”

  Her blue eyes, so like her father’s, narrowed. “And I can’t remove the scars they left.”

  Ona swallowed. “I know I was dictatorial and unrelenting and disapproving and manipulative.”

  Willow managed a smile. “That pretty much sums it up.”

  “People change, Willow.”

  “Not that much. Believe me, I know this is true.”

  Oh, so much pain in her voice. “This is not just about me, is it?”

  Willow stepped back, still averting her gaze. She walked a few paces then bent over to pick up a shell, pretending to examine it. All the while, Ona waited, sensing that whatever weighed on her daughter’s heart was one of the reasons the apology hadn’t been accepted the way she’d hoped.

  “In some ways, Mom, it is most definitely about you.” She hurled the shell into the waves and turned a sharp eye to Ona. “Why did you give Nick that picture?”

  She drew back, so not expecting the question. “What…oh, that picture from France that Dad took?”

  “That’s what you do, Mom,” she shot back. “So, for all your rainbows and talk of the great beyond and promises to change, what’s the first thing you do? Drop a little photo bomb on my happiness.”

  Ona just stared at her, a white-hot horror twisting through her. “How did that ruin your happiness?”

  “He…I…we…” She kicked some sand and then let out a long, slow sigh. “I am so freaking tired of this. Why am I blaming you?”

  Good question.

  “I’m just using you and Nick as excuses, you know that? I’m trying to take control of my life, and I’m giving it all to you and Nick.” She shook her head and wiped her hands as if cleaning her personal slate. “No more. I’m done. Forget the picture. Forget the past. Forget everything.”

  “You can’t do that, Willow.”

  “I can try!” She whipped around and took off, getting a good five strides in before Ona shot forward and caught up with her, grabbing her elbow.

  “And you will fail!”

  “Look at me,” Willow demanded, opening her arms to invite a full-body inspection. “Do I look like a person who fails? One hundred and twenty pounds lost. Is that failure, Mom? But it isn’t enough, is it?” Her voice broke with tears.

  “Enough for what?”

  “To be loved,” she admitted on a shudder.

  “Willow!” Ona threw her arms around her sobbing daughter and pulled her closer, pressing their bodies together. “How can you say that? I love you. Dad loves
you. Your friends love you. And, whether you want to accept it or not, Nick loves you.”

  The only answer was a shoulder shake with the next sob.

  “And I left the picture with him because when he looked at it, that’s when I knew he loved you.” She eased Willow back so she could look in her eyes. “Do you know what he said when he saw it?”

  She shook her head.

  “He said, ‘Her fire is on. Her smile is real. Her heart is right there in her eyes.’ But it wasn’t just what he said, honey, it was how he said it. He sounded so much like your father when he’s writing a song for me.”

  Willow blinked at her. “Really?”

  “You don’t know how much he cares for you?”

  She sniffed. “He tried to tell me.”

  “But you refused to hear him.”

  “I…I…”

  “You can’t believe him even though he has given you absolutely no reason not to—and don’t you blame him for not telling you about me being here. He really did think he was helping the two of you by helping the two of us.”

  Willow let out a soft grunt and looked skyward. “What a mess I’ve made.”

  “Then fix it.”

  “Spoken like a true manipulator.”

  “Willow, there’s no manipulation involved. The man is in love with you. And I’m pretty sure that’s mutual. Take all that steel armor off your heart and give it to him.”

  For the first time all day, something that looked like hope lit Willow’s eyes. “You think I can?”

  “I know you can.”

  “No, Mom. He’s gone, and I blew it. I walked out on him, and it would be impossible to get him back now.”

  Ona laughed softly. “Nothing is impossible.” She put her hands on Willow’s cheeks and held her beautiful face very still. “That is the one thing I learned on my journey. Absolutely nothing is impossible.”

  “Oh, Mom.” This time, the embrace was genuine, with Willow’s long, strong arms wrapping around Ona and holding her close. “Some things are impossible, but…but…”

  “But what?”

  Willow leaned back, her eyes red, her makeup streaked. “But I want to try. I have to try.” She touched her tear-stained face. “Am I a mess?”