by Cindy Kirk
Prim staggered back as if shot.
Deb paid her no mind as the venom continued to spew. “Despite knowing how much we loved him and he loved us, you refused to let me have a say in his burial. Okay, maybe he did want to be cremated,” she said quickly when Prim opened her mouth. “But you only followed select parts of his wishes. You didn’t scatter his ashes like he wanted. I told Mike you couldn’t make him want to be with you in life, so you’re punishing him by keeping him close in death.”
Prim flinched as the words hit their mark, but she lifted her chin.
“Regardless of what you believe, I did love your son. And I tried to be a good wife to him. Maybe you’re right, maybe I wasn’t what he wanted, but that doesn’t give you the right to speak to me in this manner.” Prim kept all emotion from her voice. She refused to cry. She wouldn’t give Deb the satisfaction. “I believe it’s best for everyone if you pack your bags and leave my house.”
“You’re kicking us out?” A look of shock crossed Deb’s face. “For what? For simply trying to have an honest dialogue?”
“I want you to leave.” Prim edged around Deb and strode into the house. Only when she reached the bathroom did Prim let the tears fall.
In exactly twenty-five minutes, Mike backed the Buick out of the driveway and drove off.
Prim stood on the porch with a boy on each side of her. Her expression remained stony while the twins waved and smiled.
The second the Enclave disappeared from sight, Prim expelled her breath. She thought she’d feel better with Deb and Mike out of the house. But Deb’s accusations lingered, and Prim’s emotions remained as tangled as her hair on a windswept day.
“Can we go in the back and play ball?” Callum asked.
“Sure.” Absently she tousled his hair. “Your gloves are in the hall closet.”
“We don’t need gloves.” Gazing up at her, Connor’s young face was earnest. “They didn’t have gloves yesterday.”
For a second she was confused. Until she realized he was referring to the vintage baseball game. Though it seemed as if gloves would provide some protection for little fingers, she wasn’t going to push the point.
“Take the ball outside then, and—”
Prim’s breath caught in her throat at the sight of Max on the other side of the sliding glass door. The boys rushed him as if they were linebackers and he was the quarterback with the ball.
“Yay, you came just in time.”
His serious expression grew quizzical. “In time for what?”
Callum held up the baseball clutched between his fingers. “To play ball.”
“We’re not using gloves, neither,” Connor assured him.
With his free hand, Callum tugged on Max’s arm, his expression hopeful. “Throw us the ball. Please.”
The look on Max’s face seemed to indicate he was waging some kind of internal struggle. Was he concerned she’d be upset? She offered a reassuring smile. “I’d love to watch you play.”
“Let’s go, boys.” His voice was deep and husky, as if he were fighting off a cold.
She let her gaze linger on him as she followed them out the door. Right now all she wanted to do was rest her head on his shoulder and feel his strong, comforting arms around her.
Max tossed the ball with the boys for nearly thirty minutes before calling it quits. Callum and Connor continued to play in the backyard when Max stepped inside.
“How about a glass of iced tea?” she asked, following him when he strode into the living room.
“I don’t want anything.”
Something was wrong. Prim sensed it. She hoped it wasn’t anything serious, because her emotions were still raw and unsettled from her encounter with Deb.
Still, she wanted Max to know if he needed her, she was here for him. “Tell me what’s wrong and what I can do to help.”
The tight clench to his jaw and his rigid stance sent her stomach into somersaults. Ready or not, it appeared she was about to be thrust into her second serious conversation of the morning.
Max passed a palm across the sweaty surface of his forehead. He should have known better than to get involved with someone whose heart still belonged to another. He’d ignored the signs and now he was paying the price.
He’d known this moment would be hard. He just hadn’t realized his heart would feel as if it was being torn from his chest before he’d even begun to speak.
The sight of the urn in the corner cabinet reinforced he was making the right decision. “I don’t know if I told you, but I dated a woman last year. Her name was Lori.”
“I don’t recall you mentioning her.” There was a hint of trepidation in Prim’s voice. “Was it serious?”
Max continued as if she hadn’t spoken. “Lori and her longtime boyfriend had broken up several months before she and I started dating. I knew she was on the rebound, but she assured me whatever feelings she’d had for her ex-boyfriend were gone.”
“She still cared for him.”
Had Prim said the words? Or had he? It scarcely mattered.
“We’d been together for six months when she told me they were getting back together.” His lips lifted in a humorless smile. “She liked me a lot, cared about me. But she loved him.”
“Oh, Max. That must have hurt.” Prim moved to his side, as if ready to console.
Max stepped back, keeping some distance between them.
“Initially it hurt,” he said, thinking back. “I’ve since realized that while I liked her and enjoyed her company, I didn’t love her, either.”
Prim remained silent, her hands folded together in a tight knot.
Max ran his fingers down the side of the urn, resisting the overpowering urge to smash it against the wall. “You loved Rory.”
“Yes.”
The single word struck like a punch to the gut. He didn’t know why. Of course she’d loved Rory. Hadn’t she married the man? Given him two sons?
Callum and Connor. God, he’d never wanted to hurt them.
“I love you, Prim. I think I’ve always loved you.” His voice sounded flat and dull even to his own ears. “But I can’t be with a woman whose heart isn’t free.”
“My heart is free.” She closed the distance he’d placed between them, this time touching his arm. “Rory has been gone nearly two years.”
“He may be gone, but you haven’t let him go.” Max dropped his hand from the urn as if the shiny black enamel had turned scalding hot. “You told me he wanted to be scattered to the winds, but yet you keep him here. It’s as if you can’t bear to let him go.”
Two bright red patches of color dotted her pale cheeks. “Why is everyone all of a sudden so concerned about that damn urn?”
Less than an hour before, Max had watched the Delaneys throw their suitcases in the Buick and drive off. As far as he knew they’d had no prior plans to leave. It didn’t take a math genius to connect the dots.
“So I’m not the only one who finds it odd you’ve kept his ashes.”
“This conversation—or whatever it is we’re having—is about you and me, Max. Not about Deb.” The words burst from her mouth as the temper she usually kept under tight control flared. “If you don’t want to be with me, just say it. Don’t make up some silly story that me being in love with Rory is the reason we can’t be together. He was my husband. Of course I loved him. A part of me will always love him. Is that what you want to hear?”
“Will Rory always be between us?” Though Max was convinced he knew the answer, he pressed again, harder this time.
“Rory was my husband. He’s Callum and Connor’s father.” Instead of angry, she now sounded weary. “I don’t know why you feel you had to come up with a reason for walking away. You could have just said it wasn’t working for you.”
Not working for him? Didn’t she understand how much she meant to him? How hard this was for him? “I—”
“Frankly, I think a smart guy like you could have come up with a better excuse.” Prim’s lips t
wisted. She gave a humorless laugh. “If Deb were still around, she’d tell you to consider yourself lucky because I don’t have what it takes to keep a man’s attention. You know what? She’s obviously right.”
Before he could respond, her jaw jutted out and fire returned to those hazel eyes. “But I did the best I could during my marriage. I’m doing the best I can now. I didn’t need this from her and I don’t deserve this from you. Get out, Max. Get out of my house and don’t come back.”
“Prim.” He reached out. He wouldn’t leave her. Not now. Not like this.
Ignoring the outstretched hand, Prim went to the door and jerked it open. “Good-bye, Max.”
Despite the approaching thunder of little feet, Max would have stayed, nearly did. But he’d been caught up in too much drama as a child to knowingly put Callum and Connor in that situation.
Without another word, Max brushed past Prim and walked out the door.
Chapter Twenty-Four
“Mo-om, what are you doing in there?” Connor called out.
Prim shut off the faucet she’d been running full bore.
“Can we have a snack?” Callum asked through the closed bathroom door.
“I’ll be out in a second.” After blowing her nose, Prim flooded her eyes with Visine, not wanting her sons to notice the redness.
Not that she blamed herself. What woman wouldn’t cry when the man she loved walked out on her?
Love.
Yes, she loved Max Brody. She could admit that now. For all the good it did her.
Drawing a steadying breath, Prim opened the door.
She kept busy organizing closets and then playing with her sons. Each time Boris let out a woof, she wondered if she’d soon hear a knock and Max would be at the door.
Prim scolded herself for being so foolish. He’d made it clear he didn’t want her. The fact that he’d also said he loved her didn’t mean a thing. He’d left, and actions meant more than words.
The ringing of her phone shortly before supper had her tensing again. Please, dear God, don’t let it be Eliza wanting an update on the parade. She relaxed when she saw the readout. Ami.
“You must be jumping for joy.” Her sister’s voice held a hint of amusement before she began to sing, “Happy days are here again.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Hadley told me she saw the Delaneys heading out of town earlier today.”
Prim closed her eyes and gripped the phone as the emotions she’d kept tucked deep all day welled. She was forced to clear her throat before speaking. “My life is a massive train wreck.”
Within the hour Beck had picked up the boys and taken them back to his house for a sleepover, complete with a promise of ghost stories told in the spooky third-floor attic.
Ami and Marigold arrived shortly after the twins left, with bags of chocolate and bottles of wine.
Seeing her sisters started the tears flowing.
Now the sisters sat in Prim’s living room, feet bare and up on the furniture in a way their mother would never have allowed in the family home. Wrapped chocolates of every variety had been scattered across the coffee table with a liberal hand. Additional bags were in sacks next to the chairs, just waiting to be sampled.
“Are you ready to tell us what happened?” Seated next to her on the sofa, Ami shifted to face Prim. Her warm green eyes invited confidences.
“Start at the beginning.” Marigold popped a chocolate into her mouth. “Don’t leave anything out.”
Though her baby sister’s tone was matter-of-fact, Prim saw the concern in Marigold’s eyes.
“Deb saw that Max and I had grown . . . close.” Prim took a sip of wine, then another. “Though we tried to be discreet, apparently the connection showed. I could tell it bothered her, but I never thought she’d—”
Prim’s eyes filled with tears, recalling the look of almost hatred on her mother-in-law’s face.
“Take another gulp of wine,” Marigold urged. “Heck, chug the bottle.”
“We want her relaxed,” Ami told Marigold, “not drunk.”
The sisterly banter brought a smile to Prim’s lips. She took another sip of the pinot and pulled up the events of the morning. “It all started when Deb overheard the twins telling me they wanted Max to be their daddy. Not only that, they said they liked him better than their real daddy.”
Marigold visibly winced. “Ouch.”
“That had to hurt.” Ami grimaced. “What did you say?”
“I told her I didn’t appreciate her eavesdropping on a private conversation.” Prim tightened her hold on the wineglass. “It was knee-jerk. I don’t recall exactly what I said after that, except I know I told her that hearing the twins say that they preferred Max made me sad, too.”
“I imagine Deb took it hard,” Ami said softly.
Marigold snorted. “Ya think?”
Ami tipped her wineglass and pointed it at her youngest sibling. “Cool it.”
“Deb accused me of not loving Rory.” Prim closed her eyes against the pain. “She said if he’d been happier and more content at home, he might not have felt the need to go on all those adventures, that maybe he’d still be alive.”
“That’s a low blow.” Ami’s tone could have frosted glass.
“Bitch.” Marigold spat the word.
“Maybe it’s true.” Prim raised a hand to stop her sisters’ protests. “Seriously, I don’t think I was enough for him.”
Without warning, Prim surged to her feet, startling Marigold, who’d leaned forward to scoop up some chocolates.
Setting her wineglass on the coffee table, Prim began to pace, finally pausing by the corner cabinet. She trailed her fingers down the urn. “Deb suggested I’m keeping him close in death because I couldn’t keep him close in life.”
Out of the corner of her eye, Prim saw her sisters exchange a glance.
Ami moved to her side. “I never thought that, but I did wonder why you haven’t scattered his ashes by now.”
Marigold unwrapped a couple of chocolates, her gaze never leaving Prim’s face.
“I—I don’t know.”
“I think you do.” Ami gently stroked Prim’s arm.
“It’s true I hated having him gone so much. I missed him. The boys missed him. After he died, it did give me comfort to have him close. That probably doesn’t make sense, but—”
“It makes perfect sense,” Ami reassured her. “His death was unexpected. But it’s been two years, Prim.”
Prim suddenly stiffened. Her voice turned frigid. “Is two years the magic amount of time?”
The calm and unruffled way Ami looked at her reminded Prim of their mother. Nothing they ever did or said could make her lose her cool.
“There’s no magic time. You and I both know it’s different for everyone.” Ami gazed into her eyes. “I was simply wondering if you still feel the same need to keep Rory’s ashes now as you did back then.”
“I wasn’t ready to let him go then, but I am now.” Simply saying the words had the weight lifting off Prim’s heart. “I think I’ve been ready for a while.”
“There’s no rush.” Ami touched her hand.
“We can go along, if you want,” Marigold offered.
“Or if you feel there’s someone who could benefit more from taking this step with you, that’s okay, too.” Ami’s soft voice soothed and comforted.
“Max brought up the urn.” Prim swallowed hard against the sudden lump in her throat. “He said he couldn’t be with me because I was still hung up on Rory.”
Prim thought of all the years she and Rory had spent together, all the memories they’d shared.
“I can’t remember ever not being in love with Rory. From the moment we met, that was it. He never even really proposed, there wasn’t any need. We both knew we were meant to be together.” Her smile faded. “We were so young. We never even bothered to think it through. There’s so much I would have done different. So many questions I would have asked. Who marries someo
ne without asking the important questions?”
Ami only squeezed her arm.
Marigold tossed her a couple of pieces of candy. “Have some chocolate.”
For several seconds the three refueled in silence on chocolate and wine.
Prim broke the silence first.
“I chose to walk down the aisle and marry Rory. I did have a choice, at least as much as he did.” Prim glanced down at her hands, seeing in her head the diamond in the modern platinum setting she’d once worn. “I sometimes wonder if, given another chance, he’d have chosen me.”
“You were happy together.” Once again Ami’s mellow tone soothed. “He loved you.”
“We were happy,” Prim agreed. “We were very different people who didn’t always see things in the same way. But that can be a good thing.”
“He loved you,” Ami repeated. “You centered him. And he made you realize the importance of enjoying every day.”
“Carpe diem,” Prim murmured, sinking back down on the sofa.
Ami dropped down beside her on the overstuffed cushions. “Exactly.”
“Max said he wouldn’t pressure me, but that’s what he did today. Then he walked away.” The stabbing pain in Prim’s chest returned, making breathing difficult.
“You made it clear you weren’t going to marry anyone until the boys were grown,” Ami reminded her.
Prim sighed. “That’s what I said.”
Ami and Marigold exchanged a look.
“You must have had a good reason for saying that.” Marigold unwrapped a chocolate she’d been playing with, finally popping it into her mouth.
“The best interests of the twins have to be my priority.”
Marigold looked puzzled. “Don’t you want the boys to have a father?”
Prim lifted her hands, let them fall. “What if he got tired of me? What if I wasn’t enough?”
