Home to the Riverview Inn

by Molly O'Keefe

  “He needs you,” she said. “More even, than you need him. What happened today affected him.”

  “He didn’t seem very affected.”

  “He was. Having a father and brothers stand up for him—” She paused. “When he was a boy…because he was sick all the time, because he was so small he was…picked on. Beat up.” She shook her head. “And it got so bad I had to call parents but that made it worse. Finally, when he was ten it stopped. He didn’t come home with black eyes anymore but he started to grow this shell.”

  “To protect himself,” he said, seeing it so clearly it was as if he’d been there.

  She smiled, but it was bittersweet and he wanted to gather her up, take away the pain. “I don’t think he ever stopped growing the shell,” she said and started to withdraw her hands and he couldn’t have that, so he placed his palm over her knuckles, keeping them connected. Keeping them touching. “He’s different with me and with Sheila and his business partner. But the whole rest of the world gets his cold shoulder.”

  The tears came back and he couldn’t handle this anymore. He couldn’t be so close and not have her in his arms.

  It was stupid. Suicidal. But they were both hurting. What was wrong with comfort? He slid his hands over her cheeks and her breath came out as a sob. Her eyes fluttered shut.

  “It’s been so long.” He barely heard her, could barely hear anything for the pounding of his heart.

  She was soft, like silk. Like clouds. Her hair was sleek and it ran through his fingers like water. Her neck was so thin, elegant.

  God, she was gorgeous and he couldn’t touch her enough to erase the years between them.

  She held herself so still, so tense, as if there were electricity running through her body. He wondered, his flesh alive, his heart hammering in his chest, if she felt the same way he did. Like a man waking up after a long sleep.

  He touched her. After so many years of dreams, tortured and hot. Unforgiving and passionate. Violent and sweet. He could barely believe it. He ran his thumbs across her cheekbones. Ruffled her wet lashes.

  My wife, his heart chugged. Primal ownership forged within the furnace of his body. My wife. My wife.

  “You did a wonderful job with him,” he whispered, not sure of what he was saying, if the promises he made could be kept, but he had to try. “We’ll figure it out. We’ll make it right.”

  At this moment, with her so close, he could promise her anything.

  “Patrick.” She lifted her lashes, revealing black eyes filled with want. A desire he never imagined.

  He felt sucker punched.

  “You’re my wife,” he breathed, knowing he was going to kiss her. Unable to stop it. They’d been faithful to each other all these years and he couldn’t contain it anymore, years of wanting her pressed down on him.

  “You’re my husband,” she said as if giving them permission to lose their minds this way, to forget what was between them.

  He bent his head. And after thirty long years, he kissed his bride. The woman he never stopped loving.

  Her lips were still as sweet, her breath still a wine he could drink for days. She fit in his arms, both of them softer than they’d been. But they fit together.

  Her mouth opened and he pulled her as close as he could, held her as tight as possible. Carefully he licked her lips and she licked him.

  They were careful, all too aware of the years and the desire banked, just on the horizon, but ready to burn out of control.

  She moaned and he pulled back, startled, worried maybe he was too rough. Too negligent.

  “Are you okay?” he asked, searching her face. Is this okay? he wanted to ask. Will you come to my room?

  Her laughter spilled over them, infused the panic and heat in him with joy and he smiled in response. Kissed her hands. Wanted more, wanted to take off her clothes and lay her down in the sunlight to see if he could remember what she loved. The places on her body—the inside of her elbow, behind her knee—that made her sigh and tremble.

  But, perhaps, that was too much for this first kiss. Too much for where they were. For the reality of what was between them. The truth was he didn’t know what he wanted beyond this. He wanted to touch her, ease himself in her, but he had no promises. No second chances. Not yet.

  “This is crazy,” he said. “Maybe too crazy.” He was giving her an out—a chance to tell him they were going too fast.

  “I miss crazy,” she whispered, pushing her hands into his hair and holding on to him with all her might. “I miss you.”

  “I miss you, too.”

  That seemed to say it all.

  Showing up to the school board picnic with a man like Jonah was a coup comparable to the Girl Scouts taking over Syria.

  There was no better way to say “I’ve moved on. I’m not interested,” than to show up with Brad Pitt’s younger, hotter brother.

  Of course, the fact that they were acting like perfect strangers who could barely stand each other did sort of put a dent in that illusion.

  But Daphne didn’t know how to talk to him right now. They’d covered way too much emotional ground this morning. And sitting in this car with him, having been insulted by him, knowing what she knew and feeling this stupid attraction, was about the most uncomfortable thing on the planet. Like a visit to the dentist and the gynecologist combined in one twenty-minute car trip.

  Thank God for Helen.

  The little girl talked nonstop about her class—seven students!—and her teacher—a boy!

  “Seven students?” Jonah asked. “That’s really small.”

  “Helen goes to a charter school,” Daphne explained, watching him sideways to gauge his interest. She didn’t trust him, not really, not after that crack he’d made. “We started the school a few years ago for kids who lived in this rural part of the county.”

  “A rural community school,” he said, nodding. “A great idea.”

  She eyed him skeptically and his lip quirked in a small smile. “My interest is sincere,” he said.

  “You can be so hard to read,” she said, honestly.

  “I know,” he said. “How about if I try not be so hard to read today and you tell me a little more about this charter school.”

  Daphne smiled, oddly charmed by him. Stupidly attracted to him. And suddenly, trusting him. The guy was good, she had to give him that.

  Daphne launched into an explanation of charter schools and how it was a relief to every parent with a kid at the Athens school, that the school would be absorbed into the County School District starting next September.

  “We ran out of grant money and the tuition for the charter next year was going to cost more than what it would have cost all of us to bus our kids to the closest available school,” she said.

  “Which defeats the purpose of starting a community school anyway,” he said, catching on very quick. He faced her, Helen between them on the bench seat, but with his fancy aviator glasses she couldn’t see his eyes. Which, maybe, was for the best.

  Since she wasn’t supposed to care about the man, it would probably be smart if she pretended he didn’t have eyes, or a mouth, or pretty hair, or strong hands and veins that—

  Clearly that wasn’t working.

  What am I doing here with him? she wondered. She couldn’t even wrap her head around a night in New York with the man—dressed in Armani, no less.

  How about that for spontaneous? Her mother was going to fall over in a dead faint when she heard.

  And after that speech about not caring about him, Daphne was stupidly, ridiculously more curious. Because he so clearly needed someone to care about him.

  Ah, she was such an idiot. Daphne, Patron Saint of Lost Men.

  “So the county absorbs the cost of running the school,” Jonah said.

  “There will be some changes,” Daphne said, snapping back to reality. She turned left at the grocery store and headed up the hill. “But all in all, it’s the best thing for our school.”

  “We have a
gerbil in our classroom,” Helen said.

  “Really?” Jonah asked. “What’s his name?”

  “Jerry.”

  “Jerry the Gerbil?” Jonah acted as though he had this kind of conversation every day and once again Daphne was faced with the dichotomy that was Jonah. A man who told her not to care one minute then offered her an all-expense-paid trip to New York in the next breath. A man with a serious lack of social skills—judging by his lame attempt at a joke—but one who took time to talk to a seven-year-old.

  Watching him from the corner of her eye, Daphne wondered if he even knew who he was. By denying his family, by living behind this wall that he put between himself and anyone who wasn’t his mother, was he aware of all that he could be?

  Yes, she thought, forcing her attention back on the road, all very interesting things that you really should not be thinking about.

  The Athens school parking lot was full and upon seeing the setup in the soccer field Helen nearly passed out.

  “Look, Mom. A carousel. And cotton candy,” she gasped. “Ohmigod, a jumping castle.”

  The truck was barely in Park before Helen was climbing over Jonah and out the door, running toward the giant inflatable castle that bouncing kids would no doubt fill with regurgitated cotton candy by the end of the day.

  “We’ll catch up with you,” she yelled after Helen.

  “This is quite a setup,” Jonah said, taking in the balloons and face painting. “Clowns, even.”

  She tried to detect sarcasm, or derision, but couldn’t find it in him. Which was baffling. She’d braced herself for mockery.

  Mockery would kill this interest she harbored.

  “Before we go in, there’s something you need to know. Helen’s father, my ex, Jake is here.”

  “Am I going to have to fight him?” Jonah asked, scanning the crowd. “Because if I have to fight him, that Armani is getting downgraded.”

  She laughed, nervous. Then she spotted Jake, three cars away and moving fast, like a democratic ex-wife-seeking missile. “No. But—”

  “There she is!” Jake’s voice preceded the slide of his arm around her waist. She jerked, stiffened and wasn’t quick enough to dodge the kiss he pressed to her hair.

  Her blush could have started forest fires.

  “Where’s Helen?” Jake asked, casual but on point in khaki pants and a red polo shirt. He glanced at her red cotton top and denim skirt and smiled approvingly as if she’d planned to match his attire, as if she was on board with his “united front” campaign.

  He was handsome in an all-American way. Brown hair, brown eyes, white teeth. A smile that made him utterly magnetic and nonthreatening. Everything about him seemed dependable, and she’d fallen for it hook, line and sinker.

  No doubt in two weeks’ time county school board voters would, too.

  “She’s in the jumping castle, probably,” Daphne said, stepping away slightly, far too aware that Jonah was watching all of this, without knowing the story. Without knowing what she needed him for.

  “Hello,” Jonah said, stepping in. He held out a hand for Jake who had to let go of her waist in order to shake. And as soon as he did, Jonah touched her wrist. A small intimate touch that said so much about other places he might have touched and how often and how recently.

  Oh, he knows, she thought, tingling from the touch. He knows what I need.

  Jake’s eyes narrowed.

  “I’m Jonah Closky. You must be Jake. I’ve heard a lot about you.” Jonah’s smile had an edge, like a slightly jealous new boyfriend, and she wanted to laugh. She actually wanted to giggle behind her hand.

  “I am.” Jake glanced at her and she smiled. For a moment she wished she could twine her fingers with Jonah’s, hold his hand like a new lover. But she couldn’t. She wasn’t brave enough. Or stupid enough. While it was important that Jake get the message, she didn’t need to put on a production.

  “I’m afraid you’ve caught me at a disadvantage,” Jake continued. “I thought Daphne would bring Tim.”

  “Jonah is staying at the Riverview,” she said.

  “So you haven’t been here long?” Jake asked, the real question, “You won’t be here long?” imbedded in his voice.

  “Not long, no,” Jonah said, smiling down at Daphne and she actually averted her face as if embarrassed by all that she saw in his eyes. And she was, because Jonah was making a production all his own. Cripes, the man could act.

  “But I do like it here,” Jonah said, to her.

  “Well.” Jake’s demeanor had taken a hit and he wasn’t beaming quite as bright as he had been. “Enjoy yourself. I’m going to go find my daughter.” He shot Daphne a glance, indicating that he would be expecting a better explanation later and left.

  Daphne sighed and felt the weight of Jake’s expectation and the pressure of the last few months lift right off her shoulders.

  “Thank you. That was exactly what I needed to happen.”

  “Seems like a nice guy,” Jonah said after a moment.

  “He is.”

  “So? Why the fake boyfriend routine? What happened?”

  Daphne ran a hand over her forehead, shielding her eyes and wished that she had sunglasses that could hide her as well as Jonah’s hid him. “He left,” she answered.

  Jonah glanced at her then at Jake’s retreat. “And he wants you back?”

  “He’s finally gotten into politics. He was deputy manager on George Patzi’s campaign for governor. Now he’s running for school board and it’s only a matter of time before he’s climbing the ladder.”

  Jonah’s eyebrows hit his hairline. “He did a good job on that campaign. But what’s it got to do with you and Helen?”

  “He left when she was a baby.” She swallowed, hard, her mouth dry. Spilling the story this way, even though it wasn’t her bad behavior at issue, was difficult. She’d put all of this behind her and having Jake back, pretending he hadn’t destroyed her years ago, was pulling all her weaknesses and insecurities to the forefront of her life again. “And he stayed away for the most part. Christmas cards and birthday gifts, a two-week visit in the summer—”

  “So, a bad husband and a bad father.” The edge to Jonah’s voice was real this time, not for anyone’s benefit. She guessed that a man with Jonah’s father issues would judge Jake harshly.

  And, she thought with no little amount of malice, I’m okay with that.

  But there were so many qualifications to Jonah’s assessment. Her mother was right in some respects. Jake might have been a good father if Daphne had given him a chance. But once he left, she made it almost impossible for him to come home.

  As for him being a bad husband…maybe she’d been a bad wife. Maybe they’d simply been bad together.

  “He says he’s here to stay,” she said, “that he wants to make a go of it. But I don’t know if that’s true or if it’s because of his reputation and political career.”

  “Why don’t you tell him to get lost?”

  Daphne pointed to Helen. She was pulling her father toward the carousel. Her blond hair was lit by the sun, her face barely containing the giant smile. All the love in the world for her dad radiating in her eyes.

  Jonah swore.

  “Exactly,” Daphne said, trying to laugh but feeling strung too tight to make it convincing. “She doesn’t think we’re getting back together, but she wants us to be friends.”

  She was unprepared for Jonah’s arm around her waist. His heat pressed to her side.

  Her eyes fluttered shut in sudden surrender. Not caring about him, she might be able to do. But not wanting him was going to be impossible.

  “So, now that I’ve given your ex something to think about, what do we do at this picnic thing?” Jonah asked, his arm still around her waist, short-circuiting parts of her brain.

  Giving herself a slow count of three, she absorbed as much of his warmth as she could, memorized the feel of his arm, the press of his hip and leg against hers.

  Then she forced hersel
f to step away. To put as much distance between them as was polite.

  He’s not for you, she told herself. He’s not staying. You’ll only get hurt again.

  “Have fun,” she told him, walking toward Helen, who waved at them from the line at the carousel. Jake had been called away and her little girl was dying for someone to ride with.

  “Fun?” he asked, not following her.

  She opened her mouth to ask him if he knew how, to make light of him, of this whole situation. But when she stole a glance at him, she realized he hadn’t been joking.

  That buzz ran down her back again.

  Jonah Closky didn’t know how to have fun.

  Cripes, she thought, does he have to make it so hard to not like him?

  He was being good to her, helping her. The least she could do was teach him how to loosen up.

  “Come on,” she said, grabbing his hand and tugging him toward the amusements. He resisted, unsure, so she called in reinforcements.

  “Helen!”

  8

  A half hour later Daphne, screaming with laughter and utterly sick to her stomach, half fell out of the jumping castle.

  “Come back!” she heard Helen shout.

  “Yeah!” Jonah yelled and someone, she assumed it was Jonah since he was the only adult still left in the castle, tugged on her foot, pulling her back into hell.

  “I’m gonna throw up!” she cried and her foot was immediately dropped.

  “You okay?” Jonah appeared, red-faced and concerned at her side.

  Her stomach did a quick twist that wasn’t induced by the bouncing structure.

  “I’m good. I just need a second.”

  “Jonah!” Helen yelled and Jonah smiled.

  Flustered, Daphne fiddled with her braid so she wouldn’t be compelled to throw herself at the man.

  “Gotta go,” he said, and ducked back into the castle. There was a roar and the whole inflatable structure shook and shimmied.

  Daphne steadied herself and shook her hair out of her eyes.

  “What are you doing, Daphne?” It was Jake, holding a glass of lemonade and giving off the vibe of a disapproving father—not that she was familiar with that particular vibe.