Now You See Me

by Kris Fletcher

  “You can’t. I don’t... No.”

  For a moment he thought she was trying to disappear into the chair. But no sooner had he thought that than she burst forward, out of his reach.

  “No. This wasn’t supposed to be about emotions. All I wanted was something for me, something to make me feel... My God, J.T., you’re going back to Tucson next week. You can’t possibly—”

  “I have to go back. Yes. But I— Look, things are complicated that way. I have a contract, and my mother—” Just in time, he stopped himself before blurting out Iris’s secret. “We’ve been talking. Dragging her down to Arizona, away from everyone she loves, that wouldn’t be good. We thought, maybe, I could move to Ottawa, get her a place there so she could still be close to here, and then you and I would have more time to— Listen to me, Lyddie. I was going to tell you this tomorrow, when we went to Brockville and I could do it right. God, Lyddie. I never meant to hurt you. I Iove you.”

  She flinched. He realized she had done the same thing every time he mentioned love.

  “Were you ever going to tell me the truth about Glenn?”

  Ah, God. “Not if I could help it. No.”

  “Because it was more important to make sure I looked good in your eyes than to give me the information that could have made a difference to me.”

  “What would have changed? You’re the one who knew him as he really was. You’re the one who was so determined to hold up his warts. Would you have thought any better or worse of him if you knew this?”

  “No.” Her voice seemed far away. So sad. “It wouldn’t have changed what I thought about him. But it would have made a difference in what I’m thinking about you.”

  “Lyddie, no. Please. You can’t let this change things, not when I—”

  “Stop!”

  It was one of the worst sounds of his life—angry and heartbroken, choking and pleading, all at the same time.

  “You are not in love with me. I refuse to believe that.”

  “You can’t tell me what I feel.”

  “Oh, yes I can!” She swung her arms violently as if trying to push away his words. “You don’t love me. You’re just grateful because I treated you better than everyone else did. Or, you know, brain-dead from two weeks of sex. But you are not in love with me. You are not moving to Ottawa, not for me. There is no future for us. No seeing what happens. Nothing.”

  He wanted to tell her she was wrong, so wrong, but his muscles wouldn’t work and there was no air in his lungs to push out any sound.

  “I told you when I came to you with this—this deal or proposition, or whatever it was. Two weeks, that was it. No strings. You’re not changing the rules now.”

  “Why not? There’s no planes to Tucson? No chance you’ll ever change your mind about staying here? No way you could even think of falling in—”

  “No!”

  The single word hung in the air, slicing between them. He stared at her, willing her to take it back.

  “I’m not in this for a relationship. I’m not looking for anything emotional. Don’t you get it?” She spread her arms wide. “This is all I can give you. This body. That’s all I offered and all I wanted. You knew that. You agreed. You promised.”

  “Lyddie—”

  “No! Damn it, J.T., I didn’t want anything honorable or important or permanent. Why the hell do you think I chose you?”

  Something shifted deep inside him. “What does that mean?”

  She turned away from him. From the way she gasped for breath he knew she was either crying or trying to hold it back. He was torn between the deep need to help her and the deeper, gut-twisting need to know exactly what was behind her words.

  “Don’t do this, Lydia. Don’t pretend you didn’t say anything. Tell me what you meant.”

  She pressed her fingers to her forehead. Hard. Like she was trying to push something so far back in her mind she would never have to think of it again.

  He grabbed her hands and held them apart so she couldn’t push away the truth any longer. Toe-to-toe, face-to-face, he looked into the eyes that he’d thought could see beyond the surface and said, once more, “What did you mean?”

  “Exactly what I said.”

  “You said you chose me because I wasn’t permanent. Or important. Or honorable.”

  He felt every part of her tense. She seemed on the verge of denial, and God, how he needed her to say it. Her lips parted and with every fiber of his being he willed her to say she knew him better than that. He’d laid himself bare to her. She had to understand.

  Then the tension faded as suddenly as it had appeared. Just like that, he knew he’d been wrong.

  Dead wrong.

  Heartbreakingly wrong.

  He dropped her hands, let them slap to her sides as he stepped back.

  “You know,” he said softly, “it’s almost funny. You asked me to sleep with you so you wouldn’t see yourself the way everyone else does. But you have no idea that you pigeonholed me the exact same way.”

  The sudden paleness in her face told him that he’d hit the mark.

  And he’d never in his life been so sorry to be so right.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  SHE WASN’T GOING TO CRY.

  Lyddie repeated the command to herself as J.T. slammed the door behind him, even though the crack of the wood made her wince.

  She wasn’t going to cry. Even though his last words about pigeonholing him had cut right through her and made her long to grab him, to say she hadn’t meant it, that she knew he was more than what everyone else saw. She couldn’t say it. Couldn’t encourage him, couldn’t do anything to make him think they had any kind of future. Because that just wasn’t possible.

  She held back the tears while she locked up the shop, bit on her lip to keep from losing control while she drove to day camp. She gathered up Tish and hugged her tight and even cracked a joke for her and her friend Millie. She loaded Tish into the van and listened to her chatter all the way home and never let so much as a tear escape.

  She had done the right thing. Maybe she hadn’t needed to be as...forceful as she had been, but she couldn’t let him think for a minute that there was a chance of them ever... It hadn’t come out right, and she’d been so wrong, but then, so had he. He should never have lied to her. Should never, ever have let himself think he loved her.

  She followed Tish into the house and told herself it was better this way. If they had gone away together as planned, that would only have given him false hope. He might have thought that she cared more than she did. Because of course she cared. Of course he meant something to her. But not love. Anything but that.

  She walked into the kitchen where Ruth sat calmly slicing tomatoes and was flooded with such a burst of rage that she thought she might pass out.

  Ruth knew about Glenn. Lyddie had no doubts about that. Ruth would have known that Glenn went out that night. She would have seen him over the next few days, when he was undoubtedly jumpy and guilty and just as screwed up as any kid had ever been, and she would have heard the rumors. Even if she hadn’t known for sure—even if Ruth had been too afraid to come out and ask Glenn if he’d been part of the fire—she would have suspected. And in her heart, she probably knew.

  She knew all that, and yet she’d been willing to lay it all on J.T. Even now. Because it was easy. Because it meant that her life as the heroic widow would go on, untarnished.

  Lyddie dropped Tish’s backpack onto the hard wooden chair and had a moment of satisfaction when Ruth jumped in her seat.

  “Lydia!” Knocked out of her rhythm, Ruth raised a hand to her heart. “Heavens, you startled me. Is everything all right?”

  No. No, nothing was right, and J.T. was hurt, and Lyddie shouldn’t care about him because he had lied to her, but Ruth had lied, too, and nothing made any sense anymore.

  She couldn’t say anything. She gripped the back of the chair and tried to take deep breaths, but all she could see was J.T.’s face when she said she’d chosen him b
ecause she didn’t want anyone honorable. All she could hear was J.T. telling her that he loved her.

  He loved her. But he’d lied to her about the one thing he knew would hurt her most. Because he loved her.... But it made no sense.

  “Lydia?” Ruth set the knife on the table and hurried forward. “Lydia, child, what’s wrong? Are you sick? You look pale. What’s happened, Lydia? Talk to me!”

  It wasn’t the words that got to her. It was the panic beneath them that shook Lyddie out of her anger and confusion. She tightened her hold on the chair and looked at Ruth and opened her mouth—

  And stopped.

  Ruth stood before her with her hands over her mouth, staring, frozen and frightened. Just the way she had looked at Roy Delaney four years ago when he brought them the news about Glenn and Buddy.

  In that moment, Lyddie knew she couldn’t say anything. Never. She might be trying to move on but Ruth couldn’t. Wouldn’t. No matter what Glenn had done in the past, Ruth had lost her only child that day. If seeing him turned into a saint gave her some small comfort, Lyddie might not agree with it, but she damned well wouldn’t take that away from her. She, too, would keep silent.

  Just like J.T.

  “Oh, God,” she whispered, and then she was in Ruth’s arms, crying on Ruth’s shoulder, assuring Ruth that she was fine, the kids were fine, there was no need to be afraid. But she couldn’t stop crying.

  She had condemned J.T. for keeping silent and then turned around and done the same thing. She had been so wrong. So misguided.

  Almost as misguided as he had been to fall in love with her.

  * * *

  J.T. USED TO BELIEVE that he could never despair the way he had the night he left Comeback Cove. But on Monday afternoon as he packed a U-Haul truck with furniture to deliver to the resale store in Brockville, he knew that leaving home had been a walk in the park compared to leaving without Lyddie.

  “That’s everything?” he asked. Iris nodded and he slammed the heavy rear doors. “Guess I’d better grab the keys and get on the road.”

  He walked back into a house that ached. The living room was completely empty. His footsteps sounded all around him as he walked across the hardwood floors to fetch the keys from the mantel. The other rooms, he knew, weren’t quite as bleak. Those holding items to be moved were actually crammed full. Others held a few bits and pieces that were to be given away—a hodgepodge of tables and trays and the ornate carved buffet that Iris had deemed too heavy to move, even though she’d inherited it from her grandmother.

  But it was the living room, stripped of all but the paint and curtains, that called him. He could empathize with this room. He knew exactly how it felt: like a shell, purged of everything that brought it to life.

  He shoved his hands in his pockets and stared out the window. It was an hour each way to the drop-off site. He should get on the road. But somehow, when he stood in this room that mirrored him, he didn’t feel quite so alone.

  “Did you find the keys?”

  Iris’s question made him turn to face her. “Yeah. Just, you know, going over the directions in my head once more.”

  “You take Highway 31 to the 401, you get off at the second Brockville exit and take Route 29 to King Street. Since when did that become so complex that you have to think about it?”

  He shrugged. She sighed and crossed the room to lay a hand on his shoulder.

  “Are you going to tell me what happened?”

  “Probably not.”

  “J.T., you’re going to be the only person I know in Tucson. I’ll have plenty of time to badger you about this. You might as well tell me now.”

  “You don’t hold back, do you, Ma?”

  “Not when it comes to you. Now out with it.”

  He tossed the keys in his hand. “Not much to tell. I gave it my best shot and she said no.”

  “No, she didn’t love you, or no, she wouldn’t move?”

  “Both.”

  “Do you believe her?”

  “Strange question.”

  “Humor me.”

  He thought about it for a moment. “Leaving—yeah, I believe she’d stay here. She thinks the kids need to be here, and she’s not going to do anything to hurt them.”

  “Even if it means losing you?”

  “Even if.”

  “What about her feelings for you?”

  His sigh was so filled with frustration that it almost shook the chandelier. “That’s the worst of it. I really think she might love me. Or she would with just a little more time. And it kills me that she might not figure it out until it’s too late.”

  “Would it ever be too late for you?”

  “No. No, she could pick up the phone three years from now and I would still want her with me. But if I’m not here to help her see what we’ve got, I think she’ll just pretend it never happened. Or that it did, but it meant nothing.”

  Iris nodded and crossed her arms over her chest. “That sounds like a load of defeatist claptrap to me.”

  He blinked. “What?”

  “Are you really going to let her go that easily?”

  “What do you suggest, Ma? Kidnap her while she’s sleeping and stick her on the plane with me?”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. She’s not going to uproot those children just for you. She needs to do it for them.”

  “You never mentioned any of this before.”

  “I didn’t want you to think I was saying it just to get you to move up here for me.”

  He would have protested. Then he remembered the secret he’d kept from Lyddie, just to avoid any hint of ulterior motives, and he shut up.

  “You have a long car ride ahead of you—plenty of time to figure out a way to win her over. Pretend she’s one of your students. What do you do with them when they won’t listen to reason?”

  “Back off, give them what they think they want and let them try it their way.”

  “Then think. How can you make sure Lyddie gets exactly what she thinks she needs—now, while you’re still here to remind her of what she stands to lose?”

  * * *

  ON TUESDAY NIGHT, Lyddie sat on the sofa with Tish cuddled against her, listening to Ben slam basketballs in the driveway, inhaling the aroma of pot roast as only Ruth could cook it, and tried to convince herself that the giant hole in her heart was because Sara wasn’t with them.

  She was doing a lousy job.

  “I liked Magic Kingdom the best, because I liked going down Splash Mountain. But at the other one, Mommy, they had Beauty and the Beast!”

  “Did you meet Belle?”

  Maybe her melancholy was due to the long-anticipated call from the esteemed music teacher. He had finally made contact earlier that day. Lyddie had had no idea how high up he was until he started listing his credentials.

  Sara was going to hate her forever.

  “No, not Belle. But I hugged Lilo and Stitch, Mommy, really, I did. Gran took a picture. But they had this show. With Belle and the Beast. And Chip and Mrs. Potts and all the others. And they sang the songs and there were fireworks!”

  Fireworks. That’s how it felt—like all the fireworks were gone from her life, forever.

  It was almost like when she lost Glenn. Except then, she’d been too numb to understand the depth of her loss. This time, she knew.

  Which was absolutely ridiculous. She had loved Glenn with all her heart. She couldn’t love J.T.

  “And then Gaston—you know, the bad guy—he sang the song about kill the beast. And there were bats that glowed in the dark.”

  The phone rang. Lyddie started to sit up, damned fool hope pulling at her, but Ruth called that she would get it.

  Tish continued, snuggling back against Lyddie’s side. “Gaston thought it would be easy to kill the beast. But he didn’t know about the magic.”

  Lyddie swallowed, hard. She had thought it would be easy to find excitement with J.T. Simple and uncomplicated. She, too, hadn’t counted on the magic.

  Ruth appe
ared in the doorway. The phone was tucked against her shoulder and disapproval was clear in the tight lines of her face.

  “Lydia. It’s that Delaney man.”

  “J.T.?” She could barely get the words out past the treacherous bubble of hope rising within her.

  “He wants to talk to Ben. Something about taking him fishing tomorrow. But he insisted I check with you first.”

  Ben. Of course. Ben hadn’t thrown J.T.’s heart back in his face.

  She was so damned stupid.

  “It’s fine.”

  Ruth scowled. “Really, Lydia, do you think that’s—”

  “Yes, I do. It’s absolutely fine with me.”

  The glare Ruth bestowed on her as she went to call Ben made it obvious that Lyddie was going to hear about this.

  Good. She was more than ready to light into someone tonight. Fighting with Ruth would give her a few minutes’ respite from thinking she was making the biggest mistake of her life.

  “Mommy! Are you listening to me?”

  “Sure, honey. Tell me more.”

  But as Tish told the saga of Beauty and the Beast, Lyddie didn’t dare listen. It struck too close to home, especially when Tish got to the part where the whole town chased the Beast— “But Belle knew he wasn’t that way, not really.”

  Lyddie sank a little deeper into the sofa and pulled Tish closer, burying her face in her daughter’s soft blond hair in case a stray tear or two leaked out. Holding for dear life to one of the biggest reasons why she had to stay in Comeback Cove.

  * * *

  HE’D GIVEN BEN his word, or so J.T. told himself as he slammed the door to his car and walked up Lyddie’s driveway. He had to take the boy fishing.

  Of course, there was no law that said he had to set a pickup time so early that he knew Lyddie would still be home. But everyone knew that fish bit better in the morning.

  He vaulted the three steps to the porch. The inner door stood open. An invitation?

  He knocked softly and let himself in, aiming for the voices he heard in the kitchen. Lyddie rounded the corner into the hall. She stopped short, hand to her mouth, eyes wide and wary. Her hair still tumbled loose around her shoulders, triggering a vivid memory of how she looked when she lay beside him.