by Beth Wiseman
“Look at my beautiful girl.” Chuck kissed Meghan on the cheek, then put her down. He shook Spencer’s hand before he hugged Brooke.
“Sorry we’re a little late.” Brooke walked around the table to LeeAnn. Her mother-in-law dabbed her mouth with her napkin as she stood up.
“We were early.” LeeAnn gave Brooke a stiff hug, the familiar smell of her perfume engulfing the space around them. LeeAnn hugged each of the children, then everyone sat down.
Brooke had never understood how Travis shared the same genes with these two people. LeeAnn was as uptight a woman as she’d ever met, even though her intentions were usually good. Chuck was kind but a bit on the formal side. Travis, on the other hand, had been as laid-back and gentle as any man who ever lived, rarely getting upset, and always with his heart on his sleeve.
Chuck and LeeAnn had left Smithville after they both retired from the school district. He’d been an assistant principal and LeeAnn had taught biology. Brooke hated to say it, but she’d been a little relieved when they moved. And even though he wouldn’t admit it, she was pretty sure Travis had felt the same way. Travis and Brooke had made a great life for themselves, but his parents couldn’t keep from harping on the fact that he’d chosen not to go to college. He’d loved them, but he’d found it hard to live in the light of their disappointment.
“How’s your mother, Brooke?” LeeAnn took a sip of white wine, and Brooke wondered if LeeAnn had a radar to know what Brooke would least want to talk about.
“She’s doing well. She sends her love.” Brooke picked up her menu, glad to see pizza was listed along with all the other Italian offerings. She turned to Spencer, who was seated to her left. “Do y’all want pizza?”
LeeAnn began questioning the kids, asking them what they’d done over the summer and if they were ready for school to start. They all ordered, the food arrived quickly, and Brooke was starting to relax a little until sweet little Meghan began offering up additional information.
“Our friend Mr. Owen likes pizza,” she said before she bit into a pepperoni-covered slice. Brooke swallowed hard, hoping Meghan would stop there. She didn’t. “When we’re at his house, we eat pizza and look for the secret bunker.”
Brooke forced a smile and shoved a bite of chicken parmesan into her mouth, avoiding LeeAnn’s gaze. Enough, Meghan.
“He’s not Mom’s boyfriend or anything like that.” Spence took a sip of his cola. “So you don’t have to worry about someone replacing Dad. Mom said that will never happen.”
“I’m sure there will come a time when your mother will start dating again.” LeeAnn smiled at Brooke. “When she’s ready, though. I’m sure it’s too soon still.”
It’s been two years. Brooke thought about what her mother had said, that she needed to get back out there. Then her head filled with thoughts of Owen—the kisses, all the cuddling. Was LeeAnn right? Was it too soon?
Chuck cleared his throat. “You wouldn’t be talking about the Hadley place, would you?” He paused. “Folks always said there was a bunker. Did someone buy it?”
Brooke nodded as she finished chewing. “Yes. A man from Austin. He’s living there and restoring it.”
“That’s a huge place,” LeeAnn said. “He must have a big family.”
“He doesn’t have any kids.” Meghan sat taller. “And he doesn’t have a wife anymore either.”
Brooke could feel LeeAnn’s eyes on her, but she kept her head down as she cut another piece of chicken.
“I see.” LeeAnn took a gulp of her wine.
Brooke knew her children would both want dessert if offered. She was wishing one of Travis’s parents would lend a hint about the surprise. “So what time does your cruise leave tomorrow morning?”
Chuck swirled his ice around what appeared to be a rum and Coke, his usual cocktail. “When we leave here, we’ll drive to Galveston, then we start boarding around eleven tomorrow morning.” Brooke eyed his glass and hoped one of them would be in a shape to drive to Galveston. It was getting late, and she couldn’t help but wonder how much they’d had to drink before she and the kids had gotten there.
LeeAnn gently clinked her fork against her wineglass, grabbing everyone’s attention. She smiled warmly at Brooke, and even though Brooke’s guard was still up, she smiled back.
“We’re so glad you could all meet us here. We miss not being able to see you regularly.”
Brooke sat up straighter. Are they moving back to Smithville? Is that the surprise? She loved her in-laws, but she was hoping that was not the case.
Spencer seemed to have read her mind. “What’s the surprise, Mee-Maw?” He put his elbows on the table, cupping his chin, until Brooke tapped him on the arm as a reminder not to sit like that.
LeeAnn reached beside her and lifted a large item wrapped in brown paper. “Travis was working on something very special before he died, something for all of you. He was planning to give it to you for Christmas.” She dabbed at her eyes with her napkin. “When we were here for the funeral, we snuck into your room—sorry about that. But Travis had told us about the gift, and he was so excited about it. We knew it was hidden under your bed, so we took it with us so we could finish it for you all. When Chuck got sick, we had to put that project on hold. But it’s just about done now.”
Brooke felt a little twinge of guilt thinking about Chuck’s heart attack. It had happened shortly after that Christmas when they’d visited. She’d sent flowers and had the children make handmade cards, but she probably should have done more. A lot more. Fortunately, he’d made a full recovery and was doing well now.
LeeAnn carried the item to Brooke and handed it to her. “We did the best we could with it. I know Travis would want you to have it.”
The object was heavy, and Brooke couldn’t imagine what Travis would have started that his parents would be able to finish. She started peeling back the brown paper. Meghan and Spencer got out of their chairs and gathered closely around her. Once all the paper was off, she balanced the wooden item in her lap facing her and the children. It looked kind of like a deep picture frame or a very shallow cabinet, about three inches thick and tall enough in her lap that she couldn’t see LeeAnn over the top of it. She could tell that it was very old, and as was Travis’s way, he’d left it in its original condition and chosen not to sand and repaint it.
There were nine wooden doors, each with a small doorknob and a window. In each window there was a name—Travis, Brooke, Meghan, Spencer, Chuck, LeeAnn, Patsy . . . and Harold. In the middle was a single door that just said “Family.” She opened that one first and began flipping through a little booklet of four-by-six photographs inside, groupings of them all together at various events throughout the years.
She let the children ask questions about different pictures as she fought the grief building in her heart. It felt as if no time had passed since Travis had left them.
“Open my door.” Spencer reached for the small knob. The booklet there held Spencer’s baby pictures, plus shots of his first steps, first haircut, first day of school, baseball games—his entire life. Meghan’s door was next, and the compartment behind it held about thirty pictures of her. When Brooke opened her door, she started to cry at the sight of pictures she’d long since forgotten about—group shots of her and both her parents in happier times, photos from when she and Travis were first dating, plus a selection of wedding pictures. More pictures of them together were behind Travis’s door, along with Travis’s baby and childhood pictures. Chuck and LeeAnn’s pages included a few pictures of their own growing-up years along with wedding photos and shots from an anniversary celebration Brooke and the kids had missed.
Brooke’s heart raced as she opened her mother’s door, filled with the life her mother had led before her father left them. She stared at her parents’ wedding picture for a long time, then pulled open the door marked “Harold Holloway.” All that was in it was another copy of the wedding picture and a few group shots from Brooke’s childhood that included him.
“Brooke, we didn’t have any pictures of just your father. Travis did all the pictures of you and the kids, and he’d gathered pictures of you and your mother, but they were loose in a bag under the bed. Honestly, we weren’t sure what to do in regard to your father.”
Chuck touched Brooke on the arm. “Maybe you’ll feel comfortable adding some down the road.”
Brooke thought about the bag of pictures that Spencer had found in Travis’s store. He must have been planning to add some of those. But the missing pictures didn’t really matter. This was the most exquisite, wonderful gift Brooke had ever received. Travis had poured his heart into this, and she missed him now, at this moment, more than she ever had.
“Thank you so much,” she managed to say as regret overtook her. She should have kept in better touch, especially when Chuck was sick. She should have made a point of it instead of wallowing in her own pain. These were Travis’s parents, and yes, they’d been a little difficult in the past, but they’d loved their son. Their loss was as profound as hers. And for them to have taken such care to finish this unique frame that detailed all their lives . . .
She swiped at her eyes. “I don’t know how to explain how special this is.”
LeeAnn walked around to Brooke and hugged her. It was late, so the restaurant wasn’t crowded, but a few curious eyes were on them. “We love you all. We’ve missed you so much. Please come for a visit soon.”
Brooke promised they would. She eyed the antique frame with all the doors again, knowing already where she wanted to hang it, but also wondering how she could replace her father’s name and spot. He wasn’t her family anymore.
Then like lightning, Owen’s face flashed into her mind. He wasn’t her family either.
What had she done? How could she even think of kissing him? It felt like a betrayal of Travis’s memory. Of their love.
Guilt wrapped around her like a thick blanket, so tight that she felt faint. She made a promise to herself.
I have to end things with him. It really is too soon.
Twenty-Two
Owen had told his uncle that a bow tie wasn’t necessary for the party, but Uncle Denny was donning the black bow tie with a crisp, white long-sleeved shirt he’d bought in town just for the occasion, along with the black slacks. Black tennis shoes completed his ensemble, and he’d slicked back his long gray hair and pulled it into a ponytail. Owen had chosen a pair of linen slacks, a yellow short-sleeved shirt, and his usual tan loafers.
By the time they arrived at Tallie’s, Owen was really missing Brooke. He’d left her two messages that afternoon, and she hadn’t called him back or texted or anything. He wasn’t sure which emotion was leading the pack—hurt or anger. He would have returned her calls.
Tallie greeted Owen with a hug and kiss on the cheek, which seemed a bit much, but he smiled and introduced his uncle. Owen had already told Uncle Denny about Tallie—and about Brooke.
“Pleasure to meet you.” Uncle Denny gave a slight bow, then reached for Tallie’s hand and planted a kiss on top of it. Owen stifled a grin. Maybe Uncle Denny was going to make play for Tallie himself. She was quite tantalizing in a clingy blue blouse, black slacks, and high-heeled sandals like Virginia used to wear, the kind with a lot of skinny little straps.
Tallie looped her arm through Owen’s and guided him through the room, making introductions, as Denny followed behind. Everyone seemed to be coupled up except for Tallie, Owen, and Uncle Denny. Maybe Brooke was right.
Tallie stayed close to Owen, ushering him to the bar, then frowning when he asked for a glass of water. She was toting a glass of white wine, but Owen had never been a drinker, and he didn’t see any reason to start now. Uncle Denny, however, ordered a double scotch on the rocks, belted it down, and ordered another. Owen raised an eyebrow, though he didn’t say anything. He’d been around Denny enough to know that the man spoke his mind. He worried a few drinks might intensify that natural instinct.
“So, Denny . . .” Tallie was speaking to Uncle Denny, but she still had her arm looped around Owen’s, and he was busy trying to figure out how to escape. “Owen tells me you will be staying with him for a while. Business or pleasure?” She flashed those perfectly straight white teeth and batted her eye-lashes as she took a sip from her glass.
Uncle Denny leaned in close. “I foresee a bit of both in my future.” Owen smiled at his uncle’s unabashed flirting, but he had to admit Denny wasn’t a bad-looking man for someone pushing seventy. He hoped he was planning to stay awhile. He enjoyed his uncle’s witty sense of humor and his willingness to pitch in with the repairs on the house. With Denny and Hunter helping, Owen was starting to think they’d finish by fall.
Then what will I do?
When Tallie and Denny settled into a conversation, Owen took the opportunity to ease away from Tallie, excusing himself to make a phone call. He was a little angry at Brooke but also starting to worry.
He closed the patio door behind him and walked away from the few people who were standing around outside. He let the phone ring until it went to voice mail. Glancing around, he was pretty sure he was out of earshot.
“Brooke, where are you? I’ve left you a couple of messages, and now I’m getting worried. Call me back, okay?”
Owen closed his phone and slowly started back inside, hoping his uncle wouldn’t want to stay any longer than was necessary to be polite.
Once Brooke and the children were in the car, she checked her voice mail. Another message from Owen. With a sigh of resolve, she deleted it.
It was all a mistake—the snuggling, the kisses, the time together. She and Owen were a mistake. They weren’t a family, and they shouldn’t be playing like they were. How far would she have let things get with him, she wondered. She’d only been with one person before. Would she have compromised her values because she was lonely? Temptation had been swimming around her, and she hadn’t even seen the dangerous whirlpools. Plus, she’d opened her heart to another man. A man who had told her plainly they had no future.
In her heart, she knew that Travis would want a good man raising his children, someone who loved the kids and Brooke. And Owen qualified in that regard. But she should have never gotten close to a man—or allowed her children to—without a stronger sense that it had somewhere to go. By Owen’s own admission, he wasn’t over his divorce, and he was still incredibly bitter. Am I just his rebound person?
It was almost ten o’clock when Brooke pulled into her driveway with two sleeping children buckled in the backseat. Her breath caught in her throat when she saw Owen’s car parked at the curb. He met her when she stepped out of the minivan.
“Thank goodness,” he said. “I’ve been worried about you and the kids.”
“We’re fine.” She opened the back door, roused Meghan and Spencer, and waited while they both climbed out of the backseat. When Meghan stumbled and rubbed her eyes, Owen picked her up and headed toward the house. Like he owned the place.
Brooke got her children tucked in upstairs, but her stomach was churning. She needed to be firm when she talked to Owen.
“Are you upset with me about something?” he asked when she walked into the living room.
Brooke bit her bottom lip. What she really wanted to do was go upstairs, bury her face in her pillow, and cry her eyes out. “I’m not mad. I—I just . . .” She folded her arms across her chest and stared at the hardwood floor. “I just think we need to take a few steps back, that’s all.”
Owen stared at her, rubbing his chin. Brooke wondered how it had gone at Tallie’s party, but she didn’t want to lead him on by asking.
Owen walked closer to her. Too close. “Take a few steps back. What does that mean?” Owen’s forehead creased as he narrowed his eyes.
Brooke knew she needed to be direct. “Owen, I’ve enjoyed the time we’ve spent together, but I just don’t see us being in a relationship.”
Owen was still rubbing his chin. “Really?”
Brooke nodded. “I told you that, remember? I
’m still grieving. And you have issues as well. You told me how you don’t trust easily and how you are still in love with your ex-wife.” She winced as she heard the words come out of her mouth, but if saying that would put some distance between them, so be it.
Owen stepped closer, and this time Brooke didn’t back up. He tucked her hair behind her ears, glanced down at her outfit, and said, “You look beautiful tonight.” Then he kissed her on the forehead, and Brooke blinked back tears. “If that’s really want you want, Brooke, I’ll respect your wishes.” He kissed her on the cheek and kissed the tear that trailed down her cheek. “But something else is going on with you.”
She gently pushed him away, dabbing at her eyes. “I just can’t be with you, Owen. I just can’t. And the way we’ve been lately . . . well, it just isn’t right.”
Owen hung his head, hands on his hips again. When he looked up at her, his jaw was tense but his eyes were soft. She couldn’t tell how mad he was. Or how sad. He pointed a finger at her. “Brooke . . .” He shook his head. “I don’t know a lot of things for sure. My life’s been kind of a mess lately. But I am sure of one thing, something I don’t think I knew until this moment.”
She waited, forcing herself not to cry.
He leaned close to her but didn’t touch her, even though she wanted nothing more than for him to break all the rules she’d just established and throw his arms around her. He spoke softly as he gazed into her eyes.
“I am not in love with my ex-wife. I’m in love with someone else.”
It was a lie—what Owen had said to Brooke. Or half a lie, at least. Because he was sure of two things, not one.
First, he wasn’t in love with Virginia anymore. That part had been true.
But the second thing he was certain of—even more so than the first—was that he shouldn’t have opened his heart and trusted Brooke Holloway with his feelings. If she could so easily walk away from him now, then her feelings hadn’t been true for him in the first place.
