“But I love autumn,” I said, setting my cup down. “It’s not that.”
Both women looked at me with a mix of curiosity and concern. “We’re here if you need to talk,” said Margot. “No pressure, but sometimes it helps.”
“I’m just…scared about something,” I said carefully. I wasn’t planning to blurt the whole ugly truth, but maybe they were right—maybe talking about it would give me strength.
“What are you scared of?” Georgia asked.
“I’m scared of what I feel…about someone.”
They looked at each other. “You have feelings for someone?” Margot beamed. “Hannah, that’s wonderful.”
“No, it isn’t.” My eyes filled. “You wouldn’t say that if you knew who it was. Or if you knew what I’d been through.”
Margot put her hand on my arm. “I’m sorry. You’re right. I’m sure this is scary for you. I don’t mean to be insensitive.”
“You’re not insensitive.” I put my elbows on the table and rubbed my temples, taking a few deep breaths to stave off tears. “I’m just a mess. I’m sorry.”
“Is it…is it Wes?” asked Georgia hesitantly.
I closed my eyes and nodded, waiting for them to respond, half-hoping they’d go off about how inappropriate and morally wrong and just plain icky it was to have feelings for your late husband’s brother. “Go on. Tell me I’m a terrible person.”
“Oh honey, you’re not.” Margot shook her head. “We’d never think that, no matter who you had feelings for.” She paused. “Unless it was Jack. Then I might have an issue.”
I nearly smiled.
“You’re not terrible,” Georgia seconded. “You’re human. And it’s easy to see why you might develop feelings for Wes. He’s Drew’s brother. They were a lot alike in some ways. And they were identical.”
“But they were really different too,” I said. “I’ve only really just gotten to know Wes since he’s been home. We’ve talked a lot, and he’s such a great listener. A much better listener than Drew, actually. Drew loved to talk and tell jokes and be the center of attention. Wes is more quiet, more serious, maybe more intense.”
“I can see that,” Georgia said. “Drew was a life-of-the-party kind of guy, always fun, always spontaneous. But maybe that isn’t what you’re looking for this time around. Maybe at this point in your life, and after all you’ve been through, you’d appreciate a quieter life, one with fewer surprises.”
“But I wasn’t looking for anything,” I insisted. “That’s the problem. I don’t want another time around. I just want to live on my own and be a good mother to Abby.”
“Finding love again doesn’t mean you won’t be a good mother to Abby,” Margot said.
“But she’s confused about Wes as it is. She already asked me if I was sure he wasn’t her father. And what about the way people will talk? This is a small town. Can you imagine the gossip that will spread?”
Georgia shrugged. “Gossip is gossip. And yes, it’s a juicy story. People would be fascinated by it for a while and then they’d move on to something else.”
“And you can’t live your life in fear of what other people think,” Margot added. “That was a lesson I had to learn too, and trust me when I tell you you’ll be much happier if you can get over that.”
“I don’t know if I can,” I admitted. “I’m not as strong as you.”
“You are.” Margot leaned forward in her chair. “And you deserve to be happy, Hannah. Don’t you think Drew would want that for you?”
“Drew would want to protect me,” I said stubbornly. “He’d want me to be safe, and you can’t be safe when you give your heart away.”
They looked at each other again. “What does Wes say?” Georgia asked. “Does he even know how you feel?”
“No. Two weeks ago, we…I… Things got physical between us,” I blurted. My cheeks burned. “And it was amazing. But when it was over, I had a panic attack because I realized it wasn’t just physical.”
“I’m sure Wes understood,” said Margot.
“He did, but then I—I lied to him. I blamed what we’d done on being lonely and missing Drew. But it wasn’t true, and he knew it. Because he knows me.” A tear slipped down my cheek. “He said, ‘I don’t believe you.’ And then he left.”
“And you haven’t seen him since?” Margot asked, her voice rising.
I shook my head slowly. “But I will tonight. It’s Abby’s birthday dinner at Lenore and Doc’s house. He’ll be there, and I’m dreading it.”
“Oh my God. No wonder you’ve been so tense today.” Georgia’s eyes were wide. “I don’t blame you.”
“I’m sorry to unload this on you guys,” I said, getting up to grab a tissue. “You’re probably sorry you asked what was wrong.”
“Not at all,” Georgia said. “I just wish there was something we could do to help you. It’s all so sad.”
“It is sad,” I agreed, “but in the long run, I’m making the right decision.”
“Are you sure?” asked Margot.
I sat down again and blew my nose. “Yes,” I answered.
“Because I don’t think you are,” she went on. “If you were sure, you wouldn’t feel so torn about this. And I can see on your face that you’re torn.”
“No, I’m not,” I said, but my voice lacked the punch I aimed for.
“Yes, you are. And I don’t blame you.” Her voice softened. “You’ve got Abby to consider, and your situation is complicated by the fact that he’s your brother-in-law. But Hannah.” She put her hand on my arm again. “Don’t let fear hold you back. You’ll regret it.”
“But what if—”
“You’ll never be able to guard against all the what-ifs, Hannah,” said Georgia. “No one can.”
“Talk to him,” Margot said. “Just trust me. Talk to him.”
I sighed. “I’ll think about it.”
And I did—I thought about it in the shower, as I dressed for dinner, while I loaded the wrapped presents into the car, and on the short drive to the house.
But no matter how convincing or reassuring Georgia and Margot had been this afternoon, I couldn’t help feeling like I was right on the edge of some huge, frightening abyss, and one misstep would send me careening into darkness. I didn’t want to make a mistake. Wasn’t it better just to stay where I was? Take no step at all, even if it meant being lonely for the rest of my life?
As I pulled into the driveway at Lenore and Doc’s, I made up my mind. Maybe I was letting fear hold me back, and maybe I’d regret it later, but then again, maybe I wouldn’t. Maybe I’d be glad someday that I hadn’t taken the risk.
I couldn’t guard against all the what-ifs in life, but dammit, I could guard myself from this one.
Eleven
WES
“Hand me the eggs, will you, dear?” my mother asked.
“The what?” I was standing in front of the open fridge, but I’d completely zoned out. Happened to me all the time these days. I’d open a drawer, walk into a room, start a sentence, but then I’d see something or hear something or even smell something that would remind me of Hannah, and my body and mind simply froze, paralyzed by thoughts of her. I’d suddenly have no clue what I was looking for or trying to say.
“The eggs, dear.” Her tone was slightly exasperated. “I’ve asked you three times.”
“Oh. Sorry.” I pulled out the egg carton and set it on the counter where she was mixing up cake batter for Abby’s sixth birthday dinner tonight. It would be the first time Hannah and I saw each other in two weeks.
“What’s got you so addled these days?” she asked, eyeing me as I went back to the fridge, opened it up, and focused on taking out some lunchmeat for a sandwich.
“Nothing.” I pulled out turkey, lettuce, tomato, and mayonnaise, wishing she’d stop fucking asking me that question.
“Are you getting enough sleep? You’re working pretty long hours.”
“I’m fine, Mom.” The long hours were by choice, an
attempt to distract myself from longing for Hannah, but it hadn’t worked. The memory of that night at her house assaulted me approximately every half a second. On my early morning jogs. While I was in the shower. As I drove to work. During my lunch break. Even when I was immersed in caring for patients, she was always there at the back of my mind, a spectral presence with messy hair and bare feet and soft lips and warm skin, kissing me, touching me, inviting me inside her. And the things she’d said—every time I remembered hearing those words in her sweet, breathless voice, heat rose in my body and I’d have to loosen my tie.
I want you to fuck me.
I want all of you.
I want to come for you.
Come with me.
I want to feel it.
Jesus Christ, I had gone off like a rocket. And not a small rocket either. One of those deep space rockets. A fucking NASA-level rocket. A mission to Mars. I still couldn’t believe I’d done it. Sometimes I wondered what the hell was in those beers I’d drunk. Other times I supposed it had nothing to do with my blood alcohol level and everything to do with the fact that I’d wanted her for way too long. Even a gentleman runs out of patience sometimes.
But I was beginning to think I wasn’t much of a gentleman anyway.
“When will you hear back from Brad?” my mother asked.
“He said in the next day or so,” I said, realizing I’d been standing there dumbstruck in front of the toaster with two slices of bread in my hand. I stuck them in. “By Monday for sure.”
I’d made an offer on a house just north of town. It wasn’t perfect, needed new flooring and paint and a kitchen remodel, but it was a good size, right on the lake, and nicely secluded. Best of all, it was not walking distance from my parents’ house, at least not for them. And I needed some projects to keep me busy anyway.
“You know, there’s no rush to move out.” She cracked the eggs into the bowl and tossed the shells into the sink. “If that house isn’t what you want, you can stay here as long as you want.”
“I know, Mom. Thanks.” What I wanted was something I couldn’t have. Didn’t really matter where I lived.
That said, I needed some fucking privacy. My mother had even taken to coming into my room while I was at work and collecting my dirty laundry, putting it through the wash, and returning it to my drawers, all folded up in neat little piles. She packed my dad a lunch every day and insisted on packing me one too. She fussed over me constantly, worried I was exercising too hard, working too much, and had no social life whatsoever. I tolerated it because I loved her and knew she loved me, but damn, she could be overbearing.
When my sandwich was done, I sat at the island to eat it and listened to her babble over the whir of the electric mixer, but I mostly tuned her out and thought about Hannah.
I’d gone over our conversation that night a thousand times. Had I been wrong? Had she been telling the truth when she said it had been about Drew for her? I racked my brain, searching for any clue I might have missed in her behavior, in her voice, in her eyes. But I couldn’t find one. She’d wanted me. She’d said my name. She’d held onto me so tight, like she never wanted to let go.
Or was that wishful thinking? Maybe she had been thinking of Drew the whole time. Maybe the panic attack had stemmed from the realization of what she’d done, from the guilt and shame of dishonoring his memory. Maybe she really had given in just because she was lonely and I was a safe opportunity, like she’d said before.
Good old Wes. A safe opportunity fuck. But nothing more.
After a long run on the beach that afternoon, I took a shower, got dressed, and poured myself some scotch. It had been a beautiful late summer day, and the temperature was still in the upper sixties at five o’clock. I took my drink out onto the deck and stood looking out at the lake, which always had a calming effect on my nerves. The house I’d offered on didn’t have a deck, but I planned to remedy that if the purchase went through. I wanted bigger windows on the east side too, but that might have to wait a while.
Behind me, I heard the sliding door rumble open and shut. I thought maybe it was my dad joining me with a stiff drink of his own (away from my mother’s watchful eyes), so I was surprised when I heard Hannah’s voice.
“Hi.”
I turned, and my heart beat faster at the sight of her. “Hi.”
She wandered to my side, a glass of white wine in her hand and. “Want company?”
“Sure.” I brought my glass to my lips, but it was Hannah I drank in. Her hair swung loose around her shoulders tonight. She didn’t often wear it down, and I saw now how summer had dusted the brown with gold. My stomach muscles tightened—she was still the prettiest woman I’d ever seen. Her shoulders were on display in the top she wore, and I was dying to press my lips to one of them. She had perfect shoulders. Why hadn’t I kissed them when I had the chance?
“How’ve you been?” she asked. She was nervous, I could tell.
“Fine,” I said, using our code word for not fine at all. “You?”
She turned to face the lake. Took a sip of wine. “Fine.”
Conversation in the kitchen drifted through the screen, and I selfishly hoped no one would come out here. I wanted her to myself just a few minutes more. “Been busy?”
“Not really. I hear you offered on a house.”
“Yes. It needs some work, but it’s a nice place.”
“When will you know?”
“Soon. Monday at the latest.”
“Fingers crossed for you.”
“Thanks.”
Silence descended upon us, bringing with it a crushing disappointment. This was it. Or, rather, that was that. What we’d had was all we ever would, and it was pointless—no, idiotic to feel like I’d lost something. She’d never been mine to lose.
Suddenly I was angry. Why was I still carrying this torch for her? What was the fucking point? I swirled my scotch around in my glass and tossed the rest of it down my throat.
Then she spoke, and my life changed course.
“I lied to you.”
“What?”
“That night. You said it wasn’t about Drew for you, and I said it was for me.” Finally she faced me. Her terrified eyes were shiny. “But I lied.”
“Hannah.” I took her by the arm.
“Oh God, Wes,” she whispered, struggling not to cry. “I shouldn’t have said anything. That wasn’t the plan. But seeing you is just—I miss you.”
“I miss you, too.” I swallowed hard. “And I still want you.”
“Don’t.” She took a step back and pulled her arm from my grasp. “Don’t say things like that. ”
“It’s the truth. No, it’s a fraction of the truth.”
She shook her head. “It doesn’t matter.”
“How we feel doesn’t matter?”
“It can’t.” She refused to meet my eyes, looking frantically around the deck. “There are too many complications.”
Suddenly Abby came running out onto the deck. “Mommy!” She threw her arms around Hannah’s thighs. “Nana says I can open my gifts before dinner if you say it’s okay. Is it?”
Hannah looked down at her daughter and pulled herself together with a delicate sniff. “How about, ‘Hi, Uncle Wes?’”
The little girl looked up at me sheepishly. “Hi, Uncle Wes.”
“Hi, princess.” I patted her head and hoped my voice sounded normal. “Happy birthday.”
“Thank you. So can I, Mommy? Please?”
“Don’t you want to wait until we have cake and ice cream?”
“No.”
My mother emerged from the house. “Abby, darling, you need to close the door so Nana doesn’t get flies in the house.” She slid it shut behind her.
“Sorry, Nana,” Abby said.
“Ooh, what a nice night,” my mother said as she approached us. “Abby, what did Mommy say?” But she wasn’t looking at Abby. Her curious eyes were darting back and forth between Hannah and me.
I put a little more dista
nce between us and prayed she wouldn’t pick up on the tension.
“It’s fine,” Hannah said.
“Yay!” Abby let go of her mother and raced back inside, leaving the door open, of course.
My mother sighed and followed her into the house, pausing to look back at us. “Coming, you two?”
In a minute, I wanted to say. I needed more time to convince Hannah that our feelings mattered, that we deserved a chance, that I could make her happy. But she was already escaping me, following Abby into the house.
Not that I blamed her—her daughter came first, and I understood that she always would. And I wanted to watch her open gifts too; I’d gotten her a snow cone machine like Drew and I’d had when we were kids.
He should be here, I thought as I went inside. He should be here to watch his daughter open birthday gifts and walk to get ice cream and keep his wife from being lonely. It should be him and not me, and I know it.
But he wasn’t here. I was. And if the situation were reversed, if I were gone, and he were alive and had these feelings for the wife I’d left behind, wouldn’t he do everything he could to be with her? He’d never stepped aside in his life. That had always been my talent.
But things could change. People could change.
And I wasn’t about to let her go again without a fight.
Dinner was torture. I could hardly finish my plate, and I barely said a word. Twice during the meal my mother asked me if I was all right. Hannah was seated directly across from me, and both times, she and I exchanged a look before I assured my mother I was fine.
After cake and ice cream, I helped my mother with the dishes while my dad and Hannah began putting together the huge dollhouse my parents had given Abby.
“What were you and Hannah talking about on the deck?” my mother asked, handing me a platter to be dried.
“The house, mostly.”
“Oh? It looked like a very intense conversation.”
“It wasn’t,” I lied, and changed the subject.
When the dishes were done, I told my mom I needed some air and went down to the beach. Dropping onto the sand, I draped my arms over my knees and looked out at the water. Am I wrong? What would you have done, Drew? If you were me, and you loved Hannah too, what would you have done?
From This Moment Page 13
