The Love We Keep

by Toni Blake

  One daring glimpse of Meg’s eyes revealed that she remained livid. “That’s what everyone says who’s been with someone they shouldn’t have. How long? When did it start?”

  Suzanne shook her head, trying to think. Days ran together in winter here, even now with all the unlikely events happening in her cottage. “A couple of weeks?”

  Meg’s jaw dropped and she appeared even more aghast, if that was possible. “Oh my God—and you kept it from me? For that long?”

  Suzanne had lived a relatively careful, crime-free life, and she’d never felt so put on the spot. “I didn’t know how to tell you. I was worried how you’d react, and I was right.”

  “Well, can you blame me?”

  No, of course not. I’m a miserable excuse for a friend. You have every reason to be angry. All along, those were the things Suzanne had expected herself to say at this moment. She’d intended to fall on her sword, admit her transgression, and beg Meg’s forgiveness. But now that it was really happening, she no longer felt that way. Perhaps, deep down, some hidden, hopeful part of her had believed Meg would forgive, say it was okay. Up until lately, Meg had always been even-keeled and understanding, sometimes even when she had every right not to be. Maybe she’d been praying that part of Meg would return.

  And Suzanne had always wanted Meg to stand up for herself, not let Zack or anyone else push her around. But she didn’t want to be pushed around, either. And it was a big ask, a huge ask, but she wanted—so, so badly—for Meg to just understand. “Well, maybe you could just...try to be happy for me. Maybe you could remember that my husband died years ago and I’ve been so afraid—afraid of sex, afraid of romance, afraid of feelings. And I’ve been...alone. Not just without Cal. But without you, Meg. I’m so glad you found Seth—you deserve that kind of happiness—but it hasn’t been the same between us since he came along. We’ve never said so, either of us, but surely you know that. And it’s okay. I understand. But I’ve missed you. And when you left in December, that was the worst. I had only Dahlia to turn to—and now she’s done her disappearing act, too, and...who did that leave me, Meg? Who did it leave me?” She shook her head helplessly. “It left me the paralyzed man on my couch, who needed my help. So I’m sorry if somewhere along the way during the weeks we’ve spent isolated together, he and I built a connection. I’m sorry if I started caring about him. I’m sorry if I fell in love with him.”

  Across from her, Meg blinked. “You love him?”

  It was as big a shock to Suzanne as to Meg. Her heart threatened to beat right through her chest. “I guess I do,” she said softly. “But don’t worry. I know who he is. I know he won’t be around forever. Even without the use of one leg, I know he’ll leave. And I’ll be alone again. But for right now, maybe it’s just nice to think someone gives a damn about me.”

  Meg appeared too stunned to speak, and next to her Lila sat still as a stone. In fact, the entire yarn shop had gone silent—and Suzanne realized everyone stared in their direction. This was a nightmare—one she didn’t know how to get out of. She was mortified in front of every woman on the island, brokenhearted over what was surely the final straw in this friendship, and shell-shocked to have admitted—not only to everyone else but also to herself—that she’d fallen in love with the last man she could have imagined. Her chest hurt and her stomach ached as she set down her mug, stood up, and said, “I’m sorry if you hate me,” as she started for the door.

  Except—crap. She had to put on her boots before she could leave. Great, just great. She fumbled with them, hands trembling, as the room remained quiet enough to hear a knitting needle drop. She kept her eyes on her boots, on her hands. Then reached shakily up to a coat tree, snatching off her long parka and tossing it around her shoulders, thrusting her arms in the sleeves. Grab your scarf, your hat, your gloves. Deal with the rest once you’re out the door.

  This wasn’t the first long, awkward exit she’d made on this island—in fact, it was beginning to feel like a hideous sort of pattern, one she desperately hoped to break. For now, she just needed to get the hell out of here, with or without her dignity. Though she was pretty sure it was the latter.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  EVEN AFTER THE Knitting Nook door slammed, the tension remained. It was Allie who finally spoke. “Should...someone go after her? Make sure she’s okay?”

  Meg didn’t know the right answer. To anything, it seemed. Yet Allie was looking at her as if she were in charge. She gave her head a lost, helpless shake—and Lila responded for her. “I...think she’d rather be alone.”

  Allie nodded. “I’ll text Trent in a bit—to be sure she got home all right.”

  Meg only realized that she was staring at her hands, fisted on top of her unfinished scarf, when Lila reached over to touch one of them. “Maybe we should call it a night, too.”

  She felt frozen in place, still trying to process what had just happened. Suzanne was sleeping with Zack. Suzanne loved Zack. And everyone on the island knew Meg was upset about it. Talk about dirty laundry. “Yes,” she said quietly.

  And as they stuffed their yarn in their totes, Allie crossed the room to ask Mrs. Bixby, “Is this sweater for your granddaughter?” and people began chatting again, about surface topics like knitting and recipes, all clearly thankful to do so. Meg was grateful, too, as it allowed her and Lila to exit a little less dramatically than Suzanne.

  Though as they hit the porch, Allie called behind her, “Meg?”

  They looked back to see Allie standing in the doorway. “I’m so sorry if I assumed things I shouldn’t have.” She gave her head a short shake. “I thought you were...” Another headshake. “I’m so sorry.”

  “It’s okay,” Meg said. “You didn’t know.” That I didn’t know my best friend was sleeping with my ex. And that I would be devastated to find out.

  “Take care,” Allie told them, still looking fraught. “Be safe walking home.”

  “Goodnight,” Lila said. And as they stepped down off the porch into the snowy street, she looked back to Meg. “I guess Allie thought you’d be okay with it. She was raised here—maybe having such a small dating pool gives people a different perspective.”

  Meg was still trying to catch her breath over the whole thing. But the part that weighed on her the most was... “Why do I care so much? Don’t I want them both to be happy? And if that happens to be with each other, why does that matter to me?”

  Lila let her off the hook. “You had very strong feelings for him. And now she has what you once wanted. It’s natural.” But it stung that Suzanne couldn’t see it that way. Despite the pardon, Meg still felt selfish. And, at the same time, wounded.

  “Maybe she has what I wanted—or maybe he’ll ultimately not want anything real with her, either,” Meg reasoned. “But even if that’s the case, I’m still just as hurt.”

  “Because she broke the girlfriend code,” Lila said as they trudged through the dark, snow-covered night up the silent street. “She put bros before hos.”

  Meg just looked at her. “Did you really just say that?”

  Lila shook her head. “Sorry—I’m on edge right now. I’m trying to be comforting, I really am. It’s just hard because...she broke the code, for sure, and yet...”

  Meg blinked. “Yet what?”

  “Yet...this is such an extreme situation. He’s partially paralyzed. And they’ve been forced into this really strange, really intimate position. And...maybe I feel bad for her because she cared for Beck and he ended up with me. And it’s not like you’re alone—you have Seth, hottest guy west of the Mississippi. And...and...if they were celebrities, people would start calling them SuZack, which is kind of cute, and please don’t hate me for saying that, too.”

  Oh God—it was kind of cute. Meg’s heart plummeted further. “So you think it’s okay, her being with him.”

  “I don’t know what I think,” Lila admitted with a brisk shake of
her head. “I’m not sure there’s a right or wrong here, Meg. But I know it hurts you, and I get why. And I’m sorry.”

  Meg reached out her free hand, looping it around Lila’s elbow. Even through thick coats, it made her feel a little less alone right now. “And you know what sucks on top of it all? Now I have to go into the house I share with a man I love and try to hide that I’m upset. Because if he knew why I was upset, he wouldn’t understand, either. But hiding it from him is like lying to him. So I’m damned if I do and I’m damned if I don’t. Everything is just a mess.”

  Lila stayed silent for a long moment. Then finally said, “Want my advice?”

  A few months ago, Meg would have answered with a hard no. But her little sister had grown up a lot lately, and tonight in particular it felt as if they’d changed places completely, as if Lila was the mature, steady one and Meg the helpless, emotional one. Well, if she didn’t count the bros and hos comment anyway. So she said, “Sure.”

  “If I were you right now,” Lila said, “I’d go look deep into Seth’s eyes and remember what made you choose him over Zack. I’d put everything else out of my mind and just soak that up. And maybe also have some rockin’ hot sex while you’re at it as, you know, kind of a cherry on top of an appreciation sundae.”

  Meg looked over at her. “When did you get so wise?”

  “I think I’m just...rising to the occasion or something. Someone has to steer this ship and if you can’t do it, I’m forced to take over.”

  “I want to take the wheel again, believe me,” Meg said. “I’m just not sure how I’m ever going to get over this. I never imagined things could turn out this way.”

  * * *

  SUZANNE WALKED IN the door ready to force a smile, hopeful that low nighttime lighting might hide her expression.

  “You’re back sooner than I expected,” Zack said from where he and Trent sat watching basketball.

  How to answer. Especially knowing that Allie would surely tell Trent everything. But for now, she’d keep it simple. “Things started breaking up early.” Not even a lie. Since the scene she’d made surely had all the knitters scattering for home by now.

  “Have fun?” Zack asked.

  Talk about a loaded question. She turned her back to unzip her coat, hang it up. “It was nice to get out.” Also not a lie—it had been nice, until all hell broke loose. “Did you guys have fun?” She still didn’t look over at them, taking off her snow boots.

  “Yep,” Trent said. “Zack here is way better company when there aren’t Christmas lights involved.”

  She laughed in spite of herself, glad things had gone well.

  Zack shored that up by saying, “This guy makes some mean nachos, Suzie Q. Almost makes up for how bad he tangles up light cords.”

  Once free of her boots, there was nothing to do but walk over to the sitting area and try to keep acting normal. Though she was grateful when Trent took her return as his cue to leave. “Guess I’d better pack up my nacho tray and head home,” he said with a grin.

  “Don’t feel like you have to rush off on my account,” she said anyway, to be polite. Like she normally was. When she wasn’t freaking out in the middle of yarn shops.

  But Trent said, “Eh, game’s a blowout anyway.” He stood up, giving Zack a hearty handshake in parting. “Was good to hang out, buddy.”

  “Yeah, thanks for coming,” Zack said. “You and your nachos are welcome anytime.”

  After Suzanne shut the door behind their guest a moment later, she said, “So, great nachos, huh?”

  Zack picked up the remote and muted the TV. “What’s wrong, Suzie Q?”

  She turned to face him, taken aback. “Nothing.”

  “Something.”

  She pursed her lips, walked over, and sat down in the chair Trent had just vacated. “How can you tell? I thought I was hiding it so well.”

  He shrugged. “Guess I’ve gotten to know you. Your face was a little pinched up.”

  She blew out a long sigh. “I had a confrontation with Meg.”

  His brow furrowed. “What about?”

  “You,” she said simply.

  He balked. “What about me?”

  Men. They could be so thick at times. “Because we’re sleeping together.”

  His eyes narrowed in deeper confusion. “So?”

  She gave another tired sigh. “So she’s your ex.”

  “Yeah,” he said. “But...she’s the one who ended things.” He tilted his head slightly. “Am I the only one who remembers that part?”

  “It doesn’t matter,” Suzanne explained. “She once cared about you and that makes you off-limits.”

  He drew back a bit. “Huh. For how long?”

  Suzanne scrunched up her mouth, first this way and then that. “Pretty much forever.”

  At this, he raised his eyebrows and said, “That’s not really gonna work, now is it?”

  “No, it would seem not,” she said quietly. “But I still feel awful.”

  He shook his head. “Not sure I get it.”

  She tried to concoct a way to make him understand. “Okay, think of the first girl you ever fell completely in love with. And then think about, after you broke up, how you would have felt if your best friend was with her. Does that help?”

  “Nope.” He shook his head.

  “Why not?”

  “Never really had a girl like that. Or a friend like that.”

  Oh. Wow. No wonder he couldn’t grasp it. It merely reminded Suzanne once more how closed off he was to relationships. What you and he share—that feels like a relationship. But when it comes right down to it, Zack doesn’t know how to love someone. And she still had no idea why—she only knew it made it that much worse that she loved him.

  “So Meg is really mad at you over this?” he asked, still appearing utterly perplexed.

  “Yes,” she said. “And just so you know, we made a scene. At the Knitting Nook. And by ‘we,’ I mean mostly me. I ranted and raved, and if the party broke up early it’s because I did the breaking. Which I mention because...well, first, I’m mortified. And second, after tonight pretty much the whole island will know we’re sleeping together. So...sorry.”

  He shrugged. “Doesn’t bother me. I got bigger things on my plate than island gossip.”

  It reminded her to ask, “Did everything go okay while I was gone?”

  He gave a relaxed nod. In fact, everything about him seemed more relaxed than she’d expected after having a visitor. “Once he realized I could get myself around okay he quit hovering, and after that I pretty much planted my ass in this chair all night so neither one of us would have to worry about it.”

  It made her happy, calmer, to know he’d had a good night, perhaps found a real friend. “Maybe he’ll come back again to watch another ball game or something.” Then she made a face. “If Allie isn’t afraid of me now.”

  Zack gave her a look that reached down into her soul. “Listen, Suzie Q, whatever happened tonight, people on this island know you and love you. It’ll be all right.”

  “Thank you,” she said softly. She’d needed that simple reminder. “I handled things badly, though. Instead of apologizing, I got defensive.”

  “Regardless, I’m sorry to cause a fight between you. I know you and Meg are close.”

  “Used to be,” she said glumly. “Things have changed lately. Not just because of this—even before. I just kept trying to ignore it. Now I can’t anymore.”

  * * *

  “WHAT HAS YOU SMILING?” Giselle asked.

  Dahlia peeked up at her. “Look at that sunset. Would it be totally clichéd to call it God’s handiwork?”

  Giselle shook her head. “Not at all.”

  “Still, I like to think of myself as being more original. People see me as having flair, not falling back on clichés.”

 
Giselle just shrugged. “Clichés are only clichés because they’re true, and I’m not sure flair and clichés are always that far apart.”

  Dahlia refocused on the sunset. So orange it was nearly scarlet—a slash of color that felt full of power, not serene at all. “Perhaps it’s God saying, ‘Look at me! Here I am! You people say you can’t see me, but I’m right here, a swoosh of neon before your eyes.’”

  Giselle smiled. “Now that was flair. Thought-provoking flair.”

  And Dahlia smiled as well, if a bit smugly. “Good to know I’ve still got it.”

  “Working on your letters?”

  Dahlia looked down at the stationery and pen she’d forgotten in her lap when the sunset grabbed her attention. “Yes—I started them while you were napping.”

  “When I was young, I had a pen pal. From England,” Giselle said, giving her head a thoughtful tilt. “I can’t tell you the last time someone wrote me a letter.”

  “A forgotten art,” Dahlia replied.

  Giselle pointed into Dahlia’s lap. “You’re using a purple pen.”

  She held it up between them. “Flair.”

  “I promise you, Dahlia, that no one would ever accuse you of not having flair. More of it in your little finger than most of us have in our whole bodies.” Giselle took a seat in the Adirondack chair next to hers, then glanced to a book on a nearby table. “If you want to get back to your letters, I can read.”

  Dahlia set the stationery and pen aside, saying, “Finishing the last one can wait—I don’t want to squander this sunset. I’m very eager to see how it evolves, how exactly it fades into night.” She pointed toward the horizon and said, “Such a sunset reminds me of Hawaii. I don’t know if they’re truly more vibrant there—or if that’s just in my head.”

  Giselle slanted her a look. “Speaking of Hawaii, you never did tell me about your second husband.”