What Happens in Summer

by Caridad Piñeiro

  “Don’t,” she said and raised her hand to stop him. “Please don’t do this now.”

  Disbelief skipped across his features, and he rose deliberately, almost woodenly, his gaze trained on her face. “I don’t get it. If we love each other—”

  “I love you, Jon. I really do. But neither of us is ready for this.” She looked away from him, shook her head, and raked her fingers through her hair, hating that she’d sucked the joy from him. Hating herself for not being able to immediately say yes.

  With gentle pressure on her jaw, he urged her to look at him again. “I am ready for this, Connie. I’ve never been more ready.”

  “No, you’re not, Jon. How many homes have we looked at in the last few weeks? How many, and you can’t choose even one?” she urged, covering his hand as it cradled her cheek and stroking it lovingly.

  “It’s not because I don’t want to find one,” he said and pulled away from her. He stalked a few feet away before whirling to face her. “I want a home. I want a home with you.”

  She walked to stand in front of him. “Do you? Then why can’t you pick a house? Why?”

  Chapter 23

  Why? Jonathan had asked himself the same thing after the last two house-hunting sessions, but for the life of him, he didn’t have an answer.

  “I don’t know why. All I know is that I want to be with you.”

  Connie’s gaze skipped over his features lovingly. She cupped his jaw and traced the line of it with her thumb. “It’s not just you, Jon. I hate that I don’t know what’s going on with my career. I feel like my life is too unsettled right now, and I can’t make a rational decision about leaving it all to be here with you in Sea Kiss. I never pictured myself working anywhere except New York City. Because of that, it wouldn’t be fair to you to say yes.”

  “Fair to me?” he said and tapped his chest. “Do you think it’s fair to push me away time and time again?” To run away from him time and time again, just like his mother had run away so many years earlier.

  A sad look passed across her face. She closed the distance between them and embraced him. She whispered, “I don’t want to push you away, but I don’t want to take the next step when neither of us is ready for it.”

  He placed his forehead against hers, his heart breaking. With a shaky breath, he said, “Where do we go from here, Reyes?”

  She stepped away and cradled his cheek again. “We both need some time to think about everything. To think about what we want in our lives.”

  He wanted to say that he already knew. That he wanted her in his life and that was all he needed, but he understood that she wasn’t ready. That she thought he wasn’t ready. “I’ll drive you home,” he said.

  “It’s okay. I’ll go to Emma’s. I can take the train home,” she said.

  He didn’t press. He’d give her whatever space and time she needed if, at the end of the day, it meant she’d come back to him.

  It didn’t take her long to pack her bag, and despite her protests, he drove her the short distance to Emma’s quaint cottage on the edge of Sea Kiss. After he pulled up in front, he sat there, staring forward, unable to watch as Connie got out of the car. But she surprised him by brushing a tender kiss across his cheek as he sat there.

  “This isn’t goodbye, Jon,” she said before she hopped out and hurried up the walk to Emma’s front door.

  He finally looked and watched as Emma opened the door and peered at her friend and then at him and back to Connie. She wrapped her arms around Connie and drew her inside, but not before shooting him a sad smile.

  He sat there for long moments after Emma’s door closed, wondering what to do next. Trying to understand why, despite the love they had for each other, they were apart again and what she had meant by that cryptic comment. No matter her words, it had felt like goodbye all over again. Like she was leaving him. Again.

  As an inventor, the why of things had always intrigued him. He loved to solve the puzzle until all the pieces fell into place. Pieces like why no house he’d looked at had been right. Why Connie was so dead set on a job at a place where she wasn’t respected and wasn’t happy. Why neither of them could find some middle ground so they could be together.

  Pulling away from Emma’s home, he vowed to solve that puzzle, because nothing was more important to him than having all the pieces come together so he could be with the woman he loved.

  * * *

  Emma had been there for Connie for the remainder of the weekend, but she had also known when to give her some space. It was Emma’s gift to know just what to do and when. On Saturday night, she had comforted but hadn’t pressed for details. On a rare Sunday without any bridal events, Emma had devoted herself to Connie. An amazing brunch with homemade crepes topped with fresh fruit had led to an afternoon of watching movies and a nap. Afterward, they’d done a leisurely walk into town for dinner. Despite the cold in the night air, dessert had been ice cream from the corner luncheonette followed by more movies until Connie had excused herself to go to bed early, feeling exhausted both physically and emotionally.

  Everywhere she went in Sea Kiss reminded her of Jonathan, but she suspected that even back in New York City, her thoughts would have been with him. She did love him. She hadn’t lied to him about that, nor had she lied to him about feeling as if things were too out of control to decide what to do. She didn’t want to jump into a relationship with him in Sea Kiss because her life in New York City was falling apart.

  Not to mention that despite what had happened with her parents, she did believe marriage was a forever kind of thing and not to be taken lightly. When she committed to Jonathan, if she committed to Jonathan, she meant for it to stick. She wanted for them to have a stable home. One where when Jonathan walked out the door, he came back because he wanted to be there more than he wanted to be somewhere else.

  As the alarm on her phone blared on Monday morning, she swiped it off and lay in bed, feeling as if the room were swaying back and forth, fighting yet another bout of nausea for long minutes. A soft knock came on the door along with Emma’s muffled, “Are you up?”

  “Come in,” she called out, her voice hoarse.

  Emma entered, still in her pajamas. It was early for her to be up for work, since her job was only fifteen minutes or so away.

  As Emma sat on the edge of the bed, Connie’s stomach did another whirl of displeasure, forcing her to take another deep breath to combat the queasiness.

  “It’s not easy being green,” Emma teased, earning her a glare.

  “It’s not funny, and why are you up so early?” Connie said, uneasy with the knowing look her friend shot her.

  “Big wedding to plan. I need to put in a few extra hours today. What time are you leaving?”

  The thought of work only added to the upset in her stomach. For the first time in forever, she was going to do something she’d rarely done at Brewster, Goodwyn, and Smith.

  “Would you mind if I stayed with you for a few days? I need to be away from everything, plus there’s something I promised a friend I would do.” The friend being Jonathan and the something being her discussion with the town council members about the rezoning, but she wouldn’t mention that to Emma. She would read just way too much into that when all Connie wanted to do was be done with it so she could have some space to think about what to do with her life.

  “You’re welcome to stay as long as you like,” Emma said, then bent and hugged her hard.

  “Thank you,” she said and held her friend tight, grateful for the support she always provided. Hoping she could one day return the favor.

  “See you tonight,” Emma said, leaving Connie to lie in bed, contemplating what she would do that day.

  First thing was to call the office. Her initial dread at that was replaced by a surprising sense of freedom once she’d told the office manager of her plans.

  There had been a h
int of shock there, probably because in her four years with the firm, she’d rarely missed a day of work or taken any kind of real vacation. She’d been too worried that taking time for herself would send the wrong message. She wasn’t sure what message she was sending by taking the days now, but the fact that it felt so liberating only reinforced the decision she had made to look elsewhere for a position.

  She indulged herself by going back to sleep for another few hours. She woke feeling more refreshed and took a long, hot shower before dressing for a day of just doing nothing. Or at least only a few things, she told herself as she skipped downstairs and strolled to the tidy little kitchen. As she made herself some tea and toast and sat to watch the morning news, she examined Emma’s home. She’d been there dozens of times before, but today for some reason, it really resonated with her that her friend had turned the cottage into a very restful and welcoming place. A refuge.

  The light pastel colors of the walls in the various rooms were offset by welcoming pops of vibrant color on pillows, paintings, or furniture fabrics. As she glanced out one of the many windows that filled the rooms with light, the beds of fall flowers in Emma’s garden were in full bloom. There were pumpkins and hay bales here and there in the landscaping in anticipation of Halloween, and the playfulness of the look brought joy.

  She understood better now why Emma loved living here and could picture her and Carlo starting their family in this happy home. But could she picture herself in a place like this? Or like one of the homes she and Jonathan had looked at over the last few weeks? Maybe was the immediate answer that came again. Another surprise, because if someone had asked her just months earlier, it would have been a resounding no. Which just confirmed to her that there was too much uncertainty in her to make a decision as important as a lifetime commitment to Jonathan.

  After she finished breakfast and cleaned, she went back to the guest bedroom and hauled her computer from her bag. She returned to the kitchen and set herself up on the table. Powering up her laptop, she did a quick look at her office emails and found nothing pressing. Free of that worry, she turned her attention to what she would say to the town council in two days. How she would say it. Originally, the plan had been for a videoconference, but since she was in town, she dialed the office of the councilman who had organized the meeting. Luckily, he was available and had no issues with turning it into a face-to-face discussion. The council members had been planning to meet for the videoconference, so they were going to all be in the municipal building anyway.

  Satisfied with that resolution, she opened the file with her notes. Over the last two weeks, she’d gathered a lot of facts and figures about Sea Kiss, its residents, and their needs to add to what she knew from helping a number of residents after Hurricane Sandy. She understood the economic requirements of the town and its businesses and thought she could make a compelling argument as to why Jonathan’s new research and development center would be better than condos. Little by little, she created a presentation with all that data, but as she finished with the first draft hours later, she sensed she was missing the last little details that would close the deal in Jonathan’s favor.

  She set aside the computer, needing a break and time to mull over what was absent from her preparations. Emma wouldn’t be home for a few more hours, and she wanted to make her friend dinner to thank her for everything she’d done. After rummaging through the refrigerator and kitchen cabinets, she had an idea of what groceries she’d need to make chicken and rice, one of Emma’s favorite Cuban dishes.

  Grabbing her jacket, she slipped it on and headed out of the cottage and back toward Main Street. In no time, she had stopped by the butcher and had him cut up a whole chicken for her. At a small Mexican-owned store a block or two off Main, she picked up some plantains, chorizo sausage, saffron, and a perfectly ripe avocado. She doubled back to Main Street to purchase some Italian pastries for dessert.

  As she was returning to Emma’s, she passed the library, and it occurred to her that she might be able to find out more about the guitar company and its history if the library had archives of local newspapers or old official documents. She walked to the entrance, but unfortunately, the library had closed just minutes earlier. Noting the schedule, she made plans to return the next day to do more research.

  Barely ten minutes later, she was back at Emma’s and prepping the ingredients for dinner. Her grandmother had teased Connie’s mother that chicken and rice was a lazy Cuban woman’s meal because it was so easy to make and to keep in case guests were late to arrive. Regardless, it had always been a favorite dish in her home for a variety of reasons, including that it was usually inexpensive to make and made for good leftovers as well.

  As she browned the chicken, it brought back memories of cooking with her mother. Happy memories of the two of them spending time together. Although she had talked to her mother on the phone often in the last month or so, she’d avoided visiting, because her mother would see past any facade that Connie erected and know that something major was going on with her daughter. But maybe it was time to talk to her mother about her father and all that had happened. Maybe that would help her put things into perspective so she could settle all the current uncertainty in her life.

  * * *

  Jonathan hadn’t been able to stay in Sea Kiss after dropping off Connie. He’d gone back to the inn and packed his overnight bag and Dudley into his Jeep. As they’d driven away, Dudley had whined pitifully and given him the mother of all hangdog expressions. That was until he’d looked in the rearview mirror and seen the sadness in his own gaze, which was far worse than Dudley’s.

  He replayed the proposal in his head the whole way back to New York, trying to figure out what he could have done differently to get a different outcome. It was what he did when faced with any kind of problem, only no matter how many times he did it, the result was still the same. Maybe because the two major elements in the equation were still the same, and none of the other variables could really change their basic nature.

  Although he had changed from the unsettled young man he’d been when Connie had first said goodbye to him that long-ago summer. He was more determined and responsible. More sure of himself than he had been, despite his daddy issues.

  And what about your mommy issues? the little voice in his head challenged.

  He hadn’t really thought about her all that much until Owen’s wedding and his talk with Connie that night. In the two months since then, his mother had been on the edges of his mind as he wondered how any woman could just abandon her two sons.

  Or how Connie could have just up and left you? Twice? that nasty little voice goaded.

  Connie and his mother were nothing alike, he told himself. Connie had her reasons for needing space from him, and he was strong enough now to understand them. To understand her need for stability because of her family life and how it had shaped the woman she’d become. He was determined to prove to her that he could be the man she could rely on in her life. A man who wouldn’t just leave like her father had. Like his mother had.

  He and Connie were peas in a pod, and maybe that was what had drawn them together but what likewise kept them apart. Just as he knew she had to put the past away so they could have a future together, maybe it was long past time that he did the same, he thought as he wheeled his Jeep into the parking garage around the corner from his loft in Chelsea.

  He grabbed his bag and snapped the leash on Dudley, who eagerly jumped from the car onto the sidewalk. As anxious as he was to get to his loft and do what he should have a long time ago, he took the time to walk Dudley and let him do his thing. Then he hurried home, tossing his bag to the ground and setting Dudley free before he rushed over to a file cabinet by his oak trestle table. He opened the top drawer and pulled out the inch-thick folder he’d tucked away in the back of the cabinet.

  His hands shook as he placed it on the table. He stared at the folder for long moments, recalli
ng the day nearly four years earlier when the private detective had handed it to him, months after he’d sold his first patent for millions. One of the first checks he’d written from that money had been for the private detective, but when the man had presented him with the results of the investigation, Jonathan hadn’t been able to open the folder. He hadn’t been able to face knowing where his mother was and maybe even why she’d left him and Owen.

  He wasn’t sure he was ready now. He walked to a dry bar at the edge of the dining and living room areas of the loft and poured himself a stiff drink of whiskey. He returned to the table and stared at the folder. The only thing on the face of the file was the name of the investigation company, emblazoned in gold lettering. Nothing to give away the subject of their investigations. The agency believed in being discreet and had assured him that his mother was none the wiser about the inquiries they had made on Jonathan’s behalf.

  He placed the glass of whiskey on the table and sat. With a deep breath, he took hold of the edge of the file and slowly opened it.

  His breath left him in a rush as blue eyes so much like his own stared back at him from the photo pinned to the first page of the file. His throat constricted with emotion, and he fought to take another breath. Grabbing the whiskey with one hand, he slugged back a bracing portion as he removed the photo from the file and examined it.

  Besides the damning color of her eyes that confirmed he was hers, he noted the similarities in their shape and that of her nose and cheeks. The slight dent in her chin and dimples. Both he and Owen had gotten those features from her, and while his brother had their father’s dark eyes and hair color, Jon clearly had his mother’s light-brown shade.

  With another shot of liquid courage, he placed the photo above the file, where her face would stay in sight as he read through the investigator’s report. The cover page provided her current details: Genevieve Gordon. Age 56.