I told her I’d think about it, stuck around to play with Cooper a little bit, then went home to brood about making the call. Georgia was probably right, but this was fucking embarrassing…it was one thing to call Margot and explain myself. She knew me. Calling this Jaime woman was another thing entirely. God only knows what kind of stories Margot had told her, what she thought about me.
That’s your own fault. Make the call, asshole.
Groaning childishly, I dialed the number.
“Hello?”
“Hello, is this Jaime Owen?”
“Yes, it is. Can I help you?”
“My name is Jack Valentini. I’m—”
“Oh.”
‘Oh?’ What does that mean? “I’m a friend of—”
“I know who you are.” Her tone wasn’t rude, just a bit aloof, but I’d expected that. She probably had a whole headful of things she’d like to scream at me, but I was technically still a client.
I wasn’t sure how to proceed. “Georgia gave me your number.”
“Did you have a question about your account?”
“No, it’s not that. It’s…” I took a breath. “I need to see Margot.”
“Why?”
“To apologize.”
“Why aren’t you calling her?”
“Because I need to do more than apologize—I need to make up for the way I treated her, for the things I said.”
“You hurt her, you know.”
I closed my eyes. “I know. I’m sure she told you I was a total dick to her. But it was the only way I could get her to leave.”
“And you needed her to leave because you didn’t care about her anymore?”
“No, because I cared too much,” I blurted, wondering how I was going to explain that. But she surprised me.
“I knew it!”
“What?”
“I knew that’s what it was.” She sounded happy all of a sudden. “You started falling for her so you had to back off—or in your case, you had to scare Margot off so she wouldn’t get too close. But you didn’t really mean the things you said.”
“Yeah,” I said, mystified. I held the phone away from my face and stared at it a second. Was this woman psychic?
“You were scared,” she went on. “Because letting her in meant you had to let go of yourself in a way. And you didn’t think you were capable.”
“Jesus,” I said. “Who are you?”
She laughed. “Someone who understands. So now what?”
“I need to see her. I’d like to surprise her somehow, but I’m not sure how to do it.”
“Surprise her, huh? Hmmmm.”
“Yes. And I think I should go to her. Prove to her that—”
“Oh my God!” she burst out suddenly. “What are you doing tomorrow night?”
Other than work, I had nothing planned. “Nothing,” I admitted, feeling a little pathetic.
“Good. Margot is attending a cocktail reception at the DIA. It’s a fundraiser for the opening of a new exhibit in the Lewiston Gallery.”
“DIA?” I wasn’t sure what that was.
“Detroit Institute of Arts. Her family donates a lot of money every year.”
“Ah.” Of course they did. I braced myself for where this was going. “And?”
“And what better way to show her that you want to be part of her life than to introduce yourself to it? I have a ticket but I’ll give it to you. I won’t say anything to her.”
“Isn’t there a less…socially awkward way for me to see her? I’m not good with crowds, and I don’t own the right clothes or anything.”
“Do you own a suit?”
I cringed. “No. I guess I could buy one tomorrow, but…would it even fit right? What if I have to have it altered?” The last thing I wanted to do was show up at a fancy cocktail reception in a suit that didn’t fit. I’d be uncomfortable enough in one that did.
“Listen, I know some people,” she said. “Leave it to me. Can you meet me downtown tomorrow morning?”
This was clearly going to be an all-day thing, probably a two-day thing, and I’d definitely need Pete and Georgia’s help with things around here. But I was pretty sure they’d pick up my slack for this cause. “I think so.”
“Good. I’ll text you time and place in a bit. Do you need a haircut or anything? I could book you an appointment.”
I ran a hand through my hair and frowned. “Probably. Thanks.”
“No problem. I’m really glad you called me, Jack. You’re doing the right thing.”
I thanked her again and told her I’d see her tomorrow. After we hung up, I called Pete and Georgia’s and asked if they could cover the farm work for two days. Georgia was scheduled to work this weekend, but Pete said not to worry, that Brad could always pitch in. “You’re doing the right thing,” he said, echoing Jaime’s words. “Good luck.”
“Thanks,” I said. “I’ll need it.”
Thirty-Four
Margot
Having a funner, more fulfilling life was easier said than done, especially with a broken heart.
After Jack rejected me a second time, I vowed to do exactly what I wanted him to do—move on. He had feelings for me, but clearly he wasn’t willing to let go of his past, and I wasn’t sure he ever would. Every time I thought about it, I felt like crying, but I couldn’t save him from himself. I could only work on me.
I focused on my list.
I signed up for cooking classes. Watched online tutorials. Read my cookbooks. Made lists of things I needed in the kitchen and filled my cupboards and drawers with cookware and gadgets. I grocery shopped with a critical eye, choosing local and organic whenever I could. Stopped eating out so much. Invited my friends over to try my pesto, my piccata, my potatoes au gratin. A hundred times, I stopped myself from taking pictures of my culinary triumphs and sending them to Jack so he could see my progress and be proud of me.
I went riding three times and made up my mind to buy my own horse. There was something about that relationship I truly missed. Again I fought the urge to call Jack and share my excitement—there was no one in my life who understood the bond between a horse and human like he did.
Through a friend, I got involved with the Fair Food Network, a nonprofit dedicated to supporting farmers, strengthening local economies, and increasing healthy food access. One of their goals was to increase funding to Double Up Food Bucks, which helps low-income families make healthy food choices and purchase from local farmers. I used my family’s connections to secure funds and support, and I also volunteered to create marketing materials to help spread the word about the program, teach people about the economic and health benefits of eating and shopping local, and advertising the days, locations, and hours of local markets that accept benefits. Was I single-handedly abolishing poverty? No, but the work was rewarding and I felt like I was contributing to the greater good.
And…I got my tattoo. It was mainly inspired by one of my favorite stories, The Awakening, by Kate Chopin. At first I was only going to get a little bird somewhere on my back—a tiny symbol of my own awakening. But then I realized I’d never be able to see it. I decided on my inner arm instead, and I also decided to go with words instead of a symbol. It made the tattoo bigger and more noticeable, but wasn’t that the point? Now when I looked down, I saw these words inked on my fair skin:
The bird that
would soar
above the plane
of tradition
and prejudice
must have
strong wings.
Seven lines of elegant script that reminded me not to let myself be caged by the fear of what people thought or expected. I was my own person, and I could make my own choices. Strength was a beautiful thing.
Of course, it was inspired by Jack too, and I wanted nothing more than for him to see it. Night after night, I went over everything in my mind, trying to find the place where we’d gone wrong, but I could never find it. We were different, but that’s what had given us
our spark. I still felt that kick whenever I thought about him. Still craved his skin on mine. Still missed the way he’d talked and laughed and teased me. Still cried sometimes when I thought about his past.
Once, when I was talking with Georgia about new family photos for the website, she made a vague reference to Jack “working on himself.” Though she offered no specifics, my hopes bloomed fresh.
But as the days turned into weeks and I still hadn’t heard from him, they started to wither.
Muffy, as expected, nearly fainted when she saw my tattoo. “What on earth have you done to yourself? Will that come off?”
“I don’t want it to come off, Mother. I like it.” We were having cocktails in the Rivera Court at the DIA, and she looked around frantically, trying to shield me as if I were naked. The cavernous room was full of wealthy, well-dressed people sipping drinks and listening to a string quartet, but only one of them appeared scandalized by my ink.
“I just don’t understand you these days, Margot. First the scone thing, then this volunteer business at a homeless shelter, and now a tattoo?” She shook her head. “Whose daughter are you?”
“Calm down, Mom.” I patted her taffeta shoulder. “You should be happy about the tattoo. You wanted me to major in English, didn’t you? The Awakening is a classic.”
“Margot Thurber Lewiston, that is not the point. Your erratic behavior is.”
“I’ve explained and apologized for the scone thing a hundred times. And I started volunteering at the shelter because I like helping people. And it only costs my time.”
Muffy looked at me like I was nuts. “We donate money to those places so we don’t have to spend time there.”
I sighed. There was no use trying to explain it to her. “Well, I don’t mind the time. What else have I got to do?”
“I’d rather hoped you might start dating again.”
I took another sip. “It’s not that easy.”
“It is. You’re simply too picky.”
“What’s wrong with picky?”
“Nothing, when it comes to hiring a cook, gardener, or maid. But finding the right husband shouldn’t be that difficult.”
I clenched my teeth. “I’m not going to settle, Mom. I want to fall in love.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. Everyone settles in marriage, Margot,” she said, rolling her eyes like I’d said something childish.
“Even Thurber women?”
“Especially Thurber women.” Again she looked at me as if I were crazy. “Every Thurber woman I’ve ever known has settled. Marriage isn’t about being in love. It’s about merging two families to create a better one. It’s about preservation and lineage. It’s about tradition.” She sniffed. “Love is for children and poor people.”
If I hadn’t grown up listening to such ridiculous bits of Muffy’s “wisdom,” I might have been horrified. But she couldn’t help the way she was. In her mind, falling in love was probably akin to Causing a Scene. Loud, messy, and indiscreet. But I didn’t have to perpetuate her strange notions, and I’d teach my daughter differently.
“I’m sorry you feel that way, Mother. But this Thurber woman isn’t settling.” It was a small thing, maybe, talking back to Muffy like that, but for me it was huge. It had taken me years to find the voice to do it. “I’m holding out for what I want.”
“And what is it you want?” Muffy sounded miffed. “The Prince of Wales?”
“Not even close. I don’t need a prince, Mother. Just a good man. Someone who—” Over Muffy’s shoulder, I noticed someone moving toward me. Someone tall, dark, and handsome. Someone dressed in a black suit. Someone who took away my ability to speak, think, or breathe.
My skin prickled with heat. My mouth fell open. I blinked. It couldn’t be. Could it? What was he doing here?
Dizzy, I swayed on my feet, and my mother grabbed my arm. “Margot, are you all right?”
“I’m not sure,” I said, still watching in disbelief as Jack drew nearer. Our eyes locked. “I feel a little dizzy.”
“Dizzy? You never felt dizzy before you got that tattoo,” she said, studying it suspiciously. “Maybe it’s poisoning you.”
“It’s not the tattoo,” I said. “Excuse me for a moment.” I started to walk toward him, and my heart clamored faster with every step. Jesus Christ, he was gorgeous. The cut of the suit emphasized his slim torso and broad chest. His shoulders looked even wider. He’d gotten his hair cut, and it had been styled with some kind of product, slicked away from his face. His scruff was trimmed way back too. He looked polished and sophisticated.
And nervous as hell.
I felt a rush of protectiveness. He hates crowds. He hates dressing up. He’s doing this for me.
But I also nursed some lingering anger and doubt. Was this just another ‘I need to see you’ thing? Was he here just to get a fix? Or punish himself? I wasn’t going to play that game.
We met in the middle of the room and stood nearly chest to chest. My emotions were all over the place, my breath coming fast. Someone behind me dropped a glass, and at the sound of the crash, he glanced around sharply. My heart ached at his anxious expression, the tension in his neck, the sheen on his brow.
“Hey.” Compassion moved me to slip my hand into his, lock our fingers. I was angry with him, but I also recognized how difficult this was. “Look at me.”
His facial muscles relaxed slightly as he refocused on me. “Sorry.”
“What are you doing here, Jack?”
“I came to apologize.”
“For what?” I held my breath.
“For lying to you. For breaking things off. For being a coward.” He grimaced. “You were right. I was afraid of what I was starting to feel. Of what it meant.”
Hope was exploding like fireworks inside me. “What did it mean?”
“It meant letting go of things—my past, my guilt, my pain—and giving myself permission to move on. I wasn’t ready to feel that way about myself. And I probably still wouldn’t if I hadn’t met you.” His eyes skittered across the room again, and he swallowed. “Margot, I have so many things I want to say to you, but I’m not very good in a crowd.”
“Then let’s get out of here.”
He frowned. “I promised myself I wouldn’t do that—if this is important to you, then it’s important to me.”
“Jack, there is nothing more important to me right now than hearing what you have to say.”
Relief eased his features. “OK.”
“I have some things to say too.”
He looked tense again.
“Follow me. We’ll find a quiet place to sit down.” My heart thumped wildly as I led him out of the room.
We held hands as we walked down the promenade and through galleries, searching for the right spot. Finally we found an empty room with a bench in the center, and I let Jack lead me to it. It was dimly lit to protect the art, and the deep red walls made it seem warm and romantic. The butterflies in my stomach were out of control, and I had to remind myself to stay calm. He was saying the right things, but was he really ready to be with me?
Jack kept my hand in his as we sat, and he looked down at our fingers laced together on his lap. “You got a tattoo?” He held my arm up and angled it so he could read the words. “It’s beautiful. I love it.”
“Thank you. I do too.”
“What prompted that?”
“I decided you were right. It was time to stop worrying about what other people think. I was tired of being afraid of what people would say if I did something different.”
He nodded slowly and he lowered my arm and took my hand again. “What did Muffy say?”
“She thinks I’m crazy.”
He met my eyes and we both smiled. Some of my doubt dissipated. This feels so good. Please let it be real.
“You know, it’s funny you decided I was right about something,” he said. “I’ve been wrong about most everything.” He looked down at our hands for a moment, stroked the back of mine with his thumb.
“You were right. That night in the cabin.” His eyes met mine. “I did feel something for you.”
I couldn’t breathe.
“I’d started to feel so much for you that it scared me. I felt like I was losing control, like I was losing myself. I panicked. Retreated. Tried to put up walls. But…” He lifted his shoulders. “It was too late.”
“It was?”
“Yes. What I felt didn’t go away just because I tried to shut you out. I didn’t feel stronger or more in control after you left. Hurting myself was one thing, but hurting you made me feel cruel and weak. I felt like I’d crushed something frail and young and beautiful that couldn’t fight back.”
“That’s exactly what you did.” He needed to know how I felt too. “And all I could do was watch. I felt something for you. I felt something between us. But what could I do? I asked you to take a chance on me, and you said no. Twice!” My nose tingled and I fought against tears.
Jack shook his head, his eyes full of pain. “I’m sorry, Margot. I hated myself for saying no. I wanted to say yes so badly. I missed you constantly. I kept thinking about the way I felt when I was with you. I imagined what my life would be like with you in it, and I agonized over the choice I’d made to be alone.” He closed his eyes briefly. “Finally, I realized how stupid I was being. How wrong I’d been to walk away from you. How much I wanted to give you that chance you asked for.” He took both my hands in his and squeezed tight. “I came here hoping you’d still be willing to give me one.”
My fears were unraveling, but I had to ask. “How do I know you’re serious now? How do I know you’re not going to panic and put up walls again?”
He squeezed my hand. “You don’t. That’s a chance you’ll have to take on me. But I’m begging you to take it.”
I swallowed against the lump in my throat. “You’re ready? To move on, I mean?”
He nodded, looked me right in the eye. “Yes. In the last few weeks, I’ve made some really good progress.”
“Like what?”
“I went back to therapy. I cleaned out the cabin. And I said goodbye,” he finished quietly.
After We Fall Page 23
