“That sounds perfect.”
He walked forward a few steps, putting the tray on the table. When I got to him, I balanced on my tiptoes and kissed him. He tasted like sugared coffee, hot and sweet, and he pulled me close for a deeper kiss. I could have stayed that way forever, but at that instant, my stomach growled again. Loudly.
His eyes alight with humor, he laughed. “Sit down and eat. I left the orange juice in the kitchen; I’ll be right back.” Another quick kiss, and he turned around. My gaze fell on his back, and then moved up to his shoulder.
His completely bare, 100-percent mark-free, perfect-in-every-way, right shoulder.
The floor swayed. I gripped the chair next to me, holding on for dear life as everything I knew, everything I wanted, everything I’d believed in mere seconds earlier swirled down the drain as quickly as water streaming from a faucet. My chest tightened. My heart galloped. I tried to find distance, so I could think. So I could figure this out.
No scar. No birthmark. Not even a freaking freckle. How in the hell was that possible? I’d been so sure. So very sure. The air grew heavy; so heavy, it hurt to breathe. My chest tightened more, and I dragged a mouthful of air into my lungs and forced it back out. Queasiness spiked in my stomach, sharp and fast, crawling up my throat, almost making me gag. I swallowed hard, gripped the back of the chair harder.
The clinking of glasses in the next room floated into my haze. I needed to pull myself together. I needed to figure this out. But on the heels of that came the realization that there was nothing to figure out, nothing to do but leave. To walk away from the man I loved, who loved me, and go in search of someone else. Someone who was supposed to be the key to saving my daughter, my family, me…and yes, at this point, Ethan.
He reappeared then, a smile on his face, happiness in his eyes. At that moment, I hated myself, hated the fact I was going to hurt him.
“You didn’t have to wait, sweetheart. Dig in. I know you’re starving.” He set the glasses filled with orange juice on the table, and then…well, then he looked at me. And he froze.
My mouth opened, but nothing came out. All I could do was stare at him.
“Are you in pain? You’re completely white. Sit down, Alice.” He pulled my hand free from the back of the chair and guided me into it. “Where does it hurt? Is it the baby?”
I shook my head. “The baby is fine,” I mumbled.
He pulled another chair over, so we sat knee to knee. “What is it? What could possibly have occurred in the last three minutes to cause this?”
“Nothing. Everything.” My chin trembled, my voice cracked.
“Are you sorry about last night?” He paused, inhaled deeply, and then asked, “Did I disappoint you?”
“No!” I couldn’t let him think that. Not only because it wasn’t true, but because I wouldn’t leave that legacy behind. “Making love with you was incredible. I’m not sorry about that in any way.”
“Then what is it? Are we moving too fast?” Confusion merged with concern. “We can go back to taking it slow. No pressures. No worries.”
“That’s”—I gulped air—“not it.”
“Then what? Talk to me.”
I said the only thing I thought, the only thing I could. “You don’t have a scar.” A big, fat tear dripped down my cheek. And then another, and another. The tightening in my chest let loose, and the tears turned to sobs. Gasping, I tried to form words, tried to talk, but I couldn’t. How could I have done this? How could I have made such a massive mistake?
“Are scars that important to you? Because I do have plenty, you know.” His voice was light, but his eyes were filled with worry. Standing, he put one foot on the chair. “Look, there’s one here on my thigh. See?” He held his arm out. “And here. There’s the one you saw the other night.” Swiveling at the waist, he pulled the band of his boxers down, just a little. “And look here, sweetheart, that’s a nice one. Plenty of scars, so nothing to cry over.”
I heard the humor in his tone, his way of trying to make me laugh, and wow—I loved him even more, if that was possible. But of course, that didn’t help. It didn’t stop the sobs from tearing out. It didn’t change the fact that he didn’t have the one scar I so needed him to have. The one scar I’d somehow talked myself into believing he would have.
Stupid. So stupid of me.
He sat down in his chair again, lightly grasping my arms, his gaze seeking, searching. “Since it’s not our compatibility in bed, I can fix anything. I hate to see you this upset. What is it? Tell me and I’ll fix it. Give me the chance to try.”
I angled away, not able to look into his eyes. “It’s not fixable. I’ve made a terrible mistake, Ethan. I am so sorry.”
His breath caught. “Do you love me?”
“I do.”
“Well, then, it can’t be too horrible. Because I love you back!” He tipped my chin, so we were eye to eye. “You can trust me. What is this about?” Cupping my face in his hands, he leaned over and kissed me.
I pulled back, wiped my hand over my lips, and then my cheeks, trying to dry the tears that refused to stop. “You’re not going to want to hear this. I don’t want to say it. I don’t want to believe it.”
For the first time, his eyes hardened. “Maybe not, but if this is going where I fear it is, then I need to.”
He was right, so I nodded. I reined in my emotions, calmed my breathing, and steadied my voice. None of this was easy, because all I wanted to do was tell him everything was okay, that I loved him and that was that. For a second, I actually considered it, but then…the dream came back in all its vivid heartbreak. So I told him everything, beginning with Miranda’s warning and ending with my dream about my daughter. It was hard. Harder than anything else I’d ever done, getting it all out, saying everything I knew, thought, and believed. Telling the amazing man I’d fallen in love with that I couldn’t be with him.
Through it all, he listened and didn’t ask any questions. At the end, when there was no more to say, his face was impassive. A shield had dropped into place. “You’re leaving me because I don’t have a scar on my shoulder; is this correct?”
“I don’t want to. But this is bigger than me. More important than me.” My throat closed, and the pain grew and grew inside until I could hardly stand it. “This is about my daughter.”
He cleared his throat, his eyes moving past me. “I understand that, Alice. I’m even willing to set my skepticism aside and believe in…magic. What I can’t comprehend is how you can’t believe in what you feel for me. What I feel for you. And that on the basis of a drawing, you’re willing to walk away.”
“I have no choice. I promised myself—” It didn’t matter what I said, because there was no way I could make him understand what I barely could.
“The other night, I told you I wouldn’t go away unless you told me to. And now, that’s what you’re doing,” he clarified.
“I don’t want to,” I said again.
“Then don’t.” When I didn’t respond, he grabbed my hand. His mask slipped a little. “There is nothing I can do or say to convince you to give us more time, to see where this leads? To trust in how we feel?”
His willingness to try, despite what I’d said, made it worse. Why couldn’t he hate me for being like his fiancée? Push me away for being insane? No, he had to be understanding and loving and I so wanted to say yes. More than I’d ever wanted anything else. But I thought again of that dream, and the horror that awaited my daughter, awaited Ethan and me, if I followed my heart. The tears came again, and I tried so hard to hold them back. “I can’t.”
He released my hand. In a flat, emotionless voice I’d never before heard from him, he said, “That’s that, then.”
Everything inside of me bottomed out. “I’m sorry.”
A light of anger flashed in his eyes so fast it surprised me. “It’s your choice, Alice. I love you, but I can’t—won’t—force you to stay with me. To give us a chance.” Just as quickly, the anger subsided. “I h
ope you find what—who—you’re looking for.”
There wasn’t anything more to say. I grabbed my purse, ran out of his apartment, and drove home. My body shook the entire time, and I could hardly see through the fog of tears that continued to flow. It didn’t matter that I’d made the only decision I could, because now all I felt was an empty, gnawing pain deep inside.
It wasn’t until I got home and collapsed on my bed that I realized I still wore Ethan’s shirt. Lovely. I’d run from his place like a maniac in nothing but a T-shirt.
But then I pulled it up over my face so it covered my nose and mouth and breathed in. In barely the beat of my heart, he was there with me, just by the scent of his shirt. I curled up, held myself as tightly as I could, and tried to imagine my life without him. The pain grew even stronger, so instead I pretended he was holding me, and that when I woke up he’d still be there lying next to me.
It was still just pretend.
Chapter Seventeen
Grandma Verda waved her files in the air. “I know this hurts, but it’s been a week. You need to set up some of these dates.”
I blinked but didn’t respond. The past seven days had been hell. I’d almost called in sick the Monday after ripping my heart and Ethan’s to shreds, but I’d missed him so much, even with the pain, I had to see him; so I’d forced myself to go. Only to find he was the one who’d called off—for an entire week. The rumor was he’d gone to Ireland to see his family, but I had no clue as to whether that was the truth. He’d missed several important client meetings, though, the Kendall account for one, so likely the rumor held weight. But that didn’t make me miss him any less.
Elizabeth put her arm around my shoulders. “Sweetie, you don’t have to do this yet. Take the time you need.”
“She can’t. It might not be any of these men, either,” Grandma interjected, as stubborn as ever. “This isn’t a game.”
Chloe laced her fingers together, watching me. She’d stayed with me the entire week, only leaving my side for work, returning the favor I’d done for her so long ago when Kyle had broken her heart. I focused on her. “What do you think?”
She stared at me, sadness lurking in her eyes. “I don’t know. In any other circumstance, I’d say it was too soon.”
I blinked again, still surprised the crying had stopped. Oh, the pain hadn’t lessened; if anything, it had gotten worse. But somehow, I’d drained myself of tears.
“There’re only four men to begin with.” Grandma Verda yanked off the rubber band holding a particular stack of files together. “One afternoon is all it will take. We can set up…what’s it called? Where you meet one right after another for an hour or so each?”
“Usually it’s only like fifteen minutes, but you’re talking about speed dating,” said Chloe. “But you can’t push her, Verda. That isn’t fair.”
“None of this is fair. But she left Ethan for a reason, didn’t she?” Grandma turned to me. “Didn’t you? If you’re unwilling to move forward, then you might as well have stayed with him and been happy until the doo-doo hit the fan.”
Her words hit hard, like being slammed by a Mack truck. Because she was completely correct. And no way was all this pain going to be for nothing. “Fine. But I can’t set it up. Someone else do it and just tell me where to go and when to be there.” I paused, realizing I was really going to do this. “And if any of you has a clue as to how I’m supposed to recognize the right man when I’m in love with another, please let me in on it.”
Chloe reached her hand out toward Grandma, accepting the files. “I’ll do it. I can talk to them on the phone and feel them out a little, maybe.”
I almost asked how that would help, but then the doorbell rang. I didn’t think, I didn’t take a minute to consider why a blast of hope rushed through me; I just ran to the door and swung it open. Disappointment settled in, but I slapped on a smile. It was my brother Scot. With his slightly damp-at-the-edges hair, flushed cheeks, and overly bright eyes, he could have just run a marathon. Even with my misery, that should have been my first clue. “What’s wrong? You don’t look so good.”
“Nothing’s wrong. Why would you assume something is wrong just because I’m visiting you on a Saturday?” He strode into the dining room. “I tried calling you. Twice. Don’t you ever answer your phone?”
Before I could respond, let alone close my door, I saw our mother approaching at top speed from down the street, our father following at a slightly slower pace. I squinted, in case I’d imagined it. I hadn’t. “Urn, Scot? Why are Mom and Dad here?”
“Shit. How’d they get here so fast?” He came up behind me and shut the door—not quite in my mother’s face, as she hadn’t actually gotten there yet, but pretty dang close. He leaned back, as if barricading it. “Listen to me.”
Crossing my arms, I tried very hard to disregard the dread I felt. “Talk fast. You have, like, ten seconds.”
“Um. Okay. She called me this afternoon and I accidentally let it slip that you’re pregnant.” Sweat beaded on his forehead. “I didn’t mean to. It just came out.”
“Seriously?” Like I needed this in the middle of everything else! “Awesome. Thanks for the notice.”
“Hey. I tried calling you. It’s not my fault you didn’t answer.” He tossed me a sheepish grin. “Want to escape out the back? We can probably make it if we go now.”
“She’d just chase us down.” I sighed. This wasn’t his fault; it was mine. I’d turned my ringer off, and I’d continued to ignore something I shouldn’t have. But still, why today? Why now? “It’s probably better to have it out in the open. But geez, Scot, learn to keep your mouth shut.”
The doorbell rang. We both ignored it.
“I’m glad you’re not mad at me.” He bent over to give me a quick hug. “Okay. I’m gonna take off. Good luck with Mom and Dad.”
Grabbing his arm, I pulled him toward me. “What? You really think I’m going to let you leave? Not hardly.”
“I…uh…thought you’d want to handle the rest yourself.”
“Um. No.” I didn’t let him argue, just opened the door.
My mother’s gaze went directly to my stomach. “How could you not tell us?”
“Isobel, calm down. She’s a grown woman. We should have waited and let her come to us when she was ready.” My father smiled at me, but concern gleamed in his eyes. “I’m sorry. I tried to stop her from coming over, but she wouldn’t hear of it.”
“It’s okay, Dad. She’s right. I should have said something a long time ago. Let’s go into the living room. Grandma, Elizabeth, and Chloe are here.”
“Do they know?” my mother asked.
“Yes. They’ve known for a while,” I admitted, leading the way.
Elizabeth was in the papasan chair. My parents took the couch, next to my grandmother. Scot sort of eased himself against the wall, next to Chloe, and I sat in the chair across from everyone. “Okay, should I talk or do you want to?” I asked my mother.
Her gaze softened, and the tight way she held her shoulders relaxed. “I just want to know if you’re okay. And when you’re due. Oh, and who the father is.”
The calmness in her tone surprised me. Kudos to her for keeping it together. And somehow, it helped me too. “I’m okay. The father is Troy. Remember him? And I’m due in September.”
She pushed a strand of hair behind her ear in a nervous gesture. “You never introduced us, so no, I don’t remember Troy. And if he’s the father, why isn’t he here?”
“He’s the guy whose wife totaled your apartment?” Scot asked.
“Yes, and he’s not here because he’s not going to be involved. And it’s better that way.”
My mother asked more questions; so did my dad, and I answered them all. Honestly, it wasn’t nearly as difficult as I’d thought. Really, it was the only thing that had gone right lately, because as soon as our conversation ended, a huge amount of relief slid in.
That is, until my mother said something that pushed me back over the
edge. “I’m glad to know now, but I wish you’d told us earlier. You’ve always been so secretive. I don’t understand where you get that from.”
I sighed, exasperated. “It seems that keeping secrets is something this family is good at. Including you.”
Her eyes narrowed. “What are you talking about?”
I narrowed mine right back. “Miranda. And the little family gift that I should have known about forever ago. Why’d you keep that a secret, Mom?” I bit my lip. I hadn’t meant to sound so harsh. But dang it, the secret comment really got to me.
“Alice! Mom isn’t a part of that,” Elizabeth said.
“That’s her own fault,” said Grandma Verda. “I certainly gave her the gift. It’s about time all of this came out. I’m so proud of you, Alice!”
“I have no idea what you’re going on about.” My mother looked at my father. “Marty? Do you know what’s going on?”
“This has nothing to do with me. But maybe you should listen to them.” He leaned over and picked up my newspaper. Great. This was my father’s number-one technique for tuning everyone out. Well, that or the TV, but he wouldn’t turn that on now. Not without serious repercussions from my mother.
Refocusing on her, I asked, “You don’t know? Seriously?”
“She knows; she just doesn’t believe. It didn’t work for her and it came back to me.” Grandma Verda shrugged. “You have to be willing to accept it, and she never was. Even worse, she thinks I’m a batty old woman who just made everything up.”
“Mom! That’s not true. I’ve never called you batty. A little eccentric, maybe.” My mother curled her arms around herself, as if warding off a chill. “It’s nonsense.”
“It’s not nonsense. Every woman in this family has had the magic. Except for you, which is just fine, Isobel. It’s not right for everyone.” Grandma Verda squared her narrow shoulders. “But don’t you go mocking it, or Miranda, just because you don’t understand.”
Confusion zipped over Scot. “Magic? Miranda? What’s going on here? Have you all lost your minds?”
A Stroke Of Magic Page 26
