He waited for her to respond for another long minute, then gave up. “Anyway, from what I’ve managed to get out of the nurses, you don’t remember much.”
“Yeah.” She laced her fingers together and squeezed, wondering where he was going with this. “Everything after takeoff’s a little hazy. They told me one of the engines blew out?”
He nodded. “I had to make an emergency landing. We didn’t have time to circle and dump the fuel, so things got pretty exciting for a minute, but we made it.”
“Is that why I have burns on my back?”
“Like I said, things got a little exciting.”
“But you saved us,” she said. “You’re a hero.”
“You’re the hero,” he corrected. “Once we got back on the ground, people were trying to get out the emergency doors, and a little boy fell in the aisle. You managed to push back the crowd and pull him up.”
Summer suddenly wanted an extra dose of morphine. “I let go of the door handle?”
Aaron nodded. “That’s how you got hurt. You fell onto the tarmac.”
“Which is why we’re not supposed to let go of the door handle.” Summer shook her head. “That’s like, flight attendant 101.” She closed her eyes and concentrated, sifting through her consciousness for any recollection. “I really . . . I can’t remember any of that.”
“The whole thing was over in less than five minutes,” Aaron said. “But those five minutes changed everything.” He reached into his pocket.
She held her breath and waited for him to produce the ring.
And waited. And waited.
He continued to look at her with that wistful expression. “I do love you, Summer.”
“I love you, too.” She smiled. “We’re even.”
He stood up and turned his back to her. “There’s so many things I want to say to you, and I don’t know where to begin.”
She couldn’t stand this any longer. “I know about the ring, Aaron.”
He froze, then turned to face her. “You do?”
“Kim told me everything.” She waited for him to look up.
“Okay, then.” His hand moved back to his pocket. “Kim was right. There was a ring.”
“‘Was’? Past tense?”
He caught her gaze and held it. “When I said I love you, I meant it. I’ve loved every minute we’ve spent together. You’re fun. You’re spontaneous. You make me laugh.”
“Okay,” she said faintly. “But . . . ?”
“I love you. But I don’t love you enough.”
She went perfectly still.
He watched her face. “Say something.”
She took a moment, cleared her throat. “You’re breaking up with me?”
He lifted his shoulders and blew out a breath. “I’ve been carrying that ring around for months.”
Her stomach clenched. “Months?”
“I wanted to ask you to marry me. I really did. But it never seemed to be the right time. And after a while . . .”
“You were going to propose in Paris,” she insisted. “It would have been perfect.”
“It would’ve been,” he agreed. “But we didn’t make it to Paris. And maybe that’s a sign.” He turned his face away. “Please don’t take this personally. My whole life has changed in the last few days. I’ve realized that all the clichés are true. Life is short. We can’t do things halfway. And you and I, we had fun, but we’re not marriage material. There’s something missing. I wish I could explain it better, but I can’t.”
She took her time sipping the lukewarm water.
“You’ll be fine.” He couldn’t even look at her. “You’re the strongest woman I know.”
Walk it off.
At this, Summer finally regained her voice.
“Go.” Her voice came out flat and low. “Just go.”
“I’m sorry.” He reached for her, but she flinched away.
“Don’t apologize,” she said. “I don’t want apologies. I don’t want explanations. I just want you to go.”
Still, he hesitated.
Her voice got louder, sharper. “Please.”
As the door closed behind him, she felt the prickle of tears in her eyes, but she managed to compose herself. Aaron was right about her strength—she had always been resourceful and resilient. When life got hard, she didn’t stop—she put one foot in front of the other, moving faster and farther until she pushed through the pain.
She would survive this, she knew. She always did.
And in the end, Aaron wasn’t the one who got away. He was the one who reminded her of everything she’d been trying to get away from.
The room seemed to close in on her. She couldn’t bear to stay here, confined, inhaling the scent of dying roses with every breath. So she did the only thing she could under the circumstances: She hit the call button, and when the nurse arrived, she announced, “Bring the consent forms or whatever I need to sign. I’m discharging myself, effective immediately.”
Before the nurse could start arguing, the door swung wide again and a firm, feminine voice rang through the room: “Simmer down, crazycakes. No one’s going anywhere.”
This time, Summer couldn’t hold back her tears. “Emily?”
chapter 3
“I’m kind of insulted that you’re surprised to see me.” Emily shooed the nurse away, handed Summer a box of tissues, and pulled up a chair to the bedside. “You crash and burn—literally—and just expect me to go about my business? I don’t think so.” Even after a long flight and zero sleep, Summer’s former stepsister maintained her deceptively ladylike poise. “Besides, I had a feeling you’d try a jailbreak.”
Summer clawed at the back of her hospital gown. “You’re not supposed to be here. You’re supposed to be on some fancy film set, telling everyone what to do.”
“Well, aren’t you lucky that I decided to take the red-eye and direct all my bossiness at you?”
“Where’s Ryan?” Emily’s husband could always be counted on to support a jailbreak.
“Back in Vancouver, telling everyone what to do in my absence.” Emily grabbed Summer’s hands and pried them off the fabric. “Stop thrashing around. You’re going to rip the rest of your spleen in half, and then you’ll never get out of here.”
“Oh, please. When have a few gushing head wounds ever stopped us from having a good time?” Summer squeezed a wad of blankets in her fists. “Speaking of which, we’ve never been to New York together. Let’s freshen up, grab the train to Manhattan, and find someplace fabulous to catch up over a cocktail.”
Emily stared at her. “What’s going on with you?”
“Nothing.”
“Something.”
“Nothing! I’m just tired of wasting away in bed like an invalid. Let’s go do something fun!” Summer couldn’t hold still.
“You’ve been through a lot.” Emily adopted the soothing, condescending tone the medical staff had been using. “Let’s check in with your doctors and see if we can get something to help with the agitation.” She reached for the call button.
“I’m not agitated!” Summer grabbed the plastic water pitcher and hurled it at the vase full of roses, which toppled off the table and shattered on the tile floor in a spray of water and glass shards.
There ensued a long silence. The only sound was the muted clicking of the IV monitor.
Emily rose, strode over to the bathroom, and came back with a stack of industrial paper towels. “Clearly, you’re not agitated in the least.”
“Get me out of here.” Summer closed her eyes while Emily mopped up wet rose petals. “Please. I’m begging you, Em.”
Emily tweezed a hunk of glass between her thumb and index fingers and dropped it into the wastebasket. “I will consider it. But you need to stop throwing stuff. If I wanted drugged-up divas hurling vases at
me, I would have stayed in Hollywood.”
“Fair enough.” Summer paused. “But technically, I didn’t even throw it in your direction.”
“Keep it up.” Emily pushed the rose petals into a pile. “I’ve got a 5150 with your name all over it.” She glanced up. “Where is everyone? Where’s your dad?”
“Poetry conference in Ireland.”
Emily opened her mouth, then obviously thought better of what she’d been about to say.
“He’s giving the keynote speech, Em. You know the rules. Keynote speech trumps daughter.” As did NPR interviews, Pulitzer Prizes, nights at the bar with his writer buddies, and fawning literary groupies.
Not that she was keeping track.
“He brought some new girlfriend with him,” Summer continued. “Sweet. Young. Thinks my dad’s bullshit is ‘an artistic temperament.’ The usual.”
Emily laughed, and for the first time since the plane crash, Summer felt normal. “Bless her heart.”
“I’ve never even met her, but she’s already sending me journals and telling me I should write poetry like my father.”
“Just like all your English professors,” Emily said. “The Benson name didn’t hurt your GPA.”
Summer nodded. “That and a made-up dead grandmother will get you a C in comp lit.”
Emily shook her head. “Shameless.”
“You’re the one who whipped up the fake death certificate on Photoshop.”
Emily grinned at the memory. “Masterful work, if I do say so myself.” She cleaned up the last of the puddle and settled back into her chair with an expectant look. “Well, where’s Captain Hunky?”
Summer hesitated.
“I saw him on Good Morning America. Well, I didn’t see him, but my mother did.” Emily rolled her eyes. “She sent me the video clip, and she wants me to give you the following message: ‘He gives my ladybits turbulence.’”
Summer burst out laughing. “I love your mom.”
“And she loves you.” Even though Georgia, Emily’s mother, had divorced Summer’s father years ago, they still considered themselves family. “So, where is he? I assumed he’d be here, dabbing your fevered brow.”
“I believe you have Captain Hunky confused with a Brontë book hero,” Summer said.
“Don’t play coy with me.” Emily braced her elbows on the armrests and leaned forward. “Did he propose yet? I need all the juicy details.”
“Well . . .”
“The TV anchors asked him if he had a girlfriend, but he was very discreet.”
“I bet he was.” It took Summer a few seconds to work up the nerve to say the words. “He didn’t propose. He . . . left.”
Emily frowned. “Like to go make more media appearances?”
“Like to go find someone else. Someone he actually loves. Someone who’s, quote-unquote, ‘marriage material.’”
She summarized the breakup to Emily, whose expression cycled from scandalized disbelief to murderous rage and back again.
“Just so we’re clear.” Emily rummaged through her handbag. “He actually said the words, ‘I love you but I don’t love you enough’?”
Summer flinched. “Sounds worse every time I hear it.”
“When did all this happen?”
“Approximately two minutes before you got here.”
“I will kill him.” Emily redoubled her search efforts in her bag. “Kill him. Damn it, TSA took away my nail file.” She reached over and squeezed Summer’s hand, her eyes brimming with sympathy. “Oh, honey, I—”
“Do not.” Summer snatched her hand away. “Do not look at me; do not touch me; do not speak to me in that tone of voice.”
“But you—”
“I’m fine. I’m the strongest woman he knows. I’m easy to walk away from because I’m all scrappy and shit.”
Emily’s jaw dropped. “Is that what he said?”
“I’m paraphrasing. But it’s okay because, you know, he’s right. I’m not marriage material. I have strict rules against it, in fact.” Summer straightened the sheets. “This was bound to happen sooner or later. The poor man realized I was out of his league and decided to go back to playing JV. It’s fine.”
“It’s not fine.” Emily was practically frothing at the mouth. “He can’t break up with you while you’re in the hospital recovering from all kinds of internal injuries! This will not stand. I am going to hunt him down—”
“No one’s hunting anyone down. Like I said, it’s fine.” Summer willed herself to believe this. “I refuse to be the woman some guy settled for.”
Emily sprang to her feet. “He can’t—”
“He can, he did, and you know what?” Summer waited until Emily stopped fuming. “I had it coming.”
Emily’s eyebrows shot up. “What does that mean?”
“You know exactly what it means.” Summer stared out the window. “He didn’t love me enough because I made myself impossible to love. Next topic?”
Emily sat back down. “Have you considered talking to a counselor?”
“I don’t need a counselor! What I need is a bottle of vodka and a full night’s sleep without someone barging in to check my vitals every twenty minutes.” Summer pulled the IV needle out of her arm, gasping at the pain. “And then I need to hole up somewhere quiet. Somewhere I don’t have to worry about seeing Aaron’s face all over the television.”
Emily gave up her role as the designated voice of reason. “You’re right—we need to break you out of here and go find some vodka.”
“This is what I’m saying.”
“But then I want you to come back to Vancouver with me.”
Summer shook her head. “Don’t worry your pretty little head about me. Go back to bossing the rest of the world around. I’ll be fine.”
Emily was already dialing her cell phone. “I’m booking you a room at the hotel where the crew is staying.”
Summer confiscated the phone and turned it off. “That’s sweet of you, but really, I just want to be by myself for a while.”
Emily’s look of concern deepened. “For how long?”
“I don’t know.” Until every single molecule of my being isn’t in pain.
“Don’t let him do this, Summer.” Emily’s brown eyes flashed. “Don’t let him make you doubt yourself.”
“Please. No man can make me do anything.” Summer flopped back against the pillows. “I’m just tired. I’m exhausted. I need to pick a time zone and stick with it for a while.”
“Where will you go? Home?”
“Home” was a tiny apartment shared with two other flight attendants, and nothing had ever sounded less appealing. “I can go wherever I want. I have like a million frequent-flier miles at my disposal.” Even as she said the words, she knew she wouldn’t be flying anywhere. Not while her burns and bruises still ached. Not while the mental image of the airport made her heart race and her stomach churn.
“I will help you however I can,” Emily vowed. “Whatever you need to heal.”
“Really?”
“Really.”
“Can you go get Scarlett from the long-term parking lot and drive her down here?”
Emily smiled. “You still have Scarlett?”
“But of course. That car has outlasted every relationship I’ve ever had.”
“And where will you be driving off to?”
For a moment, Summer’s mind went completely blank. Then she remembered the cover of the travel magazine. The magazine she’d laughed at minutes before her entire life went down in flames. The mecca for people who hadn’t been loved enough. “Black Dog Bay.”
“Where’s that?”
“Delaware.”
“Delaware?”
Summer nodded.
“What’s in Black Dog Bay, Delaware?”
“Ben
& Jerry’s and Steel Magnolias.”
chapter 4
TURTLES CROSSING—NEXT 5 MILES
Summer had seen a lot of road signs in a lot of cities all over the world, but this was a new one. The yellow diamond featured the black silhouettes of one big turtle followed by two smaller turtles.
She snapped out of the daze she’d fallen into, took a sip of warm, watery diet soda, and tried to get her bearings.
Last night, she’d waited until Emily had fallen asleep in the vinyl recliner, then watched a clip of Aaron’s TV interview a dozen times. The man gave good sound bite. He managed to appear serious but approachable, responsible but easygoing.
A few days of public relations training had rendered him almost unrecognizable—how was this the same guy with whom she’d planned to share a naughty corsets-and-croissants weekend? With whom she’d considered, even in the most abstract terms, spending the rest of her life?
She knew she should be grateful that he’d been honest and left before they’d made a huge mistake. She’d seen what happened when people stayed in a relationship because they had to; the deceit of “mature adults” bound by obligation.
Countless married men propositioning her on flights.
Hungover honeymooners who wouldn’t even speak to each other on the way home from Tahiti.
Her own parents.
Yes, she should have felt relieved. But she didn’t.
So she’d stuffed a trash bag full of personal belongings into the trunk of her 1982 red Mercedes convertible and pulled out of the hospital parking lot at dawn, despite the protests and warnings of a dozen medical experts.
If you’re going to be self-destructive, might as well go all the way.
She’d crossed the state line into Delaware two hours ago, and spent the morning navigating stop-and-go beach traffic on a highway lined by marshes and lush green trees. Every few minutes, she had to give herself a little shake to stay focused, but she should be approaching the turnoff for Black Dog Bay any minute now. The muted rattle of ice from her soda cup reminded her that she hadn’t eaten since . . . um . . . a long time. She didn’t want to eat, or talk, or think. She just wanted to drive until she could see the ocean.
Cure for the Common Breakup Page 3
