Deleted

by Tess Thompson

  “Do you have to go? Right away?”

  “You have a good life and I’m a disruption. I should’ve stayed away.”

  “No. That’s wrong. We have a second chance. I want to know everything that’s happened between then and now. Every detail.”

  “How do we do that?” she asked. “You have a life. I have a life. Separate lives.”

  “They don’t have to be.”

  “But you’re involved with someone.” Maggie’s voice caught. So much for all the acting lessons.

  He rose from the couch and went to the window. “Would you believe it if I told you I was having doubts? Even before you came back from the dead.”

  A giggle escaped before she could clamp her mouth shut. “I didn’t come back from the dead.”

  He grimaced, obviously trying not to laugh. “It’s not funny.”

  “What else are we going to do but laugh? I mean, this is one heck of a high school reunion.”

  He joined her back on the couch. “This is not the way it was supposed to turn out. Your dad interfered with fate.”

  “We were eighteen years old. Our aspirations made it impossible for us to be together. You were right to break up with me.”

  “You’re forgetting the other part. Before I got all irrational and insecure, the plan was to meet back here no matter how it all turned out for you. Either you’d be a huge star who could call the shots, or you’d have given it your best try and been ready to come home.”

  “As much of a pipe dream as that was, we believed it, didn’t we?” she asked. “Talk about naïve. Remember how we used to stand outside the gates of the Arnoult place and talk about how many kids we wanted and what we would name them?”

  “I remember. I believed it, too. Every bit. It would’ve happened if your dad hadn’t interfered.”

  She stared into his eyes. “Do you really believe that?”

  “I came here to say I was sorry and to ask your forgiveness. But it’s not enough. From the moment I walked into this room today it morphed into something else. We’re meant to be together. I know it with every fiber of my being. Everything about you is familiar to me, like the prints of my own fingers. Love like ours doesn’t just fade away over time. Others maybe, but not us.”

  “Too much time has passed.”

  “I disagree,” he said.

  “I can’t stay here, Jackson.”

  “Because of New York? The dream?” A bitter edge slipped into his tone. Who could blame him? Her ambition had cost them everything.

  “No, not because of New York,” she said. “I’m leaving there.”

  “Zane told me about your knee.”

  She lifted her skirt to show him the scar. “This is my replacement knee that was supposed to save everything, but it didn’t. It’s over for me.”

  “I’m sorry.” He brushed the skinny pink scar with his thumb. “I know how much it must hurt to let your dreams go.”

  “Sometimes it doesn’t seem real. Like my injury and surgery and recovery were a bad dream.” She stalled, searching for the right words, even as she wished she could keep them hidden. How could she tell him of her failures when her decision to leave had cost them this great love? “I wish I could tell you that our sacrifices had been worth it, but that would be a lie. I gave you up for nothing. All I’ve ever been is a chorus girl and a bartender and a waitress. I’m broke and broken.”

  She told him of the endless auditions, of her constant money worries. “You think, always, maybe tomorrow will be the day. But tomorrow never comes. There’s always someone with a better voice or a better dancer, and, recently, younger. By quite a bit.” Her voice cracked; she’d never been able to move the margin of truth even a fourth of an inch in his presence.

  “I wanted it for you. Even if it didn’t seem like that by how I acted during the months before you left. I’ve always been so proud of you. I never had any doubt that you were meant to be a star.”

  “You were wrong to believe. I failed. I’m a failure.”

  “No. That’s not how it is. You tried something that required great courage. You were brave, Bird. Braver than almost every other person walking the planet. Do you know how many people wouldn’t have even had the courage to try? And, with no one by your side. No one to tell you to keep going.” Jackson’s voice broke. “I should have been that person for you. I’m the failure.” He fell silent as he played with a tattered section of his shorts. “Fear makes us irrational and reckless. It’s stronger than anything else. I was afraid you might never come back. So, I sabotaged us. I hate myself for it.”

  “Please, stop. You need to forgive yourself. I forgive you. I can’t forgive my father, but you and me? We didn’t have a chance to make up and figure things out because of him. Nothing you did or didn’t do will change that fact.”

  “I have to know,” he said. “Did you ever stop loving me?”

  “It doesn’t matter now,” she whispered. No, and I never will.

  “Stay. Give me the chance to make it up to you. Give me the chance to prove that we belong together.”

  “What about Sharon?”

  “Maggie, it’s you. It’s always been you. Please, don’t walk away without giving us a chance to see if what we had is still there.”

  “It’s not fair of me to show up and turn everything upside down,” she said.

  “I don’t care.” He captured a lock of her hair between his thumb and finger. “I can’t let you go a second time.”

  “I can’t think what to do,” she said. “My head’s spinning.”

  “I bought the Arnoult house yesterday.”

  What? Impossible. “It was for sale?”

  “Yes. It’s a disaster, but I’m going to fix it up.” He paused for a moment. The muscles of his neck moved as he swallowed. “When I was there yesterday, I thought it was a sign from God that it came up for sale on your birthday. I imagined you sent it to me from heaven—that I should move forward with Sharon—move on with my life without you. But that wasn’t it. I was meant to buy it for us.”

  “For us?”

  He took her hands. “I don’t understand what’s happening exactly. All I know is that I’ve never stopped loving you. And I won’t.”

  “Jackson, this is wrong.”

  “Do you have someone else? Do you love anyone else?”

  “No. God, no.”

  “Why? Tell me why someone like you doesn’t have someone.”

  “Because I’ve never loved anyone but you.” So much for staying strong. “I’ve never gotten over you.”

  “Then, what’re we doing?” he asked. “We have to give this a chance. I can’t let you go. Not again.”

  “We don’t even know each other anymore. I’ve changed. I’m hard and bitter.”

  “No, you haven’t. Not in here.” He tapped his chest.

  “You’ve changed. You’re a doctor like you planned. I’m nothing.”

  “For twelve years, I’ve wished I could have the chance to tell you how sorry I was that I messed it all up between us. I bargained with God a thousand times that I’d give up anything, even my career, if I could beg for your forgiveness. I never thought I’d get a chance. I got my chance and your forgiveness. But I can see it’s not enough. I want more. I want you. I’m going to fight like hell to convince you that you and I belong together. Please, say you’ll stay and give me enough time to prove that I’m right.”

  “I’m supposed to be figuring out what Plan B is,” she said. “I need to figure out what I’m doing with the rest of my life.”

  “What if your Plan B is me? What if everything you’ve ever wanted is right back where you started?”

  She placed a finger in a blond curl that hung over his left ear. “That would technically mean this is Plan C. I mean, if Plan A was New York and you, then Plan B would be just New York, making you and Cliffside Bay Plan C.”

  He grabbed her hand and placed it against his chest. “I’ll be whatever plan you want. I’ll be C all the way through
Z, if you’ll let me.”

  “This is insanity. People don’t do this.”

  “Most people aren’t dead for twelve years and suddenly come back to life,” Jackson said.

  She giggled. “I wasn’t dead.”

  He smiled as a tear ran down his cheek. “It’s not funny.”

  “And stars aren’t the color of nutmeg.”

  “They should be,” he said.

  “What if you’re wrong? What if you ruin what you have only to discover that you don’t love me—that I’m just a fantasy you were never able to let go of? I want you to have a good life, Jackson. That’s all I’ve ever wanted.”

  “You were my life. I want that again. I know what I know. Most people aren’t us. Most people aren’t still in love with the girl they loved when they were eighteen years old. But I am. God’s granted us a second chance, Maggie Keene. It would be further tempting fate to deny it.”

  “I never could say no to you,” she said.

  “I’m counting on that.” He grinned, then sobered in the next second. “I have a few things I need to settle with Sharon.”

  “A few things?” A shot of jealousy as hot as lava erupted from her stomach and scorched the back of her throat.

  “Yes.” He splayed his hands over his knees and rocked slightly back and forth. He’s thinking of what to say. How much to say.

  “Yes?”

  He lifted his chin and gazed into her eyes. “I’ll tell her the truth. I’m in love with someone else. But right now I want to talk to you. I want to know everything about your life. Don’t leave out any details.”

  “You first,” she said.

  “Fine. So, I went to USC as planned…” he said.

  Four hours later, her mouth was dry, but her heart felt fuller than it had in a long time. Jackson glanced at his watch. “I have to go.”

  “Go? To her?”

  “I have to talk to her. But I’ll be back. Will you be here?”

  “Yes,” she whispered. Always.

  Chapter Ten

  Jackson

  * * *

  JACKSON FOUND SHARON on his father’s patio under the shade of the awning. She lounged on a chaise and flipped through the pages of a magazine. Please don’t be a bridal magazine.

  She looked up as he approached. “Where have you been? I’ve been waiting for you for hours. It’s nearly time for cocktails.”

  He looked out to the view of the sea, gathering courage. Sailboats with brightly colored masts dotted the endless blue. Farther out, a cruise liner hovered, its movement invisible. On numb legs, he sat on the other chaise. How could he do this? What did one say? Guess what? The love of my life isn’t really dead.

  The invigorating scent of the lemons in the potted tree hung in the air. However, the taste inside his mouth was of their sour juice. “We need to talk.” He folded his hands like a tent under his chin. No, this was wrong. He moved them to his lap.

  She sighed and set aside her magazine. “If this is about when I’m moving up here, I don’t want to talk about it. Not on such a stunning day.”

  Irritated with a suddenness that surprised him given his guilt and his soon to be delivered confession, he gestured toward the kitchen. “It’s not about that. I’ll open some wine.” He tugged at the collar of his shirt. “Let’s talk in the kitchen. I’m too warm out here.”

  “Yes, fine.” She tossed her mane of blond hair behind her shoulders and rose from the chaise. Her high-heeled sandals clicked across the wooden deck.

  Once inside, she sat at the island’s counter while he poured them both a glass of white wine his dad had open in the refrigerator. He set the glass in front of her, but instead of sitting, he moved to the other side of the island. “I’m not sure where to begin.”

  “What’s going on? You look dreadful.”

  “I’ll just say it outright.” He took in a deep breath. Outright? Any way he said it would sound like a joke. Maggie’s alive, cue the devious background movie. “The thing is—something’s come up. Something unexpected.”

  “For Christ’s sake, what’s the matter with you? Are you sick?”

  “No, I’ve had a shock, that’s all.”

  She sipped from her glass of wine. “Out with it.”

  “You remember Maggie.”

  She let out a long sigh. “Yes, Jackson, I’m quite aware of who she is. If you recall, she’s the reason I asked you to go to therapy.”

  “Right, yes. I know.” He swallowed. “It was a rhetorical question.”

  Sharon set her glass down. “What the hell’s going on?”

  “Maggie’s back. I mean, she’s not dead. She’s alive. Her father lied all those years ago—faked her death, and now she’s here in town. Zane saw her at the cemetery. Her father’s dying, so he called her home. To make amends. As if he could.”

  She opened her mouth, then closed it just as quickly. Her eyes were wide, like toothpicks pried them open. “Have you lost your mind?”

  “No. I spent the afternoon with her. She’s very much alive. Roger Keene lied to the whole town. We had a memorial for her and everything. There was no reason to suspect that anything was amiss.”

  “It’s preposterous.”

  “I know.” He flashed to the memorial. Roger Keene had put an urn and a photo of Maggie when she was little up in front of the church. How could he live with himself knowing there were no ashes in the urn? And then, to bury it in the family plot? Not now. Focus on Sharon.

  “I’ve heard of people faking their own deaths for insurance purposes, but nothing like this. Why would he do that?” Sharon picked up her glass. Her hands shook so violently the wine splashed like a lake in an angry storm.

  How could he do this to her? After her loyalty to him? What had his mother always told him when she knew he would rather lie than tell her the truth of what he’d done? The truth. The truth shall set you free. If only it were as simple as confessing to stealing beer from the refrigerator like he had in high school.

  “Her dad didn’t want us to be together,” he said. “Or, maybe it was to punish me. He hated my family.”

  “Why?”

  “It’s complicated.” He pressed his fingers into his forehead. “Too hard to explain or go into right now.”

  “Try.”

  “It’s not relevant,” he said. “I’m sorry.”

  “I’m your fiancée. Everything about you is relevant. Or, it should be.”

  Sharing Maggie’s story with Sharon seemed wrong, like a betrayal. “I don’t want to go into it right now.”

  “Well, anyway, it’s nice that she’s not dead, but it doesn’t have much to do with us.” The literal meaning of her words didn’t match the way they were said. She’s doubting herself. Her usual self-confidence had wavered. Somehow that made him feel even worse. It was awful to watch someone so self-assured become diminished right before his eyes.

  Her blue eyes were still as round as saucers. He was certain she hadn’t blinked for at least a minute. “I mean, you’ve been reassuring me for months the past was past. Only the future matters. The future with me. You don’t know her any longer. You two were children when you saw each other last.”

  There was no way to move forward without sounding like the coldest man on the planet. He would say it as truthfully as he could. Get it all out there. No sugarcoating. People accused him of being too nice all the time. He couldn’t be nice now. He must be clear.

  “It changes everything. I’ve loved Maggie my entire life. I’ve mourned her and missed her every day since she left here. She’s alive. Alive and well. I can’t ignore the feelings that have rushed back to me. I have to explore those feelings and see if there’s anything worth salvaging between us. It’s not fair to you to pretend otherwise. I can’t marry you. It would be wrong to do so when I have feelings for someone else. You know you deserve better.”

  “For all that’s holy, you were eighteen years old.” Had her Georgian accent come back? “Do you really think if she’d been alive and we
ll all this time—or should I say that you’d known she was alive and well all this time—that you’d be together? No one marries their high school sweetheart.”

  “That’s not true. People do. People like Maggie and me.” He hadn’t meant to say the last part. There was no reason to hurt her more than he already was.

  It seemed as if Sharon hadn’t heard him, for she continued without taking a breath. “She left you and went to New York. She made that choice years ago. That’s still true. Have you forgotten that? She chose her ambition over you.”

  “It’s more complicated than that. I made her choose. I was wrong. Not her.”

  Sharon rose from the stool and pushed against the island like she wanted to flip it on its side. “You’re unbelievable. Don’t you see that’s what you’ve done with me too? You’ve made me choose you over my work. And yet, here you are, getting it all. Everything you want, like we should just all fall into place when you snap your fingers.”

  “What are you talking about? That’s not how I am at all,” he said.

  “Are you blind? You refuse to give up this ridiculous notion of taking over your father’s practice. News flash—it is not 1950. As much as you’d like to make it so, it isn’t. And, if you recall, I’ve acquiesced. I—unlike Maggie—have agreed to give up my work, which, by the way, is actually important, and move here to Podunk to be the obedient wife to a small-town doctor.”

  “You agreed to it. You said you supported it. Has that changed?” Turning the argument back on her was pure instinct. But what did it matter now, except to alleviate his own guilt? Be better. Rise above. I’m the one hurting her. She has the right to lash out.

  “I was right. You’ve never gotten over Maggie. And now, voilà, she’s alive.”

  He clasped and unclasped his hands, unsure what to do. “I don’t know what you want me to say.”

  “I want you to tell me you’re sorry for putting me through this. You’ve been in love with a ghost this entire time. You never loved me. What was I? An item to tick off on your list? Become a doctor. Move back to daddy. Marry a pretty blond. Have two kids. Oh, but wait, the woman I really love is miraculously alive, so raincheck on the blond.”