Sophie and Jake (Passports and Promises)
Page 16
“How do you know?” he asked, his eyebrows drawing together. “She made it clear to me her feelings were quite different.”
“Was it right after Dylan died? When she was a guilty, emotional mess?” He nodded, grudgingly and I continued. “Look. I’m with her sister. I know the signs. She loves you. And I know something else,” I said, as the bartender gave me my drinks. “You’re an idiot if you let her go.”
As I walked back to our table, I saw one of the rugby players from New Zealand sitting close to Sam and chatting. Thomas noticed as well, and he looked furious. Sophie took one of the beers from my hands, her eyes on the angry Scotsman.
“What did you say to him?” she asked. “I saw the two of you chatting away over there.”
I shrugged. “Guy talk.”
She narrowed her eyes at me. For someone so cute and little, she could be quite intimidating. “Tell me. Now.”
I put an arm around her shoulder and leaned close to whisper in her ear. “I told him he was an idiot if he let Sam get away.”
“You did?” she said, beaming up at me.
“Of course,” I said. “I happen to be an expert on the Barnes women at this point. I know what I’m talking about.”
She wrapped her arms around my waist. “We can be a real pain the neck sometimes.”
“Yes, I know,” I said, laughing at the outraged expression on her face. “But you’re so worth it.”
Chapter 31
~Sophie~
When the time came to say goodbye to Sam, I cried like a baby. I hated leaving her like this. Although she’d be home in a few weeks, things were still so unresolved with her. She was better than when we first arrived, though, so I knew we did the right thing by coming. But it didn’t make leaving her any easier, especially when she clung to us at the airport.
“I can’t tell you how much it means to me that both of you came here,” she said.
Jake nodded, choked up. He, better than anyone, understood what his visit meant to her, and I knew what this trip meant to him.
“You’re a good brother, Jake,” I said, once I stopped blubbering and we settled into our seats for the airplane ride home.
“Thanks. I tried.”
“I know you did. You’re a good boyfriend, too.”
He winked at me. “It’s a work in progress.”
I snuggled next to him, thinking about Thomas and Sam. “You know, it was pretty cool how you acted about Thomas.”
“What do you mean?”
I shrugged. “It must have been weird for you. Sam was Dylan’s girlfriend, after all. But you were nice to him, and nice to Sam, too. I’m not sure I would have been as kind, if the situation had been reversed. In fact, I’m certain I would have been a real bitch about it.”
He laced his fingers with mine, his thumb caressing the back of my hand. “You couldn’t be a bitch if you tried.” I gave him an incredulous look, which he ignored. “Thomas is a nice guy. I liked him. I couldn’t help it. And I happen to think Sam deserves to be happy. My brother thought so, too.”
I stared out the window of the plane as we prepared for takeoff. “I hope they can work things out,” I said.
“Me, too. Right now Thomas is clinging to his anger. It feels good to do that sometimes. I’m sure he’s playing over and over in his head how badly Sam treated him, making it impossible to forgive her. That kind bitterness can grow addictive. Sometimes it’s hard to let it go.”
I chewed on my lip. It sounded an awful lot like my bitterness toward Jake’s mother. I pretended everything was fine between us, but, as hard as I tried, I couldn’t seem to find a way to forgive her for how she acted. She’d hated me, and even if I understood why, it still hurt.
I thought about it the whole way home, as we flew over the huge, dark ocean and past a continent full of mountains and plains and cities. By the time we landed with a bump at the airport back home, I knew what I had to do, and I knew why I had to do it.
Both sets of parents greeted us at baggage claim. As my parents and Mr. Hunter waited for out suitcases with Jake, I pulled Mrs. Hunter aside.
“Can we talk for a moment?” I asked. I felt tired and disheveled after the long plane ride, but I had a wound in my heart I’d allowed to fester too long.
“Of course,” she said, her eyes worried. “Are you all right?”
I pulled out the small box from my carry-on containing the tiny tree covered in pink cherry blossoms. The stones sparkled in the sharp, artificial lights of the airport, and seeing them gave me courage.
“I saw this and thought of you. The cherry blossom is a symbol of how precious and beautiful life is.” I swallowed hard. “I need to get this out, or I’ll lose my nerve. There is something I have to tell you.”
“What is it, Sophie?” she asked, her eyes filled with worry.
“It hurt me, the way you acted, when I first met you. I’ve come to terms with it now, but it made me feel bad for a long time.”
Her face crumpled. “I know. I’m so sorry. You didn’t deserve it, and I should have done better, both for you and for Jake.”
She cradled the tree carefully in her hands as if afraid she might crush it if she held it too tightly. It made me realize she needed to say those things as much as I needed to hear them. Suddenly, with that simple gesture, and with her honest and heartfelt words, all my anger and resentment vanished. It felt like a burden lifted. I wanted to like Jake’s mother, and now I finally could.
“I’m sorry, too,” I said, letting out a sigh of relief. “I never wanted to cause any of you pain. I truly didn’t.”
“Oh, sweetie. I know.” She pulled me into a hug, still holding the little tree in one hand. Jake eyed us curiously from the baggage carousel, about to come over, but I stopped him with a gentle shake of my head. This was my moment with his mom, and we needed it.
When she let go of me, we both had tears in our eyes. “Thanks, Sophie. For your forgiveness, for all you’ve done for my son, and for this beautiful gift.”
I noticed something I hadn’t realized before. “Wait. Is there something written on the underside?” I asked.
She turned it over to look at the bottom. “It’s a haiku, I think. By someone named Basho.”
“He was a poet during the Edo period. Sam gave me a book of his poetry while we were in Japan. What does it say?”
“‘Between our two lives, there is also the life, of the cherry blossom.’” We stared at each other in shock. “Dylan. He was our cherry blossom, wasn’t he?” she asked softly.
I nodded. “Yes, he was.”
She hugged me again, and this time we laughed through our tears. Somehow, it felt like the message came straight from Dylan, a final goodbye to his mother, and it was perfect.
When we went back to join the others, our suitcases had arrived. My father and Mr. Hunter hauled them off the carousel. Jake pulled me close, his mouth next to me ear.
“I take it there was more to your conversation with my mother than handing over a souvenir from our trip.”
I nodded. “There was. We resolved some things between us. And we got a message from your brother through a poet who died a few hundred years ago. No biggie.”
“Oh,” he said. “Is that all?”
“Yes,” I said. “And your mom and I are besties now. Just FYI. I always knew we would be, eventually.”
As we left the airport hand in hand, I realized one journey had ended, just as another began. Jake, as always, seemed to read my thoughts.
“Graduation, followed by orientation this summer, and then we’ll finally be together, at last, in the fall. It can’t come soon enough. I’m counting the days.”
Our parents loaded the suitcases into our respective vehicles. Mine went into the green Snotmobile, Jake’s into the sleek, elegant Porsche. When I saw them side by side, it made me even more aware of how different they were, how different we were, but somehow, thanks to Dylan falling for my sister, we’d ended up together.
“Are you sure yo
u won’t get sick of me?” I teased. “Seeing me every day might get awfully boring.”
His face grew serious. “No. Never. You’re my yang. Don’t you forget it.”
I laughed. “No. I’m the ying. You’re the yang.”
“Whatever,” he said, leaning close to give me a kiss. “The only thing that matters is you’re mine, and I’m yours. For now and for always.”
And, as he kissed me, I knew he was absolutely right.
About the Author
National award winning author Abigail Drake has spent her life traveling the world and collecting stories wherever she visited. She majored in Japanese and Economics in college and worked in import/export and as an ESL teacher before she committed herself full time to writing. Abigail is a trekkie, a book hoarder, the master of the Nespresso machine, a red wine drinker, and a chocoholic. She lives in Beaver, Pennsylvania with her husband and three sons. A Labrador named Capone is the most recent edition to her family, and she blogs about him to maintain what little sanity she has left.
For more information
www.abigaildrake.com
Also by Abigail Drake
Saying Goodbye, Part One
Saying Goodbye, Part Two
Saying Goodbye, Special Combined Edition
Delayed Departure
Traveller
Can’t Buy Me Love
Valentine Kisses