by Nicola Marsh
“You were never gullible,” he said, patting her hand. “Kind and generous, definitely. And you still are.”
Oddly flustered by his praise, she pushed back from the table and stood. “I better go pick some carrots and a pumpkin from the garden.”
Olly’s forehead crinkled in consternation. “But you get carrots and pumpkin from the grocer’s?”
“They originally come from a garden,” she said. “Would you like to help?”
“Yeah.” Olly stood so fast his chair toppled and she grabbed it before it hit the floor. “Let’s go.”
Olly didn’t look at Jake once, and it saddened her to see their fractured relationship.
“Jake, you up for a bout of vegetable gathering?” Only when Cilla mentioned his name did Olly glance his way, and even then only for a second.
Jake shook his head. “Thanks, but I’ve got a few phone calls to make.”
Olly perked up. “Are you calling Mom? Can I talk to her?”
“Not today, champ, but we’ll call her in a few days.”
Jake’s gaze met hers, beseeching her not to ask any questions in front of Olly. As if she would. She’d been the epitome of discretion her whole life. She’d had to be, being married to Vernon and putting up with his crap.
Interesting, though, that this wasn’t an overnighter for Olly and Jake. A few days, Jake had said. The fact they couldn’t call Rose tonight, or tomorrow, meant there was definitely something going on.
“Okay,” Olly said, not sounding okay at all, as his bottom lip wobbled.
“Ready to get those hands dirty in the garden?” Cilla pointed at the back door. “My gardening tools are outside.”
“But you just told me to clean them.” Olly inspected his hands. “You’re funny with hands.”
Cilla chuckled, and thankfully, Olly joined in.
As Cilla guided Olly out the back door, she glanced over her shoulder to see Jake staring into space, a frown creasing his brow.
He looked tired, like he had the weight of the world on his shoulders. Whatever problems Jake and Rose were having, she hoped she could help.
It was nice to be needed again.
9.
Sara knew she should never have dawdled over those wedding photos in the album yesterday. Shouldn’t have reminisced. Because as the incoming videoconference button flashed on her computer and she noticed who it was, she knew she’d tempted fate.
She could’ve ignored Greg. But he’d been her husband for seven years and despite the way their marriage had fizzled out, she didn’t want to have bad blood between them. Not when the divorce was one step away from being finalized.
Jabbing at the answer button on her computer, she exhaled the breath she’d been unaware she was holding. When his face popped up on the screen, her heart thudded in remembrance.
He’d made her breathless the first time they’d met, at a coffee shop near her work on Wall Street. With hair the color of ripening wheat, clear blue eyes and a smile that dazzled, she’d been smitten. Then he’d opened his mouth and charmed her further with sincere compliments and genuine interest.
She’d dated sporadically in college but had never experienced the overwhelming urge to spend every spare second with a guy. Greg had done that and she’d allowed herself to fall for him.
Too fast, as it turned out, because if she’d taken the time to get to know him better, to live with him, she would’ve seen the flaws earlier. His propensity for boasting, for immersing himself in his work at the expense of everything and everyone, for shutting off emotionally and justifying the withdrawal by citing his prowess as a provider.
Those faults had emerged over time, solidifying when they had Lucy. By then, Sara had fallen out of love with Greg and in love with her beautiful baby daughter. It had been enough to sustain their marriage. So it was no great surprise that losing Lucy had meant the death of their marriage too.
“Hey Sara, how are you?” He smiled, the way his eyes crinkled in the corners as endearing as always. “Thought I’d see how you’re getting on in your new home.”
“I’m fine. Busy getting Gran’s house livable again. How are you?”
“Manic at the firm.” He shrugged. “You know how it is.”
Sadly, she did.
As if realizing his gaffe, his gaze dipped, before he cleared his throat and refocused. “Are you seeing anyone?”
Alarmed by the swift change in topic, she shook her head. “Not that it’s any of your business, but no.”
She wanted to know why he’d asked but, becoming increasingly uneasy at this impromptu call, she clamped her lips shut.
“It’s been a long time, Sara. I thought . . .” His brows knitted in a frown. “It’s just that our divorce is almost final and if there’s any chance for us—”
“There isn’t.” She cut him off, her tone clipped, while she ignored the traitorous flare of hope deep inside.
She didn’t want a second chance with Greg. They’d had a second, third and fourth chance while they were married, as far as she was concerned.
No good could come of rehashing the past or trying to resurrect something that had died a slow, painful death over the years.
She’d come to terms with their marriage imploding a long time ago. Time for Greg to do the same.
“Would you like some time to think about that?” His forehead puckered in irritation before he swiped a hand over his face, eradicating the tension. “Look, I know this comes out of left field, but we were good together, Sara. We fit. And before Lucy died—”
“Stop.” She held up her hand, the inevitable stab of powerlessness and remorse whenever Lucy’s death was mentioned making her want to disconnect instantly. “We’re over, Greg. We’d been over for years before Lucy, so don’t try and fix something that broke a long time ago.”
Stubbornness flashed in his eyes. “I know we can make this work. You just have to give me a chance—”
“A chance to do what, Greg? Try to make me fall in love with you again? Try to make up for the past?” She dashed her hand across her eyes, swiping away tears of frustration, infuriated that he’d put her in this position. “Don’t you get it? I fell out of love with you a long time ago. Way before Lucy was born.”
She jabbed a finger at the screen, resentment tightening her throat. “Losing her the way we did . . .” She trailed off, biting back the ultimate insult.
But he knew. He knew what she’d been about to say. Resignation darkened his eyes to indigo as his shoulders slumped.
“You blame me and you can’t get past it,” he said, despair lacing every word.
After what seemed like an eternity, she nodded. “She was sick but you called me a helicopter mom, made me feel like an overprotective parent. So I listened to you—” She broke off on a sob, but had to get the rest out. Had to purge the resentment that she’d bottled up for too long. “—and she died. So yeah, I blame you as much as I blame myself.”
Greg stared at her, remorse waging a battle with devastation in the depths of his eyes.
In that moment, she felt sorry for him and some of her bitterness faded.
This wasn’t doing either of them any good. Attributing all the blame in the world wouldn’t bring Lucy back. Time to end this, once and for all.
“So that’s it?” He reached for the screen, as if to press his palm against it, before letting his hand fall.
Greg was a smart guy. He knew when to call it quits.
“When the divorce goes through, I’d prefer it if you didn’t contact me again.” Her voice quivered but her resolve stood firm.
She needed a clean break.
He stared at the keyboard for an eternity before eventually raising his head, the sheen in his desolate eyes slugging her to the gut. “If that’s what you want.”
“It is.”
Not wanting to shed any more tears, she raised a hand in farewell. “Take care.” Before he could respond, she hit the disconnect button and Greg’s face faded to black.
Sara didn’t move for a long time, tears she’d been unable to stop trickling down her cheeks.
She mourned her marriage. She mourned her daughter. She mourned the life she’d once had.
When the tears dried she stood and squared her shoulders.
When those divorce papers went through, she’d finally be free to face her future.
10.
Jake nursed the whiskey Cilla had poured him, staring into the amber depths without drinking a drop.
Though he never touched the stuff, he thought a sip might give him courage to ask for the monumental favor. But the stench made him want to fling it down the drain instead. While his father had been a beer man, any alcohol would do and at times, when Ray drank spirits, he’d turn particularly nasty.
“You going to drink that or meditate with it?” Cilla sat on the sofa opposite and tucked her legs beneath her, looking comfortable in this house in a way he’d never known.
When his Uncle Vernon had been alive, she’d been a bundle of energy, never sitting still. She’d buzzed around, feeding them and cleaning up after them and doing endless chores. Back then, Jake had wondered if keeping busy was her coping mechanism; that if she moved around enough she wouldn’t have to spend much one-on-one time with Vernon.
“I don’t drink,” he said, placing the glass on a coaster on the coffee table between them.
Her eyebrows rose and he felt compelled to explain why he’d let her pour it in the first place. “Thought it would help give me some Dutch courage.”
“Why?”
“I need a favor,” he said, pinching the bridge of his nose.
Yeah, like that would stave off the blinder of a headache that was building. Tension did that to him. Usually work stress, but he hadn’t had that for six months, not since he’d turned his back on the only career he’d ever known.
“I don’t bite, Jake,” she said, snuggling into the cushions. “It’s been a while but you can still tell me anything.”
Astounded by her generosity, he shook his head. “You’re amazing. You welcome me back into your life like the last eighteen years never happened. You take Olly under your wing to the point he helped you cook dinner, ate every scrap, then went to sleep in a strange bed without a protest. Now you’re sitting there, making me feel like I did when I was a boy around you, comfortable enough to really talk to you.”
She shrugged, as if his praise meant little, but he saw a glimmer of pride in her eyes. “I’ve always liked you, Jake, and I miss having young people in the house.”
“Tamsin doesn’t get home too often?”
“Try never.” Sadness downturned her mouth and he cursed inwardly.
“Sorry.”
“Don’t be.” She waved away his apology. “Tam left home for college and didn’t come back, and I don’t blame her.”
Hoping he wasn’t prodding old wounds, he said, “Uncle Vernon?”
Cilla nodded. “Tam couldn’t wait to escape the tension in this house. She came back for the funeral. That was it.”
Jake struggled to hide his surprise. “So you haven’t seen her in . . .” He tried to do the math but had forgotten when Vernon had died.
“Twenty years,” Cilla said, sorrow deepening her voice. “We talk on the phone occasionally. The obligatory calls at birthdays, Thanksgiving and Christmas along with posted cards and gifts. That’s about it.”
“I had no idea,” Jake said, feeling like an idiot for dredging up an obviously painful subject.
He wanted to ask where his cousin was and what she was doing, but that wasn’t conducive to bringing up the favor he needed.
“I think Tam blames me for tolerating Vernon’s abuse all those years.” She fiddled with the tassel on a cushion, absentmindedly twisting it around and around. “I’m guessing she lost respect for me . . .” She trailed off, sounding so forlorn Jake wanted to go to her and hug her tight. “I’ve never told anyone but it was a relief when he drove into that tree. Nothing I did was good enough. I wore the latest fashions, hairstyle, makeup. Cooked gourmet meals. Provided a welcoming home. Raised Tam. He’d still find fault, not holding back on the vitriol ’til he had me in tears, cowering or both.”
She took a deep breath and Jake let her speak. He had a feeling she needed to offload, to expunge the past.
“The day he died, I’d snapped. I’d usually placate him when he was in a mood, try to soothe him with soft words by pandering to his ego. But that day I yelled back . . .”
She blinked rapidly. “When I heard the news, I didn’t shed a tear. I think some of the townsfolk initially judged me for my lack of grief. But most of them knew Vernon was a mean bastard and they eventually rallied around and became my clients once I opened my naturopathy business.”
She looked at him like she expected him to judge her. “Do you think I’m a bad person?”
“We do what we have to do at the time to cope,” he said. “Whatever it takes.”
She nodded. “Vernon’s abuse never turned physical; I wouldn’t have put up with that. But the verbal stuff was bad enough. And while I tried to shield Tam from most of it, it must’ve had an impact.”
“Dad was the same, though he took his fists to me a couple of times.” Jake had blocked those memories but there was something about being in Cilla’s living room, with the lights muted and soft rainforest music playing in the background, that tore a hole in the barriers he’d erected a long time ago. “Until I was fifteen, put on more muscle than him, and hit back.”
“Good for you,” Cilla said, snapping him out of his reverie with her firm tone. “Now, let’s forget our maudlin pasts and focus on the present. What’s this favor?”
Jake dragged in a breath and blew it out in a long huff. “Rose is in trouble. She checked into one of those fancy wellness recovery centers to deal with her alcohol issues. Called me yesterday, desperate, asking me to look after Olly for a few months.”
Cilla’s eyes widened. “That long?”
“Yeah, and I’m floundering after day one.” He leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees. “I don’t know a thing about kids, let alone a six-year-old who’d rather be with his mom than his uncle who’s going through some heavy crap of his own.”
Cilla opened her mouth to ask him about it but he stalled her. “I’ll tell you about that later, but for now, Olly is my number one priority, and that’s where you come in. I hope.”
He waited, could almost see Cilla mentally joining the dots as her eyes widened.
“You want me to look after him?”
Sheepish, Jake shook his head. “No. I was hoping you’d let us stay here for a while. The kid’s used to having a female role model in his life and I can see how quickly he bonded with you, when he barely looks at me. I thought staying here would be good for him.”
Good for Jake too, if he were completely honest. He’d felt more relaxed here than he had in months. He didn’t know if it was the fresh air, the familiarity of Cilla’s home—the only place he’d felt safe as a kid—or Cilla’s calming presence, but whatever it was, he wanted more of it. Looked like Olly wasn’t the only one who needed a little of Cilla’s special TLC.
When Cilla continued to stare at him like he’d gone crazy, he continued. “I know it’s a huge imposition and a lot to ask after ignoring you all these years. But I always felt safe here as a kid and I think it’ll be good for Olly too.”
“You can stop laying it on so thick,” she said, her expression softening. “You can stay.”
“Thanks.” Jake leaped from his chair and leaned down to hug her. “You’re just as amazing as I remembered.”
She batted him away but looked suitably pleased. “On one condition.”
“What is it?”
“That you spend some quality time with that boy and really get to know him.” She jabbed a finger at him. “Olly needs his uncle. He needs to trust you.”
She hesitated before continuing. “Because Rose may have relapses, so this may not be the first and las
t time you’re the boy’s caregiver.”
Damn, Jake hadn’t thought of that. He’d been so busy trying to get Olly to like him that he hadn’t contemplated beyond the next six weeks or so.
What if this wasn’t a one-off? Cilla was right. He needed to bond with his nephew, needed to be the one guy Olly could trust in this world. Jake would’ve given anything to have that growing up, because his rotten father sure as hell couldn’t be trusted.
“You’re right.” He nodded and sat again. “And while we’re here, if there’s any jobs you need doing, please put me to work.”
An odd expression flickered across her face. “You mentioned being an aircraft mechanic before. Have you taken time off work to care for Olly?”
Jake’s heart sank. He didn’t want to talk about this, not when he was still digesting the thought of being Olly’s caregiver now and possibly sometime in the future. But he owed Cilla an explanation and it would be easier to get it out in the open now.
“I resigned from my job six months ago.” He eyed the whiskey and wished he did drink. “There was an accident. One of the planes I serviced crashed soon after takeoff, killing all eighty-nine on board.”
“I’m so sorry, Jake. That must’ve been tough.” Her audible pity didn’t help. He didn’t need to be pitied. He needed to be made accountable. Maybe that’s why he’d taken on Olly. It was a way to redeem himself, if only in his own eyes.
“I was cleared of any wrongdoing,” he said.
“But you still feel guilty anyway.” It was a statement, not a question, and he marveled at how the aunt he hadn’t seen in eighteen years understood him better than anyone else had after the accident.
He nodded. “I was tired on the job that day. Had been on the phone to Rose late the night before, after she finished her shift at the restaurant where she works. We had a huge argument. About Dad, ironically.”
He swallowed the bile that rose whenever he thought of his father’s demise. “Ironic, because after the massive argument I had with Dad, he drank himself into a stupor and fell down the stairs. Though he only killed himself by accident. I killed eighty-nine.”
