“You stocked my books?” I asked. “All three of them?”
“Of course. You’ll need some kind of income for when you wise up and leave Patrick.”
I bit the inside of my cheek, not wanting to cause a scene with my waterworks. The last thing Sean needed was for his customers to see him carrying on with a crazy weeping woman. “You never told me this was the house you bought.”
“I can hardly believe it was for sale,” Sean said. “Talk about perfect timing.”
“Yeah.”
My hands started to shake, so I stepped back from Sean, released his hands, and shoved both of mine into my pockets. I could not have that conversation, the one where Sean told me all about how he’d bought me my dream house, and I didn’t even get to live in it.
“Where’s Britt?” I asked, since my sole legitimate purpose for being there was to collect my daughter.
“She’s up behind the counter. Come on.”
I followed Sean to the front of the store, and saw Britt crouched behind a glass display case arranging action figures in tiny little fight scenes. “Pumpkin, Mom’s here for you,” Sean announced.
“Awesome.” Britt stood, crossed her arms over her chest and gave me a very put-upon face. “He’s been making me work. All week. I brought up child labor laws, but he doesn’t even care.”
“That’s why we had you,” I said. “Free labor.” Britt mumbled something that normally would have gotten her reprimanded, but seeing and touching Sean had thrown me off my game. “Are you ready to go?”
I half expected Britt to launch into a diatribe about how much she hated living with Patrick, but she didn’t. “Yeah. Let me go upstairs and grab my bag.”
“Wow,” I said as she disappeared through the back room. “That’s the first time she hasn’t complained about going home.”
“I don’t think she’ll complain again,” Sean said, sliding his palm once more against mine. “We had a talk.”
I squeezed his fingers. “Thank you.”
He squeezed back. “Any time, Cin.”
Britt returned with her bag. She looked pointedly at our hands, but didn’t say anything. “I’m ready if you are,” she announced.
“I’ll walk you lovely ladies out,” Sean said.
He took Britt’s bag and the three of us went out to the parking lot. When we got to my car, he immediately opened the back door and stowed the bag.
“Still not locking your car,” he said, shaking his head.
I shrugged. “Whenever I do, I end up locking the keys inside.”
The corner of his mouth curled up. “Some things never change.” Sean held out his arms. “Come on, I want a goodbye hug from my best girls.” Britt immediately went into his arms, but I hesitated. “Cin, it’s just a hug,” he said.
“I-I know,” I said, then I went into his arms too. Thank God Britt was there, otherwise who knows what I’d have done. As it was I tucked my head underneath his chin, and my breath hitched in my throat as I squeezed him for all I was worth.
“Lay off, Mom,” Britt said as she squirmed away. I guess I’d squeezed her a bit too. Then I was alone in Sean’s arms, and damn it all if I didn’t want to stay there.
“We should go,” I whispered.
“Should you?”
I drew back and stared at the ground. Sean turned toward Britt and kissed her forehead. “Bye, pumpkin. Let me know when you want to do some work again.”
Britt scowled and got into the passenger seat. “Child laborer,” she yelled.
“Love you too, pumpkin.”
Britt stuck out her tongue, and Sean laughed. “Just like her mama.”
“She’s much more like you.” I glanced inside the car. Britt rolled her eyes and looked away. Maybe she was more like me. “Thank you, for looking after her while I was away.”
“Any time,” Sean said. “You’re both always welcome here.”
There wasn’t anything I could say that wouldn’t ruin things, in one way or another, so I smiled instead. “Thank you. I’ll, um, see you later.”
“Yeah. Later.”
I got in the car and drove off down Route 5. Thanks to the rearview mirror, I knew that Sean watched us until we were out of view.
***
Later that day, I was sitting at the kitchen table outlining an article. The newspaper I’d written a column for a few years ago had contacted me about doing series on their website, and I jumped at the chance to have a weekly byline again. Since I no longer worked at Patrick’s firm, and Britt was in school all day, I had plenty of time to write.
I heard the front door open and close. “Patrick?” I called.
A moment later he strode into the kitchen. He was carrying a plain yellow folder, held before him like a shield. “What’s this?” he asked, gesturing at my notes.
“The Valley Hawker asked me about doing an online series,” I replied, overlooking his lack of a proper greeting. “I said yes.”
“Isn’t that a local paper?” he asked. “I assume they wouldn’t want pieces from an out of towner.”
“That’s true, but I’m as local as can be around here,” I replied. Patrick nodded, then he opened the fridge. “What’s in the folder?”
“We’ll get to that in a moment,” he replied. “Also, we’re moving next month.”
“We are?” Patrick had mentioned getting a larger place, but that was as far as our discussion had gone. “Will we still be in town?”
“No. We’re moving to New York. I’m transferring to that branch of the firm.”
“What? I can’t take Britt to New York. What about her friends, her family? What about my family?”
“You can always visit. We will be in New York, not China.”
“What about Britt’s father?” I pressed. “Sean and I have joint custody.”
“About that.” Patrick dropped the folder onto my notebook. I opened it, and found several photographs of me in Sean’s arms. They had been taken earlier that day in Rocket Comic’s parking lot. I thumbed through the photographs, and found other images of Sean and me, all taken within the past year. The last two images were of just Sean, one of which was him leaving my parents’ house the morning after he had given me the amethyst ring. The other was of him leaving my hotel room on the morning of my wedding to Patrick.
“Ask me again why we’re moving,” Patrick said, then he stalked into his office and slammed the door.
Chapter
Twenty-Eight
Cindy
Present Day
Sean and I checked out of the bed and breakfast shortly before noon on Wednesday. Britt and Sam had decided to stay on for a few more days and explore the area, since they were still on the hunt for a location to build their dream studio. I questioned how successful a photography studio would be outside of the city, but Sam had just grinned and said that people get their picture taken everywhere. It seemed that they were as eager to leave New York behind as I was.
The ride from Litchfield to Northampton was so much better than the ride from West Hartford to the bed and breakfast had been. Sean and I talked and laughed, and I started to believe that we really did have a second chance to make our life together. Nothing cemented that more than when we left the highway and turned onto Route 5, and I saw the neon yellow and green Rocket Comics sign glowing in the distance.
“It’s still blue and purple,” I murmured when the store came into view. Sean had kept the house up in the same colors I’d loved back when we were kids. “Those unusual paint colors must cost a fortune.”
“What can I say, it’s my sapphire and amethyst palace.” He pulled into the store’s lot and parked around back.
“I still can’t believe you own this place,” I said. “The mortgage must be outrageous.”
“Never had a mortgage in my life,” Sean said. “I paid for the house in cash.”
I’d been getting out of the car, but froze in place. “How the hell did you manage that?”
“Desperate sellers, mo
stly. The house had been on the market for almost five years with no takers. I put in a low bid, and they took it.” Sean grabbed our bags from the trunk, then he paused. “Did you know that this place used to be a mortuary?”
I stopped moving. “What?”
“Yeah, when it was first built it was a funeral home. Mind you, that was all over with by the time the twentieth century came around, but some local ghost hunting group put up a website claiming the place was haunted by the old mortician.”
“That’s ridiculous,” I said. “Growing up, I never once heard a ghost story about this place.”
“Me neither, but apparently the story was just spooky enough to put off any buyers. By the time I looked at it, it was listed for way less than the appraised value.” Sean fished his keys out of his pocket and unlocked the shop door. “Once this place was paid for I set up the trust fund for Britt, and everything left over from my winnings went toward renovations.”
“Do you still buy lottery tickets?”
“No way,” Sean replied. “I think that last jackpot used up all my luck, at least all the bad luck.” He leaned over and kissed my temple. “I guess I still had a bit of good luck coming.”
We stepped inside, and into a room that turned out to be a store room. “Did you have to do a lot of renovating?”
“Weird stuff, mostly. I had the kitchen moved upstairs, and the downstairs bathroom enlarged and outfitted for retail customers.” Sean glanced at me. “You’ve only ever been in the storefront, huh?”
“That’s true.”
Sean offered me his arm. “Well then, my lady, let me give you the grand tour.”
I looped my arm with Sean’s and we went upstairs, and into the enormous second floor kitchen. It looked like something out of a design magazine, and was packed with stainless steel appliances and granite countertops. Aggie would have loved it. At the far end of the room was an amazing stained glass window. It was an Art Deco design, and the blue and purple mosaic sent little pastel rainbows dancing across the hardwood floor.
“I don’t remember that,” I said, nodding toward the window. “Did you have it specially made?”
“Nope, because it’s always been here,” he replied. “In one of this place’s prior incarnations someone put clapboards over them. When I started tearing them down I realized that the whole place is full of stained glass.”
“Really?” I said, wondering why anyone would cover up something so beautiful. “Show me the rest?”
Sean led me into the dining room, which had a neat row of yellow and green stained glass transoms along one wall. The trim was dark wood, and the room was dominated by a long table that could seat ten or twelve. Sean then brought me through the living room, the girls’ bedroom, and finally to his bedroom. It was just as large as the other rooms, with an en-suite master bathroom and a bed bigger than some zip codes.
“This is amazing,” I said. “Sean, your home is beautiful.”
“Our home,” he corrected. “And I haven’t yet shown you the best part.”
Sean dropped our suitcases at the foot of the bed, then he led me up past the third floor—which was taken up by more bedrooms, more stained glass, and a game room—and up a narrow staircase. Even though I’d never been there, I knew he was taking me to the cupola.
The room was octagonal, with arched windows on four sides and built in padded seats. Opposite the windows was a wooden desk flanked by matching bookcases.
“Amazing.” I stepped up to the windows, gazing at the view of the river and the mountains beyond. “What do you do up here?”
“I don’t do anything in here,” he replied. “This is your room.”
I glanced over my shoulder. “I don’t get to sleep in the bedroom?”
“This is your writing room,” Sean said. “It was the first room I fixed up after I bought the place. I wanted you to have someplace special you could go to, so you could work in peace.”
“But you must have done something with it over the years.”
He shook his head. “There’s more than enough room downstairs, so no one really comes up here. Sometimes me and the girls have cocoa up here, but Penny’s afraid of heights.” Sean went to the desk and opened a drawer, and withdrew the amethyst ring he’d given me a decade ago. The ring I’d had to give back.
Sean slipped the ring onto the proper finger. It still fit perfectly.
“Sean,” I whispered.
“Cin. I love you. Marry me.” He chuckled, and amended, “Okay, first you’ve got to get un-married. Once we’ve got that taken care of, I want to marry you.” He cupped my face with his hands. “You said yes before. Is it yes again?”
I nodded furiously. “It’s yes,” I said. “It’s always yes to you.”
Chapter
Twenty-Nine
Sean
Present Day
I went down to the shop a few minutes before ten on Thursday morning. It was more than an hour earlier than I usually opened, but after me being away for the better part of a week I wanted to be there for my customers. My assistant manager, Kyle, was great at handling the store, but I had a bunch of crotchety old regulars that thought he was too young to properly appreciate comics. One time right after Kyle started, I found him trapped in the vintage section with a couple regular customers quizzing him about Spider-Man’s origin, and the Hulk’s original flesh tone. And these folks were the people I made my living from.
Much to my disappointment but not my surprise, not one of those crazy people was lined up in the parking lot, ready to make a purchase. I unlocked the front door and went through the usual motions of opening the shop, humming to myself the entire time. While I did so I pictured Cin upstairs in my—our—bedroom, wearing nothing but one of my old concert shirts and a pair of sweat socks. Call me crazy, but an outfit like that always turned me on more than any itchy lace or slippery satin ever did. I liked my girl to be real, not looking like some model airbrushed within an inch of her life.
As I was setting out new stock, and imagining going upstairs to visit Cin on my lunch break, I heard the door open and shut behind me. “Is that you, Kyle?” I called over my shoulder, assuming that he had arrived a bit early for his shift.
“I want my wife back.”
My back went rigid; I’d know that voice anywhere, and I hated it more every time I heard it. I set down the books and turned around to see Patrick standing in the middle of my store, his feet planted, his arms folded across his chest. He hadn’t shaved for a few days, and he looked as if he’d slept in his Armani suit.
“Have you given any thought to what Cin wants?” I asked.
Patrick shook his head. “In this case, Cynthia’s wishes don’t matter. She signed a contract stating that she would be my wife. The contract remains valid, therefore she remains my wife. I’m here to take her home.”
“From what Cin tells me, you’re not much of a husband,” I sneered. Patrick’s nostrils flared, and I wondered if he’d make a move. I hoped he would. I could do with smashing this guy’s face in over how he’d made Cin, and my daughter, suffer over the past ten years.
“Sean,” Cin said, as she stood behind me and put her hand on my shoulder. I guessed she’d come down to help me open the store. “That’s enough.”
I frowned but stayed quiet; it was her fight, anyway. Since that didn’t mean I couldn’t also be moral support, I slid my arm around her waist. She was still wearing my shirt, but she’d also pulled on a pair of black stretchy pants, and her blonde hair was loose around her shoulders. If Patrick had had any doubts as to what we’d been up to, they were gone now.
“Cindy,” Patrick said, taking a step forward. “Cindy, darling, I’m not angry with you. I understand that you needed this…this time with him. Now, come home with me.”
“No.”
Patrick’s eyes widened, his only tell. “It’s all right, darling, we can fix this.”
“No, Patrick, we can’t.” Cin took a deep breath, and said, “I’m pregnant.”
<
br /> “You’re what?”
I looked past Patrick and saw Emily standing in the shop doorway, her eyes as wide as saucers. This was shaping up to be the worst Thursday in history.
“Emily,” I said, “I didn’t want you to find out this way.”
Emily stared from me and Cin to Patrick, her gaze alighting on Cin’s left hand where it sat on the glass display case. “You’re wearing the ring,” Emily shrieked. “You gave her the ring!”
“I did buy it for her,” I said. Cin gave me some side eye, letting me know that comment wasn’t helpful.
“Everyone relax,” Patrick said, slipping effortlessly into his role as an attorney. “This can all work out. Cindy will return to New York with me, remain my wife, and we will raise the baby together. Sean, you can stay here with your…” Patrick glanced at Emily. “Is she your wife, or did you merely have more illegitimate children with her?”
“You shut the fuck up about Emily and my kids,” I snarled. “And Cin is not going anywhere with you. You keep away from my baby. All of my babies.”
Patrick’s eyes went hard. “I have paperwork which indicates that any issue of Cynthia’s will legally be my child.”
“You know what can counter that? A DNA test,” I said. “A fucking DNA test, and your medical records proving that your dick doesn’t work.”
At my reference to his most unfortunate condition, Patrick’s mask cracked. His face went beet red and he took another step toward us. I pushed Cin behind me and toward the stairs.
“Go back up,” I said.
“Sean—”
“This isn’t good for the baby!”
“Sean,” she repeated, squeezing my arm. “The baby and I would really like to get this over with.” Cin stepped out from behind me, but wisely kept the display case between her and Patrick.
“You have all these contracts, all these mountains of paperwork that you’ve built your life around,” Cin said to Patrick. “You have contracts and forms and stipulations set up like the walls of your fortress, keeping you safer than any moat or barbican ever could. But you know what a contract can’t do? It can’t make you happy. They’re just paper and dry ink.” Cin smiled sadly. “They can’t make someone love you.”
Changing Fate (Changing Teams Series Book 3) Page 13
