by Sarah Morgan
Flora and Molly packed up their drawings, and Jack walked ahead with Izzy. His arm was looped round her shoulder and they appeared to be deep in conversation.
Molly slipped her hand into Flora’s. “You look sad. Don’t worry, your apartment will dry out soon. When I spill my drink, it dries quickly.”
Flora tightened her grip on Molly and then felt guilty for using a small child as an emotional comfort blanket. “I hope you’re right.”
It was later, much later, when she and Jack were finally alone in the kitchen.
Flora took the wine Jack handed her. “Thank you. Is Molly asleep?”
“Yes. Crashed out after the third chapter. All the excitement of having a new houseguest, I think. I can’t thank you enough.”
“For what?”
“For persuading her to draw. I know she colored in your fox the other night, but this was on a whole different level. She was like the old Molly.”
“I didn’t say anything.”
“No, you were cleverer than that. You made sure she was so intrigued by what you were doing that she wanted to do it herself. It’s the first time she’s drawn anything since Becca died. I haven’t seen her this chatty in a while and she smiled more today than she has in a long time. That’s down to you.” He opened the door to the garden and they both stepped onto the terrace. “Watching her with you this evening was the first time I’ve thought she might actually be okay.”
“I love her. She’s smart and thoughtful and she makes me laugh.”
“It’s been so tough on her. She hasn’t handled it as well as Izzy, but she’s younger so I suppose that’s to be expected.”
“Izzy was upset about the coat.”
“Yes.” He rubbed his fingers across his forehead. “That was my fault. Probably a mistake, but it looked like rain, you didn’t have a coat and the coat was there—it’s impossible to get it right all the time. We have the odd moment like that when Izzy is visibly stressed, but generally she’s handling it well.”
Flora was no expert, but she didn’t think Izzy was handling it well at all.
“She’s great with her sister.”
“Yes, right from the moment Molly was born the two of them have been inseparable.” He put his glass on the table and sat down on the seat, tugging her down next to him. “I’m not sure how I would have coped this last year without Izzy.”
“Where is she now?”
“Officially? In her room doing homework, although I suspect she’s messaging her friends.”
They were alone, and yet not alone.
If she glanced up, would she find Izzy watching them?
“Thank you for coming to the rescue today, Jack. I couldn’t believe it when you arrived at my apartment. That must have been inconvenient and annoying for the girls. I’ll start making phone calls first thing on Monday and find somewhere else to live.”
“Why would you do that?”
“Because I’m sure the last thing the girls want, or need, is me staying here. You probably already pushed your luck by coming to get me.”
“Coming to get you was Izzy’s idea.”
“Really?” She couldn’t have been more surprised by that news. “Izzy suggested coming into Manhattan to get me?”
“Yes. She heard me on the phone and was worried.”
“That was thoughtful and incredibly kind.” She was touched, relieved and a little bemused.
She’d been so sure that Izzy resented her, but what evidence was there for that?
She’d talked about Becca. But what was wrong with that? It was good that she felt comfortable enough to talk about her mother. Flora was being oversensitive.
Having rationalized it, she raised her glass. “You have wonderful daughters.”
“I think so, but I’m willing to admit to bias.”
She was conscious of how close he was. She had to physically stop herself from lifting her mouth to his. “You should be biased. You’re their dad. It’s part of the role. They’re lucky to have you.”
“What happened to your dad?”
“My mother spent a summer painting in Europe. Tuscany. Corfu. Paris. She met a guy and they traveled and painted together for a while. When the summer ended, she came home and discovered she was pregnant.” It was something she’d never discussed with anyone. Not Julia. Not even her aunt.
“She never tried to contact him?”
“Yes. He didn’t want a family. He blamed her for getting pregnant.” It was easy to talk in the sheltered, leafy cocoon of his garden. The warm evening air was sweetened by the scent of honeysuckle and jasmine, and distant city noises blended with the call of birds and the hum of insects.
“You’ve never thought of trying to trace him?”
“No.” The last thing she needed was to meet someone else who wasn’t interested in her, but she didn’t share that.
He took her wineglass and set it down next to his on the table.
“I’m sorry you lost your home.”
“I’m not. It’s not as if it was the dream. I mean, for a while it was—I couldn’t wait to have my own place.” She’d never told anyone this before. Dreams were perhaps the most intimate thing you could share with a person, fragile and easily damaged. “When I was living with my aunt I used to literally dream about it. I felt so lonely, I cheered myself up by imagining a home that was all mine. And it didn’t have to be huge or fancy. I was just excited about having my own place. Filling it with books. Deciding what to put on the walls.”
“And?”
She stared into the darkness. “It never felt the way I imagined it would feel. Having my own place didn’t feel fun or freeing, it felt lonely. I’ve been as lonely in that apartment as I was with my aunt. You probably think that’s pathetic.”
“No. I love your honesty. I love that you don’t feel you have to put on a show for me. You’re a special person, have I told you that lately?” His head was close to hers, his smile so compelling she couldn’t help but smile back.
She could have resisted the broad shoulders and the sexy eyes. She might have been able to ignore his sharp mind and the way he listened and paid attention to small details. But his smile? His smile was lethal, and that was her downfall.
Their heads moved closer together, although she wasn’t sure if she was the one moving or him.
“You’re special, too.” That mouth, she thought. Smiling or serious, he had the most expressive mouth.
He leaned closer. Any closer and they would have been touching. “Do you feel lonely now?”
“No. Not lonely.” A little confused. A lot desperate. But definitely not lonely.
“Taking this slowly is killing me, by the way.” His gaze dropped to her mouth. “I’m trying to assess the chances of Molly wandering in if you sleep in my room.”
“Too risky. Not a good idea.”
He sighed. “Sadly, I know you’re right. It would be a great idea for us, but not so good for my kids.” He brushed away a curl from her cheek. “This can’t be easy for you.”
“It’s fine.” She knew it wasn’t easy for him, either. She wondered if the hardest part was forming a relationship with another woman. She wanted to ask, but knew better than to mention Becca.
Without warning, he captured her face in his hands and kissed her. It was brief and restrained, but no less intense for that. His tension flowed into her and his palms held her firmly as he deepened the kiss.
When he finally broke away she was glad she was sitting down. As it was, she thought it might take her heart and hopes a while to return to earth.
She picked up her glass and took a large swallow.
With a wry smile, he tapped his wineglass against hers. “To us.”
Us.
The word added to the new feeling of intimacy. She wasn’t sure she’d ever really been an “us” before.
No, right now she definitely didn’t feel lonely.
She nursed her glass. “So you’ll go to the lake with your friends this summer?�
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“Honestly? I don’t know.” He finished his wine. “The kids always loved it. They enjoy the fresh air and spending time outdoors. There’s a freedom there that they don’t have here. And Clare and Todd—well, they’re a nice family. I’m sure we’d have a good time, but I don’t want to be away from you for three weeks. Maybe you could come, too.”
“To England?” Was he joking? He had to be joking, surely. “I don’t think so.”
Spend three weeks with Becca’s closest friend?
Awkward didn’t begin to describe it.
On the other hand she didn’t relish the thought of three weeks away from him, either.
“I think it would be great.” He leaned forward, resting his arms on his thighs. “Will you think about it?”
“I’m thinking about it. Even if I could persuade Celia it was a good idea—which I doubt I could—I don’t think it would work.”
“It’s one of the most beautiful places I’ve ever visited. Lake Lodge is set right on the edge of the water in acres of private land. Wait—” He dug his hand in his pocket and pulled out his phone. “I have a photo.” He scrolled and then showed her the screen.
She saw a lake framed by mountains and dense forest. It seemed that a whole world, compact and quite breathtakingly beautiful, was contained in that one shot.
Apart from the water, it did look idyllic.
“It’s not the place that worries me, Jack.” True, the lake itself wasn’t appealing but presumably water-based activities were optional.
“So it’s the people? The Dickinsons are always welcoming. They’re a very laid-back family.”
Maybe, but how laid-back would they be if Jack were to show up with a new woman a year after Becca’s death?
She handed his phone back. “You assume that everyone is going to be fine that we’re together.”
“Why wouldn’t they be?”
“These people were friends of Becca’s. They might resent you bringing another woman to stay.”
“Or they might not. They’re my friends, too. I hope they’d be relieved and pleased. I would, if the situation was reversed.”
Men were different, she thought. It wasn’t Clare’s husband she was worried about. It was Clare herself. Her friendship with Becca hadn’t been a casual thing. Apparently they’d been as close as two friends could be since they were in kindergarten.
“What about the girls?”
“What about them? Molly invited you—you heard her.”
“That was an impulsive, spontaneous child thing. I don’t for one moment think she meant it.”
“What if she did mean it?” He swept aside protests like dust.
“There’s still Izzy—”
“What about Izzy? Things are going great. You’re running with her tomorrow. Which is both surprising and adorable by the way.”
“Adorable?”
He gave a faint smile. “Because you’re doing it to get closer to my daughter. It’s the most thoughtful, crazy thing anyone has done for me in a long time.”
It was the craziest thing she’d done for anyone in a long time.
“Maybe I’m doing it for me, because I think physical fitness is important.”
“Do you?”
“Yes. So many diseases are linked with lack of exercise, but everyone knows that working out on your own is boring so I’m superexcited to have Izzy to run with.” She could tell he didn’t believe her.
“Is there anything you need?”
“What are you offering? Ambulance? First responder at the ready?”
He laughed. “I was thinking more of a good pair of running shoes.”
“Oh.” She smoothed her hair back from her face and tried to recapture dignity. “I have running shoes.”
“They wear out over time.”
Hers had never been given a chance to wear out. “Mine are fine. I suppose if you have a spare oxygen tank that might be useful.”
He leaned across and kissed her. “You,” he said, “are so damn cute.”
“When I cross the finish line of the New York Marathon, you’re going to apologize for patronizing me.”
“I’m not patronizing you. I think you’re incredible. But no one goes from couch to marathon in one session, Flora.”
“Who said anything about a marathon? We’ll start gently.”
“Izzy is fast and fit. Don’t let her push you. But it’s great that you’re doing this. First you get Molly drawing again, and now this. Izzy used to run all the time, but she stopped after Becca died.” He frowned. “I don’t know why. Maybe because running without her mother felt wrong. But now she’s asked you to go with her. That’s really positive.”
“I hope so.”
Flora had a sneaking suspicion that Izzy’s invitation to run had been motivated by darker forces, like a desire to see her father’s new girlfriend die of natural causes.
Either way, the following morning promised to be interesting.
8
Izzy
People said running was good for your mental health, but right now it wasn’t doing anything for hers.
Izzy increased her speed in the hope that moving faster might help her escape her feelings.
She hadn’t run since her mother had died and not only was she out of condition, but it also brought back memories. No matter how fit she’d been, her mother had always been able to outpace her. At the time it had frustrated Izzy, that she could never be as good as her mother at anything she did.
Now, she just wished she had a chance to run with her again. She could picture her mother ahead of her, pulling into the distance. Izzy might have called after her to wait, but her mother never waited for anyone. She followed her own agenda. If you couldn’t keep up you were left behind.
Now it was Izzy in the lead, and Flora was the one lagging in her wake. Izzy didn’t want her to catch up in case Flora saw the tears drying on her cheeks.
She pounded along the street, longing to stop and drag air into her heaving lungs but she could hear the rhythmic sounds of Flora’s feet close behind her.
Why had she suggested running together? Because she had thought Flora would say no.
Far from dragging her feet, Flora had been up before Izzy and had been waiting by the front door when Izzy had appeared downstairs. And although Izzy would have drowned herself in the East River before admitting it, Flora looked good. She was wearing the coolest pair of leggings Izzy had ever seen, a silvery gray leopard print that caught the light and sculpted her lower body. She’d actually apologized for them, telling Izzy they were her yoga pants and the only pair she owned, and Izzy had shrugged dismissively and hoped Flora couldn’t see envy seeping through her eye sockets and out of her pores. She was glad her dad wasn’t awake to see Flora dressed for running. She was pretty sure he would have tripped over his tongue, fallen down the stairs and then she and Molly would have been orphans.
With her bubbly long hair tied in a ponytail, Flora looked energetic and enthusiastic.
Izzy felt tired and testy and she hadn’t even run two steps.
And now, here they were, feet pounding in rhythm, synchronized.
Feeling irritable, Izzy increased her pace.
At this rate the last laugh was going to be Flora’s. That’s if either of them had the breath to laugh.
They reached the Brooklyn Bridge as the sun rose. In the distance she could see the Statue of Liberty and New York Harbor, and beneath them the sparkling expanse of the East River.
It had been her mother’s favorite run, and Becca had always insisted on going early before the route was crowded with pedestrians and cyclists.
The only place she’d ever stopped was on the bridge and then she would throw back her head, take a sip of water and smile a self-satisfied smile, allowing herself less than a minute of contemplation. We live in the greatest city in the world, Izzy. City of dreams.
Shaking off the image, Izzy glanced over her shoulder and saw Flora had stopped at the edge of the b
ridge. Her eyes were closed, her face was red and she was panting for breath.
Izzy stopped, too. Respect bloomed inside her. Grudging, but there.
“Are you okay?” She had a feeling that if she killed Flora, her father wouldn’t be pleased. She liked to think she wouldn’t be pleased either, but lately she didn’t recognize herself. She didn’t examine her responses too closely, because she wasn’t sure she was going to like what she saw.
Flora dragged in a great gulp of air. “I’m so unfit.” But she was laughing in between the pants and Izzy found herself almost smiling, too.
It unsettled her, so she turned away and stared at the Manhattan skyline as her mother had always done.
“It’s the greatest city in the world. City of dreams.” She parroted her mother’s words and then felt foolish. They sounded wrong coming out of her mouth, and not only because she hadn’t visited that many cities. The irony was that her mother didn’t believe in dreams. She believed in action. Goal setting. She was constantly moving forward.
“I’ve lived here all my life and this is the first time I’ve seen the sunrise from here.”
“Do you want to run onto the bridge?”
“No. I’m good here.” Flora leaned on the rail. “It’s spectacular.”
Was it?
Izzy stared at the sky and realized it actually was pretty cool. Streaked red and orange, the colors reflected off the water and the buildings.
Flora took a slug of water. “So what’s your dream, Izzy?”
“What?”
“Your dream. What is it?”
Izzy stared at her. How was she supposed to answer that? For you to leave my dad alone. For my mom to come back to life. For me to unknow what I know.
Flora didn’t want to hear any of that any more than Izzy wanted to say those thoughts aloud.
“Dreaming is a waste of time.”
“Oh no.” Flora sounded distressed. “Dreaming is never a waste of time. Dreaming is creative. It allows you to imagine a life unlike the one you’re living.”
Izzy took another mouthful of water. “Better to have goals than dreams. Better to know where you’re going and plan how to get there.” Maybe she shouldn’t have said that. What if Flora took that as a prompt to form a strategic plan to nail Izzy’s dad? “We should get going because my dad needs to get to the office this morning.” Without giving Flora the opportunity to answer, she turned and jogged back the way they’d come.
