“Only you know for sure. Do you want to forgive him?”
“He went to prison, Amy. That’s not a small thing.”
“I know,” Amy said in that sweet way of hers. “But you’re also not a small person. I’ve never known you to judge anyone, especially for things they can’t necessarily control. He can’t change his past. None of us can. What kind of person is he now?”
“One who lied to me. Or at least hid a big part of the truth.” As they continued their discussion, it felt more and more as if Bridget were arguing with her own lingering insecurities and not Amy.
“Yeah, that was bad, but what else? I never got to know him, so I can’t help here. What kind of man is he outside of this whole”—she swept her hand in a circle—“prison thing?”
Bridget laughed at her friend’s choice of words. “Prison thing, huh?”
Amy just shrugged and waited. She wasn’t often pushy, but once Amy decided something would help one of her friends, she refused to let it go.
Bridget sighed. “He did try to keep me away, said I didn’t want a friend like him. And even though he didn’t want me running with him at first, he saw that it was important to me and so he let me come. He was patient with me even though I slowed him way down on those first few runs. He taught me how to cook, made me laugh, and doted on my dogs. He even bought me a little stuffed dog that looks like Teddy just because.”
Amy smiled. “Sounds like he was pretty great.”
“Most of the time,” Bridget admitted. “I still don’t get it, though. If he’d just told me, I would have been okay with it. I would have been shocked and had a lot of questions, but I would have easily seen him for the man he is now rather than who he was then.”
“Sometimes we hide things from those we care about in order to protect them. Maybe that’s what Wesley was trying to do, as misguided as we now know that was.”
“But I would never do something like that. I—” Bridget stopped abruptly. “I did exactly that by trying to keep the fundraiser from you guys, didn’t I?”
Amy pointed at her and made a little clicking sound. “Bull’s-eye.”
“Okay, Ms. Smart Gal, you got me. So what should I do now?”
“Well, you still haven’t answered my original question. Do you miss him?” Amy’s gaze bored into her. Whatever Bridget answered now wouldn’t matter; her friend would see the truth even if it didn’t match her words.
Best not to lie. There had been too many lies already.
“Yes,” Bridget confessed, realizing just how much truth that one tiny word held. “Yes, I do.”
Amy hugged Bridget tight, then let go. “Then you know exactly what you need to do, but first let’s go get some more cookies.”
Chapter 41
Bridget had been sitting in the parking lot outside the small café for at least ten minutes already. She studied her face in her car’s rearview mirror, stopping just short of whispering affirmations to herself. She’d already elicited a concerned glance from an elderly woman passing by.
Normally, she didn’t care much what others thought of her or about how she looked, but today she agonized over both. Her clumpy mascara and overgrown eyebrows made her look like a tween only playing at the role of woman. She also spied a new pimple blossoming into existence near her hairline. She never got pimples, but of course she’d have one now that it actually mattered.
Her cell phone rang in the cupholder beside her—David from the shelter. She sent the call straight to voice mail and then silenced the ringer.
The last thing she needed was distractions. This would already be difficult enough without any extra help from the outside.
This was it. It was time.
The sign for Bailey’s had been drawn in ornate, loopy script, a bit too fancy, given the family-friendly atmosphere inside. A little jingling bell announced her arrival as she pushed through the glass door and stepped in front of the hostess station.
It was two P.M. on a Monday, too late for the lunch rush and too early for dinner. She’d gotten special permission to leave the vet clinic early just so she could make this visit. Now fate would decide the rest, she supposed. Either Wesley was here and would agree to talk with her, or she’d have missed him yet again.
A heavyset middle-aged woman marched over with a stack of menus loaded in her arms. She smiled when she noticed Bridget waiting on the oversized welcome mat. “Hello, dear. Just one today?”
“Yes, please. But I’m hoping to make it two. Is Wesley here?” She glanced hopefully toward the little window that looked back into the kitchen but didn’t see Wesley or anyone else behind it.
The waitress dropped the menus in the waiting rack, then studied Bridget a bit more closely, a huge grin lighting her face. “Oh, yes, he is. I’ll send him straight out. Go ahead and pick any table you want. I’m sure he’ll only be a minute.”
Bridget thanked her, then found a small booth in the back corner of the restaurant. The tall seats made of worn leather would provide a nice private alcove where she and Wesley could speak freely—at least that’s what she hoped.
Five minutes passed, then ten.
Hmm. The waitress had confirmed that Wesley was here, so why wasn’t he here?
Another five minutes passed.
Was he just as nervous to meet with her as she was to see him again? Or maybe he was making a getaway while Bridget was otherwise occupied? Either seemed equally likely.
She’d begun to debate asking after Wesley again when at last her former neighbor/friend/crush appeared carrying a mug of coffee for each of them along with a bowl full of disposable creamers.
The waitress from earlier scuttled over with two slices of warm apple pie, set them on the table, and rushed off with a swinging gait.
“Sorry about the wait,” he said with a tight-lipped smile, almost as if he were afraid to assume anything positive could come from this interaction. “I needed to take care of a few quick things so that I could clock out for the day.”
Bridget opened one creamer and two packets of sugar and dumped them into the mug before her. “Sorry to bother you at work,” she said as she swirled the contents together with a shining silver spoon. “I didn’t know how else to get in touch with you.”
“I know,” Wesley said, finally sliding onto the bench seat across from her. “Sorry about that. I didn’t think you’d want to find me. Otherwise, I would have made sure to tell you I’d moved.”
She reached into her purse and extracted the envelope that held his check. “I can’t accept this,” she said, pushing it across the table toward him. “It’s too much.”
He shook his head and crossed his arms over his chest. “I can afford it, and I want you and the animals to have it.”
“But how, Wesley? I know money is tight for you, and that’s okay. It’s so generous that you wanted to make a donation, but—”
“I found a new apartment that costs three hundred less per month, and I gave up a few nonessentials. So it’s totally fine. The shelter needs this money more than I do.”
“Nonessentials? Like your phone?” she asked, eyes wide with disbelief. Why had he done this? Was it for her? “You didn’t have to do that,” she added, averting her gaze as heat rushed into her cheeks.
When she glanced back toward him, Wesley’s eyes glistened like melting ice caps. He pushed the check back across the table. “Please keep it. Please.”
She could continue to fight with him, or she could move on to the next thing she wanted to say. And Bridget worried if she battled with him too long about the donation, Wesley would leave before the most important things were said. She smiled, swallowing back any further argument.
“Okay, thank you for this, and thank you for telling me about . . .” She glanced around the restaurant, not wanting to accidentally reveal Wesley’s secret to his coworkers. “Everything,” she finished at last.
“I’m sorry it wasn’t sooner.” His hand flinched, and Bridget wondered if he wanted to reach out and
take hers, if maybe she wanted that, too.
“I know. That’s not why I’m here, though.” Her heart sped to a wild canter, each beat a whisper reminding her what needed to happen next. Wesley had at last opened himself up to her at the race, and now she needed to return the favor.
I admire you so much, he’d said. But did he feel the same way she’d now realized she’d felt ever since that evening early in their relationship when he’d brought soup to her apartment?
She didn’t know. And there was only one way to find out.
Wesley flinched and looked away. “Then why are you here?” he mumbled into his coffee.
Bridget had to tell him. She owed it to both of them.
Chapter 42
Bridget stabbed her fork into the slice of apple pie sitting before her, not because she was hungry but because she needed a moment to think about how she wanted to say what came next. The apple filling tasted shockingly sweet after the bitterness of the coffee, even with the two packets of sugar Bridget had added to make it palatable.
She considered her words carefully as she chewed.
Wesley picked up his fork but didn’t make a move for his pie; instead he bounced it nervously between his fingers.
At last she swallowed and said, “I understand why you were afraid to tell me. I still wish you had, but I do understand.”
He nodded and wrapped his hands around his mug.
“Have you seen Jon since it all happened?” she asked, wondering if she was prying. It wasn’t that she needed to know, just that she needed him to understand she was still here, she was someone he could talk to.
Wesley frowned into his coffee. “Not since court. Even with his commuted sentence, he’s still in for a lot longer than I was. Since he was the one to actually fire the gun, he got sent out of state to a max facility while I got to stay at Goose Creek, the same prison where your friend works as a guard.”
She nodded along, making sure she kept her expression neutral. If he felt judged, Wesley would run—and they both knew she wouldn’t have a prayer’s chance of catching up to him again. “Have you forgiven him?” she asked thoughtfully.
“A long time ago. He made his choices, and I made mine. There isn’t any going back, so we may as well move forward.”
Bridget nodded again. “That’s how I feel, too. I wish we could have started out differently, but what’s done is done. Now that I know this huge, important thing about you, I feel like I understand you better, too.”
“I’m not the same man I was then,” he insisted as he set his fork down and laid his hands on the tabletop.
She reached out and took one in hers. “I know. Life has changed me a lot recently, too. Losing my mom . . .”
Bridget paused to avoid crying. “I’ll never be the same, but it doesn’t mean I have to settle for being anything less than I want to be. And neither do you.”
“People judge me. I had to apply for more than two dozen jobs before I finally found someone who would say yes. Same with apartments. Nobody wants me around. Not with my record.”
Before meeting Wesley that summer, Bridget would have been just the same as all those other people—unwilling to give him a chance when there were so many others out there who could fill a job, rent an apartment, be a friend.
But wasn’t it the scars of life that gave a person character? Her best friends had all come together for just that reason: their hurts matched. Although their past struggles looked different, perhaps Wesley and Bridget could still fit together, too.
She wanted that and hoped he did, too.
“I do. I want you around.” She let her words sink in, those two little words that said so much, that said it all. “And if others judge you based on a past that you’ve already made up for, well, that’s their loss. Me? I don’t like losing, and I don’t want to lose the friendship we’ve built. Lord knows you didn’t make it easy.”
They both laughed gently. Something broke between them—not a bond, but a wall. Now they sat face-to-face in full view of each other, with open minds, open hearts.
Bridget’s look turned stern. “I get that you were trying to protect me by keeping me away, but I’m strong enough to protect myself. So don’t ever do that again, okay?”
He let out a full, rich laugh now. “Okay.”
“I forgive you for not telling me sooner, but that doesn’t mean I won’t get angry at you about something else, maybe about lots of something elses. We’ll take each one as it comes, because that’s what friends do.”
Wesley appeared sad for a moment, then his face lifted in a warm grin. His icy exterior had also cracked and was finally letting the warmth inside shine through. “I haven’t had a good friend in a long time, and before that I had Jon, who did more harm than good.”
“Well, now you have me. And I’m not going anywhere unless you send me away again. You’re so much more than just some guy who went to prison, Wesley. You have a kind and generous heart. Heck, even your dogs are proof of that.” She reached into her bag and took out the gift she’d stashed inside. When planning for today, she hadn’t been certain they’d reach this point. She’d hoped, though, and that’s why she was ready now....
“Boo,” Wesley said upon spotting the plush Pomeranian he’d given her less than a month earlier. “The world’s cutest dog. After Teddy, of course.”
Bridget playfully walked the dog across the table and bumped him into Wesley’s hand. “I know you meant this as a gift for me, but I want you to have it. That way you’ll see him and know that I’m there for you, that you have at least one person in the world who sees past everything.”
Wesley accepted the small toy and raised it to meet his eyes. “Do the dogs miss me?” he asked, keeping his eyes on Boo as he spoke.
“Not as much as I have, but they’ll be happy to see you again for sure.”
“What about your friends? What about Trent?”
“They’ll be happy that I’m happy.”
He frowned, but then Bridget reached for both of his hands and held them tightly in hers. “And I am. Happy, I mean.”
“Me, too,” he said, his voice cracking on that last word. “Me, too.”
Chapter 43
Bridget and Wesley sat in that corner booth for a long time. He told her more of his back story, and she shared memories from her past, too.
“So you met all your Potluck Club friends in the cancer ward?” he asked, both eyebrows raised in surprise. Everyone reacted that way when they found out about the club’s origins.
“More like in the hospital cafeteria, but yeah. Each of us had a parent going through treatment. We met Hazel last. Her father didn’t stick around long before deciding he’d rather die on his own terms and in his own home.” Bridget placed a final crease in her napkin, completing its transformation into an origami fortune teller.
When she was young they’d been called cootie catchers. All the other kids had stopped making them after fifth grade, but Bridget had continued to fold scraps of paper into the soothing pattern whenever the mood struck.
Choose a number. Discover your future.
“That must have been really hard on her,” Wesley said, returning her squarely to the past. Such awful circumstances had brought her friends together, and yet another one had helped her to discover the true nature of her feelings for Wesley.
Bad came with good, if you stuck around long enough to find it.
Did Wesley know this, too?
Bridget swept her fortune teller to the side of the table. Stop fidgeting, she scolded herself.
“It was,” she confided in Wesley now, “and it’s why we decided to move our meetups outside of the hospital. That way Hazel could still be a part of it with us.”
Wesley scooped up her craft project and tried to go through the motions, but the napkin was too weak to be further manipulated. He, too, swept it aside. “You were good friends to her.”
“We’re all always there for one another, no matter what.”
He cl
eared his throat after choking on nothing. Why had her words surprised him? Was it because his friendships had turned out so differently?
She hated that. Wanted something different for him now. But she couldn’t be the one to change the course of his life. He had to do that for himself.
Wesley sniffed and averted his gaze to his lap. “That’s why they got so worried, when I showed up. They’ll never accept—”
Bridget grabbed his hand and forced him to raise his eyes to meet hers. “No. They will. Trent didn’t know the full story about how you were involved with what happened back then. It was the fact that I had no idea about your past that really set them into protective mode.”
“I deserved that,” he said morosely, but at least he didn’t apologize again. He’d already mumbled a dozen different versions of “sorry” that afternoon, and if he couldn’t move past it, then their friendship would be stuck right there. She so badly wanted to start over.
“Yes, you did, but you also deserve a second chance.” Suddenly, Bridget had an idea that excited her, and she needed to share it with Wesley. “Come with me this weekend.”
“Come where?” He pulled back slightly, caught off guard by her sudden change in demeanor.
Bridget squeezed his hand, willed him to read her heart as she tried to transmit her emotions through their skin-to-skin connection. “To Hazel and Keith’s wedding. Be my plus-one.”
“Are you sure they’re ready for that?”
“I’ll give them a heads-up. Amy is the one who encouraged me to find and talk to you, you know. I’m sure she’s had a heart-to-heart with Trent, too.”
He twisted his face in thought, ending on a frown. “But I don’t have a nice suit.”
“Come as you are. No judgment, seriously.” Judgment was what had screwed them up before—his fear of it and her inability to avoid it.
“I’ll feel weird if I’m the only one who’s not dressed up, like everyone’s staring at me.”
“Then borrow a suit from my brother.”
Wednesday Walks & Wags Page 15
