Читать книгу The Goodbye Groom - Ellen James - Страница 11

Dinner finished, Jamie set her fork down regretfully. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d had quite so satisfying a meal. When the housekeeper appeared poolside a few moments later, Jamie told her as much.

“You’re a wonderful cook, Mrs. Braddock.”

“Yes, absolutely wonderful,” said Kaitlin, sounding very grown-up. The corner of Mrs. B.’s mouth gave a twitch, but otherwise she acknowledged the compliments with a brisk, professional nod.

“All right,” she said. “Front and center—everyone under the age of twenty can help me with the dishes.”

Kaitlin stole a peek at Jamie.

“No way—I plead the fifth,” Jamie told the little girl, as deadpan as possible. “As we know, a woman never discusses her age.”

Kaitlin seemed to consider this and then nodded in solemn agreement. She began gathering the cups and silverware while Eric stacked the plates. The two Sinclairs worked efficiently together. Whenever Eric glanced at his daughter, the tenderness in his eyes was clear. Yet perhaps there was a glimpse of puzzlement, as well. He seemed to be asking questions of himself, immersed in private musings, and Jamie suddenly felt like an intruder in this little family circle. To cover her sense of loneliness and confusion, she busied herself by helping to transport the dishes topside to Mrs. Braddock’s tray.

Now Kaitlin padded across the patio, trailing Mrs. B. As the two of them reached the door to the house, Mrs. B.’s voice came faintly. “All right. Everyone who has wet feet can dry them on this towel.”

Jamie and Eric remained seated at the table, their own legs still submerged. The water was pleasant, even as the shadows of evening lengthened around them. The master of the house had said nothing about her rearranging the furniture, and she gave him credit for that. He behaved as if it were perfectly normal to sip after-dinner wine quite literally alfresco. And yet his presence disconcerted her, had done so since the first moment she’d met him. Maybe it was that she hadn’t even known of his existence until today. Why hadn’t Shawn mentioned Eric? What strains between two brothers could lead to such an omission?

In the short time Jamie had been in the Sinclair home she’d discovered a few facts on her own. It was clear that Eric Sinclair loved his daughter very much. It was equally clear that Kaitlin loved her dad very much. Yet the two of them seemed to have just a bit of trouble connecting. They both seemed to share an elemental reserve.

At times Kaitlin seemed on the verge of relaxing. But then she’d hold back, as if afraid to indulge—as if afraid that happiness and security could all too easily be snatched away.

Jamie believed she understood at least some of Kaitlin’s uncertainty. This afternoon, Mrs. Braddock had let slip a few details about Eric Sinclair. A recent difficult divorce, tense custody arrangements. It was a story familiar to Jamie from her own childhood. Even under the best of circumstances it hurt deeply. And the circumstances, perhaps, could never be the best.

Even when a father cared for his daughter as much as Eric Sinclair evidently did.

Jamie took a sip from her wineglass. Eric hadn’t spoken for several minutes. The light of the candles flickered between them on the table. Eric’s face remained in shadow, obscured by the growing night, yet he still managed to dominate his surroundings. There was nothing easy about him, nothing restful. As soon as his daughter had gone with Mrs. B., he’d reverted to the forbidding demeanor of this afternoon.

Then it occurred to her how things had been exactly the opposite with Shawn. It had been so easy to be swept up in dreams of love and a new life. Until the moment, of course, when he had neglected to show up at the altar.

“It’s getting late,” she said. “And it has been a long day.”

“You can’t turn in,” Eric said, “until you come clean. How did you get my daughter into the water? Beyond throwing my furniture into the brink, what’s the rationale?”

Jamie turned her wineglass in one hand, staring at the reflection of the candlelight. “Simple. I just told her the truth. I told her that when I was a little older than her I was deathly afraid of flying. But I was going to visit my father for the first time since my parents’ divorce, and the only way to do that was to get on that plane…. ” She was telling too much. She had to stick to the point. “So, I decided I would combine something I loved with the thing that I hated. I grabbed my favorite Nancy Drew mystery and stuck my head in it for the entire flight. Sure enough, by the end, I hardly even knew I was flying. And then, after the next flight and the next, I wasn’t so afraid anymore.”

Jamie set down her glass, watching as Eric filled it again. She was already perhaps too intoxicated by the northwestern air, the mysteriousness of this night. “Anyway,” she continued, “I suggested to Kaitlin that she try the same technique—associate something she wasn’t afraid of with the pool. She told me that she was hungry and that she certainly wasn’t afraid of dinner.”

Eric filled his own glass and took a thoughtful sip. “You have a novel approach, Ms. Williams—Jamie. And I happen to be grateful.”

For some reason, she didn’t want his gratitude. She hadn’t helped Kaitlin for that, anyway. She’d simply responded to the moment, with a little girl who reminded her of herself as a child.

“Simple psychology,” she said. “It worked for me, in any case. I grew to love flying instead of hating it. Even started taking lessons so I could get my pilot’s license.” She didn’t want to talk about herself to this man, so why was she doing it? Yet he’d learn certain facts soon enough. She couldn’t hide them. “Flying was how I met your brother,” she went on. “Eventually I became a flight instructor myself. He signed up for lessons. End of story.”

“Interesting way to put it.” Eric’s voice betrayed no emotion. He and his daughter were very much alike indeed, both reluctant to expose their feelings.

Unfortunately the turbulent events of the past few days had shattered any reserve on Jamie’s part. She found herself speaking again.

“The point is, I could tell right away your brother was a genuinely warm person. We started dating, and by the time we were engaged I knew he wanted a home and a family as much as I did—” She stopped herself but not in time. She was definitely revealing too much.

Eric shifted in his chair, as if he, too, regretted her revelations. “Look, Jamie. I sense you’re telling me this because you want me to convince you of something. Maybe you want me to tell you that you didn’t make a mistake where Shawn’s concerned. Hell, I’m not going to argue with you about my brother’s better qualities. He does have them. But he’s the one you need to speak to.”

“That’s why I came here. I just need to talk to him. And after that…” She didn’t know what would happen afterward. She didn’t seem to know anything about her life anymore.

Jamie set down her glass and stood. “It really has been a long day. I’ll say good night, Mr. Sin—Eric.”

He rose to stand beside her. “For what it’s worth,” he said, “I’m sorry about my brother.”

“Thank you,” she said tightly.

She and Eric both moved at the same time, the water eddying around them. She intended to climb the pool steps and go to the house; he no doubt meant to let her pass. But it didn’t end up that way. Somehow they were facing each other and Eric’s hand was on her arm.

It should have been a meaningless, accidental touch, a mistake in the darkness. Yet it sent a disconcerting warmth all through her, made her draw in her breath. Dismayed, she found herself gazing up at him. But he was still enclosed by the shadows, not even the light spilling from the windows of the house able to reach him.

Then, just as suddenly as it had happened, it was over. He stepped back, murmured a good-night, and she was on her way toward the house, her bare, damp feet moving across the stones of the patio, her sandals dangling from her hand. Her breath still rose and fell unsteadily.

Surely it had only been the effect of wine and weariness and heartache. She’d been left at the altar—no wonder all her reactions seemed heightened. But she didn’t need to spend any more time with the groom’s brother.

What she needed was to find the groom.

THE NEXT MORNING Jamie zipped up her duffel and swung her carry-on bag over her shoulder. This was the sum total of her luggage. She’d always been the type to travel light—and yesterday even more so. Racing to catch a runaway fiancé, a person had a tendency to ignore the finer details of packing.

She couldn’t stop now. She’d come this far to demand her explanation from Shawn and she had to keep looking for him. She needed to learn the truth or she’d have no hope of getting on with her life.

Why did you walk out on me? Why did you leave, just like my dad all those years ago…?

He wasn’t here to answer her questions. That was why she had to take the next step—go to Seattle. Mrs. Braddock, in her sensible, straightforward manner, had suggested last night that Shawn would be found there. Consequently, Jamie had fortified herself with her favorite dress, a tailored style in turquoise silk.

Now she went quickly down the stairs and out of the house to the driveway, where a dark blue truck waited. Mrs. Braddock helped her put her bags in the back. The housekeeper was about to climb into the driver’s seat when Eric appeared.

“Thank you, Mrs. B.,” he said. “I’ll take over from here.”

Mrs. Braddock gave him a considering glance, apparently not intimidated in the least by his stern demeanor. She tossed him the keys, gave a brisk farewell to Jamie and disappeared inside. Jamie glanced upward, wondering if, for just a second, she’d seen Kaitlin’s heart-shaped face hovering at one of the windows. Jamie waved, but now the window was blank. Why did she feel this sudden ache inside? It made no sense at all—she scarcely knew the child.

A few moments later Eric was driving Jamie down the hill, the dazzling waters of the Sound sparkling before them. At first she made no effort at conversation. She told herself simply to gaze straight ahead. Another few moments and she would probably never see Eric Sinclair again. There was no reason to feel this unsettling awareness. Last night she’d been able to blame it on wine and exhaustion. This morning she could only blame it on the fact that she had been ditched at the altar. Did she want to get back at Shawn for what he’d done to her? Being attracted to Shawn’s brother, there would be a revenge….

She shook her head. If only it were that simple. She sensed something far more in her confused emotions, something unexplainable. The sooner she got away from Eric Sinclair, the better.

Reluctantly, she found herself studying his profile. The man was unquestionably attractive. The strong, definitive lines of his face suggested the force of personality she was already coming to know. His thick dark hair curled just a bit over his collar, conveying a certain rebellion. He was not someone who would fit neatly into any category. Yesterday’s sophisticated business suit had implied that he was an executive. Today, however, he wore shorts and a polo shirt and he was driving a vehicle well suited to the lush, wild greenery of the island.

Jamie realized that she was staring and forced her gaze forward. “I’d expect a sports car from you,” she said. “Something that could get you anywhere fast.”

“What makes you think I like to drive fast?” He sounded faintly amused.

“Just a hunch. I have a feeling you don’t like anything—or anyone—to get in the way.”

“Maybe I should just drive a bulldozer.”

Jamie almost smiled at that. She couldn’t help herself—she looked at him again and saw a hint of humor playing about his mouth.

“I have plans for this truck,” he said. “I’m thinking about getting a camper. Kaitlin’s mentioned that she’d like to go camping.”

“Let me guess. She mentioned that she liked cats, and you got her a kitten.”

“Lord, am I that pathetic?” he asked. “I throw presents at my daughter and hope it’ll make her love me.”

Neither of them spoke for a few seconds. Then Eric gave a slight, impatient shrug.

“The divorce was hard on her.”

“It’s hard for any child.”

“That’s right, you speak from experience.”

She’d definitely revealed too much last night, but now more slipped out. “I was nine years old when my parents broke up. It was very messy, nothing civil about it. My mother has yet to move on. So, yes, I understand what it’s like.”

Lost in her thoughts, it took Jamie a minute to realize that they’d turned right instead of left toward the pier.

“I’ll be late,” she said.

“Don’t worry—I’ll get you to the ferry in plenty of time.” Eric drove down one street and then another, ending up in front of a building of mellowed brick that had the words Ulysses Elementary lettered in stone above the wide front doors. Since it was summer, no children were about. Eric cut the engine.

“What are we doing here?” Jamie asked.

“Not sure myself. Just followed an impulse.”

“I doubt,” she said, “that you follow impulses very often.”

He leaned back in his seat, one hand resting on the steering wheel. “I seem that dull to you?”

Definitely not dull. Enigmatic, disturbing, irritating…but not dull in the least.

“I only meant that you’re a focused sort of person. I’m sure you have other things to do today.”

He gazed broodingly toward the school. “There’s always something else to do,” he murmured almost to himself. “That’s the way it is now. That’s the way it was when Shawn and I were kids. One or the other of us always messing up somehow. Not measuring up.”

Jamie didn’t speak. Eric seemed lost in his own memories, and she did not want to intrude. Then he stirred and addressed her once more.

“This is the school Shawn and I both went to. Did he tell you about Mrs. Green’s reign of terror in the third grade?”

Jamie sighed. “He didn’t tell me about you, so he certainly didn’t tell me about his school days.” It was humiliating, really. When you were going to marry someone, you were supposed to know all those little stories about him—his third-grade teacher, the friends he’d had, the friends he’d lost. Why hadn’t she noticed that Shawn had been less than forthcoming about his past and family? Had she been so blinded by her own emotions? Why hadn’t she persisted whenever Shawn had so adroitly changed the subject? And why, most of all, hadn’t he wanted to share with her?

“I’m lucky I even know he grew up here,” Jamie said. “It’s as if he never wanted me to know the ordinary facts and details of his life. As if somehow that would give me too much control over him.”

“I’ll fill in the blanks, then. Mrs. Green scared us all to death. Yet, when I broke my arm falling off the wall out back, she’s the one who drove me to the hospital. Nobody could reach my parents, so she just took charge. Kept telling me stories about her own son so I’d forget how much it hurt. That’s when I first discovered that people aren’t always what they seem.”

A breeze drifted through the open windows of the truck. Jamie settled back in her seat, gazing toward Eric’s school but seeing her own childhood.

“Third grade,” she said. “Third grade is when I beat up Charlie Henderson. I found him pouring water down an anthill and I soon put a stop to that. Got sent to the principal’s office afterward.”

“Defender of the weak and innocent,” Eric observed with a smile.

“Not according to my mom. She said you didn’t pummel boys no matter what the reason. Maybe you weren’t supposed to trust them, but you weren’t supposed to beat up on them, either. You were just supposed to make darn sure one of them never broke your heart.”

“Did you listen?”

“Apparently not or I wouldn’t be here.”

“Did my brother break your heart, Jamie?” Eric asked quietly.

She clenched her hands in her lap. “Yes—I don’t know. Right now I just think I hate him.”

“Hating someone usually means you still care…a lot.”

How could she describe what she felt inside? A turmoil that had a great deal to do with Shawn Sinclair—but also something to do with his brother. The stress of the last day or two had simply been too much. If only she could just go home or at least spend some time by herself to think things over, to recover….

She couldn’t. Deep inside she knew there would be no recovery for her without the truth. And only Shawn could provide that.

“I really don’t want to miss the ferry, Eric.”

“We still have plenty of time. Tell me, Jamie. Do you still see your father?”

She believed she knew what he was really asking. Will my daughter survive this divorce? Will she still talk to me when she’s grown?

Jamie could have told him she was the last person to offer reassurances. But his intensity, his sincere questioning, got to her. He cared very much about that little girl.

Jamie searched for the right words. “My dad and I…we have a cordial relationship, I suppose. Not exactly close but not distant, either. Somewhere in between. He lives in Colorado. I visit him and my stepmother and my step-sisters when I get a chance. As for my mother and me…that’s the more complex relationship. I see her every other day. We speak on the phone. And yet I’ve never told her that I love her. Mom doesn’t encourage talk about such things. But, still…if you meet a man and tell him after four weeks that you love him, you damn well should be able to express your emotions to your own blasted family.”

Jamie clenched her hands tighter, reminding herself that she usually had better rein on her tongue. She could only blame Shawn again. But perhaps she could also blame his brother. She’d just told him confidences she’d never shared with anyone else.

Not even with Shawn.

Eric drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. He didn’t say a word, just stared at that old school of his.

“I want to make the ferry,” Jamie said. “I need to make it.”

Eric didn’t speak for another long moment. Then he shrugged, as if he’d lost some argument with himself. “For what it’s worth, Jamie, last night I called Shawn on his cell phone. At his number in Seattle, too. No answer.”

“It was kind of you to try,” she said stiffly. “But this is something I need to do myself.” In the aftermath of her almost wedding, she’d already spent too much time trying to reach Shawn on his cell. Besides, what they had to discuss couldn’t really be said over the phone.

Eric gave her a thoughtful look that was impossible to decipher. He reached into his pocket and took out a slip of paper. “Shawn’s number in Seattle. His home address is there, too.”

She smoothed out the paper and stared at it. “He never even gave me this much information. Why did he hide so much?” She’d been asking that question hopelessly. She’d never know the whys until she saw the man who’d sworn he loved her.

“What’s the other address?” she asked.

“Shawn’s workplace. Well, nominal workplace. He and I share management of the family firm, but he’s not always a fan of clocking in.”

More information she hadn’t known. Jamie crumpled the paper, then smoothed it out again.

“Shawn told me he dabbled in real estate. I don’t suppose that much is true.”

“Actually, yes,” Eric said.

So her intended had been truthful, up to a point. He’d told her that he was from the Northwest, that he’d grown up on the island of Saint-Anne, that he’d relocated to New Mexico because he’d always been fascinated by the Spanish architecture there.

Wasn’t that the best way to lie? Be honest as far as you could. Just neglect to include certain crucial details.

“Jamie,” Eric said. “For what it’s worth…good luck.” He gazed at her as if about to say something more. She glanced away, hoping he wouldn’t say anything at all. For just a brief second she’d seen pity in his expression.

“Please,” she said, her voice raw. “Let’s just go.”

Eric started the engine, put the truck into gear and drove her to the ferry.