Читать книгу The Goodbye Groom - Ellen James - Страница 9

Jamie stirred, opening her eyes slowly. At first she couldn’t remember where she was. Albuquerque…anticipating her wedding day…

Reality brought her fully awake. There’d been no wedding. She was on the small island of Saint-Anne, Washington, trying to find the reluctant groom.

Jamie swung her legs over the side of the bed. With a heartfelt sigh she padded to the window and gazed outside. The first shadows of evening had begun to drift over the patio below. Eric Sinclair sat at the poolside table, legs stretched out comfortably. Instead of his too-severe business attire, he wore a bathing suit. Jamie could see the breadth of his shoulders, the dark hair curling across his chest, the well-proportioned muscles along every inch of his body.

She drew back—but only a little. Something obliged her to remain where she was, hidden by the curtains, staring downward with a half-guilty fascination. The man, after all, was her fiancé’s brother.

Ex-fiancé, she told herself acidly. Nonetheless, it seemed wrong to study Eric Sinclair when he was so unaware of her scrutiny. His attention centered completely on the sheaf of papers he held. A smile played across his mouth, all sternness vanished.

A scuffling noise made Jamie turn her head. She saw a young girl peering at her from the hallway, a child with dark tumbled hair and curious brown eyes.

“Come in,” Jamie said encouragingly.

The child slid inside the room—but only just. She wore shorts and an oversize shirt emblazoned Seattle Mariners. As she folded her arms, her stance suggested fragility and defiance all at once.

“Are you my dad’s girlfriend?”

For one crazy, absurd moment Jamie wondered if there was something else she didn’t know about her ex-fiancé. Good Lord, did Shawn have a daughter he’d neglected to mention?

The dark-haired little girl seemed to lose her resolve and began inching back toward the hallway.

“Hmm… I don’t know who your dad is,” Jamie remarked, “but I imagine he’s someone very important. Someone like…the president of the United States.”

The child paused. She gave Jamie a speculative glance.

“Okay,” Jamie said. “Let me guess. He’s more like…the king of Spain.”

The child remained perfectly solemn, her large brown eyes intent as she studied Jamie.

“Maybe,” Jamie said, “he’s more like…the emperor of Japan.”

The little girl pressed a finger to her mouth as if to keep a smile from escaping. She slid toward the window and gazed downward. Jamie followed the direction of her gaze to Eric Sinclair, who was still oblivious to the summer’s beauty surrounding him. Still absorbed in the papers he held.

“So that’s your dad,” Jamie said very seriously. “I was right—he is someone important.”

The child watched her father for another moment, her expression grave. She seemed absorbed by her thoughts, and Jamie did not try to interrupt. Then, elusive as quicksilver, the little girl slipped away from the window and out of the room.

At the very last moment the child peered back at Jamie. The unspoken message was understood: Jamie could follow if she chose.

The little girl led the way down the hall to another room. Here was a lively clutter: toys scattered across the floor, stuffed animals sprawled on the bed, books piled haphazardly on shelves. The child knelt beside a wicker basket. She reached inside and gently scooped up a kitten—all black except for its white left front paw.

“This is Isabel. You can hold her if you want.”

“Thank you,” said Jamie. She sat down on the floor beside the little girl and cradled the scrap of fur, listening to it purr. “Isabel…quite a lofty name for someone so cute. Where’d you get her?”

“My dad.”

Jamie tried to picture Eric Sinclair choosing this adorable little kitty as a gift for his daughter.

“I’m Jamie, by the way.”

The little girl glanced away as if suddenly unsure again. “I’m Kaitlin,” she offered after a second. Then she jumped up and went to her desk, where a set of watercolors was prominently displayed. She brought a few pictures to place silently in front of Jamie.

“Here,” said Jamie. “I’ll trade.” She handed over the tiny Isabel so that she could take a closer look at the pictures. “Hmm…a good likeness.” The kitten was depicted rather larger than life, with so much black paint that the paper had crinkled. “And who’s this?”

“My dad.”

His daughter had placed him on the very edge of the page, in a business suit with lopsided tie.

“I’ll bet,” Jamie said, “your father’s the one who gave you these paints.”

Kaitlin didn’t answer, simply ducked her head over the kitten. Jamie studied another picture.

“Can you tell me about this one?”

“That’s our pool,” Kaitlin said, her voice so soft that Jamie had to strain to hear. Then the child lifted her head, and the expression in her big, dark eyes was surprisingly mournful. “That’s me,” she said almost in a whisper. “That’s me…hating the water.”

After this bleak statement, Jamie gave the picture a more thorough perusal. It depicted a small solitary figure huddled to the side as if to escape the threatening expanse of dark blue.

Kaitlin seemed to have run out of words. She sat down on the carpet but at some distance from Jamie. Her head bent over the kitten once more.

Jamie chose her next words with care. “Water can be scary,” she acknowledged. “You never know what it’s going to do. It might start…splashing.”

The little girl raised her head cautiously and regarded Jamie.

“The water,” Jamie said, “might start…crashing.”

Kaitlin lifted her eyebrows just a fraction.

“Or maybe,” Jamie went on, “the water might start…dashing.”

Kaitlin pressed a hand to her mouth as if to prevent the escape of another wayward smile, but then it appeared she could not resist. She lowered her hand. “The water,” she said, “might start…prancing. Or maybe it might start…dancing.” Her eyes seemed to dance, expressing genuine delight. But then all too quickly she grew solemn again, as if worried that somehow she’d let down her guard too much. There was something about this child’s gravity, the serious expression on her delicate little face that reminded Jamie of herself long ago, when she’d been a little older than Kaitlin, struggling with the fact that the world could simply not be trusted anymore. How could it, when her father had simply gone out the door one morning and not come back?

Jamie swallowed past a sudden tightness in her throat. She knew too well how vulnerable a child could be. And that was what she saw in Kaitlin’s large brown eyes.

Vulnerability.

THAT EVENING, ERIC SAT at the dining room table and watched as Mrs. Braddock performed the finishing touches on her dinner presentation. She straightened the silverware, folded one of the snowy napkins more precisely, rearranged the centerpiece of daisies and carnations. Then she stood back and observed the gleaming china plates with satisfaction.

“We’ll have to entertain more often,” Eric remarked. “You seem to be enjoying yourself.”

She gave him a sharp glance. “No harm in a little festivity.” She turned with a huff and arranged the draperies so the late sun would fall at just the right angle. Then she muttered something under her breath.

Eric rubbed his neck. He knew from long experience that Mrs. Braddock had something on her mind. When she started rumbling like this, she was like a volcano itching to erupt—if only she had a little encouragement.

“Didn’t quite catch that, Mrs. B.”

“Pigweed and prickly lettuce,” she declared. “Ring a bell?”

He didn’t have a clue what she was talking about and he’d started to regret that he’d asked. But, also from long experience, he knew there was no way out of it.

“Hey, just as long as it’s not something we’re having for dinner,” he said.

She gave him a severe look, clearly not appreciating his attempt at humor. “Your brother, fifth-grade science project, homemade mulch and weed control.”

Mrs. B. had an impressive memory. It seemed she could recall every one of their school projects—as well as every one of their childhood infractions.

“It’s coming back to me,” he said. “Shawn really got involved with that one. Piles of mulch everywhere.”

Mrs. B. nodded. “Your brother gave it everything he had—until the very night of the fair. He was scared. Scared he wouldn’t win first place. Anything less… So he dumped the whole thing into the drink and didn’t even go.”

“Just like he didn’t show up at the altar,” Eric remarked. “Fear of failure—it’s a hypothesis, Mrs. B. As long as we’re talking scientific method, though, other possibilities have to be considered.”

“Ha.” She gave him another repressive glance, then, with a bounce of her ponytail, she was gone.

Shawn’s fear of failure… But Shawn wasn’t exactly a kid anymore, and sooner or later he had to solve his own problems. This time he’d outdone himself, leaving a beautiful, inconvenient redhead in his wake.

Speaking of Jamie Williams, she had yet to appear. Not to mention that Eric’s daughter was also conspicuously missing. He sat alone at the dining room table with all this splendor before him.

Eric glanced at his watch, then felt angry at himself. Too much of his life had been run by a damn clock. Hadn’t he promised to change for Kaitlin’s sake? What she needed was time…his time. That was why he’d brought her here this summer, to the house where he’d grown up.

Okay, maybe that had been something of a mistake. This place was too full of memories, the discomforting kind. How many strained dinners had he suffered through in this very room? The empty chair at the head of the table, waiting for his father. His mother, withdrawn into her own private thoughts. Shawn, a funny, anxious little kid back then, trying to pick a fight with Eric just so there’d be some noise in the place. And maybe, finally, Dad arriving, and the unspoken question weighting the air: what would be his mood this time…?

Impatiently Eric pushed back his chair and stood. Something else occurred to him now. From long habit, he’d dressed formally for dinner—jacket, tie and all. It had been the custom in this house when he was a boy. Whenever he was here, he fell too easily into the old ways. The past was over. His daughter needed him to focus on the future.

But where was she, anyway?

Muffled sounds from outside drew him. The murmur of voices, an odd clink, a subdued splash. He went to the back door and stood gazing toward the pool. An inexplicable sight greeted him: Jamie Williams and his daughter carefully lifting up one of the patio tables between them and pitching it into the shallow end of the pool. Two patio chairs had already been deposited in the water. Jamie slipped off her sandals, waded in and captured one of the chairs. She positioned it just so in front of the table.

After a moment’s hesitation, Kaitlin waded into the shallow end, too. She looked completely absorbed, grabbing hold of the other chair cushion to keep it from floating off into the deeper part of the pool.

Eric leaned in the doorway, continuing to watch. It would be reasonable to ask why his daughter and his brother’s fiancée were giving the patio furniture a dunking. Maybe the answer didn’t matter all that much, though. Not when his daughter was actually in the pool, braving the water. A minor miracle.

Eric’s gaze strayed to Jamie Williams. She was standing in his pool fully clothed, but even this ridiculous circumstance did not make her any less alluring. Perhaps more so. She rested her arms on the back of the chair and bent down to catch something Kaitlin was saying. The breeze played with her red hair, while the late-evening sun gave a golden cast to her skin. Her skirt draped damply. With a little imagination, she might have been a lovely Greek statue brought to life. Aphrodite rising from the sea….

What was wrong with him? He made a restless gesture and propelled himself away from the doorway. Jamie and Kaitlin turned at the same moment and caught sight of him.

A variety of emotions seemed to flicker across Jamie’s expressive face. Guilt, confusion, perhaps humor at her own predicament. But it was his daughter’s expression that really got to him. She stared at him defiantly, as if expecting the worst. Expecting that he wouldn’t understand, wouldn’t tolerate the unpredictable, that his first reaction would be to chastise.

Had the divorce led to this—Kaitlin distrusting him so automatically now? And what the hell was he going to do about it?

Jamie broke the awkwardness. She sat down in her chair in front of the table—sat there in the pool, water eddying around her, as if it were the most normal thing in the world. Kaitlin studied her before she, too, sat down, elbows at the table. Both of them now stared calmly at Eric. Clearly the next move was up to him.

Jamie Williams had been here scarcely a few hours and already she had disturbed the waters in more ways than one. Eric felt as if he were facing some obscure test, one he might easily fail in his daughter’s eyes.

There was nothing to do but jump in—literally and figuratively. Eric sat down at the pool’s edge and made an elaborate procedure of untying his shoes, taking off his socks. Kaitlin’s eyes seemed to grow larger as she watched, but she didn’t say a word. He loosened his tie, took off his jacket and tossed it onto the tiles. Then he picked up his own patio chair, waded into the pool with it and sat down next to his daughter. Her brown eyes widened a bit more.

Mrs. Braddock appeared. She folded her arms and observed the lot of them, admirably impassive.

“Mrs. B.,” said Eric. “Tonight, if you don’t mind, we’ll have dinner…in the pool.”

Something seemed to glimmer in Kaitlin’s eyes. But then, as so often happened these days, her head dipped forward and a protective curtain of hair fell across her face.

Eric still didn’t know if he’d passed the test, but he was determined to keep on trying. So he behaved as if dinner à la pool was something he did every day. He waded up and down the pool steps to deliver Mrs. B.’s delicious offerings: roasted peppers and eggplant, homemade rolls, shepherd’s cheese, pasta with basil sauce. Mrs. Braddock had even brought two candles for an air of festivity; he lit them and placed them in the center of the table. Mrs. B. herself retreated as if grateful to escape.

Eric sat down, serving Kaitlin extra sauce on her pasta.

“Thank you, Dad,” she said formally. He tried to remember the last time she’d called him by the more casual term of “Pops.” He missed that. Before his marriage to Leah had ended, even when he hadn’t been the most involved of fathers, he’d still been able to count on a hug from Kaitlin, as well as her smile or laughter. And, yes, a beleaguered but affectionate “Oh, Pops” on occasion. But ever since the divorce…

Would his daughter’s life always be divided in this painful way?

Jamie Williams seemed to be focusing rather intently on her plate, no doubt sensing unspoken tensions. Eric poured his daughter some cranberry-grape juice.

“Thank you, Dad.”

Maybe if he’d been closer to her from the very beginning, the split wouldn’t have been so traumatic for her. Maybe she’d have a more solid foundation on which to build. It occurred to Eric that his life was full of maybes these days. Although Kaitlin had never been a particularly bold child, she’d once seemed at ease in her surroundings. It was only after the divorce that the insecurities had started to surface. The fear of darkness, for one, and the fear of water…and of school.

Yet she didn’t seem fearful at the moment. She moved her feet back and forth, sending up a shower of droplets.

“Jamie,” she said comfortably, “would you pass the applesauce, please?”

Jamie obliged. “I think I’ll have a little more myself.”

“I like apples,” said Kaitlin.

“So do I,” Jamie replied. “Apples are my favorite fruit.”

“What’s your favorite cookie?”

“Hmm…it’s a tie between chocolate-chip and coconut-macaroon.”

“Chocolate-chip is definitely the best,” Kaitlin pronounced.

“You just might be right.”

Eric listened to this interchange. Kaitlin was behaving as if she’d known Jamie Williams forever.

“Oatmeal-raisin is my favorite,” he murmured to no one in particular, and no one responded.

“Maybe I’ll have a little more of that applesauce, too,” he added.

“Here you go, Dad.” Kaitlin passed the bowl and then turned back to Jamie. “What’s your favorite vegetable?”

“Caramel corn,” Jamie said without missing a beat.

Kaitlin’s eyes sparkled. “That’s not a vegetable!”

“Oops,” said Jamie and smiled at her.

Kaitlin almost smiled in return.

Eric knew when he’d been upstaged. He settled back in his chair and watched Kaitlin with his brother’s fiancée…ex-fiancée? These past few months Kaitlin had clearly been struggling with a weight of fear and uncertainty. But now, at this moment, he sensed almost a lightness to her attitude.

He had to admit there was something unique about Jamie Williams. The way she treated his daughter with such seriousness—and yet at the same time with such a flair for nonsense. By now, Kaitlin and Jamie had moved on to a discussion of favorite animals.

“Kittens,” said his daughter, “are my favorite.”

“Well, of course. Isabel would be highly offended if she thought otherwise.”

“What’s your favorite?”

“Monkeys,” said Jamie. “Definitely. Because they appreciate the many fine attributes of bananas and because they know how to make faces.”

Kaitlin immediately scrunched up her nose. “Like this?”

“No, more like this.” Jamie reached over and gently tickled Kaitlin into a small giggle. His daughter almost sounded carefree.

Jamie Williams had been here only a few hours. In that brief time, she’d managed to charm Kaitlin with a sense of magic, a delight in the absurd. Eric had to admit those qualities had been in short supply around the Sinclair household lately.

In fact, Jamie had reminded him of just how much was missing here. Laughter, lightheartedness. And, yes, magic.