Marrying Daisy Bellamy (30 page)

Hope so, Daisy thought.

“I guess I officially live here,” she said, returning to the house. “I got my first electric bill. And—” She broke off, and bit her lip. There, sandwiched between a deck of coupons and the power bill was a crisp white envelope from the county court. Her stomach rolled over. Her hand was steady as she unfolded the document.

Her divorce was final.

She stared at it for a while. The damn thing was so…stark, the blunt words in black and white. Couldn't they have included a cover letter, maybe? Of course, that would be weird. What would such a letter say?

“We are pleased to inform you…”

“Congratulations! You're a free woman!”

Maybe, to defray mailing costs, there could be a little ad insert like the ones in a credit card bill: “Never reach for a cobweb again with the Bilko telescoping duster!”

Or a newsy tip sheet like those the power company included. “Ten ways to save your sanity.” Or, “What to do when people ask awkward questions.”

At least they could have made it prettier, she thought, folding the thing up and putting it in an empty Chock Full o' Nuts coffee can on the counter.

“And?” Sonnet prompted her.

“And as of yesterday, I am officially divorced.” There it was. She tried to figure out if she felt different. The weirdness mingled with a giddy sense of freedom. What had changed, and what was the same? Her surname hadn't changed. While married to Logan, she'd kept her maiden name. She wasn't a big name, professionally. She wasn't any kind of name. But “Daisy O'Donnell” sounded weirdly fake, or as if she might be related to an outspoken talk show host.

“Well,” said Sonnet. “I'm not quite sure what to say to that. In the Tongan delegation they might say something
like—” She mouthed a string of words that sounded wholly unfamiliar.

“May the blessings of the moment outshine the abscesses of the past,” said a deep voice from the doorway.

“Julian!” Daisy's heart flipped over as she turned to the door. Blake went nuts, leaping up and barking in greeting. He had returned to Avalon at summer's end, a new person after his time at the hospital in Colorado. Now he was staying with his brother again, awaiting the official end of his medical leave.

“Not abscesses, smarty-pants,” said Sonnet.

“We can't all be polyglots,” he said with a grin.

“Who're you calling a polyglot?”

“What are you doing here?” Daisy asked him.

“A little bird told me you might need some help with the moving.” He nodded in Sonnet's direction.

Thank you, Sonnet, thought Daisy. No way would she have asked him herself. “Well…thanks.” She wondered if he had any clue what she and her stepsister had just been talking about.

“How about I organize the kitchen?” Sonnet suggested. “You know I'm way better at that than you.”

“Sure,” said Daisy. “Thanks.”

“Zach can help me,” Sonnet added.

She was being way too obvious, but Daisy didn't care.

“Where do you want these?” asked Julian, indicating a stack of photo archive boxes. Each was marked with the year and subject.

Each box represented that year's unfinished projects. Her fine art photography always took a backseat to the paying gigs and the general busyness of life.

She and Julian found themselves together in the postage stamp–size study, setting up her workstation.

“You're in luck,” Julian declared. “One of the main components of my training has been to turn me into an übergeek. I'll get you up and running.”

“Thanks. There is no life without internet.”

“So I found out,” he said.

“How are you?” she asked, conveying with her tone that she meant more than a simple inquiry.

“Doing all right. I'm waiting for a decision on a pilot training program.”

“Oh. Well, I hope it works out for you.” She did. If he made pilot training, it would mean he was truly better, that he'd survived his ordeal. What it meant for her…she refused to contemplate right now.

“Yeah, me, too.”

By happenstance or more probably by design, Sonnet and Zach had gone outside to sit on the dock. She could see them out there, huddled against the wind. Zach slipped a protective arm around Sonnet. The simple touch reminded Daisy of what she'd lost when she and Logan had parted ways—the comfort of ease with someone else.

This was the first time she'd been alone with Julian since his return. Contrary to people's expectations, she had not rushed into his arms in the wake of the divorce. He wasn't the cause of her breakup with Logan; he wasn't even the catalyst. But he was here now.

“How about yourself?” he asked. “For what it's worth, I'm sorry about what you're going through.”

“Thank you. I wanted to say something, but I couldn't. It didn't seem right to dump my troubles with Logan on you.”

“Damn, girl. There are some things about you I will never get.”

“Think about it, Julian. Confessing my marriage woes to my formerly dead ex-fiancé? How would that help anyone?”

He didn't answer, but finished getting her computer hooked up. “There you go. Home office operational.”

“Thanks.” She still felt bashful around him, which was weird. At one point he had been the keeper of all her dreams, the one person she could say anything to. Now, the paths they had taken had turned them into strangers in some ways.

The screen saver kicked in, displaying a slide show of her best shots.

“Those are really something,” he said quietly.

“Thanks.” A haunting image of the lake in a storm drifted by. “I keep having this idea that I'll get my work into a juried show, but there's never time to get my portfolio ready.”

“It's not a lack of time,” he said bluntly, arranging the boxes on a shelf. “What's really keeping you from working on them?”

She hesitated. “No one's ever asked me that.”

“I'm asking.”

“I'm not sure I have an answer. It's so easy, so comfortable, to stick with what I know.” She stopped, listening to her own words. Wasn't that what had driven so many of her decisions? Sticking with safety? She knew a huge part of her choice to marry Logan had been that he was familiar to her, a safe choice. And look how that turned out, she thought, exasperated. After becoming an unwed mother, she had stopped taking chances.

“Promise me something,” Julian said.

His command made her melt a little. “Depends on what you're asking.”

“Promise me you'll get back to it. You're a genius with the pictures. I know what it means to you.”

Could she make such a promise? And if she did, could she keep it?

“All right,” she said. “It's a deal.”

“And not whenever. Start now. Tomorrow. Or at least, this week.”

“Yes, sir.” She offered a mock salute.

“Cool.” He opened a large box. “Sheets and towels,” he said. “Where do they go?”

“Bedroom.” She led the way across the hall. The bed was set up, the mattress bare. When she turned around, she saw that he was pulling sheets from the box. “You don't have to—”

“Are you kidding? You're not seriously going to pass up the chance to learn from a master of military bed making.”

“Silly me.”

He demonstrated how to fit the sheets, forming a square corner so crisp it resembled a cardboard box. He explained the placement of the blanket and the symmetry of pillows. When they were nearly done, Daisy gazed at the bed in wonder. “It's a thing of beauty.”

“And for this I incurred years of service.”

“There's one thing missing.” She extracted a yellow-and-white striped duvet from the box. “How would the military deal with this?”

“What the hell is it?”

“A duvet.”

“A do-what?”

“A comforter.” She got him to help her fit the duvet into the cover.

The irony and suggestiveness of making the bed with Julian did not escape her. When her eyes met his, she could tell it hadn't escaped him, either.

“Okay, this is awkward,” she said.

“Just say what's on your mind, and it won't be awkward.”

“You have no idea.”

“Try me.”

He asked for it. “Everybody thinks I'm going to go running into your arms,” she said.

“Is that what you want to do?”

A part of her wanted to leap up and yell, yes! It's all I've ever wanted! But she shook her head. She didn't want him to be the reason for her failed marriage. His arrival had simply coincided with the inevitable end of her and Logan. Charlie needed more time to adjust, and Daisy had to figure out what she really wanted. “I've got to heal from this, and who knows how long that will take? And who knows if you'll even have me?”

“Try me,” he said again.

She shook her head. “You've been hurt by everything that's happened, too. I don't have any right to expect that your heart is still in the same place.”

He didn't say anything to that. She was both relieved and disappointed. To set up a dynamic or expectations between them now would be foolhardy. They had both survived dramatic events in their lives, and they both needed to deal with everything before they could go looking for what had been lost between them.

She feared finding out. It was possible that through all of this, their love had changed, perhaps didn't exist anymore. The idea made her shudder.

They finished making up the bed. She plumped the
pillows and stepped back. “Home, sweet home. For the time being, anyway.”

They both bent at the same time to smooth a wrinkle. Their hands brushed, and she felt the instant heat of connection. She quickly recoiled, but the fleeting touch reminded her that time and distance didn't always matter.

She dared to meet his gaze, seeing a mirror of her own yearning in his eyes.

“I've been in counseling,” she blurted out. “You know, to help Charlie and me work through this transition.”

“That's probably a good idea.”

“It does help. Surprisingly, it does. I'm learning ways to forgive myself and move ahead. And what I've learned…about another relationship is that I need to take my time. Like, a lot of time. Because the person I am right now is bound to change.”

“S
he said that?” Connor asked Julian that night. “She actually said that bullshit about waiting and changing?”

“Yeah, and how do you argue with the advice of a mental health professional?”

“By telling them they're full of shit.”

“Yeah, about that. I have to give the professionals their due. I was one sick puppy when I got home.” It was true; he now realized the air force had made the right call in ordering his extended leave. He'd returned full of rage and raw need, not exactly the best combo for reentry into his life. “If not for Dr. Abernathy,” he told Connor, “I'd probably be in some psych ward, strumming my lips. If I'd gone straight to Daisy—and believe me, I would have done exactly that if it had been an option—we'd probably have destroyed each other by now.”

“Okay, point taken.” Connor more than anyone else had watched Julian's journey from the brink of despair to balance and clarity. He knew about the nightmares
and flashbacks; he'd had a ringside seat at Julian's daily fight to make sense of what had happened to him and move forward with his life. “I'm frustrated for you. You and Daisy had something special. You always have. I'd hate to see you walk away from that now.”

“I didn't say I was going to walk away. But we can't pick up where we left off, not after everything that's happened.”

“What do
you
want to do?” Connor asked.

Julian wasn't ready to answer that, not for his brother or even for himself. He knew a little something about waiting around and being patient. A lengthy stint in a Colombian prison tended to do that for a guy. Yet he also knew the limits of endurance.

“I'm waiting for the doc's final report to the air force, certifying that I'm no longer damaged goods,” he said.

“You never were, bro. Ever.”

 

Charlie came in from the bus on a hot afternoon. Indian summer was having a last fling before winter's darkness and cold. As usual, Charlie was tackled by an ecstatic Blake, who greeted him as if she hadn't seen him in years. The two of them rolled around on the living room floor and giggled, enacting their everyday ritual. Daisy saved her work on the computer and went to see him.

“Hey, kiddo.” She ruffled his hair and picked up his backpack. “How was your day?”

He was quiet for a moment. Then he said, “There's a note from my teacher.”

Her stomach clenched. A note from the teacher had never been good news. “In here?” She indicated the backpack.

He nodded, gathering Blake into his lap.

She found the note, slipping it from the standard envelope stamped with, “Please sign and date to acknowledge receipt.”

“‘Dear Ms. Bellamy,'” she read aloud. “‘I'm writing to give you an update on Charlie's behavior and academic progress…'”

Great. She'd thought he was doing better.

“‘I'm pleased to report that we've seen a marked improvement in both.'” Daisy nearly choked on the words.

Charlie flashed a smile. “Keep reading.”

She did, her heart filling with relief and pride as the teacher enumerated examples of improvement. “‘I am delighted with the progress Charlie has made. Thanks to you and Charlie both for all your efforts.'”

Daisy beamed at him as she stuck the note to the fridge with a magnet. “Way to go, Charlie. Come here and give me a hug.” She held on—not too long; he was a boy, after all—absorbing the squirmy warmth of his body, inhaling the smell of him, a combination of fresh air, dog and youthful sweat.

One of the worst things about being single was the lack of physical connection—someone to simply put your arms around and hug. She was grateful for many things about Charlie; maybe this topped the list.

She let go at the slightest sign of impatience. “Let's celebrate. You can have any dinner you want tonight. We can go out or eat in. Your choice.”

“Yes,” he said. “And you know I want to stay home.”

“Let me guess. You want breakfast for dinner.”

“Breakfast for dinner! Pancakes, scrambled eggs, bacon, juice.” Acting as though he'd won the lottery, he raced around the room, then headed out the back door with the dog.

Daisy stood at the kitchen window, watching them play, listening to Charlie's laughter and the dog barking. The two of them were inseparable. Sometimes she wished Charlie had siblings. He might, one day, but she would not think about that now.

Her spirits were high; she had finally come to the realization that she was doing better. She'd survived the divorce and the world had not come to an end.

Logan seemed to be doing better, too. He looked well, having finally shed the extra pounds gained during their marriage. Whatever he was doing seemed to be working.

For her part, she'd surrounded herself with family and friends, and buried herself in work. She no longer faced each day with a knot in her stomach and a buzz of unanswerable questions in her mind.

Lately she felt more relaxed, and the questions in her mind quieted. She still had no answers to the tough ones—Am I doing the right thing? Is this what's best for Charlie? But she'd come to the realization that there were no right answers. With the perspective of time and distance, she understood what had happened in her marriage—and to Charlie. She and Logan had spent most of their time avoiding each other and consequently Charlie. Now their son got more attention from both of them, and once again, he was blossoming.

What this whole ordeal had taught her—what life had taught her—was that you made the choices you made
and lived the life you had with as much love and joy as you could find. Glancing at the phone, she considered calling someone to share Charlie's good news. But who? Logan? They weren't like that anymore. Her mother? Sonnet?

She went to her computer, determined to put in an hour of work before dinner. She had three different events to process, and the clients were impatient.

The amount of work was never-ending. Bride after beautiful bride paraded across her screen. She didn't care for the job she'd done on the most recent wedding. One reason she was so in demand was her artistry. For these pictures, it had deserted her. The images looked flat and uninspired to her.

Restless, she swivelled in her chair—and stopped. There, stuck to the corkboard above the desk, was a glossy brochure announcing this year's MoMA competition. She had found it in her mailbox a few days ago, with Julian's bold handwriting across the top:
Go for it.

He knew her well. He always had. She'd admitted to him that she had been avoiding the competition, skirting the deadlines, missing them. She could put her recalcitrance down to other factors—lack of time, other obligations, inability to focus, life's upheavals—but those were all excuses. The fact was, she had been avoiding this work out of fear, pure and simple.

A guy like Julian didn't understand fear. Or maybe he understood it too well.

“No fear,” she said aloud, closing the work photos. She opened the folder marked “MoMA” and was shocked to realize she had not accessed the files in
months. This was her art, she thought. Her passion. Yet she'd neglected it.

How easy it was to ignore the things that were most important. Funny how that worked.

When she revisited the images, she was surprised to see how good they were. She hadn't remembered that. Of course it was a long road from a good shot to a viable entry.

She didn't have long to work, but by the time she finished, she had a plan. She knew what she wanted to submit to the competition. No more excuses. She just had to go for it.

Brushing her hand over Julian's message, she spoke to him aloud, as if he were there with her in the room. “You're good for me. You always have been.” He had returned from his ordeal a changed man. But the essence of him was the same. She loved his exuberance for life and his capacity for risk. She loved everything about him, and she had never stopped, not even when she'd received news of his death.

Yet once again, they'd managed to fall victim to bad timing. Whenever it seemed they were getting closer, whenever it seemed they might have a shot, something got in their way. Then Julian had been ripped away from her as swiftly and cruelly as an amputation.

Now, finally, it looked as if they might have a shot again. So much had happened, but she still felt that love like a steady flame in her heart. She was not naive enough to think everything would magically fall into place, but so what? The past few years had proven to her that she was stronger than she'd imagined she could be. She was resourceful and sometimes even smart.

It's too soon, her common sense told her. She'd just left a failed marriage, and getting involved with Julian now might be a huge mistake. People would shake their heads and say, “Of course her marriage didn't stand a chance once Julian came back…”

On the other hand, she thought, what did she care what people said? Furthermore, there was no harm in simply
seeing
him. They needed to spend time together.

What was she afraid of? She used to always ask friends and family what she should do. After scandalizing the Bellamys with her unwed pregnancy, she'd grown afraid; she'd never again allowed herself to color outside the lines. All her choices had been made in the interest of playing it safe and sensible for Charlie's sake. It was time to stretch her wings.

After everything that had happened, she was uncertain of Julian's affection, but that shouldn't stop her. Neither should rules or conventions. It was ridiculous to wait for some self-imposed deadline, like a fluttery Victorian miss in mourning. When it came to Julian, Daisy knew her own heart. She'd always known. Now, more than ever, she felt an almost painful love for him. He had endured captivity and torture, yet he hadn't broken. He'd served his country with honor in ways that could never be acknowledged, and he'd returned even stronger and more loving than ever. What in heaven's name was she waiting for?

She grabbed for the phone, the words already on her lips. “I love you. I'm a mess but I love you and I want to be with you.”

Okay, maybe not that.

She dialed his number and he picked up right away.

“How do you feel about breakfast for dinner?” she asked.

“If it's food, I'm up for it.”

“Charlie's choice. Would you like to come to dinner?”

There was a pause, during which every doubt she had reared up. Her heart tripped. “I mean,” she said, “you don't have to. I know it's last minute—”

“Dinner would be fine,” he said.

 

Daisy caught herself pacing the kitchen, a bowl of pancake batter under one arm, the other beating the mixture way too hard. It was ridiculous to feel nervous about Julian, wasn't it? He was Julian, for heaven's sake, whom she'd known and loved for so long. There was no reason to feel nervous. None. Nada.

She watched Julian and Charlie through the kitchen window as she was fixing the promised dinner of pancakes, scrambled eggs and bacon. Julian and Charlie were on the dock, skipping stones into the still water. The evening was unseasonably hot. After the stone skipping, they lay facedown on the wooden planks, probably watching the schools of minnows congregating in the shadows. Through the screen window, she could hear their voices but not their words. The sound of their laughter made her smile.

Charlie loved being with Julian. She could tell. The boy adored his dad, of course, and missed having him around. But Charlie had always been an adaptable kid.

She kept going over what she wanted to say to Julian tonight, after Charlie was in bed. She wanted to tell him
she was ready to move ahead. Even though the divorce was still a fresh wound, she wanted Julian to know her love for him was intact. It was a risk, though. She would be opening herself to hurt, and they had been apart so long, she didn't know if he still felt the same way about her. It was safer to keep her thoughts to herself for sure. They'd never found a way to be together in the past. Life kept getting in the way. Could be, they simply weren't meant to be together. No, she thought. The heat and tension, the constant yearning—these things could not be wrong.

A splashing war erupted between the two of them out on the dock, their laughter crescendoing. It was on the tip of her tongue to call out a warning, but she stopped herself. Charlie could take a bath later. Julian was a grown man, and Lord knew, worse things had happened to him than a soaking.

She got her camera and stepped outside to take a few shots of them playing.

She wished there were some sign, a kind of guidance from beyond to tell her what to do. If the universe wanted her to confess to Julian that she still loved him, maybe a sign would come. Yes, a sign would be nice.

Instead, the lake stayed calm and placid. Nothing changed.

Then as she watched, Charlie and Julian stood up and took hold of each other's hands. Before she knew what was happening, the two of them raced full tilt to the end of the dock.

“What—”

They jumped together, hands still joined, their bodies frozen in midair for a split second. Almost by reflex, she lifted her camera and took the shot. They hit the water
with a huge splash. Charlie immediately bobbed to the surface.

“Again!” he yelled. “Let's jump again!”

Daisy checked the camera's playback. She'd caught them in midair. Jumping off the dock, the thing Charlie had sworn he would never do.

“Maybe that's your sign,” she said.

She watched the two of them go flying into the lake a few more times and took more pictures before grabbing some towels and heading down to the dock.

“You're a pair of crazies,” she said, though she smiled as she spoke. “It's nowhere near warm enough to swim.”

“Did you see, Mom? Did you see me jump?” Charlie yelled, bobbing in the water. “Me and Julian jumped off the dock. It was like flying.”