Meeting Miss Mystic (32 page)

By the time his school day was over, all he wanted to do was straighten up his house from last night’s debauchery, clean up the glass on his bedroom floor, take a hot shower and do something—anything—to take his mind off of Zoë for a few hours. There had to be some mindless television show or game on the tube tonight. He breathed deeply as he walked home, relieved to have a plan.

He’d order a pizza, stick with Coke and STOP. THINKING. ABOUT. ZOË.

Which is why arriving at home to find Maggie and Jane waiting for him on the steps of his front porch wasn’t exactly a welcome surprise.

“Heya,” said Jane as he approached.

“Heya, Paul,” said Maggie, standing up.

He stopped at the top of the steps and Jane stood up, leaning toward him gingerly and wrinkling her nose. “It’s seeping out of your pours. What’d’ya do? Drink a distillery last night?”

He shrugged out of his jacket, took a deep breath and sighed. Seriously? Two women nagging at him was the last thing he needed.

“Ladies, I’m fine. I’m going to clean up my house, order a pizza and watch the game.”

“What game?” asked Maggie.

“Any game that you two
don’t
want to watch.”

“We already cleaned up,” said Jane, gesturing to the key over the doorframe.

“Pizza’s coming in half an hour,” added Maggie with a sheepish smile.

“What is this, an intervention?” he asked.

“Pretty much,” the women answered simultaneously.

Paul blew out an exasperated breath, stepping between them to unlock the front door and just get it over with already.

An hour later most of the pizza was gone, he’d built a fire in the back parlor fireplace and sat facing it, sandwiched between Maggie and Jane, who was the only one of the three of them enjoying a glass of wine. It had turned Paul’s stomach when he considered having a glass with her, and Maggie had turned one down too.

The kindling caught and the dry wood snapped and crackled hungrily, instantly warming up the little room whose picture windows had the same view of Electric Peak as his back porch.

“So. Are we going to talk about her?” asked Jane in her gravelly voice with her usual directness.

Paul gave her an annoyed look.

“Well, at least you’re not so very mad as you were yesterday.”

Paul turned to Maggie. “Sorry again for the language.”

Maggie shrugged. “I get it.”

“Okay, can I say something?” asked Jane, and it briefly occurred to Paul that it wasn’t a question worth answering. “You remember that night a few weeks ago? At the Prairie Dawn? When I was so sure that Lars and Sara were going to get it on, and you said to me: ‘
Her hope is treacherous only whose love dies with beauty, which is varying every hour.
’ I mean, are you just in love with a pretty girl in a photo? Do you not want her now that she looks so different?”

“You think that’s what’s going on? Zoë’s not
pretty enough
for me?” He paused, feeling anger bubble up inside of him. He turned to Jane, eyes narrowed. “God, you must think I’m an asshole to even say that, Jane.”

Jane squirmed beside him, taking a sip of her wine and shrugging. He turned back to the fire, wondering if Zoë’d had the same question in her head and hating him if she never felt like she wasn’t enough for him.

“For the record? I’m more attracted to Zoë than I’ve ever been to any woman, any time, so you can just forget that line of reason, oaky?”

“Duly noted,” muttered Jane. “And for the record, I didn’t think it was true. I just had to make sure.”

“Paul, the way you’ve been with her? I mean, it’s like you had an instant connection to her. Like some part of you knew exactly who she was. And I think somethin’ in your heart recognized her. Recognized her heart.”

He winced, clenching his jaw once, Maggie’s words hitting their mark with impressive precision.

“Listen, even before you two came here tonight, I already knew I couldn’t give her up. I just don’t know how to trust her again. From now on, anytime she talks to me about her past or her family or her life, I’ll wonder—for a moment—if she’s telling the truth. I don’t want to live like that. I want her, but I need to be able to trust her.” He reached for his glass of Coke on the table and took a long sip.

“Phew!” said Jane, her voice full of relief. “Why didn’t you tell us sooner? So, we
don’t
have to talk you into giving her a chance?”

“It’s more complicated than that. I
want
to be with her. I just don’t know what that looks like. And I’m hurt. And still a
wee bit
mad,” he said in Maggie’s accent, giving her a look.

Jane sighed. “You know, Lars kissed Sara. Well, she kissed him. I don’t know if you two knew that. His lips were pressed against my cousin’s at one point and her evil tongue was in his mouth.” She gagged for effect then took another sip of wine. “But, when he told me about it, he said he didn’t want her. He said “All I ever wanted, from the beginning, was you.”

Her voice sort of ran out and ended in a dreamy whisper. She stared at the fire, swirling her glass of wine distractedly, a light smile hovering on her lips.

Maggie leaned around Paul and hit Jane on the leg. “And then?”

“Oh! Well, I was falling in love with him. I saw the truth in his eyes and I did what I had to do. I forgave him and we moved on.”

“Just like that?” asked Paul. “Sounds a little too easy, Jane.”

“You were there, pal! Urging me into his arms the whole time, I might add,” Jane said. “No. It wasn’t easy. But, it was Lars. I had no choice. He won’t let me down again; I have to believe that or we can’t be together.”

“I miss her,” Paul muttered, feeling tired.

“Who do you miss?” asked Jane.

“Miss Mystic. Holly. Zoë, even though I’m mad at her.”

“But you haven’t lost anything!” cried Maggie. “Miss Mystic’s Holly. Holly’s Zoë. Zoë’s Miss Mystic and Holly. You don’t have to miss anything. You don’t have to choose. You just have to forgive her for a
little
deception. Little, Paul.”

“Doesn’t feel little to me.”

“Oh, for Chrissakes!” Maggie exclaimed. “Enough with your high ideas and hurt feelings! She made a mistake by concealing her identity because she couldn’t bear to lose you. But she’s a good person. You know she is. It’s been killing her to deceive you because she’s so afraid she’ll lose you.”

“Mag—” Paul flinched, leaning away from the fury in her voice, as though she’d slapped him.

“No! You listen to me. She misled you, Paul, yes. But why?
Why
? Because she loves you.” Maggie leaned forward, gripping his hands as she slowly and carefully articulated the words again. “She.
Loves
. You.”

He stared at Maggie as her simple words finally made it through the mess of hurt feelings and wounded pride and mistrust.
She loves me. She loves me.

He felt hope—real and sure—like a promise, unfurl in his heart, and for the first time, he thought about the whole person who was Zoë Holly Flannigan, not just the two separate people he’d become accustomed to considering. Holly and Zoë were one and the same. And in one miraculous moment, he realized he could have all the things he loved about Holly and all the things he loved about Zoë in one, imperfect person. He didn’t need a fairy tale; he needed Zoë, flesh and blood and mistakes and good intentions and contacts and anklets and tears and heat. He needed Zoë. He
loved
Zoë.

“Maggie,” he said softly.

Her shoulders sagged in relief and she nodded, grinning back at him. “Our work here is done, Janie.”

Both women stood up, and Paul walked them to the front door.

Maggie took Paul’s hand before he opened the door for them. “As soon as she gets back, sort it out, Paul. She’s the one for you. Don’t let her go. Promise me?”

“I promise. I’ll sort it out. I won’t let her go.” He squeezed her hand and leaned forward to kiss her cheek as she stepped onto the porch.

“’Night, Paul.”

“Night, Janie,” said Paul, giving her a hug. “Thanks for coming over.”

“What’re friends for?” She stepped away from him, pushing a brown curl behind one ear, and Paul remembered her own struggle to accept love only a few weeks ago. With any luck, he and Zoë would find their way as well as Lars and Jane had.

“’Night,” he said, pulling the door shut behind her.

He put the glasses in the sink and took the pizza box out to the dumpster. Cleo roused herself from her cushion by the fire to follow him upstairs and he stripped and got into bed without turning the light on, appreciating the dark of his room for thinking. He laced his hands behind his head and got a good fix on Zoë’s face—her full lips and dark eyes. Her black hair, bangs like fringe on her forehead and the lavender scar that ran the length of her face. And he knew in the deepest recesses of his heart he was in love with Zoë Holly Flannigan —with all of her.

“God, what a relief,” he breathed into the darkness, still finding traces of honeysuckle clinging to his sheets, tangible proof that she’d been here with him, that he had covered her body with his just two nights ago.

He didn’t need to make any promises to Maggie to be sure of his intentions. He couldn’t lose Zoë. If she really loved him as much as he loved her, they’d find their way.

***

“How’re you feeling about everything?” asked Nils, glancing over at her before returning his eyes to the road.

Zoë knew they were about thirty minutes from Gardiner and with every passing mile, the butterflies in her stomach multiplied. Despite the peace she’d found in her conversation with Nils on Tuesday night, she couldn’t help worrying that Paul had put everything together and wouldn’t want anything to do with her.

“Nervous,” she admitted with a shaky breath.

“Don’t be. Put your cards on the table. He won’t walk away, Zoë. I know him.”

She nodded, grinding her teeth together. “But, what if—”

“He loves you. Be brave,” Nils said simply, nodding at her once before rolling down his window. The ensuing white noise signaling the end of their conversation.

Zoë looked out the window at the mountains and meadows that rushed by them.

It had been a good two days, and surprisingly, the brusque and moody Nils Lindstrom had turned out to be the perfect company. For the rest of her life, she would have a special bond to him and be grateful to him for the sanctuary he offered her during the tour. She felt a searing jealousy toward Jenny Lindstrom for being able to claim him as her older brother and wished she’d had someone so strong and unexpectedly intuitive and thoughtful in her own life.

Thea had been strong and intuitive when their mother had passed away, taking weeks off from college to spend time with her grieving little sister. Zoë had curled up beside Thea every night, crying herself to sleep in the loving comfort of her big sister’s arms. Yes. She’d had Thea. Once upon a time.

Being around Nils had made her think a lot of Thea. Coupled with Paul’s advice to mend things with her sister, she was determined to make it happen when she got home. She’d call Thea, or no, she’d just go over there one evening. She’d show up with calla lilies and two, no, three Snickers cupcakes from Sweet Cakes for her and Thea and Brandon. And she’d keep going back until Thea opened the door and let her inside. She wasn’t going to be a stranger to her sister or nephew anymore. She would apologize for the accident every day for the rest of her life if that’s what it took…but she would find a way to be a part of their lives again. No matter what.

Which left her with thoughts of Paul.

Being away for a few days had been a double-edged sword.

Alone with her thoughts made her examine her feelings thoroughly. To be far from him was such a bitter ache and she knew, without any shadow of doubt, that she was totally and completely in love with him.

That said, she had made herself a promise: if she told him the truth and he rejected her, she would walk away. After everything she put him through, she would turn, walk away, and leave him in peace. It would deplete whatever strength she had in her broken body, but she would summon it—every last bit of it—and she would respect his decision. If he didn’t want her, she wouldn’t beg him to reconsider or make her case or plead for second chances. She wouldn’t put him through that. She would pray for him to find a woman worthy of him and she would go home and try to get over her own heartbreak and bitter regrets. It was the least she could do. Give him a clean break.

When she thought of his lips on hers, his hands on her body and his breath in her ear, she had to steel her will. She wouldn’t be weak. She wouldn’t make him bear any further burden at her hands.

Nils’s words gave her more hope than she had a right to. His words made her heart clench with pathetic hope and useless wishes for forever. She forced herself not to think about the future, despite her heart’s achingly stupid optimism. Her future lay uncertainly in Paul’s unaware hands, and until he decided her fate, it was best to hope for nothing.

As they whizzed under the Roosevelt Arch, Zoë tensed in her seat. A few minutes later, they passed the football field adjacent to the high school before turning up two more streets and pulling up in front of the Mountain View.

“Good-bye, Zoë dear!” said the ladies in the back of the van and Zoë waved at them with a small smile. She hadn’t gotten to know any of them very well, keeping to herself or hanging out with Nils for most of the trip. “See you tonight at the dance, dear!”

Nils left the motor humming, while he opened the back of the van to get her small duffle bag and hand it to her.

She swallowed, looking into his bright blue eyes, afraid to release them, afraid to let go of the hope that they offered her.

Seeming to know what she needed to hear, he pushed her hair aside, leaned down and whispered in her ear, “Don’t be afraid. He loves you. Trust it.”

As he leaned back, catching her eyes, he opened his arms, and she fell into them gratefully, her hands flat on the broad expanse of his back. For the rest of her life, she would be thankful for this gruff, quiet man.

“Thank you, Nils,” she whispered against his chest.