Sunday Kind of Love (22 page)

“What happened the night of the accident?” she asked.

Myron shook his head. “A lot of it's a haze,” he told her. “I've spent months now tryin' to piece it together, but all I got are snippets.”

“Tell me what you can,” Gwen pressed.

Myron nodded, then took a deep breath. “I remember bein' down at the bar, like plenty of times before, and gettin' into an argument, maybe a fight. I think Rex tossed me out, which, odds are, I deserved. The next thing I know, there's Pete helpin' me up off the sidewalk, wantin' to put me in the car so he can take me home. Then it goes black again, time lost that can't never be found, but I must've wrangled the keys from him 'cause next thing I know I'm behind the wheel, drivin' us home.”

Again he stopped. In the morning light, Gwen saw that his eyes were filling with tears. She didn't say a word, hardly felt like she was breathing, as she waited for him to continue. Her only worry was that a doctor or nurse would walk through the door and interrupt.

“I can still hear him, you know.”

“Pete?” Gwen asked.

Myron nodded. “He was sittin' next to me in the car, beggin' me to stop, but I wouldn't listen,” he explained as a lone tear slid down his cheek. “What kind of man does that to his own son?”

“You'd been drinking,” she told him. “You weren't thinking clearly.”

He shook his head. “That might explain it, but it ain't an excuse, not a good one, anyway. It don't make what I done right. It don't change a damn thing.”

Gwen understood that this was why Myron tried to numb his pain with drink. It was ironic to think that the very thing that had taken his beloved son from him was the same one he misguidedly used to try to drown his sorrows.

“I don't even remember the crash,” Myron continued. “One minute I'm weavin' all over the road, the next I'm flat on my back, lookin' up at the stars, my whole body hurtin'. My head was ringin' loud, too, but I could still hear Hank yellin' at me, demandin' answers I couldn't give. Then everythin' went black again, so when I come to on the couch back home, I had no idea how I'd got there. I stripped off my clothes, not even noticin' they was covered in blood, stumbled into the shower, and started soberin' up. When the police pounded on the door, I answered wearin' nothin' but a towel.”

“They told you that there'd been an accident,” Gwen said, not a question but rather just the next part of the sad story. “They told you that Pete was dead and Hank was responsible.”

Myron's expression soured. “I coulda put a stop to all that nonsense right then and there,” he said. “I coulda told them police that there'd been a mistake, that I done it, but I didn't say a word. I was still so messed up that I started wonderin' if I wasn't imaginin' it, if it was all a bad dream. I couldn't figure out why Hank woulda taken the blame for somethin' he didn't do.”

“He was trying to protect you.”

“I know that now, but back then I couldn't make it add up. So I went along with it. The worst part came later. First time I went into town after the crash, I saw how folks were lookin' at me. They pitied me and hated my son.” He paused, struggling to continue. “By then, I knew it shoulda been the other way 'round.”

“Why didn't you say something?”

There was a long pause. Myron's expression was one of shame. “'Cause I reckon it was easier to crawl back into my bottle. When you're hurtin', booze makes the wrongs into rights. It wasn't ever my fault when I was drunk.”

“Hank said he wasn't sure if you knew what had actually happened,” Gwen pressed. “He told me that you didn't say anything to him for days, but then when you did…” Her voice trailed off, remembering the terrible words.

But Myron looked at her expectantly, as if he had no idea what she was talking about.

“You don't remember what you said, do you?” she asked.

“Did he say if I'd been drinkin'?”

Gwen nodded.

“Then odds are I wouldn't. What was it?”

Gwen didn't know how to answer. If she told Myron the truth, it would only cause him more pain. Still, both he and Hank had been forthcoming about that terrible night. There was no point in holding back now. “You told Hank that even if you'd been the one behind the wheel, he was responsible for his brother's death. You told him that he should've known better than to let Pete go. That he should've come instead.”

Myron's expression was one of utter disgust. Looking at him, Gwen understood that a man was truly capable of hating himself. A wet sob forced its way out of his mouth, but he squelched it, refusing to let it become something more.

“Every goddamn day since then, I've wished that I'd been the one who died,” he told her. “Without me around, my sons coulda been happy. Instead, 'cause I lived and I'm a coward, Hank's gotta bear my burden.” Myron sighed as he wiped away a tear. “The few times I manage to sober up, I want to make things right, apologize to him, tell him I know it ain't fair, but then the guilt hits me and I go crawlin' back to the booze. When I'm drunk, I can convince myself it ain't my fault. I can numb myself to the pain.” He paused. “'Sides, it's too late. There's no changin' things now. What's done is done.”

“Maybe not,” Gwen told him.

Myron stared at her, his eyes narrowing. “What are you talkin' 'bout?”

“What if I told you that it wasn't too late? What if there was still time for you to turn a wrong into a right?”

“How could I do that?”

This
was the reason Gwen had snuck out of Hank's bed and driven to the hospital. Myron was the solution to their problems. If she could convince him to take the risk, it could change all of their lives.

“I have an idea,” she said.

W
HEN GWEN LEFT
the hospital, she headed for home. Though the last time she'd gone there had been a disaster—watching in disbelief as Kent struck Hank; ending her relationship with the young lawyer—Gwen knew that she couldn't avoid it forever. Running away, even for a little while longer, wouldn't help anyone. Besides, Kent had surely headed back to Chicago, likely cursing her with every mile the train traveled. With her father at the bakery, that left only her mother to deal with.

As she drove, Gwen thought of all that had changed.

Last night, as a storm raged all around her, she had willingly and happily given herself to another man. She was in love with Hank. Whatever future lay before her, she wanted to discover it alongside the handsome woodcarver. By breaking things off with Kent, she'd opened the door to a new life.

Gwen parked along the curb in front of her parents' house. She had thought she might have a moment alone to compose herself, to take a deep breath and consider what she was going to say to her mother, but it wasn't to be. Out the passenger window, she was startled to see Kent rise from a chair on the porch to stare at her. A suitcase stood at his feet. Surprised, she considered driving away but instead shut off the engine and got out.

“You're alone,” Kent said as she made her way up the walk; his tone suggested that he wasn't sure if that was a good or a bad thing.

“I am,” Gwen answered.

“What did you do?” he asked, nodding toward the street. “Steal his truck?”

She didn't answer, not because Kent had come surprisingly close to the truth, but because she felt he was trying to goad her into an argument.

“You spent the night with him.” It wasn't a question.

Gwen thought it must be obvious. Not only had she failed to come home since driving away with Hank, but she was still wearing the same clothes from the day before yesterday. She didn't need a mirror to know she was a mess.

For his part, Kent didn't look a whole lot better. He was dressed expensively, if not quite in what he'd wear to court, but his face betrayed him. Gwen suspected that he'd had a rough night. She had expected her rejection to drive him away, make him leave Buckton far behind, but he had chosen to stay, to wait so that he could have another word with her. His eyes were thin and red, underlined with dark bags. Gwen wondered if he had gotten any sleep, or if he'd been awake all night, relentlessly pacing the floor, talking with her parents, all the while wondering whether she would return. With every passing hour, Kent had surely grown angrier and angrier. Other men would have eventually been overcome by their jealousy and driven across town, pounding on Hank's door, wanting to fight for her hand. But not Kent. He would want her to come crawling back, to apologize. Likely that's what he thought was happening now.

It was up to Gwen to show him just how wrong he was.

“I stayed with Hank last night,” she admitted, choosing to be honest and expecting him to be furious, to erupt with anger.

But instead, Kent offered a thin smile as he shrugged his shoulders, then came down off the porch to wrap his arms around her, holding her tight. Gwen was so surprised that she couldn't even speak. Reflexively, she returned his affection, sliding her hands behind his back.

“It's all right,” he said, then stepped back. “I forgive you.”

Gwen's anger flared as hot as the sun, though she remained too out of sorts to lash out at him, to tell him just how insulting his words were.

“I understand why you did it,” Kent continued, his expression serious. “You had something you wanted to get out of your system, an itch that needed to be scratched before we got married. I don't like it, but I can live with it.”

“But I broke up with you!”

“You weren't serious,” Kent replied dismissively.

“Yes, I was!” she insisted.

His smile and conviction didn't falter. “You were angry; we both were,” he said. “But we all make mistakes from time to time. Even me.”

“
You're
admitting to a mistake?” Gwen asked, her tone skeptical.

“Of course,” he answered, briefly flashing his famous smile. “Obviously I was wrong to go back to Chicago, even though we both know I had no choice, not if I wanted to someday make partner,” Kent explained, the last bit making Gwen question the sincerity of his words. “You'd been hurt, maybe you were still a little scared, and you wanted me by your side, so when I left, you started running around with this small-town yokel with a bad reputation.” He held up his hands, palms out. “Believe me when I say that I've learned my lesson.”

The truth was, Gwen didn't think Kent had learned a thing. To her, he sounded just like he did in court, arguing a case, trying to sway a jury. He was presenting evidence, accepting some culpability but also trying to shift blame. Looking into his eyes, Gwen was struck by the sudden, almost sickening realization that she might never have known Kent at all, that everything he'd ever said to her, every smile he had given, might be nothing but an act, a performance from behind a mask, all to get the verdict he wanted.

“You make it sound like my spending time with Hank was meant to punish you,” she told him.

“What else would it have been?”

“It isn't like that at all,” Gwen answered defiantly. “After you left, I wanted to thank Hank for saving my life. But the more time we spent together, the more I got to know him, and the more I realized that…”

Her voice trailed off. Gwen knew what came next was an admission that would hurt Kent. Even though his rude assumptions and slightly condescending tone had made her angry, even though she'd ended their relationship, she still retained enough good feelings toward him, memories they'd shared, to not want to purposefully cause him pain.

Once she finished that sentence, there would be no going back.

“You realized what?” Kent pressed, not realizing that she was trying to protect him.

Gwen took a deep breath. “That I'm in love with Hank.”

Kent's reaction ran a range of emotions. Within seconds, he went from shock, his mouth falling open; to anger, his expression darkening; before ending at disbelief by shaking his head. “You're joking, right?” he asked, then let out a burst of nervous laughter.

Gwen didn't answer, certain that her silence would tell him everything.

It did.

“You're serious…You really
did
mean it before, when you…when you…” he said, hardly louder than a whisper.

“I'm sorry,” she told him. A part of her was relieved that the truth was out, but she braced herself for what she knew came next.

“You'd rather be with
him
than
me
?!” Kent asked, his voice back with a vengeance, the words he spat incredulous. “You're choosing some bumpkin woodcarver,” he said, pointing at Hank's truck, “who doesn't look like he has two nickels to rub together, who your parents despise, over
me
?”

Gwen wasn't surprised by his outburst. Everything in Kent's life was measured in prestige and wealth. If a man didn't have an important job, the respect of his peers, and a bank account stuffed with money, then he was nothing, a failure. She supposed that she couldn't blame him for being this way, not entirely. He'd been raised in opulence and was expected to carry on the family tradition, just like his father before him. Kent didn't know how else to live.

But Gwen wanted more than money could buy.

What mattered to her was the love of someone who would support her, who wished for nothing more than to be by her side.

And that man was Hank.

“What can he possibly give you that I can't?” Kent pressed, struggling to accept what she had told him, some of it said the day before.

“Hank wants to walk next to me, not tower above me.”

Kent threw his hands up. “What are you talking about?”

“The night you announced to my parents that we were getting married without bothering to ask me first,” Gwen explained, “I made it perfectly clear to you how I felt. I told you I had my heart set on becoming a writer, and that because you couldn't support that, I wasn't ready to accept your proposal.”

“
That's
what this is about?” Kent asked, using almost the same words and dismissive tone as he had on the night of the storm.

Gwen wanted to answer “yes,” but she realized that what had led to the end of their relationship was about so much more. It wasn't just that Kent didn't want her to pursue her dream of becoming a writer, it was that he didn't want her doing
anything
that might contradict the image he had of their life.

“Give me another chance,” he said, bartering.

“Kent, I don't—”

“With time, maybe I can see things differently. Maybe I can figure out a way to live with you doing this.”

“You shouldn't have to force yourself,” Gwen said, exasperated. She shook her head. “It's too late. I've made up my mind.”

Once again, Kent's expression changed. Where an instant before he'd appeared hopeful, his cheer collapsed, leaving behind a frightful scowl beneath flat eyes. “You never loved me,” he said with a sneer.

“Kent, you know that I—”

“Save me your fake pity,” he snarled, stepping closer, a finger jabbing the air inches from her face. “The only reason you were ever with me was that you liked riding my coattails, enjoying the fruits of my success. Oh, you might insist otherwise, but you ate every one of those fancy meals I bought, you wore each dress I brought home from Wieboldt's, and you attended every play or party my name got us into.” Kent was smiling again, but this one was cruel. “I was your ticket out of this backwater nowhere into the upper crust of Chicago! You took it all in like Cinderella at the ball, but without me, your life will turn back into a pumpkin!”

Gwen quickly saw that Kent's argument made no sense. If she was so obsessed with his status, if she was only with him because of what his money could buy, then why was she leaving? Wouldn't she have fallen all over herself accepting his proposal in order to live a life of luxury? And why would she stop their relationship to be with someone who struggled to make ends meet? Kent's anger had blinded him. He was so upset at being rejected that he was lashing out, saying anything and everything he could think of to hurt her, to render the time they'd been together meaningless. But she wouldn't take the bait.

“I'm sorry,” she told him again, meaning it but knowing that it could never be enough, that it would likely enrage him further.

“Stop saying that!” Kent snapped, stepping close and grabbing her arm; even though her heart raced, Gwen held her ground. “I bet deep down you're gloating. You really took me for a ride, didn't you?” he continued, his words dripping with both rage and sarcasm. “And to think, I was going to marry you. What a mistake that would have been! You're nothing but a conniving—”

But before Kent could finish his insult, the front door opened and her mother stepped onto the porch.

“Is everything all right out here?” Meredith asked.

From the expression on her mother's face, Gwen understood that she'd been listening to their conversation from inside the house. Gwen didn't know how much she'd overheard, but it'd been enough to make Meredith decide to intervene.

Faster than a snap of his fingers, Kent's angry, almost frightening frown disappeared, replaced by his more familiar charming smile. “Everything's fine,” he cheerfully told Gwen's mother, addressing her as deferentially as he would a judge in the courtroom, which made sense, since Meredith was someone whose favor he coveted. “Your daughter and I were just having a little disagreement, that's all. It's nothing to worry about.”

While Kent was distracted, Gwen yanked her arm free from his grip. “I want you to leave,” she told him.

When he turned back to her, his smile slipped, revealing his simmering anger. “Now, Gwen, why don't we go and—”

“Now,” she hissed, cutting him off.

“I think you should listen to her,” Meredith added, folding her arms across her chest.

Kent's eyes smoldered. He looked like he wanted to argue more but knew it wouldn't be wise to defy the judge's decision. He stepped close. “Is this the way things are going to be?” he asked.

“I've made my decision,” Gwen answered.

He leaned even closer. “Then promise me something,” Kent said, lowering his voice. “When you're struggling to make ends meet, when you're living in a run-down shack and are exhausted from taking care of a couple of bawling brats, when your sad little dream of becoming a writer has failed, I want you to think of me. Think about the life I could've given you, one of luxury, of privilege. Then have yourself a good cry when you realize you were stupid enough to throw it all away.”

Without missing a beat, Kent turned to her mother, his smile again at full wattage. “Thank you for your hospitality, Mrs. Foster.”

Then he retrieved his luggage and started off down the sidewalk under the summer sun, headed for the train depot and ultimately Chicago.

Though Gwen had been hurt by the terrible things Kent had said, it wasn't enough to make her shout back at him or burst into tears. If anything, his spiteful words had only proven that her concerns about their relationship had been well-founded. Not that long ago, Gwen had believed she loved him. Now she understood that until she met Hank, she hadn't known what true love was. So while they'd made memories together that she hoped never to forget, there was no doubt in Gwen's mind that Kent Brookings was
not
the man she was meant to marry. All she could do now was watch him walk away.

Kent never looked back.

“Are you all right, sweetheart?” Meredith asked as her daughter climbed the steps, heading for the front door.