Undertow (35 page)

She slipped her hand away. “You should probably go now.”

I nodded and turned to leave. My whole body ached with the knowledge I could never change her mind. She would never allow me to be anything other than Meg’s husband. It was right, but the pain was far worse than I’d imagined it would be. For a whole day I had allowed myself to hope a baby might change things for us. But I knew it never would. She was right, we were years too late.

May 13, 19--

At twenty-five, I’d lost interest in everything. I was married to a beautiful woman who was devoted to me, and I had three beautiful children of whom I was very proud. My business was booming, and our dreams were turning into reality. But I couldn’t seem to care about any of it.

I tried to put what happened behind me. I tried to focus on my work and think back to the good days with Meg. I tried to remember our happier times.

But I longed for Alex. I missed seeing her every morning and talking to her. I missed laughing at her expert way of keeping me in my place, of reminding me who I was. I missed my friend.

Every day when I arrived at the office, I looked anxiously for signs she’d been there the night before. At times she’d leave finished sketches on my desk with notes asking for approval or direction, and I’d trace my finger over the strokes of her pen imagining the touch of her hands. The scent of her hair.

The days were piling up behind me. The twins were smiling and holding their little heads on their own, working to sit up. I usually arrived home after all of them had gone to bed, but that night I heard one of them awake as I walked through the quiet, dark house. I slipped into their room to look in their little cribs.

Jack was watching me with my own blue eyes, his soft white hair like a halo around his little head. He was such a quiet baby, so alert and attentive, like he was analyzing my every move. I put my hand on his small body, and he smiled. Lucy was nearby sleeping peacefully. Lucy, who was named for her mother’s best friend.

In the bedroom, Meg was sleeping on her side. I looked at her golden hair spread across the pillow. She was always so beautiful, but I could see the sadness in her face. It had been a long time since we were as happy as we’d been on our honeymoon. We’d had it for a moment in Mexico, and even in the few weeks after that. But so much had changed between us. We’d grown up and apart. And I wondered if it were even possible for us to get back to those days, those feelings.

I took off my clothes and slipped into bed beside her. She stirred softly and nuzzled into my chest as I slid my arms around her. She tilted her face up to mine and kissed my neck. A few more kisses and experienced strokes and our long separation was over. Making love to Meg was familiar and comforting, from her smooth skin and sweet scent, to the way she clung to me and the little noises she made as we finished.

My heart ached at what had become of our marriage, and I clenched my jaw thinking of Lexy’s words. Meg needed me. I had to try and make this work.

With enough time, perhaps I could forget what had happened on the boat. I could forget what Meg had done and remember how things used to be with us. I’d conquered the coast. Surely I could conquer this problem, too.

I drifted to sleep with my wife in my arms, a line of determination creasing my brow.

May 17, 19--

When I joined the Kyser-Brennan team full-time, after college, I’d always been the lead guy in the office while Bryant headed up the construction crews in the field and out on the job sites. A month ago, I abruptly changed that arrangement, asking Bryant to handle certain office matters, design in particular, and in return, I’d taken over meeting with the survey teams and handling site research. It was part of my deal with Alex, and while Bryant was cooperative as always, I could tell he was suspicious.

“I just don’t understand why you’re out in the field now,” he complained. “I don’t mind going, and you’re better at being cooped up in an air-conditioned box all day.”

I smiled at my restless friend. “You’re a co-owner here, Bryant. If I’m the only person in the office, it starts to look like you’re working for me. I don’t want it to be that way.”

“I appreciate your concern for my image,” he said, shoving a stack of papers on his desk. “But you don’t know anything about site surveys, and I don’t know anything about design. How is this an improvement?”

I looked out the wall of windows. “Maybe I need to get out of the box more.”

He studied me a moment. “Was there some problem between you and Alex? I know you guys cross swords, but I always thought it was in good fun.”

My arms dropped, and I turned back to his desk. “There was no problem between me and Alex. I’d just been working with her nonstop, and you needed to get in here and put your stamp on some of these images.”

“My stamp? More like my X on the line. You know I’ll just go with whatever she says.”

I breathed a laugh, knowing how to convince him. “Look, if you want me to double-check anything, just leave it on my desk. But you’ll get the hang of it. And half the time it
is
just going with whatever she says. You’re an extra set of eyes.”

“I don’t like it. Something’s up.”

“Nothing’s up. I just need to get out more, and you need to be seen in the office more.” I went to his door. “You’ve been in enough buildings. Trust your instincts. If something doesn’t feel right, ask her about it.”

He wasn’t completely onboard with the change, but I was out of the design loop. Except for the occasional written note, I wouldn’t be involved in any more dealings with Alex. I hated it, but I had to make these changes if I were going to live up to my promise to make my marriage work.

May 22, 19--

Miss Stella’s funeral was another test of will.

The dowager’s death was unexpected, and I knew Alex would be devastated. I remembered when Dr. Weaver died without warning, and how it had impacted Meg and her mother. Mrs. Weaver had completely withdrawn, and if it hadn’t been for her friend in Arizona, she might’ve stayed that way. I ached thinking of Alex alone and suffering, especially with the baby coming and our secret still fresh in our minds.

She was hidden behind a black veil the entire service, so I couldn’t see her expression or know how she was handling it. But Meg was a good friend. We were with her throughout the event. At the limo, I was stunned when Meg suggested I take the long ride with her to the burial site. Of course, it was exactly what I wanted, but Alex closed that door. Frustrated, knowing she was right, I took Lucy from her mother and left. They could work it out.

But that night I couldn’t sleep. It was a perfect spring night, cool but not cold, the moon almost full. I decided to take a drive and headed down to the water. Without really thinking about it, I turned west where McKenzie Street met the beach road. The bright moon threw everything in contrast and lit the black waves with silvery tips. After several minutes, I turned north over Little Lagoon then west again down Port Hogan Road.

When I got there, I wasn’t sure why I’d driven to the house or what I expected to happen. It was completely dark, and I had no intention of waking her. I was here and she was there. It was close enough. I climbed out of the truck thinking I’d walk down to the little spot of beach where we’d talked her first day back. The garden looked enchanted in the moonlight, with all the flowering bushes lit white and grayish blue.

I heard the screen door slam and looked up to see her running toward me like a ghost in a long, white gown, her dark hair streaming loose behind her. My stomach tightened at the sight of her, and adrenaline surged through me. But I wouldn’t touch her—not without her asking.

She stopped right in front of me, panting and glowing in the moonlight. I was afraid to speak or even move in case she changed her mind and ran back inside. But she didn’t. Four little words, and she was in my arms. I held her so long, feeling her warmth and listening to her breathe. I never wanted to let her go.

I pressed my lips to the top of her head, inhaling the soft perfume of her hair. Too soon she stepped back and thanked me for coming. It was absurdly formal, and I couldn’t tell what she was going to do next. She turned, but I couldn’t let her leave that way. I caught her arm and pulled her back to me. I needed to kiss her. I needed to give her my love. Instantly her arms were around my neck holding me close. She was kissing me back, and I held her cheeks, her shoulders, wrapped my arms around her body as our mouths opened. Hope swelled in my chest, but without warning, she started pushing away, breaking the spell.

“Don’t!” It was all I could think to say, to make her stop. Then I realized she was struggling to get away from me, but I was holding her too tightly. I let her go and apologized. She said something about how I had to leave, but I was already going.

I walked back to the truck and climbed inside, my insides torn to pieces. In the brief moment I’d held her, she’d kissed me back. But even then I knew she would never let it go for long. Not now. And god, it hurt so bad.

I arrived at the house and went inside. There was a decanter of scotch in the living room, and I poured a double. Standing by the fireplace drinking it in, I looked at the pictures of all of us from years ago. As I studied them, I pondered the unique manner in which alcohol could take searing pain and turn it into a dull ache. A few more sips, and I didn’t even feel it anymore.

I thought about my dad looking at pictures of my mom, and I remembered his words about not forcing her to come back. He couldn’t make her love him.

I wasn’t going to turn into him. I wasn’t.

A few days later, a letter appeared on my desk from Alex. She wanted me to help her sell Miss Stella’s old Victorian home on Port Hogan Road and find something smaller near the beach. I dove into the project as if it were the beginning of a new series of high-rises, and soon I’d found her a quaint little cottage on West Street that was on the market after some Snowbirds had decided against relocating.

It was a great deal, and I was able to buy it for her while still shopping Miss Stella’s place. I imagined the old Victorian could be sold for the land alone and should fetch a high enough price that she wouldn’t even have a note.

Her decision to sell was smart. Whoever built that old wooden structure in the middle of constant salt breezes wasn’t thinking of things like mildew and rot. Alex would’ve gone broke keeping it in repair. I wasn’t sure how the old widow did it.

After she moved into her new place and signed all the paperwork, I received a formal thank-you letter, and that was it. Through the entire process I never saw her. It was infuriating, and I had to fight the urge every morning to drive to her new home and make her talk to me.

Instead, I kept the car straight on the road to our offices in Homeport. She wanted it this way, she’d have it this way.

Aug. 20, 19--

The ribbon-cutting ceremony was envisioned as our big introduction to the coast. Sure, everyone knew who we were, and we’d been on all the up and coming lists for a few years now. But this was our official presentation to the world. We’d invited local media, all our investors, civic leaders, chamber representatives, the works. After the obligatory photo of the core group cutting the ribbon, we’d planned a reception and an afternoon of showing off.

It turned into an incredibly close-call with Alex. She’d arrived at Bryant’s request as head of marketing and design, and at six months pregnant, she literally glowed. It was the first time I’d seen her since that night, and she’d changed so much. Meg had mentioned she was having a boy, and I couldn’t focus on the interview questions as she stood beside me with my son in her body. I wanted to hold her and tell her she was beautiful, ask her how she felt, if she needed anything. My whole body was tense, but I managed to appear calm and professional. It wasn’t until we were alone in the hallway together that it happened.

My head was burning with all I wanted to say, but I tried for a neutral compliment. “You’re looking… healthy.”

She actually laughed. “Are you saying I look fat?”

I blinked, stunned. “Not at all! You look very fit and six months pregnant.”

“You’re good at timing it,” she said, staring at the silver doors.

“I have a good memory.” As soon as I’d said the words, our conversation halted, and we stood in awkward silence waiting for the elevator to arrive.

I wasn’t sure how we’d managed to be alone like this together, and I clenched my fists to keep from touching her. The thought of being this close to her and at the same time so far apart was almost unbearable. Six months ago she’d been wrapped around me, and evoking that memory caused a sharp pain in my temple. There was no one here. No one would see…

The doors opened, and I stepped forward to hold them just as she stepped forward to enter. Her balance shifted in my direction, and I released the door to catch her waist as her hand caught my shoulder. It was too much, too close. I leaned forward and kissed her, pressing my palm lightly to her cheek. A tiny whimper came from her throat, and I felt her fingers slide into my hair just above my collar, pulling my face closer. I kissed her deeply, tightening my arm around her, trying to pull her against me but at the same time being gentle with her midsection. She inhaled sharply and both her hands were in my hair now. Oh, god, were we doing this? Would she let me take her like this? Here? Our kisses grew desperate, and I was more than ready.