The Goodbye Groom. Ellen James

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СКАЧАТЬ disturbing, irritating…but not dull in the least.

      “I only meant that you’re a focused sort of person. I’m sure you have other things to do today.”

      He gazed broodingly toward the school. “There’s always something else to do,” he murmured almost to himself. “That’s the way it is now. That’s the way it was when Shawn and I were kids. One or the other of us always messing up somehow. Not measuring up.”

      Jamie didn’t speak. Eric seemed lost in his own memories, and she did not want to intrude. Then he stirred and addressed her once more.

      “This is the school Shawn and I both went to. Did he tell you about Mrs. Green’s reign of terror in the third grade?”

      Jamie sighed. “He didn’t tell me about you, so he certainly didn’t tell me about his school days.” It was humiliating, really. When you were going to marry someone, you were supposed to know all those little stories about him—his third-grade teacher, the friends he’d had, the friends he’d lost. Why hadn’t she noticed that Shawn had been less than forthcoming about his past and family? Had she been so blinded by her own emotions? Why hadn’t she persisted whenever Shawn had so adroitly changed the subject? And why, most of all, hadn’t he wanted to share with her?

      “I’m lucky I even know he grew up here,” Jamie said. “It’s as if he never wanted me to know the ordinary facts and details of his life. As if somehow that would give me too much control over him.”

      “I’ll fill in the blanks, then. Mrs. Green scared us all to death. Yet, when I broke my arm falling off the wall out back, she’s the one who drove me to the hospital. Nobody could reach my parents, so she just took charge. Kept telling me stories about her own son so I’d forget how much it hurt. That’s when I first discovered that people aren’t always what they seem.”

      A breeze drifted through the open windows of the truck. Jamie settled back in her seat, gazing toward Eric’s school but seeing her own childhood.

      “Third grade,” she said. “Third grade is when I beat up Charlie Henderson. I found him pouring water down an anthill and I soon put a stop to that. Got sent to the principal’s office afterward.”

      “Defender of the weak and innocent,” Eric observed with a smile.

      “Not according to my mom. She said you didn’t pummel boys no matter what the reason. Maybe you weren’t supposed to trust them, but you weren’t supposed to beat up on them, either. You were just supposed to make darn sure one of them never broke your heart.”

      “Did you listen?”

      “Apparently not or I wouldn’t be here.”

      “Did my brother break your heart, Jamie?” Eric asked quietly.

      She clenched her hands in her lap. “Yes—I don’t know. Right now I just think I hate him.”

      “Hating someone usually means you still care…a lot.”

      How could she describe what she felt inside? A turmoil that had a great deal to do with Shawn Sinclair—but also something to do with his brother. The stress of the last day or two had simply been too much. If only she could just go home or at least spend some time by herself to think things over, to recover….

      She couldn’t. Deep inside she knew there would be no recovery for her without the truth. And only Shawn could provide that.

      “I really don’t want to miss the ferry, Eric.”

      “We still have plenty of time. Tell me, Jamie. Do you still see your father?”

      She believed she knew what he was really asking. Will my daughter survive this divorce? Will she still talk to me when she’s grown?

      Jamie could have told him she was the last person to offer reassurances. But his intensity, his sincere questioning, got to her. He cared very much about that little girl.

      Jamie searched for the right words. “My dad and I…we have a cordial relationship, I suppose. Not exactly close but not distant, either. Somewhere in between. He lives in Colorado. I visit him and my stepmother and my step-sisters when I get a chance. As for my mother and me…that’s the more complex relationship. I see her every other day. We speak on the phone. And yet I’ve never told her that I love her. Mom doesn’t encourage talk about such things. But, still…if you meet a man and tell him after four weeks that you love him, you damn well should be able to express your emotions to your own blasted family.”

      Jamie clenched her hands tighter, reminding herself that she usually had better rein on her tongue. She could only blame Shawn again. But perhaps she could also blame his brother. She’d just told him confidences she’d never shared with anyone else.

      Not even with Shawn.

      Eric drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. He didn’t say a word, just stared at that old school of his.

      “I want to make the ferry,” Jamie said. “I need to make it.”

      Eric didn’t speak for another long moment. Then he shrugged, as if he’d lost some argument with himself. “For what it’s worth, Jamie, last night I called Shawn on his cell phone. At his number in Seattle, too. No answer.”

      “It was kind of you to try,” she said stiffly. “But this is something I need to do myself.” In the aftermath of her almost wedding, she’d already spent too much time trying to reach Shawn on his cell. Besides, what they had to discuss couldn’t really be said over the phone.

      Eric gave her a thoughtful look that was impossible to decipher. He reached into his pocket and took out a slip of paper. “Shawn’s number in Seattle. His home address is there, too.”

      She smoothed out the paper and stared at it. “He never even gave me this much information. Why did he hide so much?” She’d been asking that question hopelessly. She’d never know the whys until she saw the man who’d sworn he loved her.

      “What’s the other address?” she asked.

      “Shawn’s workplace. Well, nominal workplace. He and I share management of the family firm, but he’s not always a fan of clocking in.”

      More information she hadn’t known. Jamie crumpled the paper, then smoothed it out again.

      “Shawn told me he dabbled in real estate. I don’t suppose that much is true.”

      “Actually, yes,” Eric said.

      So her intended had been truthful, up to a point. He’d told her that he was from the Northwest, that he’d grown up on the island of Saint-Anne, that he’d relocated to New Mexico because he’d always been fascinated by the Spanish architecture there.

      Wasn’t that the best way to lie? Be honest as far as you could. Just neglect to include certain crucial details.

      “Jamie,” Eric said. “For what it’s worth…good luck.” He gazed at her as if about to say something more. She glanced away, hoping he wouldn’t say anything at all. For just a brief second she’d seen pity in his expression.

      “Please,” she said, her voice raw. “Let’s just go.”

      Eric СКАЧАТЬ