Every Time We Say Goodbye. Liz Flaherty

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      “You were the only person who ever blamed you for the accident, Jack. Your father was driving the limo, not you, and he died, too. It wasn’t like your family didn’t suffer loss.”

      She knew as soon as the words were out of her mouth that they were wrong. She set the coffee carafe back on its heating unit and came to lean her elbows on the bar between them. “One person blamed you, that is,” she said quietly, holding his gaze, “but I didn’t blame you for the accident. I blamed you for leaving me.”

CHAPTER TWO

      LAKE MINIAGUA WAS a small community. Most of its businesses and many of its residences were named with the titles of Cole Porter songs. The prolific songwriter had grown up in nearby Peru. The Anything Goes Grill and the Silver Moon Café were the primary restaurants. A salon and spa called It’s De-Lovely was near Rent-A-Wife, Gianna Gallagher’s business. Nate’s golf course was Feathermoor. The greenhouse was Old-Fashioned Garden. The Sea Chantey Convenience Store and Bait Shop and Through Thick and Thin Barbershop filled Main Street storefronts. Even some of the wine bottles Jack had seen at Anything Goes had names like The Beguine and Midsummer Night.

      On the other side of the lake, near the fishing huts and Hoosier Hills Cabins and Campground, there was a second convenience store, a Laundromat and a usually closed pizza parlor—Miniagua’s abortive attempt at a strip mall.

      At the end of the business district, before the bridge that led to the golf course, the old drugstore and sundry shop sat empty. Out for a morning run, Jack slowed as he passed the brick building, looking at it with eyes both contemplative and assessing.

      He thought of the evening before. Of being in the same room with Arlie and wanting to stay and stay and stay. Of talking and laughing and drinking coffee that tasted like home.

      They’d talked about the past and—to a lesser degree—about the present. Jack knew Arlie worked in a nearby hospital as a nurse but that her heart was with midwifery, even if she had little opportunity to practice those skills since returning to the lake. He knew and disliked—even though he had no right to even have an opinion—that she’d dated Chris Granger for two years. She’d said she loved quilting and cooking and working with Holly on choreography for the marching band.

      He’d told her he loved woodworking more than anything else he’d ever done and that even though he’d lived and worked in several states, he liked the Northeast Kingdom and thought he’d stay there for at least the foreseeable future.

      But he hadn’t told her about the twelve-year-old who was the real reason Jack made Vermont his home and had done things like buy life insurance and stuff a college fund with conservative investments. The boy who’d made him understand, finally, why he’d survived the prom-night accident. Whose grandparents would drive him down from South Bend for tomorrow’s funeral.

      The geeky young genius who’d made him a father.

      He hadn’t mentioned Charlie. Not even once.

      * * *

      ARLIE HATED FUNERALS, especially when she was only there because it was the polite thing to do. She’d loved Jack Llewellyn with all her heart and soul when she was in high school. Tucker had been a great friend. But she hadn’t loved their grandmother. Not even close.

      “I still don’t know why we’re here.” She pulled Gianna’s car into a parking place at the large mortuary in Kokomo. “Margaret Llewellyn didn’t like our family and we weren’t all that cracked on hers, either.” Her thoughts backtracked and it was as though she could feel Jack’s blue gaze on her. “I mean, later on, we weren’t. After the accident.”

      Gianna sighed. “She and I made our peace over the years, fragile though it was. Now Jack and Tucker are back here to stay, at least for a while. Judging from what I’m hearing on the grapevine, Jack is not being treated kindly.” She patted Arlie’s cheek. “I know you welcomed him when he stopped by last night, and I’m proud of you for that. I also know how much you were hurt. I think if we make our ‘welcome back’ public, it will be a good thing.” Her dark eyes were damp, but her smile caught her stepdaughter in an aura of warmth. “I love you, Arlie.”

      “You already got me here. You can stop being sniffly over me.” Arlie gave her a one-armed hug. “But I love you, too.”

      The service was dignified and brief. From where she sat between Gianna and Penny Phillipy, Arlie could see Jack and Tucker in the alcove reserved for family. Tucker’s mother sat between them. A boy who appeared to be about twelve was in the chair beside Jack. Arlie wondered who he was. As far as she knew, other than his half brother, Margaret Llewellyn had been Jack’s last living relative.

      Many people from the lake attended. When it was over, most of them spoke to Tucker, though there wasn’t the exchange of memories that usually took place at memorial services. No one said, “If there’s anything I can do...” or “She’s in a better place now.” No one hugged anyone. No one laughed or cried.

      And hardly anyone talked to Jack. There were nods of recognition from townspeople. Sam, Nate and Jesse shook his hand. Even Jack and Tucker seemed to have little to say to each other. The boy stood between them, shaking hands when he was addressed.

      The night before, when Jack had appeared at her door, Arlie hadn’t wanted to talk to him, either. Seeing other people purposefully snub him broke her heart. She turned an anxious gaze to Gianna. “Can we fix this?”

      Just as her stepmother had never led her astray, she’d also never failed her when it came to knowing the right thing to do.

      With Arlie in tow, Gianna walked straight to Jack. “Oh, sweetheart, we’ve missed you so.” She drew him into a hug he couldn’t have avoided if he’d wanted to. “You remember that you and Tucker are expected for dinner at the Cove tonight, don’t you?” She smiled at Tucker’s mother. “Ellen, it’s been too long. Can you come, too?”

      “I can’t.” Ellen Curtis beamed at her, gratitude shining from her eyes. “I’m having dinner with other friends tonight because I’m flying back to England tomorrow, but I’m so pleased these two will be in your capable hands.”

      “Yes.” Jack had to clear his throat. “Thank you, Gianna. Is it all right if I bring another guest?” He drew the slim-built boy forward, his hands resting either protectively or possessively on his shoulders. “Mrs. Gallagher, this is Charlie. My son.”

      The earth didn’t move. Most of the people around them didn’t even look surprised. Of course, they were probably too busy squirming from being shamed by Gianna’s openhearted acceptance of Jack into their midst.

      But Arlie couldn’t breathe.

      They’d spent two hours together the night before and he hadn’t seen fit to mention a son. Or—go ahead and twist the knife—a wife. Not that being married was necessarily a prerequisite to parenthood; Jack and Tucker’s father hadn’t married either of their mothers. But the conversation the night before had been one that went well beyond the parameters of just being polite. They’d shared memories; they’d laughed. They’d talked about the accident and he’d apologized even though he hadn’t specified exactly what he was apologizing for. He’d said he didn’t know what to say to people now that he was back.

      I have a son named Charlie would have been an extraordinarily good start.

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