The Goodbye Groom

“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 started the engine, put the truck into gear and drove her to the ferry.

Chapter Four

When Jamie reached Seattle, she had to attend to a few details. Namely she had to see about a rental car. She could not, after all, go chasing her fugitive fiancé by taxi or bus.

As she completed the necessary paperwork, the question that had plagued her ever since her arrival in Washington state surfaced yet again.

What am I doing here?

Was it sheer stubbornness? Was it as simple as refusing to accept what had happened to her at the altar? Rather too forcefully, Jamie signed her name on the rental-car agreement. As she walked across the lot and inspected the small cream sedan assigned to her, she realized her presence here wasn’t as simple as the last-minute loss of a fiancé. That hurt had merely scratched the surface of a much deeper wound she held inside her.

She asked herself again, What am I really doing here?

A childhood memory came to her now, unbidden. That day, not long after her father had left, the snow falling thick and fast outside, unusually intense for a New Mexico winter. And Jamie, face pressed to the window, the glass cold against her cheek, straining to see through the flurry. Straining to see her dad coming up the walk, returning to her. Her mother, sitting rigidly in one of the living room chairs, pretending to read, but then, at last, setting the book down with a gesture of exasperation. “He’s not coming, Jamie. He’s never coming back. Accept it.”

Jamie climbed into the vehicle and stared, unseeing, out the windshield for a moment. She would not—could not—believe that Shawn’s feelings for her had been mere illusion. She would not—could not—make the same mistakes as her mother. Caroline Williams had never truly fought for her own happiness. Instead she had held on to her pride for almost twenty long years. But pride didn’t protect you from a broken heart. It only prolonged the heartache.

Jamie turned the key in the ignition. All this time, her mother had been unable to confront the more painful dilemmas of her marriage and divorce. She’d retreated instead, as if to keep her dignity intact. But Jamie refused to retreat.

Pressing her foot down on the gas, she drove a little too quickly out of the lot. The rental-car company had provided her with a map and, despite the heavy traffic of the city, it didn’t take her long to find Shawn’s neighborhood—a tumble of exclusive homes clinging gracefully to a hillside. Shawn’s house was a striking angular design, all shining glass and concrete beams. Jamie climbed out of the car, her heart thumping. She might be confronting Shawn in only a second or two.

No such luck. She stood on the porch and rang the doorbell three times. Jamie waited for what seemed an eternity, then rang again. She waited some more. The sleek rows of windows surrounding her seemed to reflect back only emptiness.

Jamie went down the steps and turned so that she’d have a better look at the place. It was brash and elegant all at once. On the one hand, she could see the attraction. This house made a definitive, commanding statement, even while lending itself to the foliage all around. On the other hand…

It was not at all the type of home that she and Shawn had so often discussed. They’d talked about the quaint fixer-upper they’d find one day. They’d imagined spending long weekends together remodeling it or searching for antiques to furnish it. Eventually, of course, the house would be filled with the laughter and happy chaos of children—at least two. A dog to complete the picture…

This house did not seem like the type of place that would welcome children. Jamie couldn’t imagine smudge prints on all those spotless windows or a bicycle sprawled on the immaculately clipped lawn. Professional gardening service, no doubt. Jamie couldn’t envision Shawn pushing a mower here. Yet he’d talked about how much he enjoyed physical work, all the details of rehabilitating a home: weeding and landscaping, not to mention tearing down walls, putting up new ones, sanding and tiling and painting.

This house was too perfect. It would reject any such friendly tampering.

Jamie was more confused than ever. Shawn had always seemed so content, so pleased to be sharing those homey, everyday dreams with her. He couldn’t have been pretending…could he?

Jamie turned and went back to her car. She felt as if she were that child all over again, imprisoned in the house by snow. Trapped by her own inability to open the door and seek what she had lost…