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But then something strange happened.
Nothing happened.
No one gasped, no one froze with shock, no one jumped from his seat and pointed at Tom, screaming, “There he is! He’s the one!”
A couple of women glanced over toward the door—and then surreptitiously ran hands over their hair or adjusted their skirts more flatteringly around their knees. But, for the most part, Tom Beckham’s return to Cathedral Cove was a nonevent.
Though Sophie Mellon’s jilting and the emotional breakdown that followed were legendary in the Cove, Kelly realized that very few people in the room had ever met Tom Beckham or knew what he looked like. In their minds, he probably looked like a movie pirate, or a highwayman—someone bigger than life and as cold as the last stroke of midnight.
The kind of mythical man who could destroy a woman simply by not wanting her.
Looking at him now, Kelly realized that, in her mind, too, the same thing had happened. Tom Beckham had become an idea, not a human being.
She had forgotten real-life details, the little things that made him Tom, and not just the infamous runaway groom. Things like how long-waisted he was, which always made it look as if he were wearing his slacks low on his narrow hips. Like how the right side of his smile lifted slightly higher than the left. Or how he tried to keep his dark brown hair off his broad forehead, but never quite could.
“Kelly,” Samantha said quietly. “I think I’m just going to slip out the back, if you don’t mind. It’s awkward. I mean, I didn’t think he—”
“I understand,” Kelly said. Of course Samantha wasn’t eager to come face-to-face with Tom Beckham again. “I’ll tell Jacob goodbye for you.”
“Thanks,” Samantha said. “I’ll—I’ll talk to you soon.”
They both knew it wasn’t true. They had seen each other maybe half a dozen times in the past ten years. But it eased the moment, and Kelly appreciated it. She nodded, and watched as Sam set her plates down on a table, then retreated to the kitchen and, from there, presumably out the back door.
Kelly began to circulate with her platter of deviled eggs. Watching Jacob and Tom from the corner of her eye, she tried to subtly wind her way over toward the piano, the spot farthest from the front door.
But she wasn’t much of a strategist. When the room was this crowded, the large grand piano and the semicircular mauve silk sofa created a beautifully decorated dead end. She turned around and found herself staring at Tom, with no escape route in sight.
Damn him for being even more attractive than ever.
“Hi, Kelly.” His smile wasn’t big enough to be inappropriate at a funeral, but it still had that lopsided effect that always made him seem to be secretly laughing at everyone. “It’s been a long time. You look great.”
Like hell she did. She had been crying for four days, and she wasn’t wearing any makeup, in case she started crying again. Besides, she was thirty-two now, not twenty-two, and women didn’t just keep on getting better the way men did.
She was glad the half-empty deviled egg platter kept her from having to decide whether to shake his hand.
“Hello, Tom,” she said. “I’m glad you could finally make it.”
He obviously heard the implied criticism. He dropped the smile. “I’m sorry I didn’t get here for the funeral. I did try. But I was at the mercy of a very inconsiderate jury.”
“It doesn’t matter,” she said briskly. “I’m sure Jacob understands.”
Tom glanced back toward the center of the room, where Jacob was sitting on the edge of an armchair, talking to Lillith’s parents. Lillith’s mother had her purse in one hand and a mangled tissue in the other. They had to fly back to Ohio, and they must be saying goodbye to Jacob. All three of them looked exhausted.
“He’s much worse than I expected,” Tom said. “I thought— He was always so tough.”
Kelly gave Tom a look. Hadn’t he learned anything in the past ten years? Hadn’t he found anyone he could truly care about?
“He’s still tough,” she said flatly. “But he loved Lillith. A lot. They had one of the happiest marriages I’ve ever seen.”
Tom’s smile returned, just for a flash. “Ahh,” he said. “But is that really saying very much?”
She chose not to respond to that. She wasn’t really shocked—he’d always had a cynical side. And life had a tendency to deepen cynicism, not eliminate it, especially when you weren’t even trying to fight back.
No, she wasn’t shocked, but she was sorry. She didn’t remember many of the things they’d said to each other back then—most of it had been silly and inconsequential, all the deeper meanings and growing awareness lurking between the lines. On their last night, though, he’d spoken one line she would never forget.
When he had finally accepted that they could never be lovers, not even once, he had looked at her with the bleakest face she’d ever seen, and he’d said, “I would have liked to know how it felt to make love to you—I might have built a soul out of a memory like that.”
Through the years, she had sometimes felt generous enough to hope that some other woman would bring him a memory like that. One untainted with the guilt and shame theirs would have carried.
“Have I offended you, belittling wedded bliss?” He arched an eyebrow. “Are you still such an idealist, Kelly? I heard you tried marriage out for a little while yourself. Was it all silver bells and scented bowers?”
“No,” she said. “I’m sure you know that Brian and I divorced two years ago.”
“Yes. Jacob mentioned it. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. It was amicable. Brian and I are still friends.”
“Good for you,” he said. “Very civilized.”
She didn’t answer that, either. She couldn’t tell if he was making fun of her, or if that slightly snide tone was natural to him now. But there really wasn’t anything to say about getting into or out of a marriage that didn’t take them down a dangerous conversational road.
She shifted the platter, which was starting to feel heavy. “I guess I’d better offer these around,” she said. “But it’s good to see you. I’m glad you could make it. I know Jacob would have been disappointed if you—”
The murmur of subdued voices that had been softly pulsing through the room was broken suddenly by the jarring sound of musical notes. Four of them, played on the piano.
Kelly and Tom both looked quickly. Jacob sat on the piano bench, his head lowered onto his arm, which was draped across the edge. With one finger, he stabbed at the piano keys. Four notes. Over and over.
Kelly knew that tune. It was the refrain of “Alexander’s Ragtime Band.” Lillith had loved its jazzy, upbeat charm. Kelly could almost see her now, dancing out of the kitchen with a platter of perfectly roasted Cornish hen, which she’d just whipped up for the dinner party, singing, “Come on and hear, Come on and hear…”
Jacob kept playing. Everyone in the room was watching.
Kelly dropped the deviled-egg plate onto the coffee table and hurried over to Jacob. She knelt beside the piano. Though she couldn’t see his face, she could tell by the movement of his shoulders that he was crying. The four notes grew louder, more strident.
“Jacob.” She put her hand on his arm, which was as hard as rock. “Jacob, don’t.”
His fingers paused, and as the seconds ticked away she felt the tension drain from his muscles. He lifted his head, and his face was running with tears.
“I haven’t slept, Kelly,” he said, as if they were alone in the room. “I can’t. I wake up, and she’s not there.”
“I know,” she said. Had he really not slept in four days? No wonder he couldn’t cope. “You miss her. But you need to sleep, Jacob. She wouldn’t want you to make yourself sick.”
“I don’t care what she wants,” he said, his voice harsh, though new tears kept coursing down his flooded cheeks. “She left me. She didn’t care what I needed.”
“Oh, Jacob. You know that’s not true.”
He buried his face in his arm again, unwilling to listen. Kelly scanned the room, checking all the shocked and pitying faces. Was Jacob’s doctor here? His minister? This was grief more profound, more complex, than she had any idea how to handle.
She felt a hand on her shoulder. She looked up.
Tom was standing behind her. He tilted his head slightly, asking her to move away and let him in. Reluctantly, she did so. At the very least, it would free her to call the doctor.
“Jacob, listen to me,” Tom said with a voice that was amazingly gentle. “Let’s go upstairs. You’re falling apart, pal. You’ve got to get some sleep.”
Jacob frowned, but to Kelly’s surprise he seemed to be listening. “How?” he asked, sounding like a child who would like to obey but doesn’t understand what’s required. “How?”
“Simple.” Tom held out his hand. Dangling from two fingers was a big gold-labeled bottle of scotch. He must have grabbed it from the liquor cabinet beside the sofa. “We’ll get wasted. We’ll drink till we drop, just like the old days.”
Jacob blinked. Tom reached out, hooked one hand under his friend’s elbow and urged him to his feet. Jacob nodded wearily. He rubbed his hand over his face, wiping away the tears just as if he had a handkerchief, though his palm was bare.
He put his other hand on Tom’s shoulder. He already looked a little drunk, though Kelly knew it was simple exhaustion.
“Did I tell you?” Jacob frowned hard, staring with glazed eyes at Tom. “Did I tell you Lily was going to have a baby?”
In the back of the room someone sobbed softly.
“No,” Tom said, never relinquishing eye contact with Jacob. “You didn’t tell me. Come on upstairs, and let’s talk about it.”
When they were gone, and the voices in the room began to murmur again, Kelly turned and shoved through the swinging door into the kitchen. She put the heels of her hands on the blue granite counter and tried to take deep breaths. Help him, Lily, she prayed silently. Help him to go to sleep.
“You should stay away from that one.”
Kelly’s head jerked up. She had come stumbling in here, half-blinded by emotion. She hadn’t considered the possibility that the kitchen was already occupied.
What awful luck. It was Trig Boccardi, who lived next door to the Mellons. He had gone to high school with Sophie and Kelly, where he’d been the wrestling team’s star. His friends called him Trig, short for Trigonometry, the same way they might call a fat boy “Slim.”
He’d always been slow, but Kelly always wondered if he might have found himself in one headlock too many, because by the time he had gotten out of high school he was downright weird.
And he’d carried a torch for Sophie for about fifteen years now, although she’d never given him a single ounce of encouragement. The day Sophie’s wedding fell through, Trig had been so angry with Tom that they’d had to call a doctor to sedate him.
She’d never been comfortable around him, but she tried to compose her features. “What do you mean, Trig? Stay away from what one?”
“It’s not safe to be with any of them now,” he said, and the flat warning in his voice made her skin crawl. He frequently didn’t quite make sense. Was this just another of those times?
He still wore his sandy-brown hair in the buzz cut the wrestling coach had required and his muscles were still cut sharp and powerful, as if he thought he might be called on to throw down a few opponents on the mat at any moment.
“People have to pay for their sins,” he said. “And you’d better stay away from him. He’s dangerous when he’s angry. He’ll make you pay.”
Usually she tried to be pleasant to Trig when she encountered him, but today she’d had enough. Today she had nothing left.
“Who?” Her voice was sharp. “Who is dangerous? Who will make me pay?”
Trig rolled his eyes upward.
“Someone upstairs? Who? Do you mean Jacob? Do you mean Tom?”
Trig shook his head slowly. “I mean God.”
WHEN JACOB WAS SUFFICIENTLY talked out and liquored up, which took about three hours, he collapsed into a deep, noisy sleep. And then, wishing he could do the same, Tom went back downstairs.
Everyone was long gone, the house straightened up to perfection. All that remained was a refrigerator full of plastic-covered food and a note from Kelly that read simply “Jacob’s friend Joe will be coming over at nine. I’d appreciate it if you can stay till then. If you can’t, please call me.” And then her telephone number.
It was eight o’clock already. And he didn’t have anywhere to go—just an empty hotel room that he hadn’t even checked into yet. So why not stay?
He started to throw away the note, but he changed his mind and pocketed it instead. He didn’t delude himself. He liked knowing he had her number, even though he’d be a damn fool if he ever called it.
Fresh air. That’s what he needed. Jacob’s pain had filled that bedroom like a poisonous gas, and Tom had been breathing it for hours now. He didn’t know how Jacob had survived the past four days, with nothing but agony for air.
Just one more reason never to get married. Tom had been keeping a list for a decade—and he was up in the hundreds now.
The backyard garden of the Griggs’ house was beautiful, but right now Tom needed open spaces with no walls. He made himself a cup of coffee and went out front to drink it.
He plopped down on the stoop, undoubtedly verboten in a swank neighborhood like this, but so what? He put the coffee on the step below him, between his feet, and stared out into the cool, clear evening.
He liked autumn in Georgia. He liked the crisp little silver stars, swimming in the black sky like minnows. He liked the breeze in the Chinese elm, which hadn’t lost its leaves yet. He liked the smell of wood fires burning in nearby houses.
He shut his eyes. Several streets over, someone’s dog was barking. The sound echoed on the sides of hills three miles away, and the dog must have enjoyed that, because he kept barking. Maybe he imagined he was a wolf.
After ten minutes or so, when the coffee was drained, Tom felt better. His head had cleared enough that he could think.
And the first thing he thought of was Kelly.
On the surface, she hadn’t changed much at all. Still skinny and unaffected, still not quite sure how to control her long, curly hair. Still an honest look in those wide blue eyes, and a vulnerable bow at the top of those full, pink lips. Still about ten times sexier than she had any idea she was.
But on the inside, things had definitely changed.
For one thing, she didn’t love him anymore.
He heard footsteps coming down the sidewalk, not uncommon at eight-thirty in a safe, comfortable neighborhood. He wondered if Kelly was coming back to check on him, to see if he’d stayed as she’d asked.
But it was Samantha Mellon, Sophie’s little sister. He felt his muscles brace. He’d seen Sam scurrying out of Jacob’s house today the minute she’d laid eyes on Tom. He assumed that meant she didn’t trust herself to be polite.
So if she was coming back now, it must mean she’d decided it was time for a little therapeutic rudeness. He climbed down the stairs, down the front walk, hoping he could meet her on the sidewalk. She might get noisy—she had every right to. The important thing was not to wake Jacob.
To his surprise, when she saw him her steps quickened. She reached him with hands outstretched. “Tom!”
He allowed her to take his hands into hers. This wasn’t what he’d expected, but he certainly wasn’t going to complain if she’d decided not to claw his eyes out.
“Hey, Sam,” he said, smiling. “I hardly recognized you, kiddo. You’ve really grown up.”
Her pretty smile faded. “Yes. I look like Sophie now. Everyone tells me so. Does it—does it make you uncomfortable?”
He laughed. This was really strange. But kind of refreshing. Was it possible she was willing to discuss Sophie openly? He wouldn’t do it, of course, but it was a novel feeling to think he could.
“Of course not,” he said. “Sophie was beautiful. And so are you.”
“Thank you.” She squeezed his hands. “I’m so sorry, Tom. I shouldn’t have avoided you earlier. It’s been so long, and I wanted so much to talk to you. I just didn’t know how to begin.”
“Well, you’re off to a good start. What did you want to talk about?”
