Cathryn Parry - The Long Way Home

He felt deflated. He couldn’t get a read on this woman, no matter how hard he tried. Altogether, nothing about her made sense. She’d come on to him, too, with her looks, her smiles. But then as soon as he’d asked how she knew Maureen, she’d turned...cautious.

But her expression was smooth, and she gave him no hint of trouble. Her face was...a mask. Happy-go-lucky. Agreeable.

Just not to him. Because as he stood there, staring, she walked off arm in arm with a guy two and a half times his age and a lot crankier. He didn’t get it.

She had snubbed him. And good.

But he picked up his niece, tossed her over her shoulder the way she adored and headed for his own dark corner of the dance floor.

Because here, in this moment, he had figured it out.

Natalie did know him from Adam. She knew all about him from the court of public opinion. Anybody in town could have told her. Hell, Maureen could have told her.

In the three-hundred-and-fifty-year-plus history of their little seaside town, he was probably the only guy who had ever been blamed for killing his best friend, and then leaving town before the funeral to pursue his own agenda.

He willed himself to turn cold inside, still and unfeeling. No guilt, no pain. He’d had lots of practice, and of all the things he was good at, this is what he did best.

Feeling dead, he held his niece’s hand as she twirled around and around, her puffy dress expanding like a top. This was a favorite game for the “princess cowgirl,” as she’d so seriously told him she wanted to be when she grew up, and though he loved her, he was afraid his heart had been pretty much burned out and shrunk to ash. There just wasn’t much of anything...meaningful...he felt moved to give anybody. He wasn’t sure he wanted to, even if he could. It just ended badly. The fact he’d shown up at Maureen’s wedding at all...well, that was about all he was capable of giving.

“Okay, princess,” he said, extricating himself when the song ended. “Let’s go find your mom.”

On the way to search for Maureen, he glanced to where she had been. Natalie. But she was gone.

* * *

HE HAD NO IDEA who she was.

Natalie walked on stiff legs across the crowded boulevard to the public beach. Overhead, a moon shone low and full. The waves lapped on the shore. A smattering of couples strolled along the wet sand at the waterline, lovers enjoying the first warm evening of this Memorial Day weekend, the symbolic opening of the season.

She’d had such high hopes with Bruce. She’d felt elated when he’d approached her, but then crushed that he didn’t remember her.

Even if he didn’t immediately recognize her—and she’d been willing to cut him some slack on that count—she had been the only “Natalie” in their small high school. There was no getting around the fact that he didn’t remember her at all.

She sat on the sand and wrapped her arms around her knees. The breeze felt good against her face, though she still felt an ache inside. She had never considered that Bruce might not attach the same significance she did to their meeting that night—the night she’d stolen the key and unlocked the door to the room in the funeral home where the body of Brian Faulkner lay after the car accident that had killed him.

She had crouched beside Bruce in that horrible place, which smelled of chemicals and was filled with fear. The room was lit only by a tiny penlight, because she was too afraid to turn on an overhead bulb and risk them being seen. She had witnessed how Bruce had cried, listened to everything he’d told her when she’d answered the door. And after he’d begged her, she’d promised she wouldn’t tell anyone. She’d thought she was special to him. Because of that, she’d never discussed with anyone how he had mourned, or how he’d sat with his friend’s body, alone in the dark, all night, until the attendants came to work in the morning.

And through that night, she’d learned that what everyone else had assumed was guilt was actually something else. Yes, Brian had died in a Mercedes stolen from the valet stand where Bruce worked. But Bruce wasn’t complicit; she was positive of that. After all, Brian had been alone in the car when he crashed.

For all she could see, it was obvious Bruce had not known about the stolen keys. He’d simply sat with his best friend, seeing his soul through the last of his ordeal, loyal to their friendship to the last. Everyone else in town saw guilt in his reactions, but Natalie recognized it as a heartfelt, bone-deep grief. One that came from losing his best friend.

She didn’t know how to connect with people on that level. She’d always tried—witness tonight’s silly attempt at flirtation with him—but the truth was, she was inept at achieving that kind of friendship or intimacy. She had always wished she could have heard what Bruce had whispered to his friend at the end. Maybe she would have some inkling of the secret.

But she’d never know what he’d said to him, because Natalie couldn’t hear very well.

That was her secret.

She stood and brushed the sand off her bottom. Now that she knew that she’d imagined the past connection with Bruce, she needed to move on. There was no point in considering him any longer; he would be leaving town soon, anyway.

Yes, it was true she was attracted to him physically. She could imagine what it would feel like to make love to Bruce Cole, to want that to happen, but it was a mistake to think about that now. She’d actually accomplished what she’d set out to do tonight, so she could forget Bruce Cole. She’d done everything Maureen had asked her to—she’d talked to him and made sure he danced with his niece when asked, just as Maureen had wanted. Natalie had fulfilled her end of the bargain. The rest was up to Maureen.

And, if there was one thing Natalie had learned today, it was that she needed to consider other ways to bring in business for her father’s law firm. She had an open house planned for next week—one that she hoped would net her more contacts. A lot of planning was required, and she needed to step that up.

She found her shoes and headed back to the hotel. Her parents hadn’t raised a rude daughter. She would gracefully say her goodbyes, and then extricate herself from a no-win situation. There was no one at this wedding she could help, and no one who could help her. Time to move on.

Still, she thought, as she pushed open the glass door to the hotel, it stung. It would probably always sting, but at least now she could chalk up the experience as one big lesson.

Stay practical.

* * *

BRUCE CIRCLED THE LOBBY three times, feeling unsettled. He’d danced with his niece for a few more songs, though it had taken all the effort he could muster to keep the numbness in place. Nina adored him and was begging him to stay. If he let her affect him, he would go crazy.

He needed to get out of here, now. Time to drive back to the airport hotel. He had a 6:00 a.m. flight out of Boston tomorrow.

But Maureen would never let him hear the end of it if he left without at least saying goodbye, so he had to stick around until he found her and his parents. He tried her cell phone but she wasn’t picking up—understandable since it was still her wedding reception—and nobody knew where she was.

On his fourth circuit of the lobby, his sister emerged from the elevator. Maureen had changed out of her wedding dress and into more casual clothes. In each hand she held the chubby fists of twin boys.

Jimmy’s kids from his first marriage. Maureen’s new stepsons.

For a moment, something seemed to break through Bruce’s self-imposed numbness. A faint tinge of...regret? He didn’t know the toddlers at all. He’d barely exchanged more than a hello with any of Maureen’s new in-laws. Heck, he’d barely spoken to Maureen.

That was for the best, wasn’t it?

He shook off the doubt. In the end, he made his way toward her, cognizant of the people in the vicinity, scanning their faces and wondering if he knew them.

But before he’d cleared the first set of lobby couches, Natalie appeared.

He faltered, then stopped. Why did this woman affect him so much? He couldn’t help sensing something...important with her, but that didn’t make any sense.

While he stood there, frozen by indecision, Natalie gave Maureen a quick hug. Then she knelt down to each boy and gave him a soft pat on the head.

Natalie was leaving the reception, too.

Without even knowing why, he switched directions to follow her. She was headed for the elevators that led to the parking garage. As he caught up to her, she stood before the closed doors, the down button lit up red.

He ambled up behind her. Leaned in close and said in a low voice, “I screwed up in there. What I meant to say is I think you’re beautiful, and you look amazing in that dress. Of all the people in that room, you stood out to me. You still do.”

The bell rang, the elevator door opened and Natalie walked inside. She didn’t turn. She didn’t look at him. She kept her face averted.

And then the doors closed, and he was left staring at his reflection in the stainless steel.

He began to laugh. If he’d been looking for a sign that he needed to get out of here, that was it. There was no place for him in this town. The old prejudices were still evident—why else would she have snubbed him? He was enough of a professional problem solver to know that some problems never got solved. They were just worked around.

He jiggled the car keys in his pocket and turned back to where Maureen had been. She was gone, but when he looked for her he found his brothers Mark and Mike instead, holding up one end of the bar, post wedding-reception.

Eight years older than him, his brothers had marched past forty with their trademark stoicism. Their only concession to a midlife crisis was that they’d each bought a boat they moored at the local marina. The two brothers ran Cole and Sons plumbing, and pretty much did everything together. They’d both married girls from their graduating high school class. They each had two kids apiece. Mark, two daughters, a toddler and an infant, while Mike had sons the same age. Their lives were mirror images of each other. Their dad was retired, but now and then when he was bored, he took a small job with them. Of course, there were always the customers who insisted on the “father, not the sons.” That was because Mark and Mike charged top dollar, while Dad could be counted on to fall for a hard-luck story. And sometimes, he plain forgot to bill people.

Bruce stood and looked at his brothers, their backs turned to him. Their blond hair was getting thinner, and their waistlines thicker. But they seemed content with their lives. “Townies” at heart.

Still dressed in their wedding tuxes, they each grasped a beer bottle—Mike left-handed, Mark right-handed—and were watching the baseball game on the big-screen TV. At the bottom of the sixth inning, the local team was losing.

Bruce clapped Mark on the shoulder. “Marcus, I’m headed out.”

Mark turned and blinked at him. “You just got here, B.B.”

B.B. was short for “Bruce Boy.” He’d forgotten that stupid nickname.

“Yup,” he said. “And now I’m leaving.”

Mark took a drink of beer and nodded. He had been in Florida on a plumbing job with their parents back when Bruce had gotten into all his trouble with the law. None of them had ever really discussed it. “Did you check with Moe?” Mark asked.

“What, she runs our lives now?” Bruce said.

“She tries.” Mike took his hand and shook it. “How’s the weather in Florida?”