Flower Girl Bride (6 page)

I headed back toward the deck just as Luke came through the door. He'd slipped on a sweatshirt and loose-fitting cotton pants over his swim trunks, and he carried a smaller set for his son.

“He's over there.” I pointed to the couch.

Luke stared down at Sam, who had his face buried in the sofa cushion. “He does that sometimes. He just
wears out and drops anywhere that looks comfortable. I should get him home.”

“No, don't—” I wasn't sure what I'd been about to say, but I had a sinking suspicion it was something close to begging him to stay. What happened to my looking forward to time alone at my aunt's house?

Glancing back at the sleeping boy, I shrugged. “It's just…he looks so comfortable there. Maybe we should let him let him sleep for a while.”

For several seconds, Luke studied his son as if considering, but finally he nodded. “I guess we could.” He pointed outside. “I was just starting the fire.”

“I'll go change.”

He offered to feed Princess and give her a drink while he was waiting, and I gratefully took him up on the offer. I hurried up the stairs, nervous for the first time in hours. All day it had been just the three of us clowning and laughing together. Now it would be only two.

I slipped on a pair of jeans, a sweatshirt and sneakers and headed back outside. Cold as it was, my hands were sweating, so I wiped them on my pants.

Luke crouched next to the permanent fire pit that was encircled by a line of grapefruit-sized stones. He poked a stick into the flames, adjusting the logs that he'd stacked into a cone shape. He smiled at me, and I relaxed.

Settling back into one of the two camp chairs he'd arranged by the fire, he motioned for me to take the other. I lowered myself into it, letting the flames that licked over the firewood warm my toes, face and hands.

“How're my pyromaniacal skills?” he asked.

“Good job. What is it about guys and fire? What's the attraction?”

“God just wanted to make sure we'd figure out how to cook dinner.” He poked his stick in the mound of smoldering logs again, and several pieces of glowing ash floated into the air.

“But then what guy cooks?”

“I cook.”

I swallowed. Of course, he made meals for his family. He was a widower. Who else would do it? Leave it to me to say something that would make both of us uncomfortable.

“I'm sorry.”

“Why? You haven't even tasted my cooking.”

I let the breath I was holding out slowly, wondering if he could see the gratitude in my eyes. How could I have ever thought of him as a grouch. He was funny. More importantly, he was kind.

It wasn't even a far stretch to think that the two of us could possibly become friends. A person could always use more friends. And as his potential friend, I was curious to know more about him. About his wife. About his life since her death. But I couldn't come up with a good way to start a conversation.

He beat me to it. “Well, we both survived the whole wedding weekend, didn't we?”

I sighed loudly and laughed when I heard him do the same. “With no more than surface wounds.”

His expression was serious, though, when he turned back to me in the firelight. “Weddings are always tough for me.”

“Why? Because they remind you of your own wedding?”

Poking his stick into the fire again, he watched the spraying ashes for several seconds and then shook his head. “I don't believe in happily ever after.”

“Oh.” I tried to cover the surprise in my voice by clearing my throat. “You know my track record. I'd have to agree with you on that.”

But how could we agree? My thoughts replayed bits of conversations from the last forty-eight hours. The poor, lonely widower raising his child alone. Something didn't fit, but maybe I was reading too much into it.

“I don't really know your track record. Only what my mom told me.” He must have seen my eyes widen because he continued, “That your husband was a creep who left you for another woman.”

“Don't sugarcoat it on my account,” I said to get the laugh, though I appreciated that he'd stated it plainly. “She didn't tell you the rest?”

“It gets worse?”

“Or better, depending on how much you like sordid tales.”

“I don't.”

I glanced at him to see if he was joking. At first, his expression was serious, but finally the side of his mouth lifted. “But you can tell me anyway. If you want to.”

Strange, I wanted to, and I hadn't wanted to tell this story to anyone since…well…ever. Most of the time, it felt as if the whole ugly ordeal had happened to someone else.

“I don't know where to begin.”

“The beginning is good.”

He was staring at me as if he really was interested in hearing the whole story. Had Alan ever wanted to know the whole story about anything? No, that was never necessary when the Cliffs Notes version would do.

“His name was Alan Whittinger.” I almost added “from the Boston Whittingers” as if it mattered now—as if it ever should have mattered what pedigree Alan brought to our marriage and had taken with him when he left. “We've been divorced for two years now.”

I half expected Luke's eyes to glaze over as I told him the pertinent details: Alan and I were married after dating two years, and we hadn't made it past our fourth anniversary. Luke, though, listened intently, as if it mattered. I liked that it mattered.

“Then he came home one day and announced that he was in love with the hostess at the restaurant where he spent so many business dinners. Not as much of a cliché as if she'd been his secretary, but close. He wanted to divorce me right away, so he could marry her. It was a good idea since she was seven months pregnant.”

The last words burned my throat as I spoke them aloud. Even my aunt had been forced to pry the details of my divorce out of me, and here I'd laid them out like a grocery list for Luke. Admittedly, I hadn't shared the whole story, but not even Aunt Eleanor knew all of it.

I held my breath and waited, watching the flames casting shadows on his face. What I expected him to say I wasn't sure.

He shook his head. “Mom was wrong.
Creep
isn't a strong enough word for him.”

“Ah,
creep
will do,” I said with a laugh. That Luke had so quickly taken my side made me feel warm inside. If not for that prickly sense of doubt that suggested Alan might not have been the only one guilty for the failure of our marriage, I would have been content.

“You okay…with everything?”

Okay.
That was such a vague term for a huge spectrum of possible feelings. Okay in that I would get by just fine, sure. Okay in that my trust in other human beings was as good as new—not so much.

“I guess.” Then realizing my answer was as vague as his question, I added, “I'm a little scarred but still breathing in and out on a regular basis.”

“From what I hear, that's the best way to breathe.” He took a long breath of his own and stared out into the endless expanse of black water that was interrupted only by the occasional crash of white, foamy waves. “I know what scarred feels like.”

At first, I wasn't sure I'd heard him correctly, especially since I'd guessed that his comment about breathing had been to lighten the conversation. But when he didn't follow with another punch line, I knew I'd heard right.

“In the mood to share?”

He shrugged. “What's to say? Nicole and I were college sweethearts. We married right after graduation—hers, not mine. I didn't finish. Anyway, we were still riding on a wave of optimism when we got married. We had a few good years and then had Sam, and he was
great.” A smile lifted his face at just the mention of his son. “But you can only ride a high for so long.”

“I don't understand. What do you mean?”

Luke took a long time in answering, and when he did, he didn't look at me. “It would be easy for me to say Nicole was the only one who'd been quietly unhappy in our marriage. I couldn't blame her. I was a disappointment, I suppose. Anyway, I was as miserable as she was.”

I could only stare at him. Everything he was telling me didn't seem possible. Why not? Because his wife had died? Why did I assume that her death gave them some retroactive immunity from marital problems? Clearly it hadn't. Luke shoved his hands back through his hair, leaving it standing up in places, but still he didn't look my way.

“Do you think you would have left her?” I asked.

“Not a chance!”

He said it with such vehemence that I couldn't help straightening in my seat. Something deep inside me told me he was telling the truth.

“Oh. Sorry.”

Luke brushed my apology away with a wave of his hand and finally turned to me. “No, I'm sorry. I'm not even sure why I told you. With Nicole and me, it was probably just a rough patch, anyway. It would have passed. And if not,” he paused long enough to shrug, “then—”

“You still would have stayed,” I finished for him.

He appeared as surprised as I was that I'd said it. He nodded.

I wasn't even sure how I knew it, but I was convinced that if the sun had never shone again on their
marriage, he still would have made the best of it. He was the kind of man who kept his commitments no matter what. Luke and I were little more than strangers—almost friends—and yet I felt as if I understood more about him than I'd ever known about the man I'd married.

“Now it's just Sam and me.”

He was probably speaking more to himself than to me, and yet it felt as if he was offering me a reminder. Beyond being a loyal and forgiving person, he was a father. A wonderful father from what I'd seen. I wondered if he realized how attractive a single dad could be.

Luke didn't see himself as amazing; he'd made that much clear. He'd even mentioned his lack of a degree a few times and said that he'd disappointed his wife. How could a man like him ever have been a disappointment to himself or anyone else?

For a long time, I only watched him as he stared out into the night and, likely, into memories, both poignant and painful. My thoughts had drifted so far beyond this moment and this place that I didn't notice Luke turning toward me, but suddenly he was staring right at me.

I don't know if you would call it
awareness
or
attraction
that I was feeling, but I had an idea that the warmth spreading inside my chest had nothing to do with the flames popping nearby, and my hurrying pulse didn't suggest a heart attack. Did he feel it, or was I alone in my almost-thirty hot flash and heart arrhythmia?

I needed to look away from him, but I couldn't. Something in his eyes rooted me there, gazing back at
him. Was it pain or loneliness, maybe the need for a friend? Those could have been things reflected from my own eyes, and because they probably were, I finally was able to break the connection.

“Just look at the two of us,” I said with a chuckle. “Could Aunt Eleanor have chosen a more damaged pair to put in her wedding party if she tried?”

“Probably not.”

“My picture's probably in one of those books on what
not
to do when you get married.”

So much for my attempt to lighten the mood. I'd meant it to be funny, but he didn't laugh, and my own chuckle sounded forced. Making jokes about my dead marriage felt a little like hosting a comedy club at a cemetery—the monologue just as macabre.

Still, when I glanced up at Luke again, he was smiling, as if he, too, saw the humor and irony of our roles in my relatives' vows renewal. His smile made me forget the discomfort of a moment before, but it also made me forget my head. For me to feel this warm, this at peace with Luke wasn't a good idea. It made me imagine impossible things. It made me wonder what it would have been like if I'd met Luke before either of us had earned our scars.

I
t had seemed like a good idea at the time. That was the only excuse I could come up with now for having suggested it last night. In the tall triangle of light that poured from the hallway into the spare bedroom, I peered over at the sleeping child who'd been in my care nearly twenty-four hours. Poor little boy. What was his father thinking?

When we'd finally extinguished the fire and returned to the house, Sam had been sleeping so soundly that I'd told Luke it was a shame to wake him. I'd said it would be fun to have Sam sleep over so we could play all day Monday together on the beach. Playing house and pretending to be Sam's mom hadn't sounded half-bad, either, but I'd kept that to myself. I'd felt a twinge of guilt for my plan then, but not anymore.

In Luke's defence, he'd called around five-thirty that night and said something had come up at work and he'd be a little late. If this was a little late, what would be a lot, a week from next Thursday?

“Miss Cassie,” Sam whispered from across the room.

“You were supposed to be sleeping, you little sneaker.”

“I miss my sunshine.” Sam lifted his head and, planting his elbow on the pillow, propped his arm under it. “I'm thirsty, too. I need a drink of water.”

“A drink, huh? Didn't you already have one a while ago?”

“Yes, but I need another one.” He sat up in the massive four-poster bed that made him look even smaller than usual. He was wearing one of my T-shirts as a nightshirt. That had been the best I could do while I threw the rest of his clothes in the wash. Even Luke's plan-ahead bag hadn't been stocked with enough clothes for a two-night getaway.

“I bet Princess needs a drink, too,” he added, looking at me hopefully.

Now this boy knew how to press his point. He also knew my weakness. All day that mangy feline had continued to snub my efforts, but she'd let a four-year-old talk her into a few sips of water. I'd been careful to keep the bowls filled, but Princess wouldn't give me the satisfaction of eating a bite when I could see her. The cat was spoiled and sneaky, angry and aloof—a royal pain as far as I was concerned.

Twenty days and counting.

“Well, if it's only for Princess's sake, then I guess it's okay.”

The boy nearly leaped out of the bed. Where did he get his energy? After all those hours in the sun—the swimming, the sand castle building and that fiasco playing beach volleyball—he should have been ready to drop. I knew I was.

I expected Sam to stall after he padded to the kitchen, but he drank the whole cup of water I gave him and turned the faucet back on for Princess. This time no amount of four-year-old persuasion could bring the cat out of hiding, but Sam didn't take it as personally as I had.

“I guess she isn't thirsty,” he said with a shrug.

“Guess not. Come on. Let's get you back to bed.” Taking his hand, I led him back to the stairs. “Do you need to go to the bathroom before you go back to bed?”

“Nope.”

Tucking Sam in a second time, I kissed him on the forehead. He smelled of soap and the baby shampoo I'd bought just for tonight's bath.

“Good night again, little man.”

“Good night.”

I stepped out the door and started to pull it shut behind me. Not completely closed. I already knew better than that from my first attempt at putting Sam to sleep. Either afraid of the dark or just nervous about going to sleep in a strange place, he'd asked me to leave on the hall light. We'd already said his prayers together the first time I'd put him to bed, so God would probably forgive us if we didn't do double duty.

“Miss Cassie.”

“Yes, Sam.” No more drinks. This time I was going to have to put my foot down or he would be up and down all night.

“When is my daddy coming?”

“Soon, sweetheart. Sleep well.”

It was all I could do to keep from stomping down the
hall. As if it wasn't bad enough that Luke had left his son in my care longer than any self-respecting parent ever would have, now he'd put me in a position of having to possibly lie to Sam.

I had no idea when Luke would return to collect his son or even if— No, that wasn't fair, but I wasn't feeling all that generous right now.

And I wasn't feeling any more inclined to it forty-five minutes later when I finally heard an engine and the thud of a vehicle door outside. I almost went to the front door to open it before Luke rang the bell and awakened his son, but then I realized he wouldn't go to the door like a stranger when he'd already been welcomed into this house like a friend. Whether he could still be called one of those depended on his answers to some questions in the next few minutes.

“Knock. Knock,” he called from outside the screened slider. “May I come in?”

At least he had the good sense not to walk right in. That would have sent me right over the edge. Not trusting myself to speak, I remained seated on the sofa and motioned for him to come inside. Luke stood just inside the door, looking about as beat as I felt. His hair was a straggly mess from his worrying it too much with his hands, and his five o'clock shadow had taken on ten o'clock haggardness.

He must have read the anger in my eyes or noticed my jaw that I couldn't seem to loosen because he rushed to explain. “Hey, I'm so sorry about this. I never intended to leave you in the lurch. I didn't have any idea it would take this long. Minor job crisis. You know how those go.”

As a matter of fact, I did. I'd had those days when the school roof leaked, leaving my shelves of reference books in jeopardy, or when a student had come to school with signs of abuse and I'd been obligated to call Child Protective Services. I wasn't about to share those stories now, though. The last thing Luke Sheridan needed was someone to commiserate with him. More than anything he needed to get the lecture that was coming to him.

Before I could begin it, Luke prattled on with his apology, as if anything he said was going to make what he'd done okay.

“It's just that the township is taking its sweet time in approving some of the permits. Here I've got several subcontractors lined up, and we have no permits for them to start the job.”

He stopped, probably waiting for me to tell him how badly I felt for him. Wrong answer. One of the Sheridan guys deserved my pity, but I hated to tell Luke he wasn't the one.

As nonchalantly as possible, I stood up from the couch and started fluffing its pillows. Over my shoulder, I asked, “Don't you want to know how your son is?”

“What?” He shook his head, my question clearly surprising him. Crossing to the kitchen, he leaned his elbows heavily on the counter. “Of course I do. How is Sam?”

I followed him into the kitchen, but instead of joining him at the counter, I stepped to the sink and loaded Sam's water glass into the dishwasher.

“He's fine. He had some grilled chicken for dinner, he's had a bath, and he's sleeping upstairs.”

“Thanks. I really appreciate it.”

“Somebody had to do it,” I said with a shrug.

Luke's posture stiffened, his jaw tightening. He was becoming angry? A few people here had the right to be mad, but he wasn't one of them.

“Look, I said thanks. I'm sorry that things turned out the way they did. I didn't mean—”

“You didn't mean to leave your son waiting here until after ten o'clock?”

He shook his head, his frustration palpable. “It couldn't be avoided. I told you that.”

“Don't worry about it. I guess it couldn't be helped.”

“I said I'm sorry.”

I raised my hand to stop him. “No, it's fine. Really.”

“Don't…do that.” His voice sounded so strange, and he appeared to be gritting his teeth.

“What are you talking about?”

“Quit playing the martyr. If you're mad, be mad. If you have something to say, then say it.”

At first I just stared at him, but then I straightened my shoulders. “I'm mad.”

“You have every right to be. When I called, I didn't know I would be so late.”

“Another call wouldn't have been too much to ask.”

Luke nodded. “Point taken. I just got caught up in the problems, and I wanted to prove I could handle them.” He paused, flexing his jaw. “But none of that matters. I should have been here.”

Pushing back from the counter, he brushed his hands together as if he considered the matter settled. Maybe I should have left it at that. He'd admitted he was wrong,
and that should have been enough for me. But I never could let sleeping dogs lie when I could make my point better by nudging the little pooches with my foot.

“I would think your job is pretty demanding.”

He smiled as if he appreciated the change in subject. “You've got that right.”

“You probably work a lot of hours.” Though I'd kept my comment carefully vague, Luke's smile disappeared, and he raised an eyebrow.

“Enough,” he answered, equally vague.

I considered stopping there; really I did. But I'd seen so much questionable parenting while working with at-risk children, parents who just couldn't be bothered to attend to their children's basic needs. I might have a chance to make a difference in this one child's life, and I just had to do it.

“How many days a week would you say you work late?”

His hands gripped the edge of the counter this time, and he trapped me in his narrowed gaze. “Just what are you getting at, Cassie?”

I shrugged as if the subject were something far more casual than a little boy's emotional stability. “Sam said usually when you're working late, he stays at his grandparents' house.”

“He loves it at Grammy and Papa's.”

“I'm sure he does. It's just that—”

“What, do you have trouble with family members providing day care? You're probably one of those proponents of institutionalized day care centers. You're convinced my child will suffer socially if he's not cor
ralled with twenty other four-year-olds and required to nap each day at one-fifteen.”

I started shaking my head before he was finished. “No, that's not it.” I did have some definite ideas about child care and quality preschool instruction, but it might not be good to impart all of my knowledge at once.

“Then what is it?” He braced his arms so stiffly, it was as if he expected a blow rather than my words.

“I just wonder, if you're working late all the time, then maybe you're putting your career first while leaving your parents to raise Sam.”

Why did it feel as if suddenly all the nighttime sounds from outside had disappeared at once? Luke turned so his back was to me, but his jaw was tight, and I was almost certain I saw a vein ticking at his temple.

The silence unnerving me, I tried again. “It's just that I see this happen in my job. Parents work hard so that their children will have
more,
and what they really need is more time with their parents.”

“That's what you think, huh?” He said it with a chuckle, but when he turned back to me, his expression was about as far from smiling as it could come without surgical assistance.

That combined with the anger that radiated from him in waves had me taking a step back from his penetrating gaze. He didn't step forward, didn't take an intimidating stance of any sort, but I still was tempted to back out of the room because I probably wouldn't like whatever he was about to say.

“Do you have any idea how many people feel obligated to give me suggestions about raising Sam? Poor,
lonely widower. He couldn't possibly have a clue how to raise his own son.”

Recognizing I'd stepped over the line, I lifted my hands wide. “Look, I was just trying to…”

“Help.” We both said it at the same time, but it sounded feeble coming from my mouth.

“For three years now, I've had people coming out of the woodwork like termites going to a two-by-four feast, every one of them wanting to
help.
My parents, my in-laws, people at church, strangers at the grocery store. Everybody's got a tip for the poor widower.”

He paced away from me, his arms crossed, only to whip around and face me again. “Sam is
my
son. It's
my
job to decide how to raise him.”

“Of course he's your son.”

“And yet everyone on the Michigan coast of the Big Lake thinks he knows more about what
my son
needs that I do.”

I had no doubt that this “everyone” he spoke of was referring to me, but at least he hadn't singled me out.

“I'm sorry. I shouldn't have…” I let my words trail off because we both knew what I shouldn't have said.

He nodded as if to acknowledge my apology. “But it gets even worse,” he continued. “Now I not only have parents offering me their gems of experience, I'm supposed to be grateful when I get tips from people who don't even have kids.”

Again he didn't name me. He didn't have to. He was right. Whether or not he'd messed up tonight—and I still was convinced he had—I had no business making assumptions about his whole life with his son. Just
because I'd seen some examples of poor parenting at my school didn't mean I knew anything about Luke and Sam.

“Really, Luke, forgive me. I had no right.”

Luke just raised his hand to stop me and stepped past me into the great room. “I'm the one who gets him up every morning and puts him to bed every night,” he said without looking back. “I know that Sam would rather take a long walk off a short pier than eat his green beans and that he prefers to sleep with a monkey named Sunshine.”

“Sunshine?”

He turned to face me, looking more tired now than angry. “It's just this stuffed monkey with matted gray fur. A real eyesore.”

“I thought he was talking about missing the sun outside, not a toy named Sunshine.” I shook my head, finally laughing at myself when I should have been chortling all along instead of taking myself so seriously.