Live to Tell (Live to Tell #1)(34)

“What about it?”

“It’s going to be gorgeous. Every unit will have a fireplace and a deck with a view.”

“Of the golf course?”

“No, of the sound!”

“Very nice,” she agrees, handing the paper back.

“Maybe we should go look at a model.”

“Why? We already have a house. With a private backyard,” she adds. She’ll take privacy over a cookie-cutter condo deck and a sound view any day.

“We can’t even keep up with the yard work,” Brett protests.

Speak for yourself, she wants to say. He’s the one who isn’t doing his part—which merely consists of mowing the lawn. Meanwhile, Elsa has her work cut out for her, thanks to the avid gardener who formerly owned the house.

The landscape is loaded with shrubs and perennials, and when the Cavalons moved in, the borders and beds desperately needed tending.

Brett suggested that they hire someone to tend to it, but Elsa wanted to do it herself. She didn’t really know why it mattered so much to her, or even what she was doing. But eventually, she got the hang of pruning and staking and dividing—even planting flowers in the barren raised beds out front.

“Someone else would do the work in a condo,” Brett points out now. “Worry-free.”

“I don’t want to live on top of other people, though. I like privacy.”

“It’s a mature adult community, Elsa. It’s not like there will be a million kids running around, or loud parties at all hours.”

No kids running around.

She considers that.

“If we were to move to an adult community,” she says slowly, “then I guess it would mean we weren’t considering another child at some point.”

Brett’s eyebrows shoot up and he removes his reading glasses abruptly, leaning forward to stare at her. “I didn’t know we were still considering it.”

“We never really ruled it out.”

“But it’s been years, Elsa. I didn’t know it was still an option.”

She shrugs. “I didn’t know it wasn’t.”

They look at each other.

What are you doing? she asks herself, scarcely able to believe she raised this topic after all those years of trying to avoid it. It just came out, as if catapulted from some deep, dark region of her psyche.

After Jeremy was lost to them, Brett wanted another child. He brought it up a lot at first, and then just occasionally, over the years.

Elsa couldn’t bear the thought of it. Another child—a replacement.

No. It was out of the question. Besides, she wasn’t exactly stable in the aftermath of their loss. How could she take care of a child when it was all she could do to get out of bed in the morning?

It’s been a long time now since Brett raised the subject.

And now here she is, bringing it up again out of nowhere.

“Do you want to look into it?”

Seeing the spark of interest in his eyes, she automatically says, “No, it’s not that…”

But maybe it is.

Oh hell. She doesn’t know where any of this is coming from, or what she wants.

“I mean,” she elaborates, watching him warily, “not yet, anyway. I just—”

“Not yet? But when? We’re not getting any younger, Elsa.”

“I know. But—”

“If this is something you want, then we need to talk about it.”

“I didn’t say it was something I want. Only…it’s not something I want to rule out by moving into a retirement community.”

“It’s not a retirement community, it’s an adult—”

“I get it. Adults only. No kids. If we moved into a place like that, we’d be closing the door for good.”

“And you want to leave it open.”

“Maybe. I don’t know.”

She can’t handle the way he’s looking at her, suddenly so full of hope. Not the kind of hope she’s kept alive all these years—hope for Jeremy. But hope that she can finally accept that he isn’t coming home, and move on.

No. That’s one door she can’t bear to close.

Elsa looks away, out the window. “Look, the sun is starting to come out. Maybe your game is on again.”

“It’s not being played here. It’s in Boston.”

Boston.

Where they lost Jeremy.

“I’ve been thinking,” she tells Brett abruptly, “about calling Mike Fantoni, setting up a meeting.”

His eyes narrow. “Why?”

“Because we’re back in New England, and he’s right in Boston, and—”

“Elsa.”

“What?”

“Don’t do that to yourself. Why pour salt on an unhealed wound?”

She doesn’t reply. That’s exactly what it would feel like to see Mike again. Pure agony. And yet…

“Look, don’t you think Mike would have called if he had something?” Brett asks. “It’s not like we’ve been out of touch with him. He always knows where to find us.”

Of course he does. Always has. Of course he would have called.

“You’re right,” she tells Brett. “Forget it.”