On Second Thought(129)

“I... Yeah. I’m really sorry about that. It was a bad move.” Matt wiped his hands on his chef’s jacket. “I regret that. But I was a little desp—”

“I understand you want to say something to me.”

The restaurant was growing quiet.

“Um, yeah. Jonathan.” Matthew straightened up. “I...I miss you, buddy. I know I f*cked up, and there’s no excuse, but you’re my brother, and I love you. And Laine really cares about you, too, and of course the girls think you walk on water.”

“And?”

“I just hoped that maybe we could... I don’t know. Put the past behind us. For the girls’ sake. And mine. You were a good brother. You didn’t deserve what I did.”

Jonathan looked at him with that ice-cold stare I knew so well, the one that used to be leveled at me.

“I accept your apology,” he said.

“Really?”

“Yes.”

Then Jonathan drew back and punched his brother in the mouth. Hard. Matthew fell to the floor, and there was an intake of breath and a few exclamations of Oh, my God! and Holy crap!

Matthew lay there, looking up at his brother, then smiled, a little blood staining his teeth. “Thank you,” he said.

“You’re welcome.” Jonathan turned to me, and only then did some expression seep back into his eyes.

“Well done,” I said, and he kissed me, right in front of everyone. Took my hand, and led me out.

“How are your knuckles?” I asked as we walked in the near-dark, the lights of the green making a pinkish glow.

“Sore,” he said, then looked at me and smiled. “Thank you, by the way.”

“You’re welcome,” I said. “I also accept gifts.”

“You’re very good with people, Miss O’Leary. Especially me.”

“Well, I love you, so...”

He stopped. “Do you?”

“Afraid so.”

He looked at my mouth, then back to my eyes. “Good,” he said. “Good.” Then he kissed me again, and since it was Jonathan, I think we could tell this was his way of saying I love you, too.





Chapter Thirty-Four

Kate

On the night of the Coburns’ anniversary party, I was seven weeks pregnant. The baby was about as big as a bean, or a blueberry, according to the internet. Disturbing that they always compared it to food. She—or he, the sex was already decided, though I wasn’t sure I wanted to find out—was ten thousand times bigger than when she began. In five weeks, my chances of miscarriage would plummet, and I was counting the hours. Just eight hundred and thirty-three to go.

My breasts were sore, and I was still tired a lot. In fact, I fell asleep at my desk the other day and woke up in a puddle of drool, another fun pregnancy symptom.

I loved the baby so much it was like living in another dimension. My little traveler had replaced Ollie as the creature I talked to the most.

My plan was to get through tonight, which was going to be horrifically difficult on its own. Later this week, I’d tell the Coburns I was moving back to Brooklyn and get out of Cambry-on-Hudson before I started showing. The urge to disappear into Brooklyn and simply never contact them again was strong, if wrong.

This pregnancy would hurt them so much.

In two months, my tenants’ lease would be up, and I could move back to my apartment and start the next phase of my unexpectedly complicated, sad, wonderful life. Daniel was campaigning for me to live with him until then; he had a second bedroom. I was thinking about it.

He’d been great these past few weeks. He called every night and came over at least once a week. One day, I found the fridge full of fresh vegetables and a roasted chicken. He left me little presents, like a huge vat of Tums—I had wicked heartburn—and a nice almond-scented shower gel. A gift certificate for a pedicure. You could tell the guy had four sisters.

This would be my last regular night in the house. Tomorrow, Ainsley and I were going to start packing my things. Not that there were too many—mostly clothes and a few photos.

I’d miss it here, the house that never felt like mine. It had always been like winning a vacation in a fabulous place you could never afford. But the few short months of my marriage had happened here. Every day of our marriage, Nathan and I came back here. Slept here. Made love here.

The spike shoved through my throat once again.

It was time to get dressed. I had a navy blue gown to wear, a simple V-neck.

The dress looked a lot different compared to the last time I’d worn it (also to the Cambry-on-Hudson Lawn Club, to another fund-raiser), courtesy of my pregnancy boobs, but it was too late to try to find something else. I put on a necklace Nathan had given me—a single dark gray, iridescent pearl on a silver chain. My wedding band and engagement ring.

I’d have to stop wearing those. The spike turned again.

I had the architectural plans finished, rolled up and tied up with a gold ribbon. The Coburns had asked me to come early so we could all drink a toast to Nathan first.

I picked up the picture of the two of us from last fall, the selfie I’d taken, me over his shoulder, kissing his cheek. For the first time since he’d died, I really studied it. It had been September, a year ago.

He looked happy. A little unsure, maybe? It was hard to tell, knowing what Madeleine had said, reading those emails.