This Is Not How It Ends(29)

Philip stopped walking. “Charley, I told you about his wife.”

We were standing along the busy street, cars speeding by. “Told me what?”

“Sari’s dead. She died four years ago. That’s why he left New York.”

His words carved a hole through me, and I remembered Ben’s eyes and how they’d haunted me, how their sadness pulled me in. I saw little Jimmy. The boy had no mother. Ben’s sadness was real—I had recognized it. “He said she was away . . .”

Goose bumps spotted my skin, and I wished I’d brought a wrap for my shoulders. Philip’s arm came down around me, pulling me closer to his side as we walked. “It was an awful accident. Goose . . . Ben doesn’t like to talk about it much, understandably. Terribly tragic. I thought he’d never survive.”

His mom’s away . . . You get used to it. And I blathered on about my fiancé’s travel schedule.

The rest of our walk was made in silence. “Are we all right?” Philip asked as we slipped through our front gate. I unhooked Sunny’s leash and let him run ahead, where he met us at the top of the stairs.

Thinking about Ben’s loss, I was suddenly feeling dreadful about my complaining. There were far worse things in life than a short separation and a cryptic call from a crazy ex-wife. “I apologize for overreacting, Philip. But I’ll never apologize for wanting more of us.”

He cupped my chin in his hand and slid a hand down my back. “I may tuck you into my valise this trip,” he whispered. “Saint Louis is lovely this time of year.”

We reached the house, and I thought our conversation would lead to more, that we’d make love and reconnect. But after dressing for bed and slipping beneath the covers, he yawned and curled around me. “This is my favorite place to be.” And I wanted to believe those words were enough.





CHAPTER 14

December 2017–March 2018, Back Then

Kansas City to Islamorada

“We should move in together.”

Philip sat across from me at the Hotel Phillips (no relation) in Kansas City’s acclaimed P.S. Speakeasy. I’d come to love the contemporary incarnation of the 1930s bar tucked away in an underground hideaway. Everything about it was cool and sophisticated, with a stealthy aura varnishing its dark wooden floors and lush velour seats. I was wedged against a velvety brown pillow, and Philip’s hand was wrapped around my fingers.

We had just returned from London.

I was beginning to get nervous because Philip never drank champagne, and here he was ordering a bottle. New Year’s Eve was still two days away, and I wasn’t nearly ready for a proposal. I was brittle, marked by grief, and unprepared for grandiose expressions of love.

“We’ll move to the Islamorada house.”

This surprised me. Philip had his pick of first-class locations. The Islamorada house stood an hour from a big city and didn’t have a Ritz-Carlton nearby. Or, as he would explain to me later, it was a sensible option since it was near enough, but not too far from the Miami office. But before I could respond, I thought about leaving Kansas City, Mom’s memory, and my students.

“No.”

“No?” he repeated.

“No, I can’t marry you.”

It slipped out before I knew it was off my tongue.

His arms came down at his sides. “Well, that hurt.”

“Oh my gosh.” I dropped my head in my hands. The cerulean blue tile above us reflected on the table. I didn’t dare look up.

“I wasn’t proposing, Charley, but I will if that’s what you need.” He paused. “Or not.”

“Shoot. That’s not what I meant.”

“Tell me what you meant.” His elbows came down on the table, and he rested his head on his hands.

“Don’t make fun of me.”

“I’m not making fun of you.”

“You weren’t going to propose, were you?”

“No, but I shall if you want.”

“Why Islamorada?”

He swirled the champagne before deciding to take a swig. “I thought you’d like the quiet. Sunny would enjoy the ocean and the warm weather. You’ll be safe there. We can watch the sun rise from our backyard.”

I’d never been to the Islamorada house. Years ago, when the company opened a Miami office, Philip had decided to buy it “just in case.” Then earlier this year, he had “people” complete renovations and decorating.

“I think you’ll rather enjoy the Keys, Charley.”

“What about you?”

“You know I can do my job anywhere as long as there’s an internet connection and Zoom.” I giggled, remembering the time I did a dance for him while he was on a video conference. “It’s an easy life. You’ll see.”



Four weeks later, after a tearful goodbye with the teachers and students at the high school, we were tucked away on a lazy stretch of beach in the house that Philip had decorated with us in mind. It was spacious and vibrant with an abundance of light. There was Philip’s playful style—spotted with touches of color and texture. “I’ve gone ahead and named her Once upon a Tide, Charley.” Homes in the Keys had names, he explained. This one, he chose for me.

I shuddered to think what Mom would say as I lay across our bed. The pink velvet tufted headboard and its bright-turquoise pillows were a stark contrast to the black-and-white cowhide rug. Thrust on my back, I counted the crystals dangling from the overhead chandelier, blocking her voice from pedaling through my brain. “Why buy a cow when you can get the milk for free?”