To Love and Be Loved(95)

‘I was. I am,’ he corrected. ‘So what about what I want?’ He looked up at her and her heart broke at the sadness that dressed his face. ‘Everything is always on your terms, Merrin, but what about what I want?’ he repeated.

She hated that she was hurting this lovely man because she could not give him what he wanted. An image of Digby floated into her mind and she wondered if he had felt similar. It was both revealing and distressing how easy it was to harm another when one person’s emotions were out of sync with the other’s.

‘I want you.’ He swallowed his tears.

She spoke without hesitation. ‘I’ve had the brakes on for so long, emotionally, and that’s made it impossible for me to fall in love. I haven’t liked who I’ve become, Miguel; I haven’t liked this half-life, hiding away here and pretending at happiness. And I know any woman would be so lucky to be asked by you, it’s me who’s—’

‘Don’t!’ He held up his hand, his tone sharper than she was used to. ‘Just don’t, Merrin.’

Curling her hand into her lap, she stopped speaking. He was right, he deserved more than an old platitude dredged from the book of what to say when you want out. They sat in silence for a beat or two, the atmosphere weighted with acute embarrassment, shock and, on her part, a gnawing feeling of guilt.

‘I think you’re wonderful and you deserve to be with someone who loves you in the way you need them to. I care about you, Miguel. I have loved spending time with you and your kindness is something I will always treasure, but I need to go home and I came back to tell you goodbye and to hand in my notice.’

‘Do you know, I think it’s kind of worse.’ He jumped up from the floor and paced. ‘It is. It’s shit to know you would have been happy to let us drift, working our shifts, having sex at the weekends and eating warmed-up leftovers in front of the television, for how long? For ever? While I thought we had a destination, a plan, marriage, kids, the lot . . . I feel so bloody stupid!’

‘I don’t want you to feel stupid. That’s the last thing I want. You are nothing but kindness. And in the long run . . .’ She wanted to make things, if not better, then as easy as possible. ‘I think too much of you to let you linger on in hope, or worse, receive some flimsy excuse over the phone as to why we are not suited. That would be cowardly, and I’m not a coward. Trust me that it’s better we talk this way. No matter how hard.’

Miguel kept his eyes on the floor. ‘I’m so disappointed. Gutted.’

‘I take it as nothing but the most incredible compliment that you could even consider feeling the way you do about me. Because you are wonderful.’

‘And good-looking.’ He looked up at her as his tears pooled, despite his crack at humour.

‘You are, Miguel. Incredibly good-looking.’ She felt the creep of tears at the fact that she was cutting loose from this human who was beautiful both inside and out.

‘What are you going to do now?’ he asked, coughing to clear his throat.

Merrin looked out through the French windows and gasped as a peacock strutted into view, his tail spread to reveal a stunning broad fan of teal and gold, shimmering in all its glory. It was breathtakingly beautiful. A fine farewell to this chapter of her life.

‘I’m going to pack up and go home.’ She smiled softly with the joy surging through the rocks of her grief. ‘I’m going home.’





CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX


MERRIN

Merrin stood on the wooden balcony with her wool pashmina about her shoulders, taking a minute before she whacked on the radio and picked up the paintbrush for the evening. She closed her eyes, feeling the last of the day’s sun warm her spirit as surely as the cup of tea in her hands. How she loved this house; she was happy they had managed to retain the original footprint and the rugged features that showed its age. But more than how it looked was how it felt: the peace of it, particularly this little spot looking out over the cove. The renovation was nearly complete and then she could start thinking about furniture, plants and cushions – all the exciting finishing touches that, when funds allowed, would make this place perfect.

She had started the project a little over a year ago with Jarvis, Robin, Mac and others providing the labour in their spare time for the love of Ben. Merrin knew she would be forever grateful to this community, her community. Between her job on reception at the Port Charles Hotel and the odd cleaning shift Nancy offered, she too had picked up tools. Physical labour, she found, was the perfect distraction from her mourning, diverting her sadness through the hauling of lumber, the sawing of wood, the hammering of nails and the laying of the floor. It felt good to take out her frustrations and sense of loss on joists, lumps of metal and vigorously mixed buckets of plaster.

‘I tell you something, Jarv,’ she had stated one afternoon, as they smashed out wood to put in a window. ‘Doing this kind of thing makes me feel better, helps me forget. Do you know what I mean?’

He had laughed and wiped his eyes. ‘I know exactly what you mean.’

‘I’m glad we’re mates, Jarv. Always have been, haven’t we?’ The fondness she felt for her brother-in-law was in no small part down to the way he treated her sister and his beautiful baby girl, Katie-Ellen Kellow-Cardy.

‘We have, Merry. Always will be.’