An Invincible Summer (Wyndham Beach #1)(91)
“Crawford . . . what? Where? Okay, secure the scene and get the witnesses’ info. I’ll be there in five minutes.”
He turned to Maggie. “Hit-and-run over on Pratt Street. I need to go. But there’s something else I need to tell you. About me being married three times. Something else I deeply regret.” His expression was sober. “I married three very good women whose only failing was that they loved me. And I hurt them because I couldn’t love them the way they deserved to be loved.” He paused, took a deep breath. “Because the problem was, I wanted them to be you, and none of them were. It wasn’t their fault. It was unfair and stupid of me to have married a woman while wanting her to be someone else. They deserved to be loved for themselves, and I couldn’t do it, and I realize what an asshole I was. The truth is I never really loved anyone but you. I’m pretty sure I never will.”
She wanted to cover her ears, but she couldn’t move. His words hung between them for what seemed like a lifetime. Then Brett stood and stepped down from the rock he’d been sitting on. “So that’s the story. Start to finish. We have a son together, and he wants to know us. He seems almost too good to be true. You’ll understand once you’ve met him. I’m glad he’s reached out to us. I’m glad you’re back. Where any of this will lead is anyone’s guess. But I’m keeping my options open.” He started to walk away, zigzagging slightly to avoid the wettest part of the sand.
“Do you love your children?” Maggie called after him.
He stopped and turned. “Of course I love them. What kind of question is that?”
“You said you regretted having been married three times. Three marriages. One child from each wife, you said at the reunion.”
“So?”
“So if you hadn’t married each of those women, you wouldn’t have those children. If you changed the past, those kids you love wouldn’t exist.”
Brett stared at her for a long time. “Huh.”
His phone rang again, and he answered as he walked away, leaving Maggie with way too much to think about. Today, for the first time, he’d told her exactly how he’d felt forty years ago, and the confession had left her speechless. Forty years too late, she might have said, but then, as she’d pointed out, changing the past meant changing everything, and that she would not do.
She walked back to the house, thinking maybe she, too, should keep her options open.
On Thursday morning, Maggie stepped into the cavernous closet the prior owners had built. Even with every piece of clothing she owned housed there, she’d barely filled the space. She stared at her skirts on their hangers, her shirts, her jackets, blouses, and tops, trying to decide what to wear. Something plain but not dowdy. Casual but not too. The weather was projected into the low eighties, so something light. She decided on a navy pencil skirt and a white button-down long-sleeve shirt. She’d roll the sleeves up to her elbows and wear a necklace of glass beads Natalie had picked up for her on a trip to Italy. Nothing fussy, nothing she had to think about once she put it on. She wanted her focus to be on Joe, not herself.
The drive took over an hour, but it was an easy one. She kept to local roads as much as she could, avoiding the busy highway. She needed a slow-and-easy ride to calm her nerves. What if he didn’t like her? What if he decided this meeting was a mistake and at the last minute decided not to come?
She turned into the restaurant’s parking lot at 11:55 and parked in the first space she saw. Pulling down the visor, she checked her appearance in the mirror. No lipstick on her teeth. No mascara flaked on her cheeks. She fluffed her hair just a bit, took a deep breath, and got out of the car, the strap of her bag slung over her shoulder, her sunglasses covering her eyes. There were several others about to enter the restaurant when she arrived at the door, a party of five or six, and one young man who stood outside. They made eye contact briefly, and he smiled. She smiled back, a force of habit, and then he opened the door for her. Thanking him with another smile, she stepped inside, and he followed. She was taking off her sunglasses when she realized he was behind her. She turned and took a good look at him.
“Hello, Maggie.” She’d dismissed him immediately because at first glance he hadn’t looked old enough to be her forty-year-old son.
“How did you know it was me?” she asked.
He held out a hand to her, and she took it, barely noticing he hadn’t answered her question.
“I’m so glad you’re here.” To the hostess, he said, “Reservation for Miller.”
“I have two for noon.” The pretty hostess smiled at him. “Would you prefer the dining room or the patio?”
Joe turned to Maggie, who peered past him. The patio tables were almost empty, promising some privacy.
“The patio looks lovely,” she said.
The hostess led them to a table shaded by a fully leafed-out maple tree. Joe held Maggie’s chair for her, then sat across from her at the small table.
“Your server will be with you in a moment,” the hostess said as she handed them their menus.
“Thank you for coming,” Joe said. “I was afraid you’d change your mind and decide not to come.”
“After forty years?” She smiled. “Nothing could have kept me away.”
He’s almost too beautiful, she thought after he’d taken off his dark glasses and hung them from the open neck of his shirt. He was wearing the male equivalent of her outfit: navy Dockers and a white button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled to the elbows. She could indeed see her eyes in his, just as Brett had said. And she could see Brett in him as well, in the dimple on the left side of his cheek, the shape of his face. She couldn’t help but smile.