Chapter Fifteen #2
Rhys’s voice came out lower than he meant it to. “You can’t just appear and—”
“Oh, Rhys, it’s Christmas. Let them live a little,” Lyndsey said. “Imagine how good it will be for them. We’ll be at Roger’s home on St. Bart’s and it’s fabulous there. They’ll be able to swim, snorkel, play tennis, get some proper sunshine before school starts again.”
He battled his temper. “Olivia is just getting over a cold and Jillian is sick now.”
“All the more reason to get them somewhere warm and in the sun. You know salt water is so healing too. They’ll both be better in no time.
” She gave Rhys her most charming smile.
“Please, Rhys, they’re my daughters, too, and I missed being with them for the holiday.
I just thought this trip would be the perfect way to end their winter break. ”
The girls looked between their parents, torn between eagerness and uncertainty.
“Please, Daddy,” Jillian said, coughing.
“It’s warm there, Dad,” Olivia whispered.
“And we’d be back before school starts,” Jilly added.
“Tell me the truth,” Rhys said, putting a hand on Jilly’s head. “How do you feel, honestly?”
Jillian clasped her hands in a prayerful pose. “Not as bad as I did yesterday. And tomorrow I bet I’ll be all better.”
Rhys sighed and ran a hand through his dark hair. “You’ll need passports. Sunblock. A summer wardrobe.”
“I have their passports from the last trip, and it’s a private plane, Roger’s own plane. There is plenty of room for two beautiful little girls.” She flashed a smile at her daughters. “We’ll have the best time. Anything we need we can buy there. It’ll be an adventure!”
*
Catriona had been standing near the stairs, still in her robe, frozen through the exchange. The words barely reached her, but the meaning did. The girls. Gone. Her job. Done.
The house that had felt so alive and festive these past days would be quiet again—still, echoing, the way it had been when she first arrived.
She stepped back before anyone noticed her, climbed the stairs quietly, and dressed in her warmest, most comfortable things she owned—flannel-lined jeans, a thick squishy sweater, her comfortable fleece-lined boots she’d brought.
Downstairs, she could hear them—the girls’ chatter and excited flurry of questions, followed by Lyndsey’s distinctive Texas drawl, her laughter bright, easy, and impossibly confident. And then Rhys’s low voice, his words measured, slower.
Cat couldn’t stay here, not while they discussed, not while they needed privacy. Pulling on her coat, she slipped out the front door, walking past the black car, running, Roger at the wheel on his cellphone with someone.
She put her head down and walked; the cold cleared her mind almost instantly. The lane was quiet; the world was still. She started toward Bakewell, her boots crunching the frozen ground, mist rising from the wide-open field.
She didn’t know what she’d do in Bakewell—get tea, wander in shops, or walk along the river. She just knew she couldn’t be at the cottage. She needed to disappear. She needed space. As well as time to process everything happening.
She’d known her time here would end. She’d told herself it was temporary—just a job to tide her over, a stop between one life and the next.
But standing in the crisp silence of the Derbyshire morning, Catriona realized she’d done the very thing she’d promised herself she wouldn’t do.
She’d let herself belong. And now she had to let go.
Catriona had been sitting at a corner table in the Rutland Arms for nearly forty minutes, her hands wrapped around a cup of tea that was lukewarm, if not cold. Outside the window, the village stirred—a few couples walking dogs, children kicking at the patches of old snow in the square.
Her phone buzzed once, vibrating against the wood.
Rhys.
She hesitated before answering. “Hello?”
“Where are you?” His voice was low, rougher than usual. “The girls said you went out.”
“I’m in Bakewell,” she said. “At the Rutland Arms.”
A pause, and then he sighed. “Stay there. I’ll come to you.”
The line went dead before she could reply. Cat sat very still, the muted hum of the pub around her—the clatter of crockery, the murmur of a radio behind the bar. She wanted to prepare herself, but there was no preparing for this kind of quiet unraveling.
Rhys arrived ten minutes later, hair damp, jaw smooth, coat open. He spotted her at once and crossed the room. “May I?” he asked, and when she nodded, he slid into the seat across from her.
For a moment, neither spoke.
Then he exhaled. “They’ve gone.”
“All of them?”
“Yes.” He looked down at his hands. “The girls were so excited … I couldn’t tell them no.”
The server came by, and he ordered a coffee and fresh tea for her.
When they were alone again, he rubbed one hand with the other.
“I keep thinking I should have said no and stopped them. I feel like I should have said it wasn’t practical, never mind fair.
It had been her idea that we do the holidays apart.
She’d insisted that we begin to have separate traditions, that we make new traditions and this year it was my turn.
And then—” He broke off, shook his head, “She changes it on a whim. As if she’d never insisted that this was my year and next would be hers, and there would be no overlap. ”
Cat could understand his frustration. Lyndsey was beautiful and lively, as well as a free spirit who didn’t seem to know how jarring abrupt changes could be for others.
“I am angry,” he said under his breath, as if uncomfortable admitting the truth. “There doesn’t seem to be any respect for my plans or how I feel.”
“Do you tell her that?”
“I’ve tried.”
“And?”
“She says I’m a stick in the mud … an old fuddy-duddy.
” The corner of his mouth quirked but he wasn’t smiling.
“And that may be true, but there are plenty of times when she doesn’t show up as promised, when she’s agreed to take one of them to ballet or a classmate’s party, but something came up, or she forgot, and she’ll be full of apologies and kisses, but she doesn’t change.
She does what she wants to do, when she wants, and that’s how she’s always been.
” He looked at Cat. “It’s why I still have Charlotte working full-time.
I need to know that even if I’m working, the girls won’t be forgotten. ”
“That’s hard.”
He exhaled, shrugged. “She’s the mother of my daughters, and she does love them, and they her.”
“They were thrilled to see her.”
“They were. Olivia was already packing before I’d even said yes.”
“Lyndsey will take care of them.” Cat rubbed at a spot on her teacup. “And it will be good for them to have time with her.” She looked at him. “Did you send cough syrup with them?”
“And children’s pain medicine. Just in case.”
“You’re a wonderful dad.”
His coffee and her fresh tea and a plate of scones arrived. “I will miss them,” he said quietly.
She nodded. “They are lively and beautiful.”
“They take after their mum.”
“And you. Those two girls are very smart, as well as very loving. You should be proud.”
“I am.” He sipped his coffee. “Now I have a week to finish the book. No excuses.”
She knew that tone—the one he used when he was shoring himself up with logic, order, control. “You’ll have the time, and you’ll get it done.”
“And you’ll probably want to make other plans. There’s no reason for you to stay on, not with the girls gone.”
And there was his famous logic, order, and control again.
Cat had just broken apart a scone, but suddenly her mouth was too dry and she couldn’t eat it. She pushed the plate away as the bells of the local churches began to toll the hour.
“Thank you for all you did for us,” he added after a moment.
She nodded and struggled to speak. “I enjoyed it. I enjoyed them.”
“That’s not what Miss Pettigrew said when she fled.” Rhys flashed a wry smile and then his smile faded. “Can’t eat?”
She shook her head. “I’m too sad.”
“I don’t want this coffee, either. Maybe we just head back.”
She nodded, rising with him. He left money on the table, and then they stepped outside, shivering as the frigid wind hit them, sharp and cold. It wasn’t until Rhys opened the passenger door of the car for her that she realized how much she wanted to stay—and how impossible that would be.
*
Catriona sat cross-legged on the bed, her laptop open beside her, her half-packed suitcase open on the floor.
The computer screen’s glow lit the room.
She’d checked her email twice in the last hour, though she already knew there were no new messages.
Who would be emailing her about jobs on Boxing Day?
Cat closed the laptop and reached for her phone instead, scrolling through her favorites until she found Sarah.
Her thumbs hesitated over the screen before she finally typed, I’ll probably head back to London tomorrow.
She hesitated, then added, The girls went to the Caribbean with their mum. I think I’m done here.
It took less than a minute for Sarah’s reply to come through. Oh no! What happened? Are you okay??
Catriona stared at the screen, a lump forming in her throat. She typed, erased, then typed again. I’m fine. Just wasn’t expecting it to end so abruptly.
Another bubble appeared almost immediately. I’m not in London at the minute—flew home to Ireland for the week. Mum insisted. You could come over if you wanted! Plenty of room, and a few cute lads about if you’ve a fondness for farmers.
Cat smiled faintly, her chest tightening. That’s so kind, but I’ll be okay. I think I just need a quiet day to reset.
Sarah responded almost immediately. Promise? And text when you’re back, yeah?
Promise. Xo
Cat set the phone aside and drew her knees up, resting her chin against them. Tomorrow she’d finish packing, and go back to London, and figure out what came next.
It would be okay. It always was.
*