Chapter 29
William
Life in Sydney was really just a matter of going through the motions; business meetings, another stupid party, traveling interstate to inspect a property, family dinners.
His family had been utterly shocked when he’d come from that last, agonizing trip to Blessed Inlet and, calling an emergency meeting, said they had to sell the lighthouse.
Cassie immediately bombarded him with questions.
It took every ounce of control he had not to scream at her, so he turned away, moving over to the window and staring out wordlessly.
“Don’t tell me to shush, Mum! Look at him!”
“I’m fine, Cassie.”
“The fuck you are!”
He ground his teeth, his hands balled into fists in his pockets.
He was so very far from fine but since the only solution was betraying them all and running away, he just had to stick it out.
Just keep breathing in and out until it got easier.
In the end, they acquiesced on his request to sell the lighthouse and that’s all he needed so he left the meeting.
On impulse, he ordered some blocks of wood online, in varying sizes and types; walnut, balsa wood, oak, cherry.
He’d made Billy’s frog pond out of balsa wood.
It was good but too soft, not providing enough of a challenge for what he had in mind.
The cherry was almost unworkable since he was so out of practice.
He’d had to order new tools because he’d blunted the blades on the original set and he just couldn’t get the flow with it.
He decided he liked the walnut best; once he’d experimented with a mallet in conjunction with the carving tool it seemed to work.
He set it up on the dining room table in his suite, spending every available moment on it, until it fast became an obsession.
It was ten o’clock at night and there he was, leaning over the table, working away.
He was oblivious to the spectacular view out of his wide windows, the bridge standing sentinel over the always moving ships across the water.
He’d forgotten to eat dinner. That was becoming a bad habit.
The elevator bell rang. Frowning in frustration at the interruption, he glanced up. His mother stepped into the living area, a covered tray in her hands.
“I stopped at the kitchen before coming up. They said you hadn’t ordered dinner.”
He shrugged. “I wasn’t hungry.”
“Well, you need to eat, regardless. They had some ravioli left so I’ve brought that for you.”
“Thanks.”
He heard Gwen move across the room, but kept his gaze averted, concentrating on pushing the carving knife carefully into the wood, shaving off a curl of walnut and letting it fall to the table.
She stood next to him, watching him work for a long moment, before pushing aside the tools he had laid out on the table and dunking the tray in front of him, lifted the lid.
He glanced up at her, ready with an angry protest.
“You’re about ten seconds away from an intervention, son.
Eat.” Only to mollify her, he picked up the knife and fork and removed the serviette, taking a bite of ravioli while she watched him.
Satisfied when he put a second forkful in his mouth, she ran her hand affectionately across his shoulder before going to the minibar and getting them a beer each.
Handing him his, she took a sip, leaning a hip on the table edge, picking up some wood shavings in her hand. “Walnut. An interesting choice.”
“It’s got the right finish.”
“I see.” She let the shavings drop back to the table. “I want you to tell me what’s going on.”
“Nothing. I’m carving wood and eating ravioli.” He took another bite, looking at her with a challenge in his eye.
She sighed, reaching out to push his hair back from his forehead tenderly. “You decided you didn’t love her?”
He flinched.
“Oh. She decided she didn’t love you.”
He dropped the fork. It landed on the plate with a loud clatter.
“So, you love each other. What, then?”
Fuck, she was persistent. “She can’t live in Sydney.”
“That I can understand. But what about you?”
He looked up at her then, for a long time. He watched as comprehension flashed in her eyes. “You’ve sacrificed yourself, your happiness, for us?”
“For Dad.”
She pressed her fingers to her lips, struggling for control. “Oh, darling. Your father would be devastated if he knew.”
“I know. That’s why I haven’t told you.” He pushed the plate away and reached for the bottle of beer. “But don’t you think it would be worse if I left? You’ve said it yourself, Mum. It would kill him. The only thing keeping him going is this business and let’s be real, you can’t run it without me.”
She looked away, gazing out the window unseeingly for a long moment. “I wish you’d spoken to me about this.”
He shrugged. “It’s for the best. Juniper understands.” God, it hurt his heart just to say her name. “She’ll move on, meet someone else and I’ll…” He couldn’t finish the sentence.
Gwen pushed up from the table, saying, “You know best, I suppose.” She leaned down and pressed a kiss to his forehead. “I love you.”
He picked up a chisel, leaning forward and delicately scraping it across the wood. “I love you, too,” he said without looking. She took it for the dismissal it was and walked out.