Chapter 17
CHAPTER 17
BEAU
“ G ood news,” Malcolm says as he steps through the front door. He shrugs off his coat, the heavy thud of boots hitting the floor as he stomps snow from them.
Jessamy and I wait for more, sitting together by the fireplace. The two of us engage in a fierce hand of War, even though we’ve both forgotten the rules.
“The roads are clearing up,” he says.
Jessamy lifts her coffee mug, her sip slow and deliberate, a shield against saying anything at all.
“Oh, yeah?” I say, my voice cutting through the awkward stillness.
“Another few hours and you shouldn’t have a problem getting up the mountain.”
“Up the mountain?” Jessamy’s voice trembles, though she quickly masks it.
“The Harmony Center is still expecting you, aren’t they?” he asks, his expression neutral, yet distant.
“Right,” I say, my pulse quickening at the subtle edge of his tone. “Yeah. They should be.”
“Are they?” Jessamy’s question hangs in the air. “We’re a few days late for check-in.”
“We’ve already paid. And last we checked, they don’t do refunds. They’ll take us. If not, well… we’ll head home. Take the rest of the week off together. Start making plans.”
Jessamy’s little eyes lock on mine, a quiet and simple plea. “But?—”
“We’ve overstayed our welcome here, Jess.” I glance at Malcolm’s broad back as he moves into the kitchen. He doesn’t argue the point, just pours himself a fresh cup of coffee.
Jessamy’s shoulders sag as her eyes drift to the floor. Her face is soft, sad, and I know she wants to protest. Hell, so do I. What could a few days at The Harmony Center do for us that a few nights in Malcolm’s bed hasn’t?
But when I flick my gaze to Malcolm, her lips press into a line. She knows I’m right. She knows we can’t stay here forever, nor does he want us to. We can’t avoid our lives for much longer. The daily routine is still there, waiting for us to return to it. And we will. We’ll return changed, the two of us tighter than ever before, and the routine will change along with us.
“We’ll pack up and head out,” I say, nodding. “Get out of his hair. Okay?”
Jessamy exhales. “Okay.”
Malcolm turns back around, sipping his coffee. His eyes meet mine for a second, lighter than I’ve seen them in days, but the light doesn’t stay. It dims as quickly as it appeared, his gaze flicking away like he’s already moved on.
“It was no problem,” he says, his voice calm, detached.
Silence stretches between the three of us, heavy and uncomfortable.
If Malcolm wanted us to stay, he would say so.
It’s time to go.
The quiet lingers as Jessamy kneels by her bag, refolding clothes and counting items like she needs the distraction. I shuffle through my own things, though I’m not really packing. Just pretending. Pretending this is what I want. Pretending I’m ready to leave.
Malcolm watches from his chair, silent and still, though his eyes feel like they’re burning holes in my back. Occasionally, he stands and disappears into the loft, only to come back empty-handed. There’s a weight in his posture now, something darker, heavier than before.
He doesn’t need to say it—I can feel it. I’ve felt it since last night, since we saved Jessamy from the ice. Since this morning when he instantly pushed off the floor, strapped on his coat, and went out to make sure our vehicle was still in working condition.
He’s ready for us to leave.
He’s ready to be alone again, to return to the quiet life he’s built.
This was always temporary. I thought we’d only be here for an hour. Instead, it’s been days. Days I’ll never forget.
With the car warmed and our bags packed, there’s nothing left to do but say goodbye.
Jessamy moves first, crossing the room in a few quick steps and throwing her arms around Malcolm. Her hug is fierce, desperate, the kind that makes her hair catch in his beard. His lips graze her forehead as he says, “Good luck, Jessamy.”
“You, too, Malcolm.” Her voice wavers, but she holds his gaze. “Thank you. For saving my life.”
He breathes out a soft laugh, shaking his head like it’s nothing. “You would have been fine,” he says, glancing toward me. “You have him.”
Her nod is slow, her eyes shining with something that knots my gut. I don’t know if that’s true, but I’ll spend the rest of my life convincing myself it is. Convincing her, too.
Malcolm leans down to whisper something in her ear. I watch her closely, searching her expression for a clue. Her lashes flutter; her lips part. Whatever he says, she swallows it down, nodding in quiet understanding.
“We’ll come back to visit,” she says, a soft promise. “We want to see you again. And you still owe me that massage.”
He doesn’t respond. Just gives her a warm smile before pressing a kiss to her forehead and releasing her.
Then he turns to me. I offer my hand automatically, more habit than thought.
“Stay true, Beau,” he says, his grip firm.
I nod, my throat tight. The words feel heavier than they should. I pull him into a hug. His arms close around me. I take one last breath of him, his scent sharp and earthy.
“Thank you, Malcolm,” I say, my voice breaking.
We step apart. He dips his head, quiet and resolute.
And that’s goodbye.
In the car, I watch the cabin shrink in the rearview mirror. Malcolm stands on the porch for a moment, but when he turns back inside, the door shuts swiftly behind him.
“What did he say to you?” I ask Jessamy.
Her lips curve into a small, secret smile. But there are no secrets between us. Not anymore. “He told me to be patient,” she says.
“Patient?”
“What’s lost has a way of coming back to us,” she adds, her voice distant, quoting him. “Somehow.”
She rests her hand between us, palm up. I take it, holding on like it’s the only thing tethering me to the road ahead.
“I love you, Jess,” I say, squeezing her hand.
Her smile widens. “I love you, Beau.”
“Hello, there!”
The bubbly woman behind the desk springs out of her chair as Jessamy and I step inside. The lobby feels like a slap of cheerfulness against the chill we’ve carried in with us. Bright blue chairs are clustered near a roaring fireplace, a wall of photos glinting under soft track lighting, and the melodic trickle of a small fountain. Beyond the seating area, wide wooden doors open to a snow-blanketed courtyard, pristine and untouched except for the faintest crisscross of footprints.
“Welcome to The Harmony Center! How can I bring you peace today?”
Jessamy moves forward with polished ease, far more comfortable in this kind of setting than I’ll ever be. “Hi. Hello,” she says. “I’m Jessamy Joy-Bishop. This is my husband, Beau?—”
“Oh, my Lord!” The woman rounds the desk, and I notice her thick, baggy sweater isn’t a sweater at all—it’s a white robe embroidered with the letters THC on the sleeves. A bold branding choice, for sure. “You are our missing couple!” she exclaims.
“Probably, yes,” Jessamy says with an apologetic smile.
“We were expecting you days ago! What happened? Did you get lost?”
Something tickles my back pocket, startling me before I realize it’s just my cellphone. I pull it out, blinking at the long list of fresh notifications hitting the screen. Mom. Dad. Work. Mom again.
I turn it off and slip it back into my pocket.
“We’re so sorry. And yes, kind of,” Jessamy replies. “We were on our way here, but then the storm hit and we got… stuck. We tried to call, but there was no signal. No?—”
The woman lets out a howling laugh that bounces off the vaulted ceilings. “That’s Tall Mountain for you! No need to sweat it. You’re here now, together. That’s what matters.”
Jessamy nods. “Right.”
“Well, I’m Leslie.” She scurries back around the desk, glasses perched on her nose as she rifles through a stack of folders. “Let’s get the two of you checked in, eh?”
“Our spot is still available?” I ask, shifting my weight to disguise the tension building on my shoulders.
“Technically, no,” Leslie says, flicking through papers with startling speed. “But we have a new cohort starting this evening. A few of them canceled as well. I’m sure we could squeeze you in!”
“Cohort?” Jessamy echoes. “We’ll be part of a group?”
“Not the whole time, of course,” Leslie chirps, adjusting her glasses with a flourish. “You’ll have plenty of one-on-one time with your counselor, but we find group activities get people talking. Break the ice a little faster.” She giggles like it’s the most charming thing in the world.
Jessamy’s expression doesn’t falter, but when Leslie bends her head to jot something down, Jessamy shoots me a wide-eyed what the hell did we sign up for look. I shrug back, stifling a smirk.
“All right!” Leslie claps her hands, startling me. “If you’ll just wait here a moment, I’ll go alert your counselor of your arrival. He’ll come meet you and then see you to your rooms.”
“Rooms?” I ask.
“We aren’t sharing?” Jessamy adds.
Leslie unleashes another belly laugh. “Haven’t you heard? Absence makes the heart grow fonder!”
Jessamy’s eyebrows shoot up, but Leslie doesn’t notice—she’s already gliding through the bright blue door behind the desk.
“Nonrefundable,” I murmur under my breath.
Jessamy shudders. “Tell you one thing,” she mutters, eying Leslie’s retreating figure. “I am not putting on one of those robes.”
I laugh, pulling her close and pressing a kiss to her forehead. She leans into it for a brief second before wandering off toward the wall of photos by the fountain. I drift in the opposite direction, drawn to the courtyard windows. Outside, a group in identical white robes forms a perfect circle. One person strums a ukulele—plucking out the unmistakable notes of Kumbaya —while a woman falls backward into a man’s waiting arms. The group applauds her trust.
I chuckle. Malcolm was spot-on about this place.
“Jess,” I call over my shoulder, waving her over. “Come check this out.”
“Beau.”
The tone in her voice pulls me back around, my grin fading when I see the shadow in her eyes. “What is it?” I ask, moving toward her.
She doesn’t answer, her gaze on the fountain. Its gentle cascade of water shimmers over ribbed stone, catching the light in mesmerizing patterns. But it’s the plaque above it she focuses on.
In loving memory of Dr. Kayla Kristopher.
Gone, but never forgotten.
Below the inscription, a photo hangs. A beautiful woman with curly brunette hair and a crown of daisies perched atop her head. Her smile is radiant, her red-rimmed glasses framing a face full of life.
Next to her stands a tall man in a sleek black suit, a single daisy tucked into his breast pocket. His smile is soft, his face clean and shaven. His gaze lingers tenderly on hers, his eyes…
Deep brown flecked with green.
Malcolm.
A golden necklace rests against the hollow of her throat, the pendant engraved with a single letter: K .
I glance at Jessamy, who swallows hard, her hand drifting to her chest.
“Okay!” Leslie’s chipper voice cuts through the thick air. She reappears with two white robes slung over her arms, her grin as bright as the snow outside. “Are you two ready to fall in love again?”
Jessamy points at the photo. “Sorry, uh… who is this?”
Leslie follows her gesture. Her smile slips, just a touch. “Oh… that’s Dr. Kristopher’s memorial. She was one of our founding members.” A heavy sigh escapes her. “The poor thing.”
“What happened to her?” I ask.
“She had a bad heart,” Leslie explains, her tone softening. “One winter, she caught the flu, which led to pneumonia, and… well, she never recovered.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Jessamy says, her voice trembling. “How long ago was this?”
“About four years ago,” Leslie replies. “I think.”
Jessamy stares at the photo, her lips pressing into a thin line.
I clear my throat, placing a hand on her back. “And the man in the photo?” I ask.
Leslie’s face lights up again. “Oh, that’s Mal! Her husband. The two of them ran this place together. Helped so many couples find love again.” Leslie leans in. “He was our sex therapist. Very good.”
“You don’t say,” I mutter.
A light giggle and she tilts away, gesturing for us to follow her.
“What happened to him?” Jessamy asks.
“Oh, uh… No one knows,” Leslie answers, shifting on her toes. “After Kayla passed, he… well, he took it pretty hard. I’m sure you can imagine.”
We nod.
“One day, he was here, then the next…” She shrugs. “He took off. No one’s heard from him since.” She smiles again, this time releasing a sigh. “But I hope he’s happy. He was always so positive. You know? One of those guys who would brighten up a room just by walking into it. And the couples loved him. He had a way of—” she performs a jabbing motion with her hand, “digging in and getting people to open up to each other. To be their true selves.”
I smile, unable to help it, unable to stop the spread of warmth in my chest as I remember the touch of his massive hand holding ours together, our fingers entwined with Jessamy’s.
Leslie giggles, stepping back and scooting toward the blue door. “Well, come on! Dr. Chapman is waiting!”
She walks off, expecting us to follow.
Jessamy and I don’t move.
Her hand finds mine, trembling as she squeezes.
I squeeze back.