Chapter 39
Walk Forward
JAMIE
It was late afternoon by the time we arrived back in Quince Valley, and the reports were right—the weather had thinned out once we got over here.
But back where Sarah was, my phone said the storm was still raging.
My stomach churned, and not just at the thought of her out there on her own. The B peppermints and constellations on skin. “Are you going to keep in touch?”
“Oh, No. It was totally a one-time thing. She’s got a kid and—” he grimaced. “Shit. I wasn’t supposed to tell anyone about who it was.”
“You didn’t.”
“Right.” He sighed. “I mean it would be fun, if we lived anywhere close to each other. Maybe. She was amazing. But she’s like… grown. And I’m not really a kid kind of person.” He shrugged. “I’m still a big kid myself.”
“You don’t say.”
His lips lifted in a lopsided grin. “Thanks again, Mr. Reilly.”
“Jamie.”
“Jamie. Right. Well, if I can ever repay you for this weekend, let me know.”
“Give me a call when you’ve figured out what you want to do,” I said. “And…” I hesitated.
If he wasn’t looking at me so keenly, I would have said forget it.
But he was, so I pinched the bridge of my nose and said, “I know this weekend was all about your future, and business, and job-hunting, but…” I dropped my hand, looking over at him.
Thinking of how Sarah looked when she threw back her head and laughed.
“It seems like you know how to make life fun. So don’t be stupid.
But also… Don’t be like me. Don’t forget to keep having fun. ”
Sam grinned wide. “I won’t, sir. Promise.”
I rolled my eyes at the sir, but couldn’t help the littlest twitch of my lips as he slammed the door and hopped out.
“See ya, kid,” I said into the silence.
The door to my place swung open as I trudged up the walkway, duffel bag in hand.
Chelsea held Stu in her arms like a small child. Seamus stood behind her, his arm around her waist, chin on the top of her head.
My heart swelled to see my son as well as Chelsea, even though I knew he’d be there. He’d texted me earlier, telling me he was in town a day earlier than planned and was going to make dinner at my place when I got home.
“Welcome home,” Chelsea said.
I eyed my cat. “I don’t know if Stu’s ever going to let you leave.”
She laughed. “He’s a big ol’ sap on the inside. Kinda like someone else I know.”
I gave both of them hugs. Then I unzipped my coat. The place smelled delicious. Lasagna, I guessed. I should have been hungry. But I couldn’t muster up the enthusiasm to think about eating.
For a moment, I stood in the entryway, seeing myself hanging up my coat, dropping my keys in the bowl, setting my boots neatly on the tray by the door. Settling back into my lonely fucking life where I spent half my time trying not to think endlessly about Sarah Cooper.
How was I going to get through even a moment of my life without Sarah? I thought of her room, with her clothes tossed over the chair, her papers in a pile on the desk. She slept the same way as she existed—her expression hopeful, even in her sleep.
Seamus frowned. “Dad, are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” I grumbled.
I felt, more than saw, him exchange a glance with Chelsea.
“Why aren’t you taking off your coat?”
I looked over at my son. He was nearly bang-on the same height as me. Looked like me, too. Save a couple decades.
My chest tightened. I wanted to say I loved him, but I didn’t want him to think I was dying or something. So instead, I said, “When were you two going to tell me you were engaged?”
Chelsea startled, dropping Stu. The cat shook himself off and trotted away like he was insulted.
“We were going to,” she said.
“How long has it been?”
“A few weeks,” said Seamus.
A few weeks! “And you didn’t think to tell me?” I barked.
A beat passed. Then I grimaced. This was why they didn’t tell me.
“We didn’t know how you’d take it,” Chelsea said softly, reading my mind.
I leaned back against the closed door. “You didn’t think I’d be happy for you.”
To my surprise, my voice was choked.
“No, Dad,” Seamus said, his eyes on mine. “I never thought that. But we just thought it might be hard, too.”
Was I so fucking predictable?
“Jamie,” Chelsea said, “when Seamus proposed, I cried. And not happy tears. At least, not at first. All I could think about was Mom.”
Chelsea’s mom had passed only a couple of years ago. They’d been close.
“It should have been Kevin getting married first.” Seamus’s voice was so low I knew he felt the same pain.
I blinked away the wetness in my eyes, trying to swallow down the prickly throat.
Then I looked at both of them in turn. “Thank you for your concern. And you’re right; it’s hard being reminded of…
mortality. But I could never be anything but happy for you two.
You found each other at the perfect time. ”
What if I’d met Sarah when I was Seamus’s age? Would I have been a better man for her? Less jaded?
At least I’d be on the other side of fifty.
And she’d be eighteen. I felt ill, thinking about it.
I’d been Seamus’s age when Kevin died.
I swallowed that thought down, though it didn’t go down far.
I looked at Seamus and Chelsea. How they hooked their pinkies together like they were joined at the hip. How could I be anything but thrilled for them?
“Separately, you’re good people,” I said, still looking between them both, “but together, you’re whole. If that makes sense. So yeah, I’m delighted for you two.”
“It makes sense, Jamie,” Chelsea said, her eyes watering. She leaned in and wrapped her arms around me, giving me a tight squeeze. “It’s exactly how I feel.”
“Me too,” Seamus said as I opened my arms to him, too, my heart swelling like a damned balloon.
When I released them, I cleared my throat. “Good. Okay. I’m happy.”
“We know,” Chelsea said, a little twinkle in her eye.
“You know?”
“Dad,” Seamus said, folding his arms. He looked like me when he did that.
Especially with the glare he was fixing on me.
“For as long as I can remember, you’ve always hated it when people changed plans on you.
You never did it to anyone else. But suddenly you told me to do that meeting I’d been planning in New York on the very same weekend as the Builder’s conference.
You tell me to retract my presentation and the next day you’re inviting Sarah to the conference?
Don’t even get me started on how you convinced the committee to let her talk on the topic she wanted, even when they called it ‘unconventional.’”
Seamus was my committee deputy—I’d forgotten that meant he got all the same emails I did.
“They were being stodgy bastards.”
“I’ve never seen you tell off a whole committee on behalf of an employee.”
“We saw your keynote online,” Chelsea said. Her eyes looked almost heart shaped as she said it. Then she brightened. “Hang on, I wrote it down.”
Chelsea pulled out her phone, swiping and tapping until she found it.
“Never regret the mistakes you make. Consider them a change in plans.”
She looked pointedly at me.
“Use them. To walk forward into the promising future where, maybe, you can make all new mistakes and laugh about them with the best people at your side. People who make you realize you were always meant to find them.”
I’d framed it like I was talking about hiring. Personnel. Business. But everything about Sarah had shone right through.
My heart started beating too fast. I felt slightly ill once more.
“I told the whole fucking conference I love her,” I said, not bothering with subterfuge. These two had seen right through me.
Seamus grinned. “I mean, I think only the people who really know you would get it. But Dad, it’s great. Really great.”
Was it? Sweat sprang up on my temples, and I whipped my hat off, rubbing my hand over my damp forehead.
“Dad, are you okay?” Seamus looked concerned.
I swallowed, then tried to back up and remembered I was already leaning against the door. “I’m fine. I just—”
I didn’t quite know what was happening. I just knew I felt something big. A heavy fist was wrapping itself around all my vital organs, and I found it nearly impossible to breathe.
“Do we need to call the doctor?” Chelsea asked, sounding a little panicky.
That was the only thing that brought me back down to earth, at least a little. I was pretty sure she’d been there when her mom passed. Heart attack or stroke? I couldn’t recall, but seeing her chalky complexion I forced myself to take a deep breath.
“It’s okay, kiddo,” I managed to squeak out. “I’m okay. I just—”
Maybe I did need a doctor.
You know that’s not it, you buffoon.
I looked up at Seamus. My son, who was getting married. My second son. Who blamed himself for years for his brother’s death. Just like me.
I reached for him and he was there immediately. I hugged him so tight I felt him wheeze. “Dad, you’re scaring us.”
“I know,” I said. “I’m scaring myself. I promise I’m healthy. I just…I think I need to see a friend.”