CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
Avonlea – Now
The gravel bites into my knees through my leggings, but I don’t care. Rain falls in sheets around me and I don’t care about that either. I’m wet and cold, but it’s nothing to the icy feeling in my gut.
What have I done?
“Avonlea?” Angus’s voice comes from behind me, and the next thing I see is his cane laid next to me so he can bend to wrap me in his arms. “Come now, m’eudail, up you come.”
He slowly helps me stand, bending cautiously for his cane before wrapping an arm around my waist and guiding me into their cottage. He shouldn’t be in the rain. He shouldn’t be overexerting himself to help me. Yet here he is—the strength I don’t have for myself right now.
I slip onto a stool by the kitchen island and blow out a breath, heavy and stilted, then wipe at my face that’s streaked with rain and tears.
“Jamie knows about Lennox. I don’t know how he figured it out.
He didn’t say. He just asked if Lennox was his.
I’ve never seen him so upset.” I look at the man who has been more than a friend to me.
He’s been a grandfather, a mentor, and I beg him with my soul to give me an answer to my next question.
I need his wisdom more than anything. “What do I do now?”
He shakes his head, the corners of his mouth turning down, and I know he won’t have the answers I need.
“I don’t know, love. Besides talking to him, getting everything out in the open, there isn’t much you can do.
He’s had a shock, and I don’t know how he’ll react.
It may take him a while to figure that out for himself. ”
“But Lennox… What about him? Does he know?” Oh god, I should’ve asked more questions about how Jamie figured it out. Is Lennox somewhere in the inn just as upset and confused as Jamie is right now? I spring to my feet, ready to run to him, but Angus’s hand on my arm steadies me.
“I don’t think he does. He’s with Aileen. He’s a little confused about why Jamie took off like he did, but he’s okay. Aileen will stay with him. I think she’s got him playing a board game at the moment.”
I relax back onto the stool and drop my head onto my arms, resting them on the counter.
“Give yourself some time to think, lass. Don’t get ahead of yourself. First you should probably talk to Jamie—when he gets back from wherever he went.”
A terrible thought hits me and I lift my head to look at Angus. “What if he doesn’t come back?”
“He will.” Angus is so sure of his grandson.
I want to have that same level of faith, but I’ve been on the receiving end of Jamie walking away before.
“He’s not the same boy he was,” he says, and I’m reminded of the fact that Jamie walked away from them too.
“Talk to him. Tell him everything. Then you figure out how to tell Lennox. And we’ll be here, Aileen and me. We’re here, okay?”
My face falls, the gratitude and the hurt and all of it mixing together into a mess of emotions I’ll never be able to figure out. “I shouldn’t have put you in the middle. I’m so sorry. What if—”
“Avonlea,” he says in his gentle voice, one that instantly helps me feel calmer. “We’re here for you all. Jamie, you, and Lennox. Yes, that might be a bit tricky for a while, but you are all family. It will work out, you’ll see.”
God, I wish I had his confidence.
I nod and attempt to steady my breathing. “Okay. Thanks, Angus.”
He embraces me then, wrapping me in his arms like I’m a child, and lets me cry into his shoulder until the tears run out and I have nothing left.
“You keep a change of clothes in the kitchen, don’t ye? In the drawer of the desk?” Angus asks, and I sniffle, looking at him through what I’m sure are very puffy eyes.
“Aye?” I ask.
“I’ll go get them. Why don’t you stay here, take a shower, get changed. When Jamie gets back, you two can talk here where it’s private.”
“What about the lunch service… And Lennox?”
“I’ll tag Hamish in and help if they need it,” he states, and I open my mouth to protest but he pushes a finger against my lips.
“I can help plate or something easy. Relax, lass. And Aileen can keep Lennox company. It’ll be fine.
Stay, take some time to think. Talk to Jamie.
I promise he’ll be back before you know it. ”
I nod and can only hope that he’s right.
After what I’m pretty sure was the longest shower I’ve ever taken—letting the scalding hot water careen over my body, warming every last millimeter of skin—I got restless just sitting in Aileen and Angus’s cottage kitchen waiting for Jamie to come back.
So, I started baking. It’s what I’ve always done when I’m upset or restless.
God, I hope they won’t mind. There’s a mess of bowls and ingredients all over the counter and the smell of Scottish shortbread fills the space.
I loved seeing that there were all the necessary implements and ingredients here.
It tells me Angus loves to cook at home as much as he does for the pub.
It tells me he’s like me—or maybe I’m like him. Like my mum. She’s the same way.
Cooking for the people in my life is how I show them I love them. I figure it can’t hurt my chances at this conversation with Jamie going well if I have his favorite dessert waiting for him.
I’m lifting the final tray out of the oven when I hear a car outside. My heart jumps to my throat, beating a fast and anxious rhythm.
Will he come in here immediately? Go in search of his grandparents? To his room? What if he doesn’t want to talk to me? What if my waiting here is exactly what he doesn’t want?
I don’t have time to continue down the interrogatory spiral I’m in because the door opens and he’s there.
He really did come back.
Jamie came back.
There’s something in that alone that feels instantly soothing—almost healing.
He closes the door behind him and I take him in.
His jeans still look slightly damp from our time in the rain, but his hair has dried, though it’s a disheveled mess.
He looks weary, like the weight of this revelation—of this whole world he didn’t know existed—is bearing down on him.
A weight that comes from the knowledge that you’re a parent or going to be one.
I’ve held that weight before.
This is the loudest silence I’ve ever experienced. It goes on for what feels like forever, neither of us speaking. I plead with him with my eyes to let me explain, my gaze never leaving his, and it’s like a standoff between us for who will break first.
I’m aware it needs to be me.
“I’m sorry, Jamie,” I say, knowing those words will never encompass everything, but it’s the only place I can think to start.
His face crumples and he looks away, swiping at his cheeks. My feet move and I’m halfway around the kitchen island when his head snaps up and I stop in my tracks. I might want to offer comfort but that’s clearly not what he needs from me right now. I don’t know what he needs.
“Can we sit?” I ask gently, indicating to the couch in the parlor.
His solemn nod is all the answer I get. He sits at the far end, kicking an ankle across his knee and leaning back with one arm on the back. It’s an easygoing pose, but even after all these years, I know there’s nothing easy happening with him right now.
I sit on the other end, clasp my hands in my lap, and stare at them. The silence stretches again until he finally breaks it, and with his words, my heart shatters too.
“You lied to me, Avonlea.” His voice is calmer than it was in the driveway earlier, but the hurt underneath is palpable.
I look at him and wish I could say anything but “I’m sorry.” My brain isn’t providing anything else at the moment though.
“You’re sorry?” He shakes his head, disappointment clear in every line of his face. His auburn hair bounces with the movement, falling across his eyes. “We promised each other truth—honesty—always. This… How you could…” He stumbles over each attempt to share his thoughts.
“I was hurting, Jamie. I was broken-hearted and I was hurting, and I made the decision that made sense to me at the time.” I know I’ll never be able to make him understand—his stunned face is enough to tell me that—but this is a decision that has plagued me for years.
“You left me. You walked away. You didn’t even say goodbye.
I thought we were done, Jamie. You had the life you wanted in the States.
Nothing about that was going to change. You didn’t want me, and I wasn’t going to force you into something, no matter how much I might have wanted to. ”
He rears back. “So this is my fault?” He looks even more hurt now. “Because I was an idiot seventeen-year-old boy who hurt you, I didn’t deserve to know I had a child?”
“No, that’s not what I’m saying. I’m just trying to tell you how I felt as an idiot seventeen-year-old girl who was scared and didn’t know what to do.”
“But I tried, Avonlea… I tried to get in touch with you. I tried to apologize. I wanted to fix it and you—you…”
“I blocked you,” I whisper, knowing that knowledge will hurt him all over again. I always wondered if he tried to get in contact, but I never gathered the courage to look—to unblock his email and see. Maybe I should’ve, but it’s too late for maybes.
The pain in his eyes only intensifies. I’ve never seen him so broken, but now… “You—”
“Blocked you, yes. I’m—”
“Don’t say you’re sorry,” he spits, and the anger that he deserves to feel seems to overpower the rest of his emotions.
“But I am sorry. Please let me explain. Please, Jamie,” I beg, searching his face.
His jaw is set tight, clenched as he struggles against what looks like the urge to scream at me.
I deserve it, his anger. He stretches his neck, eyes closed, inhaling deeply, and I’m braced for the blow…
But when he opens his eyes and they lock with mine, he gives me the smallest of nods.
Relief floods me and my hands tremble against the hem of my shirt.