Chapter Four #2
Her eyes meet mine, and her lips twist. “Apparently not. I was aghast and hurt that he’d assume I’d do something like that.”
“I’m not surprised.”
She leans her head on a hand and sighs. “I’m sure relationships shouldn’t be this hard.”
“A good relationship doesn’t have to be.” I realize then I’m implying that her and Jude’s isn’t a good one. “Ah… what I mean is—”
“No, you’re right. I don’t think we had a good relationship.
I was afraid of him.” My eyebrows rise, and she adds hastily, “Oh I don’t mean physically, of course.
Wrong word. I mean… well, I was reluctant.
Hesitant. To say things. To broach certain subjects.
Sex. Kids. Money. He reacted badly to a lot of things I said, and in the end I found it easier to keep quiet.
It was like living in the middle of a minefield.
One wrong step and I knew everything would blow sky high. ”
I don’t say anything, but once again I’m surprised.
Because of my job, I would have thought that it would be easy to spot the signs of a difficult relationship, but I honestly thought they were well matched.
Maybe I’ve overlooked the red flags because I’ve been trying so hard to convince myself she’s out of my reach.
I should go to bed. Leave her to finish her wine and then fall asleep, and in the morning hopefully Jude will have come to his senses and it’ll all be over, a storm in a teacup.
But clearly, she wants to talk, and I’m the only person here. And I don’t want to leave her. I rarely get to talk to her alone, and even though I’m disgusted with myself for capitalizing on their misery, I’m enjoying being close to her, and having a hundred percent of her attention.
Her gaze has been mostly distant as she replays her argument and ponders on the outcome, but now, albeit somewhat tiredly, her eyes focus on me. She surveys me quietly for a while, sipping her wine, then leaning her cheek on the hand holding the glass.
“It must be hard for you,” she says eventually.
Being in love with you? It’s excruciating.
“Why?” I ask.
“Talking to people all day, every day about their relationships, and being faced with all that unhappiness.”
I shrug. “I don’t think about it that way. People have all sorts of problems.”
“But I would imagine relationships are mostly what they come to you for.”
“In the broadest sense. Not just their partners—their parents, children, work colleagues, and of course their relationship with themselves.”
“Mmm. I guess.” Her gaze skims down me, soft as a feather brushed over my skin, giving me goose bumps. “You fascinate me.”
I chuckle. “Why?”
“You’re so… composed. Don’t take this the wrong way, but you seem older than you are because you’re so capable and in control.”
“Oh yeah, that sounds super sexy.”
“No, I mean it in a good way. I sometimes forget you’re so young… you’re only thirty-two, aren’t you?”
“I’m thirty, Beth.”
Her eyebrows shoot up. “Oh shit, really?”
“Yeah, thirty-one in September.”
“Well, you kept that quiet last year. Turning the big three-oh.”
“Wasn’t something I particularly wanted to celebrate.”
She sips her wine. “Why aren’t you married?”
I shift on the sofa, uncomfortable with her turning the conversation in my direction. “Never met the right girl.”
“I don’t get it. You’re gorgeous, hardworking, smart, wealthy, empathetic, and you like animals. You’re perfect. Why hasn’t a girl snapped you up?”
I glow inside at her description, then remind myself somewhat desperately that it doesn’t mean anything, because she goes out with men like Jude—dark, moody guys who ride motorbikes and don’t always treat girls well, and yet they keep going back for more.
“What happened with Annabelle?” she asks. “You never did tell me.”
I met Annabelle about a month before Jude walked into the bar holding Beth’s hand.
I liked Annabelle. She was fun and we got on well, but I can still remember meeting Beth, and feeling as if someone had tipped a bucket of ice-cold water over me.
The feeling of shocked numbness only grew as time went by, and I discovered that Beth wasn’t only beautiful in looks, but also in spirit—bright, gentle, fun, and so incredibly nice.
I can’t ever imagine her saying anything horrible about anyone, and I just love that about her.
It took only two or three weeks for me to realize I didn’t feel that way about Annabelle. She deserved to have someone who could give her that passion and complete adoration. And so we broke up.
After that, I tried to date a few times with varying success, but no girl came close to Beth. And so six months ago, I officially gave up. Since then, I’ve concentrated on my idea for setting up PAWS, throwing myself into my work whole-heartedly.
“She deserved better.” I don’t know how else to phrase it.
She picks up a kettle chip and crunches it, moving crumbs from her bottom lip onto her tongue. I watch her helplessly, aching from keeping my feelings bottled up for so long.
For something to do, I pick up my whiskey glass and have a mouthful of the amber liquid, enjoying its rich sear down to my stomach. She’s still surveying me thoughtfully and, unnerved, I look away, out through the windows to the dark ocean in the distance.
I blink and twitch.
“What?” Beth asks.
I give a short laugh. “Sorry. I saw the reflection in the window of my jacket by the door and I thought it was a person.”
She glances across at it, and then her gaze comes back to me. “A person?”
I scratch my cheek. “Sometimes I wonder if my dad haunts this place.”
Her expression softens. “I’m sure you’re just recalling memories of his presence here. I’m glad you stayed. It’s such a nice house.”
“It is. And it made sense to stay. My parents paid off the mortgage, so I don’t have any debt, and it would be near-impossible to find something similar in the Bay of Islands. But the memories make it hard sometimes.”
“You had a difficult relationship with your father, didn’t you?” Her brown eyes look like flat discs in the lamplight. “I never realized.”
“He wouldn’t approve of the fact that I’m still single,” I say wryly. “He advised me to marry by thirty and have a family before thirty-five. ‘You don’t want to be an old dad,’ he said.”
“I’m sure he’d rather you meet the right girl first though.”
I purse my lips. “Not sure about that.”
“Did your parents have a happy relationship?”
“Kinda. I think they both wanted the same things out of life. He missed her when she died.”
“But you don’t think it was a love match?”
“They loved one another.”
“Were they in love, though?”
I swirl the whiskey over the ice in my glass and don’t say anything.
She takes another chip. “You always speak about him with such reverence and respect. But there’s more to the story, isn’t there?”
I stretch out my legs and sigh. I feel as if I’m unraveling slowly, my ribs peeling open to reveal my tender heart.
“He was a great man. Noble and self-sacrificing. Honorable and virtuous. God-fearing and charitable. He set high standards for himself, and never failed to reach them, and so he didn’t see why everyone else couldn’t live up to them, too. ”
“He sounds quite the guy.” Her eyes meet mine. I can’t tell if there’s a touch of sarcasm in her words.
“He pushed me,” I say, a little defensively, “and I’m glad he did. He helped me become the man I am.”
She tips her head to the side. “But somewhere down the line, you stopped seeing him as human and started using him as a measuring stick. And you feel that no matter how far you stretch, you never quite reach the mark.”
Her astuteness shocks me into silence.
“He made you feel that taking what you want was a character flaw,” she continues. “That a good man should stand back and endure.”
I nod slowly. “Yes.”
“You equate self-denial with goodness.”
“I do. And I’m very, very good at denying myself.”
Our eyes meet.
Deep down, I’m shocked at her analysis of me, because I know she’s right. In any situation, I always ask myself, What Would Dad Do? And once again, I’ve fallen short.
Dad would not have asked his best mate’s girlfriend back to his place. He would have been honest, and told himself that bringing her home did not mean he had her best interests at heart. Instead, he would have called one of her friends, or her sister, and asked them to come and pick her up.
Once again, I’ve let him down—let myself down. And the reason I’m so ashamed is that, right now, I don’t care.