CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
We’re both silent as we walk slowly in the shifting shadows toward my house. I suggested we talk at my place, mostly because I’m uncomfortable leaving Lisset alone in the house for too long and partly because this doesn’t feel like a conversation we should have outside.
We keep a careful distance between us while we walk. Although it’s only a few inches of space, it feels like a gaping chasm. One full of broken promises and mistrust. How do we build a bridge over a gulf so vast? It feels impossible.
With every step, I feel my doubts rising. Over the last couple of weeks, I’ve been sad and angry and lonely. Most of the time, the mad eclipses all the other emotions, but today, loneliness has hit the hardest. And now that I’m no longer insulated by anger, I feel bare and vulnerable. Is he catching me in a weak moment? Do I want to hand him an opportunity to break my heart all over again?
Gideon stops abruptly on the sidewalk outside my house, as if he can sense the thoughts churning in my head. We face one another in the amber arc of a streetlamp.
“I know you have misgivings,” he tells me in a level voice. “Everything I’ve done, from moving to Brown Oaks, to buying the house directly across from you, to not telling you I know Oliver, gives off creepy, stalker vibes. If this were one of your grandmother’s romance novels, readers would be screaming at you not to listen to me but to get as far away from me as you can.”
Well, he’s right about everything so far.
“All I’m asking for is a chance to explain everything,” he continues. “There’s no pressure on you to believe me. If you still want me to leave Brown Oaks after this, I’ll leave and never contact you again.”
I fold my arms and regard him stonily. “How can I trust what you say? You’ve been lying to me all this time.”
“I’ve kept things from you,” he says evenly. “Things I shouldn’t have. But not everything is a lie, Kate. How I feel about you and how I feel about Lisset—that’s not a lie.”
His words seep into my skin, melting away some of my mistrust, but I’m still hesitant.
He spreads his hands in an open-palm gesture. “If you’re worried about being in the house alone with me, you can call Aaron and ask him to come over.”
After a moment, I say softly, “I’m not worried. Let’s go.”
He follows me inside.
“Coffee?” I ask.
He shakes his head. “I don’t think my nerves could take coffee right now.”
It’s weirdly reassuring to realize he’s as nervous as I am. I pour us both a glass of water and we move to the living room. I take the wingback and Gideon sits on the couch, facing me. He leans forward, elbows on his knees. He has the stage now.
“I worked with Oliver at DesignPlan,” he begins. “We were in different departments, so I didn’t know him that well, but I knew of him. What I did know, however, is that he had a framed photograph on his desk of a woman in a blue ski jacket, a white beanie, and the most contagious smile I’ve ever seen.”
My chest tightens. I know that photograph. I gave it to Oliver on Valentine’s Day.
“It sounds far-fetched, but when I saw you in that photo it was like being hit by a lightning bolt. I felt drawn to you in a way that’s difficult to explain. I never would have said before that moment that you can feel an instant connection to a person you haven’t met, but I did.”
His eyes hold mine. “And then Oliver started telling me about you, and I was even more intrigued by this beautiful, compassionate, adventurous woman he was lucky enough to be married to. But that was the problem. You were in that photo on his desk because you were his wife.”
He’s quiet, his face a rugged landscape of painful memories. “You attended a work Christmas party with Oliver. Seeing you in person, it was worse. You were everything I imagined you to be. I couldn’t stop watching you. You were vibrant and charming. I remember Oliver couldn’t take his eyes off you. Neither could I. You were a magnet, drawing people to you, making them laugh with funny stories about your work, captivating people with your wit.”
I feel tears come to my eyes. I remember that woman. She’s a wisp of a memory, like a blurred image in one of those old, sepia photographs.
“I don’t remember you,” I tell him.
“I looked different. My hair was shorter and I didn’t have a beard. But I also stayed away from you,” he admits. “I didn’t want to talk to you when you were on the arm of another man, wearing his ring. I left the party early.”
A mixture of pain and loss and missed opportunities hangs heavily in the air. I try to imagine a young, beardless Gideon at the party, but it’s as elusive a picture as the old Kate.
“Some time after that,” he continues, “I started noticing cracks in Oliver’s portrayal of a perfect marriage. He seemed to look a little too long at other women, his remarks became cruder, and he drank and partied more after work.”
My fingers tighten around my water glass. “That’s probably around the time Lisset was born.”
Gideon nods. “He didn’t say much about being a father, which I thought was odd. I suspected him of cheating, but I never confronted him. A selfish part of me was hoping you’d find out and leave him.” He makes a hoarse sound and anguish fills his face. “I had no idea how bad things were in your marriage. That he was hurting you. I’ll live with that regret for the rest of my life.”
His throat works. Even the mention of what Oliver did to me in our marriage seems to hurt him.
“After the divorce, I stayed away to give you time to move on from Oliver. Then I tried to convince myself I could live without you, that maybe I only wanted you because you were unattainable, but I couldn’t stop thinking about you. My money, my travels, my work, they all left me feeling empty. I tried to find you, but you’d disappeared.”
My throat is so dry. I take a sip of my water, engrossed in his story.
“I told myself you disappeared because you wanted to be left alone, so that’s what I did, I left you alone. Then I stumbled across an article about you and your work as a food stylist.” He shakes his head in wonder. “I never read that particular newspaper. But it just so happened that the one time I did read it, there you are. I took it as a sign. And that’s when I moved to Brown Oaks.”
“You should have said something to me,” I say. “As soon as you arrived.”
“I should have,” he agreed. “I came to Brown Oaks with the intention of introducing myself and telling you about my connection to Oliver.”
“But you didn’t.”
He looks away and then back at me again. “I didn’t.”
“Why not?”
He hesitates for the tiniest instant. I can feel the tension radiating from him. “You were different. So guarded and closed off. Brittle. And I picked up the clear message that you wouldn’t welcome any reminders of Oliver, as well as anyone with any connection to him. I didn’t want to destroy my chance before I even had one, so I kept quiet. As time went on, it became harder and harder for me to find the right moment to tell you the truth.”
I sit up a little straighter. Something about his story doesn’t make sense. “You used a different name before you even met me. You didn’t buy the house as Garrett Walker. You were already calling yourself Gideon.”
He nods. “I changed my name because I invented a product called TribalMind. It’s a platform that allows users to share ideas and learn from other people’s experiences. It became wildly successful, and I made a lot of money. Unfortunately, I also made quite a name for myself in the industry. Journalists were constantly badgering me for interviews and people were coming up to me, pitching new product ideas and asking me to invest. That’s one of the reasons I got burnt out. I needed anonymity for a while, so when I moved to Brown Oaks I used another name. Which I continued to use when I realized how much you hated any reminders of Oliver.”
I mull over his words. “Aaron ran a search on you and found nothing.”
“I paid someone a lot of money to make me anonymous and give me a fresh start. Journalists are fairly intrepid and I didn’t want any of them following me here. I just wanted an opportunity to get to know you in peace.”
“When were you planning on telling me?”
“I don’t know,” he admits honestly. “The longer I kept quiet, the harder it was to tell you. I think a part of me hoped I could keep it a secret forever. Or at least until we were both so old, you didn’t have the stamina to run from me.”
An unexpected laugh bursts out of me. I mean, I shouldn’t laugh, this is serious and in no way a laughing matter, but the picture I have in my head of the two of us, old and gray, yelling at one another, is so vivid I can’t help chuckling. After a moment, though, I feel reality crashing back and the humor fades from my face.
“What happened when Aaron came over?” I ask him.
“He threw a few punches, but the man showed remarkable restraint. If the roles were reversed...” He shakes his head. “I don’t like to think what I would have done.”
Pain ripples through me. I stare at him, at the man I thought I knew and loved. What next? I think. I don’t have any kind of answer. I only feel a weariness that goes beyond physical exhaustion.
“Kate, I am so very sorry,” Gideon says, his voice laced with regret. “I know I messed up, I messed up hugely, but I’m asking you, I’m begging you, to please forgive me.”
A strange ache spirals through my chest. Forgiveness. That’s what this boils down to. Do I forgive him?
A healthy relationship is founded on trust. And no matter his reasons, Gideon deliberately deceived me. It’s a hard thing to forgive, but not an impossible thing.
I think back to everything Gideon’s done for us—he helped Lisset regain her love of reading, saved her birthday party, he broke down my walls and helped me to embrace life again. Grandma would no doubt tell me that a man who voluntarily irons your clothes can’t be all that bad. Gideon got our beginning wrong, but he got so many other things right.
I could choose to withhold my forgiveness and make him pay some more, but it feels as though we’ve both been punished enough.
In the end, it’s not an easy choice, but it’s a clear one. “I forgive you,” I say simply.
Gideon stands and pulls me to my feet. He palms my cheek and uses his thumb to wipe away my tears. For a breathless moment, he doesn’t say anything and then his words spill over me like molten lava. “I love you, Kate. These last few weeks without you have been pure torture. Only when I’m with you do I feel complete. I want to take care of you and Lisset. Not because you need me to, but because I want to.”
A warmth settles over me at the look in his eyes. I feel seen, appreciated, cherished. Loved.
He rests his forehead against mine. “But you know what I want most of all?”
“I don’t,” I whisper.
His voice is strong and steady. “I want to one day call you my wife .”
I burst into tears. His arms close around me and I bury my head in his chest, my fingers tangling in his shirt. I’m enfolded in his easy strength, the reassuring familiarity of him.
“I love you, Gideon Walker,” I say on a ragged breath.
“I love you, too, Kate Miller. Now and forever.”
“You better watch out for Grandma,” I warn him after a watery hiccup. “She’s already asking Google for revenge strategies.”
“Your grandmother scares me a little.”
“Don’t break my heart again and you’ll be okay.”
He briefly closes his eyes, as if in pain. “Don’t even joke about that. I’ll regret hurting you for the rest of my days.”
“You’ll have to spend the rest of your days making it up to me.”
“Gladly.”
He captures my face in his hands and stares into my eyes.
Gideon’s love for me doesn’t feel like Oliver’s love. Or rather, Oliver’s twisted version of it. Being loved by Oliver was like treading water in a turbulent sea, where you’re desperately trying to stay afloat as you’re tossed to and fro, sinking beneath the waves sometimes out of sheer exhaustion.
Gideon’s love is not the ocean, but the lighthouse. It’s a love that offers shelter and protection. It’s a haven for Lisset and me where we can weather the storms life tosses at us. A solid, safe, steady love that still has the ability to steal my breath away.