Chapter 18 #3
"I've buried Hope so many times that I've lost count.
She died a little bit each day for years.
I've tried to look back and find the one perfect day we spent together.
Surely there'd be dozens, right? I mean, she was my wife. But I couldn’t think of a single perfect day—not even our wedding day.
My whole life is driven by guilt. I've blamed myself a million different ways for her death. If I’d tried a little harder.
Or loved her a little more. Or if I'd been more understanding.
If I'd been a better listener. A better man.
" He paused, rubbing his palms together as he gathered his words.
“From the moment I met you, Claire, I forgot about all the pain and guilt. You made me forget. I don't know if it’s your eyes, your smile, or your laugh, but I forgot about Hope. Like flipping a switch. Like my life with Hope never happened… and that’s created a guilt all its own. "
Claire's heart pounded as his honesty touched her deeply. Jay wrestled with a serious internal conflict—the same kind she had faced after waking on Christmas morning to discover Calvin Butterworth gone from her life, though not in the way she'd expected.
Jay continued. "I haven't stopped thinking about you, Claire. I've picked up the phone so many times, but I just couldn't bring myself to call. Not until I sorted this out. I needed to see you again and tell you face-to-face because you deserve nothing less than one hundred percent honesty.”
Jay paused and reached for his water glass. Claire waited, sensing he wasn’t finished. He took several deep breaths then locked on her eyes.
“It wasn’t business that took me back to California.
It was therapy. I had a breakdown after I left you at the hotel that night.
Rob actually flew over here and took me home.
I checked myself into a short-term treatment facility.
Thank God I’m in a position financially to receive such amazing, specialized care.
So many people who struggle are not. I’m not an alcoholic, Claire.
I don’t have a drinking problem. I’ve never taken drugs.
I don’t hit women, hurt children, or gamble.
” Jay paused and took another breath. “My life is a play in three acts: I lost my wife. I blamed myself. I lost myself.”
Claire stayed silent, digesting the seriousness of his words. He'd opened up to her, confessing his most private thoughts as no man had before. The sincerity in his eyes made her want to curl up with him and hide away from the rest of the world.
“We were about to cross a line that night—one that we wouldn't have been able to step behind ever again. And I'm just not ready to do that. I've made that mistake before. In fact, I've made a lot of mistakes. I don't want to make mistakes. Not this time. Not with you."
She'd tried to deny it for months by burying herself in her work. But she couldn't lie to herself. Not another minute. She'd already crossed that line, falling for a man she barely knew.
As Claire finished her nightly routine—a whole new skin care ritual thanks to a host of Silver Screen products—her cell phone rang.
A wave of alarm crashed against her. Who would be calling at midnight?
She did some quick mental math to calculate the time change.
Relax. It’s only six o’clock in Texas. I’m sure they’re fine.
Still, she sent up a silent prayer that both father and Carol were okay.
When she saw Jay’s name on her screen, her intrigue and excitement grew.
There had been zero communication since they parted ways at the main door of her office building earlier.
They’d shared a long hug but hadn’t made any hard plans to meet up again.
"Well, hello,” she answered.
“I hope you weren’t lying when you said you’re a night owl,” he said. “Did I wake you?”
“I wasn’t and you didn’t. Just about to crawl into bed and read for a bit.”
"A romance novel?" he asked.
“It might be,” she said.
“Something super spicy?” he teased.
“I hate to break your heart, but I’m not a Fifty Shades of Grey type.”
“Me either,” he said. “I’m more Six Shades of Beige. I’m not much in the romance department.”
Well, that’s a lie,” she thought. The flowers. The dance card. The bunny slippers.
“Another occupational hazard of being a hardworking, nerdy scientist?” she asked.
“Oh, I can heat it up,” he said. “but usually it’s with a Bunsen burner.”
Claire laughed hard at this, and after a minute, Jay laughed too.
His tone softened. "Seriously, I want to thank you for this afternoon."
"You don't have to thank me," she said.
"Yes, I do. You listened—without making it about yourself or trying to twist my words into something they weren't. You let me say things that have been weighing me down for a long time."
"I'll always be here to listen, Jay,” she said softly. “Always."
"What are you doing tomorrow?” he asked, his tone turning upbeat.
“Working. Why?”
“I'd like to take you to lunch again."
"Again?"
"Yes. And the day after tomorrow. And the day after that, too. Hell, just pencil me in for the whole week. I want to take you to lunch every day."
Claire shook her head. "That's a bad idea."
"Why?" he asked.
"Do you know how bored you’d get with me?” she asked. “Not to mention the toll it would take on our collective waistlines."
"You're anything but boring and your waistline looks perfect to me.” He paused, then added. “I want to spend every day with you, Claire.”
Though she couldn't see his eyes, she knew the exact expression they held. That same spark, intensifying each time they collided. with every moment they spent together. The bar in Negril. Hamish’s party.
The bistro. The James Bond sofa. The bench outside her office.
Public or private. Noisy or quiet. It didn't matter.
“What about the nights?” she asked seductively.
“Especially the nights,” he said.