Chapter 25 #2
“She has good taste. Turquoise is my favorite too.” I selected a pair made out of cream suede with small turquoise stones. “I can make a bracelet to match this or the other pair.”
“I can’t decide which pair she’d like best . . .”
As Henry carefully considered each pair, mumbling about his mother’s preferences, I wondered why this man wasn’t married. Any woman would be fortunate to be his wife.
“Both pairs please.”
I stopped studying his profile and focused on the earrings in his hands. “Really?”
“Yes. She’ll love both. You said you can make bracelets to go with them?”
“Absolutely.” I motioned to the bracelets already made. “Any of those styles catch your fancy? Or do you have something else in mind?”
“I think she’ll like the braided style, but whatever your creativity leads you to make is fine by me.”
He started patting his pockets.
“We’ll settle up once I have the bracelets finished.”
“You sure?”
“Yes.” I put his mother’s earrings to the side and started putting away the other pairs. “Henry, can I ask you something personal?”
“Hmm. I don’t know. You can give it a go and we’ll see.”
I glanced up and met his blue eyes. “Where’s your wife?”
“Huh?”
“Surely there’s a Mrs. Morrison. Where is she?”
“She’s not showed up yet.” He handed me a bracelet to put away. “I had a fiancée one time though.”
“Did you misplace her?” I probably shouldn’t have joked, but he was known for misplacing things. Just last week, I caught him searching the bushes out front of his house. Sure enough, he came out with a box of cereal. I thought I left it on the porch somewhere.
“Misplace her?” He huffed a low chuckle.
“That’s basically what she said.” He picked up a spool of twine and fiddled with it.
“I’d just started writing my first novel right after we were engaged.
You may have noticed how I get lost in it and well, she wasn’t a fan of that.
She said she wasn’t going to live her life competing for my attention with some dumb story. ”
“Ouch.” I leaned against the edge of the table, thinking it was her loss.
Sure, Henry was intensely focused on his manuscript, but nothing I did seemed to slip his notice.
He was still present, aware of what was going on around him.
I wished my parents understood they could have been the same way.
“Does she know you’re the famous H. M. Rossi? ”
“No. She gave me the ring back and ditched me before I found an agent and publisher.” Henry returned the twine to the table and picked up a long pheasant feather, running it through his fingers.
“She lives upstate with a husband who knows how to pay her attention and two children that take all hers. She’s happy and I’m happy for her. ”
“As long as everyone is happy, I guess . . .” I shrugged.
“What about your marriage? Were you happy?”
My chest tightened. “I got married when I was eighteen. Does any teenager know what makes them happy?” I crossed my ankles and spotted a pink paint splatter on the floor.
“We were young and reckless, partying too much. The good times were good, but they never lasted for very long. We’d argue, Arlo would lay out all night, then I would leave him.
Then he’d beg me to come back. I loved him and I know he loved me too.
When I got pregnant I thought things would change, we’d grow up and settle down.
But then he died and now I’ll never know.
” Hot tears trekked down my trembling cheeks.
Henry came to stand in front of me and pulled me into his arms. “I shouldn’t have asked. I’m sorry.”
I buried my face into his soft shirt. “I asked first. It’s okay. No one ever asks me about him and it makes me even sadder. Arlo had his faults, but don’t we all?”
Henry’s arms tightened around me. “Tell me something good about Arlo.”
I angled my face so that my ear rested over Henry’s heart. “He was a really talented artist. I’m talking realistic portraits.” I sniffled a laugh. “One time he drew my brother and it was spot on, but Cy hated it.”
“Why?”
I raised my head and looked at Henry to get his reaction. “Arlo drew Cy picking his nose.”
Henry guffawed and I laughed with him until I began to cry again.
“I’m such a mess.” I groaned, hiding my face against Henry’s chest.
“We all are.” He rested his cheek on top of my head, and I felt completely cared for in a way I wasn’t sure I had ever felt.
No longer holding back, my body fell into the embrace.
I’d fought against this pull for the last month, but for a moment I let that go and clung to him as the tension crackled around us.
I knew Henry felt it too. His heart began beating faster as his fingers combed through my hair, the gesture a little beyond comforting.
The private moment we shared in the book nook weeks ago, the long-suffering hug after my failed trip to Columbia, the conversations .
. . it was all leading to somewhere but right now I was south of somewhere and needed to keep that fact firmly in place, which meant I had to stop what was happening.
I stepped back and patted Henry on the shoulder. “Thanks. Sometimes a girl just needs a hug, ya know?”
Henry didn’t return my smile, as if not completely accepting this brush-off.
“I’ll let you know when I get the bracelets finished.”
“Sounds good. Thanks.” His voice was a bit raspy, close to a whisper.
Keeping plenty of space between us and my hands to myself, I walked Henry out, then moved my attention to making that list journal.
I hunted around until finding an unused journal. It was quite thick with plenty of space to add all sorts of lists as Henry had talked about.
My phone chimed with a message from an unknown number.
Are you done being mad at me, Sassy? I’m bored. Wanna hang out?
“No.” I deleted it without replying, as I’d done with three other messages Deaton had sent in the last few days. In none of the previous messages had he offered to apologize for the scene he caused at the restaurant or the ugly word he called me.
Stop ignoring me!
Having my fill of it, I blocked his number. If he didn’t get it from that gesture, then I didn’t know what it would take.