Chapter 28
Loch
Three weeks Later . . .
It would be wrong to ruin Christmas.
“The other one, please.”
The jewelry attendant closes one case and unlocks another. She pulls out a velvet tray of rings and places them before me. I stare at them—all brilliantly beautiful under the spotlight.
Is that how Tuesday and I are as well? Remove us from the light, and the dark reveals the cracks in our foundation?
I know I shouldn’t be looking at rings. Nothing about rushing into a marriage to convince her to stay is rational.
“Would you like to see any in particular?” the attendant asks. “These are our exclusive designs, and the diamonds are exquisite. She’d be lucky—”
“I’m the lucky one.”
She smiles as if I’m making small talk. I’m not. She gets the hint and stands quietly on the other side of the case.
“Nothing stands out to me. Thank you.” I head for the door with my phone buzzing in my pocket. As soon as I’m outside, I answer, “I’m heading back to the office now, Leisa.”
“Are you okay? I wasn’t sure if I should cancel your afternoon meetings when you left for lunch earlier.”
Leaving for lunch is cause for concern since I never do it. I need a fucking life . . . I have one, actually, but it’s about to be taken away from me.
I trudge back toward the office building, holding the lapels of my coat tighter at my neck to block the frigid air from slipping under the wool. “I have a lot going on. I shouldn’t have left.”
“We all have bad days, Loch. Sometimes fresh air does you good.”
She’s right. Also, clearing one’s conscience can alleviate the guilt. “Hey, go ahead and clear my schedule. I need to take care of some things.”
“Done. I’ll see you tomorrow?”
“You know it.”
I call Brady and wait for him under the awning of a candy shop. As soon as he pulls up to the curb, I dash for the back door and climb in. He says, “Sweet tooth?”
“Huh?” He points at the shop. “Ah. No. Just waiting for you.”
“You say such sweet nothings to me.”
I laugh, though I shouldn’t encourage the jokes. He’ll continue to make me suffer through them if he thinks I enjoy them. “Did I ever tell you that you’re not funny?”
He chuckles. “All the time. Where are we headed?”
“Home.”
“You got it, boss.”
Normally, I’d love to surprise her and spend the rest of the day in bed with her or take her out to wherever her heart desired. Not today.
Today, I walk in, hoping Tuesday is out.
“Hello?” I call as soon as I open the door. I’m glad silence greets me, but how long will I be alone?
I hurry to my office and into the closet, moving the box out of the way. My stomach churns when I think about what I’ll find in the envelope as I lift the lid to the container. Not knowing has been torture, but the truth, which could lead to her leaving me, will do me in.
Taking the envelope, I sit at my desk and unclasp the brads holding it closed. Breathing in through my nose, I pull the file out and release a long exhale. This is it.
It sits before me. All I need to do is open it.
I flip over the cover and am instantly hit with a photo of her from another life, the life when I first met her at the coffee shop—hair pulled back and polished in every detail from makeup to her outfit.
She’s so opposite of that now. With me, she’s carefree, as carefree as she can be under the circumstances.
Her hair hangs down most of the time in waves that look like the sea air shaped them, and though she’s put together, there’s such a breeziness about her style, like she doesn’t take herself too seriously, preferring jeans to a well . . . what she used to wear.
It’s the name below the photo that I can’t stop staring at, though—Céline Schroder.
Céline is Tuesday.
But Tuesday is the name she gave for her coffee order. This makes no sense.
Now, I’m more confused than ever and have to live with this information.
I can’t hide it from her. No matter how much I don’t want her to return to Rhode Island .
. . fucking hell, she’s from Rhode Island?
That’s not Manhattan, which means if she goes home .
. . if she goes to wherever she’s from, she won’t be with me. Fear officially unlocks.
“What are you doing?”
“Shit.” I scramble to my feet, hitting the folder closed in my hurry. The envelope flies off the front of the desk just out of my reach from stopping it.
“I didn’t mean to scare you,” Tuesday says, striding into the office to help with the mess.
“I got it!” I don’t mean to yell as I practically hurdle the desk to grab the envelope.
Startled, she stops, holding her hand over her heart. “My God, Loch. What has gotten into you?”
“I, uh—”
“Does that say Tuesday on the front?” she asks, pointing at the label I’m trying to hide.
Fuck.
“It, um, huh . . .” I look at the front again like I don’t already know what it says.
“What is that?” Her curiosity will do more damage than good.
I’ve not always been forthcoming, but I’ve always been honest with her. I can’t lie to her. The truth would come out eventually. Better from me than the police or some stranger on the street who happens to recognize her.
I just wish I had more time to think, to figure out the next step and ease her into the truth.
Handing her the envelope, I then sit down and wait. With a scrub of my face, I know I’ve done the right thing, but the anticipation of what happens next is going to kill me.
Her eyes go from the front to me and then back again. “Why does it have your name and mine?”
“The police weren’t making any headway, so I hired a private investigator to uncover your identity.”
Her gaze drops to the folder on the desk. “And that’s what that is?”
I nod, suddenly unable to speak.
She steps forward but then appears reluctant, stopping after only one more as if she’s just as afraid of what it contains. I push the papers inside and then tap it against the desk before handing it to her.
Taking it, she cradles it to her body, and then asks, “Do you know who I am?”
“Yes.” I swallow down the lump in my throat. “Since the moment I saw you at the hospital when you walked out. I know your heart, Tuesday. I know your soul.” My throat feels dry when I add, “I know who you are. You’re the woman I love.”
I’m not sure what I expected from my confession, but it wasn’t ice. “You got this weeks ago. I remember when it was delivered during the snowstorm.” She searches my eyes for anything that will make this make sense.
I’m failing to comfort her, which is why I need more time, but I still can’t hide from responding to questions she didn’t ask. “I was afraid to open it.”
“It wasn’t yours to decide. It was mine. Why did you hold on to it this long?”
“I was going to give it to you. I just needed time to figure out a plan—”
“When?” she snaps. “Tomorrow? In ten years? On my deathbed?” She takes a breath. “Or never? Were you going to let me live my life without ever knowing who I really am?”
“No, I was going to tell you. I just—”
“You just thought you should have the final say as to when and where?” She’s still holding the file like it’s a life preserver. Maybe it is for her.
For me, it’s a bomb that’s been detonated.
“That’s not true, Tuesday.”
“Is Tuesday even my name?” Flipping through the file, she says, “It’s not felt like it until the past couple of weeks.
” Just as she opens it, she closes it again even faster.
Taking a breath, I can see the fight in her shoulders subsiding, dragging them down.
“I love you, Loch. I love you more than words can say, but this feels like a betrayal.”
“I hired him for you, to help give you answers that no one else will.”
“And then you withheld the file from me.”
I’d been hesitant to approach her, thinking she wanted space to work through this. I was wrong. If I let an inch come between us, it could end up with her being in Rhode Island and me stuck here without her. I go to her. “Listen to me—”
“No, I won’t.” She backs toward the door. She’s fighting against the tears in her eyes but finally gives in and swipes at them. “You had the chance to tell me, to help, to take the journey with me, but you chose to hide the truth. Why?”
“I chose to hire the investigator because the police were hitting dead ends. How is that possible when you’re from Rhode Island?”
She’s staring at me, her expression wavering between hope and desperation. “I’m from Rhode Island?”
I walk to her, ready to comfort her in any way she’ll let me, but as her chest reddens, I think I’m the last person she wants touching her. “Please, let’s take a breath, and I’ll explain everything.”
Closing her eyes, she rubs the middle of her forehead. When she reopens her eyes, she says, “I trusted you.”
“I know you did, and you still can.”
Taking another deep breath, she says, “But can I?”
My temper flares, but I hold it in. “I did everything for you—”
“And I never asked for any of it.”
“That’s not what I meant.” I fist my hand, frustrated that I can’t get her out of her head.
“I know what you meant, Loch. I do.”
“Please know that I only had your best interest in mind.”
“I know I should have been a part of the decision-making regarding my life.” She turns and leaves the office.
“Where are you going?”
“The bedroom. I need to be alone.”
I give her the time away from my presence, the time I hope she’ll use to understand that I never meant to upset her. I don’t approach the bedroom. I won’t until she’s ready to see me again.
Lying on the couch, I stare out the windows on a clear night until I can no longer keep my eyes open.
“Babe.” A shake of my shoulders follows the whispered word. I open my eyes to find the blue eyes I dream about. “Come to bed,” she whispers, taking my hand.
My mind hasn’t caught up to the fact that I’m in the living room, much less why. I sit up and then stand to my feet when I’m finally coherent enough to understand. Tuesday clings to me, her arms holding me so tight that I don’t think pliers could pry us apart.
When her tears start to fall, I embrace her, kissing her head and telling her, “We’ll be okay. It will be all right.”
“Promise me.” She looks up, resting her chin on my chest. “Promise me that nothing will come between us, Loch.”
I caress her cheek, then kiss it. “I promise you.” I mean it and will keep that promise every day I’m given a chance—to protect her, be with her, and love her long into the future. Together always.
I hope.