Chapter 24
Chapter Twenty-Four
I t was Tuesday, November fifth, Sloane’s final full day in Maine. Tomorrow, Brooke and Jared would return. She was looking forward to seeing them, but that was the only thing about tomorrow that promised sweetness. Several things promised sorrow.
Tomorrow, she would relinquish her role as Ivy’s guardian.
Tomorrow, she’d move out of the garage apartment and The Gables.
Tomorrow, she’d depart her home state of Maine.
And the thing that twisted her heart most of all . . . Tomorrow, she’d leave Max behind.
She felt no peace about any of it. No this is sad but it’s for the best assurance.
She’d dropped Ivy off at school this morning, then worked at her desk in the bedroom. Then taken herself out to lunch in town, observing the activity of Groomsport’s harbor through the window situated next to her table for one.
And now she was finishing the final item on her to-do list before returning to the apartment to pack. She knocked on her dad’s door.
He answered looking scruffy. “Hi.”
“Hi. How are you?”
“Fine. You?”
I’m struggling , she thought, but verbalized, “I’m okay.” She walked in and scanned the scene. His living conditions still weren’t great, in large part because he seemed unable to keep up with daily maintenance. But his conditions had improved since her first visit back in July. She had no choice but to try to find contentment in improvement instead of success. “Let’s get a load of sheets and towels in the wash, straighten up, then sweep and vacuum everything.”
“If you say so.”
She moved in the direction of the hallway?—
“Sloane?”
Stopping, she turned toward him.
“Sure you’re okay?” He fidgeted with his hands before sliding them into his pockets. “You seem sad.”
“Actually, you’re right.” It was highly unusual for him to notice or comment on her mental state. “I am sad.”
“Why?”
“I’m not sure whether a relationship that I care about a lot is going to continue.”
“Ah.” His craggy features showed sympathy. “Look. I know I wasn’t—I haven’t been a good father to you. I’m sorry I failed at that.”
His admission dumbfounded her. It was the first of its kind.
“I’ve never liked to see you sad,” he went on. “You might not believe that, but it’s true. What I want for you . . . What I hope you get? Is contentment.”
“Thank you for saying that.” Her voice broke. She’d been coming here for months to give him the things she’d once needed. But he’d just unexpectedly given her something she needed. Kindness.
“I’ve never been too good at contentment,” he confessed. “But that doesn’t mean you have to be the same.”
Lips trembling, she nodded.
“You’ve spent a lot of time helping out your old dad. You didn’t need to do that, but you did. I know I haven’t told you that I appreciate it. But I do.” He shifted awkwardly. Speaking about feelings was exceptionally uncomfortable for the two of them because they had no practice at it. “So. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
For the next hour they cleaned his apartment. A cyclone of emotion spun inside Sloane the entire time. After she put away the supplies, he trailed her to the door.
“I’m returning to California tomorrow,” she said at the threshold.
“Oh? That’s too bad. I’d never ask you to stay on my account. But is this . . . relationship of yours here?”
“Yes.”
“So maybe there’s a reason to change your mind and live in Maine?”
“Maybe. But if I return to California, I want you to know I’ll hire a cleaning service to come by here a few times a month and I’ll have groceries delivered.”
“All right.”
“Bye, Dad.”
“Bye, Sloane.” He retreated into the apartment, closing the door.
The emotion cyclone intensified as she walked toward her car. So much so that she decided not to get behind the wheel and instead took a detour to sit on a bench overlooking the complex’s pool. At this time of year, the gates to the pool were locked, the cover over the pool blanketed with autumn leaves. Even so, this spot reminded her of the photo of herself and Harper that she kept on her desk, the one of them side by side with their feet in the water.
You didn’t have to be raised in the best facilities if you were raised with love and care, your needs met. Sadly, in the case of herself and Harper, the dilapidated pools of their childhood were an accurate depiction of the parenting they’d received. They hadn’t been raised with love and care. Their needs hadn’t been met. And Harper hadn’t made it past the age of thirty.
A few days had passed since Sloane and Ivy had met Anna Thomas. At that charming farm on the outskirts of Auburn, Harper’s two daughters had been reunited and Sloane had been present to witness it.
Yes, the reunion had been thrilling. But it had also been very sobering for Sloane—the realization that identical twins had been separated. It felt wrong that the girls had missed out on growing up with one another. More than that, they’d nearly missed out on even knowing the other one existed.
Harper had orchestrated Ivy and Anna’s separation. She could have tried to keep them together. She could have informed the two sets of adoptive parents about their child’s twin. The fact that Harper had done none of that pointed to Harper’s own woundedness.
Ivy and Anna were shining examples of what a stable upbringing could do. It would have broken Sloane’s heart to watch either of those girls repeat history by enduring a childhood similar to the one she and Harper had endured. Thank you, God—that’s not how it had gone for Ivy and Anna. But that didn’t undo the fact that Sloane and Harper had endured it. And just like she didn’t want that for her nieces, she didn’t want that for the girls she and her sister had been, either.
“I love you,” she whispered to Harper, her heart tender toward her magnificent but troubled sister. She could and did forgive Harper all her mistakes. “Your daughters are well. Full of promise. Poised to live wonderful lives.”
And you? The question came to her, clear yet without sound.
You are full of promise. Will you live a wonderful life?
On this final day of four months of weekly visits to her father, Sloane needed to face her own woundedness. All the etiquette in the world, the fashionable clothes, the abundance of food, the security she’d enjoyed for years hadn’t fixed it. A portion of her still believed the lesson she’d learned early. Namely, that she was unlovable.
I’m unlovable had sent down roots when she was small. It had grown like a weed through her adolescence. I’m unlovable . And it remained still. She’d been a Christian for a long time and so she knew , intellectually, that she was loved. Her years of trust in God had removed the leaves and stems of the weed. However, the poisonous roots continued to cling to the deepest, darkest places of her soul. I’m unlovable .
That’s why the prospect of happiness with Max seemed impossible and filled her with fear. That’s why she kept telling herself that a man with his romantic track record would never work. If he hadn’t loved any of those lovable women, how could he love unlovable her?
It’s a lie.
The belief that she was unlovable was an absolute lie. The worst of lies. Evil. If she let it, this lie would gladly sabotage her future.
“I’ve never been too good at contentment,” her father had said. “But that doesn’t mean you have to be the same.”
These poisonous roots had to go . She could no longer let this lie live and fester. She was finished with tolerating it. Finished with letting it influence her.
Inwardly, her faith swelled.
Outwardly, she rose to her feet.
Ivy
It’s Aunt Sloane’s last full day in Maine and she seemed a little bummed this morning before school. Now she’s at her dad’s house and you know how hard that is on her. I was wondering if you could check on her when she gets back to The Gables.
Max
I’m on it.
Max drove home from Libri at breakneck speed, worried that Sloane would reach The Gables before him.
When he neared his garage and saw that Brooke’s SUV wasn’t there, he blew out a relieved breath. Instead of parking his Porsche nose-first in the garage as usual, he parked it crosswise in front of two of the garage doors. Then ran into his house to retrieve something and ran back out to his car.
Ten minutes passed. He’d dressed casually for work today and wore a black puffer jacket over his clothes. However, he hadn’t remembered to grab a hat or gloves when he was inside. The tips of his ears ached with cold, yet he refused to go back in because he didn’t want to miss Sloane when she drove up.
Finally, the sound of the SUV’s engine reached him, then Sloane’s car came into view. She pulled to a stop a short distance away—closer to his house than her apartment. For a few seconds, nothing happened. Then she turned off the engine and climbed down. She’d been cleaning at her dad’s house and was dressed for that the way only Sloane would dress for that. A long, navy wool coat buttoned from her neck to the hem. Boots. A navy floral headband, knotted at the top.
Hands in her coat pockets, she walked toward him.
His heart beat with painful hope because he desperately wanted her to open up and let him in. These last ten days since their talk at the stream had been horrible. The whole time, his courage had been fighting with despair.
Now he’d run out of time. She was leaving tomorrow.
Sloane drank in the sight of Max as she approached. He was leaning against his Porsche, feet crossed at the ankles, hands behind his back. The pose brought back a series of memories she hadn’t thought about in ages.
Several times during the early years of their friendship, she’d found him waiting for her just this way when she’d left a visit with her father. Each time, he’d known how crummy she’d be feeling. Each time, he’d been leaning against his car, holding something behind his back intended to lift her spirits. A cup of coffee. A bar of French soap. Once, a framed glamour shot of him hilariously impersonating a male model.
The past telescoped forward, merging with the sight of him now. Max, waiting for her once again.
She loved him.
That’s what this was—the deep devotion, the fire in her heart, the commitment in her veins.
She halted before him and took in the distinctive pale green eyes, the olive skin, the familiar and balanced planes of his face, the inky hair. Max. The illegitimate son. Max the Proud. The Brilliant. The Good. Max who’d pushed her away once. But who’d shown up for her many more times than that. Again and again. Even in this moment.
“Ivy told me you were with your dad,” he said.
“I was.”
“How are you doing?”
She made a so-so motion with her hand.
He nodded in understanding. “I have something that I thought might brighten your day.”
“That would be really, really nice right about now.”
From behind his back, he brought forward Empress Eugenie’s tiara, unmistakable to Sloane after the hours she’d spent reading about it. Never had she viewed a piece of jewelry of this magnitude except behind glass at a museum. It was filled with a mind-boggling number of diamonds, and they were all sparkling wildly.
“It’s way more beautiful in real life,” she whispered, awed.
“I knew you’d like it.”
“How do you have this?” She looked up at him.
He grinned. “I wanted to show it to you, so when I returned it to Felix, I asked him if I could borrow it once he had the diamonds from the cufflinks returned to their correct spots. He dropped it off yesterday.”
“Thank you for showing it to me. I’m amazed by it.”
“I’m amazed by you,” he said simply. “Want to put it on?”
“ Oof . I don’t know.”
“Why not?”
“I’m a little intimidated by it, seeing as how it’s a priceless artifact.”
“You won’t hurt it.”
“I mean . . . aren’t tiaras meant for princesses?”
“You don’t have to be born royal to be a princess, Sloane.” And she could see that he was talking about a lot more than this tiara.
In a rush, she recalled that she and Harper had named The Gables “The Prince’s House” when they were kids. Now here he was, giving her a chance to wear a crown.
“May I?” he asked.
Moisture fuzzed her vision. If she was going to stop believing lies about her worth, this was as good a place as any to begin. She inclined her chin.
Max carefully removed her headband and set it aside, tucked her hair behind her ears, then placed the tiara on her head.
It was heavy but comfortable. Honestly, wonderful . It fit as if it had been fashioned for her. She reached up, marveling, running her fingertips over the ridges of the diamonds.
With grace and elegance, anything is possible.
“You look stunning,” he said.
“Thank you.”
“Let me get a picture, so you can see yourself.” He pulled out his phone.
She posed. He snapped a shot and showed it to her.
Sloane blinked at the image. She looked . . . Well, she looked quite a bit like Kate herself.
Max pocketed the phone. “Need a hug, princess?”
“Yes, please.”
He opened his arms.
Stepping forward, Sloane rested her tiara-topped head against his broad chest. She used the moments to gather the bravery she was going to need in order to say what she had to say.
When she straightened, he braced his palms on his car.
She set her hands on the chest of his jacket. “The day at the stream, when you said you loved me, my first response was joy. But I quickly squashed that because there were so many, many times when I hoped for the best with my family growing up. And those hopes never came to fruition. At some point, it became too costly to keep on hoping.”
“I understand.”
“As soon as I squashed the joy that came up at the idea of you loving me, fear took its place.” Her fingers moved up to interlace behind his neck. “Real talk?”
“Real talk.”
“Given my past, if we’re going to do this, I need you to assure me that I can trust you.”
He looked her dead in the eye. “You can.”
She took his measure while searching inside herself to determine if she had the strength to move forward.
“Sloane, you are the person I treasure most in this world. I’ll sacrifice anything I need to for you. Follow you anywhere. Just don’t make me live the rest of my life without you in it?—”
“I love you.” The joy she’d smothered standing beside the stream was back. It scared her still. Yet this time she gave it free rein to expand and expand.
He came to his full height in a fast motion, taking her face in his hands. “You love me?”
“I do.”
“You do?”
“I do.”
“Thank God,” he whispered. “I love you so much, Sloane.”
“I love you so much, too.” Speaking words this honest was unfamiliar yet electrifying .
“Will you stay in Groomsport?” he asked.
“I will.”
“Will you come back to work at Libri?”
“I won’t. Libri is my past and My Fair Lady is my present. But I might consent to sit on the board of directors one day, so that I can still advocate for the success of the company we founded.” She smiled. “You, Max, are both my past and my present.”
“And your future.”
“And my future,” she confirmed.
“I love you.”
Hearing him say those words to her was a miracle . Believing those words in her soul was a miracle, too.
He kissed her, which sent a heady torrent of rightness rushing through Sloane.
An audience of trees watched.
An exquisite tiara glinted on her head.
But when she’d look back on all the stunning aspects of this turning-point day, he would always be the best of them.