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“Too late,” I’d said, through watering eyes. My heart broke as we stepped out of that car, for Mitchell, never getting to gain any kind of closure with his father.
And for us.
I didn’t ask him to come in. I knew he had to go, and I knew if he came in, he might not. So we stood there on the sidewalk under the streetlamp, with Mitchell brushing the hair from my eyes and thumbing the tears from my cheeks.
“Don’t wait with Heartbreaker,” he said. “You’re ready now.”
“But the renovation…”
“Cher can finish it. You said she’s competent, right?”
“Beyond.”
“Then you’ve waited long enough. Sal’s got the name of a lawyer for you, if you want her. She’s the very best, and her bills are paid for the next year. No matter how many hours you need.”
“Mitchell—“
“It would be foolish to say no, firecracker. You’ve done everything on your own long enough.”
I nodded.
Then I kissed him. A rain had begun to fall, and it fell on my cheeks, mingling with his beard, and as he held me like he was drowning, I fell too, tumbling down into a spiral of stars, already hearing the ocean in my ears.
“Goodbye, firecracker,” he’d whispered in my ear.
And then, with the rumble of the McLaren’s engine, he was gone.
I stayed out there for a moment, looking up at the halo of the streetlamp, feeling the rain on my face. “Goodbye, Mitchell Harrington,” I’d said, thinking of another storm, the first night we’d met, how the crash of thunder had been so indicative of what we’d had. Fast, hard, big, loud. All consuming, and then gone; a rainbow in its wake.
When I’d finally turned around to go inside, the curtains next door had dropped quickly. Mrs. Moody.
I laughed. But then I remembered something Raylan had said once, when he’d accidentally thrown a ball through her living room window. He’d gone in to clean it up and said she had pictures all over her walls of a young couple hugging each other, and kissing, and that the woman wore the same gold cross Mrs. Moody wore.
“I think she was like, in love or something,” Raylan had said. And Calvin had pulled a face. My aunt Mildred had never mentioned anyone when she was alive, so whoever it was must have been gone for years.
I hoped Mrs. Moody had seen everything. Just so she might remember there was a time she’d had that too.
The next day, I’d met with Cher and Sarah, both to cry on their shoulders, and to tell them what my plans were.
They were both beyond supportive of course.
And they’d both told me I needed to accept the trip to Newfoundland, too.
“All expenses paid, private jet, and it’s before the collective incorporates—when will you get this opportunity again?” Sarah had asked.
“Never.”
“Winona?” Sarah said, her voice bringing me back to the call. Oh god, how much had I missed? To my surprise, hot tears were twinning down my cheeks. “I’m sorry,” I said.
Sarah gave me a soft look then. “No. Nothing to be sorry about. Loving someone you can’t have is it’s own special kind of hell.”
“Love!” I exclaimed, a little too sharply. “Who said anything about love?”
But just then Sarah jerked her face up. “Sorry Win—” she whispered, then she muted me, listening to someone off-screen.
Did I love Mitchell after such a short time together? I reached into my bag, thumbing the smooth ivory envelope the flight attendant had handed me when I’d sat down. It was a quick flight, just under two hours in this type of jet, the pilot explained. I told myself I’d open the envelope before I landed, but I didn’t have the stomach for it. Not yet. In fact, my stomach had been queasy for days leading up to this trip. I was going back, and I’d said no to Mitchell’s offer of an escort. I didn’t need to be scared of an old man in a prison cell. He had no control over me. I knew that now.
Sarah came back on the line then. She looked pale.
