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“A fight is where you argue, or shout, or say inappropriate things.This wasn’t a fight.”
“He left.You’re mad.Those are also elements of a fight.”
“Fine, have it your way,” Parker snapped. “We fought our way to the impasse.”
“He was stupid.”
“At last, we fully agree.”
“He was stupid,” Laurel continued, “to come over here at midnight when something was bothering him if he didn’t intend to tell you what was bothering him. And stupider to leave when you told him to leave because anyone who knows you understands you expected him to argue with you until you broke him down and he told you what was bothering him.”
With a nod, Parker grabbed her water bottle and chugged.
“Then again, he hasn’t known you as long as I have, so it’s possible he took ‘go home’ as just ‘go home.’”
A wet fist of tears clogged her chest. Parker pushed through them as she pushed through the next mile.“I can’t be with someone who won’t talk to me, who can’t be intimate with me except physically.”
“No, you can’t. But intimacy, the real kind, is harder for some than others. I’m not defending him,” Laurel added. “I’m assessing and extrapolating. I’m being you, since you’re too upset to be you.”
“Then I must be annoying. I’m sorry,” she said instantly, and stepped off the machine.“I’m sorry. I didn’t get any sleep, and I’m feeling mean.”
“It’s okay. Sometimes you are annoying.”
With a miserable half laugh, Parker grabbed a towel. “Yeah, I am. I’m annoying myself right now.” Burying her face in the towel, she scrubbed hard. Then just held it there when Laurel’s arms came around her.
“I don’t want to cry because it’s stupid to cry about this. I’d rather be annoying than stupid.”
“You’re not being either, and you know I’d tell you if you were.”
“I can count on you,” Parker said, and taking a steadying breath, lowered the towel.
“You’re pissed off, frustrated, sad, and really tired. So, take a few hours, get some rest. I can take anything that comes in. If I can’t, I’ll tap Emma and Mac.”
“Maybe I’ll take an hour. Go outside, take a walk, clear my head.”
“Whatever works. Give me the phone.”
“Oh, but—”
“I mean it, Parker, give me the phone.” Eyes narrowed, Laurel held out a finger, crooked it. “Otherwise, I’ll be forced to assume Malcolm’s not the only one with trust issues.”
“Unfair,” Parker muttered, but unhooked the phone from her waistband.
She didn’t bother to change, just tossed on a hoodie, zipped it. The brisk, cool air, so fresh from the evening’s rain, felt good. Denuded trees raised their dark arms up into a sky so blue and sharp and bright she regretted not grabbing sunglasses. The grass, hardened from the night’s frost, crunched under her feet.
Autumn, she thought, with its color and shimmer and smoky scents was nearly done and winter creeping up to take its place.
Mac’s wedding was only a month away. Still so much to do, so many details, so many check marks. It was probably for the best she and Malcolm had taken this step back from each other. She needed to focus on the most important wedding Vows had ever planned.
God knew there was plenty to deal with on all the other events, and that didn’t touch on the Seaman extravaganza in the spring, which needed constant attention.
She still had countless arrangements and plans to finalize for Emma’s wedding, and for Laurel’s.
Then there was the book proposal.With the changes and additions her partners had put in, it was as solid and ready as it could be.Time to send it to the agent, she thought.
Really, the simple truth was she didn’t have time for a relationship.
At some point, down the road, maybe. But not now. And she would certainly expect and demand a full partnership, a real meeting of minds, absolute trust.
As her parents had.
She couldn’t be—wouldn’t allow herself to be—in love with a man who didn’t want the same. However much it hurt now to realize that, to accept that, it would hurt more later if she denied it.
“Hey, Parker.”
She jerked out of the internal debate, and stared at Carter as he veered toward her, briefcase in hand.
“Carter. I’ve lost track of the time.You’re leaving for work.”
“Yeah. Is everything okay?”
“Sure. I just . . . I’d better get inside, get to work.”
He took her hand. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. Really. I didn’t get much sleep last night, so I’m . . .” Doing exactly what Malcolm had done. Closing down, closing in.
“I think Malcolm and I ended things last night.”
“I’ll be sorry if that’s true. Can you tell me why?”
“I guess we don’t have enough common ground, or look at things the same way. Or want the same things.”
That wet fist tried to flex again.
“Carter, I’m not really sure. I don’t understand him.”
“Do you want to?”
“I always want to understand, and I’d say that’s why things aren’t going to work.”
He set his briefcase down where they stood, then draped an arm around her shoulders and began to walk.
“You have to get to work.”
“I’ve got some time. When Mac and I were having problems, when I felt I didn’t understand her, you helped me.You gave me some insight into her that I needed. Maybe I can do the same for you.”
“He won’t let me in, Carter. There are all these locked doors. Whenever I ask him about the hard things—and the hard things are a factor in making us who we are—he says it’s no big deal, it was a long time ago, or just shifts the subject.”
“He doesn’t talk about himself much. I think you’re right about the locked doors. And I think there are some people who lock them so they can open others.That they think they won’t be able to walk through the others if they don’t shut out what came before.”
“I understand that, I do. To a point. But how can you be with someone, hope you might stay with someone, who isn’t willing to let you see what they locked away, who won’t share the problems, the bad times? Who won’t let you help?”
“From the little he’s said, and more from what
my mother related, he took some pretty hard knocks as a kid. Emotionally when he lost his father, physically from his uncle and aunt. You can’t be a teacher without dealing with kids who’ve been through something like that, or are going through it. In a lot of cases, trust takes time, and a lot of work.”
“So I should give it more time, be patient, and work harder.”
“Some of that’s up to you.” He rubbed her arm as they walked. “On his part, I’d have to say he’s crazy about you and hasn’t quite figured out how to handle it. You want, need, and deserve the whole picture, and he’s thinking you should look at what he is now, that it should be enough.”
“That’s a good analysis.” She sighed and, grateful, leaned on him a little. “I don’t know if it makes me want to move forward or away, but it’s a good analysis.”
“I bet he didn’t get much sleep last night either.”
“I hope not.” It helped to smile, and she did as she turned to hug him. “Thank you, Carter. Whatever happens, this helped.”
She drew back. “Go to school.”
“Maybe you could take a nap.”
“Carter, who are you talking to?”
“I had to try.” He gave her a kiss on the cheek, started toward his car again. Nearly tripped over his own briefcase before he remembered it.
“Mac.” Parker breathed it as she turned to go inside.“You’re so damn lucky.”
She paused a moment, just to study the house, the soft blue of it against the brilliant sky. All those lovely lines, she thought, the pretty touches of gingerbread, the gleam of windows. Like a wedding, she decided, those were details. At the core it was more than house, even more than a home, which was so vital to her. It was a symbol; it was a statement. It stood as it had for generations, a testament to her name, to her family. By standing it proved it was in her blood to build to last.
How could she build with Malcolm without understanding his foundation?
She went in through the kitchen. Coffee, she thought, a decent breakfast to boost some energy into her system. Maybe the answers would come, one way or the other, once she made herself fall back into routine.
But when she walked into the kitchen, Mrs. Grady sat at the counter, her eyes wet.
“What is it, what’s wrong?” Her own troubles forgotten, Parker rushed around the counter.
“There was a terrible accident last night. A car accident.”
“I know. Del said something about it. Oh God. Someone was killed? Someone you knew?”
“Worse than that. There were three girls—teenagers. There’d been four, but they’d just dropped the other off at home.They’re all dead, all of them.”
“Oh, no. Oh God.”
“I know the mother of one of them, from the book club I’m in.”
“Mrs. G, Mrs. G.” Parker wrapped her arms around her, rocked. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
“There were two people in the other car. One’s stable now, they say, the other still critical.”
“I’m going to make you some tea.” She brushed Mrs. Grady’s hair back from her face. “You lie down awhile, and I’ll bring it to you. I’ll sit with you.”
