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Chapter Twenty-Six
Talia
Ileft Clear Ridge, Ohio a week and a half ago. I packed my bags and emptied the closet. I texted Archer and asked him to book the jet for my return flight home at his earliest convivence. He booked it for that afternoon. He drove to the airport, loaded me onto the jet, and hugged me goodbye. No kiss.
I told myself that’s what I wanted. A clean break.
I was wrong.
I’m at brunch with Papa, at Mango’s. Lis is working today, so I asked if he wanted to come out for huevos rancheros. He agreed. Halfway through breakfast, he asks how Brandon is doing.
“I don’t know. I work with Tom on this project,” I answer as I pick at my food. It’s delicious I’m sure, but my newfound regret has made everything taste like sawdust.
“I know.” He waves a hand of dismissal. “But Brandon gave you that job. You should be grateful.”
Brandonshould be grateful to have me, but I don’t say that. The timeline is demanding, and the job is behind schedule and much less organized than Archer’s night spa. I’m stressed. I’m overworked. After this lovely breakfast, I’m heading to the building, hence my professional pantsuit rather than a flouncy top and shorts and sandals.
“I always liked Brandon.” My father offers a wistful smile. “You never know. There could be hope for you two kids to reconcile.”
“There’s no hope, Papa.” I don’t have a right to be frustrated with him. He doesn’t know how I feel. Hell, I haven’t admitted to myself how I feel.
“There’s always hope, Tallie.”
“I’m in love with someone else,” I blurt out.
Papa puts down his fork.
“Archer Owen.”
“The man in Ohio?”
“Yes.”
He takes it well, his thick eyebrows lifting as he absorbs the news. “Then why are you here?”
“Great question.”
Hours later, after a long day of work, I trudge into the house to find Calista at the stove, stirring something in a pot. “Still at it?” I ask, noting the time on the stove. 10:37. I’m about to drop.
“I was craving caramel sauce. I’m going to put it on the homemade ice cream in the freezer.” Her mouth twists. “You look like you need it.”
“I’ve been thinking a lot about the night Mom died,” I say, bypassing any pleasantries or talk of dessert.
“Oh, Tal.” She stops stirring, ignoring my warning not to. Caramel is a full-time job. You can’t stop stirring or it will burn and clump. “I can make caramel anytime,” she informs me as she flips off the burner. Her arm wrapped around mine, she drags me to the sofa.
“I chose Estevan over Mama. I missed her last breath,” I sob. I’ve never said the truth aloud or in such stark terms. Lis’s arms close around me as I continue, my voice thick with regret. “I came home late that night, overjoyed. I couldn’t wait to tell you I was engaged…and then I saw your face. Papa told me I missed her by twenty minutes.”
A thick, choking sob prevents me from saying more. Lis is crying too, the sound daintier. She plucks two tissues from a box, handing me one of them.
“The worst part,” I continue after I blow my nose, “is that it didn’t matter. Estevan and I weren’t married and didn’t live happily ever after. It was all for nothing. I’ll never forgive myself.”
“Tallie.” Lis hasn’t called me that since she was a little girl. “Honey, you were eighteen. How could any of us have known the exact moment Mama was going to pass? You sat by her bed every night that week, remember?”
I blink. Sniff. I’d forgotten.
“Mama told you to go to your own bed whenever you stayed at her side too long. And the night of your graduation she told me she hoped you were having the time of your life with your friends.” Lis takes my hand and shakes it as if to snap me out of my stupor. “She wanted you to be happy, Talia. Not at her bedside in tears.”
“I should have been there.” I’m unwilling to be let off the hook so easily.
