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Her heart ached, and guilt swept through her. “Alec, I am so sorry. I’ve been twittering away about Chet and sports when you must have so much more on your mind. I’m sorry for going on and on—”
“That’s exactly why I don’t talk about Madeleine. I don’t want people to feel bad, and the pity, or sympathy, or whatever it is, is every bit as uncomfortable today as it was when she died. And you talking, or twittering, as you called it, has been good for me. You’ve helped keep my mind off the anniversary of her death. It’s not something I want to spend a lot of time reflecting on, not anymore. I did that the first five years. I can’t do it forever.”
“But still. I feel selfish.”
“I don’t normally speak of her. Not because I didn’t love her—I did, dearly—but I don’t want the sympathy. I don’t want the relatives fussing over me. Madeleine wouldn’t want it, either.She wasn’t that kind of a woman. She was strong, smart, brave, daring. When we married, neither of us could have imagined something so terrible happening. She was an expert skier, knew that mountain like the back of her hand. Her death was nonsensical. Just a terrible, terrible accident. It still makes no sense. I don’t suppose it ever will.”
Cara swallowed around the lump filling her throat. Part of her wanted to cry. Another part of her wanted to wrap her arms around him and never let go. It wasn’t fair. And she shouldn’t have called him a curmudgeon. That wasn’t fair, either.
Before she could say anything, he continued. “I haven’t talked about her in years.” Alec glanced at Cara and then out the windshield again. Inside the car, it was warm, but beyond the glass, a few slow sleepy flakes fell from the sky. They stuck to the hood of the car, looking like fake snow, the kind they throw at weddings.
“I haven’t spoken to her family in maybe two years now,” he added. “It’s too painful for us to stay in touch.”
“I have never lost anyone close to me, other than a grandparent,” Cara said, feeling out of her element. “I can’t imagine losing your husband or wife.”
His jaw shifted, tightening. “I was livid with God for a long time. I stopped going to church, stopped believing, because what kind of God would create a world with so much pain? But I’ve decided that being angry with God is like being angry with the moon or the stars—what good does it do?” He looked at Cara again, and this time he held her gaze. “How does anger change anything? It didn’t bring Madeleine back, and it only created more sorrow and grief.”
For a moment, there was only silence in the Land Rover and the small snowflakes stopped falling, and the ones on the hood of the car, melted.
“Do you have any pictures of Madeleine at the house?” Cara asked after a bit.
“Not readily available. I put them all away a few years ago.”
“Why?”
The car had been quietly running all this time, and Alec turned on the windshield wipers to clear the windshield, and for a minute the only sound was the soft swish of the blades moving back and forth.
“I’d started to date again,” Alec said, after turning off the windshield wipers, “and it was awkward for Elizabeth. Elizabeth wasn’t in competition with Madeleine, and I wasn’t comparing Elizabeth to Madeleine, but somehow Madeleine became a point of contention.”
“That’s not okay,” Cara said. “And I understand feeling insecure, but Elizabeth should have understood that the memory of your wife was sacred, and trying to compete with her would only have negative consequences.”
He shifted into drive, leaving the parking lot behind, not answering until they were out on the road heading back to Bakewell. “I am expected to remarry. Heirs are needed for the title, the land, the house, all of it.”
“But you don’t want to.”
“I don’t know what I want sometimes,” Alec admitted. “It can be overwhelming.”
“What is the worst that would happen should you not remarry and have children? Someone else would inherit.”
“Yes.”
“So?” she said. “You’d be dead. What would it matter then?”
Alec laughed, a deep rumble that made him laugh harder.
“I’m serious,” she said after he’d caught his breath. “It sounds awful, but it’s true. You should live for you. You should do what makes you happy, and if you can’t be happy, you should choose the things that make youalmosthappy.”
He reached for her hand, and carried it to his mouth, kissing her just below her knuckles. “You’re adorable.”
“Don’t be patronizing.”
“You’re also very charming.”
“But…”
“You’re an American. You don’t understand.”
Cara glanced at him, and the laughter was gone, and the rather bleak expression was back.
