The Goodbye Groom. Ellen JamesЧитать онлайн книгу.
greenery of the island.
Jamie realized that she was staring and forced her gaze forward. “I’d expect a sports car from you,” she said. “Something that could get you anywhere fast.”
“What makes you think I like to drive fast?” He sounded faintly amused.
“Just a hunch. I have a feeling you don’t like anything—or anyone—to get in the way.”
“Maybe I should just drive a bulldozer.”
Jamie almost smiled at that. She couldn’t help herself—she looked at him again and saw a hint of humor playing about his mouth.
“I have plans for this truck,” he said. “I’m thinking about getting a camper. Kaitlin’s mentioned that she’d like to go camping.”
“Let me guess. She mentioned that she liked cats, and you got her a kitten.”
“Lord, am I that pathetic?” he asked. “I throw presents at my daughter and hope it’ll make her love me.”
Neither of them spoke for a few seconds. Then Eric gave a slight, impatient shrug.
“The divorce was hard on her.”
“It’s hard for any child.”
“That’s right, you speak from experience.”
She’d definitely revealed too much last night, but now more slipped out. “I was nine years old when my parents broke up. It was very messy, nothing civil about it. My mother has yet to move on. So, yes, I understand what it’s like.”
Lost in her thoughts, it took Jamie a minute to realize that they’d turned right instead of left toward the pier.
“I’ll be late,” she said.
“Don’t worry—I’ll get you to the ferry in plenty of time.” Eric drove down one street and then another, ending up in front of a building of mellowed brick that had the words Ulysses Elementary lettered in stone above the wide front doors. Since it was summer, no children were about. Eric cut the engine.
“What are we doing here?” Jamie asked.
“Not sure myself. Just followed an impulse.”
“I doubt,” she said, “that you follow impulses very often.”
He leaned back in his seat, one hand resting on the steering wheel. “I seem that dull to you?”
Definitely not dull. Enigmatic, disturbing, irritating…but not dull in the least.
“I only meant that you’re a focused sort of person. I’m sure you have other things to do today.”
He gazed broodingly toward the school. “There’s always something else to do,” he murmured almost to himself. “That’s the way it is now. That’s the way it was when Shawn and I were kids. One or the other of us always messing up somehow. Not measuring up.”
Jamie didn’t speak. Eric seemed lost in his own memories, and she did not want to intrude. Then he stirred and addressed her once more.
“This is the school Shawn and I both went to. Did he tell you about Mrs. Green’s reign of terror in the third grade?”
Jamie sighed. “He didn’t tell me about you, so he certainly didn’t tell me about his school days.” It was humiliating, really. When you were going to marry someone, you were supposed to know all those little stories about him—his third-grade teacher, the friends he’d had, the friends he’d lost. Why hadn’t she noticed that Shawn had been less than forthcoming about his past and family? Had she been so blinded by her own emotions? Why hadn’t she persisted whenever Shawn had so adroitly changed the subject? And why, most of all, hadn’t he wanted to share with her?
“I’m lucky I even know he grew up here,” Jamie said. “It’s as if he never wanted me to know the ordinary facts and details of his life. As if somehow that would give me too much control over him.”
“I’ll fill in the blanks, then. Mrs. Green scared us all to death. Yet, when I broke my arm falling off the wall out back, she’s the one who drove me to the hospital. Nobody could reach my parents, so she just took charge. Kept telling me stories about her own son so I’d forget how much it hurt. That’s when I first discovered that people aren’t always what they seem.”
A breeze drifted through the open windows of the truck. Jamie settled back in her seat, gazing toward Eric’s school but seeing her own childhood.
“Third grade,” she said. “Third grade is when I beat up Charlie Henderson. I found him pouring water down an anthill and I soon put a stop to that. Got sent to the principal’s office afterward.”
“Defender of the weak and innocent,” Eric observed with a smile.
“Not according to my mom. She said you didn’t pummel boys no matter what the reason. Maybe you weren’t supposed to trust them, but you weren’t supposed to beat up on them, either. You were just supposed to make darn sure one of them never broke your heart.”
“Did you listen?”
“Apparently not or I wouldn’t be here.”
“Did my brother break your heart, Jamie?” Eric asked quietly.
She clenched her hands in her lap. “Yes—I don’t know. Right now I just think I hate him.”
“Hating someone usually means you still care…a lot.”
How could she describe what she felt inside? A turmoil that had a great deal to do with Shawn Sinclair—but also something to do with his brother. The stress of the last day or two had simply been too much. If only she could just go home or at least spend some time by herself to think things over, to recover….
She couldn’t. Deep inside she knew there would be no recovery for her without the truth. And only Shawn could provide that.
“I really don’t want to miss the ferry, Eric.”
“We still have plenty of time. Tell me, Jamie. Do you still see your father?”
She believed she knew what he was really asking. Will my daughter survive this divorce? Will she still talk to me when she’s grown?
Jamie could have told him she was the last person to offer reassurances. But his intensity, his sincere questioning, got to her. He cared very much about that little girl.
Jamie searched for the right words. “My dad and I…we have a cordial relationship, I suppose. Not exactly close but not distant, either. Somewhere in between. He lives in Colorado. I visit him and my stepmother and my step-sisters when I get a chance. As for my mother and me…that’s the more complex relationship. I see her every other day. We speak on the phone. And yet I’ve never told her that I love her. Mom doesn’t encourage talk about such things. But, still…if you meet a man and tell him after four weeks that you love him, you damn well should be able to express your emotions to your own blasted family.”
Jamie clenched her hands tighter, reminding herself that she usually had better rein on her tongue. She could only blame Shawn again. But perhaps she could also blame his brother. She’d just told him confidences she’d never shared with anyone else.
Not even with Shawn.
Eric drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. He didn’t say a word, just stared at that old school of his.
“I want to make the ferry,” Jamie said. “I need to make it.”
Eric didn’t speak for another long moment. Then he shrugged, as if he’d lost some argument with himself. “For what it’s worth, Jamie, last night I called Shawn on his cell phone. At his number in Seattle, too. No answer.”
“It was kind of you to try,” she said stiffly. “But this is something I need to do myself.” In the aftermath of her almost wedding, she’d already spent too much time trying to reach Shawn