One Last Gift, page 27
“I’m not sure,” Sam said slowly. “I quit my job, remember?”
She nodded, although it wasn’t entirely accurate. He’d jilted the boss’s daughter at the altar, not quit his job, and there was a difference.
“Do you want to be a lawyer again, though? Did you enjoy it?” She shifted slightly so she could look up at his face, read his expression. She’d never actually asked him this before, she realized. He’d certainly acted like he’d enjoyed it, though—the money, the status, the social circle.
“Parts of it,” Sam admitted. “But I don’t know, now…Something about it doesn’t feel right anymore. But I’m not sure what is right. I’m not like you—I don’t have a passion, so without a job, a purpose, I’m worried I’ll just…drift.”
She couldn’t really imagine Sam drifting. He’d always seemed so sure of himself, of his place in the world. Sure of what he wanted, and how to get there, even if she didn’t like or agree with it. It was funny that he thought of her as the one with passion, drive, purpose. Did she have that? She supposed she did, to some extent. She loved being in events, loved the thrill of it. And once, she’d been so sure what she’d end up doing, before she’d gotten caught in the cycle of London life, work. But really, it hadn’t been her work, ever, that kept her grounded. It had been Tom. So she got it, that drifting feeling, even if she didn’t say it out loud.
“Another beer?” Sam asked, holding up his empty one.
“Sure.”
She pulled her knees to her chest as he went back inside, wrapping her arms around them. She wished she could stay here, listening to the sea, indefinitely. Back at her flat in London, all she had to listen to was the sound of banging doors, distant arguing, sirens, and traffic.
Sam came back out with two beers—and the envelope. “I found this,” he said, holding it up.
“Right.” Cassie cleared her throat. “Greg dropped it round earlier.” It had been stupid, to think he wouldn’t notice it, or would forget about it. It was the whole reason they were there, after all.
He handed it to her with the beer, sat down next to her. “So, are you going to open it?”
She stared at it, at the number in the corner. Then she looked at Sam. “I’m too scared to,” she whispered. When he frowned, she carried on. “If I open it, then that will be it, done. It’s been like…Well, not like having him back, but it’s been something of him to hold on to, you know? And when I finish it, when I get to the end, that’ll be over.” And what if she couldn’t handle it? What if she broke?
“I get that,” Sam said. “Really, I do. But, Cass, you can’t let fear rule you forever. That’s what Tom has been trying to show you, right? That you’re braver than you think?”
She put the letter down next to her, on the other side of Sam, away from them both. “I can’t, Sam.”
“Can’t or won’t?” Although his voice was calm, there was a subtle bite to it.
She frowned. “Why are you pushing this?” It wasn’t right—he should understand where she was coming from, surely. He kept saying how he got it, how he missed Tom too—well then, he shouldn’t be trying to make her do it when she wasn’t ready.
“Because you can’t be scared of everything all the time, Cassie!” He threw a hand into the air as he said it, and she jerked away. It wasn’t what she’d been expecting, and hurt lanced through her.
And before she could stop herself, she was snapping back. “Me? I’m not the only one who’s scared, Sam.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
She made a scathing face, falling back into old patterns even as a part of her hated herself for it. “You don’t want me to let fear rule me, but look at you—you’re scared of ending up like your dad, but at the same time you’re scared of making a proper commitment, just like him. You left Jessica at the altar because you were so scared to go through with it, didn’t you?” She bit the words out, then, because that wasn’t enough, got to her feet, paced a few steps away from him.
“It wasn’t right, Cassie. Me and Jessica, it wasn’t right.” His voice was weirdly calm now, and she turned to him, folding her arms.
“Have you even spoken to her since?”
A pause. “Well, not really.”
“Right.” Why should that make her feel worse? Only that, if he’d talked to her, figured it all out, this would feel less like an illicit weekend and more like it could actually have meant something. “Well, then, don’t talk to me about being brave, Sam, because it’s just hypocritical.”
Sam got to his feet too now, and she could see the rigidity in his body. The sky above was darker still, and Cassie felt the first few droplets of rain fall onto her face. He took a step toward her, his jaw tight, so that she had to tilt her chin up to look at him. “Fine,” he bit out. “Maybe you’re right. But at least I’m brave enough to do one thing—at least I’m brave enough to admit what’s going on here, like you don’t seem to want to.”
Something shot straight to Cassie’s gut and she stumbled backward a step, shaking her head.
“Yes, Cassie. At least I’m brave enough to tell you that I love—”
“No, don’t,” she said, her voice high, almost unrecognizable as her own. She backed away another step, wrapped her arms around herself. “That’s not fair, that’s not…” Her breathing was coming quicker now, even as she told herself to calm the bloody hell down. But it was too much. She didn’t want to hear it. She didn’t want to let herself go there, couldn’t bear the fallout if it didn’t work out, couldn’t hear it or say it, because it would open her up, leave her vulnerable when she was still only just piecing herself back together. She’d vowed not to give Sam her heart again, hadn’t she? And she was damn well going to stick to that.
“No,” she repeated. “I…” This time, her headshake was frantic. “I can’t do this. Not again.” She couldn’t give her heart to him, couldn’t open herself up to really love him, because it would give him the power to break her. And she knew she couldn’t break anymore, not after Tom.
“What do you mean, again?”
She made a noise that was part sob, part incredulous laugh. “We’ve been here before, Sam! I told you, five years ago, how I felt and you…” But she couldn’t finish, so she turned on her heel instead.
He grabbed her arm, stopped her, even as she threw off his hand. “That was different,” he said firmly.
“Oh really?” she spat back at him. “Why?”
He frowned. “Because back then, we were—”
She raised her eyebrows scathingly. “What? Kids? I knew how I felt then, Sam. And you knew it too. You knew it, and then you thought of the most hurtful way to tell me to get over it, to prove some kind of point.” Tears sprang to her eyes too quickly, the hurt of that time coming back to her, even after all these years.
He was staring at her. Was it her, or had his face gone slightly paler? “I didn’t want to hurt you,” he said, his voice hoarse.
“Well, you did.”
“No, I…” He took a breath, his shoulders heaving with the effort. “I mean, I knew I’d end up hurting you in the long run, if we went down that road. I knew I’d fuck it up. And I couldn’t bear it—to lose you when that happened.”
“To lose Tom,” she said, and it came out as a half-sob.
He nodded, took a step toward her. This time, she didn’t back away. “Yeah, to lose Tom. But you too, Cass. I felt so much for you, even then. I felt too much, and I didn’t know what to do with that. I thought I was doing the right thing—thought it would be better for both of us, to end it before I made things worse.”
“And what, you thought it was OK to just unilaterally decide that? You could have talked to me about it, Sam! And instead you…” She closed her eyes, shook her head. “That’s not the point.” She was getting distracted with memories of the past. She’d put that aside, moved on. She didn’t want to circle back to it now.
She felt the touch of his hand on her cheek, opened her eyes to see him standing there, so close. “I loved you then, Cassie. I think I always have.”
Her throat closed on that, and her heart—her damn betraying heart—felt like it was swelling, beating more deeply, the rhythm of it lighting up her whole body. But that was why she couldn’t go there. Because if she did, and if it didn’t work out—if he hurt her again—then how would her heart survive it?
“And what, because you’re ready now, it’s OK?” It was barely more than a whisper.
He opened his mouth to say something, then closed it, shook his head. “This is real, Cassie, this is—”
“No.” Her voice was a snap, and it cut him off. She took a breath, stepped away from his touch. “No,” she said again. “I gave you a chance then, Sam, and I…” She turned from him, picked up her clue off the ground, and sped back to the cottage without another word. Her eyes were burning, and she felt like she might break down into sobs. She tried to take slow, calming breaths as she ran inside, grabbed her suitcase. She’d already packed, of course, just to be organized.
Then she found the taxi driver’s card, called the number. Sam probably thought she was just calming down, or getting a glass of water or something. And that was fine, that was better, because she didn’t want to face him. She couldn’t do this. She just couldn’t.
It was only when she heard a car arriving that she went back outside. Sam was frowning, looking from the taxi to her. It was raining more heavily now, his hair starting to darken with it, droplets clinging to her skin as she crossed to the car and put her suitcase into the trunk.
“Cassie,” Sam said, slowly. “What the fuck are you doing?”
She drew herself up, made herself look at him. “I can’t do this, Sam.” Her lips wanted to tremble, and she pressed them together to stop them. “It’s too much. And we’re both…We’re not…” She opened the door of the car. “It’s just too much, OK?”
She gave him no chance to reply, got into the taxi as quickly as she could, told the driver to go. Sam didn’t try to stop her. Didn’t run after her or call her name. When she turned to look back at him, one last time, he was just standing there in the rain, watching her go. And it was only then, alone in the car, that she allowed the tears to fall.
Three Months Later
Chapter Thirty-Three
Cassie sat on the cobbled street outside the little restaurant, sipping a glass of the best red wine she’d ever tasted and contemplating just one more slice of the cheese platter that Claire had ordered. The evening sun was still warm, even in mid-September, and her shoulders were bare in the flowery dress she’d bought on impulse just before she, Hazel, and Linda had left for Bordeaux. All around her were beautiful buildings, sand-colored, the pink evening light making them glow. Across from the restaurant there was a tall building of flats, each with its own balcony. A woman stood there, her face tanned, wearing a bright red-and-green dress, and she was laughing on the phone, talking loudly, apparently unbothered by the tourists that hovered below.
“Go on,” Claire said, nudging the cheese platter toward her. “I’ve seen you eyeing up the brie.” Cassie cut into it—if you couldn’t indulge in extra brie when on holiday, then when could you?
Claire looked more relaxed than Cassie thought she’d ever seen her. Since moving to Bordeaux she’d gotten a tan, and she’d stopped dyeing her hair, so that the natural brunette now showed through the bottled red. She didn’t even seem bothered about the gray that was woven through—and she shouldn’t, thought Cassie, because it suited her, looked kind of fashionable, like it was intentional. She’d put on a bit of weight—probably from all the wine, cheese, and pastries, if Cassie’s week here was anything to go by—and she looked good with it. Healthier.
Across from Cassie, Linda sighed, pushing her chair back from the table and folding her arms across her stomach. Her rings glinted in the evening sunlight. “You know, Claire, I think I might move here too.” She picked up her wine, took a sip. “I could open a restaurant here instead.”
Cassie exchanged a look with Hazel, who was sitting next to her. The thought of Linda running something out here didn’t quite fit, and Cassie saw from Hazel’s face that she agreed. Besides, despite what she said, Cassie knew Linda would never leave the pub. But the fact that she’d left it for a few days to go on holiday, the fact that she seemed to be getting on well with Katie, the manager, was definitely a positive thing.
“Well, you’re welcome here anytime,” Claire said. “It’s been so lovely to see you. To see all of you. Like having a little slice of home here.” Cassie shot her aunt a look. She hadn’t thought Claire really cared about that. Claire gave her a little smile, like she knew exactly what she was thinking, and Cassie took another sip of wine. It really was good, though she had no idea what it was, apart from the fact that it was local to the region.
She felt more content than she had in a while, the edge taken off her in a way that made her realize how much stress she’d been carrying around recently. Robert was making everything at work seem stressful, making her wonder if there was something going on at management level that she and Josh didn’t know about. And OK…maybe, she admitted to herself, some of that stress came from the fact that she couldn’t stop replaying that night in Cornwall. Couldn’t stop seeing Sam’s face as she drove away from him in the rain. Hadn’t been able to shake it, even though weeks had passed.
He hadn’t called. She hadn’t called either. There had been no more emails, obviously. And she’d completely let go of the idea of the house in Wales.
On top of that was the fact that she still hadn’t gotten up the courage to open Tom’s final clue, and the little envelope with the number five in the corner had been hanging over her since the summer.
“I’ll do it too,” Hazel announced, lifting her glass in a salute. Her green eyes sparkled above the rim. “Move here, I mean. They need advertising people here, right?”
“Sure,” Claire said. “Those that speak French, I’d imagine.”
Hazel waved her wineglass, the remaining liquid sloshing a little dangerously. “I’ll learn.”
The waiter came along at that moment to clear their plates away—an attractive man in his twenties, Cassie would guess, giving off tall, dark, and handsome vibes, with cheekbones that looked like they had been sculpted.
“Merci,” Cassie said as he took her plate.
He gestured to her near-empty wineglass. “Un autre vin?”
“Non, merci. Un café au lait, peut-être?” He gave her that warm smile, which she returned. She’d only just gotten brave enough these last two days to try out her high school French. In all honesty, she wasn’t totally sure she knew what a café au lait was, but it was one of the only things she remembered from school in terms of beverages, and she knew it was coffee, at least. Maybe she could come back, learn some more French. The prospect was strangely appealing, and she found herself mentally checking her work diary to see when she’d be able to come and visit again.
The waiter had turned from Cassie to Hazel now, his brown eyes becoming slightly more intent—something Hazel seemed oblivious to. “Et pour vous?”
“Vin!” she announced. “S’il vous plaît. Nous sommes en vacances!” She said it all with a very English accent, which made both Cassie and the waiter grin. But Hazel looked at Cassie. “See? I’ll be fluent in no time.”
The waiter cleared the remaining plates, but hovered on Hazel’s side of the table. “Pour combien de temps?” Hazel looked at him blankly and he switched to English, proof that he’d been humoring them with the French. Cassie liked that he had, though, that he’d given them the chance to try, without making them feel stupid about it. “For how long are you here?”
“Oh, until Friday.”
“Do you have plans, until then?”
“Ummm…” Hazel looked around at all of them. “I don’t know. Do we?” She focused on Cassie, who shrugged and looked across at Claire, passing on the question.
Linda jumped in. “Here, love,” she said to the waiter, “why don’t you give her your number?” She got out a pen, handed it to the waiter along with a napkin.
When he left, Cassie burst out laughing. “Getting hit on in France! It’s like something out of a romance novel.”
Hazel waved a hand at her.
“Well, you wanted to move here, didn’t you? Maybe you can get a French husband while you’re at it.”
Hazel rolled her eyes overdramatically. “Don’t be ridiculous. Though if you’re all being boring tomorrow, maybe I’ll take him up on it and go on a wild romantic day.”
Cassie narrowed her eyes at her.
Hazel frowned. “What?”
“You’re not even going to give him a chance, are you?”
“Cassie, he lives in France.”
To be fair, that was a valid point, but Hazel never gave anyone a chance—she’d yet to go on more than one date with any of the various guys she’d gone out with this year, as per usual.
“Well,” Claire said, “if anyone wants my recommendation, a French boyfriend is definitely the way to go.”
“Hear, hear,” Linda said, raising her glass and finishing off the contents. He wasn’t here tonight, because Claire had insisted on a few girls-only nights, but they’d met Claire’s new boyfriend the other day. Boyfriend—it sounded so odd, for her aunt. And Blaise didn’t really seem like the word “boyfriend” fit, either. He was this sexy, older Frenchman, who whispered into Claire’s ear and made her blush. It was kind of nice to see—Claire had been single since Cassie could remember. She supposed she’d not been with anyone when Cassie’s parents had died, and then she’d suddenly became a parent to two young children, which couldn’t have done wonders for her love life. If she’d ever had a boyfriend before now, she’d kept it quiet, and Cassie had never really thought to ask. She was realizing that it wasn’t just Claire who hadn’t made an effort. They both could’ve tried harder, over the years.
