Flowers on Main. Sherryl Woods
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Most couples pulled together after a tragedy like that.
Instead, Bree had taken it as a sign that they weren’t meant to be. She’d seized on the miscarriage as an excuse to flee to Chicago and go after the future that had seemed so elusive just a few days earlier.
Jake’s reaction had been exactly the opposite. Ecstatic about the unexpected pregnancy, he had been talking about a wedding, a family and the future with such high hopes and excitement. As much as she’d loved him and hoped for that same future eventually, rather than sharing his joy, she’d felt miserable and, far worse, trapped.
And then, almost before she’d had time to grapple with the idea that she was pregnant, the baby was gone and, God help her, she’d felt free. She’d taken off for Chicago and the job awaiting her there without a backward glance, leaving Jake alone to mourn not only the loss of their child, but of her and all the dreams he’d spun.
Oh, they’d gone through the pretense of staying in touch at first, even occasionally talking about the future, but it had quickly been clear to Bree that the relationship was over. She’d struggled for weeks trying to think of the kindest way to say that to Jake.
In the end, he’d figured it out for himself after surprising her in Chicago one weekend and discovering her sequestered in her tiny apartment with Marty. There’d been nothing going on, but obviously Jake had felt the chemistry between her and the famed playwright. Ironically he’d known before she had admitted it to herself that she was falling in love with the charming, charismatic older man.
That’s what they’d fought about, the excuse he’d used for breaking up. And once again, despite the quick and painful stab of guilt she’d experienced, all Bree had felt was relief that she hadn’t been the one to end things. She’d even convinced herself that allowing Jake to be the one to break up was her final gift to him. For a woman who prided herself on being insightful about human nature, somehow she’d been delusional about that. What she’d been was cowardly.
She had treated him so badly. She could admit that now. Jake was a wonderful, sexy, amazing guy, and maybe they could have made things work, but she’d felt relieved that she hadn’t had to find out. She’d known deep down that she would have come to resent him if she hadn’t had a chance to find out what she was made of as a playwright. She’d needed that chance to work with a respected regional theater, to be mentored by someone like Martin Demming. It was all she’d dreamed about from the first time she’d seen a play onstage and put her own words and characters down on paper.
Sally returned, cutting into her thoughts. “Have you decided yet?”
“The special’s fine,” Bree said, though she had no idea what it was. Her appetite had fled anyway, so it hardly mattered.
Sally made a note of it, then hesitated. “Look, maybe I shouldn’t say anything, because I have no idea what happened between you and Jake, but you should know that he, Will and Mack come in here every day at noon and sit in this booth. They’re regulars.”
The words were innocuous, but the tone was heavy with implications. It amounted to a warning from the usually diplomatic Sally.
“And you don’t want me chasing them away,” Bree concluded. “I understand. I’ll do my best to stay out of their way. I’ll probably be leaving town soon anyway.”
But even as she said the words, knots of tension formed in her shoulders again. That ought to tell her something, she thought. She crawled out of the booth, aware that other customers were staring, friends of Jake’s no doubt, people who probably hated her as much as he did. She went to wait for her order by the register, paid Sally and fled.
She took the meal to a picnic table in the park along the waterfront. While osprey and even the occasional eagle swooped high above her, she picked at the sandwich, then scattered the bread for the waiting seagulls.
Now what? she wondered. The debate over whether to stay or go was raging inside her, turning her stomach queasy.
Staying, which she’d only recently begun to consider, was rife with problems. It wasn’t as if this were Chicago, where she and Jake would never cross paths. Here in Chesapeake Shores they were bound to. How could she come back and disrupt his life after what she’d done to him? Obviously he still hated her, if he’d fled the café without even acknowledging her. Worse, she couldn’t really blame him. What she’d done was cruel.
When she thought about all that, the guilt was overwhelming. How could she possibly stay here, especially when it was clear that Jake wasn’t the only one judging her? She’d squirmed under all those accusing eyes in the café, felt the sting of Sally’s disapproval. Chances were not one of them knew even half of what had happened, but they’d chosen sides anyway. Jake’s side. After all, he was the one who’d been left behind. She might be an O’Brien, with all that implied in this town, but she’d left. She was no longer one of them.
Then, again, how could she allow what had happened so long ago to keep her from finding peace for herself? Over the past three weeks she’d increasingly come to believe that she belonged right here. She hadn’t figured out what she wanted to do with herself, much less any of the details, but when she thought of staying, she felt a kind of serenity that had eluded her for some time now.
“I want to come home for good. I want to live in Chesapeake Shores,” she said aloud, while the waiting seagulls regarded her solemnly, hoping for more scraps. The words sounded right, convincing. Surprising.
Like her sister Abby and her brothers, Bree had been only too eager to leave behind the town that had absorbed so much of her father’s time, then skyrocketed his career as an architect, developer and urban planner in a way that had taken him away from them. Now, it seemed, she was ready to come home. The decision, barely made, felt right.
Except for its impact on Jake. If she decided to stay, first she had to find some way to coexist with the man whose heart she’d broken. Unfortunately, based on today’s reception, it seemed unlikely he’d make that easy for her.
“Maybe it shouldn’t be easy,” she murmured as the seagulls watched her quizzically and a couple of weekday tourists regarded her curiously.
She smiled wryly. She must present quite a sight, with no makeup, the sea breeze whipping strands of her hair out of the clasp meant to hold it atop her head and talking to herself. If she were a character in one of her own plays, there would be quite a story behind this scene.
In fact, there was quite a story behind it. What she couldn’t quite predict for the real-life version was whether it would turn out to have a happy ending or wind up a tragedy.
The crab-cake sandwich was sitting heavily in Jake’s stomach. One beer had turned into two before he’d cut himself off and returned to work. He planned to lock himself in his office at the nursery and spend the afternoon catching up on paperwork. As much as he hated that side of the landscaping business, at least it required concentration, which meant his mind wouldn’t be wandering to thoughts of Bree the way it had all during lunch, despite Will and Mack’s best attempts to talk about anything and everything else.
They’d exhausted Orioles baseball, the upcoming football season with the Ravens, politics and even the usually lively recitation of Mack’s dating exploits. The latter, unfortunately, had cut a little too close to the unspoken topic of Bree, so Jake had cited a busy afternoon schedule and cut the meal short.
En route to his desk, he kicked his trash can across the office, then threw a stack of seed catalogs on the floor. It was when a chair hit the wall that his sister came flying into the room.
“What on earth has gotten into you?” Connie demanded, ducking behind the door when an empty soda can came flying in her direction.
“If you have an ounce of sense, you’ll get the hell out of here,” Jake growled, turning his back on her to stare out the window at rows of shrubs and trees currently being examined by an elderly couple at the behest of one of his best salesmen. He recognized the Whitcombs. He’d been working for them since his days of cutting grass as a teenager. They’d been asking lately