The Goodbye Groom. Ellen James
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The little girl raised her head cautiously and regarded Jamie.
“The water,” Jamie said, “might start…crashing.”
Kaitlin lifted her eyebrows just a fraction.
“Or maybe,” Jamie went on, “the water might start…dashing.”
Kaitlin pressed a hand to her mouth as if to prevent the escape of another wayward smile, but then it appeared she could not resist. She lowered her hand. “The water,” she said, “might start…prancing. Or maybe it might start…dancing.” Her eyes seemed to dance, expressing genuine delight. But then all too quickly she grew solemn again, as if worried that somehow she’d let down her guard too much. There was something about this child’s gravity, the serious expression on her delicate little face that reminded Jamie of herself long ago, when she’d been a little older than Kaitlin, struggling with the fact that the world could simply not be trusted anymore. How could it, when her father had simply gone out the door one morning and not come back?
Jamie swallowed past a sudden tightness in her throat. She knew too well how vulnerable a child could be. And that was what she saw in Kaitlin’s large brown eyes.
Vulnerability.
THAT EVENING, ERIC SAT at the dining room table and watched as Mrs. Braddock performed the finishing touches on her dinner presentation. She straightened the silverware, folded one of the snowy napkins more precisely, rearranged the centerpiece of daisies and carnations. Then she stood back and observed the gleaming china plates with satisfaction.
“We’ll have to entertain more often,” Eric remarked. “You seem to be enjoying yourself.”
She gave him a sharp glance. “No harm in a little festivity.” She turned with a huff and arranged the draperies so the late sun would fall at just the right angle. Then she muttered something under her breath.
Eric rubbed his neck. He knew from long experience that Mrs. Braddock had something on her mind. When she started rumbling like this, she was like a volcano itching to erupt—if only she had a little encouragement.
“Didn’t quite catch that, Mrs. B.”
“Pigweed and prickly lettuce,” she declared. “Ring a bell?”
He didn’t have a clue what she was talking about and he’d started to regret that he’d asked. But, also from long experience, he knew there was no way out of it.
“Hey, just as long as it’s not something we’re having for dinner,” he said.
She gave him a severe look, clearly not appreciating his attempt at humor. “Your brother, fifth-grade science project, homemade mulch and weed control.”
Mrs. B. had an impressive memory. It seemed she could recall every one of their school projects—as well as every one of their childhood infractions.
“It’s coming back to me,” he said. “Shawn really got involved with that one. Piles of mulch everywhere.”
Mrs. B. nodded. “Your brother gave it everything he had—until the very night of the fair. He was scared. Scared he wouldn’t win first place. Anything less… So he dumped the whole thing into the drink and didn’t even go.”
“Just like he didn’t show up at the altar,” Eric remarked. “Fear of failure—it’s a hypothesis, Mrs. B. As long as we’re talking scientific method, though, other possibilities have to be considered.”
“Ha.” She gave him another repressive glance, then, with a bounce of her ponytail, she was gone.
Shawn’s fear of failure… But Shawn wasn’t exactly a kid anymore, and sooner or later he had to solve his own problems. This time he’d outdone himself, leaving a beautiful, inconvenient redhead in his wake.
Speaking of Jamie Williams, she had yet to appear. Not to mention that Eric’s daughter was also conspicuously missing. He sat alone at the dining room table with all this splendor before him.
Eric glanced at his watch, then felt angry at himself. Too much of his life had been run by a damn clock. Hadn’t he promised to change for Kaitlin’s sake? What she needed was time…his time. That was why he’d brought her here this summer, to the house where he’d grown up.
Okay, maybe that had been something of a mistake. This place was too full of memories, the discomforting kind. How many strained dinners had he suffered through in this very room? The empty chair at the head of the table, waiting for his father. His mother, withdrawn into her own private thoughts. Shawn, a funny, anxious little kid back then, trying to pick a fight with Eric just so there’d be some noise in the place. And maybe, finally, Dad arriving, and the unspoken question weighting the air: what would be his mood this time…?
Impatiently Eric pushed back his chair and stood. Something else occurred to him now. From long habit, he’d dressed formally for dinner—jacket, tie and all. It had been the custom in this house when he was a boy. Whenever he was here, he fell too easily into the old ways. The past was over. His daughter needed him to focus on the future.
But where was she, anyway?
Muffled sounds from outside drew him. The murmur of voices, an odd clink, a subdued splash. He went to the back door and stood gazing toward the pool. An inexplicable sight greeted him: Jamie Williams and his daughter carefully lifting up one of the patio tables between them and pitching it into the shallow end of the pool. Two patio chairs had already been deposited in the water. Jamie slipped off her sandals, waded in and captured one of the chairs. She positioned it just so in front of the table.
After a moment’s hesitation, Kaitlin waded into the shallow end, too. She looked completely absorbed, grabbing hold of the other chair cushion to keep it from floating off into the deeper part of the pool.
Eric leaned in the doorway, continuing to watch. It would be reasonable to ask why his daughter and his brother’s fiancée were giving the patio furniture a dunking. Maybe the answer didn’t matter all that much, though. Not when his daughter was actually in the pool, braving the water. A minor miracle.
Eric’s gaze strayed to Jamie Williams. She was standing in his pool fully clothed, but even this ridiculous circumstance did not make her any less alluring. Perhaps more so. She rested her arms on the back of the chair and bent down to catch something Kaitlin was saying. The breeze played with her red hair, while the late-evening sun gave a golden cast to her skin. Her skirt draped damply. With a little imagination, she might have been a lovely Greek statue brought to life. Aphrodite rising from the sea….
What was wrong with him? He made a restless gesture and propelled himself away from the doorway. Jamie and Kaitlin turned at the same moment and caught sight of him.
A variety of emotions seemed to flicker across Jamie’s expressive face. Guilt, confusion, perhaps humor at her own predicament. But it was his daughter’s expression that really got to him. She stared at him defiantly, as if expecting the worst. Expecting that he wouldn’t understand, wouldn’t tolerate the unpredictable, that his first reaction would be to chastise.
Had the divorce led to this—Kaitlin distrusting him so automatically now? And what the hell was he going to do about it?
Jamie broke the awkwardness. She sat down in her chair in front of the table—sat there in the pool, water eddying around her, as if it were the most normal thing in the world. Kaitlin studied her before she, too, sat down, elbows at the table. Both of them now stared calmly at Eric. Clearly the next move was up to him.
Jamie Williams had been here scarcely a few hours and already she had disturbed the waters in more ways than one. Eric felt as if he were facing some obscure test, one he might easily fail in his daughter’s eyes.
There was nothing to do but jump in—literally and figuratively. Eric sat down at the pool’s edge and made an elaborate procedure of untying his shoes, taking off his socks. Kaitlin’s eyes seemed to grow larger as she watched, but she didn’t say a word. He loosened his tie, took off his jacket and tossed