For real this time was the question hanging in the air. But Gus did not dare ask it.
“January 1980,” Laurel said and at long last turned in his direction.
Gus jolted when her eyes landed on him. What must they look like to each other? As though they’d aged thirty years in one day? Or did they seem exactly the same?
“Pru,” he said in a whisper.
“Wait a minute,” Annie said. “He died when I was a baby? You made it sound like you left him.”
“I did,” Laurel said. She pulled her gaze away from Gus. “I left him when I was pregnant. I was alone when I had you and then I came here. Perhaps you two gentlemen remember the baby who was with me, though her hair is much better now, in that she actually has some.”
“Bloody hell,” Jamie muttered.
“So Charlie was gone?” Gus said. “When you came back?”
“He was alive but we were not together.”
“Listen, folks,” Jamie said. “I have a brilliant scheme. Annie, you come with me.”
“No way,” she said. “I’m staying.”
Annie wanted to see how this was all going to pan out. Not to mention, she had about a million questions to ask.
“Sorry, little lass,” Jamie said. “You’re coming with me. We’ll enjoy a glass of wine or three, let these two long-lost chums reconnect.”
“I want to know—” she started.
“And you shall know.” Jamie took her hand. “But they need to know first.”
While Annie’s mouth remained open, he led her down the hallway and through the front door. As it closed behind them, she heard her mom let out a small cry.
“We’ll give them an hour,” Jamie said. “It’s the least we can do. After all, they have a lifetime to catch up on.”
Eighty-two
BOSTON, MASSACHUSETTS
1973
And so Laurel went back to Boston with Charlie.
Charlie thought it was inevitable, this return. But as for Laurel, maybe she would’ve stayed in Paris had he not brought his grandmother’s ring. Or if he’d asked for her hand a second time instead of reminding her that she’d already said yes.
Perhaps Laurel would’ve stayed if he’d shown up with two legs instead of only one. Or if he still displayed that old Charlie Haley swagger. Laurel saw from the start he had a few chinks in the armor, a handful of wires shorted out. Some part of her didn’t want to tinker with the already-damaged man.
“I understand,” Win assured her when Laurel announced that she was choosing Charlie. “I understand completely.”
She was a runny-nosed mess as they sat on his bed—their bed—Charlie clomping up and down the hall outside the door as they said their good-byes. Laurel tried not to think of Win and instead her old feelings for Charlie. But they were too far down to reach.
“Don’t cry,” Win said. “It’s the right thing to do.”
He was strong. Stoic. Realistic. Nothing like the man Laurel loved. As Win would later tell his brother, he was a better actor than he was a writer. A better actor than he was a man.
“Win,” she said, crying into his shoulder, hands wrapped around his neck. “Convince me to stay. Convince me to hide out in this room until he leaves.”
If she had been looking at his face, Laurel would’ve noticed his lips trembling uncontrollably.
“I can’t do that, luv,” he said, for Win truly believed she was making the best decision—for her. For him it felt like the end of the world.
“But he can find someone else,” Laurel said. “Women love him. They fawn over him. It’s actually quite annoying.”
Where was it? Where was the love she used to have for Charlie? Of course, even at its best, it paled compared to how she felt about Win.
“He can find a girl much better than me,” Pru went on. “More pedigreed. You said it yourself, I’m an orphan.”
“A girl better than you? Impossible.”
“But his family hates orphans! They told me that! Tiggie Haley thinks they should be put in work camps instead of milking the dole. I’m not even kidding. That’s a direct quote!”
Win peeled Laurel’s fingers from his neck. He had to. Otherwise, he’d never let her leave.
“Laurel,” he said. “I’m no good for you. Just a grown-up writer-boy with nothing to offer. You have to go. Boston is where you belong. We can’t ramble about Paris forever. No one lives like this for long.”
This, an echo of her prior thoughts. In other words: they were too good to be true.
“So that’s it?” she said. “I leave with Charlie and never see you again? And you’re fine with this?”
“I’m nowhere close to fine,” Win said. “And we will see each other. When GD finally buys it you’ll have to fetch your art and dispose of your share of the Grange. We will meet again. The old gal’s practically written it into law. Maybe you were right. Maybe Lady Marlborough does believe in love.”
It was comforting to think that they had this promise for the future, thanks to Mrs. Spencer.