Ben gave a short huff of a laugh, took the cookie and set it on his napkin. Zeus lifted his head, offended that Ben got a cookie when he was lying right there, so I gave him one, too, which he chewed delicately, then let his big head fall back into my lap.
“So, uh, it was so . . . quiet after all that noise, and I was kind of trapped, with the steering wheel being in my lap, and the roof knocked in. I had no idea where my phone was, so I couldn’t call for help. I asked you if you were okay, and you didn’t answer, and then I . . . I realized how bad it was. My door didn’t open, so I kicked out the windshield, which was shattered, undid my seat belt, climbed out and fell right in the water, because the tide was coming in hard and fast. And you were . . . shit. Give me a minute.”
He got up abruptly and went out the front door. No outside lights were on; I could only see him in silhouette. He leaned forward, hands on his knees, as if he’d just finished a long run, his breath fogging in the cold air. After a minute or two, he came back in, added a log to the fire, and took his seat once again.
“Your side of the truck was in the water a good few inches. And I thought, in this weird, calm way, ‘She’s gonna drown, so get her out of there right now.’ I had to put something—a box from the back of my truck—under your head to keep it out of the water. I couldn’t tell if you were even alive.” He took an unsteady breath. “And while this one part of me could see the technical problems of getting you out, the other was . . . I was screaming for help. Calling your name.”
He paused and wiped his eyes with his fingers and thumb, and it was only then that I saw the tears in his eyes. “I couldn’t get you out through the windshield, because you were stuck, or pinned. I just kept pulling on the hood of the truck, trying to make a little room, thinking this wasn’t working, and I needed a crowbar. Which I didn’t have. Then, finally, something gave. I tried to pull you out again, and this time, I . . . I got you out. I think I might’ve made things worse, but I knew if you stayed in there, you’d have drowned.” His voice broke again. “I still didn’t know if you were alive, because there was so much blood everywhere, and you were . . . limp.”
“Oh, Ben,” I whispered. “You poor thing.”
“Me? You were the poor thing, Lillie. Jesus.”
We sat there in the quiet for a few minutes, the snow falling faster and heavier outside.
“Ben,” I began.
“Let me finish, okay?” he asked, his voice rough. “I carried you to the road, and someone was there, and she helped me get you up to the shoulder. She’d already called 911, and she took off her jacket and held it against your stomach, because it was . . . it was ripped open, Lillie. You were bleeding so much. We could already hear the sirens, but my God, it seemed to take them hours to get there. Then they packed you up into the ambulance, and . . . and that was it. The lady let me use her phone, and I called your dad.” He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, and held his head in his hands.
All these years of blaming him for my scarred insides, the months of pain I endured, my lost baby. I had never fully considered the trauma he’d suffered that night. I’d been too consumed with getting better, and the fact that he was physically unharmed had been enough.
I got up, went over to him and pulled his hands away from his head. Sat on his lap and put my arms around him, pulling his head against my chest. It took a second, but then he put his arms around me, too.
“I’m so sorry, Lillie.” And it was exactly what he’d said all those years ago when he held a jar of daffodils in his hand.
“Sounds to me like you saved my life.”
“I caused the accident. Going too fast, shitty tires on the truck, no airbags . . .”
“It was bad luck, that’s all. But yes, the speed limit exists for a reason.”
He chuffed another laugh, then looked at me with those gentle blue eyes. “You’re a very forgiving woman,” he said.
“Oh, I’ve been mad at you for years, not to worry.”
He smiled a little at that, eyes sad. “You were hurt so bad . . . I could barely look at you, I felt so guilty.”
I thought of my injuries, my missing spleen, my torn uterus that had miraculously grown Dylan. My badly broken leg, the crutches for six months, my wired jaw and the bruises that took weeks to fade. My tiny daughter, so still and white.
Nature could be cruel, and no one knew that better than a midwife.
“Well,” I whispered, “I got better.”
Because I had. I’d never tell him why I miscarried. I’d never describe the doctor telling me the placenta had tried to attach to the section of my uterus that had been scarred. He didn’t need that burden on top of what he already carried.
Then I kissed him, and his mouth was warm and lovely against mine, and when his hands went to my head, his fingers threaded through my hair.
As I’d always imagined, Ben Hallowell knew how to kiss, and my whole body seemed to flush with a delicious warmth as his mouth moved gently against mine, our lips fitting together perfectly. We needed this kiss, Ben and I. Two survivors. His shoulders and arms were hard and muscled under my hands, and it was so gentle, this moment, soft as the falling snow.
It was a long kiss. A really, really good kiss. I pulled away eventually, though I wasn’t sure why. Common sense, probably.
The clock on the mantel showed it to be 12:40 a.m.
“It’s after midnight,” I said.
He nodded, not looking away from my face.
“You should go back to the studio.”
Another nod, then he stood, lifting me with him, and gave me a brief kiss. “Happy Valentine’s Day,” he said, and I burst out laughing. Yeah.
Valentine’s Day. I was on suspension, had run into my would-be rapist and learned the details of the accident that I’d never been able to face before, and still ended up snogging someone. Yay, me. I bent over, clutching his shirt, laughing till I just squeaked.
“Happy Valentine’s Day,” I managed, wiping my eyes.
“We’ll do better next year,” Ben said, and, grinning at me, he pulled on his coat.
I watched through the window until he was at the studio, and the light going on inside was the warmest, safest, coziest sight I’d ever seen.
CHAPTER 28
Melissa
Her sister had already stolen a few things, Melissa knew. A bottle of Jo Malone perfume. A necklace, one of her pairs of diamond studs and her recently purchased soft leather boots.
She and Kaitlyn had agreed not to talk about Ophelia’s future for a few days and give Kaitlyn a chance to catch up with her daughter before bringing up the idea of moving back to Ohio.
The thought of Phee leaving . . . and leaving for Wakeford . . . made Melissa’s chest ache. She cried all the time these days, but now it wasn’t just pregnancy. Ophelia deserved more. She had a fairy godmother in Melissa, and Melissa was determined to keep it that way. She lied to Kaitlyn, telling her she had to go get some pregnancy tests, and talked to a family lawyer about Kaitlyn’s rights.
The news wasn’t great. If Kaitlyn wasn’t using anymore, the lawyer said it would be hard for Melissa to keep custody of Ophelia.
“But I can give her so much more!” Melissa said. “And she’s been mine since she was seven!”
“Money can’t buy children,” the lawyer said. “Your sister has done her time so far as the law is concerned. As long as she’s not using, abusive or neglectful, it’s going to be very hard to win this.”
Melissa sobbed all the way home.
There was something wrong with the way Kaitlyn looked at Ophelia, she thought. Something . . . hard. She’d called Phee “Miss Fancy-Pants” and told her she sounded like a “snooty college kid.” Ophelia had looked so hurt in that moment.
“Smart, you mean?” Melissa said.
“Sure. Smart,” Kaitlyn said. “You’ll blow the kids in Wakeford out of the water. Valedictorian, maybe.”