She hadn’t heard him go jogging this morning, and she’d sat with her ear to the stupid window from dawn until ten minutes ago, when she dragged herself into the kitchen for the rancid cup of coffee that nearly made her curl into a ball and remain there.
With a loud sigh, she headed for the bathroom to shower. Even the girls hadn’t come by this morning. Of course they wouldn’t. They were his friends, not hers. They hadn’t come by to go skinny-dipping the night before, either. Jamie probably filled them in last night when he got back.
Her cell phone rang, and her chest filled with hope as she ran to answer it. Her heart sank when the orchestra manager’s name appeared on the screen.
“Good morning, Charlie.” She tried to sound like she wasn’t drowning in sadness.
“Millicent. How are you, dear? You sound deathly.”
It took her a minute to recall her professional name. Had it been that long? Had she tossed aside all that she’d worked for that easily? She forced herself to answer.
“Just a little off this morning.” Deathly. How perfect.
“Well, I hope you can shake it off, because your substitute has taken ill. She can’t shake it off, and we need you back by tomorrow.” Charlie said this like it was a given that she would agree. It had been part of their agreement. If there was an issue with her substitute, she’d return within twenty-four hours.
But she didn’t know she’d be heartbroken.
How could her fingers even work when the ache of missing Jamie was pulsing through her body with the force of a tsunami? She couldn’t push it away, could barely breathe through it.
“Millicent?”
She cleared her throat and held on to the table for support. “Yes. I’m here.”
“Tomorrow morning. Rehearsal’s at ten. You might want to come in early, as the others will want to welcome you back, and you know how pitiful reunions can be. You’ll have to relive every detail of your little vacation fifteen times over.”
He ended the call before she could say another word, and really, what would she have said? I’m not sure my arms will work well enough to pack my bags?
WHEN THE SUN rose over the horizon, Jamie was still sitting on the dunes at Nauset Beach, where he’d been since he’d left Mark at the Sheraton. He wanted to be as far from him as he could, and even the Wellfleet beaches seemed too close. Idiot Mark. Nauset was serene in the early dawn hours, which he needed to balance the fury within him. The sand was cool on his bare feet, and the dune grass swished in the morning breeze. He’d walked far across the dunes, past the homes overlooking the water, past the divots where teenagers slid down the dunes, leaving a butt-shaped path all the way down to the beach. He’d walked until he’d come to an island of untouched dune grass, where he’d been sitting ever since, thinking about all the things he’d learned with his own OneClick search. There was no Jessica Ayers listed with the Boston Symphony Orchestra—or in Juilliard, for that matter. He no longer knew what to believe about Jessica, but his heart felt as though it were coming apart inside him, leaving shards of glass etching her name, her touch, her image, into him.
When young families began arriving at the beach, Jamie still wasn’t ready to move. Two hours later, he twisted the ring on his finger. The stone was orange and green. What that meant, he had no idea. He stared at the stupid thing. It was probably a three-dollar gift, and yet he knew that every time he saw it, it would carry the emotions and memories of being with Jessica. He leaned back on his palms and watched the beach become dotted with people. Laughter and voices carried in the air and faded around him. When he could take their happiness no more, Jamie finally rose to leave.
He pulled into Seaside and purposefully took the fork to the right to avoid driving by Jessica’s apartment. He wasn’t ready to talk. Not nearly ready to see her beautiful face. One look at her soulful eyes and he’d fall headfirst into her without having time to think. He’d never known how close two people could become, or how intense lovemaking could be, until he’d opened his heart to her. She hadn’t even tried to win him over, or at least not that he could tell. She didn’t play any of the games other women did. She’d never expected expensive restaurants or lavish dates. She hadn’t asked for a darn thing. She’d even tried to talk him out of spending the night for fear of it upsetting Vera, when any other woman would have used the opportunity to stick their claws in deeper. She was happy just to be with him, to take whatever he wanted to give. And he’d wanted to give her the world, which now, as he stepped from his car, seemed a little crazy after a week. Why did it feel like he’d known her his whole life? Was Mark right? Had she played him like a two-dollar fiddle and he’d been too taken with her to notice?
“Hey!” Bella yelled as she stalked off of Amy’s porch. “Hold it right there.”
He closed his eyes for a second, closed the car door, and then turned to face her, hoping he had the strength not to snap.
“What did you do to Jessica?”
If looks could kill, she’d have driven him six feet under.
“Bella, I—”
She held up her hand. “Don’t even try to explain, Jamie Reed. I always thought you were a good guy. I would protect you to the ends of the earth, but you brought her into our group and we all fell in love with her. Not just your sorry butt.”
Amy stepped off the deck in a pretty yellow sundress and walked across the road with sad eyes cast downward.
“Hi, Jamie.”
She sounded so distraught, he reached out to her. “Are you okay?”
Amy nodded. “Just bummed that Jessica left. I was sure you two were the real deal. Are you okay?”
“Left?” His eyes ran between Bella and Amy. “What do you mean left?”
“She got a call from her manager,” Amy explained. “She had to go back to Boston. She came to talk to you, but you weren’t home. I think she left a note and some of your clothes with Vera.”
Bella rolled her eyes. “Like you didn’t know about all this? Come on. Her eyes were so red from crying all night she looked like she had been Maced. She said the last thing you needed was to be distracted from your work, and we all know that had to come from you, because no woman would make that stuff up.”
“Mark.” He turned on his heels and ran inside.
Vera lifted worried eyes from the book she was reading and held up an envelope. She didn’t have to say a word. In an instant, he read her expression and knew she wanted to reach out and hug him, but he needed to be left alone to deal with whatever was going on with him and Jessica. Vera had the same look in her eyes she’d had his senior year of high school, when the girl he’d been dating had called the night before the senior prom and left a message telling him that she was going to the dance with someone else.
“Thanks.” He tore it open and walked to the back of the small cottage while he read the handwritten note.