Page 64 of The Library of Second Chances
Gwen nodded, drumming her polished fingernails on the book. ‘Well, I knew you were uncomfortable with me knowing about him. The time I walked into the library and saw you both. I didn’t want you to think I was interested in him.That I might . . .’ Gwen looked down, a curtain of blonde hair hiding her face. Chloe stood frozen, suddenly hoping she’d say it and also hoping she wouldn’t. She felt like her stomach had tied itself into a knot. Like she stood at the edge of a cliff and a single word would throw her off.
She opened her mouth to stop her, but Gwen looked up at her. Her blue eyes, so like Dad’s, were glassy. ‘Chloe, I’m so, so sorry.’
Chloe dropped to her knees in front of the couch, a breath loosing from her chest.
‘I’ve been avoiding saying it for too long. You and Liam were so sickeningly adorable.’ Gwen sniffled and wiped her nose onher sleeve. ‘I was jealous. You were getting married and I wasn’t. I wasn’t even seeing anyone. I didn’t evenlikehim. I was just young and sad and stupid.’
The carpet pressed into Chloe’s knees, but she couldn’t move. That had been the strangest part about finding Gwen and Liam together. She had never acknowledged him with more than a grunt when he entered the room, had never showed any interest in him.
‘I betrayed you.’ The words seemed like an effort, like Gwen was fighting an inner battle. ‘Then I . . . I tried to brush it off like it was nothing.’ Gwen took Chloe’s shoulders, her delicate thumbs stroking over her collarbones. ‘I was such abitch.’
A small laugh burst from Chloe. It sounded more like a sob.
‘Then I ran away and didn’t talk to you because it was easier than facing it,’ Gwen whispered. ‘Jetting off with a rich guy was easier than talking to you about it. And then . . . then missing the funeral . . .’ Gwen dissolved into sobs, and Chloe joined her, breaking down to see her sister crying. These weren’t the self-pitying crocodile tears she had seen Gwen use before. All the pain in the world lay in them. ‘I couldn’t even face you. Chloe, I’m so sorry. I’ve been the world’s worst sister. And you’ve been looking after me, and I’ve been so stupid, and I . . .’
Chloe hugged her sister close. Something broke between them – a wall built from awkwardness and grudges and jealousy. They cried in each other’s arms, riding the wave of misery and sorrow and forgiveness together. Chloe rocked Gwen in her arms, no longer feeling anger or frustration. Only empathy and gratitude.
‘I’m so sorry,’ Gwen whispered. ‘I ruined your wedding, then pretended I’d done nothing wrong. For years. I barely spoke to Mum and Dad, didn’t join any family events, just so I could avoid you. And now they’re gone, and I’ve wasted all this time, and it’s taken me all these years to even acknowledge it.’
‘It’s okay,’ Chloe whispered, stroking Gwen’s silk-soft hair. ‘It’s all right. You’re here now. Besides, it all worked out in the end.’ She let out a long breath, closing her eyes. ‘Who knows if it would have even worked out with Liam anyway. If he hadn’t kissedyou, it would probably have been someone else.’ Life would have been very different if she had married Liam. Hannah’s daughter, Lily, wouldn’t have been born. Chloe wouldn’t have gone to university. She wouldn’t have met Harry. ‘Besides, you saved us a lot of money on the wedding. I got student debt instead of wedding debt.’
Gwen gave a watery chuckle. ‘You’re the worst.’
‘No, you are,’ she mumbled against Gwen’s shoulder. They parted, and Chloe noticed how the tension was gone from Gwen’s face, nothing but honesty and sorrow laid bare. It was a marvel to behold, oddly beautiful. Things felt more relaxed between them now. Chloe wiped away a tear, black from mascara, from Gwen’s cheek. ‘You’re getting my book all wet.’
Gwen laid it down carefully on the couch arm. ‘I wouldn’t want to have to replace it again. Books are expensive.’
They exchanged sad smiles. ‘Let’s go to Mum and Dad’s graves this weekend,’ said Chloe. She still hadn’t gotten around to it, avoiding it like Gwen had avoided this topic. ‘We owe it to them. We’ll get some flowers and go and show them that we’ve made up.’
Gwen sniffled. ‘Yeah, Chloe. I’d like that.’
Clementine slinked among the non-fiction shelves when it was quiet and everybody had left. He liked it down here. Upstairs had sunlight, and during the day the ground floor always had more people. Clementine liked people, for the most part. They petted him and sometimes the little ones fed him, even though Mrs Cook asked them not to.Now, however, the library was closed and Clementine was happily alone with his feline thoughts. There wasn’t a cat in sight, not a female tabby nor one in a hat and a bowtie.
But like so many nights these days, Clementine found he wasn’t alone for long. He turned a corner to find a child, her legs tucked up to her chest. Clementine rather liked her hair; it was orange, like his, and hung from her ears. She had her face buried in her arms and her shoulders were shaking.
Clementine padded towards her, his tail swishing through the air. She wasn’t holding a book.
The girl looked up, startled by Clementine. He sat, curling his tail around his feet, and looked at her. The girl’s grey eyes widened. The whites of them were pink, those salty drops of sadness drying on her freckled face. Clementine felt alarmed. This girl was sad.
‘Hello,’ said the girl, reaching for him. Clementine hesitated, flinching from her fingers. He didn’t usually let strangers touch him. He had memories of being a baby, of rough human hands and shouting, though it was all a far-off memory. The girl drew back, looking disappointed. Clementine knew that water on a human’s face meant something bad was happening. He didn’t like to see that. Slowly, he approached her and pushed his head into her waiting palm.
The girl sniffled, stroking his back. Ah yes, he liked that. A purr rang from him, and she giggled with amusement.
Her lap looked comfortable. Humans were warm. Without waiting for an invitation, Clementine crawled onto the girl’s lap. As he expected, she gave a sound of delight and continued petting him.
‘Where am I, little guy?’ she said, sniffling again.
Clementine thought that was a strange question. People who came here came for books. He had watched Mrs Cook carefully. And the kitten boy-human, and the girl-human whocalled herself Chloe. They all seemed to know what they were doing. Visitors, too, though Clementine made himself invisible to unknown humans when he could, when he wasn’t watching from the shelf behind the reception desk.
He looked up at her face. ‘I’m lost,’ she said, still stroking his back. Clementine supposed he should leave, but her soft hands felt so nice against his fur. ‘I ran into the barn. The children were teasing me. They always call me Carrots, because of my hair. But the colour sure looks beautiful on you.’
Clementine meowed. He hadn’t yet mastered the way of humans speaking, but he hoped he managed to get across that he understood. He was the most handsome cat he knew, and he had met many. Well, seen pictures of them.
‘There sure are a lot of books here.’ The little girl glanced around. ‘Oh, gee, now I can’t move.’
Clementine remembered the cats who had visited his library, how they had eventually returned to their books. This girl was the same, then. Clementine continued his purr, the noise increasing when the carrot-haired girl ran her hand down his back again.
‘You know, I always feel better when I talk to animals. I love cats.’ To Clementine’s horror, she hugged him close. This was too much, and he leaped off her lap.
