Page 57 of Almost Home
Her meaningful gaze made my heart twist. To say they hadn’t handled the news of my pregnancy well would be putting it mildly. My mother didn’t speak to me for two days, and my father could hardly look at me. I’d had to warn Wilder to stay away.
It’d been Jane who’d embraced us both, tears in her eyes, and asked what she could do to help. It’d been Jane who’d ended up coming to my house and pleading with my parents to allow Wilder to see me and finally, to listen to the plan we had.
Maybe they’d never believed that we would carry out our plan to go to the same school and have Wilder get his commission while I got my degree—part of me had recognized they hoped things would derail and I’d find my way to a path they preferred. But I think the idea of us getting married eased the humiliation of the pregnancy, especially once Jane said whatever she had said when she’d asked me and Eddie to excuse them.
“I never told you how much—” I swallowed convulsively, and she rushed to continue.
“Sarah, dear, let me get this out. I’ve wanted to tell you I’m sorry for not pressing them a bit more before you left. I failed Wilder, and I failed you. But I also want you to know—” She took me by the shoulders since my hands were full. “I need you to understand that, though it broke my heart, your leaving, I never held it against you.”
Tears flooded my eyes and fell in an instant. I sucked in a breath and held it to keep from sobbing, the immediacy of the torrential emotion surprising.
Jane’s eyes sparkled with unshed tears of her own. “What I struggled with most was that you stayed away. I loved you, child, and I still do. You felt like my own, like a daughter I’d always wanted. And it was a situation I wouldn’t wish on an enemy, much less a seventeen-year-old girl. Any hurt I’ve felt in these years was rooted in that love, that wishing you would come back to us in some way.”
My chest was heavy, and my heart ached with this collision of memories and this moment. I swiped away tears, and she touched her hand to my cheek gently before dropping it.
“I said it back then, but I’m sure you could hardly hear anything in the midst of it all—I’m sorry. I’m so sorry you lost the baby, and it wasn’t your fault. It wasn’t a punishment or anything but a horrible sadness.”
Pain rocked me, the days after losing the baby tunneling back at me. “It was so awful.” What else could I say? She knew. She knew exactly how awful it’d been.
She gathered my hand in hers again, a warm, loving expression on her tear-streaked face. “You are welcome here. You are welcome in this town, in our lives, and in my home. I hope you will come to family dinner soon. I should’ve said this all a year ago, but I wanted to give you time. I didn’t want to pressure you or make you uncomfortable or scare you away. I know I can come on a little strong.”
Her sheepish grin and wink allowed me to cough out a laugh and some of the pressure building in my chest to ease.
“Thank you. It took… a long time to recover. And by then, I was trying to fit into a new school and bury all the things I’d expected out of life. I didn’t grieve losingyouuntil a long while later, and it’s still something I regret. Deeply.”
We stared into each other’s eyes, both feeling the loss and grief, but a newness, too. One of understanding and healing. One of hope.
Thiswas why I’d come back. Here was another piece of me fitted back into place.
I’d learned to find hope in small moments and small ideas for years, but this one wasn’t all that small. Knowing that Jane didn’t hate me for leaving, and maybe even understood a little, brought such sweeping relief, I could hardly stand any longer.
“Thank you,” she said, then pulled me in and squeezed around my awkward bulk.
I turned and dropped the books onto the chair and embraced her fully. “Thank you.”
I had more to say, but maybe none of it mattered. Especially not when she pulled back, that typical Jane Saint twinkle in her eye, and said, “Now go call Wilder and put him out of his misery.”
I chuckled through a little thrill at hearing his name. “Why would he be miserable?”
She smirked. “Because you went out last night, he left you at the door like the gentleman he is deep down, and he is desperate for you.”
I laughed outright at that. “I don’t think Wilder is the kind of man who gets desperate, but I appreciate the sentiment.”
Maybe the tone I’d affected would keep her from sensing just exactly how much the idea of Wilder being desperate for me affected me.
In case I thought I’d fooled myself, my pulse shot off like a rocket as I remembered his kiss, the firm possessiveness of his touch, and the insistence on saying goodnight.
“I won’t pretend to know everything about him. He and I still have quite a bit of catching up to do. But I saw you two together last night, and Warrick saw him running this morning.”
“He runs a lot these days, from what I gather,” I insisted, resisting the idea that he was waiting around for me.
If I let myself believe her and actually believe he was that enthusiastic about us, I’d probably combust in a raging blush that ended up burning me to an embarrassed, delighted, anticipatory crisp.
“Put it this way. If you call him right now, I guarantee he’ll answer.”
“He has good manners.”
She raised one brow. “Ask his brothers how many times they called him in the last decade and how many of those times he answered. And I’m not talking about him being gone or out of the country.”
