To Get Me to You (Wishful 1)

The initial burst of temper had already bled away, leaving only a grief so deep Norah thought she’d drown. She didn’t dare go find Miranda or Aunt Liz to say she was back. She was too stunned, too raw from Cam’s accusations to face anyone from the family. Their well-intentioned concern or advice would break her. She wanted a pint of Ben and Jerry’s and a dark room in which to wallow, but that meant stopping at McSweeney’s Market and guaranteed running into someone she knew. Not knowing what else to do, she simply drove.

He hadn’t fought for her. In the face of his misconceptions, he hadn’t questioned, hadn’t confronted, hadn’t argued. He’d accepted as fact. And he’d let her go. Just like that.

She’d given up her whole world for him.

She found herself at Cam’s place before she realized. So ironic that she instinctively came here for solace when he was the one who’d just broken her reality. On autopilot, she climbed the stairs and let herself inside. God, the place smelled like him. Standing in the center of the loft, she waited to feel Cam’s rejection echoed through his space, but the apartment was much as she’d left it. He hadn’t moved her piles of research. The throw she favored was still draped over the chair. She’d half expected to find her things in a box.

He’d be home in a few hours. A part of her wanted to wait for him, confront him with the truth and set the record straight. But what if this was just an excuse? What if, in her absence, he’d realized he’d been caught up in the rush and he didn’t really want her? Certainly grabbing on to this idea that she was the one at fault would be easier than admitting to his family that he’d changed his mind.

She couldn’t do it. She couldn’t face another round of rejection from him after everything else she’d been through.

Hands shaking, Norah gathered her stuff. If she was wrong—and oh dear God, she prayed she was wrong—maybe this would be the wake up call he needed. If she wasn’t… Then at least she wouldn’t have to come back here to face him.

The bag barely fit in the back seat amid the pile of other stuff she’d packed to bring down here. What she’d intended to be the first phase of moving to Wishful for good. Something else she couldn’t think about right now.

She needed distraction. Work was the panacea for all ills. Work was her savior. So she called Molly.

“I didn’t know you were back!”

“Only just. I wanted to see if you were free to catch me up on what the coalition has done about the petition.”

“Certainly, but I thought you’d be with Cam.”

So did I. “I’ve seen him. We agreed that this takes priority.”

“Okay then, come on over. I just put a pound cake in the oven.”

The two story ranch was a little worn around the edges. The landscaping needed some upkeep and the siding could use a fresh coat of paint. But everywhere around the house, Norah saw signs of family and permanence. A row of rocking chairs with names painted across the top. Hand-made wind chimes hanging from the eaves. A tree house in the branches of a big sycamore.

Molly opened the door with a broad smile. “Come in, come in. Welcome back.”

“Thanks.” Norah followed her inside, only dimly aware of the other woman’s friendly chatter as she noted the long hallway full of family pictures. Birthdays. Christmases. Sports teams. Dance recitals. Family vacations. The Montgomerys had been here a long time, raised four children, and the place felt full of love and comfort. The kind of home she’d been too afraid to admit dreaming of.

“—told Babette that we really had to work on—” Molly swung around as they entered the living room and stopped. “Norah, honey, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing. I’m fine.” Why did her voice sound so choked?

“Sweetheart, you’re crying.”

Mortified, Norah lifted a hand to swipe at her cheeks. “Damn it. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—” A hiccuping sob rolled up her throat. Shaking, she clapped a hand over her mouth, struggling to find some semblance of control. But that only made her quake harder. Damn Cam. Damn him for robbing her of this, too.

Molly took her free hand and tugged her down on the sectional. Without batting an eye, she wrapped both arms around Norah. “Go on and let it out, baby. You’ll feel better for it.”

Too exhausted to keep fighting, she pressed her face to Molly’s shoulder and wept. The older woman said nothing, just stroked her back and rocked, while all the stress and strain and heartache poured out, leaving her exhausted and hollow. Even when the tears stopped, Norah stayed put for a few minutes and let herself be soothed.

Then reality intruded again and the embarrassment returned. She’d just completely lost it with this woman who barely knew her outside a professional context. What was the correct response here?

She lifted her head. “I’m sorry.”

“You have nothing to apologize for.” Molly said it matter-of-factly, as if people fell apart on her all the time. There was no censure, no pity in her eyes, just a kindness and understanding that left Norah feeling out of balance in an entirely different way.

She scrubbed both hands over her face in a vain effort to erase the damage. “I am…not a crier. My family doesn’t encourage that kind of loss of control.”

“Sometimes you just need a good purge.” Molly handed over a box of tissues. “How long’s it been?”

The last time she hadn’t been able to choke it down or channel it somewhere else? Well that would be when Cam obliterated her defenses by clearing her name. Before that…“High school, maybe.”

“Then I’d say you were long overdue.” She patted Norah’s hand. “The powder room is just off the hall there. Go wash your face, then come into the kitchen. I’ll fix you a cup of tea and we’ll have cake. It should be coming out of the oven soon.”