leaving Mother with her! She’s certifiable; any sane, responsible person can see that.”
Bryan winced. “Rachel, I’m sorry. I should have been more thorough about disabling the car. I’ll accept responsibility-”
“Since when?” she asked angrily. All the fear and fury and frustration crested at once inside her, and she unleashed it on him without hesitation. “Since when do you accept responsibility? You’re the most irresponsible person I know. You with your don’t-worry-be-happy mentality. Everything will take care of itself. Everything will turn out fine,” she said bitterly. “If you knew anything about accepting responsibility, this never would have happened! I would have been home to keep an eye on Mother, not off in the wild blue yonder with you!”
She paced away from him, shaking her head in self-reproach.
“Don’t beat yourself up with guilt, Rachel. An accident happened. Nobody was hurt. I’ll take care of the rest. It’ll all work out.”
He couldn’t have chosen a worse phrase had he been deliberately trying to goad her. His last four words rang in her ears. She could hear Terence saying them and Bryan saying them, and she could see herself dealing with the messy reality while they blew it off because nobody had gotten hurt.
“Why can’t you face reality?” she asked, her violet eyes full of pleading and pain. “Things don’t just work out, Bryan. Things don’t just turn out fine. We struggle to do the best we can and we still get kicked in the teeth.
She shook her head again, lifting her hands to cradle it as it hung down. “I should have known better. I should have known from the start.”
Bryan’s head snapped back sharply. She didn’t have to say the words; they arced between them like an electrical current that seared his nerve endings with excruciating pain. Their love meant so little to her, she was wishing it away. It was inconvenient, getting in the way of her noble self-sacrifice. His own defense mechanisms snapped into action to stem the flow of blood from his battered heart.
“Fine,” he said tightly. “You shouldn’t have any enjoyment in your life. God forbid! There’s work to be done, sins to be atoned for, hair shirts to be worn.”
Rachel grabbed his arm as he started to turn away from her. “Don’t you go calling me a martyr. I’m a sensible, practical person trying to deal with a nightmare in a sensible, practical way.”
“Oh, right,” he said sarcastically. He smiled a rueful parody of a smile. “Maybe I should have taken my cue from you and behaved in a sensible, practical way, because I sure as hell didn’t need the kind of aggravation falling in love with you has been.”
It was Rachel’s turn to wince. The pain wasn’t entirely unexpected. She’d told herself from the start Bryan would cut his losses when the going got rough. That was what dreamers did.
“Well, don’t let me stand in your way,” she said softly, opening her arms wide in a gesture of resignation. “There’s no time like the present. I’m certainly not going to try to stop you.”
Bryan stared at her long and hard, doing everything he could to hide his own hurt while he looked for some evidence of hers. She was bitter and disillusioned and had meant every word she’d said. She hadn’t believed in his love from the beginning, not really, not in the way that mattered most. It was clear she was determined to carry out her plans for her penance, and he had no part in them. Or maybe in some perverse way he did. It made her sacrifice only greater if she could look back on their relationship and think of what she had given up, of what might have been.
“Fine,” he said, looking past her to the crumpled powder-blue Volvo, where Aunt Roberta was having an animated conversation with the erstwhile flower vendor. “I’ll move my aunt out to Keepsake. I’ll stop by tonight for our things.”
He didn’t look to Rachel for confirmation or approval. He didn’t look at her at all. He simply walked away. She watched him go, thinking he looked like a stranger. There was an air of cold authority about him as he took his aunt by the arm, murmured a few curt words to her, and led her away.
Rachel wondered if she had ever really known him. But the point was moot. She was never going to have the chance to find out now. He was walking out of her life, taking all the light with him. As the fog bank rolled in around her, she thought of her future and ached at how empty it would be.
THIRTEEN
“Now, keep your eye on the dollar bill,” Bryan said.
He sat back on his barstool, his concentration on the trick rather than on the small group of semi-interested onlookers. He folded the bill into an intricate bow shape, squeezed it between his palms, turned his hands. When he turned his palms outward again, the bill was gone.
“Great trick,” Dylan Harrison said from behind the bar. He wiped his hands on a towel and leaned against the polished surface. “Now make it reappear, Houdini. I want my buck back.”
Bryan sighed, took a sip of his whiskey, and performed the trick in reverse. The bill did not reappear. On three tries the best he could manage to produce was a wilted flower and a lint ball. He frowned, his broad shoulders slumping dejectedly as his audience wandered away.
Dylan reached across the bar and patted him on the shoulder. “Don’t sweat it, Bry. I’ll put it on your tab.”
“I’ve lost it again,” Bryan mumbled. “I’ve lost my magic.”
“You’re having an off day, that’s all.”
“There’s an understatement.”
Losing Rachel put the day in the catastrophic category. He’d seen it coming, of course. It was just that his unflagging optimism had convinced him he would be able to prevent it when the time came. He’d been wrong.
After the fight to end all fights, he had taken Aunt Roberta out to Keepsake-Faith and Shane Callan’s inn- dumped her there, and made a beeline for Dylan’s Bar and Bait Shop, the popular waterfront establishment owned and run by Alaina’s husband. He still needed to return to Drake House for Roberta’s and his belongings, but he hadn’t been able to face that task without a little fortification of the distilled variety. He needed something to dull his too-sensitive senses. Time, mostly, but in lieu of that a nip or two of Dylan’s Irish wouldn’t hurt-especially since Dylan was liberally watering the stuff when he thought Bryan wasn’t looking.
That wasn’t the standard practice at Dylan’s. It was a neat bar that catered to tourists and locals alike. The floors were swept, the glasses clean, and the booze uncut. He was getting special treatment because he was obviously in such rough shape. Dylan was looking out for him, like any good, conscientious friend would. It made him feel a little better to think that Alaina had ended up with such a good guy. If he had to be lonely and miserable for the rest of his life, at least his best friends had found happiness.
“My, you look like hell,” Alaina said mildly, sliding onto the stool next to his.
“I know, I know.” He sighed. “I need a haircut.”
“That too.”
She was immaculate as usual, every chestnut hair in place, not so much as a speck on her Ralph Lauren ensemble of gold slacks and a midnight-blue silk blouse. Bryan, on the other hand, knew he looked as if he’d been sleeping in an alley. His jeans were rumpled. Roberta had burned a hole in his sweatshirt, and the tail of his white T-shirt hung down beneath the hem. It might have been a style popular with the fraternity crowd, but it didn’t cut the mustard with Alaina, who probably would have given up her civil rights before her Neiman-Marcus charge card.
He shot her a look, wincing at the tender sympathy and concern in her gaze. He didn’t know if he was up to having Alaina feel sorry for him. She was more in the habit of giving a person a swift kick in the britches and telling them to buck up and get on with it.
“Oh, don’t get nervous,” she said, extracting one of her precious, rationed cigarettes from her monogrammed case. Ignoring her husband’s scowl, she lit it and took a deep, appreciative drag. As she exhaled, her shrewd gaze shifted to Bryan again. “I’m not going to do the poor-Bryan routine. Faith tells me she already failed in the attempt.”
“Have the three of you ever considered sharing your amazing communications skills with the intelligence
