“Especially if they get paid to listen,” Tim said dryly.
“Okay, well... What about your friends? Your parents?”
“Definitely not my parents. It would have been... awkward.”
“Not as awkward as your dick best friend and your cheating fiancée getting it on while you were in the hospital, I bet.”
“Ah. No.”
The rush of the blower eased to a quiet, warm flow. The car smelled of wet wool and some woodsy aftershave. My nose dripped.
I blew it on his handkerchief.Blergh. “Sorry.”
“No need to apologize.” The silence stretched between us. “When I was in hospital,” he said, and stopped, his hand smoothing his shirtfront.
I opened and closed my mouth.Give him space. Let him talk. Channel your inner Tim.
“My mother came every day,” he said at last. “While I was laid up. It was... hard for her. Being apart from my father. I wasn’t responsive—conscious—for a long time. And Laura was there, you see. Bringing my mother tea, bringing her magazines, making sure she got out occasionally for a meal or a walk. Like a daughter would.”
“She was your fiancée.”
“Yes. But more than that, we practically grew up together. Neighbors. It was a great comfort to my mother, having her there.”
“That doesn’t excuse what she did. Or Charles.”
“Not everything, perhaps. But in the beginning... My parents knew Charles was my corporal. My friend. He’d saved my life. He bought my mother flowers. Naturally, they were grateful.I was grateful. And when I realized... Well. I’d already put the family through so much. I wanted to shield them from... the ugly truth, I suppose. Better to go on as we were. Keep calm and carry on. Stiff upper lip and so forth.”
“That was very kind of you.”
He glanced away, out the window, as if I’d embarrassed him.
“Very British,” I amended.
A shadow of a smile crossed his lips, causing a funny flutter in the region of my chest. Not that I had feelings for Tim Woodman. There had been no repeat of that New Year’s kiss. But it was a nice smile. “Indeed.”
“We have a saying in Kansas, too. No use crying over spilled milk.”
“What are you supposed to do? With spilled milk.” The smile was in his voice now.
“Clean it up and feed it to the hogs, according to Aunt Em.”
“You must take after her, then.” I looked at him in surprise. “Making the best of a bad deal,” he explained.
“Oh. Thanks. The thing is, I don’t really.” “Nothing you could do about it then,” Sam said in my head. “Nothing you can do to fix it now.” “I mean, I tell myself things aren’t that bad. Or that they’ll get better. But it’s all fake. Pretending. Sam says I’m afraid to face reality.”
“Sometimes pretending isn’t an act of cowardice. Sometimes it’s a matter of survival.”
I stared at the drops of rain streaking the window, remembering the suitcases and the Cecilys. The stories I told myself to survive.Our mother loved us. She was coming back for us soon. Maybe next time she would take us with her. Maybe this time she would stay.“But I don’t do anything,” I said. “I can’t change anything.”
“You moved to Dublin. That was a big change.”
“That’s location. It’s not me. Inside, I’m the same.”
“You seem fine to me.”
Another compliment, I thought. Understated—this was Tim, after all—but real. “But what am I doing here?”
“Staying warm, I would have said. Out of the rain.”
