“I think it’s perfect,” I said honestly. “And you were right. It’s exactly what I needed.”
Graham was waiting for us outside, looking like a sexy cover model as he leaned casually against the sleek ride. Soraya must have texted him when Tig was finishing up.
The air between them practically sizzled with energy, as if they’d been apart for months instead of hours, and I knew it was time for me to go. I declined their generous offer of dinner and use of their guest room, but I did accept a ride to where I’d parked my rental.
“I am so glad you came, Eva,” she said, the lights of the parking garage shimmering in her eyes.
I felt moisture welling up in mine too. “Me too. Thank you, Soraya, for everything.”
She gave me a fierce hug and said, “Listen, I’m not trying to tell you what you should do, but just hear me out, okay?”
I glanced over to where Graham was waiting patiently, giving us this moment to say our good-byes, and nodded.
“There was a time when I thought leaving Graham was the best thing to do. That by stepping out of the way and sacrificing my happiness, I was giving him a chance for a better life. But all I ended up doing was making us both miserable. Just think about that, okay?”
“Thanks. I will.”
“Where will you go next?”
It was something I’d been thinking about a lot lately, especially after spending time with Jace’s family and now Soraya. It was time.
“I’m going home.”
~ * ~
Jace
“Did you find her?” Jackie greeted when I finally returned her call. I’d been putting it off, hoping I’d have some good news to share.
“No.”
I’d spent the day trolling LaGuardia, hoping for a glimpse of Eva. I’d looked up the flights to LA and visited every gate, coming up empty. I had gone to the rental kiosk and bribed the guy for info, only to find out that Eva’s rental car hadn’t been returned.
“I’m so sorry, Jace.”
“I know.”
I was angry, more so with myself than I was with Jackie. If I’d been honest with Eva, none of this would have happened.
“What are you going to do?”
As much as I wanted to continue my search, I had to admit temporary defeat. I was at a dead end with no clues to point me in the right direction, and my twin sister was getting married in a few days. I was going to be there for her.
“I’m coming home,” I said, the words slicing through my chest.
Chapter 19
Dear Ida,
I’m devastated. Walking away from the man I love is the hardest thing I’ve ever done, but it’s for the best. I’m doing it for him, even if he can’t see that yet. He will, eventually. – Broken Hearted and Alone
* * *
Dear Broken,
Excuse my French, but bullcrap. Also, martyrdom hasn’t been fashionable since the Middle Ages. Unless you’re prescient and the fate of the world is at stake, you don’t have the right to make that call. You wouldn’t want him making decisions about your future, would you? Talk to him. Work it out. True love can conquer all.
~ * ~
Eva
After I left New York, I drove west until I crossed the Pennsylvania border, then decided to stop for the night. I found a nice place right off the interstate with a restaurant. I ordered some dinner, having them box it up so I could take it back to my room.
I took a much-needed shower and then tried reading. After staring at the same page for a while, I turned on the TV, but nothing captured my interest.
No matter how hard I tried not to think of Jace, it was impossible. Soraya’s parting words kept looping around in my head. I understood what she was saying, and I knew she meant well, but her situation had been a lot different than mine. Graham’s job didn’t require him to travel around the world for months at a time, and Soraya’s “competition” had been a single, lying bitch of an ex, not thousands of gorgeous, young women willing to do anything for a piece of her man.
My heart and my head were at war, raging against one another in a vicious battle, but I knew which one must prevail. Not only for my benefit, but also for Jace’s. Letting him go was the kindest thing I could do for both of us, no matter how much it hurt.
~ * ~
Bear Run was much like I remembered it. It was hard to believe that twenty years had passed since I’d last been here. The ancient movie theater still looked the same, the old-fashioned yellow globe bulbs outlining the marquee. Banner’s Drugstore still graced the corner of Main and Sixth. A McDonald’s had been added at the far end of the main drag, leading me to deduce that the local township must have lifted their ban on fast-food chains within town limits.
I swung my gaze in the other direction, toward the neighborhood mom-and-pop store I had visited so many times in my youth. I wondered if Mrs. Tomaselli was still running the place, but that was unlikely. Ninety if she was a day then, she’d sit behind the old-fashioned cash register with a hand-crocheted black shawl over her shoulders, pretending to be nodding off but her hawk-like eyes missed nothing. I smiled, remembering how many times Jimmy Battaglia had gotten his hand slapped for trying to sneak candies into his pocket.
My hometown was still small, a forgotten oasis in the middle of nowhere. It was very much like Willow Woods in that respect, except that Bear Run was a bit less wild, a bit less rural. The land was more developed, the mountains more like gentle, rolling hills, sporting familiar swatches and patterns of varying shades of green dotted with simple white houses.
The nearby coal mines had long since been closed, though a few had been prettied up and now offered official tours to the rare tourist or history buff passing through. The shift away from anthracite had begun well before I was even born. At one time, it was the sole reason this community had sprung up out of nowhere. It had endured through a stubborn kind of stoicism, unwilling to be forgotten.
Now, I found myself standing in the shadows before the break of dawn, hands deep in the pockets of my hoodie, looking across the street at the familiar bakery. I could smell the delicious aromas of freshly baked bread and rolls, the sweet allure of sticky buns and doughnuts, homemade cakes and pies. D’Agolino’s Bakery had been serving the predominantly Italian community since my great-grandfather had emigrated from Palermo in the early 1900s.
Without conscious effort, my feet silently carried me across the street in the predawn light. Inside, the lights were already on, the sounds of Tony Bennett muted through the huge plate glass window.
I smiled. Mama had always had a thing for Tony Bennett. His music wasn’t my cup of tea, but I found the man himself to be warm and kindhearted. I’d met him several times over the years, eventually working up the courage to ask a special favor. I often wondered what my mother had thought of the personally autographed, eight-by-ten colored glossy of Tony, smiling and proudly wearing a D’Agolino’s shirt, that I’d sent anonymously for her birthday one year.
With my hood pulled up to stave off the early morning chill, my breath appeared as visible wisps an inch from my lips while I peeked inside. My heart pounded when I saw them. My father was still a large man but his hair was now all white, and my mother was no taller than me and well-rounded, her hair pulled back into the tight knot she always wore at the back of her head.