BONNIE SHIFTED THE duffel bag on her lap and looked out the window of the train car. She’d made it through the week without any more issues, showing up early to all her classes and powering through each lesson on autopilot.
As she watched the dreary spring landscape speed by, she wished there was a way she could avoid thinking about her personal life as neatly as she’d avoided talking about it. Not wanting to overstay her welcome at the hotel, at first she’d considered moving back in with her parents for a bit, but Ana had offered to let her have the spare room in her town house. It was only for a few months. Then she’d be off to England. After that … who knew.
Four more weeks until Memorial Day weekend. By then, finals would be over and she’d be done with the semester. It couldn’t come soon enough. She hadn’t planned to visit her parents until the holiday weekend, but Ana and Sadie were right—she needed to tell them about the breakup. That didn’t mean she was looking forward to it.
It was Friday night, and she’d be spending the next thirty-six hours or so at her parents’ house. The only promising thing about the weekend ahead was her plan to meet up with Delaney for dinner and drinks tomorrow. The fifth member of their merry little band of friends, Delaney had grown up in the same small suburban town as Bonnie and Cassie and ended up enrolling at the same Chicago university.
While Bonnie and Cassie had found work in the city after graduation, Delaney went back home and got a job teaching at the fancy-pants preschool that opened a few years ago in their town’s most elite neighborhood. Honestly, Bonnie was pretty sure Delaney made more money showing four-year-olds how to create papier-mâché farm animals using organic non-GMO gluten-free paste than Bonnie did teaching nineteen-year-olds the three-act story structure.
Still, she loved hearing about Delaney’s adventures in the classroom and couldn’t wait to catch up. However, duty called, and Bonnie needed to spend her first night home with her folks. Besides, better to drop the engagement bomb right away than leave it hanging over her head, ticking away all weekend.
Rain started to splatter outside her train car window as the tightly spaced brick buildings of the city gave way to the mansions of the North Shore. By the time the scenery shifted to long stretches of muddy fields and early-budding trees, a full downpour was in progress. Torrents of rain streamed past. The soggy, gray scene made her think of London. And of course, thinking of London made her think of Theo.
She wondered what he was doing now. And was reminded again she had no idea what the man did for a living. They hadn’t spoken since her abrupt departure from his hotel room Monday morning. Had it been only a week since she’d run into him at the Shakespeare event? A week since she’d gone home to find Gabe …
Squeezing her hands into fists, she resisted the urge to adjust a ring that wasn’t there. She had to stop replaying that scene. More and more, though, she found herself replaying other moments from that weekend. Moments that had nothing to do with Gabe and everything to do with Theo.
Bonnie pressed her cheek against the damp, cold glass. What had happened with Theo was a one-time thing. A perfect storm of timing and emotion. As if on cue, lightning flashed. Bonnie closed her eyes, waiting for the crack of thunder to follow, counting seconds out of habit. It came almost immediately, loud enough to be heard above the rumble of the train. Her eyes snapped open. This was turning into a pretty serious storm.
But despite the uncanny metaphor unfolding, there was nothing serious between her and Theo. He’d walked back into her life at the exact right time. She thought of the scene in Julius Caesar when Marc Antony learns Caesar’s nephew Octavius has arrived in Rome.
“He comes upon a wish.” Bonnie recited Antony’s line under her breath, finger tracing a pattern in the condensation on her window. “Fortune is merry, and in this mood will give us anything.”
Had she subconsciously wished for Theo? He’d certainly been willing to give her anything she’d wanted that night in the hotel—even if it ended up being a pair of strong arms to hold her while she slept.
But what did she want now? How would she feel when she saw him again? He was Logan’s best man, and she was Cassie’s maid of honor. Sooner or later, they would be seeing each other again this summer.
She just didn’t know which she wanted.
Sooner … or later?
The train rolled to a stop and Bonnie gathered her things. Hopping onto the platform, she held her jacket over her head and squinted through the raindrops, searching for her father’s car among those waiting in the pick-up lot.
A pair of headlights shone on her, and a moment later, her dad pulled up alongside the curb. She scurried across the slick pavement and got in before he could get out to open her door.
She pulled the car door shut. “Thanks for picking me up.”
“Glad to do it.” Her dad pulled into the line of cars waiting to exit. “You should have let me help you with your bags.”
“I didn’t bring much,” she said, biting back a smile. Like Theo, her father could be old-fashioned about certain things. “Besides,” she added, tugging her jacket off her head and reaching across the seat to hug her father, “no need for both of us to get wet.”
“A bit late for that,” he grumbled, swiping at the droplets she’d left behind.
“Oops.” She laughed and turned up the heater. “What’s for dinner?”
“Your mother is making fish.”
Bonnie wrinkled her nose. Fish Friday, right.
“Dessert?” she asked hopefully.
“Of course.” He glanced over at her, corners of his eyes crinkling as he smiled. “Gingerbread.”
“Yesss.” Bonnie dropped back against the headrest, sighing. Her mother’s gingerbread was heaven on a plate.
Sure enough, after her dad pulled into the garage, ignoring her protests and shouldering her bag as he led the way into the house, Bonnie was inundated with the smells of home. The less pleasant aroma of frying fish, most likely cod, mixed with the warm earthy scents of ginger and nutmeg and the sharp sweet tang of molasses.
She stepped into the kitchen, and it was like stepping back in time. Nothing had changed in this room in the nearly three decades Bonnie had been alive. Even the wooden high chair that had been hers as a baby was still tucked in one corner, pulled into service whenever members of the extensive Blythe clan popped in for a visit.
A fruitful brood, Bonnie was the only one in her extended family not to have any siblings. She was also the only female grandchild and the only one to inherit Grandma Mary’s red hair. In short, she was the magical unicorn of the family.
“Bon-Bon!” Her mother wiped her hands on her apron and hurried across the kitchen to envelop Bonnie in a fragrant hug. Bonnie had long ago given up struggling against the ridiculous nickname. Though—after years of adolescent angst—she’d never admit to growing fond of it, but only from her mother. She let her besties get away with calling her “Bon,” but no one else was allowed to call her Bon-Bon—ever. A lesson her cousin Ian had learned the hard way. To this day, Ian still sported a small scar on his chin after Bonnie threw a fork at him across the Thanksgiving dinner table one year when he’d asked “Bon-Bon” to pass the peas. Jerkface didn’t even like peas.
Speaking of peas, she spied a pot of them bubbling on the stove. Fried fish and mashed peas. Mom was going full out with the traditional Friday night meal. Bonnie kissed her mom’s cheek and stepped back, poking her head into the pantry to see if there was any soda bread. Jackpot. She pulled out a round loaf and was headed to the fridge for the butter when her mother stopped her with a click of her tongue. “Don’t spoil your supper.”
“But—”
“No buts. Go wash up, then set the table.”
Bonnie set the loaf of bread on the counter and stalked toward the bathroom, passing her father, who was seated in his usual spot in the den, stockinged feet propped on a faded ottoman, watching a soccer match on TV. It was a pattern as old as the peeling ivy wallpaper lining the bathroom walls.
Maybe she didn’t want the married life after all, Bonnie thought as she dried her hands. Would that be what she had to look forward to? She and Gabe had fallen into a comfortable routine, but Bonnie never pictured her life quite so … provincial. To be fair, her parents weren’t that bad. Yes, Dad had his little quirks, and Bonnie doubted her mother had ever changed a tire or fixed anything around the house, but her mom did have a job.
It had been her mother who made most of the travel arrangements for the dream vacation Bonnie and her best friends had taken last summer. And hitting five European countries in six weeks took a lot of planning. As did a honeymoon. Ever since her engagement to Gabe, Mom had been working on plans for their trip. Now Bonnie was going to have to tell her mother all that time and research had been wasted. There would be no honeymoon.
Well, there was nothing for it. What is past hope should be past care, right?
Easier said than done. Bonnie decided to wait to tell her parents until after dinner.
Unfortunately, dinner was over all too soon. As the gingerbread cooled on the counter and the tea kettle heated up, Bonnie stood at the sink, drying dishes while her mother washed. “How’s Gabe?” Mom asked, and Bonnie almost dropped the plate she was drying.
She caught it, gathering her courage as she set it on top of the stack in the cabinet. “We broke up.”
There. Rip the bandage off.
“What?” her mother yelled over the rush of running water, glancing up from the pan she was rinsing.
Deciding this conversation would be tense enough without adding shouting to the mix, Bonnie reached over and turned off the faucet. “We broke up. Gabe and I. We’re done.”
Her mother stared at her, blue eyes wide. Looking in those eyes was like looking in the mirror. Aside from her pert ski-slope nose, Bonnie’s eyes were the only trait she’d inherited from her mother. Everything else was a carbon copy of Grandma Mary.
Bonnie set the dish towel aside and held up her left hand, waggling her bare ring finger.
Understanding dawned in her mother’s eyes. The pale blue of her irises deepened to a cobalt. Dad always joked that their eyes were mood rings, color shifting depending on what they were feeling. It wasn’t so much a joke, as an astute observation. Their eyes did change color depending on mood. The problem was, Bonnie thought, unable to break away from her mom’s stare, she couldn’t decide if the darkening hue was due to anger or something else.
“What happened?” Mom finally asked.
The kettle whistled, and Bonnie turned away, grateful for the interruption. She busied herself making the tea while Mom bustled behind her, slicing the gingerbread.
Finally, when they were both seated at the table, thick slices of cake and steaming mugs of tea in front of them, Bonnie was ready to tell her mom the whole story. Everything. Even the most unsavory parts.
“On Grandma Mary’s quilt?” her mother asked.
Bonnie nodded, poking at the crumbs on her plate.
Mom crossed herself. “Don’t tell your father that part.”
“Tell me what part?” Dad asked.
Bonnie and her mother both jumped, exchanging uneasy glances as her dad joined them at the table.
“Let me get you some cake, Bill.” Mom sliced a generous slab.
He thanked her but kept his attention pinned on Bonnie. With a thatch of unruly black hair and piercing dark eyes beneath a slash of thick, black brows, like all the Blythe boys, Dad was what was often referred to as “Dark Irish.”
Mom’s coloring was more muted, a soft brown like that of a wren. She looked like a little bird now, hopping around Dad, clucking and fussing. Watching them, Bonnie recognized her parents were a good match—Mom’s good-natured happy-go-lucky personality rounded the edges of her father’s sharp trademark temper.
Despite growing up Protestant, Connie had been happy to embrace her husband’s Irish Catholic heritage, learning how to cook his favorite foods and following the rituals of his faith, even raising her daughter in the traditions of her husband’s family. But, easygoing as she was, Connie had insisted on doing a few things her way, such as letting Bonnie decide for herself if she wanted to take communion.
And after her college graduation, when Bonnie had announced she was planning to move in with Gabe, even though they had yet to be officially engaged, it had been Mom who convinced Dad it was okay, cajoling him into joining the twenty-first century. When Gabe had proposed two Christmases ago, Dad had finally stopped grumbling about how his daughter’s virtue was in peril.
Now she was going to have to tell her father it was over—that she would not, in fact, be marrying the man she had been “living in sin” with. Why? Because her fiancé had been busy committing a few other sins. Bonnie gulped the rest of her tea and tried to figure out the best way to broach the subject. This shouldn’t be so hard. She was an English teacher; words were her world.
“Gabe cheated on her,” Mom said.
Well, that was one way to say it.
“Is this true?” Dad’s dark intense stare bored into her. “He told you that?”
“I, uh…” Bonnie broke eye contact and focused on the dregs in the bottom of her mug. “I caught him in the act.”
“You mean you … oh.” Her father cleared his throat. “I see.”
“Be glad you didn’t,” Bonnie quipped, going for levity.
It didn’t work. An awkward silence filled the kitchen. “I’m sorry, Mom.”
“Whatever for?”
“I know you’ve been looking forward to planning the wedding with me. And then of course, the honeymoon…”
“Oh, Bon-Bon, don’t worry about any of that,” her mother said, reaching out to smooth a hand over Bonnie’s curls. “None of that is important. Your happiness is what matters to me.”
Bonnie nodded, eyes stinging.
“Do you want me to kill him?”
“William!” Mom gasped.
The ghost of a giggle escaped her. Bonnie couldn’t be sure her father was joking. It was a good thing Gabe was over an hour away in the city. Come to think of it, maybe it was best if she kept news of her breakup under wraps from the rest of her family for a while—or at least the reason behind it. Too many uncles and cousins were in spitting distance of the apartment she’d shared with Gabe.
Even if Gabe deserved it, the last thing she needed was a Blythe Brigade showing up on his doorstep. Still, a small bloodthirsty corner of her soul would have liked to see what happened if they did. Her cousin Michael Jr. was an MMA fighter, and all the Blythe boys were born knowing how to throw a punch.
“That won’t be necessary, Dad.” She kept her voice light. “I’d prefer it if my next visit to see you wasn’t in prison.”
Later that night, Bonnie curled up under the pastel comforter in her old bedroom. Like the rest of the house, this room hadn’t changed much over the years. Never really a fan of boy bands or television heartthrobs, her walls were covered in posters of Shakespeare and Oscar Wilde, interspersed with framed prints of some of her favorite paintings.
She rolled onto her side and studied the picture over her dresser. A poster-sized version of Millais’s Ophelia. Again, her mind drifted to Theo. He’d been so easy to talk to. And fun. Constantly surprising her with his knowledge of artists and playwrights. Bonnie wrapped her arms around her pillow, wishing she could talk to him now. She squeezed the pillow and wished she could do a few other things with him too. Her skin tingled, pulse fluttering as she recalled the way he’d kissed her, the way he’d touched her … the way he’d made her feel.
Bonnie had been with Gabe a long time. Things in the bedroom had become routine, and, to be honest, rather dull. Over the last year or so, the number of times they’d had sex dwindled from a few nights a week, to weekly, to monthly—if that. She’d chalked it up to their hectic schedules, and in a way, she wasn’t wrong. Gabe had been busy … getting busy with someone else.
That part hurt more than all the rest. The fact he’d cheated hurt, yes, but the fact he’d lied and been able to hide it from her for so long—that’s what stung the most. Bonnie prided herself on her intelligence and insight. Yet she’d been completely oblivious.
From somewhere deep inside, the cold logical part of her stepped forward with an observation. If it was her pride that was hurt more than anything else, maybe it was best she wasn’t marrying Gabe. If she regretted the past more than she mourned the future, if she was bothered by all the time she’d lost investing in their relationship more than she was upset about losing him … well.
Acknowledging this fact still didn’t address the Theo issue. She realized she missed him. And that didn’t make any sense. She barely knew him.
Done thinking about men but too wired to sleep—and not ready for any more sex-fueled dreams featuring a dimpled too-beautiful-for-his-own-good Brit—Bonnie got out of bed and crossed the room to sit at her old desk. She shuffled around in the drawers, searching for paper and something to write with.
It was an old habit, one she hadn’t indulged in much lately. When she needed to work through stuff, she wrote. Not like a diary, where she wrote her thoughts and feelings down, but more like a story, where characters from other places and other times—even from other worlds—picked up the narrative of her life and acted it out.
As Bonnie began to scrawl sentences across the paper, she realized she missed this. Missed the escape writing provided. Sometime later, she put the pencil down and slowly uncurled her cramping fingers. Streaks of gray from the pencil lead were smudged across her palm.
She sat back, blinking at the little digital clock on her desk. It was after two in the morning. She glanced at the papers scattered across her desk. Gathering them together, she tapped the pages against the desk, forming a neat pile. It had felt good to let loose and just write. Really good.
Standing, Bonnie stretched, shoulders and spine popping. Writing was her first love. She’d been tinkering with novels since her early teens and had always hoped to finish at least one book while still in her twenties. But her teaching position had kept her busy, and the steady income from directing productions for the college had been too good to pass up, especially with Gabe working on his doctorate. She’d decided to set aside her writing and focus on teaching and directing, supporting him and saving money for their future.
The plan made sense. Once he was Dr. Gabriel Shaughnessy and they were married, she could take a year, maybe even two, off, go on sabbatical, and devote time to finishing a book. When he’d proposed, she thought it was all perfect, things were going exactly as planned, and soon she’d have everything she’d ever wanted.
Up until last week, she’d still believed that to be true.
Now, everything had changed.
Bonnie crawled back into the squeaky hideaway bed, pulling up the covers. She rolled onto her side. Eyes growing heavy with sleep, she stared at the neat stack of papers on her desk with a deep sense of satisfaction. Inspiration bloomed in her chest. With ten months to go before she turned thirty, it was not too late to accomplish at least one of her goals.