youâre sorry for an accident?â
He smiled ruefully. âI guess thatâs the rub. I feel guilty about something that wasnât my fault. Something I canât change. Something I couldnât have fixed no matter how old, or smart or experienced I was.â
âThatâs probably whatâs driving the fixer in you crazy.â
âYeah.â
âItâs not your fault. You canât be sorry.â She shook her head. âNo. You can be sorry your brother is gone. You can be sorry for the loss. But you canât take the blame for an accident.â
âI know.â He rubbed his hand along the back of his neck. âThat was weird.â
âTalking about it?â
âNo, admitting out loud for the first time that it wasnât my fault. That I canât take the blame.â He shook his head. âWow. Itâs like itâs the first time thatâs really sunk in.â
He smiled at her, a relieved smile so genuine that sheknew sheâd done the right thing in encouraging him to talk.
The silence in the room nudged her again, hinting that she could now tell him about their baby, but something about the relieved expression on his face stopped her. Heâd just absolved himself from a burden of guilt he never should have taken up. What if she told him about her miscarriage and instead of being sad, he got angry with himself all over again?
She swallowed, as repressed memories of the days before she left him popped up in her brain. All these years, sheâd thought sheâd kept her secret to protect herself. Now, she remembered that sheâd also kept it to protect him. He had a talent for absorbing blame that wasnât really his.
If she told him now, with the conversation about his brother still lingering in the air, he could tumble right back to the place heâd just escaped. Surely he deserved a few days of peace? And surely in those days she could think of a way to tell him that would help him to accept, as she had, that there was no one to blame.
âWeâre just about finished here.â She ambled to the dining room table again and brought back salt-and-pepper shakers. âIâll wash the tablecloth and wait for the dishwasher, but you donât have to hang around. I brought a book to read while I wait. Why donât you go do whatever youâd normally do?â
âI should pack the contracts we signed tonight in my briefcase.â
âOkay. You go do that.â She smiled at him. âIâll see you Friday morning.â
He turned in the doorway. âIâm not supposed to be here when you come to the house, remember?â
She held his gaze. âI could come early enough to get a cup of coffee.â
Surprise flitted across his face. âReally?â Then he grimaced. âIâm leaving town tomorrow morning. I wonât be back until Friday night. But Iâll see you on Saturday.â
Another weekend of working with him without being able to tell him might be for the best. A little distance between tonightâs acceptance that he couldnât take blame for his brotherâs accident and the revelation of a tragedy he didnât even know had happened wouldnât be a bad thing.
âOkay.â
He turned to leave again then paused, as if he didnât want to leave her, and she realized sheâd given him the wrong impression when sheâd suggested they have coffee Friday morning. Sheâd suggested it to give herself a chance to tell him her secret, not because she wanted to spend time with him. But he didnât know that.
She turned away, a silent encouragement for him to move on. When she turned around again, he was gone.
CHAPTER SEVEN
T HE FOLLOWING S ATURDAY , Cain was on the roof of Amandaâs house with a small crew of his best, most discreet workers. Even before Cain arrived, Liz had taken Amanda and her children to breakfast, then shopping, then to
Glen Cook
Mignon F. Ballard
L.A. Meyer
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Tielle St. Clare
Sophie McManus
Jayne Cohen
Christine Wenger
Beverly Barton