Chapter Twenty
As they hiked the rest of the way down the mountain, Caleb’s frustration continued to grow.
Last December, Jane had said the mistake women made with him was believing they were special. Different. They slept with him and started thinking about the future.
Well, Jane was special. She was different. And he did want a future with her.
She just didn’t want one with him.
He couldn’t understand it. That incredible night in December might have been a one-time thing, passion brought about by shared grief and long-suppressed attraction. But last night?
Whatever was between him and Jane, it was there to stay. She had to know that, too. Didn’t she?
But if she did, why had she rejected him?
When they reached the car, he put their packs in the trunk and slid into the driver’s seat. Jane settled into the passenger seat next to him, and her deep sigh told him she was enjoying the comfort of a car more than she ever had before.
He started the engine and pulled out of the lot.
“This is a first for me, you know,” he said abruptly.
She looked at him. “What is?”
“Asking a woman to travel with me.”
She didn’t answer right away, and he had time to replay his words and wonder if they’d sounded as arrogant to her as they did in his head.
“I have a first for you,” she said after a moment.
“What?”
“Move in with me. Live with me in Brooklyn.” She paused. “I’ve never asked a man that before.”
Was she serious?
“You know I can’t do that.”
“Why not?”
“It’s not practical. Not with my work.”
He’d asked her to make adjustments to her work, too. But this was different.
Wasn’t it?
“You can stay with me between expeditions. I’ll be your home base.”
He frowned out at the road in front of him. “I’d rather live where I’m trekking, like I’m doing now in Australia. It makes more sense. And I don’t want a part-time relationship. I want you with me, damn it. Are we going to talk about this seriously or not?”
“I was trying to,” she said, and she sounded so reasonable he felt ashamed.
“I’m sorry,” he said gruffly. “I don’t mean to . . .”
“Sound like an asshole?”
“Yeah.”
“That’s all right.”
It’s because I want you. Because I don’t want to travel without you.
Because I love you.
Maybe if he told her that, everything else would work out. But she had to know how he felt. He’d told her last night, sort of.
If there aren’t any answers, what is there?
People who love you.
She had to know he’d been talking about himself. Didn’t she?
Of course, he could take away any doubt by telling her now.
I love you, Jane.
But he’d already been rejected once today. If he told her he loved her, and she rejected him again?
His hands tightened on the steering wheel, and they drove the rest of the way to the motel in silence.
He pulled into the parking lot and turned off the engine. Then he did his best to shift gears into practicality.
“Do you want to take a shower while I check us out?”
She nodded gratefully. “I would love to take a shower. Even one with no water pressure.”
“All right, then. Let’s meet back here in fifteen minutes.”
The final stage of their journey started the way the last leg had ended: in silence.
After an hour, Caleb couldn’t take it anymore.
“So we’re really going to Prince Edward Island.”
Jane turned to look at him, startled.
“Of course. I mean . . . that was always the plan. Wasn’t it?”
“Yeah.” He kept his eyes on the road. “I guess I thought your plans might have changed after last night, but I was obviously wrong. You still want to go meet that guy.”
“It’s not . . .” She shook her head. “It’s not like that. You know it’s not. This isn’t a date, Caleb. And it’s Sam he wrote the letter to.”
He knew he was worrying at a sore spot that wasn’t the real source of his pain, but he couldn’t seem to stop himself. “You called him your ideal man. Don’t you remember? The day you first met him.”
She stared at him. “I don’t believe it. After everything that’s happened since then, you think I have some romantic fantasy about Dan?”
“Don’t you?”
“No! This trip isn’t even about him. Not really. It’s about Sam and fixing a mistake I made.”
“But after last night—”
“The two things don’t have anything to do with each other. I can’t leave Dan standing on a bridge all alone, waiting for a woman who won’t come.”
His jaw tightened. “Jesus. He’s not going to be there, Jane.”
“Why are you so sure of that? Are you really so cynical about people?”
He glanced at her for a second. “Yeah,” he said. “I guess I am.”
Silence fell between them again. On either side, Canadian forest stretched as far as the eye could see.
This time, it was Jane who broke the silence.
“Are we going to talk any more about my idea?”
“What idea?”
“You moving in with me. Using Brooklyn as your home base between expeditions.”
Part of him knew that what she was offering was a compromise, but it felt like a rejection.
“A long-distance relationship, huh?”
She nodded. “Isn’t that better than no relationship?”
He felt a familiar frustration: not being able to put his thoughts and feelings into words. Not the way Jane could.
“It’s not what I want.”
“What do you want?”
“I want you with me.”
God, he sounded petulant. But damn it, that was what he wanted.
Jane didn’t say anything else, and there was another long stretch of silence between them.
“You’d think I’d have figured this out before now,” he muttered after a while.
“What?”
“Opposites might attract, but they don’t work. Not for the long haul. All they do is hurt each other.”
Jane was quiet for a moment.
“You’re talking about your parents,” she said, not asking.
“Yeah. I guess.”
“What about my parents?”
“What do you mean?”
“They’re different, too. And they’ve made it work for thirty-five years of marriage.”
He felt his jaw tightening. “I can’t live in Brooklyn.”
“Of course you can. You just don’t want to.”
Anger shot through him. “Well, the same is true for you, isn’t it? You could come to Australia and be with me. You just don’t want to.”
After a minute, Jane shrugged. “So . . . stalemate, then.”
“I guess so.”
And even though it was the inevitable conclusion, he was filled with regret and the ache of loss.
So he put on country music, the time-honored choice for people in pain.
“This is the only kind of music I absolutely hate,” Jane grumbled.
“Too bad,” he said. “You can suck it up.”
She gave him a sideways glance. “Or we could talk about finding some middle ground.”
He shook his head. “You were the one who called it a stalemate. Anyway, it won’t do any good. Let’s give it a rest.” He paused. “We should change the subject. How many kids did Anne and Gilbert have?”
They stuck to noncontroversial topics for the rest of the trip. Jane fell asleep for a long stretch of the Trans-Canada Highway, waking up only when they reached the bridge that would take them over the water to Prince Edward Island.
“Where are we? Are we there?” she asked, rubbing her eyes and muffling a yawn.
She was adorable when she yawned, and he felt a pang. The truth was, he found every damn thing she did adorable.
“Almost,” he said. “This is the Confederation Bridge. Once we’re across it we’ll be on the island. It’s another half hour to Cavendish.”
She checked her watch. “We’ll get there forty minutes before sunset,” she said, sounding pleased.
“Yep.”
He sounded sour, and he gave himself a mental shake. He could keep on punishing Jane for not wanting what he wanted, or he could get himself together and start acting like a man.
When they reached the island and began to drive north, through rolling farmland and sparkling ponds and little wooded hills, it was easier to be cheerful.
Jane rolled down her window and stared out at the countryside.
“I can’t believe it. Oh, Caleb, it’s so beautiful.”
It really was. The fields were covered with wildflowers, flowering trees were laden with blossoms, and the deep blue sky made everything seem brighter.
“The roads are even red,” she said. “Just like in the book. Remember Anne and Matthew talking about that?”
He did. L. M. Montgomery hadn’t provided an explanation, but the naturalist in him had been curious, and he’d Googled it.
“The color comes from iron-oxide in the soil,” he said, but he wasn’t sure Jane heard him. She was gazing out the window, and her eyes were full of visions.
As the sun sank lower behind them, the scenes they drove through were drenched in gold. The mellow light seemed to illuminate every leaf and twig and blade of grass.
When they entered Cavendish, he started to pay closer attention to the directions on his phone. Navigation was pretty simple—there was one main thoroughfare through the town—and soon they were turning right into a narrow road that led to a national park. The ocean and red sandstone cliffs were on the left; a grassy lane through fields and trees was on the right. Ahead in that direction he caught a glimpse of blue.
“The Lake of Shining Waters,” Jane breathed.
There were a few cars in the parking lot, but tourist season wouldn’t start until June and it wasn’t crowded. He pulled into a spot near the lane and turned off the car.
He looked over at Jane. She was smiling, her face full of anticipation, and he’d never felt farther away from her or more incapable of telling her what he was feeling.
The island was beautiful. More beautiful than he’d imagined. And Jane was right—it really was like the book they’d listened to. There was a magic in that, especially for her, and all he wanted to do was share that with her.
He’d give anything if they could have come here for a different reason. Not for Horn-Rims, but just for themselves.
If they were here for themselves, they could wander along the red sand beaches and wade in the ocean and kiss whenever they felt like it. They could stay in a white clapboard inn surrounded by gardens, with rocking chairs on the porch and fireplaces in the bedroom, and they could make love all night long.
And right now, the glow on Jane’s face would be because the two of them were about to go out and discover the Lake of Shining Waters together.
“I shouldn’t be so excited,” she said. “I’m the bearer of bad news, after all. But it’s incredible to be here after loving Anne for so many years, and I can’t help looking forward to this walk.” She glanced at her watch. “Half an hour till sunset. He might be there already, though. I’m going to go now.”
“He won’t be there.”
When Jane looked at him, some of the pleasure was gone from her expression.
Guilt tugged at him. I’m sorry, he wanted to say, but the words didn’t come.
When she spoke, her voice was stiff. “Do you want to come with me?” she asked. “To oversee your bet?”
It took him a moment to remember what she was talking about. Damn, he’d forgotten all about that.
“That’s all right,” he said. “I trust you.” He paused, and then he forced himself to speak again. “I’ll wait here. Good luck, Jane.”
“Thanks.” She gave him a half smile, and then she was out the door, walking toward the grassy lane, her face toward the sunset.
He watched her go. Back at the motel she’d changed into jeans and a long-sleeved cotton shirt, the same dark blue as her eyes. Her long brown braid swung as she walked. She was wearing sandals instead of her muddy sneakers, and he wondered if her feet hurt from yesterday’s hike.
If so, she didn’t show it. She was tougher than she looked.
But she was in for a disappointment when Horn-Rims failed to show up for their meeting.
Maybe it had been a mistake not to go with her. He could keep her company until it got dark, and when she finally acknowledged that the man she’d built up as some kind of romantic hero was just an ordinary asshole, he’d be there for her.
And then, maybe, they could have the trip he’d fantasized about. A few days together away from everything. A way to say goodbye before they went their separate ways.
Or even to convince Jane to come with him, after all.
He got out of the car and went after her.
The lane curved through stands of spruce trees and little meadows, blowing grasses and flowering shrubs. Then it came around a bend to give a clear view of the Lake of Shining Waters, sparkling in the setting sun as though it were covered in diamonds.
The sun was in his line of vision, and he used his hand to shade his eyes. Jane was fifty yards ahead of him on the path, heading toward a small wooden bridge where . . .
He stopped.
There was a man standing on the bridge with his back to them, leaning over the railing and watching the geese and ducks drifting past. It was hard to tell from here, but he thought—
The man turned and saw Jane.
Jane started to walk faster, and by the time she reached him she was practically running. He’d started forward to meet her and held out his arms, and then they were hugging like long-lost siblings.
Or lovers.
A vise was squeezing his heart. This was what he’d been afraid of—that Jane’s romantic fantasies would somehow come to life and take her away from him. That what she wanted from him he could never give, and that what he could give her would never be enough.
He was a cynic when it came to people, and he had no interest in fairy tales. He wanted real life, the natural world, and he wanted Jane with him. But she lived in a world of stories, of dreams, and even if his job didn’t take him around the world and away from her, he could never be the hero she wanted.
He didn’t think Dan could be, either. Sam was the sister he’d fallen for. But watching them together at the Lake of Shining Waters, he remembered the day in Jane’s shop when the two of them had bonded over a book.
Jane thought of Dan as a kindred spirit. And in spite of everything she and Caleb had shared on this trip, she would never see him that way.
He couldn’t watch anymore. He’d always thought he had a high tolerance for pain, but it turned out he was wrong. Because no matter who Jane ended up with someday, it wouldn’t be him, and he was getting a preview right now of what that would feel like.
It hurt like hell. It hurt like nothing he’d ever felt before.
And there was no way he was sticking around for it.
He turned and went back the way he came, and when he got back to the car, he pulled out his phone and started making calls.