CHAPTER TEN

WILLOW

There is nothing quite like getting lost in a book, the feeling of being submerged in another world. My love of reading is what inspired me to become a writer, and my passion for art led to painting the illustrations for my books. But this place is where the stories themselves were born.

My Everlend adventures, the memories I tried to keep locked away, bled themselves on the pages in print and watercolor. My mind keeps drifting, back and forth, between the past and present. Trying to concentrate is useless, knowing that Piers will be coming over for Sunday dinner. I let the book I’ve been trying to read fall closed in my lap. I’m so lost in my own thoughts, this delicate line between what once was and what will be, that there’s no point in escaping in a book.

Standing, I walk over to where Drew is laying on the massive woven rug, playing with wooden blocks. His little hands, creative and capable, building castles, towers, and turrets, only to knock them down. Over and over. I adore watching him play. With his imagination so active, I often wonder what he’ll be when he grows up. A dreamer like Piers? An adventurer like me? Maybe an artist? A sailor? The sounds of wooden blocks falling down pulls me from my daydream.

“Look mum! Tower Bridge, just like we saw the other day in town!” he loudly proclaims. I see he’s now using the wooden rectangles to construct a bridge-like shape.

“Wonderful, Drew! You’re so smart. Keep working, and I’ll be right back. I need to help Ms. Anna.” I bend down to place a quick kiss to his head before he can dodge me.

As I’m leaving, the blocks tumble down once more. “Mum,” he calls, stopping me.

“Yes, dear?” Turning to see what he needs, I stop in the doorway.

“Is Piers still coming?” He asks excitedly.

“Yes, he should be here soon.” He grins at my reply.

“Great! Because I need help building this bridge. And I bet he is a great bridge builder,” he explains as he goes back to stacking the blocks.

“I’m sure he is.” I turn once more to go, and he stops me once again.

“M—um?” he sing songs.

“Y—es?” I playfully mock him.

“I know you like blocks too. It’s just, building bridges...seems like guy stuff. Right?” he questions as he looks up into my face, gauging my reaction. I pull myself together and smile before he can see the flash of emotion I’m feeling inside.

“Totally guy stuff, darling.” I set his mind at ease, and he resumes playing. Even if almost everything I’ve done that has been wrong, I know I did at least one thing right for this small boy to have a heart so big, overflowing with compassion and consideration. He was worried wanting Piers’ help would hurt me. I’m anything but.

I’m relieved they’ve gotten along so well. I’m only saddened that he had to go this long without a father figure in his life. My feelings and thoughts are much like the stacking and tumbling of blocks. The rapid up and down. Who would have thought my present life and being back in London could be summed up metaphorically by child’s play?

I’ve returned to my true home.

Up.

Wendy isn’t here.

Down.

Piers doesn’t entirely hate me.

Up.

What was between us is history.

Down.

It’s like a rollercoaster of emotions.

I’m actually surprised that he agreed to come to dinner since it’s only been a few days since he knocked on my door and a bomb dropped on him. He seems to have cooled off some with us being back.

We had a really great time Friday evening. When we left the pub, he drove us around to show Drew a few landmarks before bringing us back to Everlend. Seeing the flash of red as a double decker buses sped by, or the shiny black taxis, the trademark phone booths, and hearing the bell toll as Big Ben marked the hour, were like jolts, bringing back to life a piece of my heart I thought was lost. Reminding me how much I’ve missed this place.

When Piers was dropping us off, Drew invited him to dinner. Big Sunday dinners were a London tradition that I took to the states with me. It was usually just the two of us, so Drew was very excited about the idea of adding another seat at the table. Piers graciously accepted, and I could tell his delight was genuine. It’s these moments when he lets his guard down, he’s not a suit or a mogul. He’s just Piers.

Spending time together Friday, the three of us, gave me a glimpse of what we could be like as a family. It makes my heart hopeful. But then Drew calls Piers by name while calling me mum, and the illusion is shattered by the reminder that he has no idea he should be calling him dad. I see the pain in Piers’ eyes, and I know I’m responsible for putting it there.

We will tell Drew soon, but we’ve agreed it is best not to overwhelm him.

New place.

New city.

New family.

It’s a lot to take in for anyone, especially a five-year-old. Piers and I haven’t had much time alone to discuss how to talk to him about it; hopefully, tonight we can.

I know kids are resilient, but I worry Drew won’t understand why Piers wasn’t there for him. I’m even more afraid that he will hate me when he figures out I kept this secret from him. Piers didn’t exactly have a choice, but I did. The more time we spend in London, the more I fear I made the wrong one. My heart weighs heavy in my chest.

A knock at the door sounds in the hall as I’m making my way from the study back to the kitchen to help Anna with dinner.

She’s been humming to herself all afternoon as she plans for this evening’s dinner, excited at the idea of using the dining room again. “A sign of life in this house,” she sighed while peeling the potatoes for her world famous Shepherd’s Pie.

Opening the door, I find Piers standing on the steps. This time, it’s not shock I’m feeling but something else. A fluttering occurs in my chest, but I lock it away. He’s holding a bouquet and a bottle of wine. “Piers, hello. Please come in.” I can’t help but sweep my eyes down his solid frame. He looks so much more relaxed in a fitted black tee and jeans. More like the Piers I fell for.

A throat clearing breaks through my thoughts, and I blush, suddenly embarrassed by my staring. I step backwards into the house and open the door wider in invitation.

“Thanks.” He follows me in where we awkwardly stand, looking anywhere but at each other. “Smells the same.” He breathes out before opening his eyes and looking at me as I close the door.

“It does.” My smile is weak because the thought is both a happy and sad one. And the look on his face lets me know that he gets it. This was once his home too.

Walking further in, he studies the photos on the entry table. “I always loved this one.” He picks up a photograph. I can’t see which one because his back is to me, but I’m assuming it’s the one of him, Scarlett and Teddy.

“You should take it. Wendy would have wanted you to have it,” I offer sincerely. She loved Piers like he was her own. And in some ways, he was. A link to her past, a past no one ever talked about. There was some history with Piers father...I don’t know all the details, but I do know it was the reason James resented Piers the way he did.

“I couldn’t. It wouldn’t be right.” He turns to me, and I see he’s holding the picture of Wendy and me. “It belongs here.” He sets it back down, and I get the feeling he’s talking about more than a memento.

I simply nod because I know what he means all too well. I notice he’s still holding the flowers and has the bottle tucked under his arm.

“Would you like me to take those and find some water to put them in?” I ask because I don’t know what else to say. Keeping it simple and cordial seems best for now.

“Thank you.” He hands me the bouquet, and shifts the bottle. He seems a little on edge too.

“They’re lovely.” More awkward pleasantries. The wildflower petals tickle my nose as I lean in to smell the gorgeous pastel blooms. “And they smell divine. Thank you.”

“They’re for Ms. Anna,” he blurts out. “And this is for dinner.” He holds up the wine and looks away.

“Oh, of course.” My ears heat with embarrassment for assuming the gesture was for me. I really need to quit assuming where Piers is concerned.

“No, wait. That came out wrong.” He rubs the back of his neck nervously, drawing my attention to his bicep. A bulge his suit jacket must have concealed.

That’s new. I can’t help but stare.

“What?” He looks at me, confusion marring his perfect features.

Did I say that out loud? “Oh, uhh...thank you,” I mumble hoping he buys it.

“Oh, anyways. Uhh, the flowers, a thank you for the scones. It’s not that I wouldn’t have— I mean that you— never mind.” He looks away.

“Piers, really. It’s fine. Why would you bring me flowers?” I attempt to lighten the mood. “Seriously. I get it. Trust me, no romantic notions here.” I just keep sticking my foot in it.

“Where is Drew?” He thankfully changes the subject and sticks his hand in his pocket, pulling out a small brown paper wrapped package. “I picked up a little something for him.”

“He’s in the study, building and tearing down London, one block at a time.” I nearly motion down the hall before catching my mistake. He lived here too, once upon a time.

“I’ll just take the wine to the kitchen to let it breathe before dinner,” I offer, and he hands me the bottle. Not sure what else to say, I politely excuse myself to go help Anna. Stupid me. Get a grip. He’s here for Drew. Not you.

“Willow?” he calls after me.

“Yes?” I plaster a fake smile on and turn at the sound of his voice.

“If they were for you, they would have been roses and peonies,” he informs me, and my heart melts a little that he remembers. “Blush and sterling,” he adds, and I just keep smiling at him, feeling like my face might crack, until he turns to go to the study.

Taking a deep breath, I walk in the kitchen and hand Anna the flowers before setting the bottle down with a little clank. “Compliments of Piers,” I tell her.

“Awe, how lovely. I figured that’s who was at the door.” She smells the colorful blooms while I reach under the sink in search of a vase. “Are you certain they are for me?”

“That’s what he said,” I tell her, filling the crystal vase with water and placing it next to where she’s standing.

“Did you want them to be for you?” she pries, a smile teasing at the corner of her lips.

“Why would I?” I retort, crossing my arms over my chest, studying the kitchen, loving how light and airy it is with all the whitewashed wood and stainless steel. A perfect blend of old and new.

“Why wouldn’t you?” she presses, pulling me from my attempt to ignore her suggestion while fussing over arranging the flowers in the vase.

“He’s here for Drew. A nice family dinner. That’s ALL.” I stress the last part as my eyes fall downward, looking at the aged dark wood floor like maybe I’ll find the answers there.

“Are you sure that’s all?” she questions. How could I forget how well she knows me?

“Yes. That’s all.” My gaze comes back up to meet hers, but I see she’s busy opening the oven to check her Shepherd’s pie. She’s made her point.

Is that all?

§

PIERS

Heading for the study in the west part of the house, my footsteps echo on the wood floor. Walking down the hall brings back so many memories. Little vagabonds, cast aside and left behind...the lost boys and girls who found a home in this castle of sorts.

When I first came here with my dad, and I saw this place, I was speechless. It looked like something from a fairytale. A large gate, tree lined drive with a massive stone structure surrounded by gardens. I remember thinking, where is the mote? A garden full of flowers, ponds for splashing, trees for climbing.

For a while, it was just me and my dad. I never knew my mum. From what I’ve heard, she wasn’t very respectable, left me with my dad and took off when I was just two. I don’t really remember her, which should cause me some type of heartache, but it doesn’t. How can you mourn for something that you never knew you lost? Now, my father is another story; I was so angry at him for so long. Angry that he left me, and then when he never came back, I thought I must’ve done something wrong. And I remember Wendy was so sad, which made James furious. I was scared she would blame me and send me away.

Just the opposite. She kept me as her own. She loved me, taught me, nurtured me and pushed me. Years later, I learned that my father’s boat was in a tragic accident while out to sea. Wendy made me realize I hadn’t done anything to make him leave. He was trying to build a better life for us. As an adult, I can understand that; as a child, they were just empty words.

Stopping at the study door, I hear the sound of wooden blocks hitting together. I pause and listen to his little mind at work as he builds and talks to himself. I just pray that Drew won’t feel about me the way I felt about my father.

“Piers! You’re here!” He spies me in the doorway and runs to greet me. My heart nearly stops. He doesn’t even know he’s mine yet, and he’s already so enthusiastic about us spending time together. He gives me hope that once he finds out, he’ll still feel the same.

“Hey, Drew? What’ve you got going on here?” Walking towards him, I meet him halfway and look at the study floor, littered with blocks.

“I’m building bridges!” He jumps up and down, curly hair flopping in his eyes. “I told my mum I couldn’t wait for you to get here because I bet you’re really good at building bridges!”

I’m at a loss for words. He looks at me, up to me, with such wonder it makes me stand a little taller. I want to be better for him. For Willow. To show them I’m the kinda guy that they need me to be.

“Well? Are you?” he asks impatiently as I kneel beside him on the rug.

“Exceptional,” I answer, and his smile grows wider.

“I knew it! I told mum, building bridges is guys’ work.” I hold in my laughter. I’m sure that went over well. She’s as strong and independent as they come. Not to be labeled as delicate or incapable.

“Yeah? And what’d your mum have to say?” I chuckle as he resumes building.

“She said totally guy stuff,” he informs me as he hands me a pile of wooden cylinders.

“Did you do much guy stuff back home? In the States?” I tread lightly, knowing it’s wrong to ask but selfishly seeking an answer.

“In the US? The United States of America?” he clarifies...clever boy. A bit cheeky even.

Smiling, I answer him. “Yes.”

“Nope, no guy stuff. Just me and mum. I don’t have a dad.” His voice is sad, and I instantly regret bringing it up. “My mum doesn’t have a dad. I’ve got a really cool Uncle John, who sends me postcards from all around the world. But he’s much too busy digging up bones to be building bridges.” He talks as he works.

That must be Wendy’s other sibling. I vaguely remember meeting him once.

“These are to make the poles for the base of the bridge,” Drew explains, referring to the blocks he handed me. He goes on to coach me through the building of the bridge.

He’s actually very quiet while concentrating, only pausing to talk when he’s giving me instruction. It would seem building bridges is serious business.

I notice he squints a little, and his tongue barely pokes out beyond his lip; and his little nose wrinkles up, much like Willow’s when she’s deep in thought.

When it’s all done, we lean back and appraise our handiwork. He looks rather pleased with himself and looks to me for approval.

“Well.” I hold my chin between my thumb and index finger, pretending to be deep in thought. I turn my head this way and that. I notice he’s mimicking me now, and more pride fills the empty spaces in my heart. “I just think maybe it’s missing a little something.”

“What? What’s it missing?” He’s very flustered, so I quickly put him at ease.

“I think maybe this will do the trick,” I tell him, placing the small brown package in his hand.

He looks up at me like I just handed him the whole world. “This? What’s this? A present?”

I nod, overcome with emotion that comes with giving a gift and the sheer joy it brings. It’s like seeing through the eyes of a child again.

“For me? But it’s not even my birthday,” he argues.

“It’s a welcome to London present. Now, go on then. Open it up, and let’s see what it is.” I encourage him and he tears into the package, revealing a tiny die-cast replica of a red, double-decker bus.

“Oh wow!” He jumps up and down before throwing his tiny arms around my neck and squeezing tightly. “Thank you! Thank you!”

The force of the hug nearly knocks me over, both literally and figuratively.

“You’re welcome, lad.” I wrap my arms around him, hugging him back. While I hold him in my arms, I feel a pain deep in my chest. My heart, which has been hardened for so long, is cracking wide open for this amazing child. This piece of me. My son.

Hearing a gasp at the doorway, I glance up to find Willow watching us with tears in her eyes and her hand covering her mouth.

“Thank. You.” I mouth because no other words seem fitting. Because she has given me the greatest gift of all.