HANNAH

He chose her.

It was all I could think.

He’d had to choose, and he chose her.

All night long, that thought pummeled my brain like a heavyweight champion, keeping me awake. While I was glad Wes had friends who were supportive, Lenore had forced him to choose between us, and he chose her.

Just like that, my fears were magnified. Multiplied. Intensified.

Maybe she really was going to re-examine her feelings about Wes and me—I had my doubts—but she’d scored a massive victory over me in the process. And Wes had delivered it. It felt like a crushing blow.

How could I have trusted him with my heart? What was I going to do now that he had it? Could I get it back somehow?

I must have fallen asleep eventually, because I woke from a terrible nightmare around five a.m. It was one from the nightmare grab bag I’d suffered in the months immediately following Drew’s heart attack, the one where I’m trapped in a closet being suffocated by someone or something I can’t see, or by darkness itself.

When I opened my eyes, I was shaking and panting, drenched in sweat. My pulse thundered in my ears. I couldn’t catch my breath.

I got out of bed and checked on Abby, who was sleeping peacefully. I was tempted to crawl into bed with her, but didn’t want to disturb her slumber. Back in my room, I changed the sheets, put on new pajamas, and attempted sleep again, but I only managed another forty-five minutes before my alarm went off.

I dragged myself out of bed and skipped the shower, throwing on jeans and an old sweatshirt before waking up Abby for school. Now that it was October, the inn didn’t need me during the week. After half a pot of coffee I felt a little better, and I spent the morning putting together recipes for the inn cookbook and trying to come up with blog post ideas. When it was clear creativity had abandoned me in the wake of a near-sleepless night, I went back to bed and buried myself in the covers.

It felt all too familiar, and it terrified me further.

Around two, I forced myself to get out of bed and go downstairs. When I checked my phone, I noticed I’d missed a call from Abby’s school and had voicemail. Immediately, my sense of dread deepened.

“Hello Mrs. Parks, this is Abby’s teacher, Kim Lowry. I’m a little concerned about Abby and wanted to touch base with you about something that happened today. I wondered if you might be available after school for a brief meeting? Give me a call back, please.” She recited her number and thanked me before hanging up.

My stomach roiled as I imagined what could have happened at school to concern her teacher. My hands shook as I called her back. My voice trembled as I left a message saying yes, I would be there after school and thank you for calling.

I ended the call and set my phone down, lowering myself onto a kitchen chair. For several minutes I sat there staring into space, feeling as if I were getting smaller and smaller and everything around me was getting bigger. The kitchen was cavernous. My house was enormous. The world was monstrously huge and spinning out of control. I couldn’t hold on.

I shut my eyes and flattened my palms on the table. Stay calm. You can handle this. Whatever it is, you can handle it.

After a few deep breaths, I went upstairs and took a shower.

* * *

“Mrs. Parks. Thank you for coming.” Mrs. Lowry smiled at me, but it was the kind of smile you gave someone you felt sorry for, the kind where your eyes say you poor thing.

I didn’t want her sympathy. “Of course.”

“Please sit.” She gestured to one of five big round tables in the room, which were surrounded by chairs sized for kindergarteners. I chose a seat, and she took one across from me, smoothing her skirt behind her legs before she sat down. She was older than me, maybe in her fifties, with chin-length blond hair she kept off her face with a headband and tortoise shell glasses. “I wanted to talk to you about something Abby did today.”

I glanced at the classroom door, which was closed. Abby was sitting right outside of it at a little table in the hall, coloring a picture of a butterfly Mrs. Lowry had given her. “What did she do?”

“She tried to kiss a male classmate. On the lips.”

“She did?”

“Yes. The classmate was less than pleased, shall we say.”

I pictured a six-year-old boy spitting and wiping his mouth on his sleeve to get the cooties off. “Right. Um, I’m sorry about that. Abby is an affectionate person.”

“Yes, well, it goes a little deeper than that, I’m afraid.” Mrs. Lowry adjusted her glasses. “Afterward, when I was explaining to Abby why we don’t kiss our friends at school, she told me that it’s okay to kiss your good friends.”

“Oh, no.” All at once, I saw where this was going.

Mrs. Lowry went on. “She said that her mom and her uncle are good friends and sometimes kiss. She also told the class today that your uncle can be your dad if he marries your mom.”

I closed my eyes. “Did she?”

“Yes. And that she hoped her uncle would marry her mom so he could be her dad. As you can imagine, the children were quite confused by all this, and there was some arguing.”

“I can imagine.”

She paused. “Mrs. Parks, I know only a little about your family, and I’m still getting to know Abby, of course, but is there anything you’d like to share with me that might help me understand her a little better?”

I fortified myself with a deep breath and sat up taller in the little chair. “Abby’s father died when she was three. Recently her father’s identical twin brother returned to town after years away. He’d been in Africa with Doctors Without Borders,” I explained. “Anyway, his return has caused some confusion for Abby.”

Mrs. Lowry nodded. “I’m sure.”

“Uh, in addition,” I went on, wishing I could crawl under the table, “Abby evidently witnessed some…displays of affection between her uncle and me.”

“I see.” And I judge, her tone said.

I shifted in the little chair. “Without going into anything too personal, I’ll simply say that Abby’s uncle and I are very close, and Abby harbors hope that we might someday get married.”

“Is this a possibility?”

“I’m—I’m not sure.” Don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry. I steadied myself with another deep breath. “We’ve sort of placed things on hold for now. As you might imagine, certain family members are not supportive of our relationship.”

“Indeed.” She clasped her hands primly on the table.

“Yesterday, her grandmother told her it was wrong, using words like vile and shameful. And even though she likely doesn’t understand those words, she does understand that her grandmother was saying that something Abby wants is bad and can’t happen, and that the…the affection she senses between her uncle and me is wrong.”

“That must have been very difficult for her.”

“Yes. She was very upset. So later, when she asked me if what her Nana said was true, I said it wasn’t. I wanted her to know the truth. But I also didn’t want to give her false hope, so I told her that even though it wouldn’t be wrong for her uncle and I to get married, as of now we are just good friends.”

“Ah.” Mrs. Lowry nodded. “Good friends. Now I understand.”

“I’m very sorry about what happened today, and I will of course speak to her about it and…try to further clarify things.”

“I think that would be a good idea.”

“I’ll also ask her not to talk about this at school anymore, but of course, she’s six. I can’t promise she won’t.”

“I understand.” Her eyes dropped to her clasped hands. “Mrs. Parks, I appreciate your candor in this situation. I know it can’t be easy for you.”

I shook my head, praying I could at least get to the car before I broke down. “It isn’t.”

“Abby is a very sweet girl.”

“Thank you.” I sniffed. “I never wanted to be a single parent. I’m doing the best I can.”

“That’s all anyone can ask,” she said. “Thank you for coming in today.”

I nodded and stood up. “Please let me know if you have any further concerns.”

“Will do.”

I collected Abby in the hall, and we walked to the car. It had finally stopped raining, but the air was damp and chilly, and I shivered as we crossed the parking lot. “Brrr. Cold today, isn’t it?”

“Yeah.” She swung her lunch bag back and forth. “Did Mrs. Lowry tell you about the kiss?”

So much for opening with the weather. “Yes. She did.”

“It was Robert. He didn’t like it very much.”

“That doesn’t mean he doesn’t like you, Abby. But six-year-old boys don’t really want to be kissed by girls.” We reached the car, and I unlocked it. “And kissing isn’t allowed at school.”

“Okay.” She climbed in and I buckled her seatbelt.

“So you know not to do that again, right?” I asked.

“Yeah.” She was silent on the ride home, but as soon as I pulled into the garage, she said, “Kids at my school say your uncle can’t marry your mom. You said it was okay.”

“I did,” I said carefully, “but only in certain situations. And even then, it’s very, very unusual.”

“Oh.”

“And it’s not really something you should talk about at school, okay? It’s a grownup thing.”

“Okay.”

We went inside and I got her a snack, which she ate at the kitchen table. I made a cup of tea and sat with her, asking her about her day and what she’d learned. She seemed unscathed by the incident at school, which was more than I could say for myself. I couldn’t help seeing it as part of a larger pattern indicating my life was off track somehow, another sign that I was making bad choices, fucking things up.

While Abby was at gymnastics class, I called Tess, but it went to voicemail. I thought about calling Margot or Georgia, but I didn’t want to bother them. I wanted to call Wes, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it. I didn’t want to be dependent on him, and besides, he’d only tell me everything was going to be fine, when really, he didn’t know that at all. No one did.

But when he called me later that night, I answered. It was almost ten, and I’d just gotten in bed.

“Hello?”

“Hey, you.”

I hadn’t heard his voice all day, and I’d missed it. I didn’t want to miss it. “Hi.”

“How was your day?”

“It was okay.” I told him about the incident with Abby at school.

He found it much more amusing than I did, chuckling a little. “She actually tried to kiss the kid?”

“Yes. It’s not funny, Wes. She’s still confused. And she’s talking about us at school.”

“So what? What do we care what a bunch of kindergarteners think?”

He’s dismissing my feelings. “What about her teacher?”

“What about her? Sounds like she just wanted some background on Abby so she could better understand the situation.”

“You weren’t there. She was judging me,” I snapped.

“What did she say that was judgmental?”

I couldn’t think of anything, and it made me angry. “It was the way she was looking at me.”

“Hannah, are you sure this isn’t all in your head?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I mean that you’re so hard on yourself. You think people are judging you, but no one judges you more harshly than you do, whether it’s your body or your feelings for me or your parenting.”

Was he right? Was I overreacting? Making more out of everything than I needed to? Somehow the notion only made me feel more insecure.

“Don’t do that,” I said. “Don’t make me feel like I can’t tell what’s real. I know what I feel.”

“I’m sorry. I don’t mean to discount your feelings. I’m only trying to look at the bright side. Abby tried to kiss someone, not punch him. She did it to show him she likes him, not to be mean. I can think of a lot worse things a kid could do.”

“But what about arguing with her classmates about uncles and moms getting married?” I wouldn’t be talked out of this. Everything was terrible, and I couldn’t fix any of it. “Don’t you think that means she’s still confused?”

“No. I think it means she listened to what you said yesterday, and she trusts you. Frankly, I’d be more worried if she went around telling kids what my mom said.”

I squeezed my eyes shut. What he was saying made sense, but this thing in me, this ever-present pit of fear and doubt, refused to let up.

“Hannah? You there?” Wes said.

“Yes. I’m here. I’m just—frustrated.”

“With what?”

“With my feelings. I get what you’re saying, but it’s not enough to convince me I’m not doomed to fail at everything.”

“You’re not.”

“Or fucking up my kid.”

“You’re not.”

“Or being punished for the way I feel about you.”

“You’re not. Hannah, what is this about? I feel like this is more than just concern over Abby.”

It’s about the promises you can’t keep, the lies we told ourselves, the choices you made.

It’s about being scared you’ll break me, when I’ve been broken before.

It’s about the fear of loving you too much, of being unable to live without you. I’m powerless, don’t you see?

“It’s nothing.” My throat was thick. “I guess I just had a bad day.”

“I wish I was there so badly.”

I nodded, tears burning my eyes. “Me too.” But part of me was glad he wasn’t. I can’t let him fool me anymore.

“Can I see you tomorrow?”

“I don’t know, Wes.”

“Please. I need to see you.”

I wanted to say yes, but what was the point? “Not tomorrow. I need more time.”

He sighed. “Okay. If that’s what you want.”

It wasn’t. Of course it wasn’t. I wanted him to get in his fucking car and drive over here and make me believe that love could win. But he couldn’t. No one could.

“It is.” My heart ached horribly in my chest, and I wanted to cry so damn badly.

He was silent a moment. “Okay. I love you, Hannah. So much it hurts.”

I nodded, the tears finally spilling over. “Me too.”

* * *

Tuesday was miserable. Wednesday was worse. Without work I had nothing to distract me. I spent both days lying in bed feeling sorry for myself and wondering if I’d made the biggest mistake of my life by falling for Wes, or if I’d make it by walking away. I thought the days to myself would help me see the answer, but they didn’t. And I missed him terribly. He was at once the only person who could make me feel better and the cause of my anguish.

Wednesday night I got myself together enough to go to Wine with Widows at Tess’s house, but I was almost sorry I did, because all of us were having a bad week. Tess’s sister had been diagnosed with breast cancer, Grace was struggling with the anniversary of her boyfriend’s death, Anne’s cat had had to be put down—the one her husband had gotten her for her last birthday before he died. When it was my turn to speak, I admitted to what had been going on with Wes, but said I was struggling with it because his mother disapproved so strongly. We tried to comfort each other, but it was hard not to leave the meeting wondering at the frailty of life and the futility of love.

I thought about calling my therapist, whom I hadn’t seen since August, but I was embarrassed by the setback and knew she’d only tell me this was all in my head, just like Wes had.

But it wasn’t. It wasn’t.

On Thursday morning the piano was delivered, and I sat there staring at it for an hour, marveling that it had only been five days ago that we’d shopped for it. I’d been so hopeful that day.

I was so desperate for some distraction, I called Georgia to see if they needed me at the inn, by any chance.

“We don’t, but are you okay? You don’t sound too good.”

I didn’t want to worry her, but suddenly the truth came out. “No. I’m not. I kind of feel like I’m losing my mind.”

“Whoa. Is it Wes? Or something else?”

“It’s everything, but I think it’s stemming from what’s going on with Wes.”

“Want to talk about it?”

I bit my lip. “You can’t talk. You’re at work.”

“True, but why don’t we meet up later for a drink or something?”

“I’d have to see if I can get a sitter.”

“Do it. I’ll check with Pete and make sure he can watch Cooper. Should I invite Margot?”

“Sure. I’m open to all advice.”

I called my sitter and she said she could do it, so I texted Georgia I could make it work. About twenty minutes later, she replied.

Great. I’m in, and Margot is too. Let’s try the new martini bar downtown. With a Twist. About 5?

Sure, I texted back. See you there.

* * *

“So what happened?” Georgia asked. We were sitting in a small, round booth at the back of the bar, which was small, dimly lit, and not very busy. Truthfully, I wasn’t sure how well a martini bar was going to do around here, but it was a nice place, cozy and romantic. Even the music was perfect, the old standards I loved. If Wes and I could ever be seen on a date together, it would be the perfect spot.

“A lot.” I picked up my Lemon Drop and took a sip. “And none of it good.”

“But it was going so well, I thought,” Margot despaired. She looked right at home in this kind of bar with her elegant blond blowout and perfect red lips. She was drinking a martini that looked ominously clear, and pretty simple, considering the amount of instructions she’d given the server on how the bartender should make it.

“It was. But then it all went to hell.” I told them what had happened, starting with the gossipy texts I’d gotten Saturday night.

Margot rolled her eyes. “So tacky. Do not pay those people any mind.”

“I could probably tune them out, but Lenore is a little louder.” I explained what had happened with Abby and Wes at the breakfast table, and their eyes grew wide.

“Wow,” said Georgia. “We should have asked for a double shot in your drink.”

“I totally panicked I was the world’s worst mother, and then Lenore basically made me feel that way when I went over there to get Abby. And she suggested that I don’t really love Wes, that I was just substituting him for Drew. And that he doesn’t really love me, he just likes to take care of people with wounds.”

Margot raised one sculpted eyebrow. “There’s a word I’d like to call her, but I won’t.”

“But wait, there’s more.” I took a drink before continuing with the birthday dinner, the kissing episode at school, and the conversation with Wes Monday night. “And that was the last time I spoke to him.”

“Holy shit.” Georgia sat back. “That is a lot to deal with. No wonder you’re not okay.”

Propping my elbows on the table, I rested my forehead on my hands. “I don’t know what to do, you guys. I’m in love with him, but it’s hopeless.”

“Why are you so convinced it can’t work?” Margot was looking at me curiously. “I totally get that it won’t be easy, and you’re definitely having a really bad week, but why is it hopeless?”

I dropped my eyes to the napkin under my drink. “I don’t know. It’s just how I feel.”

“Is it his mother?”

“Mostly,” I admitted. “She’s never going to accept us. I know her.”

“So what?” Georgia shrugged. “That will be her loss, won’t it? If Wes loves you, he’ll choose you.”

“But he didn’t,” I said, tears filling my eyes. “He didn’t choose me, remember? He told Lenore she could have him to herself on his birthday, even though he said he wants me to be there. And I know it’s just one night, but it’s an important night in all our lives, because it was Drew’s birthday too. She’s doing this on purpose to hurt me, and he’s letting her.”

Margot sighed. “Men can be so clueless. Did you tell him how you felt?”

“Not exactly.”

“Well, maybe you should. Maybe he doesn’t realize how much it hurt your feelings.”

“But I’m afraid.” I didn’t want to ruin my eye makeup, but tears began to fall. “What if he still sides with her? What if he doesn’t love me enough? What if I jinxed myself the moment I fell for him?”

Georgia looked confused. “Jinxed yourself?”

“Yes. After I lost Drew, I swore that I’d never love anyone like that again. Because it tricks you. It makes you feel like you can do anything, but secretly it makes you weak.” The tears were really flowing now, and I dug in my purse for a tissue.

“Love makes you vulnerable,” Margot said. “There’s a difference. Here.” She handed me a handkerchief with a little monogrammed M on it.

“Thanks.” I cleaned up my face the best I could, soiling the white cotton with snot and tears and mascara. “Can I keep this and give it back after I wash it?”

“Of course. I have tons.”

I dabbed at my eyes again. “I hate to be so fatalistic about love. But I can’t help it. After what I’ve been through, I don’t know any other way to be. And I feel like all the bad things happening to me are giant signposts saying, Warning! Danger ahead! Turn back now! Point of no return!”

Margot sighed. “Have I ever told you how hard Jack fought me when we first met?”

“No.”

“Oh boy,” said Georgia, picking up her drink.

“What happened?” I asked.

“Well, I’m sure you’ve heard that Jack was married before me. Her name was Stephanie, and she was killed by a drunk driver shortly after they were married.”

“I’d heard that,” I said quietly.

“After losing Steph, Jack was miserable and determined to stay miserable. When I came along three years later, he was flat-out rude to me. I mean Grade A dickhead. Category five asshole. But he felt like he had to be. It was his defense mechanism. Underneath all that broody bluster, he was scared to let me in.” She leaned forward. “I think your giant signposts are exactly that—a defense mechanism. Jack wasn’t really an asshole, and you’re not really doomed to heartbreak. But you tell yourself that you are to lessen the chances of life pulling the rug out from under you again. You stay off the rug altogether.”

I frowned. It felt like Margot was saying the same thing Wes had—I was imagining things. “But I feel it in my gut,” I insisted. “Wes and I will never be happy.”

“Your gut is telling you that?” Georgia asked. “I don’t think it’s your gut.”

“I don’t either.” Margot shook her head. “I think it’s your head.

I thought about it and agreed my head was definitely a problem. “You could be right. There is a lot of doubt swimming around in there.”

“When you look at Wes, or think of him, is your first reaction love or fear?” Margot asked.

I pictured him. “Love.”

Georgia pointed at me. “There’s your gut.”

“And your heart,” Margot added. “You just have to figure out a way to overrule your head. Stop looking at everything as a sign of doom.”

“But I could get hurt.” My chest grew tight at the thought of it.

“Yes, you could. And you might.” Margot grabbed my hand and squeezed it. “Love is a risk, Hannah. But it’s always a risk worth taking.”

Deep down, I wanted to believe her. Because I ached for Wes. He had my heart and I wanted his. And I wanted to be the kind of person who lived life fully and didn’t let fear hold her back. But could I be that brave? “I just don’t know if I have it in me.”

“You do,” they said together, then laughed.

I smiled too, despite the tears, and made my decision. “Thanks, you guys. I’m going to call him when I get home.”

“Good girl,” said Margot.

“Cheers,” said Georgia, holding up her glass. “To love.”

“To love,” echoed Margot and I as we clinked glasses.

One more chance, I told myself. I’d give love one more chance to prove it could overcome all the odds stacked against us.

Ten minutes later, that chance went up in smoke.