ELLIE
TODAY WAS TOBY’S last day here with me in New York. He didn’t want to go, and I didn’t want him to, but he’d only managed to arrange a week’s worth of cover at the pub. It had been great having him here; he took my mind—well, all of our minds—off the horrible situation we were in. Having him here to support me relieved some of the pressure.
Of course, he’d managed to charm my nana to the point where she was baking his favorite foods every day, and he even managed to bring my sister out of her shell by teaching her some rhyming slang. Toby had a heart of gold, and I absolutely did not want to watch him jet off and leave me.
During the limited downtime we’d had since the funeral, we’d tried to show him some of the sights. Monday we’d gone to the Empire State Building, Times Square, Rockefeller Center, and Central Park. Yesterday we’d caught a Broadway show. Today was the big one, though, the one he was really looking forward to—Lady Liberty. When given the choice of all the things he could do while here, he put that at the absolute top of his list. Not because it was a historical landmark or anything like that; no, it was because the Ghostbusters had made the thing come to life with pink slime and walk through the streets to the tune of “(Your Love Keeps Lifting Me) Higher and Higher.” I was engaged to a geek.
It was early by the time we arrived at Battery Park and stood in the security line waiting for the ferry to start operating for the day. Unfortunately, because we hadn’t booked weeks in advance, we couldn’t go into the crown, but Toby was still as giddy as a child waiting in line to meet a department store Santa.
“Queue selfie,” Toby said, whipping out his phone. “I’m gonna send this to my mum, she’ll be well jel.”
I smiled and leaned in next to him, sticking out my tongue at the last second and giggling when he poked me in the side with one finger. He draped his arm across my shoulder and looked out over the water. “This is great. I’m gutted that this is my last day, I don’t want to leave you.” He turned back to me, his mouth turning down in a frown as he pulled me closer to his body.
“I don’t want you to leave, either,” I mumbled, pressing my face into the side of his neck and breathing him in. His flight was at six p.m., and he had to be there a couple of hours before, so we only had a few hours left together. I was making them all count.
Once the ferry opened, the line moved pretty quickly and we were over at the island in no time. Toby got more and more excited as time passed; his little face lit up when we approached the statue and he shielded his eyes, leaning back to look all the way to the top. We took no end of selfies. After an age of exploring and just sitting and appreciating the vast beauty of the statue, Toby started humming the theme song from Ghostbusters, and the forty-or-so-year-old man next to him with the expensive camera hanging around his neck laughed and hummed along, too.
It was official: Toby could make friends anywhere, without even saying a word.
“How many times you seen the Statue of Liberty, then? Bet you’re bored of it, aren’t you?” Toby asked, leaning his head on my shoulder, his arms wrapped around my tummy as he pressed against my back.
I smiled. “Lots and lots,” I replied, turning in his arms so we were face-to-face. “But I can honestly say I’ve never enjoyed it as much as today.” Seeing it through his eyes, how excited and impressed he was, it made me appreciate it on a whole new level.
When my stomach growled, ruining the sweet moment, he grinned. “How about we raid the gift shop and then go get some lunch? Can’t ’ave you getting hangry, can I?”
I nodded. “You wouldn’t like me when I’m hangry.”
“Sweetheart, I’ve seen it. It was truly terrifying.”
Once loaded up with snow globes that he’d never be able to get home in one piece, key rings, bottle openers, and notebooks decorated with Lady Liberty, we hopped back on a ferry and over to the mainland. I led him to a great pizza restaurant I knew and came to often with Stacey.
As soon as we stepped into the restaurant, my mouth was watering at all the delicious smells wafting through the air. It was just before twelve and the place was heaving with people already. I took Toby’s hand, tugging him to the counter so we could order. His eyes widened as he looked at all the precooked pizzas in the glass case under the heat lamp.
“Bloody ’ell, they’re ruddy ’uge!”
I laughed and sidestepped when the person in front of me turned, carrying his food. “What do you want?” I asked Toby before turning my attention to the young pimple-faced server. “Hi, can I get a slice of pepperoni and a Diet Coke?” I turned to Toby, waiting for him to add his order.
“Same, thanks,” he muttered, watching the server put two ginormous slices of pizza into the oven to reheat, before turning to make our drinks. When the hot slices were laid onto paper plates and pushed toward us, the pure want in Toby’s eyes made me smile.
“I’ll get these, I got loads of dollars left to use,” Toby said, waving me off when I dug in my purse to get some money out. I smiled at Toby and picked up the two plates of food, being careful that the flimsy paper plates didn’t bend as I walked to an empty booth at the back of the restaurant.
I slid in, the plastic-covered cushion squeaking under my behind. Moments later Toby came over with the two drinks, pushing one to me as he sat down on the opposite side. “You been in ’ere before?” he asked, tugging his plate toward him.
I nodded, picking up my drink and taking a pull on the straw. “Yeah, Stacey and I used to come in here when we were shopping and stuff.”
Toby nodded absentmindedly, his hand reaching out to the napkin dispenser and moving it, looking behind it, a frown on his face. “Where’s the cutlery?”
I grinned and shook my head. “You’re in New York, you have to eat like one of us. Pick it up, you pansy.”
His frown deepened. Toby’s mama raised him right, and I’d never seen him eat pizza without a knife and fork. “Really?” He picked up his pizza with one hand and it immediately flopped over, drooping toward the plate. He frowned, using his other hand to straighten it so he could take a bite from the end.
“You British people suck at pizza,” I joked, winking at him. “Fold it.” I picked up my slice, folding the two sides together and taking a rather large bite, the greasy cheese hitting my tongue and making me groan in appreciation.
He grunted. “American weirdos.” He did as I did, folding his slice and taking a massive bite, his eyes closing as he savored the flavor. I smiled, chewing slowly, glancing around at the busyness of the place. “It’s official, New York ’as ruined me for English pizzas. From now on all pizzas will be compared to this,” Toby announced, instantly taking another huge bite. “It’s so good,” he muttered, his mouth still full as his shoulders sagged in appreciation.
“Much better than that gross pie and mash with the green stuff you Londoners call good food,” I agreed. I’d never seen the attraction to the pie and mash shop that Toby raved about—the mash was stodgy and had no butter, the pie was all flat and had a weird pastry, and to top it off, they covered the whole thing in some sort of strange parsley sauce that they called liquor. If that didn’t turn your stomach, most people then added vinegar to their food, too. Disgusting.
“Oi, don’t knock the pie ’n’ mash shops,” Toby replied, raising one eyebrow in playful reprimand.
I grinned and chewed in silence, and then the conversation turned to the inevitable—him going home. We’d both been ignoring it all morning.
“Ellie, I’m really sorry I can’t stay longer. I feel like a right muppet going ’ome and leaving you on your own,” he said, taking a large bite of his pizza.
“I’m not alone, I’ll be fine. Promise.”
He nodded, setting down the crust of his pizza and sitting back to rub his stomach in appreciation. “So ’ow long do you reckon you’ll need to be ’ere? Should I start planning another flight over and arranging cover for in a couple of weeks’ time, or do you think you’ll be ’ome by then?” he asked, watching me carefully.
I wasn’t sure we were ready to talk about this, or that we were ready to deal with it once we said the words.
“I’m not sure. Toby, I...” I swallowed and dropped my eyes to my plate, wiping my fingers on the napkin, no longer in the mood for food. My stomach clenched, a sense of dread and trepidation settling there. “I don’t know what’s going to happen. If my mom doesn’t wake up...” I closed my eyes, hating that I now doubted she would, but it had been a week and a half; her chances were slim. “There’s Kelsey to think about,” I finished.
He nodded, tapping one finger on the table, clearly unnerved by the direction this conversation was taking, too. “If the worst ’appens and your mom doesn’t wake, what will you do?”
Hating the nervousness in his voice, I looked up at him. “I’ll be Kelsey’s guardian,” I whispered. I wouldn’t leave her again. I’d promised.
He nodded slowly and sat back in the booth; his posture seemed deliberately relaxed, like he was working to make it that way. “And do you think she’d want to come to England?”
I blew out a slow breath. I hadn’t spoken to her about it because that would mean admitting that I had doubts about our mother’s survival, but I didn’t think she would want to. It would mean giving up her friends, her home, her education, all to follow her sister to a foreign land where she didn’t know anyone. I was almost certain, without having to ask, that wouldn’t be something she would want to do at all. And I would never make her. This was her home; I had no right to make her leave it for my own personal gain.
“I don’t think so,” I muttered.
His eye twitched and his Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed. “I don’t think she would, either.”
“Would you move here?” I asked, but deep down I already knew the answer. Toby had his kids at home, he was a great dad, he loved having his kids as much as possible, and he would never move to another country. And, to be honest, I wouldn’t really want him to. I loved his kids too, and I would never want to deprive them of him.
He shifted on the bench, his shoulders hunching as he leaned forward and took my hand on the tabletop. His eyes narrowed in apology, his mouth tight. “Ellie, I...I got the boys,” he whispered.
I nodded quickly. “I know.”
He blew out a big breath and raked a hand through his hair roughly. “I’m not sure where it would leave us. We’d ’ave to find some sort of middle ground, compromise, if there is any.”
There was no middle ground here—we both knew it, but neither of us wanted to say it. “Long-distance relationships...they don’t work,” I muttered, my voice breaking as I spoke. My heart was sinking, sadness already building in my chest.
Toby swallowed and my words hung in the air for a long minute as we just looked at each other silently. He was a smart man; he knew the score and what this meant.
Suddenly he shook his head and his hand tightened on mine, squeezing gently. “Look, let’s not get our knickers in a twist ’bout it now. We’re worrying ’bout something that may never ’appen. Your mum could wake any day, and then once she was better, she’d be able to take care of Kelsey and you could come ’ome.”
Home. The word made me feel worse because now that I was back here, I already knew I was home. I’d just been fooling myself in England, hiding from my problems, trying to be a different version of myself. Now that I was back, after losing my dad and all that we were going through with my mom, I knew, deep down, that I didn’t want to leave them again, even if my mom did recover. I’d left before and wasted time I could have had with my family. I wanted to be near them again, be here for them, always. But that meant that I couldn’t be near Toby. It was a horrible choice, but one my heart and soul had already made, however much it hurt. And I think he knew it, too. His eyes held mine, his gaze understanding, but I could see the pain there.
Toby cleared his throat awkwardly. “Let’s just stick a pin in it for now. We’ll cross that bridge if we come to it. Your mum might be fine, and then we’re getting all worried over nothing. It’s another day’s problem.” His tone held forced cheer that I could detect a mile off.
He knew, he just didn’t want to admit it. Neither of us did. We’d had a good thing, and with one accident and phone call, our relationship was basically destroyed. We could never go back to what we’d had, and that was like a punch to the stomach.
I forced a smile too, trying to make it look genuine as I nodded. “Yeah, we’ll just focus on now and see what happens,” I agreed. I checked my watch, seeing it was almost one. “We’d better go.”
After taking another swig of his drink, he nodded and stood, picking up the bag containing his souvenirs and then holding his hand out to me. I smiled and slipped my hand into his larger one, stepping to his side and following him out of the restaurant and down the busy street toward the bus stop.
The ride back to my house was mostly silent apart from the low rumble of the engine and the soft chatter of the other passengers. It was a little awkward. We were both hurting, but instead of confiding in each other, we were both choosing to deal with it separately.
When we arrived home, Toby packed the snow globes and other trinkets into his case and then said his good-byes to my family. My nana looked extremely sorry to see him go; he had definitely won her over in a short space of time. Kelsey hugged him tightly and told him to make sure to call or there would be “ruddy ’ell to pay”—she’d definitely mastered the English terms. I watched it all with a lump in my throat. I watched how easily he conversed with my loved ones and how much camaraderie he had with my little sister, and my heart started to break. I blinked back tears, sorrow and despondency swirling in my stomach.
“Ready?” I asked, clearing my throat.
He turned back to me and nodded. “Yeah.” He turned back to my nana and smiled that charming lopsided smile that made his eyes crinkle at the edges. “Thanks for ’aving me. And for packing me food for the flight.” He patted his flight bag and grinned.
“You’re welcome, dear. You come back soon, all right?” Nana said, leaning in and planting another kiss on his cheek. I walked out of the house, heading to my car, needing to be away from their final good-bye. In a way, I was already trying to distance myself. Toby had been such an enormous part of bringing me back to myself after Jamie, I owed him so much, and now it was coming to an end, and I didn’t want it to.
He followed me out to the car a minute later, slinging his case onto the backseat and sliding in the passenger door. “Your nana just made me take some more of her banana cake for the flight.”
I smiled, gripping the wheel tightly as I started the engine. “You do know you can’t take food through customs, right?”
He nodded. “I know. I think she just wanted to feel useful; she’s a carer that one, not ’appy unless people are fed.”
He’d nailed her personality traits in just one short week. I smiled and nodded, and silence fell over us again. I tried to keep my mood up, but by the time we got to the airport I was just a fraction short of tears and barely holding myself together.
When we got out of the car, Toby looked off to one side and smiled before digging in his backpack and pulling out the brown bag chock-full of sandwiches, cake, chips, and cartons of juice. “Be right back,” he muttered, jogging off. I shielded my eyes and watched him approach a homeless man who was rooting through one of the trash cans. When he handed over the package, the toothless homeless man’s gratitude was clear to see, even from where I stood a hundred or so yards away.
My heart throbbed, and again I wished things were different, that I could somehow keep him.
When Toby came back to my side, he smiled, taking my hand in his and dragging his suitcase in the other as we headed into the busy airport. I frowned, a little uncomfortable to be in the terminal again. The last time I took a flight out of here I had been alone and heartbroken. Now as I stood there again, preparing to say good-bye to the person who had helped fix me, my heart was splintering all over again.
After he’d checked in for his flight, we walked over to the security line where I wasn’t allowed to go. When he turned to me and offered me that lopsided smile, I lost the battle I was having with my tears and they started to flow relentlessly down my cheeks. He groaned and wrapped his arms around me, pulling me in for a tight hug, almost crushing me in its ferocity. The hug lasted way longer than a comforting one would—it was as if he didn’t want to let go either. We were clinging to each other as people just got on with their lives around us, unaware of the pain we were sharing.
He finally pulled back, sliding his hands up my back until he cupped my neck. His watery light green eyes locked onto mine and I could see it there: understanding, acceptance, anguish. The unspoken breakup lingered in his eyes. He somehow knew I wouldn’t be going back to England, and he understood why.
“I really love you, you know?” he murmured.
I nodded, my body hitching with a sob. “I love you, too.” And I did; it might not be the all-consuming, weak-at-the-knees, swoon-worthy love I’d had in the past, but I loved him deeply.
He smiled weakly and leaned in, planting a soft, lingering kiss against my lips. Featherlight, but it held so much emotion that it almost knocked me off my feet. I whimpered against his lips, gripping fistfuls of his shirt as I pressed against him, savoring every last detail, categorizing it, storing it so I would never forget what that one last beautiful kiss felt like. It wasn’t a lust-filled kiss, it was a sweet good-bye kiss.
I watched him until he was out of sight, feeling like I’d just said good-bye to my best friend. I felt hollowed out, empty, and everything was getting on top of me.
But I couldn’t afford to let myself sink into depression or I would never get out of it again. Plus, staying busy would keep my mind occupied. There would be time for tears later when I was alone in bed; I couldn’t allow myself to fully feel it now.
Instead of going straight home from the airport, I decided to make a quick stop at the funeral director’s to let him know I was on top of the invoice. I just needed a few more days to get it sorted out and wanted to explain.
I parked in the little lot next to Mortimer and Witcombe Funeral Directors and grabbed my purse, heading for the entrance. As I stepped in the door and the little bell above it announced my presence, a plump lady with blue-rinse set hair looked up, her lips stretching into a warm smile. “Good afternoon. Can I help you?”
“I was wondering if I could have a quick word with Mr. Mortimer? My name is Ellie Pearce. Mr. Mortimer was the one looking after my father last week,” I said, wringing my hands because I was a little nervous. I didn’t like this place. It reeked of death and sadness. Just being in here I could feel my mood sinking even lower than when I’d said good-bye to Toby less than an hour ago.
“Of course. He’s between appointments right now. Follow me and I’ll show you to his office,” she replied, standing and brushing down the skirt of her pale pink suit. I followed her slowly, stopping outside the office that I knew belonged to Mr. Mortimer because I’d been in there numerous times over the last week. She knocked gently. “Maurice, I have Miss Pearce here to see you.”
“Oh, show her in, Beryl.”
She turned and waved me in, pushing the door all the way open. I smiled in thanks and stepped into the room, looking over to Mr. Mortimer, who was sitting behind his desk. He stood and walked around to greet me, his hand held out in front of him.
“Hi, Ellie, how are you doing?” He shook my hand and gripped my forearm at the same time with his other hand, a handshake he’d no doubt perfected over the years, one that conveyed just the right amount of sympathy—if a handshake could do such a thing.
“I’m doing well. I wanted to thank you in person for all your help with the funeral. It went off very smoothly,” I said, but he already knew it had because he’d been there to oversee it all.
“You’re very welcome.” He waved me into a seat, and he perched on the edge of his desk, facing me.
“I also wanted to let you know I’ll be paying your invoice soon. Things have just been a little difficult, what with me just returning home from overseas. It’s been a bit of a struggle, but I promise I’ll get it sorted out in the next couple of days. I’ve put in a call to my UK bank to get money transferred over to my old U.S. checking account so I can withdraw it, but it’s taking a few days. I hadn’t anticipated that getting money from a UK savings account would be so difficult from here,” I explained.
Luckily, I’d been saving money to pay for the wedding. But it looked as though it would be spent a different way now.
His eyebrows knitted together in confusion. “But the invoice has already been paid.”
I shook my head. “I haven’t paid it.”
He smiled, the kind of smile that implied he felt sorry for me in some way or that he thought he was talking to someone who wasn’t all there mentally. “The invoice was paid in full Friday morning over the phone.”
I reeled back. “Excuse me?”
He nodded. “Your account is clear. A man called up on the morning of the funeral to make sure everything was on track for the service. He paid the full amount on his debit card. He said he was a friend of the family and that you’d asked him to do it for you.”
My mouth dropped open in astonishment. I owed thousands; there’s no way someone had just called up and paid it off. Unless...was it Toby? Had he done it without telling me so I would have one less thing to worry about? But why wouldn’t he have told me already? Then I realized it couldn’t be him because he’d been sitting next to me when I’d put the call in to the bank on Monday asking for them to get the money moved into my U.S. account.
“Who was it that paid?” I inquired.
He frowned, standing up and heading back around to his desk chair. “I think it was a Mr. Colt or Cole or something like that. I can’t remember off the top of my head. Let me check,” he replied, already pulling open a filing cabinet drawer and searching through it.
Mr. Cole. Jamie Cole. My whole body stiffened and my eyes widened at his name. Jamie had paid for my father’s funeral? Had he known I was struggling for money and barely had enough to cover the fees for it? I was stunned into silence.
The thought, the sentiment hit me hard and my heart squeezed. That was the kind of thing that had caused me to fall in love with him in the first place, that thoughtful, compassionate side of him that shined so brightly.
“Ah, here it is,” Mr. Mortimer said, pulling out a light green sheet of paper and scanning it. “Yes, a Mr. J. Cole. Paid in full.” He set the piece of paper on the desk and slid it toward me. “Was I not right to accept? Do you not know who this person is?” He now looked a little worried, his eyes narrowed in concern.
“I do,” I replied quietly.
I pressed my lips together, unsure how to even begin to process this information. I swallowed the lump in my throat and looked down at my hands, my mind reeling. Had he done this on purpose, knowing I would find out he’d paid so I would owe him something in return? No, that wasn’t who he was. But then again, I didn’t know him as well as I’d thought I had. One thing I knew for sure, though: I would have to go and see him now and find out what the hell he thought he was doing interfering in things that weren’t his business anymore. I wasn’t looking forward to that at all.
“Is everything all right, Ellie?” Mr. Mortimer asked, touching my elbow.
I jumped. I hadn’t noticed he’d come around to my side of the desk again and had crouched down beside me, his face a mask of concern.
I forced a smile and nodded. “Everything’s fine, thanks. I just hadn’t realized Mr. Cole had paid, that’s all. I’m glad you’ve got your money, and I apologize for taking up your time today.” I stood, needing to get out of the room.
He used the arm of the chair to push himself to his feet, too. “Are you sure everything is all right? You look a little shaken up.”
I nodded quickly, fixing a smile in place as I held out my hand to him. “Thank you again for a beautiful service.” I shook his pudgy hand quickly and turned for the door, walking quickly down the hall and out the front door without stopping, even though the receptionist called a good-bye to me on my way out.
I stopped once I was through the door and stepped to the side so the receptionist couldn’t see me, leaning against the wall, taking deep breaths. My chest was closing up again, an anxiety attack looming.
Why? Why had he done this to me? Why couldn’t he just leave me alone instead of making me dredge up feelings from the past that should stay exactly where they belonged—in the past?