Have dinner with Brad Cutler.
Nineteen
BRAD FOUND A QUIET OUTDOOR PATIO table at Paradise Café a half hour before Emma was due to meet him there. The patio would be full in a few hours, once people had time to go home and change clothes for dinner. This was one of the only restaurants right on Holden Beach, and it was popular with the locals. At least it was that long-ago summer.
But for now it was empty. A slight sifting of sand blew across the cement patio, the white metal tables and chairs worn and wobbly. The carved wooden sign in the back window of the café read, “No shirt, no shoes, no problem.” The mantra of the beach crowd. A salty breeze drifted up from the water where it competed with the tinny PA system. Alan Jackson was singing about it being five o’clock somewhere.
Not yet, Brad told himself. Soon, but not yet. Five o’clock. When Emma would be here.
He sat with his back to the restaurant, his face to the beach. He needed this time because seeing her again had taken his breath, made him dizzy and angry with himself and full of guilt and regret. He could barely think straight until he climbed back into his rented Jeep and drove toward the shore. Even then all he could do was picture her, the way she looked now.
Emma Landon.
Brad leaned back in his chair and gripped the metal arms. He had memorized that first minute, the way she looked walking out of the building, and how he had known — absolutely known — it was her as soon as she rounded the corner. She wore cropped pink pants, a white shirt, and white sandals. Her dark hair was pulled back, the way she’d often worn it when they were dating. From a distance she didn’t look any different than she had back in high school, and for a few seconds he was eighteen again, and she was meeting him at his car.
But as soon as she stopped he knew she was on to him. Their eyes held while she stared, almost demanding to know why he was there, what in the world had brought him. Then gradually she walked toward him. As she drew near he could make out her eyes more clearly. Her beautiful hazel eyes. Something was different about them, a greater depth. Or maybe she’d always had that faraway look, the look that warned a guy he could get past a lot of layers without ever coming anywhere near the vicinity of her heart.
Neither of them said much, because clearly the shock was there for both of them. Brad could barely think for the questions assaulting him. What they’d shared was rare and special, so what had happened? How could he have taken a treasure like Emma Landon and treated her like trash? Why had he walked away without ever telling her he was sorry?
And how come she was still so beautiful?
He wanted to rush ahead with his apology, but the timing was wrong. Her eyes were guarded, and she hadn’t come closer than a few feet from him. No happy hug or lighthearted smile. The moment was as sad and lifeless as the one they’d shared the last time they were together — in the cemetery after her mother died.
Brad squinted at the water. A flock of seagulls hovered over the water diving at what must’ve been a school of fish. Their cries mixed with the pounding surf and the hum of traffic on the highway above the stretch of sand — the familiar sounds of Holden Beach. He lifted his eyes to the blue above the horizon. Why, God … why am I here? Maybe I should’ve sent her a letter and called it good.
Son, remember, anyone who knows the good he ought to do, and doesn’t do it, sins.
How does that make sense? Brad shaded his eyes with one hand and rubbed his temples. The answer wasn’t really an answer. It was the Bible verse that sat on his desk, the one that had convinced him to come. But was his being here really a good choice? Laura was back home worried that he was having cold feet about the wedding, or worse — that he didn’t love her. But he did love her. He missed her terribly and wished he could have a quick dinner with Emma and be on the next flight home.
But none of this was going to be fast or easy. So was that really good for anyone? If he was going to pick at the wounds of the past, would that only make the scars worse? God, I want to leave.Forget I ever saw her. I need to be with Laura, not here on the beach a world away.
Be still and know that I am God, my son. You can do all things through my strength.
Brad leaned forward and planted his elbows on the hot surface of the round, wrought iron table. Was that really God’s voice answering him? Or was a part of him merely looking for one last weekend with Emma Landon before he promised his life to Laura? He thought about that and found no truth in it. None whatsoever. This wasn’t about seeing Emma. It was about making things right with her. If there was one thing he’d learned from seeing her earlier, it was this — she was still hurting. Like his friend had told him, she seemed quiet and distant — nothing like the happy, carefree girl she’d been before that one summer.
He stared as far out across the ocean as he could. How do I know, God, that I’m supposed to be here? Help me be part of the solution for Emma … for both of us, please, God.
Leave your gift at the altar, Son …
What? Brad fought his frustration. The answer that whispered across his soul wasn’t clear, if it really was an answer. Leave his gift at the altar? But how did that apply to his decision to come to North Carolina? He would have to look up the words later in the back of his Bible. He’d brought it, but it was at his parents’ house.
He checked his cell phone. Four fifty-five. He angled his chair so he could see the restaurant door, the one that led to the patio. What must she be thinking? It was the last day of school, so she probably had a lot on her mind already. Then she comes out to the parking lot to find him? Was she hurt by him for showing up unannounced? Had she agreed to come to dinner so she could tell him off, once and for all?
A pit formed in his stomach. Whatever happened at dinner, the conversation wouldn’t be easy or marked with laughter. The pain of going back was about to begin. That’s why he was sitting out here as close to the sand as possible. He wore sunglasses, but when the conversation started, he planned to remove them and look at Emma with honest eyes. He only had one chance to tell Emma Landon how he felt.
When that happened, the sunglasses would have to go.
EMMA PULLED INTO THE CAFÉ PARKING lot and checked her look in the mirror. She could hear her heartbeat, and she wondered if she was crazy. She could’ve easily told Brad she wasn’t interested. He could go home to his parents’ house and enjoy a holiday weekend with them. After so many years of Brad’s silence, Emma had nothing left to say.
But being near him reminded her of every time she’d missed him over the years. The way she still missed him. And like everything else, seeing him reminded her of their baby. She thought about how long she’d carried the hurt of what had happened between them.
Nine years. Every day. Every single day.
Her life had moved on, and she tried her best to live in the moment. But their baby remained in the shadows, a constant presence, there in Emma’s mind the way the date or day of the week was there. She didn’t go through the hours reminding herself constantly that this was Friday. It simply was Friday. And that fact stayed subtly with her, coloring the background of everything else about the day.
It was like that with their baby.
Emma slipped her sunglasses on and blinked back tears. This wasn’t the time to cry. That would come later. For now she needed to face Brad and see why he was here. Did he feel the same way she did? Was he mourning a loss they could never resolve, never make peace with? Or was he only curious about her life, and what time had changed along the way? She wore the same thing she’d worn to school that day, but her dark hair was down now, long loose layers that hung around her face and shoulders. She wore a hint of perfume and she’d retouched the light makeup around her eyes.
She was partly angry at herself for making even a little effort to look nice, for wanting to be pretty again for Brad Cutler. But if she was having dinner with him, she wanted him to struggle with the reasons why he left her. Another possibility existed. What if he had come looking to rekindle things? Then her
efforts were important because they would tell him what she wasn’t ready to admit to herself. That she would take him back again. She would always take him back.
His rented Jeep was parked a few spots away from hers, so he was already inside. She steadied herself and headed for the front door.
“Looking for someone, miss?” A tall beached-out teenager with a pierced brow grinned at her. “Because if you’re alone I’ll sit you in my section.”
Emma gave him a polite smile. “I’m meeting someone.”
“Try out back.” He winked at her. “If he doesn’t show up, I’m here.”
“Thanks.” Emma was vaguely used to guys hitting on her. She wasn’t looking, so their advances meant nothing. She stopped at the back door and saw him, sitting alone at a table shaded by a weathered, oversized umbrella. Otherwise the patio was empty. She sucked in a quick breath and pushed her way through the door. He turned at the sound and she hesitated.
He was on his feet immediately — something he hadn’t done as a teenager. He stepped out from beneath the umbrella and pulled out the chair across from him, so they’d be facing each other, the beach on one side, the back of the restaurant on the other. She sat down and he eased the chair in beneath her.
“Thanks for coming.” He sat down and situated himself. The umbrella seemed to block out the feel of the restaurant, creating a sense that they were out on the beach, sharing a moment meant for just the two of them. “I’m sorry it was so last-minute.”
A waiter descended on them almost immediately. They ordered sweet tea and chicken Caesar salads. The conversation stayed light at first. Brad talked about the products he’d been working on in Manhattan, and his dad’s new fascination with the metal detector. The drinks came, and Emma mostly listened. When the salads were delivered, Brad told the waiter they were fine. They needed some time alone. He gave a happy shrug as he left. Brad waited a few seconds, then he turned to her, his words full and deep. “I … wasn’t sure you’d show.”
Emma waited, wondering if she would ever catch her breath as long as she was sitting across from him. She gripped the chair arms and studied him through her tinted sunglasses. “I was curious.” She let the salty air wash over her face. Relax, Emma, she told herself. He’s just passing through town. Nothing more. But her grip was so strong her knuckles were white. “Why now?”
He leaned his forearms on the table, closer to her than before. But he turned toward the water and for a long time he stayed quiet. She waited, because it was his turn. She owed him nothing. No explanation, no description of her life or her time since he’d walked away. He was the one who showed up … let him do the talking. She studied him, his hands and arms, the toned muscles that showed through his rolled-up Carolina blue button-down shirt. He was still striking. Still the Brad Cutler who had stolen her heart on an elementary school playground a lifetime ago.
Finally he removed his sunglasses and set them at the center of the table. He leaned back in his chair and faced her, looking straight into her soul the way he’d always been able to do. “I’m engaged. I wanted you to know.”
The ground beneath her seemed to open up and swallow every thing but her body. At least that’s how she felt. Like she was no longer connected to herself. What had he said? Had he really told her … he was engaged? Brad Cutler was getting married. Adrenaline flooded her veins and her mouth went suddenly dry. For way too long she sat there, not remembering how to exhale, not feeling her heartbeat. Was this why he had come? To share this bit of cruel news with her? She finally inhaled sharply, and as she did she stood and walked to the cement wall at the edge of the café patio. Carefully, she stepped over it and sat down facing the beach. He was engaged? His news hit her in a crashing series of emotions, one with each set of waves that pounded the distant shore. She could feel him sitting there behind her, his ambiguity. She heard him slide his chair out, and then hesitate and slide it back in. Clearly he had no idea how to handle her reaction. Shock gave way to a fury Emma hadn’t known since the week he told her good-bye. She wanted to grab her purse and leave. How dare he come here now and tell her this? She’d been fine, living her life, getting on without him. Why come now?
Her anger finally found the upper hand. She eased her legs back over the wall and returned to her seat. The crashing surf was nothing compared to the pounding of her heart. “You’re engaged?” She sounded mystified. “That’s why you came here? To tell me that?”
“No.” He looked helpless, like he wanted to come around to her side of the table and hold her. But he stayed seated. “I needed to talk to you. I couldn’t … I couldn’t move on otherwise.”
So that’s what this was? Some sort of conscience-clearing exercise? She felt the sting of tears, and she gritted her teeth. “Maybe I don’t want to talk.”
“I can respect that.” He seemed nervous — not at all normal for the unflappable Brad Cutler. He stared deeply into her eyes. “Please, Emma. Let me have this time. I feel like … we both need it.”
The last thing she wanted to do was cry. He didn’t deserve her tears or her time. But she stayed, her cheeks hot. Not because he asked her to stay, but because something he’d said had struck a chord. Maybe … maybe this was something they both needed. She forced herself to take calm breaths, and gradually the shock wore off and the threat of tears lessened. Deal with it, Emma. Stay strong. Brad was getting married. He wasn’t here looking to start something new with her.
She reached into her purse, pulled out a hair band, and caught her hair up in a ponytail. Then she settled back into her chair, still fighting for composure. “When … when’s the wedding?”
“Soon.” Brad sounded defeated, like maybe he, too, was doubting his reasons for being here. “June 26.”
Emma felt another ripple of shock. “Four weeks? You’re getting married in four weeks?”
“I am.”
A sound more disbelief than laughter came from her and she fought the urge to stand up again. Instead she gripped the chair arms once more and stared at him. “Your fiancée’s okay with this? With you being here?”
“No.” His eyes filled with a painful honesty. “I told her the truth. That I had to come.”
“What … she’s home working on wedding plans?”
Brad looked wounded, like she’d kicked him in the gut and now he was struggling to stay upright. “I’m not sure what she’s doing. There might not be a wedding after this. I don’t know.”
Emma’s head was spinning. Nothing Brad said was lining up. He was getting married in four weeks, but here he was, sitting across from her on Holden Beach. What did that say about his relationship with his fiancée or his feelings from their long-ago yesterdays? “Why, Brad?” Her voice was choked again with angry tears. For her, for the past they shared. For Brad’s fiancée. “Why now?”
“Because,” Brad’s chin quivered, and his voice broke. He pinched the bridge of his nose, fighting for control. It took awhile for him to find the words, but finally he looked into her eyes again. “I can’t start that chapter … until I finish this one.”
For a brief instant, Emma wondered if he was going to mention their baby, if he would acknowledge the life they’d created, the life they’d lost. But he didn’t.
He reached out his hand, desperation written into his expression. “Please, Emma. Give me this weekend. God alone brought me here. There are so many things I need to say.”
Emma kept her hands to herself. She could feel her heart ripping apart. She watched him, the sorrow in his eyes, and some of her anger faded. However misguided, he wasn’t here only for himself. He believed they both needed this time, and maybe they did. Maybe he was having doubts about his fiancée and he needed to find Emma to know whether he should move ahead … or find his way back.
She wanted to ask him if he truly loved her, this other woman he’d fallen for. The one he was about to marry. But she couldn’t bring herself to say the words. She didn’t want to know anything about her. Brad’s fiancée. Not her name
or where she lived or how they met. None of it. Maybe Brad was right about the chapters. Emma had loved him first, and if he needed this weekend to know whether he could move ahead, then she could give him that much. Maybe it would take that for him to see what he’d walked away from. If she did give him this time, she wouldn’t ask questions about his fiancée. Brad was here now, where he belonged to her. Only her.
He still had his hand stretched out toward her, and suddenly she couldn’t stop herself. The emotions were too strong, the memories too great. She slid her hand across the table and allowed his fingers to take hold of hers. His touch was electric and mind-numbing all at the same time. Because this was Brad Cutler across from her, his hand, the hand she’d held a thousand times, holding tight to her fingers once again. His eyes never left hers. “Please, Emma. Can we have this?”
Her words failed her, so she nodded and clutched his hand tighter than before. Then, drawing on all the strength she could summon, she released his fingers and withdrew her hand back to her lap. “When do you fly home?”
“Monday night.”
His answer stood like the edge of a cliff in her mind. Monday night. Three days. Seventy-two hours to let Brad tell her whatever it was he wanted to say, to remember with him and allow her heart to find him again. He wasn’t married yet, so maybe he was here because he still loved her. Emma hated feeling that way, because somewhere his fiancée was probably devastated by his trip here. But if he was going to marry her, Brad was right. They needed time now. After this they couldn’t go back, couldn’t have a weekend like this. Whatever they needed to say to each other, they would have to say it over the next three days no matter how much heartache it caused.