When Light Breaks (25 page)

I nodded.

“Don’t blow this, Kara.”

“Don’t blow what, Daddy?” The room would spin if I allowed it, but I focused tight on his face, his words.

“This engagement. This is all you’ve ever wanted, Kara.”

“Is it?”

His elbow knocked my hair dryer to the floor in a clattering noise he didn’t notice. “I promised your mama I would make sure you girls grew up with integrity and character, that you married the right men. If you break this engagement, I’ll have broken a promise.”

“You’ll feel that
you’ve
failed if I don’t marry Peyton?”

He looked up at me. “Yes. I shouldn’t have told you what she said during this vulnerable time in your life. I know she didn’t mean you should see how you feel about Jack Sullivan before you get married.”

“Oh, Daddy. I am not doing that because of what you told me....”

He shook his head. “You cannot hurt others to pursue selfish, childish dreams. Just do the right thing.”

“You’ve been telling me that my entire life. Well, maybe not my entire life, but at least since Mama died. What I remember you telling me is how to see the difference between a high or ebb tide, how to identify a blue crab from a ghost crab, the path of the migrating osprey or the impact of the full moon on the marsh.” Tears choked my memories of my other daddy, the one before Mama died.

He dropped his hands to his sides, and in my small chair they almost touched the floor. “Oh, Kara. I did tell you to do the right thing back then. I did.”

“Well, you might have, but it was mixed up in all the other great things you told me. What happened to that daddy? That man who knew the rhythm of the land around us, the one who laughed?”

“My role changed, Kara. I had to be both parents when she left.”

“She didn’t leave. She died.” The truth grew larger, substantial as I spoke it.

He nodded. “And there were promises made.”

I leaned forward on my knees, reached for his hand. “You teach me to do the right thing just by the way you live. You don’t have to tell me all the time and you don’t have to leave the fun parts out. Really you don’t.”

His eyes opened wider. “Oh, now you tell me.” His laugh held little gaiety.

“Isn’t there a way to combine what your heart wants and the right thing?” I asked.

He stood and looked around my room as though he couldn’t believe he’d come in and sat. “I don’t know, darling.”

“Daddy, I promise this confusion I’m going through has nothing to do with you not teaching me character or integrity. It has everything to do with . . .” I stared off to the ceiling, heard Maeve’s words. “With what I believe.”

He squinted at me.

“What?” I asked.

“You asked me yesterday if I could love again.”

“Sorry . . . I overstepped my bounds.” I pressed my lips together.

“No . . . I just wanted you to know that I love you. I don’t say it enough, do I?”

“You show it, Daddy. I promise.”

As he walked out of the room, he looked over his shoulder. “Don’t forget, you’re the cook for the family dinner tonight.”

I groaned and slumped in my chair. “Damn.”

 

“This is quite possibly the worst family meal you’ve ever made.” Deirdre pushed her plate away. “What was that?”

Brian lifted his fork and waved a piece of dry, burned pork chop. “Five star, if I do say so myself.”

“Yeah, right,” I said. “I’m so sorry, y’all. Really. I was at the hospital with Maeve and . . .”

Peyton leaned forward from his seat across the table from me. “How is she?” he asked.

I shrugged. “Still in a coma. . . . So anyway, how is everyone else doing?”

Conversation flowed about jobs and weather and other burned meals. Brian glanced at Peyton. “When is your next tournament?”

He looked across the table at me. “We leave tomorrow, noon, I think.”

“Yes,” I said, “you do.” I touched Brian’s arm. “It’s in Dallas.”

“Whoa, whoa,” Peyton said. “What do you mean,
you
do.”

“Well, Caroline is taking this tournament. I need to wrap up a lot of things with the Palmetto Pointe Open, and management wants her to take this one. I’m swamped.”

“You won’t be there?” Peyton set his fork down, lifted his napkin to wipe his mouth, although he hadn’t eaten a bite.

I shook my head. “Sorry . . . I meant to tell you this morning . . . and I couldn’t get ahold of you.”

He glanced around the table. “Well, I better get home to pack. It was great seeing all of you.”

“Can’t you wait until after dinner?” I asked, then stood to walk over to his side of the table.

He shook his head, and I followed him out to the front porch, where he swung his keys in a circle around his forefinger. “So,” he said and pouted his lips out, “you decided to wait and tell me you weren’t coming in front of your family?”

“No. I tried to call you this morning, but I couldn’t find you.”

“And you didn’t bother to try again.”

“I’m sorry, Peyton.”

He shook his head. “If you’re just not into this marriage anymore, tell me.”

“Marriage?”

“Yes . . . we’re getting married, Kara.”

“But we’re not married yet.” I stepped toward him, took his hand. “I’m sorry I’m not going to this tournament. Frieda wants me to stay and make sure every detail is done for the Pointe tournament. You won before you met me and you’ll win without me there. And, yes, I do want to get married, please don’t suggest that I don’t, just because I’m not going to a tournament.”

“You do want to get married?”

“What is that supposed to mean?” I stepped back, jerking my hand away from his.

“You haven’t talked about the wedding at all lately.”

“You want me to keep you updated on wedding plans? I thought you hated them. Okay then—I’ve had my dress altered for a final fitting, the flowers will have Swarovski crystals that look like rain, the invitations have been mailed, the bridesmaids’ dresses are cream, and each bridesmaid has a different-colored satin ribbon around the waist with a crystal jewel—”

Peyton laughed, held up his hand, “Okay, enough. I get it.”

“See? I knew you didn’t want to hear it.”

He pulled me close and kissed me. “Will you please stop by later tonight? I’m gonna go home and pack, get ready for this tournament, but will you come over later?”

I nodded, then kissed him again. “Yes, as soon as I clean up.”

He walked to the car, and I watched him and smiled. It felt good, even right when he smiled at me, when I made him smile . . . when he loved me.

 

The night carried the scent of jasmine, floating in off the neighbor’s yard. The dishes were done; Deirdre and Brian had gone home. I sat on the porch swing; I needed to drive to Peyton’s and see him as I’d promised, but something kept me still and quiet . . . waiting. The hum of a motor cut through the silence. I lifted my eyes to see Charlotte’s car pull into the driveway.

“Hey, girlfriend.” She climbed the porch steps. “I’ve come to take you out tonight.” She held up her palm. “No arguments; follow me now.”

I shook my finger at her. “I am not in the mood to go out.”

“You, my dear, need some good old-fashioned fun, and I just told Tom I only wanted to be friends. So there you go—another one of Charlotte’s broken relationships. We’re going to Danny’s Pub.”

“I haven’t been there in years.”

“And it’s high time we changed that.”

“You scare me,” I said, then followed her down the steps toward her car.

 

The pub was dark, but Charlotte and I had been sitting at the bar long enough for our eyes to become accustomed. I picked up my pink martini, took a long swallow. “When was the last time we were here?” I twirled my glass on the bar.

“Six years ago for your twenty-first birthday. You danced with the bartender behind the bar.”

I groaned. “I did, didn’t I? Why do you always remember my most embarrassing moments?”

“Because they’re my favorites.” She clinked her martini glass against mine, but I couldn’t hear it over Hank Williams’s voice coming out of the jukebox, the roar of the growing crowd.

I leaned toward her. “What in the hell does ‘follow your heart’ mean?”

She shrugged. “Like I know. Look at me—I break up with everyone who likes me. You, on the other hand, are engaged. Maybe you can tell me.”

“I can tell you it’s a bunch of crap. Seriously. Mama said, ‘Listen to the hints of your heart.’ People say it all the time—‘follow your heart.’ What are we supposed to do—take our heart out and walk around behind it—follow it down the sidewalk to the mall?” I slung back the martini. “Your feet will lead you to your heart. Ha!”

Charlotte picked the lemon rind off the side of her glass, twisted it like one of her curls between her fingers. “Maybe it just means you should know your heart, because if you know it, you might do what it says to do. I don’t think it means you do whatever you damn well please. I don’t think the heart speaks very loudly either—just tosses you hints and whispers. Or maybe I have no idea whatsoever.”

“You have more idea than me, that’s for sure. When I try and listen all I hear is what everyone else says to do, what I’m supposed to do: I can hear that loud and clear. Maybe it’s the same thing. Maybe what I’m hearing is what I want.”

“Maybe it is, Kara. But maybe it’s not and maybe you need to find out before you’re standing in the middle of the laundry room folding his underwear and wondering, ‘How’d I get here?’ Then again—you can’t drop your life to run after someone who makes you feel twelve years old and adorable, either.”

I groaned, motioned for the bartender. He came up. “Is that you, Kara Larson?”

I nodded. “Hey, Frank, haven’t seen you in years.”

“Yeah, you must not get out much.”

“I do too,” I said.

Charlotte shook her head back and forth. “She’s way too busy to have fun.”

“Thanks, pal.” I hit Charlotte.

Frank laughed. “You want another martini?”

“Nope,” I said. “A Guinness, please.”

“Okay.” He nodded at Charlotte. “You?”

“The same. If Kara is going down, I’m going down with her.”

“Now there’s a true friend,” Frank said, and slung two glasses off the back bar, filled them at the Guinness tap.

As the music got louder, as the crowd thickened, Charlotte and I laughed and remembered. It seemed that talking about what was ahead was too hard, so we talked about what used to be, until Frank’s face wavered before me and he swung me into a repeat performance of my twenty-first birthday. When he dipped me for the finale of our dance, I remembered something—I was supposed to stop by Peyton’s and say good-bye before he left for his tournament.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

T
he empty ballroom possessed the faintest odor of mildew, which I was acutely aware of in any room in which I was planning an event. No one wants to walk into a party and smell dampness, the kind that pervaded every dwelling here. I pulled out my notebook, jotted a note to spread real gardenia bushes down the sides of the room.

I glanced at my watch, paced the room in circles. Jack was late to meet me to go over the plans for the benefit concert. My heart did somersaults in my chest. I pulled out my phone to call Peyton.

“Hey, babe.” The sound of his voice mixed with static came through the phone.

“Hey . . . I can’t hear you very well.”

“Sorry. I’m in the airport, not getting very good reception. Hey, Mom called—did you remember to invite the Miller family to the wedding? She says she forgot to ask you.”

“I didn’t invite them. Do I need to?”

“Yes, Mom says it would hurt their feelings—”

“Peyton, I swear, if I invited everyone whose feelings would be hurt, we’d be broke. I can only invite the families that—”

The connection severed; I stared at the phone. I clicked it shut and shoved it in my purse, then looked up at Jack standing in the doorway. A sphere of light from a wrought iron chandelier lit the edges of his curls.

I waved at him.

“Sorry to interrupt your conversation,” he said, walking toward me. “I’m late. I couldn’t find the damn place—didn’t this used to be a park or something?”

I nodded. “Yep, owned by the infamous Darby family. He deeded it to the country club when he died. What an uproar.” I grinned. “Sorry you missed it.”

“Me too,” he said.

“Okay, let’s do this really quickly. I have a two o’clock appointment.”

“Busy girl.” He walked toward the stage, stepped up.

“That’s where the band will play.” I took the steps two at a time to keep up with him.

“I figured that part out.” He turned to me, wrapped one arm around my shoulder. “Stage, band—they usually go together.”

I pushed him away. “Smart ass.”

His laugh echoed in the empty room, washed over me like an unexpected wave—just when I thought it was safe to go swimming again, a monster wall of water knocked me down. I turned away, knowing that the desire to have him pull me toward him, touch me, would show all over my face.