would he expect her to say no now, when she hadn't five years ago? JP wasn't used to hearing "no". That probably explained his expression, his reaction.
Monica tilted her head, causing a lock of her dark blond hair to fall in her eyes. She pushed it back with a grimace, then blew out a sigh of frustration when it just fell into her eyes again.
"I hate this haircut."
"Then why did you let her cut it like that?"
"I don't know. I guess I wanted something different."
Emily watched her sister, noticed the careless shrug that didn't quite match the fleeting expression of loneliness crossing her face. She had been through too much the past few years, the bitter marriage and bitter divorce etching lines in an otherwise smooth face. Emily's heart squeezed and she wished she could take it all away, make the memories and heartaches of the last few years just disappear.
For both of them.
But she couldn't. Neither one of them could. The only thing they could do was put it behind them and move on. Emily worried that her sister was having a harder time of doing that than she was.
"So did he say what he wanted? Why he was there?"
"Who?"
"You know who. Him ."
Emily took another swallow of wine to hide her smile. "You can say his name, Monica. It's not going to freak me out or anything."
"No, I can't. Not after what he did to you."
"He's not the one who caused the miscarriage." Emily's voice broke on the last word and she closed her eyes, hoping her sister wouldn't notice. But of course she did. She didn't say anything though, just nudged Emily's foot with her own under the warmth of the afghan.
"No. But he wasn't there for you when it happened."
"Monica, he was on the road. There was nothing he could have done. You know that."
"Then he wasn't there for you after it happened."
Emily closed her eyes and leaned her head against the back of the sofa. She took several long breaths then opened her eyes, staring into the glass of wine held between her hands. She brought it to her lips then lowered it without taking a sip. "I didn't really give him the chance."
"What?"
Emily cleared her throat and raised her voice above a whisper. "I said, I didn't really give him the chance."
Monica leaned forward and rested one hand on Emily's knee. A frown marred the features of her face, ferocity flashing in her dark eyes. "You were hurt, in shock. Not thinking clearly. I don't care what you think you did, if he had cared at all about you, he would have been there for you."
"Monica, we had been together for barely six months. It's not like we were in love."
Her sister sat back, watching her over the rim of the glass as she took another sip. Emily didn't like the look in her sister's eyes, was afraid of what she could see, afraid of what she might say. She looked away, intently focused on taking a long swallow of her own wine.
"You loved him."
"Monica—"
"Don't deny it. You know it. I know it. I just wonder if he knew it."
"No. I mean, there was nothing to know. And whatever it was, it wasn't love. We were both too young. We barely knew each other."
"You were having his baby!"
"Because of a damned broken condom. That was all. That doesn't mean I was in love." Emily drained the wine, barely tasting it. She didn't want to be having this conversation with Monica. She didn't want to be having this conversation with anyone. It had taken her too long to get over the pain and heartache from the miscarriage.
And from losing JP.
God, she had been too young, too naïve, too sheltered. Too everything. She had been twenty-one, full of excitement after getting her degree in mathematics, coming into her own. And giddy after catching the interest of one Jean-Pierre Larocque.
Foolish. That's what she had been: foolish. Apparently she still was.
So why was JP suddenly back in the picture? She didn't know, and she was afraid to find out, afraid of opening old wounds and reliving old memories best left forgotten.
Too late for that.
Emily leaned over
Monica tilted her head, causing a lock of her dark blond hair to fall in her eyes. She pushed it back with a grimace, then blew out a sigh of frustration when it just fell into her eyes again.
"I hate this haircut."
"Then why did you let her cut it like that?"
"I don't know. I guess I wanted something different."
Emily watched her sister, noticed the careless shrug that didn't quite match the fleeting expression of loneliness crossing her face. She had been through too much the past few years, the bitter marriage and bitter divorce etching lines in an otherwise smooth face. Emily's heart squeezed and she wished she could take it all away, make the memories and heartaches of the last few years just disappear.
For both of them.
But she couldn't. Neither one of them could. The only thing they could do was put it behind them and move on. Emily worried that her sister was having a harder time of doing that than she was.
"So did he say what he wanted? Why he was there?"
"Who?"
"You know who. Him ."
Emily took another swallow of wine to hide her smile. "You can say his name, Monica. It's not going to freak me out or anything."
"No, I can't. Not after what he did to you."
"He's not the one who caused the miscarriage." Emily's voice broke on the last word and she closed her eyes, hoping her sister wouldn't notice. But of course she did. She didn't say anything though, just nudged Emily's foot with her own under the warmth of the afghan.
"No. But he wasn't there for you when it happened."
"Monica, he was on the road. There was nothing he could have done. You know that."
"Then he wasn't there for you after it happened."
Emily closed her eyes and leaned her head against the back of the sofa. She took several long breaths then opened her eyes, staring into the glass of wine held between her hands. She brought it to her lips then lowered it without taking a sip. "I didn't really give him the chance."
"What?"
Emily cleared her throat and raised her voice above a whisper. "I said, I didn't really give him the chance."
Monica leaned forward and rested one hand on Emily's knee. A frown marred the features of her face, ferocity flashing in her dark eyes. "You were hurt, in shock. Not thinking clearly. I don't care what you think you did, if he had cared at all about you, he would have been there for you."
"Monica, we had been together for barely six months. It's not like we were in love."
Her sister sat back, watching her over the rim of the glass as she took another sip. Emily didn't like the look in her sister's eyes, was afraid of what she could see, afraid of what she might say. She looked away, intently focused on taking a long swallow of her own wine.
"You loved him."
"Monica—"
"Don't deny it. You know it. I know it. I just wonder if he knew it."
"No. I mean, there was nothing to know. And whatever it was, it wasn't love. We were both too young. We barely knew each other."
"You were having his baby!"
"Because of a damned broken condom. That was all. That doesn't mean I was in love." Emily drained the wine, barely tasting it. She didn't want to be having this conversation with Monica. She didn't want to be having this conversation with anyone. It had taken her too long to get over the pain and heartache from the miscarriage.
And from losing JP.
God, she had been too young, too naïve, too sheltered. Too everything. She had been twenty-one, full of excitement after getting her degree in mathematics, coming into her own. And giddy after catching the interest of one Jean-Pierre Larocque.
Foolish. That's what she had been: foolish. Apparently she still was.
So why was JP suddenly back in the picture? She didn't know, and she was afraid to find out, afraid of opening old wounds and reliving old memories best left forgotten.
Too late for that.
Emily leaned over
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