“Don’t most men normally run away from crying women?”
“I guess I’m not most men.”
No, it appeared he wasn’t, which should have thrilled her, but only served to heap another layer of guilt on her already mile-high stack.
She should have told him to go to bed. Released him from any misguided sentiments of chivalry he harbored about leaving her alone. But the thought of being alone with her thoughts filled her with a crushing ache that made it feel as if a mountain sat on her chest.
“I wouldn’t mind the company,” she said, “but I know you must be tired, so if you’d rather go to sleep…”
Her words petered off when, without any hesitation, he moved next to her, propping his back against the log. He stretched out his long legs, crossed his ankles, and tucked his hands in his jacket pockets. She realized that the fact he’d been so careful not to brush against her, to touch her in any manner, was his silent way of letting her know he wasn’t looking for sex. She quickly picked up the mug of tea to hide more tears at his thoughtfulness.
They sat together, the quiet broken only by the fire’s lively snaps and the rustling of leaves in the cool wind. It was a companionable silence, one that comforted her rather than making her feel as if she had to say something, anything, to fill an awkward lull in the conversation. A silence that allowed her to regain control of her emotions and put to rest the profound sense of sadness that had swamped her.
She knew from the grief counseling she’d sought after her father’s death that the best way for her to grieve was not to try and stop the emotions, but to allow them to wash over her, then let them go. Then she could carefully pack them away again.
She tilted her head back, stared at the glittering stars, and sipped her tea. By the time the mug was empty, Kayla felt fully composed, and after drawing a deep breath, said softly, “When I was a kid, we’d have a cookout every Sunday during the summer. It was always an event. The neighbors who lived on either side of us came every week, the dads carting over beer and burgers, the moms bringing huge bowls of homemade potato and macaroni salads. We always had it at our house because we had an above-ground pool. While all the kids splashed around, the moms chatted over chips and dip, while the dads hovered around the grill, with my dad as the head chef. He knew how to grill a mean burger.”
A smile tugged at her lips. “After dinner-which always tasted better after a few hours in the pool-the dads would jump in the water with us and make waves. The bigger the better.
“Then, when dusk settled, we’d catch fireflies. Dessert was marshmallows roasted over the charcoal grill. After stuffing ourselves with gooey sweetness, we’d sit on the lawn and look up at the stars, picking out the constellations. I remember when I was about five asking my dad what stars were. He told me they were tiny magical lights that lit the night sky, that everyone could see, no matter where in the world they were. So that even if we weren’t in the same place, like when he had to travel on business, I could look up and see the same stars he was looking at. And that way we’d always be together.”
She stared at twinkling diamond-like lights. “I wonder if he’s looking at the stars now.”
She hadn’t even realized she’d said those last words out loud until Brett said, softly, “I bet he is. And knows that you are, too.”
Her heart swelled at his comment. “Did you look at the stars when you were a kid?”
“Oh, yeah. Still do. Of course, when I was five and asked my dad what stars are, he said, ‘They’re self-gravitating massive spheres of plasma in hydrostatic equilibrium which generate their own energy through the process of nuclear fusion.’”
For the first time since he’d sat next to her, she turned to stare at him and saw he was gazing up at the night sky. “You’re kidding.”
He looked her way, and his mouth slanted upward in that dimple-producing lopsided grin. “I’m not. But considering that he’s an astrophysicist, his answer wasn’t surprising. Now if I’d asked my mother, who’s an artist, I’m sure I would have gotten a more whimsical answer.”
“An astrophysicist and an artist. That’s quite an interesting combination.”
“They’re quite an interesting couple. They met at college when my dad, who tends to forget where he’s going when he’s mulling over a scientific problem, wandered into the wrong classroom. Instead of organic chemistry, he found himself in Nude Painting 101.”
A giggle tickled her throat. “That must make for an interesting how-I-met-your-mother story.”
“Sure does.” He grinned. “Especially since Mom was the model.”
Kayla felt her eyes widen, then she laughed. “Clearly she made quite a first impression.”
“Yup. She was the proverbial starving artist and used to model for the class to pay her tuition. Dad says he took one look at her and it was if an explosion of supernova proportions occurred. Which is saying a lot since a stellar explosion is estimated to release an equivalent energy of up to one million trillion trillion megatons of TNT.”
“Wow. That’s some big kaboom.”
“That’s what Dad said-once he remembered how to speak English.”
“Sounds like you have a nice relationship with your folks.”
“I do. They’re good people.”
Pulling her gaze from his, she once again stared into the fire. “I miss my dad every day,” she said softly, an image of her dad’s smiling face flashing through her mind, “but I’ve learned to live with the loss, with the way he died. I rarely let it get the better of me anymore like I did tonight. But sometimes it hits me. Blindsides me. Like when Dan mentioned his wife. I didn’t expect it and it all came roaring back. The mind-numbing grief. The senselessness of it all. The fury at the person who took my dad away. And the aftermath…”
She squeezed her eyes shut, and tried to stop the flow of words, but now that the floodgates were open, she couldn’t. “The trial…it was a nightmare. The kid who killed him was only eighteen. He’s twenty-three now and was released from jail more than two years ago. My dad died three days after his fiftieth birthday. We’d thrown a big party for him. I’d give anything if we could have thrown another one for him this year, for his fifty-fifth.”
Her voice faded and once again silence engulfed them. Tightening her grip around her legs, she stared into the fire.
“I know it’s totally inadequate,” Brett said softly, “but I’m real sorry about your dad.”
She turned her head and looked at him. He stared straight ahead, his profile cast in flickering shadows from the fire. “Thank you. I appreciate not only the words, but how kind you’ve been tonight.”
He turned to look at her, and when their eyes met, warmth flared through her as if he’d tossed a few more logs on the fire. “You know, I’ve never lost anyone I’ve loved.”
“You’re very fortunate.”
“I can’t pretend to understand how terrible it is in reality, but based on how the mere thought of losing one of my parents in such an awful way makes me feel…” He shook his head. “I can only say again that I’m sorry for your loss.”
“It was bad for all of us, but hardest on my mom. She and Dad met in a public-speaking class their last semester of college. They fell in love like that-” she snapped her fingers “-and married a month after graduation. They were always holding hands and laughing together, and still very much in love. My sisters and I lost our dad, but she lost her best friend, her soul mate and the man she’d planned to spend the rest of her life with. It’s taken her a long time to start living again.”
A half smile tugged up one corner of her mouth. “Which is why I try not to complain about her matchmaking-fixing me up on dates is sort of like her hobby, but really, I wish she’d try something else. Like stamp-collecting. She’s just bad at matchmaking. You wouldn’t believe some of the men she’s introduced me to. It’s like a hall of fame for Men No Sane Woman Would Want to Date.”