Tara Taylor Quinn - Sophie's Secret

No. She wanted to bury her head in the sand. Be on vacation. Pretend. Live for the moment.

She couldn’t run from her doubts. They’d only catch up with her. They always did. At far too high a price.

Running her fingers through his hair, she said, “I’ve been lying here trying to figure out what’s different about you tonight.”

“Different how?”

“I’m not sure. It feels like you’re holding back. And yet I can’t give you any evidence to support the feeling.”

The hand on her breast slid away. “Feelings are the one fallacy of the factual system,” he said, rolling over until his head rested on the pillow right beside hers, touching hers. “So much of the time, they don’t make sense.”

“So I’m right. You’re holding back.”

“No. I don’t think so. At all.” The protest, though a little too forced, was at least something to clutch on to.

Her stomach, which had been working its way into a small frenzy, relaxed a bit.

“But I’m sensing something?”

“Nothing more than the confusion of having what I want be at odds with what I need.”

She didn’t ask which she was—the want or the need. Or if she was even what he was talking about.

A year ago, she would have been positive she knew both—his wants and needs. A year ago, when there’d been no visible cracks in their idyllic hideaway life, his wants and needs hadn’t been a threat.

“We shouldn’t have to work so hard to make this work.”

“Relationships, even the best of them, are hard work. Always.”

“You sound awfully certain about that for a man who’s lived alone most of his life.”

“I had the very best teacher.”

“Who?” She had no idea because, outside of her home, she knew very little about him.

“Will Parsons.”

“What does Will have to do with us?”

“You weren’t in Shelter Valley yet when Becca got pregnant, were you?”

“No.” But she’d come to know the couple well enough through Matt and Phyllis, and had been accepted into their peripheral family circle, in spite of her past.

“Anybody ever tell you their story?”

“I know the basics—high school sweethearts who married and weren’t blessed with children until Becca was in her forties.”

“That’s the public version.”

“It’s not true?”

“Of course it is. Every bit of it. But there’s more.”

There always was, wasn’t there? But what could there possibly be in that story that would emulate her with Duane? Becca and Will were obviously meant for each other. And everyone, including them, had known that from the time they were still practically kids.

“Becca was less than six months pregnant when Will came to me, discreetly, asking about divorce. Specifically, he’d wanted to know how he could end his marriage with Becca but still provide for her as though they were married—insurance, security, beneficiary of his will, that sort of thing.”

Sophie sat up. Cold to the bone. “Will wanted to divorce Becca?”

Was nothing sacred?

“Under the circumstances, I don’t think Will would mind my telling you. When Becca first found out she was pregnant, the prognosis was pretty scary to her. An overforty pregnancy brought more risk of birth defects, and she’d already had several miscarriages. She had high blood pressure, plus she and Will had their careers, their busy schedules. The first doctor she went to recommended that she terminate the pregnancy.”

“I can see why.”

“So could Becca. She considered having it done.”

“And?”

“Will couldn’t understand. They’d waited their whole lives for this chance. He’d spent years comforting her, pulling her through depression when she’d lose another baby, spending huge amounts of money on tests and fertilization efforts and now, when they were given a miracle, Becca wanted to throw it away.”

“Hardly that.”

“I know.” Duane turned his head on the pillow. Looked at her. “And eventually Will got it, too. But for a while there, he really struggled. He felt like he didn’t know Becca at all. This woman whom he’d always considered the other half of his mind and soul suddenly took on characteristics he didn’t understand. Then he started to question himself for questioning her. Did he love her, or was it only the image they’d built of the high school sweethearts meant for each other—an image that Shelter Valley had helped them build? That he clung to?”

“Wow.” Picturing Will, Sophie could hardly believe what she was hearing. He was Godlike to his students. Always in control. Always had all the answers. Always made the right choices.

“They actually separated for a while.”

She felt like a kid discovering that her parents had sex. Or at least, what she imagined that would feel like for most kids.

“Things were rough for a while, but, in the end, their relationship is far stronger than it ever was. I’ve never seen two people more devoted and dedicated to each other.”

Now that sounded like the Parsonses she knew.

“And the point is that relationships are hard work,” Duane said, pushing himself up to lean against the headboard. “Even the ones that have everything going for them and should be easy.”

Sophie sat up next to him, crossing her arms over her naked breasts.

“I’m not afraid of the work,” she said. “Nothing in my life’s been easy—except maybe knowing what lighting works onstage. But the kind of things we’re facing aren’t things we can change with effort. They’re feelings and instincts and facts.”

“Such as?”

“You’re nervous about tying your life to me.” He hadn’t said so. But he hadn’t had to. “And not in the way that guys get nervous when they’re contemplating marriage. Or, if you are, then that’s in addition to what I’m talking about. You’re nervous about me. Specifically. In ways you wouldn’t be if you were in love with a woman of your social class and age bracket.”

Duane was still, his gaze seemingly focused straight ahead.

After an excruciating minute she asked, “Aren’t you?”

“Maybe.”

Sophie tried not to be crushed. Tried not to cry—all the while fighting the familiar feeling of not being good enough. Not being worthy. “What we’re contemplating here is going to change our lives irrevocably, one way or the other, Duane,” she said. “Whether we end up together or not. Let’s at least be completely honest. We’ve got no hope at all if we can’t be straight with each other.”

She was good enough. She was worthy. She didn’t used to believe that, but she did now.

Didn’t she?

The insecurities were old habits.

Nothing more.

Several years ago when Phyllis had still been her counselor, she’d warned Sophie that old habits often resurfaced.

Sophie’s thoughts chased themselves, her stomach rumbled and she waited for Duane to respond.

Waited to take whatever painful thing he had to say, to weather it and move on.

“Okay.” He finally broke the silence and turned toward her. “I do worry.”

Feeling like a masochist, she asked, “About what, specifically?”

“Aside from the fact that when I’m fifty-seven and you’re thirty-nine, you’re going to get turned off by my old man’s body and start yearning for someone younger?”

Had she been of a different nature, Sophie might have slapped his face for that one.

Instead she jutted her chin to stop it from trembling, and tried to accept the facts. Whether she liked them or not.

“So, you’re saying that I’m interested in you, attracted to you, because of your physical attributes.”

“Of course. It’s natural. Physical attraction is as old as the world.”