She slid her hand across the table and put it on top of his. He looked at her and smiled, just a little bit. He turned his hand over and squeezed hers, and then let go.
He got up again, looked at the table, and then sat back down.
“That was the night—or rather, the morning—I left LA and came here. I had to get out of there. I packed a weekend bag, of just whatever I could throw into it, and drove straight here. I meant to just stay for a weekend, and well, that was well over a year ago.”
She had a lot of questions she wanted to ask him, but one main one.
“What did your mom say, when you talked to her?”
He turned away, but then, with clear effort, turned back to her.
“I didn’t…I haven’t talked to her.”
She started to say something, but he shook his head.
“I know. There’s nothing you can say to me that I haven’t already thought, trust me. I was going to call her, right away. I read all that stuff late at night, I drove here at the crack of dawn, I was going to call her later that day, apologize, talk to her about it all. But what was I going to say to her? What could I say to her? ‘Sorry for what I said at the funeral?’ That sounds so…inadequate.” He sighed. “I felt—I feel—so guilty about believing him, abandoning her. About what I said to her. I just wish I could tell him how mad I am at him. For doing this to her, and to me. But I can’t. But I also can’t blame him, forever, for what an asshole I am.”
He looked out the window, and she just waited. Finally, he turned back to her.
“Every day I meant to call her, and every day I told myself I’d do it the next day. Once I hired Michaela, and we started making plans for a foundation, to do some good with the money I inherited from him, I told myself I’d call her when that was done.”
A foundation. That’s what Michaela was doing here. That made sense now.
He went on. “Then, after you got here, I decided I’d call her once I had a draft. Maybe I’m just procrastinating. I mean, I know I am. It’s just…I don’t know how to do this.”
She looked up at him. “Are you, um—I know we’ve talked about this stuff a little, but…have you thought about therapy?”
He looked away from her. “I had someone in LA who I went to, on and off for years. After that car accident, and then the divorce, and stuff. I keep thinking about calling him, but it felt…easier not to.”
She waited until he looked at her.
“I know,” he said. “You’re right. You don’t have to say it.”
He broke off a piece of lemon bar but didn’t pick it up.
“Anyway. That’s what I left out. Most of it, anyway. I haven’t really told this to anyone. I can’t believe I thought I could write about this. It was so hard just to tell you, and I like you! How did I ever think I could tell the whole world?”
The notebook was still in the middle of the table. She pushed it toward him.
“You can. You will.” He shook his head, but she kept talking. “Write down everything you just told me. It’s going to be rough, but you can do this. We can work on it together, after you’ve gotten it all down.”
He put his hand on top of the notebook and looked at her. “We? Does this mean you’re staying?”
“Yeah,” she said. “I guess it does.”
She hadn’t known she’d made the decision to stay until this moment.
“Isabelle, you don’t—”
She cut him off. “I know I don’t have to.”
He let out a breath. “Thank you. I…I’m really glad.” He picked up the notebook and tucked it under his arm. “And—I know I’ve already said this, but—I’m sorry, again, about what I said earlier about you. That’s not how I really feel, at all. I’m so sorry I hurt you.”
Despite everything, she believed him.
“Okay,” she said. “I accept your apology. You don’t have to say it again.” She stood up and looked him in the eye. “But, Beau: Don’t ever do that to me again.”
He looked back at her. “I won’t,” he said. “I promise.”
When Izzy came downstairs the next morning to get coffee, Beau was in the kitchen.
“Oh, hi,” she said. She felt awkward with him again, like she had at first. Was he going to regret all those revelations of the night before?
“Good morning.” He smiled at her, a little tentatively. He held up her key ring, with the keys to the house and car on it. “These are still yours. If you want them.”