Coming Home to Greenleigh

Chapter 35

Lyrics courtesy of www.musixmatch.com
(I had to correct one mistake but otherwise thank you, Musixmatch!)

Pulling away, pulling away, pulling the truth out of me
Watch it unravel, coming apart at the seams
You've seen darkness and rain, heartache and pain
Nothing but memories left
You're the only mistake that I know I will never forget

I held on to your heart, and I played my part
Knowing you couldn't let go
I crushed it to sand in the palm of my hand
If only you just could've known
Why did you trust me, oh
It's something so precious
Oh, why did you love me, oh
I'm sorry I'm reckless
Why did you?
Why did you?


All these things that I've done, the battles I've won
They've taken the fight out of me
A twist of the knife, now I'm just watching you bleed
You knew from the start this could tear you apart
If only you'd just let me be
You said we could be better but I know it's better for me

Why did you trust me, oh
It's something so precious
Oh, why did you love me, oh
I'm sorry I'm reckless
Why did you?

Why did you?

Why did you trust me, oh
It's something so precious
Oh, why did you love me, oh
I'm sorry I'm reckless
Why did you?
Why did you?
Why did you?

(as far as I can tell, music and lyrics by Gareth Emery, featuring Wayward Daughter)

*****

There was grim silence for the first thirty minutes of the drive. Elisabeth glanced at Shawn's profile once or twice before deciding that she did not want her last memory of his face to be frozen into that furious glare, a muscle working in his cheek, his teeth clenched. She looked at her hands, out the window at the watery gray view, at her shoes, anywhere but at him.

If he was going to be so deeply angry, she thought, he ought not to have insisted on driving her all the way to Boston. She could have managed on her own—

No, she could not have, and she knew it. If not for Shawn, she didn't know what she would have done.

"I can't believe you did this." That was Gunnar's last message.

What had she done? She felt awful, and yet she traced her actions in her mind over and over, and she still couldn't figure out the exact moment when she had hurt him, the moment where there was no turning back. It didn't matter that he hadn't been there to see her do it—she had done it, and he had known, and she could feel it in her gut. But what had she done?

Was it agreeing to go out to dinner with Shawn at all? Was it agreeing to go along with the trip to New York? Was it accepting the opal ring?

Elisabeth felt the ring on her finger, its tiny little diamonds sharp against her skin. Was that the moment where things had gone wrong, the tipping point? That moment where she remembered moments that she had shared with Shawn, shared memories that Gunnar could have no part of?

Was it the kissing? The lovemaking? The night spent in each other's arms?

She imagined Gunnar turning up on her doorstep at six in the morning with two cappuccinos, getting the key from under the mat, letting himself into the house, finding her phone on the kitchen table, seeing her untouched bed. He'd left the cappuccinos on the table, next to her phone. How long had it taken him to figure out where she was, and with whom?

Probably about half a minute. And then he'd gone to Christine's house, banging on her door and getting her out of bed, demanding to know if he was right—that Elisabeth was with Shawn, had spent the night with him, was not coming back. For once, Christine would have been without makeup and with her hair askew, minus her pearls and heels, startled out of her smooth-talking, wise-cracking veneer. He would have asked, to her face, if he'd been made a fool of, if this had just been some kind of sick game, if the entire town had been conspiring to keep him away from Elisabeth, so that he would just leave her be. That way they could keep hold of their precious charity project, the historic Burnham manse, and their precious charity lawyer—

Elisabeth gasped.

"What is it?" Shawn said curtly.

"Nothing," she said. But she was thinking of the reaction that Mrs. McClintock and Angela Stuart had to Gunnar, the frosty response to his tattoos and diamond piercings, their startled protests when she'd told them she was leaving Greenleigh.

Of course Gunnar would think that the town was arrayed against him, because it was true. He didn't belong, and nice people like Angela Stuart, with her custom cherry cabinets and selectman husband, only had to pretend that they were perfect in order to earn their roles. The truth was that the Stuarts were human and they screwed up and felt pain like anyone, but let an outsider like Gunnar threaten one of their own, and the claws would come out.

But it wasn't true, Elisabeth thought, confused. It wasn't true. She didn't care what Angela thought, what the McClintocks of the world thought. Yes, she knew Shawn was on their side—he, too, didn't think a tattoo artist was good enough for her—but that wasn't why she'd spent the night with him—

Her head hurt. This was all messed up. Too many things going on at once. She wished it were just about money, or about that broken-down old house. But it was about so much more.

She needed to see him, to talk to him. She needed to explain. She would straighten it all out with him, convince him that she wasn't one of "them." Just because she was a Burnham of Greenleigh didn't mean that she was persuadable. That whole Greenleigh thing was bullshit, and even Shawn knew it. Wasn't it Shawn who'd said that he needed to get them both away from Greenleigh? Wasn't it Shawn who'd said that the town was the toxic reason for their unhappiness?

Elisabeth rubbed her forehead with both hands, feeling the worry lines etching grooves into her skin. She was going to look like she was forty, at this rate.

"Shawn, thank you for doing this."

"Yep."

She stole a look at him then. He still looked furious.

"I'm really sorry."

"So am I."

Timidly, she reached out a hand, but he jerked away. "Don't," he said tightly. "I can't handle it right now. Just—just let me take you to the airport. I'll do that much for you. But I can't do any more. Don't ask me for more than this."

She nodded and turned away.

He was right. He was going all the way out on an emotional limb in order to do the right thing, but it was only the right thing because he was respecting what she said was the right thing. He didn't agree with her, but he respected her.

It was the right thing, she thought, because she was going to keep her word. She wasn't going to leave another man high and dry, dangling after her because Greenleigh would not release its claws—or more accurately, because the good folk of Greenleigh would not let her grow up.

I am going to see this through, all the way through. To the end. If it's the last thing I do.

It actually took less than two hours to get to Logan Airport, despite a brief holdup as the Massachusetts Turnpike entered Boston, with road construction forcing three lanes to merge into a single slow-moving lane. But it cleared up fairly quickly, before Shawn had time to expound on the absurdity of Thanksgiving Day construction, when all decent citizens should have been at home watching football and vying for a second piece of pie. When they had gone through the tunnel and taken the airport exit, Shawn headed for the central parking lot.

"Shawn. You can drop me off. I'll be all right." Elisabeth was looking at her phone, trying to make sense of the ticket.

"I'm taking you all the way in," Shawn replied tersely.

"Really, you don't need to. I'll be fine." Elisabeth looked up from the phone as a thought struck her. "I should just text him, shouldn't I. He's either here or on his way here."

"Yeah. Do that," Shawn muttered. He had entered the central parking facility and was slowly accelerating the car up the ramp.

Elisabeth looked down at the string of texts, all from Gunnar between eight and midnight. The cheerful emojis and random conversation starters—they sounded just like him. Then the growing confusion. And the last awful message.

I can't believe you did this.

"I should have texted him when I first got home," she said.

"You should have," Shawn agreed. "But we had to just get you here on time. That drama was—unnecessary. You need to let him know you're here. And then we'll meet him in the terminal. I promise I won't punch him," he added, when Elisabeth looked up in alarm.

She typed out, "Hey Gunnar. I'm here at the airport. Where are you?"

She waited. They had parked, and Shawn was opening his door. She typed again.

"I'll wait for you inside by the ticket counter."

She replaced the phone in her purse, and got out of the car.

"Did he answer?"

Elisabeth shook her head.

"Let's get you to the ticket counter then." He turned abruptly, heading toward the elevator bank.

They had a bit of a walk to the ticket counter, which was empty. Shawn went to check the flight board, while Elisabeth glanced again at the phone. Nothing.

"They're not calling your flight yet. You've still got time."

"Shawn, he's not answering."

"Give him a few minutes." Shawn looked around, then gestured at a row of chairs. "I'm going to sit over there with your bags."

"Should I check in?"

Shawn held his hand out for her phone, and she gave it to him. He examined her ticket, then handed it back.

"I'm not sure you can. It's his itinerary. You're on it together. And they might want to see the credit card he used to book it." He turned away.

Elisabeth went to check the flight board. Boarding in half an hour. What? Why so soon? The flight wasn't due to leave for almost ninety minutes. She decided to go up to the ticket desk.

"Hi, I'm on the flight to Seattle that departs at one-thirty," she began, but the man behind the desk was already holding out his hand for her identification.

"I'm just asking a question," she continued, "because my—my travel companion isn't here yet, and he's the one who bought the tickets. Do I have to check in already?"

"Do you have bags?"

"Yes, I do, but—"

"That aircraft is due in at the very last minute from Chicago," the man said. "We need to clean it and refuel and turn it around very quickly, so we'd like everyone checked in and ready to go well in advance. We're closing check-in soon. You really should just check your bags right now."

"Can I do that? My friend isn't here."

"Let me look at your booking." He tapped a few keys, then frowned.

"This itinerary has been canceled."