Lost and Found: (A Ripple Effect Romance Novella) (10 page)

And suddenly Lydia wanted more than to hold his hand. She wanted more time than tomorrow. She wished they could stay suspended here forever.

“I’m not sorry at all,” Blake said, meeting her eyes. His gaze moved to her lips and Lydia thought he might kiss her, but then Blake squeezed her hand and let it go. He smiled back at her before they entered their separate rooms. “I’ll see you in the morning, Lydia.”

Blake brushed his teeth slowly. He wanted to think about Lydia. She was charming and sweet and bashful. He wanted to picture her cute nose, scrunching up when she laughed. He wanted to think about their day and imagine kissing her goodnight instead of lamely saying he’d see her in the morning.

The problem was that his mind kept getting trapped in his grandfather’s tragedy. He couldn’t stop thinking about the pain his grandfather had endured because of his relentless pursuit of his career. Even though part of him felt disloyal to the grandmother he’d never known, Blake couldn’t help feeling sad for Elliott and Gladys and the loss of their dreams. Had his grandfather been wrong? Maybe, but Blake understood his motivation, his drive to be successful. He loved the feeling that came with success, the rush when he handled a case successfully. He wanted to be free of financial worries.

Blake opened his briefcase and took out the letter his grandfather had written to him. He probably should have read it with Lydia. She’d just lived through Elliott and Gladys’s entire doomed relationship, after all. But he worried the letter might hold too strong a reproach and he wasn’t sure he wanted to be scolded in front of her. He turned on the lamp and got into bed.

The letter was three hand-written pages. After reading so many letters in his grandfather’s youthful hand, it was surprising to see the shaky lines of an elderly man. The letterhead said “Dr. Elliott Knowles” at the top. It was identical to the letterhead he’d used after Christmas all those years ago.

Dear Blake,

I hope since you’re reading this, that you’ve met Gladys and read the letters I sent her. I thought hearing the words of my thirty-year-old self would have more impact than the words of an old man saying “slow down” or “you work too much.”

Before I go any further, it’s important that I tell you that I loved your grandmother with all my heart. She saved me. I was a broken, lonely man and somehow your grandmother put me back together. She gave me your father and you and your brother. She brought me laughter and joy and love. She was my world.

But Gladys was my first great love. I met her in the fall of 1945. I was a resident at Boston Medical Center, and Gladys came to the emergency room with her roommate. They were students at Boston College and her roommate (I don’t remember her name) had cut her hand fixing dinner and needed stitches. I took care of her friend, but Gladys is the one that caught my eye.

When I lost her, I thought I’d lost it all. For many years, I thought she’d destroyed me. It wasn’t until I was almost forty years old that I realized I’d destroyed myself. I spent years telling myself I was noble and good because I was so devoted to my work. But I wasn’t noble and good. I was selfish and arrogant. I told myself I wanted to be successful because of what it would let me do for those I loved, but when I looked at my heart, I knew I was doing it for me. Those I loved would have been perfectly happy even if I hadn’t become the Chief of Staff. Gladys married an insurance salesman who made less than half what I did, and she went on to have a happy life.

Blake, your father wasn’t like me. He’s a successful man and a good provider, but he was never driven to work the way I was. Neither is Pete. They’ve both found balance in their lives. But you aren’t like them, my dear grandson. Sadly, you’re too much like me. I see you breaking your back, putting in ridiculous hours, missing important things, permanent things, all so you can be successful, so you can become a partner and make more money.

Please stop. Let this old man teach you a lesson while you’re still young enough not to be ruined by the drive that almost ruined me. It doesn’t matter if you’re a partner. I know you think it does, but it doesn’t. You’re sacrificing permanent things—family, memories, peace—for temporary things—accolades, money, power. Those things don’t make you happy, Blake, and when you’re an old man, you’ll realize how empty they are.

You’re on a path that leads to disappointment, and you’re running as fast as you can. If you keep going down that path, you’ll surely reach it.

I hope when you meet Gladys, you’ll recognize what I gave up. I hope when you read my letters, you’ll see some of the pain I caused Gladys and myself. I was angry at her for a long time, but she did the right thing by leaving me. A good woman doesn’t want or deserve what I was trying to give. A good woman just wants a good man and a happy family.

Be a good man, Blake. Find a good woman. Love her. Work to provide for your family, not for honors and accolades. The people telling you what you’re worth at your office would gladly rob you of the joy of pushing your child on a swing. The clients you devote your life to won’t make you soup when you’re sick and go grocery shopping with you. They won’t sleep beside you at night. Don’t live your life for the wrong people.

And most of all, don’t confuse the worth of a career with the worth of relationships. Your career will never deserve more of you than the people you love who love you back. Don’t learn these lessons the hard way.

I love you, Blake. It’s my family that made my life worth something.

Love,

Grandpa Knowles

The letter sounded just like Grandpa. The words pierced Blake in his heart. He wiped his eyes and put it away. Grandpa had said he and Blake were the most alike. It was true. Blake had always looked up to him, had channeled his drive as he went through school and started at the firm. But after reading the letters tonight, Blake felt both honored and scared. Grandpa had been a good man, but his wisdom had taken time and had cost him plenty of heartache. He’d wasted many years and hurt people, including himself, before the wisdom came.

Blake turned off the light, but he didn’t fall asleep. He thought of Lydia who slept on the other side of the wall. He’d only known her for two days, but it felt like so much longer. It had been a long time since he’d allowed himself to be interested in a woman. He’d figured he’d do that after he made partner. But what if the right woman was here now?

Blake felt sick inside. Even though he might be interested in Lydia, why would she give him a second thought? She’d just spent the last few hours reading letters that let her know exactly why she should turn and run from Blake. Gladys had showed Lydia what it took to find happiness. It took leaving.

He wasn’t sure how to do it, but Blake wanted to make his grandpa proud of him. He wanted balance and peace, but he wasn’t sure how to create it. Tomorrow, he’d spend the day with Lydia, but what about Wednesday when Brynn and Mary Challis and David Austin and Pryce Van Wagoner and a dozen other people made their demands? Once he tore himself into chunks and gave everyone their piece, what would be left for anyone else? Probably nothing worth having.

He and Lydia had one more day. One more day for him to enjoy her smile and share a laugh. One more day for adventure. One more day before the real world charged in and took them hostage. Blake got up and opened his laptop. After a quick search, he wrote down an address and phone number. When he got back in bed, he was finally able to fall asleep.

Shortly after eight the next morning, Blake was packing up his toiletries when he heard a soft knock on the door. “Good morning,” he said when he opened it to Lydia.

“Oh good. You’re up. We got to bed so late, I didn’t want to bother you if you were still sleeping,” she said.

“Funny. I thought the same thing. If you weren’t up, I was just going to bring you back a muffin and some juice.”

“So you haven’t gone down to breakfast yet?” she asked, looking at his bare feet.

“Not yet. Let me put on some shoes, and we can go down together.”

Lydia stepped into his room and let the door close behind her, but didn’t come any farther inside.

She looked beautiful today. Her hair hung in loose waves that grazed her collarbone, her green peasant dress fit perfectly. “Nice dress,” he said, his voice teasing.

“So it’s okay if I wear this today?” she asked.

“It’s certainly okay with me. But do you think you could wear those close-toed shoes you wore yesterday?”

Lydia groaned. “Are you serious?”

Blake laughed. “Yep. The dress is great, but we can’t wear sandals.”

“What are we doing today?” Lydia looked suspicious, and Blake laughed.

“Don’t worry. Nothing like jumping out of a plane.”

“Is it a secret, or do I get to know the plan?”

“It’s not a secret. I’ll tell you while we’re eating.”

When they were sitting at a table in the breakfast room, waffles and fruit in front of them, Blake told her his plans. “I booked us a Segway Lunch tour. It sounds fun. It’s a two hour tour around the city and it finishes up with stops at three restaurants—one for an appetizer, another for an entrée and dessert at the last one. Have you ever ridden a Segway before?”

“I ride one to school every day.” Her face was serious.

Blake looked surprised. “Really?”

“No, I’m not serious and no, I’ve never ridden one before. Have you?”

“We went to Washington, D.C. after I graduated, and my family took a Segway tour around the monuments. It’s fun. I think you’ll like it.”

“Are they hard to ride?”

“No. It takes a few minutes to get comfortable on them, but they’re easy.”

“Thanks, Blake. This sounds like the perfect way to finish out our last day,” Lydia said.

“Our last day in Charlotte, anyway,” Blake said. The color that rose in Lydia’s cheeks and the little smile she tried to hide gave Blake a good feeling about the return to Denver.

After breakfast, Lydia changed shoes, and they checked out of the hotel.

Lydia couldn’t believe this was the same Charlotte she’d lived in for the last three months. She’d seen so little of the city during her time here. “I feel like a prisoner who’s finally been set free,” she said to Blake. “Look at all these things I’ve missed out on.”

“You’re not missing out today,” he said. “Keep track of what you really like. Maybe you’ll come back here someday, and you’ll have a head start.”

Lydia smiled at his encouraging words, but she was even more upset with herself now. No wonder Cambri had loved it here. It was a beautiful city.

Jamal, their guide, led them down tree-lined streets, pointing out historic homes and buildings. They rode through Fourth Ward Park, past the Settler’s Cemetery and through the business district.

The tour was made up of Blake and Lydia and a family of four from Memphis. The teenage children were precocious and had elaborate questions for the guide. Lydia wondered if they were really curious or if they just enjoyed trying to stump the guide and see their parents nod admiringly.

Blake and Lydia didn’t mind the questions. Sometimes they pulled their Segways up close and listened to the conversations and sometimes they lagged back and had their own.

Lydia loved riding the Segway. When they’d arrived for the tour, their guide had given each of them a helmet and a quick rundown of how they worked. Then they’d followed him to a flat, grassy area where Lydia had practiced until she felt comfortable. The subtle body movements it took to move forward and maneuver the machine felt like something out of a science fiction movie. Lydia got the hang of it pretty quickly. Blake already knew what he was doing, so he’d stepped out of the practice area and returned calls to Brynn and Mary Challis. They hadn’t been easy phone calls and it had taken the first half of the tour for the worry lines to leave his forehead.

“Now we’re to the good part,” Jamal said. “The food. This is Charlie’s. He came to the United States twenty-four years ago from Hong Kong. When he got here, he worked at a clothing factory, and every day he’d bring a lunchbox of homemade potstickers. They musta smelled amazing ‘cause his co-workers started paying him to bring them potstickers for their lunch. Before long, Charlie was bringing a giant kettle of potstickers and selling them for a dollar each. He was making more during lunch than he was the rest of the day working on the line. That’s when his wife, who was helping him make potstickers every night, suggested they’d make more money if they opened a little restaurant. Charlie’s makes a whole lot more than potstickers now, but they’re still what he’s most famous for. People come from all over North Carolina for his potstickers. So that’s what we’re having for our appetizer course—Charlie’s potstickers.”