Secret Garden (31 page)

“Please, Rhiannon.”

But it was too late. She’d run back to her side of the castle.

“Don’t you give up on us,” he said. “Don’t you give up!”

She crumpled into a ball, crying and holding her sides. Shaking, as if the fear of a thousand storms were raining down on her.

“Rhiannon!” He shook her, trying to call her out of her trance.

“Colin, that’s enough!” Jamie had hastened up the drive, steering Jessie’s motorized scooter. “You let Rhiannon be!”

Jamie was right. Colin knelt down beside her, holding her in his arms, cradling her. “It’s all right,” he said. “Shhh, you’ll be all right.”

He took over the buggy from Jamie and brought Rhiannon back to her castle. Back to her safety and what she needed.

* * *

M
AYBE HER INITIAL
beliefs had been right all along, Rhiannon decided. She was just too damaged, unable to have the kind of life other people had.

Whoever heard of an agoraphobic out in the world, traveling about with a globe-trotting man, anyway? It was absurd.

Colin left for the airport after he couldn’t delay it any longer without risking missing his flight time.

She supported what Colin needed to do for his career. He’d tried everything to keep her with him.

Rhiannon stayed in the castle so she didn’t have to see Colin drive away. He’d unpacked the car, and she averted her face as Paul sadly but dutifully carried back her paints, her portraits, her luggage.

That night, Rhiannon moved permanently from the castle to the outbuilding. Up in her art studio, she poured her grief into painting a portrait of Colin. It was the most beautiful work she’d ever done. She needed no camera, no photograph, no sitting. It poured out of her from memory. From love.

That effort took days of blessed concentration and absorption in her work, and when she’d finished, she hung the portrait in the guest room she and Colin had lived in together.

She spent hours curled up on the bed, sleeping with her face pressed to his pillowcase, which she’d refused to wash—she could still smell him on it. Gazing at the portrait of Colin gave her comfort because it helped her to remember what they’d had.

In the end, even though her relationship with Colin had strengthened her by inspiring her to push and expand her boundaries, it had weakened her, too. She felt as though she’d failed. What was the point in going on each day if each day she only failed again?

He did call her once a day, but he seemed exhausted and so far away, not only physically but emotionally. She put on a good front, reassuring him that everything was all right with her. She got the feeling that he did the same for her, too. They both knew there was nothing more they could do for each other. Even his love couldn’t change her. Even her willpower couldn’t defeat the panic attacks that she’d lived with for so long.

And every day, more of the spark went out of their relationship.

If it went on like this, she feared, there would come a point someday when it would die completely. She knew the risks, but felt powerless to change course.

Paul worried for her. And Rhiannon couldn’t lie to him, because he saw her plainly before him each day. At first, she neglected eating. But Paul fed her dutifully, and she tried to take better care of herself, for his sake. Jessie stopped by often with pies and other fattening treats. Jamie brought supplies from town, including frames to make more canvases, but Rhiannon didn’t have the heart to start any new projects.

And then one day, Rhiannon’s cousin Isabel showed up. Rhiannon was grateful to see her. Isabel Sage had a master talent for putting on a good face; of all Rhiannon’s family and friends, Isabel was the one least likely to chasten Rhiannon, or even show any type of worry or horror over Rhiannon’s red eyes or puffy appearance.

“Hi, Rhiannon!” Isabel swept in like a perfect, beautiful, gracious guest. She grinned at Rhiannon, showing her dimples, and then kissed her on each cheek. “I’m sorry I stopped in without warning, but I was in the area and got an idea it would be fun to have an early lunch with you. Here.” She opened a bag to reveal two green salads. Rhiannon’s stomach seemed to turn over in rebellion, but honestly, a salad would be better for her than forcing down another slice of Jessie’s lemon pie.

Isabel sat at a table in the back kitchen and entertained Rhiannon with amusing stories of the office where she and Rhiannon’s brother, Malcolm, worked. Isabel was president of the cosmetics division.

“...and I brought you some lipstick samples,” Isabel said, digging into her voluminous purse. “We’ve been doing a whole campaign with new colors for autumn based on the Highlands.”

“That’s great,” Rhiannon murmured, gazing at the sprawl of mini lipstick tubes across her kitchen table.

“This is the color I chose for my wedding dress,” Isabel babbled. “And this one complements the bridesmaid dresses I chose.” She sighed, gazing at Rhiannon. “With your dark hair, it goes perfectly. It’s too bad that—”

Her eyes widening, Isabel caught herself. But without missing a beat, she laughed at herself. “I come here intending to buck you up, but then I do the opposite and stick my foot in it. Never mind me and my wedding. Enough said. In my heart, you’re my dear maid of honor, so we’ll leave it at that. Tell me about your parents. The summer will be over soon. Are you excited they’ll be coming back from their trip?”

“I could still be your maid of honor,” Rhiannon said irritably. “I’ll be present through videoconferencing at the church. You could put the computer monitor up front with you every bit as easily as you could put it in the back.”

Isabel smiled and nodded, but Rhiannon could tell that it was her “agreeable” smile. “There’s a lot that goes into it,” Isabel said.

“You could phone me up for each part,” Rhiannon said, feeling stubborn. “Or someone could. I don’t see why my agoraphobia has to be...the end of every relationship.”

Her voice was sounding shrill. This was nothing like her. Maybe she was waking up. Maybe she was tired of mourning. And maybe she was a wee bit disappointed in Colin, too. He’d known what she was. They could work around this. They could...

Isabel patted Rhiannon’s hand, bringing Rhiannon back from her thoughts. Isabel gave Rhiannon a sad but gentle smile.

But Rhiannon felt an insistence that wouldn’t be denied. “What does a maid of honor do that I can’t with my agoraphobia?”

Isabel waved her hand. “You’re right, Rhiannon. It’s perfectly silly of me. What does it matter if you’re not at the reception to lift my train when I need help going to the toilet? Or hold back my hair in case I need to throw up from nerves?” She giggled lightly as if confiding, whispering behind her hand. “Which I might, because it appears I have a new history of doing that when I’m excited. Throwing up, I mean.”

At the mention of “throwing up,” Rhiannon had a twinge that she might vomit, too—the visual of it hit her hard. She groaned and put her hand to her stomach.

“Yes, Rhiannon,” Isabel continued, merrily talking away, “I’ll put you down in the program as maid of honor. I’ll put a screen on the staging beside me, and there you will be. It’ll be splendid.”

No, it would be ridiculous. Isabel was right. Rhiannon’s life was no better than a half-life. Just because she used technology to phone Colin or see him on an internet connection, it wasn’t the same as being there with him. She couldn’t touch him. She couldn’t hold him. She couldn’t walk down a church aisle and slide into a pew beside him, or dance with him at a wedding reception.

If she didn’t feel so sick to her stomach, she might actually go and do something about it, immediately—if only she knew what to do.

“You look pale as a ghost!” Isabel exclaimed. “And you’re sweating. Are you ill?”

“Just...a bit nauseated,” Rhiannon said. “I think it’s the stress.”

Isabel gathered her purse. “I’m sorry. I’ll go. I’m disturbing you.”

“No...” Rhiannon put her hand on her cousin’s sleeve. “Please don’t leave. It’s just...since Colin has been gone, I’m missing him more than I expected. I dream about him and when I wake up, I don’t always feel physically well.”

Isabel’s eyes narrowed. “Does this happen every morning?”

“Usually,” Rhiannon admitted. “Why?”

“Could you be pregnant?”

Rhiannon laughed. That was ridiculous. “Of course not.”

“Could you
possibly
be pregnant?”

“We used birth control every time,” she said.

“Birth control isn’t perfect.” Isabel rose to her feet. “Please, I’d like to run out and pick up a pregnancy test for you. Would you mind?”

But...this couldn’t possibly be true! Rhiannon must have given Isabel a look of horror and fear, because Isabel clasped her hand and patted it.

“If it’s false, we’ll rule it out, won’t we?” Isabel gave Rhiannon a gentle smile. “This will just be between you and me. My lips are sealed.”

Numbly, Rhiannon tried to wrap her mind around what Isabel was saying. Could it be possible?

Because it was so far-fetched for her—an agoraphobic with a
baby
? She had never really allowed herself to imagine being pregnant. A life, growing inside her, a result of her and Colin’s love for one another?

The thought made her weepy.

Colin would make a great dad. If I could just leave this estate, I’d make a great mum, too.

Maybe this was a sign.

“Rhiannon?”

She
needed
to change. She
needed
to get off this estate.

“I...think I would like to talk with my doctor, please,” she said to Isabel.

“Your family doctor?”

“No. My therapist.”

“I didn’t know you had one,” Isabel said, surprised.

Rhiannon had nothing to lose but her fear and her pride. Maybe Colin had been right. “I want to see the therapist I used to have. My old one, from when I was a child.”

The therapist Rhiannon’s family had fired for her because she’d been so full of fear that she convinced herself—and them—that staying calm was the thing she’d needed most.

Turned out it wasn’t.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

C
OLIN HAD HATED
to leave Rhiannon behind. But he didn’t have a choice. He couldn’t help her overcome her fear—not even with his love.

Yes, he did believe she’d wanted to leave—she was in tears as the private car left without her—but Colin couldn’t make the change for her. Couldn’t physically force her to cross any line.

It was clear to him that she needed professional treatment, though he hadn’t been able to convince her of that while they had their weeks together in Scotland. Whenever he’d brought it up, she refused to discuss it.

On the Sage Family jet, her uncle had suggested that Colin face the fact that Rhiannon might never leave the estate.

“I don’t believe that,”
Colin had retorted.
“I have faith in her. She’s stronger than she knows. It just isn’t her time yet.”

Weeks away from her, and he still believed that. But part of strength was admitting when it was time to call in the professionals.

He should know. He’d done it for himself with the coaching boot camp he was enrolled in.

He stood at a driving range on the edge of the lonely desert and toed the bucket of practice balls at his feet. He’d been working on all aspects of his game, and he was seeing payoff.

In the weeks he’d been away, he made real progress with his work. Though the best times were during the day when he was busy and didn’t have to think about anything other than the job at hand.

If he hadn’t gone to Scotland in the first place, hadn’t stayed with his grandparents and met Rhiannon again, then nothing like this would’ve happened. He wouldn’t have had the opportunity—or the necessary change of perspective about himself—to apply himself like he had.

He dropped a practice ball on the mat, drew his club back in an arc and drove the ball in a sweet, powerful swing. One by one he finished driving the rest of the balls, emptying his bucket.

Panting, he tugged off his glove with his teeth and ran his hand through his hair. He’d been up since dark, stretching his muscles and joints and watching comparative videos of his swings. The sun had barely risen over the top of the far mountains, and he planned to hit many more buckets of balls today, working on his swing mechanics. His next tournament was in two weeks. That would be the test for him. He couldn’t waste the opportunity to prepare.

His coach wanted to meet him for breakfast, so fifteen minutes before their appointment, he packed up his bag. He headed toward the clubhouse, missing the company of Rhiannon and Molly to walk with him in the mornings.

But if there was one thing he’d learned in all those years with his mom, and now, with his grandparents, it was that it was futile to try and force someone else into happiness.

The only
happiness
he was responsible for—and could take steps toward improving—was his own.

* * *

T
HE THERAPIST WHOM
Rhiannon had worked with as a child had retired and was no longer living in the country. Not sure what to do, Rhiannon made an appointment with Dr. McLean, their family physician.

As always, he arrived at the castle and saw her in the privacy of her room. After listening to her symptoms and her concerns about having a baby while she still suffered with agoraphobia, he suggested they start with an overall physical checkup. Happily, he declared her generally healthy—pending the results of some laboratory tests. Then he drew blood for a pregnancy test, though there would be a twenty-four-hour wait for the results.

Rhiannon pressed the small bandage on her arm, slightly embarrassed of being in the position of facing an unplanned pregnancy. “We were very careful,” she remarked sheepishly to him. “We’re not irresponsible teenagers. We always used birth control.”

Dr. McLean glanced up from jotting some notes on a pad. “I know you’re a responsible person, Rhiannon.” He smiled kindly at her. “But in my long life, I’ve noted time and again how control can often be an illusion. We humans can set up our worlds as perfectly as can be, and yet still be faced with outcomes the opposite of what we intended. It’s the grand irony of life.”