The Goodbye Groom. Ellen James

observed the lot of them, admirably impassive.

      “Mrs. B.,” said Eric. “Tonight, if you don’t mind, we’ll have dinner…in the pool.”

      Something seemed to glimmer in Kaitlin’s eyes. But then, as so often happened these days, her head dipped forward and a protective curtain of hair fell across her face.

      Eric still didn’t know if he’d passed the test, but he was determined to keep on trying. So he behaved as if dinner à la pool was something he did every day. He waded up and down the pool steps to deliver Mrs. B.’s delicious offerings: roasted peppers and eggplant, homemade rolls, shepherd’s cheese, pasta with basil sauce. Mrs. Braddock had even brought two candles for an air of festivity; he lit them and placed them in the center of the table. Mrs. B. herself retreated as if grateful to escape.

      Eric sat down, serving Kaitlin extra sauce on her pasta.

      “Thank you, Dad,” she said formally. He tried to remember the last time she’d called him by the more casual term of “Pops.” He missed that. Before his marriage to Leah had ended, even when he hadn’t been the most involved of fathers, he’d still been able to count on a hug from Kaitlin, as well as her smile or laughter. And, yes, a beleaguered but affectionate “Oh, Pops” on occasion. But ever since the divorce…

      Would his daughter’s life always be divided in this painful way?

      Jamie Williams seemed to be focusing rather intently on her plate, no doubt sensing unspoken tensions. Eric poured his daughter some cranberry-grape juice.

      “Thank you, Dad.”

      Maybe if he’d been closer to her from the very beginning, the split wouldn’t have been so traumatic for her. Maybe she’d have a more solid foundation on which to build. It occurred to Eric that his life was full of maybes these days. Although Kaitlin had never been a particularly bold child, she’d once seemed at ease in her surroundings. It was only after the divorce that the insecurities had started to surface. The fear of darkness, for one, and the fear of water…and of school.

      Yet she didn’t seem fearful at the moment. She moved her feet back and forth, sending up a shower of droplets.

      “Jamie,” she said comfortably, “would you pass the applesauce, please?”

      Jamie obliged. “I think I’ll have a little more myself.”

      “I like apples,” said Kaitlin.

      “So do I,” Jamie replied. “Apples are my favorite fruit.”

      “What’s your favorite cookie?”

      “Hmm…it’s a tie between chocolate-chip and coconut-macaroon.”

      “Chocolate-chip is definitely the best,” Kaitlin pronounced.

      “You just might be right.”

      Eric listened to this interchange. Kaitlin was behaving as if she’d known Jamie Williams forever.

      “Oatmeal-raisin is my favorite,” he murmured to no one in particular, and no one responded.

      “Maybe I’ll have a little more of that applesauce, too,” he added.

      “Here you go, Dad.” Kaitlin passed the bowl and then turned back to Jamie. “What’s your favorite vegetable?”

      “Caramel corn,” Jamie said without missing a beat.

      Kaitlin’s eyes sparkled. “That’s not a vegetable!”

      “Oops,” said Jamie and smiled at her.

      Kaitlin almost smiled in return.

      Eric knew when he’d been upstaged. He settled back in his chair and watched Kaitlin with his brother’s fiancée…ex-fiancée? These past few months Kaitlin had clearly been struggling with a weight of fear and uncertainty. But now, at this moment, he sensed almost a lightness to her attitude.

      He had to admit there was something unique about Jamie Williams. The way she treated his daughter with such seriousness—and yet at the same time with such a flair for nonsense. By now, Kaitlin and Jamie had moved on to a discussion of favorite animals.

      “Kittens,” said his daughter, “are my favorite.”

      “Well, of course. Isabel would be highly offended if she thought otherwise.”

      “What’s your favorite?”

      “Monkeys,” said Jamie. “Definitely. Because they appreciate the many fine attributes of bananas and because they know how to make faces.”

      Kaitlin immediately scrunched up her nose. “Like this?”

      “No, more like this.” Jamie reached over and gently tickled Kaitlin into a small giggle. His daughter almost sounded carefree.

      Jamie Williams had been here only a few hours. In that brief time, she’d managed to charm Kaitlin with a sense of magic, a delight in the absurd. Eric had to admit those qualities had been in short supply around the Sinclair household lately.

      In fact, Jamie had reminded him of just how much was missing here. Laughter, lightheartedness. And, yes, magic.

      Chapter Three

      Dinner finished, Jamie set her fork down regretfully. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d had quite so satisfying a meal. When the housekeeper appeared poolside a few moments later, Jamie told her as much.

      “You’re a wonderful cook, Mrs. Braddock.”

      “Yes, absolutely wonderful,” said Kaitlin, sounding very grown-up. The corner of Mrs. B.’s mouth gave a twitch, but otherwise she acknowledged the compliments with a brisk, professional nod.

      “All right,” she said. “Front and center—everyone under the age of twenty can help me with the dishes.”

      Kaitlin stole a peek at Jamie.

      “No way—I plead the fifth,” Jamie told the little girl, as deadpan as possible. “As we know, a woman never discusses her age.”

      Kaitlin seemed to consider this and then nodded in solemn agreement. She began gathering the cups and silverware while Eric stacked the plates. The two Sinclairs worked efficiently together. Whenever Eric glanced at his daughter, the tenderness in his eyes was clear. Yet perhaps there was a glimpse of puzzlement, as well. He seemed to be asking questions of himself, immersed in private musings, and Jamie suddenly felt like an intruder in this little family circle. To cover her sense of loneliness and confusion, she busied herself by helping to transport the dishes topside to Mrs. Braddock’s tray.

      Now Kaitlin padded across the patio, trailing Mrs. B. As the two of them reached the door to the house, Mrs. B.’s voice came faintly. “All right. Everyone who has wet feet can dry them on this towel.”

      Jamie and Eric remained seated at the table, their own legs still submerged. The water was pleasant, even as the shadows of evening lengthened around them. The master of the house had said nothing about her rearranging the furniture, and she gave him credit for that. He behaved as if it were perfectly normal to sip after-dinner wine quite literally alfresco. And yet his presence disconcerted her, had done so since the first moment she’d met him. Maybe it was that she hadn’t even known of his existence until today. Why hadn’t Shawn mentioned Eric? What strains between two brothers could lead to such an omission?

      In the short time Jamie had been in the Sinclair home she’d discovered a few facts on her own. It was clear that Eric Sinclair loved his daughter very much. It was equally clear that Kaitlin loved her dad very much. Yet the two of them seemed to have just a bit of trouble connecting. They both seemed to share an elemental reserve.

      At times Kaitlin seemed on the verge of relaxing. But then she’d hold back, as if afraid to indulge—as if afraid that happiness and security could all too easily be snatched away.

      Jamie believed she understood