She bit her lip.
Dan sighed and closed his bag of fudge with a noisy crinkle. “It’s all you can do not to give me a lecture about wasting my potential, isn’t it? Trust me, I’ve heard it. My cousin pulls it out every so often. My parents have given up trying. They don’t say much of anything to me anymore—not that Dad remembers who I am half the time, anyway.”
Kinley grimaced. “I’m sorry. Alzheimer’s?”
Keeping his gaze on the bluegrass trio, Dan shrugged. “Yeah. My folks were classic overachievers. You’d have identified with them, I think. Mom taught pharmacology at the University of Alabama School of Medicine, Dad was a law professor at Cumberland School of Law.”
“I see.” She couldn’t think of anything else to say, though she wondered if that had been a dig about her identifying with his parents. She was pretty sure it had been.
“Anyway, they wanted me to be a doctor or a lawyer. They would have settled for a pharmacist or a dentist, though they wouldn’t have been particularly happy about either. A journalism degree was one of the last options they’d have picked for me. The military wasn’t even on their list of acceptable possibilities.”
Kinley remembered that he’d mentioned his parents had usually left him in the care of nannies rather than taking care of him, themselves. Had he bucked their wishes when it came to career choices as a form of rebellion? Or maybe in an attempt to get their attention? Whichever, it was sad.
“Is that why you moved back to Alabama to work with your cousin?” she asked tentatively. “Because of your father’s condition?”
After a momentary hesitation, he nodded. “I had the idea that maybe my mother would need me. I was wrong, of course. She hired sitters for him and went on with her life. Pretty much the same way she approached motherhood. Which is why I feel no real obligation to stay in Hoover much longer. I’m sure my cousin will be able to replace me at the magazine.”
“Do you ever see your parents?”
“Oh, sure. We have dinner occasionally. Very civil. Mom assures me that there’s still time for me to go back to law school, though she reminds me occasionally that I’m not getting any younger. Dad tells me stories about his glory days as a distinguished professor and about some of the renowned politicians who passed through his classes. He remembers those people. It’s his son he’s forgotten.”
“I’m sorry, Dan,” she said quietly.
He grunted and pushed a hand through his hair. “No, I’m sorry. Talking about my folks makes me grumpy. Let’s just leave it that they aren’t particularly happy with the way I’m living.”
“Are you?” she couldn’t resist asking. “Or are you still trying to prove to them that you can do what you want?”
He stood, tossed a crumpled paper napkin into a trash bin and turned toward the car. “Ready to move on?”
“Yes.” She rose, too, wondering if a metaphor was buried in his question or if she was simply overthinking his words. “I suppose we should.”
By unspoken agreement, they headed straight back to the inn after leaving the general store. They were in Kinley’s car, and she drove the scenic route back. She mentioned specific hiking trails they passed along the way, some that led to waterfalls or picnic areas or awe-inspiring overlooks, but they didn’t stop again. Dan was rather quiet during the drive, admiring the views she pointed out, responding courteously when she spoke, but distant in a way that he had not been before.
They didn’t talk about his parents again, or her work, or anything that had taken place between them—kisses or lovemaking or shared illusions in the fog. Something had changed between them during that conversation at the picnic table, and Kinley didn’t understand it. But she felt it.
She parked in her usual place toward the back of the inn and they climbed out of the car. Dan closed his door, then glanced around the garden. No one seemed to be around at the moment, which was no surprise. Few of the rooms were occupied now that the wedding party had moved out, and it was time for the light Sunday supper to be served inside, so the guests in residence were probably in the dining room.
“Bonnie sets out a simple meal at this time on Sunday evenings,” she said to Dan, more to make conversation than because he didn’t already know. “A big pot of soup, sandwich makings, desserts. You’ve got almost an hour before it’s all put away.”
“I’m not really hungry. Too many sweets, I guess. Maybe we could walk in the garden for a few minutes?”
“Of course.”
She noticed as they strolled in silence toward the fountain that all evidence of the wedding had been stashed away. The gardens and lawn were immaculate as always, the gazebo decorated with pots of leafy ferns rather than baskets of wedding flowers. Her brother was always fast and thorough with the chores he had claimed as his own. She wished she believed he was genuinely happy with his life now.
Reaching the fountain, Dan stopped to gaze down into the rippling pool, studying the shiny handful of coins there as if totaling their value. She wasn’t sure he was even seeing the change. It seemed to her that he was thinking hard about what he was about to say, and she braced herself to hear it.
“I think I’ll check out this evening,” he said. “I’m considering driving over to Chesapeake Bay. My assignment here is finished, and I’m sure you have a busy week ahead.”
Somehow she’d sensed this was what he was going to say, but it made it no easier to hear it. She wasn’t sure what, exactly, had brought him to this decision. What she’d said—or hadn’t said. Why he suddenly felt the urge to cut his losses and move on. She wouldn’t ask him to stay. After all, this was the outcome she had expected all along. She was strongly rooted here, furiously busy with the inn and the part-time real-estate job she’d been neglecting the past couple of days. Dan wasn’t rooted anywhere, admitting that he preferred being free to move at will, apparently averse to making any binding plans for his future. Whether that was the way he truly preferred to live or whether he would spend the rest of his life rebelling against parental expectations, she didn’t know—but there was no place for her in that existence, either way.
“I’ll let Bonnie know,” she said, pleased that her voice sounded so steady. “She’ll check you out.”
He was silent for several long beats, still staring down into the water. Had he expected her to argue? Had he wanted her to?
“I’ve had a great time,” he said at length, turning to her with his expression carefully schooled to reveal little of his thoughts. The scratch on his cheek stood out against his tan, a visible reminder of the adventure they had shared and which she, for one, would never forget.
“I had fun, too,” she assured him, and that part was surprisingly true. It had been fun being with Dan, for the most part. Perhaps that would help buffer the pain of missing him later.