Free Secret Vow by Susan R. Hughes

pains you physically to look into my face. The only thing I can figure is that you still see me as the boy everyone used to pity. And maybe you just can’t get past feeling sorry for me.”
    “That isn’t true,” Brooke insisted. But his words brought to her mind’s eye the boy at school with the tattered jeans and gaunt features, for whom she often brought an extra sandwich, claiming her mother had packed her more than she could eat. Though he was grateful, she knew it embarrassed him to take her charity. Had she pitied him then? She knew the responsibility she felt for his wellbeing had, in some part, stemmed from the guilt she carried from the horrible night his mother died. Her feelings for him had always been so muddled, so complex, that she could hardly begin to sort them out.
    “I know what people thought of me around here when I was a kid,” Ian went on bitingly. “Everyone knew how I felt about you, and they all thought you were too good for me. You and I both knew it, too. But you’ve been gone for a while, and maybe you can’t quite see that I’m not that boy anymore.”
    Brooke shook her head briskly. “That’s not how I felt then, or how I feel now. I swear it.” When she looked at the gorgeous, accomplished man standing before her, she couldn’t imagine pitying him. Yet, in the depths of his gaze, the lonely, frightened young boy remained. She realized it was both sides of him, strong and vulnerable, that drew her to him.
    “Then what exactly do you feel?” he demanded.
    Overwhelmed, Brooke sank forward, burying her face in her hands . Confused; ashamed; heartbroken, she answered silently . Longing to hold you.
    She could say none of this; to do so would mean spilling the secret she’d sworn to keep, and surely destroy Ian’s affection for her—she simply couldn’t bring herself to do it.
    “Tell your parents ‘happy anniversary’ for me,” she heard him mutter. When she looked up, he had already turned his back and was descending the porch steps. She sat frozen and watched him march along the path leading to the road; only as he disappeared from her view did she allow the tears brimming in her eyes to spill over her scorched cheeks.
     
    * * *
     
    The evening was perfect for fireworks—warm and clear, moonless, with the diffuse hues of twilight spreading over the sky in bands of cobalt and indigo.
    For some time Ian had been sitting on the top step of his front porch, his elbows resting on his knees. From this spot he could watch people amble past as they followed the crossroad at the end of his street, headed toward the river with blankets and lawn chairs tucked under their arms. He knew most of them would gather at McKitrick Park, where they’d be assured the best view. Every first of July in Eastport was the same, the town’s celebration of their Canada Day holiday ending with a spectacular fireworks display over the water.
    This year Ian wasn’t in a festive mood. He’d spent the day at home, skipping the parade down Main Street, the dog show at the park, the crafts sales and group competitions, in favour of finishing up some paperwork. From his porch he’d be able to see some of the fireworks, at least. Days like this were for families, and as he didn’t have one, he’d allowed himself to indulge in a little self-pity. And why not? He’d been thinking a lot lately about what he’d always thought he wanted from life, and how far he’d come toward realizing his goals—what were his goals, anyhow? The respect he’d achieved from the town didn’t seem to hold the weight it once had in the scope of his world. The one thing that was missing—the one thing he still craved—remained just out of reach.
    Ian straightened when he spotted a woman walking alone, her distinctive red curls coiled about her shoulders. At least she appeared at first to be alone; upon closer inspection, he noticed the sling strapped to her chest, a small blond head protruding above and two pudgy legs