My One and Only
Page 12
“Well, this has been about as productive as I imagined,” I said. “But just for the record, Nick, I do have a heart, you broke it, it mended, the end. Always lovely to see you. Sleep tight.”
“Hold on, Harper,” he said, standing abruptly. “I broke your heart? See, this is the same problem as it ever was. You never could acknowledge what you did back then.”
“And you never could acknowledge that you played a part, Nick.” My voice was fast and quiet…and furious.
He jammed his hands in his pockets. “You just won’t admit that you were wrong, and it’s really too bad.”
“But I wasn’t wrong,” I said. “We were too young, we were not equipped to be playing grown-up, and shockingly, love—or whatever you want to call it—just wasn’t enough, was it? I was right, and that’s what drives you crazy.”
With that, I turned and left before he could see that my hands were shaking.
Okay. So that was not productive. I should’ve known it wouldn’t be, should’ve heeded my own advice to avoid being alone with my ex. Striding through the lobby, I spied a pacifier on the floor. Perfect. My random act of kindness for the day, take that, Father Bruce! Picked it up, spotted a mother/child duo and trotted over. “I think this may be yours,” I said sweetly, hoping Nick was watching.
“Oh, thank you!” the mother cried. “Destiny would never have fallen asleep without it.”
“My pleasure,” I cooed. “And she’s just gorgeous.” I started to give the child a pat on the head, remembered something about soft spots, withdrew my hand and gave the mother an awkward smile. Then I went outside to the cool and soothing night.
So. Where did one go to walk off some steam out here in the middle of God’s country? I strode down the road, away from the warm lights of the lodge and the murmur of people, and tried to breathe deeply, hoping to loosen the vise that seemed to be squeezing my heart.
A few yards off, there was a rock with a relatively flat surface. Perfect. I tiptoed over—not easy to walk in heels out here—and sat down, adjusted my skirt, took three calming breaths and flipped open my phone. Thank God, there was a signal.
He answered on the first ring. “Father Bruce here,” he sang.
“Father B., it’s Harper.”
“Ah! How are things?”
“Pretty rotten, Padre.” I swallowed hard.
“Go on, my child.”
“You just love saying that, don’t you?”
“I really do,” he admitted. “But go on. My child.”
“Well, I’ve seen my sister, but she won’t listen to me. I just want her to wait a little bit. That’s all. To be sure. I don’t want her to end up like—” My voice broke off abruptly. “Like you?”
When I answered, my voice was little more than a whisper. “Yes.”
Father Bruce didn’t say anything for a minute or two. “You’re not so bad, my dear.”
“Do I seem stunted to you?”
He laughed. “Well, I’ve never thought of it exactly like that, no. Ah, shall we say ‘guarded’? I like that better.”
“See, I just think I’m a realist. I also think there really should be a law requiring some kind of premarriage boot camp. You guys do it, don’t you?”
“Pre-Cana counseling,” he confirmed.
“Because this is the whole problem. No one thinks anymore. They just assume, hey, I’m in love, everything is sunshine and roses, let’s run to Vegas or Montana or wherever and get married and we’ll deal with reality later on, and then bam, they’re in my office, heartbroken and…stunted.” I swallowed again.
“You have a point, dear,” he said patiently. “A good point. But what if your sister doesn’t get a divorce? What if they make it? Live a long and happy life together?”
“The odds are against them, Father.”
“No, dear. The odds are actually in their favor. One in three might divorce, but that means two in three don’t.”
“Have you run the stats on how many marriages last when the bride and groom have known each other for a month? I bet they’re higher than one in three.”
“I’m trying to reassure you, Harper. You don’t make it easy.”
“Oh. Thanks. Sorry.”
There was another silence. “Have you seen your ex-husband?” the good father asked. “Yep.”
“How was that?”
“Crappy, Father. Extremely crappy.”
“Sorry to hear that.”
I glanced at my watch, did the time adjustment. “You have bingo tonight, don’t you?”
“I do.”
“I’ll let you go. Thanks for listening.”
“It’s what I live for. Call me tomorrow, all right? I want to hear how you’re doing.”
“Oh, I’ll be fine. Have fun. Hope you win big.”
I put my phone back in my purse and sighed. Lay back on the rock, using my bag as a pillow.
It would be nice to cry, I mused. Normal people cried and they always seemed to feel better. But, as I was apparently stunted, crying wasn’t my thing. And, case in point, if I were crying now, I wouldn’t be able to see these stars. Well worth seeing, holy cow. They swirled above my head, the Milky Way in all its vast magnificence spreading out against the deep purple sky. A meteor shot across the sky and was gone, just like that.
Maybe I should move out here. Become a cook on a ranch somewhere…not that I cooked very well. Okay, well, I could…divorce people. All twenty-nine people who lived in Montana. Clearly, if I was going to run away, I’d need some life skills. Maybe I could become a cowboy. Just me and the cattle and my trusty horse, whom I would name Seabiscuit.
Running away…it had its appeal, that was certain. Times like this, I could almost understand doing it. Let the record reflect that Dennis would find another woman in a matter of hours. I had no illusions about that. He loved me, sure, but he was a guy. He might miss me, but he’d find someone else, and fast. Hard to avoid, the way women threw themselves at his head or groin or any other body part they could aim for.
As for BeverLee and Dad, they wouldn’t miss me too much. Kim would, but she’d befriend whoever moved into my house, just as she’d befriended me. Willa would call occasionally, maybe swing through on her travels like a bit of milkweed seed, cheerful and light. Father Bruce would find other souls to save. My coworkers would replace me, only mentioning me once in a while when a dusty postcard arrived from Bearcreek or Grass Range.
The sky seemed to settle around me like a giant blanket, comforting and soft and unspeakably beautiful. Somewhere—hopefully very far away—a wolf howled. The wind rustled the long grass, and the nighttime sighed with pleasure.
Dennis would be sound asleep, as once he was horizontal, he generally fell unconscious in a matter of seconds. Willa and Christopher were probably wrapped around each other, gazing with adoration into each other’s eyes. BeverLee and Dad, best not to go there.
Nick…I didn’t want to think about Nick anymore.
And what was my mother doing tonight? I wondered if she could tell when I thought of her, if there was some primal tingle that touched her heart or brain or uterus.
Probably not. After all, she’d left me the day I turned thirteen. I hadn’t heard her voice since. She wasn’t dead, that I knew. In fact, though roughly a thousand miles separated us, I was at this moment closer to her than I’d been in decades.
For whatever that was worth. But under this arching, velvety sky, my heart sore from seeing Nick, it was hard not to want my mother.
CHAPTER SEVEN
THE NEXT DAY—FRIDAY—BEGAN with a females-only breakfast. The men were off fly-fishing, which would’ve made Theo happy. I had to admit, it was nice not to have to deal with Nick. I liked to have at least two cups of coffee before picking relationship scabs, after all.
After the meal, BeverLee, Willa and I went upstairs to the small suite where Willa was staying so the bride could try on her dress, which had obviously been bought in haste. For all my reservations, a lump came to my throat at the sight of her, looking like the proverbial fairy princess in the layers of puffy white. Her eyes met mine in the mirror. “I just know this one will take,” she said.
“Of course it’ll take! Of course it will! Third time’s the charm, just look at your mama, right, sweet knees? Inn’t that right? Jimmy and I, well, we couldn’t be happier!” BeverLee darted a nervous glance at me, then refocused on her only child. “Oh, my! You’re prettier than a spotted pup, bless your heart! I just love weddings!” She rustled in a bag and knelt at Willa’s side, tucking up the hem of the dress and pinning it. The gown was a little long, but BeverLee had always been good with a needle.
“Aside from the obvious, Wills,” I said carefully, “um, what is it that you love about Christopher?”
“Oh, Harper, he’s so dreamy!”
“Okay, maybe something a little more…solid?”
“Nothin’ wrong with dreamy, Harper,” BeverLee chided. “Your young Dennis, he’s pretty easy on the eyes, if you know what I’m sayin’.” She paused in her pinning. “Not to mention how handsome that ole Nick is.”
I resisted hissing. “Right. But BeverLee, we hardly know Chris. I’m just asking about his qualities.”
Willa glanced at me in the mirror. “He’s really smart. And so creative! Did you hear about the Thumbie?”
“I know I’ll use mine all the time,” BeverLee said staunchly around a mouthful of pins. “I’ll buy a whole pack! Willard, hold still, sugar, I need to fix this hem, it’s all catty-whompus.”
“And what else?” I asked mildly. “Has he ever been married before?”
“Nope. Never married.”
“Does he know about your…um…other ventures into matrimony?”
“Sure! Of course! I think we covered that in the first hour,” Willa said happily.
“Is he hardworking?”
“Definitely. But you know, most of his work goes on up here.” Willa tapped her temple. Super.
“Will he be working at a job where he gets paid?” I asked sweetly. “You know, financial disagreements are a leading cause of—”
“Harper! Darlin’! You just don’t know how to let go and let God!” BeverLee cried, shooting me a sharp look. “Now Willard, go and change, honey. I’ll get that hem up lickety-split. Brought my Singer for just this reason.” Willa slid out of her dress, then gathered her clothes and went into the bathroom. “Harper Elizabeth, don’t you rain on your sister’s parade!” my stepmother hissed. “Did anyone lecture you on your wedding day? Huh?”
“Well, no, Bev, but looking back, maybe someone should have. Given how things turned out, remember? And today’s not the actual wedding day. We still have till tomorrow to talk some sense into her.” My voice dropped to a whisper. “BeverLee, I’m not saying that Christopher isn’t a good guy. I’m just saying they should take some time.”
“How much time? Two and a half years, honey? I don’t see no ring on your finger.” She shoved her fists into her ample h*ps and raised a painted eyebrow.
Touché. A pity, because the ring I’d bought myself was bleeping beautiful.
“Willard can make her own choices,” my stepmother said more gently. “Besides, I want grandchildren, and I’m not fixin’ on waitin’ if I don’t have to, and since there’s no bun in your oven, I figure she’s my best bet. Some things are just meant to be, and there’s no point in wastin’ time.” She finished pinning the dress and stood up. “Now turn that frown upside down, missy. We got horses to ride.”
AN HOUR LATER, I WAS eyeballing my horse, who was not named Seabiscuit and certainly did not look like he could come from behind to win a race or, in fact, make it out of the corral, as he was too busy dying.
“Is this horse really okay for me to ride?” I asked the person in charge. Alas, the person in charge wasn’t a rugged cowboy with gentle laugh lines and dusky blue eyes, as I had imagined…nope. She was maybe eighteen years old, tattooed and pierced, full of eye-rolls and exasperated sighs.
“Yeah,” she said, stretching it into two syllables of clearly hard-won patience. “The horse is fine.” She had a slight lisp from the stud in her tongue. “So like, okay? Can you, like, get on, or do you, like, need help?”
“I’m fine,” I said. “It’s just…Bob…” And that was another thing. Bob? Bob the horse? “Bob here doesn’t look so good.”
“He’s fine. Does this all the time. Been doing it for eons.”
“Yes, that’s clear,” I muttered, but she was already gone.
Everyone else had already mounted, and only Bever-Lee had required assistance. Dennis, looking wicked good astride a bay horse named Cajun, exuded a Clive-Owen-as-King-Arthur vibe, despite the fact that he was texting someone. Several of Christopher’s park friends apparently did this all the time and sat astride horses that didn’t seem to have one hoof in the grave. Dad, aboard Moondancer, seemed quite comfortable, reins in one hand, leaning on the saddle horn as if he was about to take a thousand head of sheep up to Brokeback Mountain. BeverLee (steed’s name: Cassandra) appeared less comfortable, despite her Texas roots, her pink studded jeans whimpering at the seams, purple leather cowgirl boots at awkward angles in the stirrups, anxiously patting her overpermed cloud of blond hair. Christopher and Willa had claimed Lancelot and Guinevere and maneuvered their horses together so they could make out, which they were doing quite enthusiastically.
“Hold on, Harper,” he said, standing abruptly. “I broke your heart? See, this is the same problem as it ever was. You never could acknowledge what you did back then.”
“And you never could acknowledge that you played a part, Nick.” My voice was fast and quiet…and furious.
He jammed his hands in his pockets. “You just won’t admit that you were wrong, and it’s really too bad.”
“But I wasn’t wrong,” I said. “We were too young, we were not equipped to be playing grown-up, and shockingly, love—or whatever you want to call it—just wasn’t enough, was it? I was right, and that’s what drives you crazy.”
With that, I turned and left before he could see that my hands were shaking.
Okay. So that was not productive. I should’ve known it wouldn’t be, should’ve heeded my own advice to avoid being alone with my ex. Striding through the lobby, I spied a pacifier on the floor. Perfect. My random act of kindness for the day, take that, Father Bruce! Picked it up, spotted a mother/child duo and trotted over. “I think this may be yours,” I said sweetly, hoping Nick was watching.
“Oh, thank you!” the mother cried. “Destiny would never have fallen asleep without it.”
“My pleasure,” I cooed. “And she’s just gorgeous.” I started to give the child a pat on the head, remembered something about soft spots, withdrew my hand and gave the mother an awkward smile. Then I went outside to the cool and soothing night.
So. Where did one go to walk off some steam out here in the middle of God’s country? I strode down the road, away from the warm lights of the lodge and the murmur of people, and tried to breathe deeply, hoping to loosen the vise that seemed to be squeezing my heart.
A few yards off, there was a rock with a relatively flat surface. Perfect. I tiptoed over—not easy to walk in heels out here—and sat down, adjusted my skirt, took three calming breaths and flipped open my phone. Thank God, there was a signal.
He answered on the first ring. “Father Bruce here,” he sang.
“Father B., it’s Harper.”
“Ah! How are things?”
“Pretty rotten, Padre.” I swallowed hard.
“Go on, my child.”
“You just love saying that, don’t you?”
“I really do,” he admitted. “But go on. My child.”
“Well, I’ve seen my sister, but she won’t listen to me. I just want her to wait a little bit. That’s all. To be sure. I don’t want her to end up like—” My voice broke off abruptly. “Like you?”
When I answered, my voice was little more than a whisper. “Yes.”
Father Bruce didn’t say anything for a minute or two. “You’re not so bad, my dear.”
“Do I seem stunted to you?”
He laughed. “Well, I’ve never thought of it exactly like that, no. Ah, shall we say ‘guarded’? I like that better.”
“See, I just think I’m a realist. I also think there really should be a law requiring some kind of premarriage boot camp. You guys do it, don’t you?”
“Pre-Cana counseling,” he confirmed.
“Because this is the whole problem. No one thinks anymore. They just assume, hey, I’m in love, everything is sunshine and roses, let’s run to Vegas or Montana or wherever and get married and we’ll deal with reality later on, and then bam, they’re in my office, heartbroken and…stunted.” I swallowed again.
“You have a point, dear,” he said patiently. “A good point. But what if your sister doesn’t get a divorce? What if they make it? Live a long and happy life together?”
“The odds are against them, Father.”
“No, dear. The odds are actually in their favor. One in three might divorce, but that means two in three don’t.”
“Have you run the stats on how many marriages last when the bride and groom have known each other for a month? I bet they’re higher than one in three.”
“I’m trying to reassure you, Harper. You don’t make it easy.”
“Oh. Thanks. Sorry.”
There was another silence. “Have you seen your ex-husband?” the good father asked. “Yep.”
“How was that?”
“Crappy, Father. Extremely crappy.”
“Sorry to hear that.”
I glanced at my watch, did the time adjustment. “You have bingo tonight, don’t you?”
“I do.”
“I’ll let you go. Thanks for listening.”
“It’s what I live for. Call me tomorrow, all right? I want to hear how you’re doing.”
“Oh, I’ll be fine. Have fun. Hope you win big.”
I put my phone back in my purse and sighed. Lay back on the rock, using my bag as a pillow.
It would be nice to cry, I mused. Normal people cried and they always seemed to feel better. But, as I was apparently stunted, crying wasn’t my thing. And, case in point, if I were crying now, I wouldn’t be able to see these stars. Well worth seeing, holy cow. They swirled above my head, the Milky Way in all its vast magnificence spreading out against the deep purple sky. A meteor shot across the sky and was gone, just like that.
Maybe I should move out here. Become a cook on a ranch somewhere…not that I cooked very well. Okay, well, I could…divorce people. All twenty-nine people who lived in Montana. Clearly, if I was going to run away, I’d need some life skills. Maybe I could become a cowboy. Just me and the cattle and my trusty horse, whom I would name Seabiscuit.
Running away…it had its appeal, that was certain. Times like this, I could almost understand doing it. Let the record reflect that Dennis would find another woman in a matter of hours. I had no illusions about that. He loved me, sure, but he was a guy. He might miss me, but he’d find someone else, and fast. Hard to avoid, the way women threw themselves at his head or groin or any other body part they could aim for.
As for BeverLee and Dad, they wouldn’t miss me too much. Kim would, but she’d befriend whoever moved into my house, just as she’d befriended me. Willa would call occasionally, maybe swing through on her travels like a bit of milkweed seed, cheerful and light. Father Bruce would find other souls to save. My coworkers would replace me, only mentioning me once in a while when a dusty postcard arrived from Bearcreek or Grass Range.
The sky seemed to settle around me like a giant blanket, comforting and soft and unspeakably beautiful. Somewhere—hopefully very far away—a wolf howled. The wind rustled the long grass, and the nighttime sighed with pleasure.
Dennis would be sound asleep, as once he was horizontal, he generally fell unconscious in a matter of seconds. Willa and Christopher were probably wrapped around each other, gazing with adoration into each other’s eyes. BeverLee and Dad, best not to go there.
Nick…I didn’t want to think about Nick anymore.
And what was my mother doing tonight? I wondered if she could tell when I thought of her, if there was some primal tingle that touched her heart or brain or uterus.
Probably not. After all, she’d left me the day I turned thirteen. I hadn’t heard her voice since. She wasn’t dead, that I knew. In fact, though roughly a thousand miles separated us, I was at this moment closer to her than I’d been in decades.
For whatever that was worth. But under this arching, velvety sky, my heart sore from seeing Nick, it was hard not to want my mother.
CHAPTER SEVEN
THE NEXT DAY—FRIDAY—BEGAN with a females-only breakfast. The men were off fly-fishing, which would’ve made Theo happy. I had to admit, it was nice not to have to deal with Nick. I liked to have at least two cups of coffee before picking relationship scabs, after all.
After the meal, BeverLee, Willa and I went upstairs to the small suite where Willa was staying so the bride could try on her dress, which had obviously been bought in haste. For all my reservations, a lump came to my throat at the sight of her, looking like the proverbial fairy princess in the layers of puffy white. Her eyes met mine in the mirror. “I just know this one will take,” she said.
“Of course it’ll take! Of course it will! Third time’s the charm, just look at your mama, right, sweet knees? Inn’t that right? Jimmy and I, well, we couldn’t be happier!” BeverLee darted a nervous glance at me, then refocused on her only child. “Oh, my! You’re prettier than a spotted pup, bless your heart! I just love weddings!” She rustled in a bag and knelt at Willa’s side, tucking up the hem of the dress and pinning it. The gown was a little long, but BeverLee had always been good with a needle.
“Aside from the obvious, Wills,” I said carefully, “um, what is it that you love about Christopher?”
“Oh, Harper, he’s so dreamy!”
“Okay, maybe something a little more…solid?”
“Nothin’ wrong with dreamy, Harper,” BeverLee chided. “Your young Dennis, he’s pretty easy on the eyes, if you know what I’m sayin’.” She paused in her pinning. “Not to mention how handsome that ole Nick is.”
I resisted hissing. “Right. But BeverLee, we hardly know Chris. I’m just asking about his qualities.”
Willa glanced at me in the mirror. “He’s really smart. And so creative! Did you hear about the Thumbie?”
“I know I’ll use mine all the time,” BeverLee said staunchly around a mouthful of pins. “I’ll buy a whole pack! Willard, hold still, sugar, I need to fix this hem, it’s all catty-whompus.”
“And what else?” I asked mildly. “Has he ever been married before?”
“Nope. Never married.”
“Does he know about your…um…other ventures into matrimony?”
“Sure! Of course! I think we covered that in the first hour,” Willa said happily.
“Is he hardworking?”
“Definitely. But you know, most of his work goes on up here.” Willa tapped her temple. Super.
“Will he be working at a job where he gets paid?” I asked sweetly. “You know, financial disagreements are a leading cause of—”
“Harper! Darlin’! You just don’t know how to let go and let God!” BeverLee cried, shooting me a sharp look. “Now Willard, go and change, honey. I’ll get that hem up lickety-split. Brought my Singer for just this reason.” Willa slid out of her dress, then gathered her clothes and went into the bathroom. “Harper Elizabeth, don’t you rain on your sister’s parade!” my stepmother hissed. “Did anyone lecture you on your wedding day? Huh?”
“Well, no, Bev, but looking back, maybe someone should have. Given how things turned out, remember? And today’s not the actual wedding day. We still have till tomorrow to talk some sense into her.” My voice dropped to a whisper. “BeverLee, I’m not saying that Christopher isn’t a good guy. I’m just saying they should take some time.”
“How much time? Two and a half years, honey? I don’t see no ring on your finger.” She shoved her fists into her ample h*ps and raised a painted eyebrow.
Touché. A pity, because the ring I’d bought myself was bleeping beautiful.
“Willard can make her own choices,” my stepmother said more gently. “Besides, I want grandchildren, and I’m not fixin’ on waitin’ if I don’t have to, and since there’s no bun in your oven, I figure she’s my best bet. Some things are just meant to be, and there’s no point in wastin’ time.” She finished pinning the dress and stood up. “Now turn that frown upside down, missy. We got horses to ride.”
AN HOUR LATER, I WAS eyeballing my horse, who was not named Seabiscuit and certainly did not look like he could come from behind to win a race or, in fact, make it out of the corral, as he was too busy dying.
“Is this horse really okay for me to ride?” I asked the person in charge. Alas, the person in charge wasn’t a rugged cowboy with gentle laugh lines and dusky blue eyes, as I had imagined…nope. She was maybe eighteen years old, tattooed and pierced, full of eye-rolls and exasperated sighs.
“Yeah,” she said, stretching it into two syllables of clearly hard-won patience. “The horse is fine.” She had a slight lisp from the stud in her tongue. “So like, okay? Can you, like, get on, or do you, like, need help?”
“I’m fine,” I said. “It’s just…Bob…” And that was another thing. Bob? Bob the horse? “Bob here doesn’t look so good.”
“He’s fine. Does this all the time. Been doing it for eons.”
“Yes, that’s clear,” I muttered, but she was already gone.
Everyone else had already mounted, and only Bever-Lee had required assistance. Dennis, looking wicked good astride a bay horse named Cajun, exuded a Clive-Owen-as-King-Arthur vibe, despite the fact that he was texting someone. Several of Christopher’s park friends apparently did this all the time and sat astride horses that didn’t seem to have one hoof in the grave. Dad, aboard Moondancer, seemed quite comfortable, reins in one hand, leaning on the saddle horn as if he was about to take a thousand head of sheep up to Brokeback Mountain. BeverLee (steed’s name: Cassandra) appeared less comfortable, despite her Texas roots, her pink studded jeans whimpering at the seams, purple leather cowgirl boots at awkward angles in the stirrups, anxiously patting her overpermed cloud of blond hair. Christopher and Willa had claimed Lancelot and Guinevere and maneuvered their horses together so they could make out, which they were doing quite enthusiastically.
