My One and Only
Page 30
“Oh, she’s fine! She and that handsome hubby of hers, they’re just havin’ the time of their lives!” This may or may not have been true, of course—it was BeverLee’s nature to assume the best until the facts kicked down her metaphoric front door…and even then, it might be hard to get her to change her mind. Case in point: Clifford “Jimmy” James, my dear old dad. “It’s just so beautiful in Montana, don’t you think? Seems so small back here by comparison. Not that I’m complainin’, of course, I just love being a Yankee—” Her voice broke off abruptly, as if remembering her status in the Northeast was now tenuous.
“Well, I’m in North Dakota,” I said to cover the awkward silence.
“Oh, that’s nice. What’s it like?”
“Flat,” I said. “Pretty.” I closed my eyes. “Let’s have lunch when I get back, okay, BeverLee?”
“That’d be real nice,” she said softly.
“Take care.”
“You too, sweetheart.” She hung up, and a wave of absolute panic seemed to wallop me out of nowhere. There was something horribly final about her voice…Damn it! Why did people have to split up?
Asked the divorce attorney.
Right. Right. There were excellent reasons to divorce. And plenty of reasons not to get married in the first place.
I felt a flash of gratitude for Dennis’s reluctance to marry me. Maybe he knew something I didn’t. The memory of my list made me cringe in shame. Once you’ve fulfilled my requirements, Dennis, I’d be happy to let you marry me. Nice, Harper. Dennis, with his big heart and good soul, deserved someone much better. Someone who thought of him as the love of her life. Not someone who handed him a list.
At least he got off the hook.
I called two clients next and rescheduled for the following week, then called the office. My cell battery was low, and I hadn’t been able to find my charger in my suitcase last night, so I had to make it quick.
“Hi, Carol, it’s Harper. Put Tommy on, okay?”
“Well, good flipping morning to you too, Harper!” she said, slapping me on hold before I could apologize for my shortness.
“Harper! Hey! How’s it going?”
Tommy sounded much improved, that was for sure. “Tommy, hi. Things are fine…just, um, I’m just taking a little side trip.”
“Theo’s having kittens,” he said.
“Well, kindly tell him I’ll be back in another day or two, remind him that I must have at least two months of vacation accrued and let him know I’m working when I can…my schedule’s pretty light this week, anyway. How are you?”
“I’m great!”
Oh, dear. He sounded sincere. My doom-o-meter fired into the red zone. “Great?”
There was a meaty pause. “Meggie and I are back together!” he said joyfully. Oh, crotch.
“We talked the other day, and it was just like old times, Harper. I mean, it was great! And she’s really sorry and stuff and she wants to move back in!”
I took a breath, held it, then proceeded with caution. “Tommy.”
“Isn’t that great, Harper?”
“Um…Tom. Couple things. Counseling immediately, okay? And don’t—do not—put your money back into the joint account. Promise?”
“Why?” he asked. “I mean, we’re really past the bad stuff.”
“You already did, didn’t you?” Visions of LOL Kitty Man (and every other naive spouse I’d dealt with) danced in my head. “Okay. Get to the bank and put everything in an account with only your name. Okay? Just trust me on this one.” My phone beeped, signaling the end was near for my battery (and Tom’s marriage).
Tommy didn’t answer for a second, and when he did, his tone was decidedly frosty. “Look, I know it’s your job to be cynical,” he began. “But Meggie and I, we love each other.”
“Well, that’s…interesting,” I sighed.
“And I’m capable of forgiveness. I ran into Dennis, by the way. He told me you guys broke up. Sorry, boss. So I understand if you’re feeling a little…down on love these days.”
“Down on love? Tommy, I’m not down on love, I’m the voice of experience. If she moves back in with you, her claim on the house will be stronger. And that house has been in your family for how long? I’m not saying it won’t work, buddy—” but it wouldn’t “—I’m just saying to take things slowly here.” Because Meggie will clean you out faster than a cat can lick its ass, I thought, borrowing one of BeverLee’s favorite phrases.
“Gotta run, Harper. Is there anything else?”
I took a breath. “Yes, please. Reschedule Joe Starling, tell him I’m sorry, make it for Tuesday, okay?” Beep.
“Want me to send you the depo notes for the Mullens? You have Wi-Fi, right?”
I paused. “Sure…actually, no. I’m in the middle of nowhere right now. That can wait till I’m back. Oh, and would you send Carol some flowers for me? Have the card say ‘Sorry you work for such a pain in the ass, love Harper.’ Okay?”
“Sure, boss,” he said, chipper once more. “Have a great trip home. Gotta go, Meggie’s on the other line.”
I hung up and rubbed my forehead. Well, this sucked. Tommy would be out his life savings any minute now, not to mention a claim for half the value of the house built by his great-great-grandfather. Once again, he’d have his heart stomped on by Meggie and her trashy shoes.
Tom was the poster child for why divorce could be a good thing. My father and Bev…that was another story. BeverLee loved him, even if she viewed him through rose-colored glasses. Granted, her endless chatter could match a Republican filibuster, and her unique blend of Cinnabar, Virginia Slims and Jhirmack could cause black lung, but BeverLee…she was okay.
I sighed and got up to switch my laundry. The mother and daughter were folding their laundry at the wide counter. The mom passed the little girl dishcloths and hand towels, praising her for being such a good helper, and the little girl smiled smugly, as if well aware of her prowess at laundry. They talked amiably about the girl’s upcoming birthday party and how important it was to thank everyone for coming.
I guess I was staring, because the mother caught my eye. She gave me the smile of a woman content with her life, aware of her child’s wonderfulness, rock solid in her devotion.
I’d always thought my mother felt those things, too.
When Nick arrived later that afternoon, Coco and I were the only ones in the Laundromat, the mother and daughter having left an hour before. He smiled as he pulled up in front of BubbleNSqueak. “Yo, Harper, get in the car, woman,” he called, pushing his sunglasses on top of his head.
“The mating call of the Brooklyn male,” I grumbled, but my laundry was already folded and stowed in my suitcase, so I hefted my bag into the trunk and got in the passenger seat. Coco curled up in my arms, resting her teensy head on my collarbone. “Where now, chief?” I asked. “Back to the thrill of the open road?”
“Actually, no. Can Minneapolis wait till tomorrow?”
“Another meeting?” I said, a twinge of irritation flashing. Should’ve bought the damn plane ticket.
“Nope.” He gestured to the backseat. “A picnic.”
“Oh.”
Nick and I had never been on a picnic together. I remembered that one time we’d tried, the ill-fated chicken salad, the fight that marked the beginning of our end.
“Is that okay?” Nick asked, and looking up at him, I saw that he remembered, too.
“That’s great,” I said, clearing my throat.
Half an hour later, we were down by the Missouri River, looking at some rather odd, cut-out statues of Lewis and Clark and Sacagawea as they pointed to a parking lot…or the river, more likely. Nick pulled a blanket out of the trunk and grabbed the cooler that ostensibly contained our food.
We found a place near the train bridge and sat looking out at the wide, blue Missouri. “What do you think of the bridge?” I asked, and Nick smiled.
“Not bad,” he said. “It’s not Brooklyn, but it’s okay.” It had always been Nick’s habit to compare bridges to his beloved Brooklyn Bridge and find them wanting. Not even the Golden Gate could measure up. “Orange is orange,” he used to say, “no matter what you call it.”
We let Coco off the leash to explore, which she did for approximately four minutes before deciding a nap was in order. She lay next to me on her back, her paws in the air, sneezed twice, wagged her tail and fell asleep.
“Hey,” Nick said, nudging my arm with something. It was a little package. Gift-wrapped. “Happy birthday.”
I sucked in a quick breath. He was right. I guess I’d sort of forgotten the date, being on the road, not constantly on the computer. And of course, it wasn’t my favorite day of the year, given my history and all. Funny that neither my father nor BeverLee had mentioned it. Well. Other things on their minds.
“Open it,” Nick said.
It was a pendant, a polished stone, gray and lovely, framed with silver twists. It was somber but lovely, one of a kind. “Thank you,” I said.
“The stone’s from the river here,” he said. “A souvenir.”
“It’s beautiful.”
“Want me to put it on?” he asked, then, at my nod, knelt behind me. Nick’s hands were quick and gentle, barely brushing my skin. “Happy birthday,” Nick repeated, and for a second, it seemed as if he might kiss me. But he didn’t.
“Thanks,” I whispered, not quite able to look him in the eye.
But my heart was sweetly sore, because September 14 wasn’t just my birthday or the day my mother had left me…it was also the day I’d met Nick.
“So what do you want to do tonight?” Nick asked after a few minutes.
“Let’s go to the movies,” I said, and that’s just what we did. First we checked into a chain hotel. Two rooms, of course. I left Coco in mine with Animal Planet on and strict instructions to limit her room service to three desserts and three only, then met Nick in the lobby. We walked down the street to the theater. Two horror flicks, three romances, one cop movie. “Nightmare on Elm Street, or Saw?” Nick asked.
“Oh, Nightmare, definitely,” I said.
“So romantic,” Nick murmured. Without asking me if I wanted any, he bought me a vat of popcorn and a root beer. We found seats and did what we’d done in the olden days—proceeded to talk incessantly throughout the film’s murders.
“Ten bucks says the virgin dies before the slut,” I said, taking a sip of my soda.
“You’re on. Oh, hey, don’t go in the shower, for God’s sake,” Nick advised the scantily dressed college student on the screen as she tiptoed into the bathroom. He stuffed a fistful of popcorn into his mouth. “Well, okay, there you go,” he added as she was slashed to death by Freddy’s fingernails. “Can’t say I didn’t warn you. Your poor parents.”
“Do you mind?” asked a kid in front of us.
“Listen, son,” Nick said. “I’ll save you some suspense. Everyone dies.”
“Ass,” the kid muttered, getting up and moving ten or so rows away. We ignored him.
“Nick,” I murmured, “should I ever head into the cellar armed only with a ladle after the police have just warned me that a psychotic killer is on the loose, please slap me.”
“Shut up!” someone else hissed.
“Will do, Harpy, will do. Oh! Yuck! Okay, I didn’t see that one coming. Can you actually do that with a corkscrew?”
The hisser moved.
God, it was fun! The popcorn was fresh, the root beer wasn’t watered down, and sitting there in the theater, giggling inappropriately as teen after teen was hacked, the thought came to me that if only Nick and I had done things like this when we were married—picnics and movies and harvest dances—we might never have gotten divorced.
If only.
When the movie was over, we returned to the humble hotel. Nick walked down the hall with me, murmuring something about seeing me safely to my door. Uh-huh. I slid the card into the slot and opened the door. Checked to make sure Coco was okay—she was sleeping on her back in the middle of the bed—then turned to my ex.
“Thanks for a great date,” I said, my knees suddenly buzzing.
“You’re welcome. Happy birthday,” he murmured. His eyes dropped to my mouth. I swallowed.
Sleeping with him is definitely ill-advised, said the lawyer part of my brain. Unfortunately, the blood flow had redirected to my girl parts, which gave a hot and sudden throb. Nick looked at me, his eyes as dark as an abyss into which I would cheerfully throw myself. The lawyer part of me gave a distant, outraged squeak.
His lashes…they were so pretty, thick and unexpected, and when he smiled, which he was doing now, the loveliest lines spread from his eyes, and those eyes, so often tragic and gypsy-sad, were happy now.
A week ago, I wouldn’t have dreamed of sleeping with Nick. Now though…now…okay, the brain was definitely struggling for survival as the girl parts continued to croon…Nick and me, na**d and in bed…that seemed like a wicked good idea.
The lawyer part committed hari-kiri.
Nick reached out and touched my cheek. “Good night, Harper. See you in the morning.”
“Yes! Okay! Right. You too, Nick. See you, I mean. In the morning.”
He glanced back at me as he walked down the hall to his own room, a half smile on his face, and if he’d been two steps closer, I would’ve grabbed him by the shirt and dragged him into my room, common sense and history be damned.
“Well, I’m in North Dakota,” I said to cover the awkward silence.
“Oh, that’s nice. What’s it like?”
“Flat,” I said. “Pretty.” I closed my eyes. “Let’s have lunch when I get back, okay, BeverLee?”
“That’d be real nice,” she said softly.
“Take care.”
“You too, sweetheart.” She hung up, and a wave of absolute panic seemed to wallop me out of nowhere. There was something horribly final about her voice…Damn it! Why did people have to split up?
Asked the divorce attorney.
Right. Right. There were excellent reasons to divorce. And plenty of reasons not to get married in the first place.
I felt a flash of gratitude for Dennis’s reluctance to marry me. Maybe he knew something I didn’t. The memory of my list made me cringe in shame. Once you’ve fulfilled my requirements, Dennis, I’d be happy to let you marry me. Nice, Harper. Dennis, with his big heart and good soul, deserved someone much better. Someone who thought of him as the love of her life. Not someone who handed him a list.
At least he got off the hook.
I called two clients next and rescheduled for the following week, then called the office. My cell battery was low, and I hadn’t been able to find my charger in my suitcase last night, so I had to make it quick.
“Hi, Carol, it’s Harper. Put Tommy on, okay?”
“Well, good flipping morning to you too, Harper!” she said, slapping me on hold before I could apologize for my shortness.
“Harper! Hey! How’s it going?”
Tommy sounded much improved, that was for sure. “Tommy, hi. Things are fine…just, um, I’m just taking a little side trip.”
“Theo’s having kittens,” he said.
“Well, kindly tell him I’ll be back in another day or two, remind him that I must have at least two months of vacation accrued and let him know I’m working when I can…my schedule’s pretty light this week, anyway. How are you?”
“I’m great!”
Oh, dear. He sounded sincere. My doom-o-meter fired into the red zone. “Great?”
There was a meaty pause. “Meggie and I are back together!” he said joyfully. Oh, crotch.
“We talked the other day, and it was just like old times, Harper. I mean, it was great! And she’s really sorry and stuff and she wants to move back in!”
I took a breath, held it, then proceeded with caution. “Tommy.”
“Isn’t that great, Harper?”
“Um…Tom. Couple things. Counseling immediately, okay? And don’t—do not—put your money back into the joint account. Promise?”
“Why?” he asked. “I mean, we’re really past the bad stuff.”
“You already did, didn’t you?” Visions of LOL Kitty Man (and every other naive spouse I’d dealt with) danced in my head. “Okay. Get to the bank and put everything in an account with only your name. Okay? Just trust me on this one.” My phone beeped, signaling the end was near for my battery (and Tom’s marriage).
Tommy didn’t answer for a second, and when he did, his tone was decidedly frosty. “Look, I know it’s your job to be cynical,” he began. “But Meggie and I, we love each other.”
“Well, that’s…interesting,” I sighed.
“And I’m capable of forgiveness. I ran into Dennis, by the way. He told me you guys broke up. Sorry, boss. So I understand if you’re feeling a little…down on love these days.”
“Down on love? Tommy, I’m not down on love, I’m the voice of experience. If she moves back in with you, her claim on the house will be stronger. And that house has been in your family for how long? I’m not saying it won’t work, buddy—” but it wouldn’t “—I’m just saying to take things slowly here.” Because Meggie will clean you out faster than a cat can lick its ass, I thought, borrowing one of BeverLee’s favorite phrases.
“Gotta run, Harper. Is there anything else?”
I took a breath. “Yes, please. Reschedule Joe Starling, tell him I’m sorry, make it for Tuesday, okay?” Beep.
“Want me to send you the depo notes for the Mullens? You have Wi-Fi, right?”
I paused. “Sure…actually, no. I’m in the middle of nowhere right now. That can wait till I’m back. Oh, and would you send Carol some flowers for me? Have the card say ‘Sorry you work for such a pain in the ass, love Harper.’ Okay?”
“Sure, boss,” he said, chipper once more. “Have a great trip home. Gotta go, Meggie’s on the other line.”
I hung up and rubbed my forehead. Well, this sucked. Tommy would be out his life savings any minute now, not to mention a claim for half the value of the house built by his great-great-grandfather. Once again, he’d have his heart stomped on by Meggie and her trashy shoes.
Tom was the poster child for why divorce could be a good thing. My father and Bev…that was another story. BeverLee loved him, even if she viewed him through rose-colored glasses. Granted, her endless chatter could match a Republican filibuster, and her unique blend of Cinnabar, Virginia Slims and Jhirmack could cause black lung, but BeverLee…she was okay.
I sighed and got up to switch my laundry. The mother and daughter were folding their laundry at the wide counter. The mom passed the little girl dishcloths and hand towels, praising her for being such a good helper, and the little girl smiled smugly, as if well aware of her prowess at laundry. They talked amiably about the girl’s upcoming birthday party and how important it was to thank everyone for coming.
I guess I was staring, because the mother caught my eye. She gave me the smile of a woman content with her life, aware of her child’s wonderfulness, rock solid in her devotion.
I’d always thought my mother felt those things, too.
When Nick arrived later that afternoon, Coco and I were the only ones in the Laundromat, the mother and daughter having left an hour before. He smiled as he pulled up in front of BubbleNSqueak. “Yo, Harper, get in the car, woman,” he called, pushing his sunglasses on top of his head.
“The mating call of the Brooklyn male,” I grumbled, but my laundry was already folded and stowed in my suitcase, so I hefted my bag into the trunk and got in the passenger seat. Coco curled up in my arms, resting her teensy head on my collarbone. “Where now, chief?” I asked. “Back to the thrill of the open road?”
“Actually, no. Can Minneapolis wait till tomorrow?”
“Another meeting?” I said, a twinge of irritation flashing. Should’ve bought the damn plane ticket.
“Nope.” He gestured to the backseat. “A picnic.”
“Oh.”
Nick and I had never been on a picnic together. I remembered that one time we’d tried, the ill-fated chicken salad, the fight that marked the beginning of our end.
“Is that okay?” Nick asked, and looking up at him, I saw that he remembered, too.
“That’s great,” I said, clearing my throat.
Half an hour later, we were down by the Missouri River, looking at some rather odd, cut-out statues of Lewis and Clark and Sacagawea as they pointed to a parking lot…or the river, more likely. Nick pulled a blanket out of the trunk and grabbed the cooler that ostensibly contained our food.
We found a place near the train bridge and sat looking out at the wide, blue Missouri. “What do you think of the bridge?” I asked, and Nick smiled.
“Not bad,” he said. “It’s not Brooklyn, but it’s okay.” It had always been Nick’s habit to compare bridges to his beloved Brooklyn Bridge and find them wanting. Not even the Golden Gate could measure up. “Orange is orange,” he used to say, “no matter what you call it.”
We let Coco off the leash to explore, which she did for approximately four minutes before deciding a nap was in order. She lay next to me on her back, her paws in the air, sneezed twice, wagged her tail and fell asleep.
“Hey,” Nick said, nudging my arm with something. It was a little package. Gift-wrapped. “Happy birthday.”
I sucked in a quick breath. He was right. I guess I’d sort of forgotten the date, being on the road, not constantly on the computer. And of course, it wasn’t my favorite day of the year, given my history and all. Funny that neither my father nor BeverLee had mentioned it. Well. Other things on their minds.
“Open it,” Nick said.
It was a pendant, a polished stone, gray and lovely, framed with silver twists. It was somber but lovely, one of a kind. “Thank you,” I said.
“The stone’s from the river here,” he said. “A souvenir.”
“It’s beautiful.”
“Want me to put it on?” he asked, then, at my nod, knelt behind me. Nick’s hands were quick and gentle, barely brushing my skin. “Happy birthday,” Nick repeated, and for a second, it seemed as if he might kiss me. But he didn’t.
“Thanks,” I whispered, not quite able to look him in the eye.
But my heart was sweetly sore, because September 14 wasn’t just my birthday or the day my mother had left me…it was also the day I’d met Nick.
“So what do you want to do tonight?” Nick asked after a few minutes.
“Let’s go to the movies,” I said, and that’s just what we did. First we checked into a chain hotel. Two rooms, of course. I left Coco in mine with Animal Planet on and strict instructions to limit her room service to three desserts and three only, then met Nick in the lobby. We walked down the street to the theater. Two horror flicks, three romances, one cop movie. “Nightmare on Elm Street, or Saw?” Nick asked.
“Oh, Nightmare, definitely,” I said.
“So romantic,” Nick murmured. Without asking me if I wanted any, he bought me a vat of popcorn and a root beer. We found seats and did what we’d done in the olden days—proceeded to talk incessantly throughout the film’s murders.
“Ten bucks says the virgin dies before the slut,” I said, taking a sip of my soda.
“You’re on. Oh, hey, don’t go in the shower, for God’s sake,” Nick advised the scantily dressed college student on the screen as she tiptoed into the bathroom. He stuffed a fistful of popcorn into his mouth. “Well, okay, there you go,” he added as she was slashed to death by Freddy’s fingernails. “Can’t say I didn’t warn you. Your poor parents.”
“Do you mind?” asked a kid in front of us.
“Listen, son,” Nick said. “I’ll save you some suspense. Everyone dies.”
“Ass,” the kid muttered, getting up and moving ten or so rows away. We ignored him.
“Nick,” I murmured, “should I ever head into the cellar armed only with a ladle after the police have just warned me that a psychotic killer is on the loose, please slap me.”
“Shut up!” someone else hissed.
“Will do, Harpy, will do. Oh! Yuck! Okay, I didn’t see that one coming. Can you actually do that with a corkscrew?”
The hisser moved.
God, it was fun! The popcorn was fresh, the root beer wasn’t watered down, and sitting there in the theater, giggling inappropriately as teen after teen was hacked, the thought came to me that if only Nick and I had done things like this when we were married—picnics and movies and harvest dances—we might never have gotten divorced.
If only.
When the movie was over, we returned to the humble hotel. Nick walked down the hall with me, murmuring something about seeing me safely to my door. Uh-huh. I slid the card into the slot and opened the door. Checked to make sure Coco was okay—she was sleeping on her back in the middle of the bed—then turned to my ex.
“Thanks for a great date,” I said, my knees suddenly buzzing.
“You’re welcome. Happy birthday,” he murmured. His eyes dropped to my mouth. I swallowed.
Sleeping with him is definitely ill-advised, said the lawyer part of my brain. Unfortunately, the blood flow had redirected to my girl parts, which gave a hot and sudden throb. Nick looked at me, his eyes as dark as an abyss into which I would cheerfully throw myself. The lawyer part of me gave a distant, outraged squeak.
His lashes…they were so pretty, thick and unexpected, and when he smiled, which he was doing now, the loveliest lines spread from his eyes, and those eyes, so often tragic and gypsy-sad, were happy now.
A week ago, I wouldn’t have dreamed of sleeping with Nick. Now though…now…okay, the brain was definitely struggling for survival as the girl parts continued to croon…Nick and me, na**d and in bed…that seemed like a wicked good idea.
The lawyer part committed hari-kiri.
Nick reached out and touched my cheek. “Good night, Harper. See you in the morning.”
“Yes! Okay! Right. You too, Nick. See you, I mean. In the morning.”
He glanced back at me as he walked down the hall to his own room, a half smile on his face, and if he’d been two steps closer, I would’ve grabbed him by the shirt and dragged him into my room, common sense and history be damned.
