“What are you talking about, Amanda?”
“I just had a very interesting conversation with your good friend, Aaron Goodwin.”
Unsure how to process the comment, he glanced over her head to find that particular classmate leaning against a far wall, sly smirk on his face as he watched them. On the spot, his emotions became a bizarre collection of confusion and fear, apprehension and dread.
“Goodwin says so many things, half of which aren’t true. The other half are outright lies.”
“I don’t think he was lying about this, because I was there too. Back at Doogan’s when you and your group of old buds came up with that—that—bet.”
As his memory completed a fast rewind of the specific event, the warmth in his heart turned to ice.
“I’m not sure what you’re talking about,” he hedged as he mind reeled with ways to talk himself out of the deep, dark pit he was about to fall into.
“Don’t you, Barry?” She gestured with a head toss over one shoulder. “According to him, the wager was your idea.”
He felt the pit begin to close in on top of him. “It’s not as bad as it sounds.”
When her gaze returned to take a vise grip on his, he saw only contempt. “So you admit to setting me up to win a bet with your pals.”
“What? Oh, God. No, Amanda.” Hearing the tears in her voice, a chill ran down his limbs. “It was nothing like that.” At the devastation in her eyes, his gut twisted into knots and he could swear his heart stop beating. “Aaron Goodwin is an unmitigated ass. A jerk of the highest order. He doesn’t have one cell in his body that isn’t selfish and self involved. In short, he’s a total and complete ass.”
The look of raw pain on her face was the same one that had haunted him for so many years. “It appears he has some competition in you.”
“Amanda, please.” As his hand came to rest on her shoulder, she stiffened but didn’t move away. “That’s better. Can we at least go somewhere and talk?”
First desolation, then anger, washed over her face. When she spoke her voice contained an iced edge identical to what was slowly inching up around his heart. “Don’t kid yourself, Barry. I simply don’t want to make a scene.”
“Amanda, I—” He closed his eyes in order to sort out his racing thoughts. “At least let me drive you home.” But when he reached out to where she had been, he felt a cold, solid piece of metal put into his hand. Then heard the front door of the Inn slam shut.
Despite a strong desire to run after her, a small voice of reason convinced him that going after her wouldn’t fly, but if the Fates so deemed it, in due time, he’d have the opportunity to grovel. If he could get her to stick around long enough to listen, he could explain himself and the real reason for setting up the idiotic bet. And convince her that sleeping together, for him, was based on pure love.
“Forget it, buddy. Let her go.” Aaron hit him shoulder to shoulder in a good old boy bump Barry wanted no part of. “Like I ditched that bitch Blane Weston.”
Barry forced himself to keep his hands gripped—or he’d close them around Goodwin’s throat. “Get lost.”
Walking back into the ballroom, he reminded himself he needed to stay cool, bide his time, then make a slow and unnoticed exit.
He lowered his head as he made his way over to the punch bowl on a far table. Halfway there, a fuchsia tipped feminine hand on his arm stopped further progress.
“Well hello there, Barry Carlson.” Recognizing the voice of Cassandra Watson, Barry’s adrenalin surged as if he’d just hit a line drive and had to leave home plate and make first base or blow the game. Unfortunately, in the limited space of the crowded Summerville Inn ballroom, he had no where to go.
What he did not need right now was a come on from the class tramp.
“How are you, Barry?” she crooned, drawing each of the four words out long and slow as inch by inch her flashy sequined gown hiked damn near above her crotch.
He scanned the immediate vicinity but found no sign of the poor sucker who’d brought her. “Cassandra.” Take a walk. Please.
Being seen with the class bimbo was the last thing he needed. Too bad he’d been doing more thinking than acting when she approached. Before he knew what hit him, she had her arms twined around his neck and her body plastered against his.
Reaching up to break her hold, he brought her arms down. “How are you doing, Cassandra?”
“Fabulous, Barry. Now that you’re here, and alone.” The strength of her perfume bound him up like a strait jacket until he broke free to turn and pour himself a glass of punch.
As Cassandra sought a way to get her hands on him again, he made sure the plastic cup stayed between them. Then she clutched onto his elbow with such force the pink froth sloshed dangerously close to the rim of the cup. “Careful. I don’t want to spill on the pretty dress.”
She edged ever closer, like Ebola. “Do you like it?”
Using the punch as part shield, part weapon, he assumed a casual posture. “Isn’t this reunion week-end fun?”
“As it happens, I see both of us are having fun now.” She giggled and the hairs on the back of his neck stood straight up. “How about it, Barry? Do you have plans for later?” Her fingers continued to crawl toward him.
“I’m afraid so, Cassandra. Plans that can’t be changed.”
Chapter Twelve
Sleep was out of the question for her that night. When she wasn’t fuming at Barry, she was dissolved in tears. At what Barry had done.
“What is it?” she demanded about six-thirty the next morning. After tossing aside the lace-trimmed comforter, her feet hit the bedroom floor with a thud. “You can’t have it both ways, Marsh. Either you love him or you hate him. There’s no middle ground.”
When no decent answer came, she made it to the kitchen cupboards to snatch out a bag of premium blend coffee and a package of filters, and found herself blinking away a fresh round of tears.
Amazing. After last night, it was a miracle even one drop of moisture remained in her body. Then, as she prepared much needed caffeine, she was helpless to ward off another mental rehash of the previous night’s events. Sulking in a spindle-backed chair, she was halfway through a second cup of coffee when a knock on the front door yanked her out of the original of pity parties.
After a hasty check in the peep confirmed a friend, not foe, on the other side of the door, she slid back the safety chain and unlocked the knob. For a few awkward seconds after opening the door, she leaned against the jamb but made no attempt to invite him in.
“I was hoping I’d catch you at home.”
She raised one eyebrow in disbelief. “Since my apartment isn’t convenient to downtown Summerville, I don’t believe you were just passing by and decided to stop in to say hey.”
Apparently the depth of her anger at Barry translated to generalized animosity for all males. No exceptions. Even kind-hearted Jake Holbrook.
He held both hands out, palms up. “I come in peace and friendship.”
Her grip on the door eased. “Why?”
“I have something you might want—” He glanced to one side but stayed where he was. “—need to hear.”
“Did Barry send you?” She posed the question on a thread of hope and terror. With an apologetic glance he shook his head, and her already battered heart accepted yet another blow. “Oh.”
“I’m not saying he wouldn’t have,” he added quickly. “I haven’t seen him since last night.”
“Me either. He was going to his sister Marcy’s for breakfast this morning.”
“I’m headed for the famous Sunday brunch at the Summerville Inn.” Jake indicated his suit and tie with a gesture of one hand. “Beats frozen waffles from the toaster.”
“But you made a detour out here. For what?”
“Let’s just say I’d hate to see two people who are so right for each other make the same mistake I did.”
Noting the pain that ringed his eyes, she stood aside to invite him in. “
I was having coffee. Would you like some?”
“Sure.” Always the gentleman, he sat on the couch exactly where she indicated.
Kind, polite, sincere, with killer good looks, Jake Holbrook possessed everything most any woman would want, yet he’d never married. “How do you like it? Your coffee, I mean.”
“Black.” He raised his voice as she hurried toward the kitchen. “Guess that makes me a purist.”
At a loss for what to say next, she responded, “I don’t ruin mine with cream or sugar either.”
Accepting the mug she soon brought him, Jake offered a half smile as she sat in the glider rocker across the room. “No offense, but you don’t look like you slept much last night.”
She gave out a joyless laugh. “That would be one huge understatement. I’d like to say it’s because of a late night at the Inn but you’d know it’s not true.”
He took a sip of coffee. “This is very good, thank you.” When she smiled without comment, he went on. “Do you remember Bethany Andrews? She graduated with us.”
“Of course,” she said, strangely relieved he’d changed the subject. “Barry and I sometimes double dated with Bethany and her boyfriend Brian Thomas. You remember him, don’t you?” He gave a curt nod. “Though I sometimes wondered why she stayed with him as long as she did. Brian wasn’t always nice to her, like a boyfriend should be, and—”
Falling silent, she stared at the discomfort apparent on Jake’s face. “She’s the one who got away.” He took another sip before setting his mug on the end table. “Or, should I say, the one I let go.”
Memory files from high school flipped open in Amanda’s mind to a time toward the end of their senior year when Amanda, with Blane Weston and Bethany Andrews, hurried to the last class of the day and Bethany disclosed details of her most recent argument with Brian. Amanda and Blane offered more solace than counsel as the group turned the corner toward the Natural Science lab. Jake sat alone at a two-person table when they arrived and Amanda noticed how Jake’s eyes lit up when Bethany sat beside him. “Bethany always said what a good friend you were,” she murmured.
“You have no idea how I regret not pushing to be more than a friend to her.” He sat forward to rest his forearms on his knees. “She and Brian fought, a lot, and Bethy would end up spending time with me for how ever long the break up lasted. Then Brian would call and she’d ask me what to do.” He glanced at the floor, then back at Amanda. “And I would swear to myself, the next time I’d advise her to dump the jerk.”
“You were one of the first in our class to leave Summerville after graduation.”
“Bethy and Brian got back together for good. My parents had already moved to Michigan.” His tone softened. “I had no reason to stick around.”
“Where is she now?”
“Palm Springs.” Amanda hadn’t expected the answer to come out so quickly. “She and Brian are doctors in private practice out there.”
“Is that why you went into medical administration?”
“I never thought about it like that. Mynderse Memorial here in town hired me as a physician recruiter after I left the Peace Corps. I worked my way up to CEO within a matter of years.”
Hard as it was to watch Jake suffer, talking about someone else’s misfortune helped in dealing with hers. “Do they have any children?”
Fresh pain deepened the creases around his eyes and ill-concealed tears entered his voice. “Not as of the last time I heard and it’s been almost ten years. Another regret I carry around—not staying in touch.”
Setting her coffee aside, she folded suddenly restless hands in her lap. “Jake, I’m sorry.”
The half smile returned. “I didn’t intend to discuss my situation but I did want to give you some insight into the man you walked out on last night.”
“I never—” she began.
He raised a hand. “You need to know about that night at Doogan’s. What really went on, and what didn’t.” Amanda held her peace, giving silent encouragement to him to continue. “The way the bet ended up,” Jake finally said on a sigh, “was partially my fault.”
“But Aaron said—.”
Jake issued a huff of disgust. “You can’t believe half of what that character says. I myself don’t converse with him unless forced.”
With a mental head slap, she paid close attention as Jake went on with his story. “Barry took off after you left and never came back. Later, when I went to the men’s room, Goodwin was there, complaining to someone about Carlson leading a charmed life, mentioned your name and referenced the bet. The idiot went so far as to infer Barry cheated to win.”
Amanda went stiff as a marble statue.
Anger lowered Jake’s voice several octaves. “Thing is, Barry was trying to help me out by getting the others to contribute either time, labor or money to a good cause.” He then explained in great detail the specifics of the arrangement.
Amanda swallowed the nasty taste invading her throat. “Aaron Goodwin managed to mess up more than a few things for Barry and me when we were in high school, too.” She shook her head. “Some things never change.”
But then again, some things and people do.
As if he’d read her mind, Jake said, “Give Barry another chance. If it doesn’t work out, at least you’ll know you tried.” He came to his feet. “Take it from someone who’s been there and done that.”
She put one hand on his arm as she walked him to the door. “Eventually you’ll find someone, Jake.”
“Not like Bethy.”
The regret etched on his features stayed with her as she shut the door behind him. By his own admission, rather than settle for being with a woman other than the one he’d always loved, Jake Holbrook resigned himself to spend the rest of his life alone—precisely where Amanda was headed.
Except, unlike Jake, she could do something about it.
****
The lure of homemade cinnamon rolls and his earlier promise to attend got Barry to his sister’s house for breakfast Sunday morning. Left to his own devices, he’d have stayed home to fix something. Or not eat at all.
He had no appetite, but figured why hurt another woman he loved, big sister Marcy. He’d given his family some lame excuse to explain Amanda’s absence, though part of him yearned to share the real reason, and his own misery.
Miraculously, Marcy was alone in the kitchen when he aimlessly wandered in, only to have his sister immediately bring up the person he was powerless to forget. “The girls adore her.”
“Now there’s a reason to get married. To please my nieces.” Sitting forward, he looked around to make sure they were alone. “Too bad it may not happen.”
“What?” Marcy spun around at the news, the spatula she’d used to lift cinnamon rolls from the pan held over her head like an ax. “Why?”
Barry lowered his eyes to study the table top then swallowed twice and still couldn’t get rid of the monumental lump in his throat. “We had a misunderstanding.”
“Misunderstandings don’t ruin engagements, little brother. When two people agree to spend the rest of their lives together, it takes a whole lot more than a misunderstanding to break them up.” As if seeing the hurt in his eyes for the first time, hurt so big he couldn’t hide it, she quit lecturing and went back to lifting rolls. “So what really happened?”
“Your brother’s a total and complete ass.” He winced at how well the description fit, then jumped in with both feet and told Marcy what had transpired the night before.
Her disbelieving expression rivaled Amanda’s, but looking at her didn’t hurt nearly as bad. “I guess Aaron Goodwin struck out with whomever he was trying to score with, Blane Weston, I think.”
“So he took his frustration out on you and Amanda?” When he said nothing, she said, “He is such a jerk. No wonder half his own family doesn’t speak to him.”
“What he told Amanda wasn’t exactly a lie.” His eyes closed as the pain of that admission stole his breath. Then he added personal insult t
o the injury when he relayed the events at Doogan’s that fateful Wednesday night.
And, though he said no more to Marcy, Barry continued the confession in his mind. He’d made love to Amanda for all the right reasons. All it took was Goodwin to shoot off his mouth and she came to the conclusion his reasons were all the wrong ones.
“Breakfast was a great idea, Marcy. But, if you don’t mind, right now, I really need to be alone.”
****
Barry had pulled into the farthest corner of Angel Wings Bluff, had the Jag in Park and the engine off before he was fully aware he’d even driven there. With a sigh of misery and defeat, he got out to sit on the hard packed dirt, his back against a boulder. He sat there alone, his only companions beautiful fantasies of what he might have had with Amanda.
Alone was how he’d spend the rest of his life. After what he’d been given with her if only for a brief time no other woman would come close to making him feel complete.
The devastation after the loss of his pro career had nothing on losing Amanda.
The twenty-fifth reunion of Summerville’s Class of 1985 was officially history. Unfortunately, his reason for living was gone as well.
He picked up limestone pebbles within reach and chucked them one by one across the surface of the parking lot. That’s what life does to you, he mused, waits until you’re at the top of your game, and wham!
Makes the fall that much longer and infinitely harder. For the hundredth time he took the cell out of his pants pocket and dialed Amanda’s number, then listened to it go straight to voice mail after the first ring. Driving out to her place would be futile. She’d probably already contacted Bison County’s own Rory McElroy, little bastard, to obtain a restraining order.
Seagulls soared and warbled above, lake waves whooshed and splattered below. And Amanda had slipped through his fingers again.
It’s impossible to lose something you never truly had.
To Be, Or Not (Class of 85) Page 11