Angie said, “I hope she pulls through.”
“Me too.”
“So, I guess this means you guys didn’t...” Angie trailed off.
“No,” I said, morosely, but then brightened. “But we could have!”
“Great!” Angie instantly got my meaning. “Well, sounds like Jim’s overcome his stage fright. Now, you just have to get over yours.”
She was right. It was too late to back out now. I couldn’t add to Nicola’s anxiety over losing her photographer by refusing to read the poem. Somehow, I just had to get through it without hyperventilating or having to run to the toilet. “Okay...” I said, grudgingly. “I’ll do my best.”
The next morning I paced the apartment, repeating my verse over and over. Angie had insisted we memorize our lines. Apparently, she felt that it wasn’t quite stressful enough reading a verse about Nicola finally losing her virginity to three hundred people. We were going to do a dress rehearsal for Nicola at Thursday’s stitch ’n bitch, so I had to be prepared. When the phone rang, I answered it somewhat gratefully.
“Beth?” the male voice asked.
“Yes?”
“It’s Martin.”
“Oh, hi Martin.” I’d sent the Northwest Life article to him yesterday. Hopefully, he’d had a chance to read it and was calling to thank me.
“I was wondering if you could come down here. I . . . need to talk to you.”
“Okay. Have you read my article?”
“Yeah, I read it. Look...could you come now? This is important.”
“I’ll be right there.” As I sat on the bus, I pondered the reasons behind Martin’s urgent request. It could be about my article, of course. Maybe I’d skewed it too much in favour of the little independent grocer? Or focused too much on the shopper’s perspective and not the business end of things? I suppose Martin might want to apologize to me in person for convincing me to switch verses with him. Perhaps he’d summoned enough courage to read the aching and yearning part himself? Oh, pleeeeeze! But as I stepped off the bus across the street from his office building, I knew in my heart what this was about.
“Thanks for coming,” Martin said, ushering me into his tiny glass-walled office. He closed the door behind me as I took a seat across from his cluttered desk. “So . . . I uh, got your article.”
“Uh-huh?”
“I had a quick read of it and it looks great. I’ll have some more in-depth feedback in the next couple of days.”
“Great.” So it wasn’t about the article.
“I also wanted to thank you, again, for trading verses with me. You’ll do a much better job than I ever could... honestly.”
I shrugged. Obviously, he wouldn’t have called me all the way down here to say that.
“Umm . . .” He cleared his throat nervously. “I wanted to talk to you about... Sophie.”
I knew it! “Yes?”
“She . . . uh . . . Sophie’s . . . interested in me, isn’t she?”
“Yeah,” I ruefully admitted.
Martin puffed out his cheeks and let the air out in a long, steady stream. “Don’t get me wrong, I like her a lot. She’s a really sweet girl, but... she’s just not my type.”
Not his type? What did he mean by that? Not his type as in, she had a husband and a baby? Or not his type as in, she had breasts and a vagina?
“Maybe, if things were different, it could work out between us . . . but it’s just not going to happen.”
“I completely understand.” Of course I did. I just didn’t quite understand why.
Martin leaned forward, looking at me intensely. “I know this is a lot to ask, but... will you help me, Beth?”
“Help you how?” I gasped.
“You’ve got to talk to her for me, tell her that we can’t be together,” he said, desperately. “Please, Beth. She’ll be humiliated if I have to tell her.”
I didn’t like how Martin was getting me to do all his dirty work for him lately. First, I had to read his dirty poem, and now this! But curiosity had gotten the better of me, and I finally saw an opportunity to uncover the truth. “I don’t know...” I said, hesitantly. “What would I say to her?”
Martin looked at me. “It’s pretty obvious, isn’t it?”
“Uh . . . Sort of?”
“Beth...” He seemed incredulous that I was having trouble finding the words. “Just tell her the truth.”
“Umm . . . ?”
“I can’t have a relationship with her because she’s married.”
“Of... of course,” I stammered.
“It wouldn’t be right. They have a child together and they should try to work things out.”
“I agree. So . . . couldn’t you maybe just tell her that? I mean, I’m already reading the aching and yearning verse for you.”
Martin heaved another heavy sigh. “You’re right. I’m sorry. I just thought it might be easier hearing it from a friend. I mean, I’m her friend, too, but if I tell her, it’s going to be really hard on her ego. I just thought...” He leaned back in his chair. “No, you’re right. I’ve asked too much of you already.”
Oh shit. I had to agree with him. It would probably be less painful for Sophie to hear that Martin wasn’t interested in her from me. If he told her, it would be almost like he was breaking up with her before they’d even started dating! “I’ll talk to her for you,” I said, glumly. “It’s probably better that way.”
“Really? Are you sure?”
“Yeah, I’m sure.”
“Oh, Beth, you are such a great friend.” He reached forward and clasped my hand in his. “And I really appreciate you switching verses with me. I don’t mean to sound all macho, but I feel kind of weird reading a love poem in front of so many people.”
“I understand.”
We said nothing for a moment, just smiled at each other. Now that I knew Martin was straight, I probably shouldn’t sit there, holding his hand and smiling at him. But I already knew he wasn’t interested in me. In fact, it was his lack of interest in me that had led me to assume (hope) that he was gay in the first place. Obviously, there was nothing to worry about.
Finally, he released my hand and spoke. “So I promise I’ll get back to you soon about your article. But at first glance, it looked great.”
“Thanks.” I stood. “And I’ll try to talk to Sophie before we get together on Thursday.”
And I did try. I phoned her as soon as I got home and left a message inviting her to meet me for coffee. “I’d really like to talk to you...” I said, “the sooner, the better.” Of course, I couldn’t spell it out on her voice mail in case Rob listened to it, but I was sure Sophie would get my gist. I really hoped she’d call me back soon. While I dreaded giving her the news, she needed to know the truth. Once she realized there was no chance with Martin she could refocus on her marriage. And, of course, we would all appreciate it if she stopped giving Martin meaningful looks while she read Nicola’s wedding poem.
So, when the phone finally rang at four o’clock, I assumed it was Sophie.
“It’s me,” he said, when I answered.
“Jim!” My heart leapt to hear his voice. “How are you?”
“Oh . . . you know . . . hanging in there.”
“How’s your mom?”
“No change. Look... I only have a second. I’m in Toronto for the next few days, but I just wanted to hear your voice.”
I was touched. “It’s great to hear your voice, too.”
“I miss you.”
“And I miss you.”
“Have you thought about where we should go on our holiday?”
“I’m still not sure,” I said, with a delighted giggle. “I’ve never had the opportunity to just choose anywhere in the world to visit!”
“Well, now you do. Name the place, and we’re there.”
“Okay!”
“I’ve gotta go, babe. Love ya.”
Love ya? Did he say love ya? That was the short form of “I love you,” was it not? It was!
Jim loved me and he wasn’t afraid to say it! He didn’t care if we’d only been seeing each other for a couple of months and hadn’t even managed to have sex yet. He loved me! Hurray! “Love ya, too,” I replied, and then hung up.
Twenty-seven
I WAS SO elated by Jim’s pronouncement of his feelings for me that I wasn’t all that concerned when Sophie didn’t call me back right away. The stitch ’n bitch meeting wasn’t until Thursday night. She would probably call me on Thursday morning, we’d go for coffee, and we’d discuss Martin’s feelings. She would be disappointed, of course. She might even have a little cry. But eventually, she would realize that it was for the best, and she’d refocus on her family. It would all be okay. Besides, Jim loved me!
But when Sophie called, I was out buying groceries. Her message said she was on her way to Mommy and Me tumbling class, and could we possibly meet for coffee on Friday? Obviously, Friday was too late. I had assured Martin that I’d have “the talk” with her before our meeting tonight. I hated not delivering on a promise, but at least Jim loved me. Then, I had an idea. Sophie was hosting tonight’s get-together. I would simply show up early and chat with her before the others arrived.
It was the ideal solution. At 6:10, I was dressed and ready to go, a bottle of wine in hand. Since this get-together was more of a dress rehearsal than a stitch ’n bitch, I decided to leave my knitting at home. I would call a cab for the quick trip up the hill and be sitting in Sophie’s cozy living room, relaying Martin’s heterosexuality and aversion to dating married women, by 6:25. The phone was in my hand to dial the taxi company when Kendra approached. I jumped a little at her sudden presence. She had been sitting silently in the living room staring intently at The Young and the Restless (she taped it each day while she was at work). I’d completely forgotten she was there. “We need to talk,” she announced.
“Uh . . . now? I’m just heading out.”
“This issue needs to be addressed.”
“Okay.” I put the phone down and my eyes darted to the microwave clock. If Kendra could make this fast, I would still have time to talk to Sophie. “What’s wrong?”
“This.” Kendra held up one of my knitting needles. “Do you know where I found this?”
“Where?” I asked, resignedly.
“On the couch.” God, she looked so pissed off I’d expected her to say, “in my eardrum.”
“Sorry,” I muttered. “I’ll be sure to put it away next time.”
“Beth . . .” she continued angrily, “I sat right on it. It was very painful, and I have a bruise right here.” She indicated her ample butt cheek.
“I’m sorry, Kendra.” I glanced at the clock again. “I’ll be more careful from now on.”
“You don’t seem to realize how dangerous that could have been. Those needles are capable of doing serious, even lethal, damage.”
Right. Like Kendra was going to accidentally impale herself through the heart on a stray knitting needle.
She continued. “You wouldn’t leave a butcher’s knife lying around on the sofa, would you?” I was so busy trying to keep my eyes from rolling of their own volition that I didn’t answer. “Would you?” she repeated.
“No.”
“Well then . . . I don’t see why you think it’s okay to leave something this deadly on the sofa.”
“Look, I promise I will never ever leave another knitting needle, or a butcher’s knife for that matter, on the couch. I’ve really got to go.”
When my taxi finally arrived, it was 6:35. This would give me approximately ten minutes to break Sophie’s heart with the news that Martin was indeed straight, but not interested in pursuing a relationship with her. Damn that Kendra! She was a real pain. Jim had mentioned getting a place in Seattle when we last spoke. Maybe I could move in there? It wouldn’t be like living together living together. He would still spend lots of time on Bainbridge and he was always travelling. But it made financial sense, didn’t it? And it was the logical next step. We were officially in love, after all.
On Sophie’s porch I rang the bell and waited. Then I rang it again. It was strange, her not answering. Obviously, she had to be at home. She was expecting a houseful of guests in approximately twelve minutes. I rang again. Finally, I heard the sound of foot-steps and the door swung open.
“Hi!” I said brightly. “Sorry I’m a little early.”
Sophie’s voice was hushed. “That’s okay. I was just trying to get Flynn down before everyone arrives. Come in.”
“Thanks.” I matched the volume of her voice. “I was hoping we could have a glass of wine and a little chat before the others get here.”
“Sure.” She led me to the kitchen where an open bottle of red wine sat on the counter. Pouring me a glass, she whispered, “Are you ready for tonight?”
“As ready as I’ll ever be. It won’t be so bad reading in front of Nicola. It’s the rehearsal dinner and the wedding I’m worried about.”
“I know!” Sophie made a face of dread.
“So . . .” I took the glass of wine she proffered and was about to embark on the subject of Martin, when a thought occurred to me. “Is Rob home?”
“He’s in Miami,” she whispered. “But he’s actually—” Sophie was cut off by a screeching noise emanating from a tiny walkie-talkie device sitting on the counter. “Oh shit!”
“What is it?”
“It’s Flynn,” she said, turning off the baby monitor. “Make yourself at home. I’ll be right back.”
A glance at my watch indicated that the others would be arriving in about eight minutes. Come on, Flynn, I willed him. Please go to sleep. I’m trying to save your parents’ marriage here. But Sophie had still not returned when the doorbell rang just before seven. Damn it! Thanks to Kendra and now Flynn, the window of opportunity had closed! Unless Martin had the good sense to show up late, affording me a little extra time.
“Hey!” Martin said when I opened the front door.
“You idiot!” I refrained from screaming. Instead I hissed, “I haven’t had a chance to talk to her.”
Martin’s eyes widened with alarm and he took a small step backwards like he was preparing to run off before he was spotted. That’s when Sophie appeared, stealthily tiptoeing down the hall. “Hi,” she called to him.
“Uh . . . hi, Sophie.”
She walked up to him and took both his hands in hers. “Great to see you,” she said, leaning in to kiss his cheek warmly.
Martin cleared his throat, shooting a panicked look in my direction. “You too,” he said.
Oh god. What was going on? Sophie never acted so at ease around Martin. He made her throat dry and her tongue swell! Since when could she casually welcome him with a kiss on the cheek? What did it mean? God help me if she’d already kicked Rob out!
Moments later my thoughts were distracted by the somewhat boisterous arrival of Angie, followed by the night’s guest of honour, Nicola. With a finger to her lips, Sophie ushered us into her living room and shut the French doors so our discourse and poetry reading wouldn’t disturb Flynn. “How are you holding up?” our hostess addressed Nicola.
“Oh...well...” Nicola said with a shrug. The dark circles under her eyes and her somewhat pale complexion made it evident that the stress was taking its toll. “I’ll be better two weeks from now when all this insanity is over.” I managed to stop myself from agreeing with her.
“Did you find a new photographer?” Martin asked.
“Yes! Thank heavens my dad was able to call a photographer friend of his in Boston. He’s going to fly in to photograph the rehearsal dinner and the wedding.”
“That’s fantastic,” Angie said.
“It is. Benjamin’s very talented. He doesn’t traditionally do weddings, but my dad says that will give his photos a more unique perspective.”
“True,” I nodded, though I knew less than nothing about photographic perspective.
“Thank god for your dad,” Sophie commented.
“I know!” Nicol
a said, holding her hands to her chest. “Daddy’s my hero. Always has been.”
“Well...” Angie jumped in. “Shall we perform the poem for you?”
“That would be lovely.”
In preparation, I downed the remains of my wine and began my internal pep talk. I was doing this for Nicola, a dear sweet woman who valued my friendship enough to invite me to speak on the most important day of her life. I would do it for her—without hyperventilation or diarrhea. And if, perchance, my body rebelled on me on the big day, at least it would be doing so in front of complete strangers who I would hopefully never see again.
With Nicola seated in a brocade armchair, we assembled in front of her. Angie cleared her throat before addressing the imaginary crowd. “Welcome, friends and family of the bride and groom. I’m Angie Morris. Yes, that Angie Morris,” she laughed, “co-host of The Buzz, cable Channel 13.” She looked to Nicola in an aside. “I’ll pause here for a few seconds for applause et cetera...”
“Uh . . . right.”
“With me tonight are Sophie Bryden, Beth Carruthers, and Martin Scurfield. We are absolutely delighted to be reading a poem tonight that encapsulates the powerful bond that is shared by this special couple. Ladies and gentlemen...we bring you, ‘Eternal Love.’ ” Angie launched into her enthusiastic recitation, followed by Sophie. Thankfully, she didn’t shoot Martin any of those meaningful looks as she read the syrupy verse. Finally, it was my turn. While I’d initially felt nervous performing in front of Nicola, the look of pure gratitude on her face made it infinitely easier. This really meant so much to her. When Martin had gone and Angie had finished the last line, Nicola jumped up and applauded.
“That was perfect!” she cried, dabbing at a tear in her eye. “Just perfect. Thank you so much.”
“It was our pleasure,” Angie answered for all of us. Turning to her cohorts, she instructed, “Beth, just make sure to breathe. And Martin, if you could put just a teensy bit more energy into your voice—that would be great.”
Nicola said, “Well, I thought it was wonderful. I wouldn’t change a thing.” She smiled at us each in turn. Then, addressing Angie, she added hesitantly, “Except at the beginning...”
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