Save the Date

by Mary Kay Andrews

  “Too bad,” Jack said.

  “Have you ever seen one of the bathrooms on those cruise ships? They’re like the size of a telephone booth. And we had to share it!”

  “Poor you.”

  She narrowed her eyes. “You think it’s funny, don’t you? I thought I was dying. For two whole days, I couldn’t leave our cabin. And neither could he. It was beyond disgusting. And there was like, nobody to help us. Almost everybody on the whole ship was sick. I kept ringing for the steward, but he was sick too. Finally, somebody brought some Gatorade and some saltines, but I couldn’t keep anything down. I lost six pounds in three days.”

  “But you lived,” Jack said.

  “No thanks to that jerk Jamey.” She sighed dramatically. “We are so over, it’s not even real. I guess you never really know somebody till you’re locked up in a shoebox-sized room with them with raging diarrhea and nausea, huh?”

  “Words of wisdom,” Jack said. “Very sage. But you still haven’t told me how you ended up back here.”

  “They had to turn the ship around and go back to port in Lauderdale two days early,” Zoey said. “They gave all the passengers discount vouchers for another trip and stuff, and the cruise line wanted me to stay on, and work on another of their ships, because now they have to completely sanitize the one we were on, but I was like, no effin’ way. I hope I never see another cruise ship as long as I live. Or Jamey. I got off the boat Wednesday, but I was too sick and weak to travel, so I got a room near the port. Then, this morning, I drove straight here.”

  “To my place.”

  It took a moment for that to sink in. “Our place. I live here, Jack.”

  He squatted on the floor beside the sofa so that he could be at eye level. “Zoey, you left me. You said you were in love with another guy, so you packed up your clothes, and you left.”

  Huge tears welled up in Zoey’s blue eyes. “It was a mistake,” she whispered. “I, I can’t explain it. That thing they say about women, going for musicians? It’s true! He had like a spell on me. But it wasn’t real. I figured that out. The whole time I was sick, I just kept thinking, if I get off this boat alive, I’m going back to Jack, and I’ll never leave him again.”

  She grabbed his hand and clutched it to her chest. “I missed you so much, Jackie.”

  His cell phone rang. He stood, awkwardly, and pulled it from his pocket, checking the caller ID. It was Cara.

  “Jackie?” Zoey looked up at him expectantly.

  “I gotta take this call,” he said, his voice brusque. He turned and strode back into the kitchen.

  “Hey, you,” Cara said. “I just heard your message. I’d love some dinner, if it’s not too late.”

  He paused and glanced back over his shoulder. Zoey now stood in the doorway from the living room, glaring at him. Her skin was deeply tanned, but she looked gaunt.

  “Uh,” he stammered. “I just got in myself, and I haven’t even showered yet.”

  “I can wait,” Cara said. “What, thirty minutes?”

  “The thing is, there’s been kind of an unexpected development here.”

  “Shaz didn’t run off again, did she?”

  “No, nothing like that,” Jack said. “I’ve got some out-of-town company, is all. Sort of out of the blue.”

  Zoey frowned. “Since when am I company? Who are you talking to? Is that a woman?”

  “Jack?” Cara said. “What kind of company?”

  Shaz trotted into the kitchen and rubbed up against his legs. He looked helplessly from Zoey to the dog to the back door. If he left right now, he could make it over to Cara’s house, explain everything in person. And maybe Zoey would dematerialize.

  “Hey!” Zoey called loudly. “Whoever is on the phone? Jack can’t talk right now. Because his girlfriend is back. And he needs to take care of her. So just hang up, okay?”

  He covered the phone with his hand. “Shut the fuck up,” he said hoarsely, slamming the kitchen door in Zoey’s face.

  “Cara?”

  There was a long pause.

  “Oh,” Cara said. “Was that really Zoey?”

  “Yeah,” he said slowly. “When I got home from work a little while ago, she was here. That cruise ship she was on? Everybody got some kind of stomach virus. She said they got back to port yesterday, and she drove here today. Out of the clear blue.”

  “Siren of the Seas? I heard about that on the news. That’s the ship she was on?”

  “I don’t know and I don’t care,” Jack said, wearily rubbing his hand across his face, staring at his own grubby reflection in the kitchen window. “You gotta believe me, Cara. I had no idea she was coming back. I don’t want her here. We’re through. I was just trying to tell her that when you called.”

  “What’s she want from you? What happened to the Jimmy Buffett impersonator?”

  “She says they broke up. I guess she thinks she can just show up here and I’ll take her back. But she’s dead wrong.”

  “What’ll you do?”

  “Tell her to leave,” Jack said. “She sure as hell can’t stay here with me.”

  “Is she still sick?”

  “Zoey? She’s fine! Okay, it looks like she lost a little weight. But she was well enough to drive seven hours straight from Fort Lauderdale, so as far as I’m concerned, she can just keep driving.”

  “That seems awfully mean,” Cara said. “The people on that ship were really sick. Some of them are still in the hospital.”

  He snorted. “You don’t know Zoey. She’s like a cockroach. No matter how many times you stomp on her, she just gets up and keeps going. Look. Are we still on for dinner? Let me grab a shower and I’ll be over there in fifteen.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Positive. What do you feel like for dinner?”

  “Doesn’t matter. After the day I’ve had, I’ll just be happy to see a friendly face.”

  “I can do friendly,” Jack said. “Very friendly.”

  * * *

  He stalked back into the living room. Zoey was stretched out on the sofa, with Shaz perched at her feet. She gave Jack a playful wink. “Was that your new squeeze? Did you tell her about me?”

  “None of your business,” he said, looking around the room. “By the way, where the hell are your clothes?”

  She wrinkled her nose. “Gross. The health department people who met us at the port told us we should make sure and like, sanitize everything. So we don’t spread the virus. Or get it again. God forbid. As soon as I got here, I threw everything into the washing machine.”

  “Everything? What were you planning to wear in the meantime?”

  She arched one eyebrow. “I wasn’t planning to wear anything. Actually, you kind of spoiled my surprise, coming in the back door the way you did. I had this big welcome back to Jack all planned out.”

  “Yeah. I remember the last surprise you planned for me. I came home to an empty house, and a puppy who’d peed all over the floor. I’m pretty much over your surprises, Zoey.”

  She stood up, stretched, and reached her arms out toward him. “It’s different this time, Jackie.”

  “Forget it,” he said, deftly stepping sideways. “Not interested.”

  Zoey was not to be deterred. “I’m not contagious.”

  “No,” Jack said, deadpan. “You’re not. Whatever you’ve got, I’m finally immune to it. I’m gonna take a shower now, then I’m going out for a while. While I’m gone, I suggest you finish up your laundry, get dressed, and move along down the road.”

  “What? You’re kicking me out? Just like that?”

  “Just like that,” he agreed. He headed for the shower. “Why don’t you check the washing machine? I bet your stuff is clean by now.”

  * * *

  He’d just stepped into the shower when he heard the bathroom doorknob turn. And then turn again. Jack chuckled and turned his face up to the nozzle, letting the water stream over his face.

  Zoey pounded on the door. “You locked the door?” she ho
llered. “Asshole! What if I need to pee?”

  “Take it outside,” he called back. He reached for the soap and frowned when he saw the familiar silver and pink bottles of shampoo and conditioner on the window ledge. She’d already begun the process of moving in again. This time, though, the process would stop. Tonight.

  When he’d toweled off and put on clean clothes, he walked out to the living room to find Zoey still reclining on the leather sofa. Thankfully, she’d gotten dressed, and was wearing an oversized blue-and-white-striped shirt and jeans. She’d combed her hair and twisted it back from her face and was looking semihuman again.

  “Is that my shirt?” he asked.

  She shrugged. “You never wear this shirt, so I didn’t think you’d mind. My stuff’s still in the dryer. I found a pair of my old jeans in the laundry room. You look nice. Where are you off to?”

  “Out.”

  “Like, out to dinner? Not that you’ve asked, but I haven’t had anything to eat. Not in hours and hours. And there’s nothing in the fridge. I checked.”

  “Maybe you should go find yourself something then. Right after you pack up your stuff. I’m not taking you to dinner. And you can’t stay here, Zoey.”

  “Where would you suggest I go? This was my home too, Jack. I can’t believe you’re being like this.”

  “Believe it,” he said. “Call up one of your girlfriends. Or go to a motel.”

  She sat up then and crossed one long, lithe leg over the other. “The thing is, I’m sort of short of funds right at the minute. We only get paid every two weeks. I gave the cruise line this address, and they’re supposed to forward my final check week after next.”

  Zoey gave him a sad little smile. “See? You just have to put up with me for two more weeks. Then I’ll get out of your hair. If that’s what you really want.”

  “Oh no.” He shook his head emphatically. “Oh, hell, to the no. You’re not pulling that broke and helpless crap on me again. You’ve been living on a cruise ship for what, three, four months? Your room and food was free, you had no living expenses. If you’re broke, that’s your problem. Not mine.”

  She turned on the tears again. “I can’t believe you’re being like this. I told you I was sorry.”

  “Actually, you never once said you were sorry,” he pointed out. “Not that I care. Here’s the deal, Zoey. I’m leaving now.” He reached into his pocket, pulled out a money clip, and peeled off five twenty-dollar bills. “This is my parting gift to you. Buy yourself some dinner, get a room somewhere, whatever. Just make sure you’re gone by the time I get back here tonight.”

  Zoey looked at the bills with obvious disbelief. “A hundred lousy bucks? That’s it?”

  “Yup.” He grabbed the leash from the hook by the front door and whistled. “Shaz! Come.”

  The dog looked up at Zoey, and then at Jack.

  “Shaz!”

  She trotted over and Jack hooked the leash to her collar. “Let’s go girl.” He picked up his truck keys and headed for the back door.

  “You can’t take my dog,” Zoey said, running after him. “I bought her. She’s mine. You didn’t even want a puppy.”

  Jack kept walking. “She grew on me. Anyway, possession is nine-tenths of the law.”

  “You can’t keep her,” Zoey called. “As soon as I get my check, I’m taking her with me.”

  Jack stopped dead in his tracks and turned around. “That reminds me.” He held out his hand, palm side up.

  “What?” she said sullenly.

  “My house key. I’d like it back. You can just push the thumb lock when you leave.”

  She stalked out of the room and returned a minute later. She flipped the key, and he caught it in midair.

  He was almost out the back door when, out of the corner of his eye, he saw a beer can go sailing past his head before banging against the wall. Beer dripped down the door casing. He needed to paint anyway.

  “Asshole!” she screamed.

  47

  Cara stepped out the front door just as Jack was pressing the doorbell.

  “I brought Shaz. I thought she and Poppy could hang out together,” Jack said.

  “Good idea.” They took Shaz outside, where Poppy seemed ecstatic at the prospect of company, and made sure both dogs had water and toys before heading back out to the street.

  “You look nice,” Cara said, as Jack leaned in to kiss her. “And you smell nice too.”

  “You clean up pretty good yourself,” he said, his lips lingering on hers. “And you smell way better than me.”

  “Girls are supposed to smell better than boys,” she said, then gestured down at her own capris and sheer cotton flower-printed tunic. “Am I underdressed? Where are we going?”

  “You’re not underdressed at all. I thought we’d go to Guale, over on Drayton Street. Does that sound all right?”

  “I’ve seen Guale written up in magazines, but I’ve never been. Isn’t it pretty fancy?”

  “Not really. The food’s great, but I’ve gone in there wearing jeans before, and nobody even looks twice. Parking’s a pain though. Is it too hot to walk over there?”

  “Walking’s good.” She lifted her right foot to show off her Kelly-green sandals. “I’ve even got on flats.”

  It was dusk now, and the streetlights had come on, and the faintest damp breeze ruffled the fronds of a palm tree on the corner. As they were crossing Whitaker Street, Jack casually reached over and clasped Cara’s hand. And he didn’t let go when they’d reached the other side. She flashed him a smile and kept walking.

  “What?” he asked.

  “Nothing.”

  “Tell me.”

  “You’ll think I’m being ridiculous.”

  “Probably. Tell me anyway?”

  “I don’t know. This just … it feels so nice. And normal. Walking down the street holding hands with a cute boy…”

  “A boy? You make it sound like we’re teenagers.”

  “All of a sudden, I feel like a teenager. I’ve truly had the most appalling day in a most appalling week, and then Jack Finnerty shows up at my door, wearing a starched dress shirt and polished loafers, and smelling like aftershave. And he’s taking me to dinner … and for a few minutes there, it made me forget my troubles. It made me remember what it’s like to have somebody to care about.” She blushed. “I told you it was silly.”

  “C’mere,” Jack said. He pulled her into the darkened lane between Charlton and Jones and pressed her back against the wall of a pink stucco town house. “I’ll make you feel like a teenager.” He ran his hands beneath her shirt and slipped his tongue in her mouth.

  Cara gave a very small, very feeble squeak of protest. She kissed him back, twined her arms around his neck, pulled him closer. Emboldened, he worked his thumbs under the band of her bra, teasing her nipples until she gasped and gave him a gentle backward shove.

  “I am not having sex with you in an alley,” she said, smoothing down her rumpled tunic.

  He chuckled and kissed her again. “We don’t call them alleys in Savannah. We call them lanes. Anyway, you’re the one who said you liked feeling like a teenager.”

  “I didn’t say I liked being felt up like a teenager in public,” Cara countered. “There’s a time and a place for everything.”

  Jack sighed and straightened his own shirt. “Same old story I used to get in high school.”

  * * *

  They’d just given the waiter their dinner order when Jack’s cell phone buzzed. He took it from his pocket, read the text message, and gave a loud grunt of exasperation before putting it away again.

  Cara raised a questioning eyebrow.

  “Zoey. I’m not answering her because I don’t want to encourage her.”

  “Just out of curiosity, what does she want?”

  “She claims her car won’t start. Wants me to come give her a jump. Okay, poor choice of words. Her battery is dead. Or so she claims. It’s all a ruse.”

  Cara leaned forward. “Can I ask yo
u something? What’s Zoey like? How did the two of you end up together in the first place?”

  “How does anybody end up together? Dumb luck. I was dumb, she was lucky. Or the other way around. How about we talk about something else? Anything else? You said you’d had a bad day? Tell me about that.”

  Cara looked around the dining room. She was glad they had come here tonight. This was good. A nice distraction. The tablecloth was pale yellow linen. There was a candle in a glass jar, and a small clear bud vase held a stem of pink alstroemeria that was a day past its prime. Perhaps she should talk to the owners about doing flowers for them. Her eyes rested on Jack. With a start she realized she might never get tired of looking at him. He had a tiny spatter of white paint on his left earlobe. His sunburnt nose was peeling. She looked at his big hands. His left hand was resting on the tabletop and he was clutching a glass of red wine in his right hand, and she noticed his thumbnail was blackened.

  Her day?

  “Where do I start? The Colonel continues to hound me about my bad debt and bad business decisions. Also, another contractor showed up at the shop this morning, all set to come in and look around on behalf of Cullen Kane.”

  “That guy,” Jack said.

  “And on top of everything else, I fired Bert.”

  “For real?”

  “He left me no choice. He’s been coming in late, leaving early, just generally slacking off. I figured he had some new boyfriend, but he kept pushing the limits. And this thing with Lillian Fanning’s missing epergne, he kept acting as though I was the one accusing him of stealing it. I never accused him. Whatever else he might be, Bert is no thief. Finally, today, I’d had it. I told him if he left early he could stay gone. So he did.”

  “Nothing else you could do,” Jack said.

  “Not long after that the second contractor showed up. He had a key to my place. He let himself in the back gate. That was the final straw. I was so mad, Jack, I couldn’t even see straight. Who the hell does this guy think he is?

  “I drove over to his shop-—I mean, excuse me, Cullen Kane Floral Design Studio. And you’ll never guess who was working as Cullen’s new receptionist. Bert. My Bert!”