Hold on My Heart

by Tracy Brogan

  “How much of our savings?” Her voice was as thin as smoke.

  “Not all of it. Just a little, and well… Libby’s wedding fund.”

  A sizable boulder fell off a cliff and landed smack on the top of Libby’s head. “My wedding fund? That’s what you used?”

  She hadn’t even known her parents had a “Libby’s wedding fund,” but the fact that her father just spent it on that fossil of a building showed a distinct lack of his confidence in her ability to find a husband. She was only twenty-eight. There was still time.

  “Her wedding fund?” Marti gasped. “What about my wedding fund? Is there still one for me?”

  Libby’s father waved his hand in her sister’s direction. “You’re only twenty-two years old, Marti. We’ll have plenty of time later to save up for your wedding fund.”

  “Um, not really.”

  Everyone’s gaze swung to Marti, and that whoosh of silence came back for another pass.

  Marti flushed a shiny pink and glanced at Dante. He nodded and smiled, still eating his salad as if this were normal dinner conversation.

  With a girlish giggle, she held up her left hand, showing off a chunky, green stone set on a thick, tarnished band. Somewhere a Cracker Jack box was missing its prize. “Dante and I are getting married.”

  “Your family is losing it,” Ben murmured to Ginny.

  “That’s not funny, Martha,” Beverly said. “We’re discussing your father and this building he bought.”

  “It’s not supposed to be funny,” Marti said. “It’s supposed to be awesome.”

  Dante leaned in and hugged her to his side. “It is awesome, babe.”

  Libby’s father drew in a long, labored breath and pointed his finger at the interloper at his table. “This Dante? This college dropout with the ink all over his arms? I don’t think so. No offense, kid.”

  Ginny reached over and grabbed Marti’s hand, tugging it closer for examination. “That’s not an engagement ring. Engagement rings are diamonds. I don’t know what that is.”

  Marti snatched her hand back. “Geez, Ginny. It’s an engagement ring if we say it is. Does everything have to be your way?”

  “What do you mean you’re getting married?” Libby’s mother’s voice cracked. The mottled splotches on her face went from red to purple. This was just not her night.

  “Just like what it sounds like. We’re getting married in two months, and we are going to live happily ever after. That is so awesome about the ice-cream parlor, by the way, Daddy. I am totally with you on this one.”

  Libby hiccupped. Two months? Marti and this derelict had known each other for three weeks and were already engaged, and she couldn’t wrangle a proposal out of Seth after more than a year of cohabitation? Not that she’d really tried, but still—Marti was taking cuts in line. Libby should get married first.

  “You’re twenty-two years old, Martha,” her father said again. “You are not getting married.” His hands thumped down hard on the arms of his chair.

  “In two months? What kind of wedding can you plan in two months?” Ginny said.

  “I don’t really think that’s the issue here, Gin,” Libby interrupted. “How about the fact that they don’t actually know each other?”

  Marti frowned. “We do know each other, all the important stuff anyway, and we can plan a perfect wedding. Libby can help us make the arrangements, and it will be amazing because we love each other.”

  “We do.” Dante nodded and took another bite of lettuce.

  Help them make the arrangements? Libby was a business event planner, not a wedding planner.

  “Marti, this is nonsense. You can’t possibly expect your father and me to blindly endorse your marrying someone we just met. And someone you barely know. This is all very abrupt.” Libby’s mother took a gulp from the wineglass in front of her.

  Dante nodded sagely. “I totally understand you feeling that way, Mother Hamilton. Marti is precious, and you want what’s best for her. So do I, and I’m it.”

  Jaws dropped, but none so far or so fast as her mother’s.

  Her father’s fist thumped down on the table, his voice low in his throat. “Young man, don’t you presume to tell us what’s best for our daughter. Getting married at her age is not…” Suddenly his face blanched. “Oh, God. Martha. You’re not…”

  Beverly’s intake of breath was a strangled sort of whimper, but Marti’s eye roll was teen-queen dramatic. “Geez, Daddy! No, I’m not pregnant.” She looked over at Dante, not the least bit chagrined. “At least, if I am, it’s too early to tell.”

  CHAPTER three

  “This area used to be quite the posh place to visit.” Libby’s father stood out front, gazing at his newly purchased yet very old schoolhouse. Marti was with them, too, but he wasn’t really speaking to her since she refused to undo her engagement, and Libby wasn’t really speaking to him since he had spent her previously unbeknownst-to-her wedding money.

  Still, being with each other was better than staying at home and listening to her mother sniffle and sigh. The one-two punch of the ice-cream parlor and Dante the shaggy bridegroom had been too much for her. She was lying on the sofa at home with a cold washcloth on her forehead.

  Libby’s father shielded his eyes from the sun. “In the 1880s, the trolley line from downtown Monroe ended right over there. And over on that side, that building was a coach stop. The Mason Bridge Inn. Folks used to stop in there for a spirituous libation.”

  “You mean a beer?” Libby asked.

  Her father nodded. “Or a julep. Maybe I should try to get a liquor license.”

  Libby shook her head. “Whoa. Slow down there, cowboy. You’re getting ahead of yourself again. So far we have twenty-seven things written on this to-do list, and we haven’t even gone inside yet.”

  In spite of being annoyed by her father’s haphazard choices, Libby had agreed to help with his schoolhouse-to-ice-cream-parlor transformation. She had the skills necessary to keep even him on track. And she sure didn’t have anything else to occupy her time. No interviews lined up, and the last one in Chicago had gone so epically bad she was certain there would be no offer.

  She’d been so ready for it, too. All dressed up in her best sexy but professional suit, with a portfolio of event photos arranged on her iPad to share with her future employer. She’d rehearsed answers for every possible question as she drove from Monroe to the city, even the most obvious one.

  Chicago was a big town, but the event-planning community was tight, and her poster-child-for-bad-judgment email had made the rounds. So Libby memorized a carefully crafted response, specific enough to be honest but ambiguous enough to avoid discussing the mishap concerning her old boss if at all possible. But then the inevitable moment came. Why did you leave your last job?

  Her mind went shockingly, brilliantly blank. All her years as an event planner had given her catlike reflexes. There she was, a problem-solving, out-of-the-box-thinking, fire-dousing ninja. But she just sat there, dazed as if waiting for a Magic 8 Ball to answer for her.

  ALL SIGNS POINT TO NO.

  What the hell? Libby Hamilton had lost her mojo.

  She fumbled her way through the rest of the interview, babbling something innocuous about professional growth and her quest for a challenging career, but afterward she wasn’t even certain what she’d said.

  She’d had dinner in Chicago that night with work friends who caught her up on the latest office gossip, but it just made her feel worse. She wasn’t in that loop anymore. All her knowledge and skills were evaporating like the polar ice caps. Seth was in San Diego for his own job, so she hadn’t even bothered stopping by her old apartment. She just drove back to Monroe, feeling useless and wondering if he’d call as promised.

  He didn’t. He’d sent a text instead that said MISS U. WILL CALL TOMORROW.

  Nothing was the way it had been. And nothing was the way it was supposed to be.

  Libby heard the click of a camera and turned to see Marti pointing a
sizable lens in her direction.

  “Why did you do that?”

  Marti smiled. “Dante and I are going to make a documentary of the building renovation. I told him I’d get some still shots today since Daddy won’t let him on the property.” She said the last bit extra loud and glared at their father.

  “Don’t start with me, young lady.” He waved a finger in Marti’s direction.

  Marti shrugged and snapped another picture. “Stand up on the porch, you guys. Let me get a couple of shots of you up there.”

  Her father hesitated, but for only a moment. Libby sensed his internal struggle. He wanted to stay mad at Marti, but none of them ever could, and besides that, she knew he was grudgingly thrilled at the prospect of filming this adventure.

  They climbed the few steps, and her dad leaned against a sagging railing.

  “That’s not going to hold you,” Libby warned, as the wood creaked under his weight.

  “Yes it will.” He bounced against it, and the wood splintered in defeat. “Well, shit,” he muttered.

  Libby’s laugh was cut short by the loud rumble of an aging truck turning into the drive. Tom Murphy had arrived, in a faded blue pickup. A flutter of residual embarrassment tickled low in Libby’s body. Maybe he’d forgotten their inauspicious first meeting. Because most guys wouldn’t think twice about seeing a woman with her pants down, right?

  She swallowed the dull pain in her throat as Tom parked next to her father’s sedan and climbed down from the cab. He gave them all a quick nod before leaning in to pull some long, rolled blueprints and a manila folder from inside.

  “Good morning!” Libby’s father hopped back off the porch and greeted Tom brightly.

  “Good morning, Mr. Hamilton,” Tom replied.

  “Please, call me Peter. And you remember my daughter Liberty.”

  Tom nodded, one corner of his mouth lifted in a lazy half-smile, and he gave her a look that said he very much remembered seeing her with her pants down.

  Libby straightened her shoulders and felt heat stealing over her cheeks.

  Her father gestured toward Marti. “And this is my youngest daughter, Martha.”

  Marti bounded forward, smiling wide. Her auburn hair was plaited into two thick braids. With a dusting of freckles and flip-flop sandals, she looked more high school freshman than college senior.

  “Hey, Tom. Nice to meet you.”

  “Martha is making a documentary of our progress here. I hope you don’t mind if she takes a few pictures.”

  “I don’t mind. Just remember it’s a work site.” Tom pulled a pencil from behind his ear and pointed it at Libby’s feet. “You girls can’t run around here in those flimsy things.”

  Libby bristled. She wasn’t some mindless child, skipping around land mines. She had sturdier shoes in her dad’s car, but it was hot today. Sandal weather. She opened her mouth to explain that, but Tom was already walking toward the building.

  “I’ve ordered an industrial Dumpster,” he said to her father. “That one out back is too small. We can salvage some things, but we’ll have plenty to throw out. I’ve got some old photos from the historical society, but the original blueprints are long gone. Best I could find were these from about 1960, when this place was used as an insurance office.”

  Libby scampered after them. “I have better shoes with me,” she said, when they paused by the front step.

  Tom looked at her as if he’d already forgotten she was there. “That’s good. Maybe you should put them on.” He turned and went inside with her father.

  Libby clenched her teeth, feeling as foolish as she had with her ass exposed next to the Dumpster. She heard the click of Marti’s camera.

  “Did you just take my picture again?” she demanded.

  “Yes.”

  “Why?”

  Marti shrugged, and smiled innocently. “I don’t know. You had an interesting look on your face.”

  Libby scowled and stomped toward her dad’s car to get her sensible shoes. “Well, warn me before you do that.”

  Marti trotted along next to her. “I probably won’t. It’s part of my creative process. But hey, you didn’t tell me that restoration guy was so smoldery.”

  Libby stole a fast glance over her shoulder to make sure they couldn’t be overheard. “Is he? I hadn’t noticed.” That was a lie. She’d noticed all right, but Tom Murphy was not her type, and even if he was, she was in love with Seth.

  Marti turned around and walked backward so she might stare at him through the doorway, her green eyes bright. “Are you kidding? He’s smokin’ hot. If I wasn’t engaged, I’d be going for a little humpty-hump with that. Hey, maybe you should.” She flicked Libby lightly on the arm.

  Libby flicked her back, not as lightly. “I’m not looking for a humpty-hump, Farti. Remember Seth?”

  Marti flicked, harder. “Don’t call me that. And anyway, Seth is, like, ten thousand miles away.”

  “He’s in San Diego this week. It’s barely two thousand miles from here.” Although he may as well be on the moon for all the luck she’d had getting in touch with him lately. Libby reached out and opened the door to her father’s car to get her shoes.

  “Two thousand or ten thousand, it’s still too far to keep a relationship going. Dante and I have vowed to never go more than two days without seeing each other.”

  Libby bent down to unbuckle her sandal. “Well, that’s very charming and cute and romantic, Marti, but it’s completely impractical. Are you really serious about this wedding thing? You’ve had more boyfriends than I’ve had dates, and yet suddenly you think Dante is The One?”

  “I know he is.” Marti’s eyes glowed with illogical reverence.

  Libby tossed one sandal in the car and pulled on her shoe. “Listen, I’ll support you, whatever you decide. But you’re talking about a serious commitment. This isn’t some crazy whim like the stuff Dad gets himself into. Marriage is real life.”

  “I know that. But true love is spontaneous and powerful and impossible to ignore. If you and Seth had that, you’d never be able to live apart like this. I’m just saying.”

  The fairy princess bound and gagged and residing down deep inside of Libby’s subconscious wanted to agree that love meant being impetuous and wild and all that silly, rainbow-bright gibberish, but Libby knew better. Practicality trumped passion. That’s the only reason she’d moved home when Seth suggested it.

  “Spontaneous and impossible to ignore? Seriously, Marti, life isn’t a cartoon. Seth and I are grown-ups, and sometimes you have to be logical and focus on the big picture. He’s traveling all the time, and I’m saving a lot of money by living in Monroe instead of Chicago. As soon as I get a job, I’ll move back, and we’ll pick up right where we left off.”

  Libby tugged off her other sandal and chucked it in the car.

  “That is the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard. He’s just being a coward,” Marti said.

  Libby lost her balance and fell against the side of the car with a grunt. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “It means his M.O. is benign neglect.”

  “And again, what’s that supposed to mean?” Libby finally got into her other shoe and planted both feet on the ground, but this conversation was still making her dizzy.

  “It means that Seth is too much of a coward to break up with you face-to-face, so he’s going to neglect you until you finally get so frustrated that you break up with him. That way he doesn’t have to feel guilty for dumping you. Trust me. I have been broken up with by every method ever invented. This is benign neglect.”

  Libby sensed a cloud passing over, dimming the light as if the ghost of relationships past hovered near her head.

  Marti gripped her shoulder. “Did he say he wants to see other people yet? Because when he does, it means he wants to see them naked.”

  Libby shrugged her shoulder away from Marti’s grip. “No, he hasn’t asked to see other people! God, Marti.”

  Then again, how could he ask when t
hey hadn’t actually spoken in days? Seth blamed the time difference between Illinois and California for his lack of communication, but Libby could read between the lines of all those emails he wasn’t sending. Marti was right. Seth’s behavior felt very much like neglect, but there was nothing benign about it.

  Irritation buzzed in her head like a fly—a fly in a happily committed relationship that wanted to mock her. Whether her relationship with Seth was over, or they were just taking a detour, Libby wasn’t certain, and until she had all her facts, she didn’t want to talk about it. Certainly not to her baby sister who thought love was so easy.

  Libby pushed away from the car and stomped toward the schoolhouse with Marti on her heels.

  “I’m sorry, Libby. I know it sucks, but I hate to see you waiting for him. You should find a better guy.”

  Libby halted in her tracks as if a railroad crossing bar had just dropped in front of her. “Find a better guy? Marti, Seth and I have been together for almost four years. I’m not just going to toss that away because things are a little rocky for us right now. You treat commitment like it’s a game of Candy Land, and that’s just irresponsible.”

  Marti eyes went round and puddled with tears. “You don’t have to be mean just because you’re jealous of me and Dante.”

  “Jealous? Of you and the boy with the dragon tattoo? Oh, yeah, that’s what this is,” Libby said, circling a finger around her own face. “This is me. Being jealous.”

  But Marti’s gaze was so earnest, Libby flushed with remorse. There was no point in snapping at her sister just for being naïve. After a pause, she tugged Marti’s braid and sighed. “I’m sorry, Marti,” she said quietly. “I’m not jealous. I’m glad you’re happy. I just think you should wait before jumping into marriage. If he’s the right one now, he’ll still be the right one in six months when you know him better. Or next year, even, after you’ve finished college. Don’t do this spontaneously just to prove it’s the real thing.”

  Marti blinked and let a tear come down her cheek. “I can’t explain it, Libby. I just know I’m right about Dante. Okay?”