Glory was dabbing her eyes again. “Oh, I’m gonna miss you. We’re gonna have one huge long-distance phone bill.”
“We’ll have to get one of those discount calling plans….”
“Oh, yeah. Absolutely.”
They were straining across the table toward each other, clutching each other’s hands, when Charlene approached with their sandwiches. “Light on the mayo,” she said gently. “Extra French fries.” The sisters sank back into their separate sides of the booth and Charlene set their plates before them.
“Thanks.” Glory dabbed her eyes with her napkin again.
“’Preciate that.” Angie bravely sniffed.
Charlene fished a travel pack of tissues from her apron and plunked it on the end of the table. “Here you go. Wipe up. And remember, there’s never a night so dark that morning doesn’t come around eventually.” With a blinding smile, she turned and trotted back to the counter again.
Angie took a tissue and handed one to Glory. “When are you leaving?”
“Thursday.”
“So soon…”
“No sense hangin’ around here when I know where I’m going.”
“Before you leave…”
“Yeah?”
They were leaning close again. Angie whispered, “I have to tell you. I have to…get it off my chest to someone.”
Glory sent a series of sharp glances around the diner—and then leaned even closer. “It’s okay. No one’s listening…”
“It’s Brett…”
“Well, of course it is.”
“Glory, I love him. I love him so much. I am long-gone crazy in love with my husband.”
Glory wasn’t especially impressed. “Well, of course you are. Now tell me something I don’t already know.”
Angie groaned—realized she’d done it a little too loud, and took extra care to pitch her voice at a confidential level. “You don’t get it. Falling passionately in love with Brett wasn’t the plan. We got married because we weren’t in love.”
Glory gaped. “Uh. Run that one by me again.”
How to explain? “We’re, you know, well-suited. It was a reasonable, logical decision we made, to get married, to start a life together. Being in love didn’t even enter into it.”
Glory waved a hand as if batting away some pesky insect. “Oh, come on. You went to work for him on a Monday—and four nights later, you eloped with him.”
“Haven’t we been over this before? It’s not like we were strangers. I’ve known Brett all my life.”
“But you hadn’t seen him in a decade. Angie, hon. Here’s a hot flash for you. Logic and reason had nothin’ to do with it. There was no reason for you to do something so crazy as run off out of nowhere and marry Brett Bravo. Not unless the two of you were insanely in love—which you are.”
“Uh-uh. No. It wasn’t about love. At least not that kind of love.”
“That kind?”
“You know, the passionate kind, the dangerous kind.”
“Okay. Say I go along, just for the sake of argument. If you didn’t marry him because you’re out of your mind in love with him…they why?”
“We…got along so well. We were so comfortable with each other. We could talk for hours and hours, say anything to each other. We, um, really liked each other. We were each other’s best friends.”
“And then…?”
“And then we had sex.”
“Huh? But I thought you said…I mean, you told me right after you got married that the sex was—”
“Incredible,” Angie finished for her. “Fabulous. The best I’ve ever had.”
“Wait a minute.”
“Yeah?”
“You’re sayin’ that sex with Brett was even better than with that Harley-ridin’, two-timin’, bank-account stealing, ex-boyfriend of yours?”
“Oh, yeah. And I didn’t think there was better sex than what I had with Jody.”
“Well, great, then. Even if Brett’s got those intimacy issues we talked about, it could be worse.”
“Oh, I don’t think so.”
“Look. Count your blessings. You’ve both got real jobs. Brett has no problem stayin’ sober. He maybe doesn’t talk your ear off anymore, but at least he treats you right—and you can’t wait to get home at night and jump each other’s bones.”
“Well, not exactly.”
“Why not exactly?”
“Well, first of all, I hate that I feel like I lost my best friend.”
“Oh, well. Yeah,” Glory had to agree. “I know. I can see that. But you’ve still got—”
Angie cut in. “Guess again.”
“Oh, no. Not the hot sex?”
“Yeah. Pouf. Gone.”
“But…why?”
“Oh, Glory. I just don’t know.”
Glory screwed the top off the ketchup bottle and pounded the bottom until the contents came out in a river, drowning her French fries. “You need to have a long talk with your husband.”
“Believe me, I’ve tried.” Angie took the bottle and drowned her own French fries.
Glory insisted, “Try harder—and you have told him you’re in love him, in spite of all that wimpy stuff about reason and logic, right?”
Angie screwed the lid back on the bottle, set it aside—and looked down at her lunch.
“Right?” Glory asked again. Angie kept staring at her sandwich. “Hey. Forget that BLT for a minute. Look here, in my eyes.”
Angie dragged her head up. “Okay. What?”
“I’m getting the picture. It is not pretty.”
“Oh, Glory…”
“You haven’t told him, have you?”
“Well, I keep meaning to, I honestly do.”
“Do it.”
“You make it sound so simple.”
“It is. Tell him somethin’ good. Open with ‘I’m in with love you, Brett.’ And let things take their natural course from there.”
Chapter Ten
At four-thirty that afternoon, Marla Pinkley, who owned and ran Marla’s House of Beauty two doors down from the St. Thomas, on Main, went into labor with her second child. Brett sent her to the hospital in Grass Valley and then went to meet her there.
He got back home after midnight. Angie, in bed in the dark, doing her usual ceiling-staring routine, heard him come in.
“You awake?” he whispered when he climbed into bed with her.
How could she not be? She’d been waiting for hours—to tell him, to make him see. “Yeah. I’m awake.”
“Marla had a girl. Six pounds, seven ounces. They named her Jessica Louise.”
“Pretty name…” Start with I’m in love with you, Brett. Oh, right. Easy for Glory to say….
“Marla told me that Bowie’s left town. Walked out on his job at the St. Thomas. Just like that. Can you believe it? What a fool. I stopped by to see Ma before I came home. She confirmed it. Bowie’s run off.”
Really, wasn’t he being a little hard on his brother? “Your mother said that—that he’d run off?”
“Well, no. She didn’t put it that way. But that is what he did.”
“I disagree. He left town, yes. Because he wants a new start.”
Brett canted up on an elbow and frowned down at her. She could make out his furrowed brow even in the darkness. “How do you know?”
“Glory told me at lunch today.”
Brett swore and dropped back to his pillow. He spoke to the ceiling. “You knew since lunch? You never said a word to me.”
Oh, yeah. Like you’re so easy to talk to lately. Wearily, she explained, “The time never seemed right. We were busy at the clinic. And then you got the call from Marla at four-thirty.”
“You should have told me.”
Why argue the point? “Yeah. I guess I should have. Sorry.”
“Well. It’s okay.” He said it like it was some major concession.
She held back a snide remark. “Glory’s leaving, too,” she said before he could accuse her of not telling him
about that.
He turned over, away from her, and pulled the covers up. “Yeah.” His voice lost volume—because he was speaking to the far wall. “Ma told me. She said Buck and B.J. will put her through college.”
“I think it’s a good deal for her….”
“Your family will freak.”
“Too bad. Glory has to do what’s right for her and Johnny now.” Well, at least they were talking. Even in the dark, with him facing the other way, at least they were having an actual conversation…. “Brett?”
He didn’t answer.
“Brett?”
Only soft, shallow breathing came from his side of the bed.
Okay. So she’d have to wait till tomorrow night to tell him how she was madly in love with him.
Angie stopped by the B and B at lunchtime the next day. Chastity told her that Glory was at work, pushing the maid’s cart around the rambling old house, cleaning the rooms.
“She’s upstairs.” Chastity tipped her head toward the staircase. “Tell her I said she should take a break and visit with her sister while she still can.” Brett’s mom looked kind of wistful.
Angie said, “I’m going to miss her.”
Chastity nodded. “Oh, me, too. She’s a daughter to me—not to mention, she’s the mother of my grandson.”
“She loves you, too. Lots.”
“I know—now, listen. I made up some tuna salad. You two go on in the kitchen and help yourselves. I’ll keep my eye on Johnny.”
“Well?” Glory asked when they sat down with their sandwiches. “Did you tell him?”
Angie had to admit that she hadn’t. “—Yet. But I will. Tonight.”
“You’d better.”
Angie laughed. “You are getting so pushy.”
“I want to know that you’re gonna be okay, before I take off to live three thousand miles away.”
“Oh, Glory. I’ll be okay, whatever happens. And if I really need your advice, you know I’ll be calling.”
“You’d better.”
Angie gazed across the kitchen table at her baby sis. “I can’t believe I got through ten whole years without you to talk to.”
“We have to make sure that never happens again.”
“Oh, yeah. We definitely do.” Angie picked up a triangle of tuna sandwich and nibbled the crust. “So did Mamma have a heart attack when you told her that you’re leaving?”
Now it was Glory’s turn to look everywhere but at her sister.
Angie put the sandwich down. “You haven’t told the family yet.”
“I’m going to. Today. Soon as I finish cleaning the rooms.”
“How about if I go up to the house with you, provide a little moral support?”
“Uh-uh. I can handle it.”
“You’re sure?”
“Come on. You know me. I got the Dellazola shouting gene. They shout. I shout louder—and you better tell Brett you love him. Tonight. Try a romantic approach. You know, a couple of good steaks. Wine. Candles on the table…”
“What’s the occasion?” Brett pulled back his chair and sat down at the dining area table. Angie had set it with the good china and opened that nice bottle of Pinot Noir she’d bought during her last trip to Grass Valley for groceries.
She put the platter of steaks on the table and filled his wineglass. “Oh, I just felt like sitting at the big table for a change…”
He tasted the wine, nodded his approval. “Those steaks look good.”
“Help yourself.” She took the chair opposite him, filled her own glass and then pretended to sip from it. Lately, her stomach had been acting up a little. Just the smell of the wine made her feel slightly queasy.
Or maybe it was only nerves. The big moment was almost upon her. This time, she was determined not to chicken out. She was telling her husband she loved him if it killed her to do it—or him, she found herself thinking.
Of the two of us, it’s more likely to kill him.
And, really, how bizarre was that? A twenty-first-century American marriage where the wife didn’t dare tell her husband she loved him.
That was strange.
That was so far from normal as to be almost laughable. And wasn’t that what Brett claimed he wanted: normal?
Oh, yeah. Normal, above all.
“You closed all the blinds,” Brett said as he forked himself up a big steak from the platter.
“It’s still light out.” She tipped her head toward the two slim, glowing tapers in the center of the table. “And I felt like having candles….”
Brett took a warm dinner roll, broke it open and buttered it. She watched the fragrant steam rise from the white center.
Should she let him finish his steak before she told him? Make sure he got his nourishment before laying it on him?
Oh, this was ridiculous.
She was ridiculous.
What was the big deal? It was only five little words, after all—I’m in love with you—six, if you counted the contraction as two. How tough could it be?
“Ahem. Brett?”
He set down his butter knife. “Yeah?”
“I’m in—” And the phone rang. Angie stifled a cry of frustration as Brett nudged back his chair. “Stop,” she commanded as the phone trilled out another ring. “Don’t answer it. Just let it ring.”
“It could be an emergency.” He got up anyway as she wondered what had possessed her to marry a doctor. The phone rang once more while he was checking the display. “It’s your parents.”
“I’ll call them back later. Come on, sit down.”
“You’re sure?”
“I have never been so sure about anything in my entire life.”
With a shrug, he returned to the table and took his seat. The machine picked up and Brett’s recorded voice instructed the caller to leave a message. There was a beep.
And her mother started shouting. “Angela Marie, pick up! Are you there? Pick up right now.”
Brett arched an eyebrow. “She sounds pretty frantic.”
“That doesn’t necessarily mean there’s anything to be frantic about.”
“Angela.” Aunt Stella’s voice. “Angela, you call us back the minute you get this message.”
Now Brett was looking at her reproachfully.
“Okay, okay.” She shoved back her chair, threw down her napkin, stomped over to the peninsula, grabbed the phone and growled into it, “I’m here. What?”
“Oh, you know what,” her mother accused. “It’s Glory.”
“She’s leaving town.” Aunt Stella was outraged. “She’s taking that innocent baby and she’s moving to…” Stella paused for effect, and then finished, “New York City,” in a tone of pure horror.
“Thousands of miles from her family,” wailed Rose.
“You better talk to her, Angie!” Great-Grandpa Tony shouted from somewhere in the background.
Stella sneered, “She said no to Bowie so many times that he’s given up all hope and gone wandering in the wilderness. She wouldn’t let that poor, misguided man make things right, wouldn’t give that poor baby an honest name.”
“Angie, you talk to her!” Great-Grandpa Tony yelled again.
“We have to stop her,” cried Rose.
“Yes,” agreed Stella. “We have to convince her she’s doing a terrible thing.”
Angie realized there was no way she’d ever get through to them on the phone—well, she probably wouldn’t get through to them no matter what. But she figured she owed it to her sister to give it a try.
“I’ll be right over,” she said.
“Yes!” cried Rose. “We need to tell you what to say to her.”
“Ten minutes.” She hung up before they could all start shouting again.
“Trouble over Glory leaving?” Well, at least Brett sounded sympathetic.
“How did you guess?”
“I told you they would freak when they found out.”
She went back to the table and blew out the candles. So much for the roman
tic approach. “Enjoy your dinner.”
He had the grace to look sheepish. “I’ll go with you.”
She put up a hand before he could rise from his chair. “It won’t help. And they’re pretty wound up over there. You could end up with permanent damage to your eardrums.”
“Call them back. Tell them you’re in the middle of dinner and you’ll be over later.”
By then, she didn’t feel much like eating, anyway. Her poor stomach churned. And the whole point was that she and Brett not be interrupted while she told him how she felt and tried to bridge the gap between them. If she told him now, it would be, I love you like crazy—and I’ve got to go.
Uh-uh. She’d have to try again later. Maybe after she got home.
She said, “The longer it takes me to get over there, the more they’ll work themselves into a frenzy. I’m better off going now.”
Her mother, her aunt and her great-grandpa Tony were waiting for her out on the porch. They all started in at once as she came up the steps. Rose cried and Stella lectured.
Old Tony kept shouting, “You got to get through to that girl. You’re the only one she’ll listen to, the only one who can talk some sense into her…”
“Let’s go inside,” she told them with a tight smile—and pulled open the screen and went in, giving them no choice but to follow.
Which they did, trailing after her, all three of them babbling, loud and nonstop, into the living room.
“It’s not good for the baby….”
“Glory has to learn to be responsible….”
“She belongs here, at home, where her family can watch out for her….”
In the living room, Angie took a chair. She folded her hands in her lap and waited for the three of them to wind down. It took a while. She spotted her father as he stuck his head around the door frame from the central hall—and then instantly retreated up the stairs.
For a Dellazola, her dad was the quiet type. He’d lay down the law now and then, but he didn’t like competing with the rest of them. If he wanted to give you orders, to tell you what you should do, he’d wait until he could get you alone.
Eventually, her aunt Stella commanded, “Angela. Tell us. Tell us you’ll talk to her.”
Married in Haste Page 12