Waylaid

by Sarina Bowen

  I hang my head. I don’t feel like anyone’s safe place tonight. But I am definitely a weirdo, like the song says.

  “Look—my ex was really good at pretending he had everything figured out. And he turned out to be the scariest person I’ve ever met.”

  “Jesus. Don’t compare me to that violent fucker.”

  “I'm not, and you know it. But if you want me to really trust you, you have to be willing to share.”

  “Hell,” I curse. “You’re too smart for your own good.” I reach across the seat and take her hand in mine, smoothing my thumb across her palm. She’s right, of course.

  And now I realize I have another problem. I recognized her ex, too. But I haven’t told her that. I recognized him enough to tell Lenore about it, and to dream about him, too. Yet I haven’t shared, because that’s just freaky. Why stir up the specter of that jerk for nothing?

  She opens her mouth again, and I expect another plea for me to talk. But she changes the subject instead. “Rick, we forgot to go upstairs for a look at the empty room in your house.”

  I lean back against the headrest and smile. “We did, didn't we? Never made it past my bedroom.”

  “Chastity says nobody is allowed to go in your bedroom. Ever. But I did.”

  “I thought I explained this already. You’re not just anybody. You’ve already had a first row seat to my bag of crazy. And now you’ve got a backstage pass.”

  She laughs. “All right. Then I’ll take that empty room in your house. Sight unseen.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Yeah,” she says. “Because I trust you. And even if things don't work out for us, I’ll still know that you're a good guy.”

  I let out a shaky breath. “I don’t really deserve you, Daphne Shipley.”

  “Just try to, McFly. That’s all I ask. The whole Meghan Trainor thing was a nice touch, by the way.”

  “Was it?” I really had enjoyed watching her blush while I sang it. So now I hum the chorus again, and I can feel her smiling in the dark.

  “Encore?” she asks, hopefully.

  “Depends what kind you’re asking for, really.” Then I hitch myself closer to her on the truck’s seat, and pull her in. “There’s all kinds of ways I could interpret that. Just saying.”

  The kiss I give her is sweet, and deep, and it’s everything I need.

  Thirty-Five

  Daphne

  I’m making out in a pickup truck with Rickie. Maybe I’m a real Vermonter after all.

  Lately my libido is cranked up to eleven. I feel shameless. In fact, I’d like to become a card-carrying member of the sex-in-a-truck club, please.

  Except we’re parked in my family’s driveway. So it’s probably a very bad idea.

  Rickie pulls back, studies me, and then kisses me on the nose. “We’d better go inside.”

  “I guess so,” I sigh.

  He laughs and climbs out of the truck.

  I grab my pack and do the same. And it isn’t until I get closer to the house that I realize my entire family is on the front porch. The whole family, including Grandpa, my mother, Griffin, Audrey and Baby Gus. Also Dylan, Chastity, and even May and Alec are sitting there.

  And everybody's holding a champagne flute. “Oh, boy,” I stammer. “What did we miss?”

  “I was just wondering that same thing,” May says slowly.

  “Didn’t you guys pull in, like, ten minutes ago?” Dylan asks. “What were you doing out there?”

  Uh-oh. I don’t risk a glance toward Rickie. But instead, I try a page out of his book. “Making out, of course.” I wave a hand, like it’s a joke.

  Dylan laughs.

  But May squeals.

  “Ohhhh finally,” Chastity says.

  “What?” Griffin asks.

  Doesn’t it just figure that I can’t pull off the same slick tricks that Rickie gets away with? So now I’m standing here, my face heating, wondering what to say next.

  “She’s just kidding,” Dylan says, reaching over to pull his girlfriend’s ponytail.

  “No. Nope. She’s not,” Chastity says. “You don’t pay enough attention to Daphne. Nobody does.”

  “Hey!” I yelp. “That’s not true. Moving on.”

  “No, it is true,” my mother says from her rocking chair. “We always expect Daphne to be okay, and to do her own thing. We don’t pay enough attention.”

  “I get that,” Griffin agrees. “Daphne doesn’t even feel like she can tell us what’s wrong in her life. Transferring colleges during your senior year? We should be asking more questions.”

  “I’ll ask ‘em!” Grandpa volunteers.

  “Hey,” I argue. “There’s no need. Everything is great with me.”

  Rickie clears his throat. “Oh the hypocrisy.”

  “Okay, fine,” I mutter. “Everything is a little screwy with me right now. But it’s fixable. I’m not going to crash your party with my drama. Now what are we celebrating?”

  “What aren’t we celebrating?” Griffin booms. “It’s Big Announcement Day here at Shipley Farms. Don’t feel bad if you missed the memo, because I did, too.”

  My sister laughs. “We’re, um, engaged.” She lifts up a hand to show me the ring on her finger.

  “Oh my GOD!” I squeal. My joy is real, although a portion of it is due to shifting the conversation away from myself. “Congratulations! That’s beautiful.” I scoot over to look at the ring on her hand. It’s a diamond solitaire in a very classic shape. “So pretty!”

  “But wait, there’s more,” Grandpa says. “Everyone is gettin’ hitched, apparently.”

  I look up quickly. “Not you, too, Grandpa?”

  “No, no. Still having woman troubles. Your twin, though. He’s got it all figured out.”

  My gaze flies to Dylan, who gives me a sheepish smile. “Check it out.” He lifts Chastity’s hand, and there’s a ring on her finger, too. It’s an artsy swirl of silver—almost like a river—with three stones in it.

  “Holy cow, you guys!” Lord, I’m not a crier. But my eyes get misty. “That’s gorgeous. Congratulations.”

  “We didn’t mean to upstage May,” Dylan says. “It was a coincidence.”

  “Must be something in the water,” Grandpa says.

  “Nobody is upstaging anyone,” May chirps. “Want some fake bubbly?” She lifts a bottle out of an ice bucket—it’s a fizzy ginger beer that we keep around for celebrations, because May doesn’t drink alcohol. “Daphne? Rickie?”

  “I would love some,” I say. “Let’s have a toast.”

  After they pour me a glass, and we toast, I perch my ass on the porch rail near my mom and May. Everyone else drifts away from the porch, talking on the lawn or inside the house.

  “Okay, tell me everything,” I demand of my sister. “Did this all happen today? Where did Alec pop the question?”

  “Alec made me a nice dinner at home, and surprised me to bits by pulling a ring out of his pocket. I said yes immediately.” May shrugs. “That’s the whole story. But let’s hear about your thing.”

  “Is there a photo?” I press. “We’re not talking about my thing. I’m not spoiling your night with my drama. You of all people.”

  May narrows her eyes. “Why me of all people?”

  Seriously? “I already have the Worst Sister Ever trophy,” I explain calmly. “I’m not looking to add extra bonus points by raining on your parade.”

  “Daphne,” my sister gasps. “It was three years ago. Can’t we just move on? I forgave you for that a long time ago. I’m over it.”

  “Maybe Daphne isn’t,” my mother says quietly.

  I stare down at the ginger bubbles in my glass and say nothing. But she’s right. Three years ago I outed my sister to the woman she was in love with. “I was just evil to you. I have regretted it every day since.”

  “Well, I haven’t,” May says gently. “It’s a thing that happened, and then it passed. You were a teenager, for God’s sake. And I’d been pretty hard to live with that year. You jus
t kind of exploded.”

  This is all true. “But I still feel icky about it.”

  “That’s because you’re a good person,” my mother says. “So maybe you should give yourself a little credit for recognizing when you’ve hurt someone. And then get past it.”

  My eyes are hot again. “Okay. I’ll try.”

  “I’d appreciate it,” May says firmly. “Or else you’re just going to be polite and distant to me until the end of time.”

  “I’m very good at distant,” I grumble.

  “That’s why we’re all fascinated by your thing with Rickie,” May says, clasping her hands with obvious glee. “What’s that all about?”

  “He’s, uh, a pretty interesting guy,” I say lamely. But how much detail could I be reasonably expected to supply with my mother sitting right here? “He’s fun. He got me to do karaoke in a bar tonight.”

  Mom and May burst into surprised laughter.

  “What?” I complain. “Lots of people do karaoke.”

  “Lots of people who aren’t you.” May cackles. “Is there a video?”

  “God, I hope not,” I say, and they both laugh again. “Why are we talking about this when you’re the one getting married?”

  “Come on,” May says. “The fact of my marriage is not that big of a surprise. Dylan and Chastity, on the other hand…”

  We all glance toward the lawn, where Chastity is standing with Audrey, who’s admiring her ring.

  “They’re young,” my mother says softly. “But that’s okay. They need each other.”

  “Who’s getting married first?” I ask.

  “Me,” May says. “We’ll get married this spring, I think. Probably at the church, with a reception right down the hill at Speakeasy. I want something simple.”

  “There’s plenty of time to plan a wedding,” I point out.

  “There is,” May agrees. “But I watched Lark spend a lot of time and energy trying to throw a wedding that met her mother’s expectations, and I just don’t want a lot of fuss. I don’t want a big puffy dress. I don’t want to throw a sit-down dinner for three hundred people. I want a catered barbecue and contra dancing. I don’t need to reinvent the wheel or throw the wedding of the century.”

  “That sounds fun,” I admit. “I’ll help you, if you want. I’ll be here in Vermont.”

  “About that…” my sister says.

  I groan. “We’ll get into that another time. I made some mistakes last year. I complicated my own life. But it will be fine. I promise.”

  “We’re here if you need us,” my mother says.

  “I know. Thanks.” It’s nice to hear.

  I just wish that they didn’t have to say it.

  I make the rounds, congratulating all the soon-to-be-married people. Alec is calm and joyful, while Chastity seems happy enough to burst. When I ask her what kind of wedding she wants, she says “It doesn’t matter. As long as Dylan is there.”

  “Can I make a speech?” I ask. “I’ve been saving up embarrassing anecdotes about him for a long time.”

  “Have at it,” she says. And then she looks down at her hand to admire her ring again, as if she can’t believe it’s really there.

  The last person on my list to congratulate is my twin brother. But I have some trouble finding him until I go into the farmhouse and climb the stairs.

  He and Rickie are in the bedroom, and as I walk down the hallway, their conversation ceases.

  “Okay,” I say, propping myself in the doorway. “You can stop talking about me now. Or I’ll tell Chastity that I once convinced you that aliens had taken your real sisters away on their ship and left behind a set of imposters.”

  “I didn’t actually believe you,” Dylan grumbles. “I was just acting scared.”

  Locking my eyes into an unseeing expression, I drift toward the bed with a strange gait.

  “Oh, cut that out,” he says, rolling to get out of my path. “That’s creepy.”

  Rickie bends in half, laughing.

  My brother gets up, looking disgruntled. “You’ve always been good at changing the subject.”

  “It’s my super power,” I admit. “That and finding things you would rather keep hidden. But I came up here to congratulate you on your big proposal. That’s a power move.”

  “Thank you,” he says, his smile quick.

  “The ring is super cool.”

  “There’s a store she likes.” He shrugs. “Some idiot gave me a ridiculously big gift certificate there, so I could afford the ring.”

  I glance at Rickie, who smirks. “I don’t see any idiots here. Do you?”

  “Not touching that, McFly,” I smirk back at him.

  Dylan looks from me to Rickie and back again, his expression puzzled. “Okay, I still don’t quite get it with you two. It might take me a few days.”

  “Whatever.” I walk over to where Rickie is seated on the bed, and he takes my hand and kisses my palm. It’s just my hand, of course. But Rickie is just about the most sensual man on the planet, so there’s a lot of intention in that slow, sliding kiss.

  “Okay. Well.” Dylan looks flustered. “I’ll leave you two, um, to it.”

  “To what?” Rickie asks playfully.

  “Blergh,” my twin says. “Never mind. Bye, kids.”

  “Bye,” Rickie says teasingly.

  But Dylan doesn’t walk right out the door. Instead, he steps toward me and then grabs me into a quick, tight hug. “Love you,” he says gruffly. “Don’t be a stranger.”

  “Love you, too!” I say to his departing back. Then he’s gone.

  It takes me a beat to turn around again. Rickie’s sitting there, smiling at me like he’s pleased with himself.

  “Was that weird?” I ask. “He seemed weird. Did you talk about me?”

  “Only a little. Come here already. We might as well make out, because that’s what everyone imagines we’re doing right now.”

  I suppose that’s true. So I plop down on the bed.

  Rickie pounces, pushing me down against the pillows and rolling until he’s on top of me. He smooths the hair away from my face and gives me a lip touch. “You okay?”

  “I’m great,” I admit.

  “Dylan didn’t really give you a hard time over this, did he?”

  “This what?” he asks, eyes twinkling. He drops his hips onto mine in a meaningful way.

  “This…whatever this is,” I say, trying not to rub my body against his like an affectionate cat.

  “Whatever this is,” he repeats. “Do you want to put a label on it?”

  “Not really.”

  He laughs, and I love the sound of it. “You’re hard on my ego. What if I want to put a label on it?”

  “Which label?” I reach up and run a hand down the V-neck of his T-shirt. I’m not even a little bit hard on this man’s ego. I can’t stop touching him.

  “You are my girl, Shipley. My woman. My person. You belong to me.”

  “Huh. Did you put it that way to see if I would throw a feminist fit about your possessive words?”

  His eyes twinkle. “No, I put it that way because I feel very possessive of you, in a completely enlightened, nonstifling way.”

  I snort.

  “We’re dating, Shipley. You aren’t onboard?”

  “I’m onboard,” I admit.

  He grins. “And, since you asked, your brother did not give me a hard time. Except that he told me to be careful with you, because something was obviously not going right in your life. And did I mind telling him what that was?”

  I stop breathing. “Did you tell him?”

  “No way, Shipley. I told him to ask you. Not that he liked that answer. So he asked me if there was some guy he needed to beat up. And I said, again, he needed to speak to you directly. But also maybe he should work on his uppercut and his left cross.”

  “Wow, okay,” I say quietly. “Thank you.”

  “Don’t mention it. Your brother said he’d get in a few hours of practice with the heavy bag at
the gym. From where I sit, your family is a bunch of cool, slightly crazy people. They’re just looking out for you.”

  “I know.”

  “Maybe we’ll work on my family next,” he whispers.

  “Okay.” I know things are strained with his dad. “Good plan.”

  “Meanwhile, you’re going to move into my house. We’ll have to think hard about who’s in which room. For privacy purposes.”

  “That should be a consideration.” I smile up at him, hoping he’ll kiss me for real now.

  But he’s still talking. “The third floor is kind of far away from me. But then you wouldn’t have to share a bathroom with your brother. Chastity has dibs on the empty first-floor bedroom. But maybe you two should discuss a swap.”

  “Really—I don’t care which room it is. It’s only for a year.”

  “So you say.” He smooths my hair. “Either way, you’ll save money. And even though you’ll be busy rebooting your life and applying to grad school, I’ll still get to see you at home.”

  “That’s true.” And, yup. It does sound pretty nice.

  “We’re going to have a great year, Shipley. Hard work and good times,” he says.

  And revenge, I mentally add. Because I haven’t forgot my big plan. In a few weeks, I’m going to make Reardon pay.

  But Rickie isn’t thinking about that at all. He finally leans down and kisses me slowly. His lips tease and press.

  And I forget all about Reardon Halsey.

  For now.

  Thirty-Six

  Rickie

  “Oh my God, my arms are so tired,” I complain. “It hurts to hold the steering wheel.”

  “You want me to drive?” Daphne asks.

  “Nope.” I accelerate past a Hyundai and gun it toward Burlington. “Just like to complain.”

  She laughs. “Such a whiner. Can I put on Purple Rain?”

  “Sure.”