2 Busy 4 Love

by Lucy Hepburn

  The applause was deafening. When his father finished reading the poem, he folded up the tattered piece of paper and blew Nina an affectionate kiss. She leapt up on stage and embraced him, Antonio close behind.

  Will put down his drink and joined in. His father was looking for him again. Swiftly he began to ease his way through the crowd toward him. Within moments he was hugging his father and he, too, had tears in his eyes.

  “Nice work, Dad,” he said, his voice cracking.

  “Aw, it was nothing,” his father said, a picture of awkwardness.

  “I don’t believe you,” Will smiled.

  His father smiled back. “Okay, it was the most important thing I’ve done in a long while—it had to be right, you know.”

  “It was right. It was perfect.”

  “Well,” his father attempted a nonchalant shrug, “it’s all about those two anyhow, isn’t it? At least, that’s what everyone here’s meant to believe.” He jerked his head toward Nina and Antonio, who were mingling with their guests, receiving hugs and kisses from all sides. “They’re a cute couple. And he’s a lucky guy.”

  “Dad,” he wondered if this was the moment to say it all. Get out all the stuff that had been going on between them for years. But suddenly he realized that he didn’t need to. The poem had said it all. They were never going to be The Waltons, declaring their feelings to each other every day. But in little ways, he could try to understand his dad a bit more. And also try to let him know how he felt from time to time. “Could I get a copy of that?” he finished, looking down at the paper in his dad’s hand.

  Carl gave the biggest grin Will had ever seen on him. “Sure thing, son.”

  Momentarily the crowd parted behind his dad and Will caught another glimpse of Christy, still deep in conversation with Shorey, though they were no longer holding hands. Surely that was a good thing? After all, if they were in the process of getting together, they’d be sitting closer together—surely?

  “Carl!” Laura Davies rushed over and threw herself on his father. “That was the most beautiful thing I have ever heard!”

  “Oh, I don’t know about that…” Carl protested, to no avail.

  “Yes, it absolutely was, now don’t you go arguing with a woman with hair this high. When can I buy the anthology?”

  His father looked shocked. “Oh, it isn’t going in any book. It’s, well, it’s just for…tonight.” He glanced at Will.

  Laura shrugged, as if knowing better than to argue with an artist. “Well, it was just fabulous. Isn’t your dad something, Will?”

  Will could only agree. “I’ll say,” he whispered.

  With a final kiss, Laura bustled off into the throng, her big hair bobbing under the swirling dots of light from the glitter ball.

  “Dad? What are you doing next weekend?”

  His father seemed to stiffen, then relax again. “Not sure,” he answered, staring at his shoes. “No real plans.”

  “How about dinner at my place? You’ve…you’ve never been before.”

  “I haven’t?”

  Will shook his head. “Nope.”

  There was a pause.

  “Can you cook?”

  “You can find out next weekend.”

  They both smiled, both now finding the ground directly in front of them very interesting indeed.

  “Well, that might just work in, son. I’ll check my schedule, but…yes, sure. Why not?”

  “I’ll call you. And you’d better pick up, Dad.”

  “I’ll pick up, son. I’ll pick up.”

  And with a single, small nod of his head, that was it. Will, feeling somehow lighter yet strangely divorced from his emotions, retrieved his drink, pausing on the way to take another look in Christy’s direction. But she seemed to be completely oblivious to his presence.

  Will sighed and returned to his father’s side. It must be almost time to call it a night.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  CHRISTY

  9:30 p.m.

  Will was looking at her again. His father was just getting up on stage, and it looked like he was about to do some sort of reading. All of the other guests had fallen silent, so now she and Duncan were talking in whispers.

  “Annie thinks we were meant to be together,” Duncan persisted, although Christy could tell that the fight had gone out of him, that he was trying to find ways to come to terms with the situation.

  “She said that?” Christy pondered for a few moments. “Annie is a born romantic,” she sighed eventually. “She loves us both, I guess. Maybe she just wants everyone to be as happy as she is right now.”

  She looked again at Will, but he had turned away. She’d go straight over to him the moment she and Duncan had finished, but as for when that would be, she had no idea. She knew that the conversation had been far harder for him than for her, and so excusing herself at the earliest opportunity would be a cruel, cowardly thing to do. She owed Duncan the courtesy of hearing him out.

  “So,” Duncan said, leaning in close again, “where do we go from here? Can we see each other sometimes?”

  She shifted uncomfortably in her seat. “Duncan, we’re friends, aren’t we?”

  “Sure.”

  “Then of course we can see each other sometimes. But…”

  “That’s as far as it goes?”

  She touched his shoulder, looked into his eyes, and nodded. “For me, yes. You’re a great guy, Duncan.”

  “Just not great enough?”

  “Duncan…”

  He raised his hand and smiled. “It’s okay. I do understand. You can’t blame a guy for trying, though.”

  “I love that you did,” Christy replied, before checking herself and adding, “You’ll find someone and she’ll be a lucky girl.”

  Duncan looked down, saying nothing. Christy knew that there was nothing left to be said and wondered whether, after all, she could perhaps make the first move to go. Will must be wondering at her rudeness, not even saying hi, after all.

  Just then a waiter approached, bent down, and whispered something in Duncan’s ear. Duncan clapped a hand to his forehead and shook his head.

  “I’ll be right there,” he sighed before turning back to Christy. “I need to go. One of the guests in the main restaurant is asking about a discount because his table of six people went through eleven bottles of wine.”

  “Eleven? Yikes,” Christy said as they stood up. “Good luck with that.”

  “Comes with the territory. Look, Christy, don’t be a stranger, okay?”

  “I won’t.”

  They hugged and as they drew apart, Christy was once more aware of Will’s presence close by. Was he watching? Looking around, she couldn’t be sure. But she had felt him, and the idea made her shiver.

  Then she watched as Duncan straightened himself up and walked purposefully through to deal with the customer. She smiled. He really did look like a man in control of his destiny, and for a moment, from left field, an urge came over her to run after him and tell him. But she fought it down. Duncan Shore didn’t need her to tell him how he was doing, not anymore. It was time for them both to move on.

  The ladies’ room was deserted. All of the guests were standing on the dance floor listening to Will’s dad make his speech. Christy looked at herself in the mirror and frowned. Her cheeks were pink, her hair tousled and unstyled. There hadn’t been time before stepping into the party to do much to fix her face. She’d just pulled on Annie’s dress and shoes and applied a quick lick of mascara and lip gloss. She bit her lip.

  “You’re one tough cookie, Christy Davies,” she whispered to her reflection.

  It was time—no, it was way past time—to go and seek out Will, before it was too late. Her appearance would just have to do; there wasn’t any more time to lose. Anyway, her eyes were shiny and the dress looked great and, after all, she only needed to thank him and then move on, didn’t she? Why should it matter if she was looking her bes
t or not? Anything else was up to him.

  Anxiously she stepped back out into the middle of the party. A hum of chatter had started up again; Will’s father had finished. Quickly she scanned the room, seeking Will out. Her heart was pounding—suppose he’d left?

  She could see her sister, holding Antonio close, bathed in happiness. Other friends crowded around, offering hugs and kisses—but no Will.

  Then she saw him. Standing a little away from the main throng, he was talking with his father. Christy took a deep breath, smiled, and struck out toward him.

  And then she slowed, and stopped. Whatever it was Will and his dad were talking about, it looked pretty full-on and serious. Carefully she took a step backward. Now, by the looks of things, was definitely not a good time.

  WILL

  9:45 p.m.

  “That thing about signing Ronald Reagan on the papers,” Carl Thompson said in a low voice, “I’m not proud of it, son.”

  “Forget it, Dad, it’s over.”

  “No, I don’t want to forget it, if you don’t mind. I’m sorry for the trouble it caused you, for one thing.”

  “Well, Dad,” Will shrugged, “none of this would have happened if you’d done it any other way, I guess.” He paused, thinking of Christy. Maybe it would have been better if none of it had happened, as far as she was concerned. Clearly he’d made a fool of himself showing up here.

  “I think, subconsciously, I was tugging at your leash,” his father went on.

  “My leash? I have a leash?”

  “Doesn’t everyone have a leash?”

  “First I heard of it.”

  His father smiled. “I thought I lost you a long time ago, Will.”

  “How do you mean?”

  “Well, I’m not sure, exactly. I mean, I understood your desire to succeed in business; I don’t live in that much of a bubble. It’s just that I never wanted any of that stuff for myself, and I knew I’d never be able to convince you that my path was an equally valid one because, Lord knows, I never managed to convince your grandfather.”

  “Maybe he didn’t need convincing, Dad.”

  “Oh, I think he did.”

  A thought had come to Will. “You know, I spent a lot of time with him—”

  “More than you did with me,” his father interrupted.

  “Well, yes, but—”

  “It’s okay. I wasn’t there. It’s not your fault. What were you going to say?”

  “I was just trying to think what Grandpa used to say when he spoke about you.”

  “Not sure I want to hear it, son.”

  “No, that’s the thing. You know, Dad, he always spoke of you with nothing but love and respect.”

  “You sure about that?” Instantly Carl looked like a little boy who needed to be reassured of his father’s love. Just like Will did.

  Will nodded. “Yes, I am. He would tell me whenever you had a poem published or were featured in the Culture section of a newspaper. I never heard a word against you when I was at his house. He’d always tell me to get back home, he’d say you’d be worried, or something like that—but it was all good stuff, Dad.”

  “That house was more of a home to you than mine was after your mom died.”

  Will opened his mouth, then closed it again. Of course, his dad was right. He felt understood at Grandpa’s place. There was no dividing line of opposing personality types, no permanent resentment, one to the other.

  “I’m going to be sorry when that place goes,” his father went on.

  Will was staring at a speck of dust on his shoe. He was thinking of all the days and nights he’d spent there, the hopes and dreams he’d shared with his grandpa when, he’d thought, his father was too busy to hear them. Now, he wondered, maybe his father just wouldn’t have known what to say.

  “Dad, if you were to keep the house—”

  “Keep it?”

  “What would you do with it?” He didn’t particularly like the way that came out; it was like he was the ruthless businessman trying to make someone see sense. But then, the house had to be sold, didn’t it? Will couldn’t live there, and his dad didn’t need two places.

  “Easy. I’d rent it out to Nina and Antonio.”

  Will was astonished. “Really?”

  “Yup,” his father nodded calmly. “Nina’s such a good kid, and she’s told me that she and Antonio want to make a go of married life right here in New Brunswick.”

  “Thought she was a free spirit?”

  His father turned and looked at him with a strange, faraway look. “You can be a free spirit anywhere you want, Will. Life is a series of choices, and we are lucky that being free is one of them.”

  “Well, I mean…that’s quite an idea.” Will was trying to process the implications. Could it work? His dad didn’t need money, so there was no pressing urgency to sell, and Will had certainly learned a thing or two about sentimental values in the past few hours… “What does Nina say?”

  His father looked across at Nina and Antonio, smiling and radiant, surrounded by friends. “I haven’t told her yet—how could I, with you dead set on the sale?”

  “Not anymore,” Will said quietly.

  “You think? Well, I know she and Antonio were going to live with Nina’s mom until they can get fixed up with a place of their own—Nina told me that working with me has been the best job of her life, and she didn’t want to move away from it.”

  “That’s great, Dad. So you think she’d agree?”

  His father hesitated again before speaking. “Would you mind if I set the rent not too steep?”

  “Why would I mind?” Will smiled, reaching into his jacket pocket and drawing out the envelope with the sale documents inside.

  His father looked at the envelope, then up at his son. “Want me to sign these anyway, just in case?” he asked in a low voice that was trembling with emotion.

  “No,” Will replied. Slowly and deliberately, he began to rip the papers up into the smallest pieces he could manage.

  Now that he had sorted out almost a lifetime of issues with his father, Will knew what was next on his schedule for the night.

  Before midnight Find Christy and kiss her – on schedule.

  He turned, lifted his head, and found her straight away. She was right there.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  CHRISTY

  10:00 p.m.

  Right. She was going to do it. Will and his father were still talking, but from their body language, Christy deduced they’d covered whatever it was that had looked so important—certainly, the super-intense expressions had gone from their faces. She could be wrong, but in any event, she knew that if she procrastinated any longer, she’d lose her nerve completely.

  And only a moment earlier, Will had again glanced over at her before turning his attention back to his father.

  Now!

  She took a deep breath, smiled broadly, and began to walk as confidently as she could toward the two men. She had to weave her way through a loose knot of dancers who were trying their best with the tight Latin rhythm being pumped from the tall speakers on either side of the stage. Some people were salsa dancing, some of the older people just shaking their shoulders and hips, and a brave quartet were even line dancing over by the bar.

  It was almost as though Will sensed her approach. In slow motion, he turned toward her, lifted his head, and as he smiled at her, Christy felt her insides melt.

  But just then, a whirlwind of big hair and scent intercepted her approach.

  “Boys, boys, it’s a bit early for confetti, isn’t it?”

  Christy’s mother had crept up and appeared at Will’s side, giddy from happiness and champagne. She took first Carl’s arm, then Will’s, and beamed up at them. “I hope that’s not your beautiful poem, torn into shreds on the floor there, Carl?”

  “No, it’s not the poem,” Will’s father smiled. “It’s just the final resting pl
ace of a piece of Thompson family history.”

  “Really?” Laura gave him a quizzical look. “Do tell.”

  “Um…hi?”

  Christy felt herself blushing. Will had not taken his eyes off her since he had watched her approach, even as her mother held fast to his arm.

  “Christy,” Will said, holding out his free hand. It felt warm and strong. Christy prayed he had felt the jolt of electricity she’d experienced as they touched, and for a moment, she wished he’d simply taken her into his arms and kissed her.

  Laura Davies wasn’t going to let the paper shreds be explained away so lightly. “Come on, boys, you’ll need to do a lot better than that—it’s expensive paper. Official-looking.”

  Christy eyed her mother. She knew she wasn’t half as tipsy, or as silly, as she was making out. What was she playing at?

  “It’s business, I’m afraid,” Carl Thompson admitted with a shrug. “Will and I have struck a deal.”

  “Oh, yes? And tell me, gentlemen, is my daughter’s engagement party quite the appropriate venue in which to be making deals?”

  Carl thought for a second, then nodded. “Well, in this case, maybe it is, yes indeed, Mrs. Davies.”

  Laura Davies narrowed her eyes and waited.

  “But I need to talk to Nina before we can finalize the details,” he went on. “It concerns her.”

  “Can’t say Nina’s ever been one for details.” Her mother laughed.

  “I think she might surprise you, you know, Mom,” Christy said, sticking up for her sister, aware now that she might be partly to blame for Annie’s flakiness.

  “I think I might go and talk to her now,” Carl Thompson said. “While she’s got Antonio beside her.”

  “Antonio’s involved?” Laura asked.

  “Definitely, he is.”

  Christy could practically see her mother’s thought processes, the careful, astute brain masked by the big hair and the perfect-hostess routine, her love of her daughters, her protective instincts. It was all there, behind a twinkling mask of dizzy bonhomie.