by Beverly Farr
“Romantic?” Ginny repeated, incredulous. “What’s romantic about someone selling an invitation to my wedding?”
“It’s the reason he’s selling it.”
Derek’s interest was piqued, and he leaned forward in his chair. “I thought the seller was anonymous. How do you know it’s a man?”
“A woman wouldn’t sell a ticket to another woman’s wedding. It has to be a man, and he has to still be in love with her -- I mean you,” she said to Ginny. “That’s what he said – he had personal reasons not to attend.”
Derek said, “Maybe he had a business trip that week.”
The woman raised her eyebrows at Ginny as if to say, Men, they just don’t get it, do they? Then she squinted at Derek. “That wasn’t a good photo of you. You look a lot better in real life.”
“He’s not my fiancé,” Ginny said quickly.
“He’s not?”
“No, he’s just a friend.”
“A very good friend,” Derek added meaningfully.
Ginny stepped on his foot with her good one, effectively shutting him up before he said anything else. He was quiet until the woman left to get some papers, then he hissed, “What are you doing? If you cripple me, who’s going drive home?”
“I’ll gladly take a taxi. It’s bad enough that you’ve plastered my picture all over the Internet, without ––”
“Not all over, just one little site. But now that you mention it, I have a few pictures from college that might add more interest to the auction. An “I knew her when” montage should raise the bidding ---”
“Shh, here she comes,” Ginny warned.
The admitting clerk returned with an orderly pushing a wheelchair. “He’ll take you to the examination room, and a doctor will be with you shortly.”
“Do you want to make a friendly bet on how long ‘shortly’ is?” Derek whispered. “Loser buys dinner.”
Ginny knew he was trying to keep her mind off the pain. “My guess is forty minutes.”
“My guess is an hour.”
The examination room contained an examination table covered with a sheet of white paper, two chairs and a cabinet with a sink. It was separated from other similar stations by a curtain that looked like a bed sheet on metal shower curtain rings. A nurse came in, took her temperature and her blood pressure, wrote down her symptoms on a clipboard, and left.
Minutes passed.
“Do you want me to get you something to drink?” Derek asked.
“I’d like something cold. Thanks.”
“I’ll go see what I can scrounge up.”
She shouldn’t be surprised by his thoughtfulness, she realized as he left. He had a wicked sense of humor and loved to provoke her, but when times got rough in their brief marriage, he had done everything he could to help.
And she’d fought with him, basically telling him that his efforts weren’t good enough. She winced, remembering some of the angry, ugly things she’d said. She’d been a fool.
Derek returned with a canned soda. “Here you go.”
“Thanks.” She sipped the drink for a few minutes, gathering her courage. Finally, she said, “Derek, I’ve been thinking.”
His face brightened. “Yes?”
“About the past.”
“So have I.”
She would give almost anything to know what he’d been thinking, but she was determined to speak first, before she lost her courage. “Although it doesn’t change any thing, I want to say I’m sorry.”
His face resumed a guarded expression. “Neither one of us were blameless, Ginny.”
“No, but that last fight about my necklace, I –--”
He interrupted, speaking at the same time as she did, “I don’t think we’ll gain anything by–--”
“–- just want to say I forgive you.”
“-- going over that again.” His eyes flashed. “What did you say?”
“I forgive you,” she said earnestly. “I don’t like what you did, but I understand you meant it for the best.”
“Damn it, Ginny. I don’t want forgiveness for something I didn’t do!”
Ginny was astounded by the intensity of his response. “I don’t understand.”
“You never did! I didn’t touch the damn thing, and I certainly didn’t sell it.”
“Then what happened?”
“How should I know? Maybe it was stolen. Maybe you lost it. All I know is that I never took it.”
She believed him. His voice, his manner, everything rang true. And after nine years, he had nothing to gain by lying. This was such a change in her mind set, that she couldn’t think of anything to say, except, “Then I’m sorry I misjudged you,” which sounded wholly inadequate to her ears.
He shrugged. “Don’t lose any sleep over it. If it hadn’t been the necklace, it would have been something else.”
That made it sound even worse. Had the necklace merely been an excuse to find fault with him? “I’m sorry,” she said again.
His voice was serious. “So am I. I was a pretty lousy husband, not making enough money to pay the rent.”
“Don’t say that ---”
‘You had every reason to hit the road. The one thing I regret is that I didn’t start Midas sooner. Then maybe you could have had it a little easier when you left.”
Ginny stiffened. “I didn’t want your money.”
“I know that. You could be voted the woman least likely to become a gold digger. It was difficult enough to get to you take the sixty thousand.”
“But I’m earning that,” she reminded.
“Yes –--”
“And I’ll finish your house before your interview on Friday.”
“To hell with the house. It’s nothing compared to your health. You need to take care of yourself.”
“I intend to meet all my contractual obligations.”
“Let’s see what the doctor says first. Don’t make promises you may not be able to keep.”
What – like ‘for better, for worse?’ she thought with a pang of regret. She had made those promises, fully intending to keep them, and hadn’t lasted four months.
Minutes passed.
Ginny asked, “What did you sell instead of the necklace. Selling the van wouldn’t have brought in enough money.”
Derek sighed. “You still don’t believe me.”
“No, I do,” she protested. “I’m just interested, because I can’t think of anything else we owned that had any value.”
“I guess it doesn’t matter any more. You might as well know. I sold my blood at the blood bank.”
Ginny stared at him, stunned and humbled. He had been willing to give everything to her, and she had rejected him. She wanted to apologize again, but it was too late. Nine years too late.
Suddenly, the doctor pushed back the curtain. “What seems to be the problem?” he said cheerfully.
Derek stepped back and sat in his chair, leaving Ginny feeling strangely bereft. For a few moments, she had felt as if they were finally understanding each other. Not that it could change the past, but it might help them create a working relationship for the future -- one without all the tension. Maybe at last they could be friends.
“I tripped and twisted my ankle.”
The doctor eased her left shoe and sock off. Then he turned her foot from side to side, making her gasp with pain. “You’ve definitely torn some ligaments. I don’t think you’ve broken any bones, but just to be on the safe side, we’ll take an x-ray.”
The x-rays revealed a hairline fracture in the fifth metatarsal. Ginny asked, “What does that mean?”
“The fifth metatarsal is the bone that connects your pinky toe to the rest of your foot. We often see this injury with football players.”
“Football? Ginny, you never told me,” Derek joked.
“Shh, would you be serious?”
“Injuries of this kind often heal by themselves, but I don’t want to take the risk,” the doctor said reasonably. “Rather than put you in a
cast, we’re going to give you a foot brace that will hold the foot stable, while it heals.”
“How long will it take?”
“Everyone is different, but on an average, it should take less than 7 weeks.”
“But I’m getting married in ten days!”
The doctor smiled. “It will be awkward, I’m sure, but it needn’t ruin your honeymoon as long as you follow the RICE treatment: rest, ice, compression and elevation. You’ll wrap your ankle in an elastic bandage and wear the foot brace. For three weeks, don’t put any weight on your foot. After that, continue to keep the foot immobilized for another three weeks, but you can gradually put some weight on it. If you’re still having pain after six weeks, see your regular doctor.”
Derek said, “Basically, you’re telling her to stay horizontal?”
The doctor smiled. “As much as possible at first, yes, then gradually increase activity.”
“I think we can do that,” Derek said with a wink at her. “Don’t you think so, sweetheart?”
Ginny glared at him. “Shut up.”
“What?” he asked with exaggerated innocence.
Ginny refused to get snared by his teasing. “Forget it.
On the way to her condo, they stopped at a drive-through pharmacy to get the pain and anti-inflammation medication the doctor had prescribed. Ginny washed one pill down with water in the car. “I hope this starts working fast.”
“Is this part of Highland Park, too?” Derek asked as they approached the high rise building.
“No. This is Dallas.” At his look of surprise, she added, “The condos in Highland Park were too expensive. My condo is practically identical to some I saw there; it’s only one mile away; and it’s a third of the cost I would have paid for the Highland Park address.”
Ginny’s cell phone vibrated as they drove into the covered parking area. Ginny glanced at the phone’s lighted panel. It was Miranda. She had called twice before when she was in the hospital, and Ginny had not wanted to answer it. But she couldn’t avoid the inevitable forever. She answered it. “Hello?”
“Where are you? Why weren’t you answering your cell phone?” her mother demanded, then continued on, without waiting for a reply. “I saw your car parked outside Derek’s house and all his lights are out.”
Was Miranda checking up on her? “We had a little emergency today, –--”
Miranda wasn’t listening. “That reporter from the Dallas Register came by again. She’s found out about the auction on Midas and wants to talk to you.”
“Thanks for the warning. I’ll have to tell Phillip, too.”
“Oh, he knows, darling.”
Ginny frowned a little. “How?”
“He’s over here, helping me clean out closets.”
That was odd. It was generous of him, but still odd. Ginny’s frown deepened. “May I speak to him?”
Miranda gave him the phone. Phillip said, “I came by to see you and got roped into helping your mother. Where are you?” He sounded as if he’d like her to come rescue him.
“I’m at the condo. I tripped and fractured a little bone in my foot.”
“Oh my poor darling,” he said with sympathy. “Are you going to be all right?”
“I should be. Derek took me to ER and it looks like I’ll have to wear a foot brace for a few weeks.”
“That sounds painful.”
“It is, rather.”
“Do you want me to come by tonight?”
“No!” she said quickly, not wanting to deal with Phillip and Derek at the same time. But she didn’t want to offend Phillip, so she added, “Thanks for the offer, but I’m planning to go straight to bed. I’ll be okay.”
“If you say so.” Phillip didn’t sound convinced. “Will you be all right for the wedding?”
“I don’t know, I —-”
“What’s going on?” Miranda interrupted, having snatched the phone from Phillip.
Ginny started to explain, and Miranda shrieked. Ginny held the phone away from her ear to save her eardrum.
“She’s not pleased,” Derek guessed.
Ginny nodded, wincing. Normally, Miranda was a master at controlling her emotions, but this disaster was more than she could handle. Her perfect wedding was ruined, and it was all Ginny’s fault.
Miranda finally graduated from screaming to words, still at maximum volume. “You won’t be able to dance the first waltz!”
Ginny tried to calm her down. “It’s not as bad as it could be. At least I don’t have a cast.”
“And the aisle! Will you be able to walk at all?”
Ginny was suddenly very tired -- tired of the pain, tired of trying to please her mother. “I don’t know, Miranda,” she said flatly. “I’ll talk to you tomorrow.” She disconnected the call and turned the phone off.
“Good for you,” Derek said quietly.
Ginny sighed and leaned against the passenger seat. “Miranda has a way of making me crazy, but I thought I was mature enough to handle it.”
“You’re doing a remarkable job.”
“Am I?” Ginny shook her head sadly. “Sometimes I think eloping would be better, but Phillip didn’t like the idea.”
“What do you see in him, anyway?”
Other than the fact that he isn’t you? Ginny thought, but didn’t say it, because Derek’s question was serious, without any sarcastic overtones. It was an honest question that deserved an honest answer, and she wasn’t up to answering it right now. “I’m too worn out to list all his sterling qualities,” she said flippantly. “All I want to do is eat something and lie in my own bed.”
Derek walked around and held the car door open for her. “Hey, I remember now -- you owe me dinner. It was fifty-five minutes before the doctor showed up.”
“You kept track?” She stepped out on her good foot, keeping the other up off the cement pavement. She held onto Derek’s arm for balance. He handed her a crutch.
“Are you questioning my veracity?”
“No. What do you want to eat?”
“I’m easy. What sounds good to you?”
Her left foot briefly touched the ground, sending pain shooting upward. “Ouch. A submarine sandwich. Turkey with avocado,” she said through clenched teeth.
“We’ll order some delivered,” he said, then scooped her up – one arm behind her back, the other under her knees, to carry her. The crutch clattered on the cement.
“What are you doing?” She put her arms around his neck for balance.
“This is easier than fighting with the crutches.”
“Easier for me, maybe, but what about you?”
“You don’t weigh much. Besides, I don’t think I ever carried you over the threshold.”
She was so close to him, she could see the way his dark hair curled up over his ears. Her fingers itched to rake through it again. “You carried me up to the van and ended by tossing me on the mattress in the back.”
He smiled. “I’d forgotten that. That was a good car.”
Ted had nicknamed it the “Love Machine” after their honeymoon trip. But she refused to think about that.
Derek carried her across the parking area to the elevator. She pushed the up button. “If I start to get too heavy, put me down.”
“You’re not too heavy.”
The elevator doors opened. He carried her inside. “What floor?”
She pushed the button for the seventeenth floor. She rested her head against his shoulder. She’d forgotten how good he smelled, a heady combination of the deodorant soap he used and that musky scent that was his alone. She closed her eyes, savoring the moment, lost in the memories.
A bell rang, and the doors opened, ending the ride much too soon. “I’m the second door on the right,” she said.
Derek turned, and immediately they were confronted by Ms. Davis from the Dallas Register and a photographer. A camera flashed.
Derek swore and tightened his grip on Ginny.
“Ms. Russell,” the reporter said. �
�Are you aware that an invitation for your wedding is currently on sale on Midas, with the bidding at over seventy-five thousand dollars?”
CHAPTER EIGHT
At that moment, Derek couldn’t think of anything he regretted more than putting that wedding invitation up for sale. He felt Ginny tremble and knew how upset she must be. He’d never intended something like this to happen, but intentions meant little now.
“No comment,” she said to the reporter, then said in a hoarse whisper to him, “Get me in my condo -- now.”
He carried her quickly to her front door as she rummaged frantically through her purse for her keys.
“Please go away,” she said to the reporter. “I have nothing to say to you.”
Ms. Davis followed them to the door. She stood close, holding a microphone in her hand. “Mr. Landon, our records indicate that you were married to Ms. Russell several years ago,” she continued, addressing him. “Did you personally put the invitation up for sale or is it just coincidence that the seller chose Midas?”
Where were those damn keys? Ginny’s wiggling was making it difficult to hold her, and he didn’t want to drop her. “It’s my understanding that the seller is anonymous.”
Ms. Davis leaned forward. “But do you as President of Midas know who the seller is?”
“No comment.”
“Are you the seller?”
“No comment.”
Finally Ginny found her key chain and separated the right key. Derek bent down so she could fit the key in the lock. She opened the door and they slipped inside. “Please go away,” Ginny said as he closed the door in their faces and bolted the latch.
“You appear to be injured, Ms. Russell,” the reporter continued loudly, speaking through the closed door. “What happened?”
Damn barracuda. There was no reason for the reporter to hound her. Ginny was completely innocent. Derek placed Ginny carefully on her couch, then returned to the door and reached for the latch.
“Don’t —--” Ginny began, but he had already opened the door a few inches. He stood in the opened space, blocking their view of Ginny and the condo inside, and holding the door with one foot so it wouldn’t open farther.
“I know you are trying to do your job, but there is no story here,” he said, struggling to keep his anger in check. The camera flashed again. “This condo association and building is private property, and you could be charged with trespass. Leave now or your senior editor will get a visit from my lawyers.”