I'll Be Yours

by Jenny B. Jones

  “First of all, I have not made out with every girl at school. We have at least five lesbians, and I’ve totally let them have their space.”

  I barely heard his words. I was too busy drowning in a river of my own humiliation. Had I not been so desperate to avoid making a total fool of myself with Andrew, I would have died before asking such a thing. But if I was choosing between being an idiot with Ridley or Andrew, it was a no-brainer.

  “And second of all,” Ridley continued, “I wasn’t agonizing over the very idea of it. I just . . . You caught me off guard, that’s all. Let’s hear your plan. I know you have one.”

  “We meet at my house and you show me how a guy likes to be kissed.”

  “We guys really aren’t that picky.”

  “There are a lot of variables.”

  “My part in this bargain is starting to feel a little bit sleazy.”

  “So you’re in?”

  He laughed and shook his head. “We’ll see, Harper. We’ll just have to see.”

  Ten minutes later Ridley pulled into Henrietta Tucker’s driveway. Mrs. Tucker lived in a two-story Victorian the shade of watercolor sunshine. A white picket fence lined the edge of the property, and I imagined generations of families making memories in that home. Barren tree limbs waved hello from the stately oaks in her yard.

  Ridley killed the engine. “What now?”

  I quickly filled him in on what I knew of Henrietta Tucker. “I’m going to reason with her. Talk to her girl to girl. Dog person to dog person. And you’re going to stay here and look pretty.”

  “You’re really underestimating the power of my charm.”

  I doubted that.

  Mentally rehearsing my spiel, I opened my door and marched up the sidewalk. Mrs. Tucker’s doorbell buzzed as I pressed the button, and I patiently waited on her porch.

  And waited.

  And waited.

  I mashed the doorbell again.

  “I hear you! I hear you!” a voice called from the other side. I heard the sound of multiple locks being turned before the door finally inched open. “Yes?”

  “Mrs. Tucker, I’m Harper O’Malley from—”

  “I don’t want any!” Henrietta opened the door wider, revealing white hair held captive by crooked curlers, knobby knees beneath a floral muumuu, and blue eyes behind thick glasses.

  “Mrs. Tucker, I—”

  “If you’re a politician, I’m not voting for you. If you’re selling something, I’ve already got two. And if you’re that brat neighbor boy from down the lane who’s supposed to cut my grass, don’t think I don’t know you didn’t do the job. But you still took your envelope with money, didn’t ’cha? Now go away.”

  “I’m not the neighbor boy. I’m—”

  “Good afternoon, ma’am,” came a voice behind me.

  Mrs. Tucker stilled at Ridley’s words, and I couldn’t stifle the eye roll. I guess no female was immune, even at nearly ninety.

  “Who are you people?” she asked. “I need to get back to my home-shopping program. The special buy this hour is two-for-one strapless bras.”

  “That sounds like quite a deal,” Ridley said. He moved closer ’til he was right behind me, my shoulder blade touching some firm part of his chest that’d been thoroughly bench-pressed.

  I turned around, speared Ridley with a glare, and jerked my chin toward his Jeep. “Go back,” I whispered. “I can handle this.”

  He just looked down and smiled.

  “Mrs. Tucker,” I said, “I wondered if I could talk to you about your dog?”

  “Mr. Wiggle Bottoms? Did my son send you? Because I am not interested in giving up my dog. No way, no how.” She turned her head long enough to enjoy a coughing fit. “Not gonna happen.”

  “Ma’am, I’m Ridley Estes, and this is my girlfriend, Harper.”

  “Girlfriend?” I hissed. “I am not his girlfriend!”

  “Fiancée,” Ridley amended. “She gets upset when I forget that part, but it’s still so new.”

  What in the world was he up to?

  Ridley put a hand on my shoulder and squeezed. “We just moved into the neighborhood and have seen your dog Mr. . . . um, Mr.—”

  “Wiggle Bottoms,” the lady corrected. “He’s Mr. Wiggle Bottoms.”

  “Right.” Ridley nudged my ribs, and I knew that face of his was smiling. “Harper and I have taken quite a few walks in the neighborhood, and we’ve seen your dog. We brought some treats for him to say hello.”

  “Well.” Mrs. Tucker eased her war stance slightly. “He is a beauty, isn’t he?”

  At that moment, Mr. Wiggle Bottoms chose to limp toward his owner with matted black hair, reeking of something rotten and smacking his lips from what looked like barbecue sauce all over his face. I’d pulled prettier dogs from Dumpsters.

  “Ma’am, there seems to be water coming from that door in the hall behind you,” Ridley said.

  Her eyes widened. “Again? That’s my guest powder room. Toilet has a mind of its own.” Her frail shoulders slumped in defeat. “I thought I called the plumber yesterday, but I couldn’t see the numbers on the phone. When a birthday party clown showed up two hours later, I knew I’d called the wrong number.” She pulled a tissue from her housedress and blotted her nose. “But Jangles sure did some impressive animal balloons if you’re ever in the market. Well, nice to meet you, kids. I better take care of this.”

  “How about if I take a look at your toilet?” Ridley asked.

  “I couldn’t ask you to do that. It’s too much trouble and I—”

  “I’d be glad to.” He gave me a reassuring grin as we stepped inside, and my pulse stuttered.

  A few weeks ago I thought Ridley was such a different person. But now I knew him as a protector. A gentleman in disguise. I’d observed him with his sisters, witnessed his patience with me. Not once had he laughed at any of my stupid boy questions. He held open doors for girls, kissed his baby sister’s boo-boos, and now he was fixing toilets for old, blind ladies. The cracks in his player persona were growing more cavernous by the day.

  “Be right back, snookums.” Ridley made a smacking kiss sound as he neared my face, but stopped just short of my cheek. “Miss me while I’m gone.”

  “If this doesn’t get me a dog, I will make you suffer,” I whispered.

  “I’ll make it up to you on our honeymoon.”

  I watched his handsome form walk away to the leaking bathroom, and I followed a cane-wielding Mrs. Tucker to the living room.

  “Your feller sure is nice.” Mrs. Tucker sat in a raised recliner and fumbled with a remote before the chair lowered her to a comfortable position. Her smelly dog flopped down at her feet, dust rising from the rug in a plume. “My son got me this chair. Only took me a year to figure out how to work it. I can’t see the buttons. My eyes just do not work anymore. Another thing I can’t see is your engagement ring. I bet it’s a pretty one.”

  I looked at my bare finger. “It’s completely unbelievable.”

  “You sound kinda young. Ladies these days wait ’til they’re all out of college and careered up before tying the knot. In my day, we were married by eighteen.”

  “I’ve, um, I’ve done my time on a college campus.” Oh, gosh. I was in over my head with the lies. Thank you, Ridley, for throwing me into this deceptive charade.

  “My Stan went off to war at nineteen. Helping change the world before he was even twenty. Can you believe that?”

  “He must’ve been a great man.”

  “He was. He’s been gone for ten years,” she said softly. “Don’t ever get old, sweetie.”

  Behind us came the clanking of Ridley in her powder room. “I hope you had many happy years together.”

  “Oh, we did. We had two children. My daughter’s in Spain with her military husband. And my son’s in Atlanta. Wants me to move there to a home, but I can’t leave Mr. Wiggle Bottoms. We’re best friends.” Her sigh was big enough to rattle her frail body. “I think I’m failing at taking care of
him though. It’s a hard decision.”

  I glanced around the room and saw evidence the house was also more than Mrs. Tucker could handle—dirty, molded dishes stacked on a coffee table, pee stains on her carpet, and smells that testified to how often the dog didn’t make it outside in time. “I know you do your best,” I said. “He’s a great dog.” In serious need of a bath and an appointment with the groomers. And possibly a diet.

  “I can’t get him outside as much as I should. The neighbors help me, but I know they’re tired of it.”

  “Have you thought about letting someone else adopt him?” I pulled a dog treat out of my bag and waited for the dog to come to me. His black nose twitched twice before he lumbered toward me.

  “I’ve had one offer from a convent, but my dog’s not Catholic. We watch a lady preacher on Sunday nights, so we’re whatever denomination she is.” Mrs. Tucker bobbed her head in a nod, dislodging a few curlers.

  “Toilet’s all fixed.” Ridley stepped into the room holding up two pairs of dripping panty hose. “Just a small clog of the hosiery variety.”

  “I hand washed my unmentionables last week,” Mrs. Tucker said. “I might’ve misjudged the location of the sink.”

  Ridley disappeared long enough to find a trash can and wash his hands, then returned to the living room. He sat down beside me on the couch and scooted until his side was plastered to mine. I slid down to give us some space, but he wrapped his arm around my shoulders and hauled me to him. His grin only grew when he saw my scowl.

  “How long have you two been engaged?” Mrs. Tucker asked.

  I gave Ridley a look I called my Sour Mavis. “Seems like only minutes ago.”

  “We’ve known each other a long time. Not that this girl ever noticed me.” There was mischief dancing in those eyes. “When I got the nerve to show up on her doorstep that first time, she didn’t even remember my name.”

  “What a moron I was,” I said dryly. “To go to school with you and not even know your name.”

  “I knew your name,” he whispered. “But teasing you was more fun.” He raised his voice for Mrs. Tucker’s ears, his piercing gaze never leaving mine. “That first day I talked to her, I knew Harper was something else. I’d had a rough week, but when I saw her glaring at me, I smiled for the first time in days. And it’s been an adventure ever since.”

  And right now my heart was on one wild ride. I wanted to cover my ears from the deep, entrancing pull of his voice, to look away from the voodoo spell Ridley was weaving with his eyes. Nobody spun magic like Ridley Estes.

  Stop it. Stop it!

  Charming girls was Ridley’s superpower. You’re stronger than this, Harper. Resist! Resist!

  “Um . . .” I pulled my concentration away from Ridley and to the mangy dog sniffing the floor. “I, um, I sure do love dogs, Mrs. Tucker. Maybe I could come by and see Mr. Wiggle Bottoms some next week?” The bond between owner and dog was strong. She definitely wasn’t going to let some fictional engaged couple walk out of there with her fuzzy beloved. But inroads had been made, and Mavis would have to be satisfied with that.

  Mrs. Tucker pointed to a stack of magazines near Ridley’s feet. “Mr. Wiggle Bottoms really seems to have taken to you.” Across the room by the fireplace, the dog paused in the cleaning of his hind end. “My boy would love the company,” she said. “I know he misses his walks. But you’d have to be very careful. He’s old, like me.”

  “Harper’s incredible with animals.” Ridley gave my shoulders a squeeze. “She’d take a bullet for a dog.”

  “Well, no need to go to that extreme,” Mrs. Tucker said. “But the neighbor on the corner’s got a cat who’s a real jerk.”

  “We should let you get back to your shows.” I stood and wiped some dog hair from my jeans. “It was nice talking to you, Mrs. Tucker.”

  “Welcome to the neighborhood, dears. Mr. Wiggle Bottoms and I will look forward to seeing you. Young man, you keep an eye on that pretty lady of yours, now, you hear?”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Ridley shook the woman’s delicate hand and grinned. “I’m trying.”

  “You can let go of me now,” I said as Ridley and I walked to his Jeep.

  He opened my car door and held it open. “We gotta sell this thing ’til the bitter end.”

  I slid inside. “She can’t see six inches in front of her.”

  “We could do that kissing lesson now. For authenticity’s sake.”

  I waved toward the porch at Mrs. Tucker. “Not on your life.”

  The crisp wind caught Ridley’s hair as he laughed. “First day of our engagement, and we’re already on the rocks.”

  Ridley jumped in the driver’s seat, buckled his seat belt, and shoved the keys in the ignition. “I think you did the right thing—by taking this one slow.”

  “She’s not ready,” I said. “But she will be. She needs some time to adjust to the idea of a better place for her dog.”

  “Some things are hard to let go—how they used to be. How you want them to be.”

  Something we both knew.

  “Mrs. Tucker’s yard’s a mess,” Ridley said. “I’ll get some of the guys on the team, and we’ll take care of it this weekend.”

  “And I can clean her house when I go see her in a few days.”

  “We’re a good team, O’Malley.”

  I tapped my knuckles to his outstretched fist. “I guess we are.”

  “But next time, keep your hands to yourself.” He revved the engine to life. “Your handsy behavior in there was just embarrassing.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  When I walked into my house at six p.m., I knew I was in big trouble.

  It was the silence that spoke volumes. The hardened expression on my mother’s face as she sat beside my brothers at the dinner table. Or the way Cole stood up, pointed directly at me, and shouted, “You’re in big trouble!”

  My mother lowered her glass of merlot, pressed a napkin to her mouth, then stood, the dogs scattering into the other room. “Harper, in the kitchen. Now.”

  With no choice but to obey, I followed.

  “Where have you been?” Mom planted her hands at her hips. “And don’t tell me you went to the counseling appointment because they’ve already called to tell me you didn’t show. And don’t tell me you went to the animal rescue because I drove by there.”

  I was a horrible liar. That, combined with my mom’s droid ability to track her children down, meant I never got away with anything. “I didn’t want to go to counseling.”

  “I don’t remember giving you a choice.”

  She had no idea what that forced oversharing did to me. “I don’t need to talk to a counselor.”

  “But you did need to skip school? What has gotten into you?”

  I shrugged a shoulder, which I knew she hated. “Counseling is stupid. It’s uncomfortable, and I don’t see why I have to go when no one else does.”

  “The boys are starting soon. And I’m still waiting to hear where you were.”

  “I may not have been at the shelter, but I was doing shelter work. I went to check on an old lady who can’t take care of her dog anymore.”

  My mom closed her eyes and held the bridge of her nose. When she spoke again, her voice was controlled, quieter. “Help me understand why you’re so opposed to following through on a few sessions of therapy. I’m going to go. Your brothers are going to go. All the cool kids are doing it.”

  “Because . . .” Tears pressed at my stinging eyes. “She asked me about Becky Dallas.”

  “And it still hurts to talk about that.” She brushed the hair from my face. “The fact is you’ve never talked about it.”

  “So why start now?”

  “Because her probation’s coming up. Because your dad’s made national news. Because I see you falling apart and bravely trying to keep it together.”

  “Going back there, talking about that—it’s not going to help.”

  Mom wrapped her warm arms around me and hugged me tight. “Year
s ago I held your hand and rocked you in my arms when you got out of the burn unit. All those nights you’d wake up screaming, crying. You carried the weight of the world in your eyes. That scared, haunted look you’d have—it tortured me.”

  “That was a long time ago.”

  She pressed a kiss to the top of my head. “When I look at you now, I see those same frightened eyes staring back at me.”

  Michael’s voice preempted any response I might’ve had. “Mom!” he called, running into the kitchen. “Dad’s here.”

  “This conversation isn’t over.” Mom used her index finger to swipe away the moisture from her cheeks. “Your father wants to talk to you and your brothers.”

  “I’d rather go to my room.”

  “Harper, you’re on thin ice as it is. Don’t push it.”

  My stomach flopped once, and suddenly the food sitting on the stove was far too pungent. I walked into the living room, breathing deep and hoping I wouldn’t throw up that peanut butter and jelly sandwich I had eaten at lunch. That magical moment Andrew had created that now seemed so far away.

  “Hello, Harper.” Dad’s face was dark, and his eyes lifeless, like that time I’d watched him bury his favorite old Labrador.

  My body sank into the couch beside Cole and Michael, and Laz took the opportunity to jump into my lap. Mom occupied the chair beside us, her hands dangling from the armrests. Where was her wedding ring? Her left hand was completely bare. Had she just removed it to cook dinner?

  Dad pulled the leather ottoman out and sat down. “Guys . . .” His pause was a painful movie cliff-hanger, an agonizing few seconds where panic clawed and scratched. “I, um, I wanted to talk to you about some stuff before it goes public.”

  It was not good news. A million possibilities sprinted through my frantic mind.

  “The university has concluded their investigation. They’ve decided I violated my contract, and they’ve let me go.”

  Fired. Moving. Divorce. New home. Change.

  Leaving friends—Molly, the team, Andrew, Ridley.

  “What’s going to happen to us?” Cole asked.