by Brenda Novak
So much for making great strides toward solving the problems in her life. There were still two weeks until the anniversary party—two weeks during which she had to keep her plans a secret. In addition to that, she knew her family wasn’t going to be happy about her moving in with Booker, even if it was only temporary. And depending on how badly her sister annoyed her, she doubted she’d get through this conversation without a cigarette. “Um, I don’t know. I’m pretty busy today, Greta.”
“Why? What are you doing?”
“I thought I’d move a few things into storage.”
“It’s Sunday and you have the day off tomorrow. Can’t you do the storage thing later? We really need to finalize a few details if we’re going to pull this wedding off in six weeks, Beck. I’ve worked too hard to let anything slip through the cracks.”
Rebecca heard the accusation in her sister’s voice, the “after everything I’ve done for you, you’d have the nerve to refuse me?” and felt trapped. She hadn’t asked Greta to do anything special for her wedding. She’d wanted to keep it simple, and she’d said so from the beginning. But Greta was a stay-at-home mom with three small boys, and Rebecca suspected her older sister was a little bored. She’d embraced this event as though she was Jennifer Lopez in The Wedding Planner.
Regardless, Rebecca knew better than to suggest Greta had involved herself because she needed a diversion. Her sister had baked and decorated five hundred sugar cookies. She’d spent countless hours using special food coloring to paint wedding bells on each one, and she’d filled the freezer of almost every friend the Wells family had ever had. After effort like that, no one was going to care whether Rebecca had asked for her help or not.
“When do you want me there?” she asked in resignation.
“At three.”
“Okay. Can I borrow Randy’s truck later tonight, then?”
“Sure. We picked up the wedding arch from the Porters’ house yesterday and we’re delivering it to Mom and Dad’s tonight, so it’ll be there in the living room for the anniversary party. Once we get it unloaded, you can take the truck.”
“Thanks. Is there anything I can do for Mom and Dad’s big celebration?”
“Let’s see…the house is basically ready. I’m having the food catered except for a few extra dishes I’m making myself. Mom’s made out the guest list, and Delia and Hillary have already created the invitations using a program I found at the computer store in Boise. It’s amazing what you can do with a home printer these days, isn’t it? So I think we’re fine. Unless…You don’t know how to do calligraphy, do you?”
“If you mean that fancy scroll-like writing, no.”
“It’s not that difficult, Beck.”
Rebecca could feel her sister’s irritation through the phone. “I thought you were just marveling at the modern miracle of desktop publishing.”
“I think addressing them by hand will add a personal touch.”
“Why don’t I take charge of cleaning up after the party?” Rebecca asked before her sister could suggest she sign up for a class in calligraphy.
“Perfect,” Greta said, which was probably what she’d been hoping for all along, and hung up.
Rebecca waited for a dial tone, then called her fiancé.
“There you are,” he said the moment he heard her voice. “What’s going on? Are you mad at me?”
“Of course not.” She was making such progress with patience.
“Then why haven’t I heard from you?”
“I was super-busy at work yesterday.”
“And last night?”
“An old friend’s moved back to town. We went out for a drink.”
“Oh.” A pause. “So everything’s okay between us?”
“Of course.”
“Great. You had me worried. What are you doing today?”
“Packing. I’ve found another house.”
“You’re moving?”
“I have to. I couldn’t extend my lease.”
“But you still have another six weeks before your lease ends.”
“This other place will be a lot cheaper.”
“And your current landlord doesn’t mind? Good for you. See? Postponing the wedding might turn out to be the best thing for both of us.”
Rebecca hardly considered two thousand dollars worth the wait, considering the abuse she was going to suffer when she told her family those cookies of Greta’s would have to remain in the freezer for an extra two and a half months. “I’m thrilled it’s turning out so well,” she said.
Fortunately, he missed the slightly sarcastic tone to her voice. “We’ll be set up, babe.”
“Life is good.”
“I miss you.”
“Miss you, too.”
“I still have the plane ticket I bought for the wedding, so we’ll get to see each other soon.”
“My mother and father are having an anniversary party in a couple of weeks. Can you change your flight and come for that?” she asked.
“Maybe. Let’s see about the cost. We wouldn’t want to waste any of what you’re saving in rent.”
As far as Rebecca was concerned, her moving early meant they’d have money to burn. But then, she was impulsive. Impulsive people weren’t typically big savers. Which was just another of the many reasons Buddy would be good for her. He was so levelheaded.
“Let me know what you find out,” she said.
“Are you in a hurry to get off the phone?”
“I promised myself I’d start a workout regimen today. I was about to go jogging.”
“You? Jogging?”
“You say that as though you can’t imagine it.”
“Because I can’t. Why bother? You’re already skinny and you smoke. What good’s it going to do?”
“I don’t smoke anymore,” she said, thinking positively. “And I want to tone up. Something wrong with that?”
“No, it’s just—” a brief silence “—you don’t have to do it for me.”
Rebecca couldn’t say why she suddenly felt the desire to get in shape, but she was pretty confident Buddy wasn’t part of the equation. It worried her, now that he’d pointed it out. The last time she’d shown any interest in diet and exercise had been right after her night with Josh Hill—a funny coincidence, considering he was now front and center in her life again.
“I appreciate that,” she said.
“I love you just the way you are.”
Which was why she’d had to wait two days since their last conversation before she could safely call him back. “Have you ever thought about giving up cigarettes and losing some weight?” she asked.
“Not really. I’ve never been the athletic type. But you’ve known that from the beginning,” he added, a defensive note in his voice.
Rebecca ignored his slight bristling. She wasn’t trying to make him feel bad. She wasn’t even trying to get him to lose weight. She was trying to understand why he didn’t feel he needed to change something that was obviously less than ideal. “So you’re saying, ‘I am what I am.”’
He seemed to clue in to the fact that she wasn’t belittling him. “I guess. Why?”
“A friend of mine said the same thing about himself last night.”
“So?”
“He’s sort of a thug.”
“And?”
“I like the concept. ‘Take me or leave me’ is right up my alley. But on the other hand…”
“Yes?”
“It sounds like a cop-out.”
“Rebecca, what are you talking about? No more smoking. Workout regimens. Take me or leave me. What’s going on with you?”
Rebecca wasn’t sure, but she hoped to hell it had nothing to do with Josh Hill.
* * *
MAYBE JOGGING over to her parents’ house hadn’t been such a good idea.
Rebecca wiped the sweat off her forehead and squinted down the highway to the next bend in the road, trying to count how many more of those bends there’d be until she reached th
e turnoff to her parents’ neighborhood. Doyle and Fiona Wells lived on the outskirts of town, only about five miles from Rebecca’s rental house. But those five miles had to be the longest she’d ever traveled. To add to her misery, the weather was cool enough that she hadn’t thought to carry water, and now she was so parched she felt as though she might pass out.
Leaning against a yellow road sign that signaled a curve, she put her head between her knees and tried to catch her breath. Lots of runners ran five miles—and they did it in less than an hour. She’d been out nearly forty-five minutes and was barely halfway.
But those runners probably hadn’t been smoking since they were sixteen.
Rebecca noticed the sound of an engine, which gave her enough adrenaline to get going again. A painful cramp gnawed at her side, and her tongue felt like sandpaper against the roof of her mouth. But just before she’d left home, she’d called Greta to say she might be a little late, that she was jogging over, and her sister and her sister’s husband, Randy, had immediately laughed her to scorn.
Rebecca had stupidly responded, “You’ll see.” After “you’ll see,” she couldn’t let a member of her family find her sucking wind on the side of the road.
Keeping her head high, she put a bounce in her step through willpower alone and prayed that whoever was coming up from behind would pass quickly so she could collapse. But the vehicle didn’t pass her at all. Slowing, it drew even with her. When she looked over, she saw Josh Hill sitting behind the wheel of a new Ford Excursion, wearing a pair of sunglasses and a forest-green T-shirt that stretched taut across his muscular chest.
His window lowered smoothly. “Something happen to your car?” he hollered.
Rebecca was so out of breath she wasn’t sure she could speak. “No,” she managed to respond.
“You need a ride?”
God, did she ever. Her lungs felt like they were about to burst. She glanced longingly at his leather interior, heard the country music playing on his stereo and could already feel her tired body sinking into his passenger seat. She was desperate enough to agree—until she saw the amused smile playing around his lips. He didn’t think she had what it took to be a jogger; he stood with Greta and Randy.
“I’m fine,” she said, trudging doggedly on.
To her horror, he didn’t speed up. “You going out to your parents’ house?”
“Yeah.”
“That’s what I thought. I’ll drop you off.”
She didn’t answer. It took all her focus to put one foot in front of the other.
“What are you trying to do?” he asked, his voice flat.
She cast him another glance from the corner of her eye. “What…does it…look…”—here she had to break off so she could gasp for air—“…like?” she finally finished.
“Are you sure you want to know? Because it looks like you’re about to faint. I’ve never seen anyone so red in the face.”
That had to be attractive. Plus she’d started her workout regimen before she’d had the chance to shop for some of those cute little outfits. She doubted her torn T-shirt and cutoffs were making much of an impression—a positive impression, anyway. “I’m just out…for a…jog,” she insisted.
She thought her response had done the trick. He sped up, but only so he could cut her off by pulling to the side of the road.
He got out and met her, his smile gone, as she tried to go around his vehicle. “Get in the car,” he said.
“No.” She stopped, secretly thankful for the excuse, and propped her hands on her knees, her chest heaving. “I’ll…take a little…rest and—”
He walked over and opened the passenger door. “And what? Start off again? Quit being so damn stubborn and get in. You’re obviously long past done.”
She shook her head, straightened, and tried to start again, but he easily intercepted her. “Dammit, Rebecca,” he said, taking her by the shoulders and glowering into her face. “You know what’s wrong with you?”
Did he want the long list or the short one? If he wanted the long list, he should probably ask her father.
“You don’t know what’s good for you,” he continued before she could summon the energy to tell him not to bother. “If I were Booker, you’d jump right in. As if Booker’s some kind of wonderful guy. But because it’s me, you’d rather faint on the side of the road.”
“There’s nothing…wrong with…Booker.”
“Then why don’t you explain what’s wrong with me?”
She blinked up at him, surprised by his frankness. How could her opinion possibly make enough difference for him to even ask? He had the unequivocal admiration of almost everyone in town. “There’s nothing…wrong with you. Ask anyone.”
“Right,” he said. “Get in.”
“No! I’m—”
“Get in or I’m going to put you in.”
“You wouldn’t dare.”
“Watch me.” Sweeping her into his arms, he strode to the truck and deposited her in the passenger seat with such quick, powerful movements she knew better than to struggle. He’d made up his mind he was getting her that far, and she had no strength with which to fight him. She could have gotten out again, though. He couldn’t force her to stay inside once he walked away. Except that her legs felt like rubber, and she was afraid she’d fall on her face.
She caught a whiff of his cologne as he climbed into the driver’s seat, and feared she smelled like a locker room. But if he noticed, he gave no indication. Revving the engine, he popped it into drive and peeled out onto the highway.
He drove the next two miles in silence, looking tense and angry and keeping his eyes on the road.
By the time Rebecca’s heart rate had slowed enough to speak normally, he was making the turn into their old neighborhood. “You want to explain your little burst of temper back there?” she asked.
He scowled and jammed a hand through his hair. “I don’t think I could if I tried.”
He dropped her off at her parents’ house without saying another word.
She watched him continue down the street and park in front of the redbrick house where he’d grown up. When he got out, he stared at her for a few seconds, then shook his head and went inside.
And people told her she was temperamental, Rebecca thought.
* * *
“YOU LOOK LIKE HELL,” Greta said as soon as Rebecca entered the house.
Rebecca heard Randy chuckle from where he was sitting in the living room, reading the paper. “Shut up, Randy, or I’ll invite another hundred people to my wedding. Then you’ll be helping Greta bake cookies for the next three weeks,” she said as she went to the fridge for a much-needed drink.
“If Buddy gets to know you very well, there won’t be a wedding,” he retorted.
Greta tried to hide her smile, but Rebecca caught it anyway and was glad someone seemed entertained by her and Randy’s constant barbs. They generally didn’t take each other too seriously, but sometimes they got carried away. Which was what her mother was constantly trying to avoid by saying, “Come on, you two.”
“Could we have some peace in this household for a change?” Fiona said today, as she put some garlic bread in the oven next to what looked like a pan of lasagna.
Rebecca guzzled a big glass of cranberry juice, feeling as though she might die in relief. “Talk to Randy,” she said. “Or better yet, ask him to go visit his old pal, Josh. He’s down at his parents’ house. I’m sure he’d love to have Randy over to spend the entire afternoon.”
“Nice try,” Randy said.
Rebecca poured herself some more juice. “Next time I see Josh, I’ll have to tell him you weren’t interested in his invitation.”
Doyle ducked through the French doors that opened to the patio. “Thought I’d better turn those sprinklers off,” he said to no one in particular. “We don’t want it muddy back there, or we’ll have a mess when we try to move that wedding arch inside. These doors are probably the only way in for something that big.”
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br /> “Where’re Delia and everyone else?” Rebecca asked, taking a chair at the kitchen table as far away from Randy as she could manage in the open kitchen/dining area/family room.
“Delia and Brad took the kids to Boise for the weekend to see his parents,” her mother answered. “And little Joey has the flu, so Hillary and Carey won’t be coming.”
“What about the girls? They’re not dropping Tasha and Sydney off?”
“I told them not to,” Greta piped up. “They could be carrying whatever Joey’s got, and I don’t want my three to be up all night, tossing their cookies.”
“Would that be so bad?” Rebecca asked. “You could always make cold compresses that look like bunnies or freeze Pepto-Bismol and cut it into shapes.”
“Cute,” Greta said.
“So it’s just us?” Rebecca had been counting on the noise and constant confusion created by her nieces and nephews to offer some distraction while she slogged through whatever discussion Greta wanted to have about the wedding. But even Greta’s boys were completely entertained by the Sony PlayStation Grandpa and Grandma had bought a few weeks ago.
“It’s just us,” Randy said. “Which was perfect until you arrived.”
“Randy—” Fiona warned.
“Oh, boy. How are we going to get the wedding arch into the house?” Greta interrupted. Fiona’s constant admonishments were mere background noise after so many years. “We need more hands than yours and Randy’s, Dad.”
“Especially when Randy’s about as good as a little girl,” Rebecca added.
“Rebecca, that’s enough.” It was her father this time, so Rebecca closed her mouth and her eyes and attempted to enjoy her respite from not having to move.
“Nice jogging outfit,” Randy said. “What were you doing jogging over here, anyway? Trying to give yourself a heart attack?”
Rebecca cracked open one eye. “Being a couch potato yourself, I know this is probably a foreign concept to you, but it’s called health and fitness.”
His newspaper rattled as he turned the page. “That’s pretty funny, considering you smoke like a chimney.”
“I don’t smoke anymore.”
“You don’t?” her mother said, setting the timer for the bread. “Good for you, Beck.”