His, Unexpectedly

by Susan Fox

  “Thanks.” Across the table, I took it from her hand. “Wish me luck.”

  They all did, and I hurried from the restaurant.

  If I’d had Mark’s grandparents’ address, I’d have driven there. If I’d had his cell or home phone number, I’d have called. Without those, I’d have to head home and do some research.

  When I arrived, the house was dark. With all of us females going out for the evening, Nav had decided to take sunset photos and Dad had said he’d stay on campus and work. I ran around back, retrieved the key from its hiding spot in the old horse chestnut, and let myself in.

  The phone book first. Chambers was a common last name, and I couldn’t remember Mark’s grandparents’ first names, but maybe there’d be a listing for a Dr. Chambers.

  There wasn’t.

  Okay, so I’d google Mark. I ran upstairs, bursting into the first bedroom, which happened to be M’s. The computer on her desk was on, so I opened a search engine and typed Dr. Mark Chambers.

  Oh, man, there were millions of hits. Literally. I tried again, adding marine biologist, phone, and Vancouver to the search. Okay, that was better. But when I checked the first few, they weren’t helpful.

  Impatient, I tried a different approach. Maybe it would be easier to find his grandmother. Though she was in her eighties, Mark had said she still consulted and taught as a neurosurgeon. So this time I looked for Dr. Chambers, neurosurgeon, Vancouver, and phone. Yes! There was a number. An office number.

  I’d try it. At eight o’clock Wednesday night, likely I’d get an answering machine, but Mark had said she consulted so maybe it was a home office.

  A brisk female voice answered on the second ring. “Yes?”

  “Dr. Chambers?” I asked, sounding breathless.

  “Yes. Who is this?”

  “You don’t know me. I’m sorry to bother you, but I’m a friend of Mark’s and I need to get in touch with him.”

  “He gave you this number?”

  “No, but I, uh, lost his cell number.”

  “Oh.” That one syllable carried a weight of disapproval. “Well, he’s not here. He left town.” She sounded disgruntled about that, too.

  My mouth fell open in shock. Though usually I didn’t bother keeping track of days, this week, with M&M’s wedding coming up, I knew exactly what day of the week it was. This was Wednesday, and Mark had said he was flying to Bali on Thursday. He must have changed his plans. Maybe because he was so pissed off at me.

  “Young lady,” she said sharply, “was there something else?”

  “Could you give me his cell number?”

  She rattled off a string of numbers, and I grabbed a pen and hurriedly scribbled them down. “Thank you.”

  She hung up.

  Great. The woman already disapproved of me. Likely, that would only get worse when she met me. If she ever met me.

  With shaking fingers, I dialed the number I’d written down.

  Three rings, and I got voice mail. Likely, he was on the plane. I hadn’t figured out what to say, so stumbled out with, “Mark, it’s Jenna. I’ve been really stupid. Can you call me so we can talk? I …” My mouth trembled on the words “love you.” Were they true? How would I know? “I’m sorry. Please call.” I at least thought to give my cell number, because he’d have had no reason to keep the scrap where I’d written it.

  Then I hung up. All I could do was keep my cell charged and wait. And hope. Once again, I’d put my dreams on the line. Would Mark shatter them or make them come true?

  Thursday morning, after a restless night where hope and fear alternated, I was still waiting. I’d googled flights to Bali and discovered Mark had likely flown to Hong Kong and could be fourteen hours in the air. So, maybe he hadn’t even received my message.

  When I related the story to my family at breakfast, Mom said, “Good for you, dear. Now don’t worry or be impatient. It does no good.”

  Dad hmphed. “And how many times have I told you that, Rebecca, for all the good it does?” Then he turned to me and said gruffly, “The man would be lucky to have you, Jenna.”

  In my weakened state, that comment almost brought tears to my eyes.

  The family was alone for breakfast. Matt, who often stayed over, had decided to spend his last few nights of bachelorhood at his mom’s house. And Nav had gone long before we all got up, heading downtown with his camera gear in hopes of getting some dawn light photos. He had his first major exhibit coming up soon in Montreal and was hoping for one or two special shots.

  When our parents headed off to work, my sisters filled me in on the rest of the bridal shower stagette.

  “These two very hot guys in firefighter costumes rushed in,” Kat said. “And Kimberly gave this totally artificial squeal, ‘Oh my God, is there a fire?’ The guys sauntered up to where she and M were sitting and one of them said, ‘You bet there’s gonna be, after we get it stoked.’ The other set up a boom box, Sean Kingston was singing about fire burning on the dance floor, and the two of them began to strip.”

  “Oh, fun! Did they actually go all the way?”

  “No, only down to boxer briefs,” she said, sounding disappointed. “They weren’t real strippers, just a couple of university dance students Kimberley knows.”

  “How did the moms handle it?”

  Tree said dryly, “Pretended to be shocked, but definitely watched.”

  “And how about you, M?” I asked.

  She flushed. “It was kind of silly, but yeah, it was fun.” She gave a mischievous giggle. “They had some pretty nice … moves.”

  We all chuckled. Then M sobered. “On a completely different subject, I’d like to visit Gran this morning.”

  “So would I,” I said. I’d been looking for an opportunity since I got home, but Tree had kept me too busy.

  Now my big sister said, “We have time to do that. You’ve all been doing such a great job, we’re ahead of schedule. But … don’t expect a lot. She’s really failing.”

  We got ready quickly, and soon arrived at the attractive care facility where Gran was staying. The receptionist asked us to go in one by one, as it would be less confusing for Gran.

  We decided Tree would go first, and she spent about ten minutes, then came out shaking her head. “It’s not a good day.”

  Kat went next, and when she came out, she said, “It’s so sad. She’s just staring out the window. She didn’t say a word.”

  Slowly I walked into the private room and over to the chair by the window. Every time I saw Gran, she looked smaller, more frail. As Kat had said, her gaze was focused out the window, blue eyes faded behind thick-lensed glasses. When I bent over and pressed a kiss to her cheek and said, “Hi, Gran, it’s Jenna,” something flickered in her eyes, and she pointed outside.

  I glanced out to the beautifully landscaped courtyard. Her shaking finger was aimed at an ornamental cherry tree, the blossoms long gone. “It’s a pretty tree.”

  “Red breast,” she said.

  A long-ago memory flickered into my mind. “Robin? Little Robin Redbreast?” It was a nursery rhyme she’d once sung. I glanced at the tree again, just as a robin with a worm in its mouth flew into the leafy branches.

  “Oh, Gran, there’s a nest.”

  Neatly screened by leaves, I could just see the nest with a robin perched on the edge, poking the worm down a fledgling’s throat.

  “Red breast,” she repeated with satisfaction.

  Once, she’d been able to name all the birds. She’d taught me. I sat on the stool beside her and took her hands in mine. “Gran, I’ve been in California. Counting peregrine falcons. You remember falcons, don’t you?” For the next few minutes, I talked to her about the survey, the birds, the remote nesting sites.

  Mostly, she gazed out the window as if she wasn’t listening, but once or twice she glanced at my face, and I hoped that on some level she knew who I was and knew I loved her.

  When my time was up, I said, “I have to go now, Gran. I’ll see you Saturday. Merile
e’s getting married, remember? To Matt? M&M? You’re going to come and have a wonderful time.”

  She gazed at me with seeming incomprehension.

  I kissed her cheek. “I love you, Gran.”

  She peered closer into my face and when I started to ease my hands from hers, her grip tightened. “Unhappy,” she said.

  “You’re unhappy? What’s wrong, Gran?”

  “Don’t be unhappy.” Her frail fingers bit into mine. “Trust your heart.”

  Unsure whether she was talking about me or herself, or revisiting some old memory, I said, “That’s good advice.” Advice I’d in fact been trying to follow.

  Her hands released their grip and I stood. “Merilee’s going to come in and see you.”

  When I left, I went outside the facility, sat on a bench by the door, and checked my cell, which I’d had turned off. Nothing.

  His flight would have landed. He must have picked up my message. Maybe he had a rushed flight connection and no time to call. Or it was even possible his cell’s batteries had run down.

  I wanted to trust my heart, but all I could think was, If he won’t give me a second chance, it means he doesn’t love me.

  Chapter 15

  Hours later, after wedding chores, lunch, and more wedding chores, Mark still hadn’t called, and I was seriously depressed. I’d done my best not to let it show, but I knew it did from the wordless hugs of sympathy my sisters kept giving me. Miserable as I was, I enjoyed having this time with them and feeling the new sense of warmth and mutual support.

  I did feel awful, though, about casting a pall on the final days before Merilee’s wedding. The visit to Gran hadn’t helped either; after it, M had been almost as withdrawn as I. We could bring Gran to the wedding, but was there any hope she’d actually be “there”?

  In the late afternoon, wedding chores done for the day, we sent M to her room to rest then Kat and I helped Tree get steak, potatoes, and onions marinating for what she called “Damien’s Aussie barbie.” After that, the three of us headed to our rooms for a little freshening up and quiet time.

  I sat down at my desk by the window and faced the truth. Mark had written me off. He might have thought he was falling in love, but it had just been lust and he’d come to his senses. Otherwise, if he really cared, he’d have returned my call.

  I gazed out the window at the horse chestnut and was half-way tempted to go out, climb it, and perch in my dreaming spot. Maybe there’d be robins nesting there, too.

  Gran had said, “Trust your heart.” Had she known she was talking to me, Jenna? Had that been advice for me? Did she know that, while I’d dreamed lots of dreams, I hadn’t trusted my heart since I was seventeen and it had let me down so badly?

  Then I realized something. The message I’d left for Mark had been kind of garbled. I hadn’t trusted my heart, I hadn’t poured out all my feelings.

  I should phone and leave another message.

  But that didn’t feel right. I wanted the same thing I’d wanted last night: to see Mark, to touch him, to be face to face when I told him how I felt. To read the truth on his face and know whether I had to give up hope.

  Outside my door, I heard Nav’s voice, then a bedroom door closed. Kat was with her guy. Tree was probably on the phone with Damien. I knew, from what my older sisters had said over the past few days, that their journeys to love hadn’t been smooth sailing and that each of them had had fears and insecurities to overcome. But they’d trusted their hearts, and their men’s hearts, and look what it had won them.

  I squared my shoulders. No, I wouldn’t climb my dreaming tree. I glanced at a photo tucked in the frame of my mirror: me in the driver’s seat of Mellow Yellow, the top down, a big smile on my face. In the past, I’d loved heading out on the open road and trusting the universe to determine my direction. This time, I had to grow up and chart my own course.

  I had to go to Bali. But how? After buying M’s shower and wedding gifts, I was broke.

  I gazed a moment longer at the picture and found my answer. Damn, I’d had that car since I was eighteen. It had been my companion through so many adventures.

  Resolutely I turned away and checked the clock by the bed. Mom might have already left the office, but maybe not. I dialed the number.

  It had been a point of pride to never borrow money, but love trumped pride. When she answered, I said, “Mom, can I borrow enough money to fly to Bali? It’ll be short-term, I’ll—”

  “Mark called?” she broke in, sounding young, excited.

  “No, I want to fly out and talk to him.”

  A long pause, then, “That’s a brave thing to do. But what about the wedding? Your sister—”

  “No, I don’t mean right now. I’d never miss M’s wedding. But right after. A red-eye Saturday night or first thing Sunday morning. And Mom, I’ll pay you back as soon as I can. Tomorrow morning I’ll call the mechanic in California and make arrangements to”—I swallowed hard—“sell my car.”

  “You’re selling Mellow Yellow? Oh Jenna, you really want to do that?”

  “No, but Mark’s more important.”

  “We’ll talk about the car tomorrow. Here, I’ve looked up my travel agent’s number. She works magic. I’ll e-mail her so she knows to put it on my bill.”

  “Thanks, Mom.”

  As soon as I hung up, I phoned the travel agent. Thank heavens for workaholics, because she, too, was still at her desk. We talked for a few minutes, and she said, “I’ll check out all the options and give you a call first thing in the morning.”

  “Thank you so much.”

  I hung up, wondering how on earth I’d find out where Mark was in Bali. I’d really rather not phone his grandmother again. If only he’d told me his friend Adrienne’s last name …

  But, wait a minute. Adrienne, a marine biologist at UBC? There’d be an online list of faculty members. Okay, I’d do that first thing tomorrow, and call her at work. I’d also phone Neal, the mechanic in California, to ask how I could arrange to sell my car. I’d talked to him on Monday, and he’d said Mellow Yellow was all fixed and ready to pick up.

  I lifted the photo from the mirror frame, sentimental moisture clouding my vision. Mellow Yellow and my young friend Anna, along with my family, had been the constants in my ever-shifting life. Now, I was trading my car for the chance at a future with a man I barely knew.

  I squared my shoulders and put the picture back. Decision made; move on. I’d talk to Tree. She’d make me a project plan for everything I needed to do before I left.

  I rose and headed out to the hall to see if her door was open. Nope, shut. Phone sex with Damien.

  “Oh my God!” I heard from Merilee’s room. I turned as she came flying out the door, face bright with excitement. “Jenna! That’s your car, isn’t it?”

  “What? No, my car’s in California. What are you talking about?”

  “Look!” She grabbed my hand, pulled me into her room, and pointed out the open window.

  I stared out to see Mellow Yellow, top down, with a very windblown Mark in the driver’s seat. “What?” I gaped, not trusting my eyes.

  “It’s Mark, it’s Mark.” Merilee jumped up and down. “It is, isn’t it?”

  Hope surged through me in a rush, making me giddy. “It is. It really is!” I sprinted for the door and down the hall, then flew down the stairs.

  Mark’s entire body ached from driving for so many hours. It had taken all his energy to haul his butt out of the tiny sports car when he’d pulled up at the house down the street where he’d dropped Jenna off Sunday night—where an elderly woman looked at him askance and said no, Jenna Fallon didn’t live there.

  He’d stuttered out something about delivering her car and how he must have written down the wrong address. Fortunately, she’d been trusting enough to send him to the right house.

  Jenna hadn’t trusted him that much. Which made what he’d done even more crazy. When they’d parted Monday night, she’d been furious with him. Was there any hope
she’d forgive him? Damn, he should’ve called Adrienne and asked if he was doing the right thing. Instead, for once, he’d trusted instinct and done something utterly impulsive.

  Now, he sat in front of Jenna’s house and wondered what the hell he was doing.

  And then he knew. The front door of the rambling three-story flew open, and Jenna ran out, face bright with excitement, white-gold curls bouncing, crying, “Mark!”

  The joy on her face sent relief surging through him, energizing his exhausted body. He jumped out of the car and rushed to meet her. When she leaped into his arms, he grabbed her tightly and spun her around, both of them laughing. This felt so right. Somehow, they’d work things out.

  “What are you doing?” she demanded. “I thought you’d gone to Bali? Why didn’t you return my call?”

  “What call?” He let her down slowly, keeping his arms around her shoulders. “Did you call my cell? I left in such a hurry, I forgot it.” He’d forgotten his laptop too, and barely remembered his passport and wallet.

  Gazing down into her sparkling ocean eyes, he said, “I postponed the trip. I flew down to California Tuesday night and picked up your car first thing yesterday morning.”

  Her arms circled his waist. “Mark, that’s sweet, but I don’t understand.”

  He realized two women had come up behind her: one young, with dark honey-blond hair, looking almost as excited as Jenna, the other a few years older with short auburn hair and a quizzical expression. Coming up behind them was a third woman, her longer reddish-brown curls tousled, holding hands with a dark-skinned man who was buttoning his shirt.

  The Mercedes Jenna had driven to the beach the other night pulled up and stopped, and a middle-aged woman in a business suit stepped out.

  A family audience. But he didn’t give a damn.

  He gazed into Jenna’s face. “Because your car is your freedom. Your open road.”

  Her brows pulled together. “What do you mean?”

  He was aware of the family moving closer, coming up behind Jenna, silently showing their support. If he hurt her, he’d have all of them to answer to. And that was as it should be. It proved they really did love her.