Checked Out

by Hazel James

  “Did you know he partnered with the library at Olivia’s school?”

  “He’s fluent in sign language and he can carve anything you can think of. You should see the adorable little cat on my desk at work.”

  To be honest, it was a bit of an out-of-body experience. I still remembered my ex telling me how embarrassing it would be to introduce me as her boyfriend, the librarian, and three years later, Tuesday was bursting with pride as she shared my accomplishments with her extended family. I smiled and nodded, even chiming in a time or two, but I couldn’t keep my eyes off the woman at my side.

  “Why were you staring at me?” she asked with a nervous laugh once her cousins left to mingle with other guests.

  I pulled her closer and lowered my mouth to her ear. “Just enjoying being the luckiest man in this room.” I stopped myself there to keep everything else I was feeling from tumbling out. I’d find a quiet place later tonight for all of that. Maybe under one of the sprigs of mistletoe Jeffrey had mentioned.

  Cheeks flushed, Tuesday inched up on her toes and kissed me. “Well, thank you. I’m feeling pretty dang lucky myself.”

  “Maybe we can take a walk in a little bit? I’d love to see the barn Jeffrey told us about.”

  “I’d like that. But speaking of ‘us,’ where’s your grandpa?”

  “Working on a plan to get Mrs. Fairchild to talk to him. All I know is that it involves Aunt Alma.” I pointed across the room to where they were standing. Jeffrey had joined them and she was making hand motions that had both men nodding.

  “I’m afraid he’ll need all the help he can get. She was not happy after you two left last weekend. I’ve never seen a more angry woman put stamps on Taylor’s Christmas cards.”

  “Thankfully, he still has one major weapon in his arsenal.”

  “And that is…?”

  “He’s still a handsome guy.”

  “Agreed, but do you think Mrs. Fairchild is that shallow?”

  “Of course not, but it’s the basic concept of ‘pretty people get a pass.’ If you’re good looking, or if you’re regular looking but you have a shit ton of money, you can generally get away with doing or saying things that regular people can’t.” That was partly how people like Dicky Dick operated outside the scope of normal human decency and didn’t set off any alarms.

  “You really think that’s true?”

  “Think about it. How many models, celebrities, and athletes get a slap on the hand—if that—for making a crass comment or a faux pas? But you take Bob from accounting and put him in the same situation and all of a sudden, he’s the biggest dick on the planet and everyone’s grabbing their pitchforks.”

  Tuesday scrunched her nose. “I never really thought about it, but you’re right.”

  “It’s a pretty shitty double standard, but when it comes to Grandpa, I hope it helps. If she’s still attracted to him, maybe that’ll give him enough wiggle room to apologize for being an idiot in his younger days and show her that he’s a man of his word now.”

  “’Tis the season for miracles.” She clinked her champagne glass against mine. “Now let’s go see what Aunt Alma has up her sleeve.”

  Tuesday

  “Aunt Tuesday!” Olivia and her sparkly candy-cane striped dress intercepted us halfway across the room. “Do I have a conscience?”

  “Yes, everyone has one.”

  “Does it talk out loud to you?”

  “No, it’s usually a little voice in your head that tells you right from wrong. Why, what did your conscience tell you, Olivia?”

  “Well,” she scrunched her face in thought, “something about a sandwich. I’m not really sure.”

  I caught Jack’s eye and we both did our best to swallow our laughter. Selena always said Olivia reminded her of that box of chocolates quote from Forrest Gump because you never knew what you’d get, and this was a prime example. I hoped my kids turned out as awesome as her. “Maybe you should ask your mom if you can have some snacks from the table over there. If she says yes, I’ll help you.”

  “She’s not here yet. Grandma and Grandpa brought me because Daddy and Mommy were still getting ready for the party. I heard them talking about taking a shower together. Mommy’s face turned bright red when she saw me and then she said it was because she had a dirty back and Daddy was going to help her wash it for the pretty dress she’s wearing tonight. Is that why you have a boyfriend, Aunt Tuesday? So he can wash your back too?”

  “Not quite,” I said, schooling my expression while Jack choked on the champagne he’d just sipped. “Do you remember me telling you why my favorite color is pink?”

  “Because it makes you feel like a flower in the sunshine?”

  “Exactly. Jack kinda makes me feel like that too, and that’s why I wanted him to be my boyfriend.”

  “What about you?” Olivia asked, turning to Jack. “How come you wanted Aunt Tuesday to be your girlfriend?

  “Well…” He cleared his throat again and studied me over his glass for a few moments before squatting down to Olivia’s level. “My life used to be really, really boring. And your aunt came in like a pink lightning bolt and brightened everything up. Now my life is way better because it’s fun instead of boring.”

  “Does that mean you’re going to get maaaried?”

  Without missing a beat, he looked up at me, winked, and leaned over to Olivia, whispering something in her ear. She bobbed her head vigorously, shouted, “I need to go tell Santa!” and ran out of the living room without even saying goodbye.

  “What did you say to her?” I asked when he stood up.

  His amused smile transformed into a sheepish grin. “That I still had to talk to her aunt about marriage, but I hoped to one day, and then I asked if she’d like to be the flower girl. Apparently, Santa is the authority on making all of that come true.”

  “I see.”

  He threaded his fingers through mine. “Are you mad?”

  “That my boyfriend just told my niece he wants to marry me one day? Definitely not mad.”

  His entire body heaved a sigh of relief. “Thank God. I know we haven’t talked much about it, but she put me on the spot. I didn’t know what to say so I went with the truth.”

  “Well, you made her night. Mine too.”

  Before I could say anything else, Jack’s grandpa rushed up to us. “Excuse me, can I borrow Jack for a moment?” He looked a little panicked, easing any lingering worries about his intentions with Mrs. Fairchild. I’d grown close to her in the last couple of months. I didn’t want anyone—even if they were related to Jack—to hurt her.

  I waved them off with a smile and scanned the room for Aunt Alma. She was leaning against the bar laughing at something Uncle Alan had said as he mixed a drink. I set my champagne glass on the tray of a passing waiter and joined them. “What are you cooking up?” I asked, nodding in the direction of the Price men.

  Aunt Alma’s eyes flashed with mischief. “A love story half a century in the making. Elaine should be here any minute. When she gets inside, I’ll officially welcome everyone to the party, and then I’ll pass the microphone to Harold so he can apologize to her. I can’t get her to forgive him, but I can make it where she won’t be able to escape without causing a scene.”

  “That’s brilliant. And a little evil.”

  “Two of her best qualities.” Uncle Alan smiled warmly as he poured eggnog into a martini glass and sprinkled nutmeg on top. I loved how well they complemented each other. She naturally gravitated toward the spotlight and he was content supporting her in quiet, often unseen ways like manning the bar during their annual party. They exchanged a knowing look when he slid her the glass.

  “Everything’s ready to go, ma’am,” Jeffrey interrupted, approaching the bar. He passed the microphone to Aunt Alma, whose smile widened into a grin.

  Raising her glass with her other hand, she turned to me with a wink. “It’s showtime.”

  Feedback whined through the speaker by the fireplace when Aunt Alma fl
ipped on the mic. “Well that’s one way to get your attention,” she said with a laugh. “Thank you all for coming tonight and supporting the kids of Newcastle Children’s Hospital. One of the things I love most about the holiday season is the chance to reflect on the past and look ahead to the future. There’s someone here who’s been doing just that, and I’d like to invite him up here now to say a few words. Harold?”

  “What’s he doing here?” Mrs. Fairchild shot daggers at the man walking up from the back of the room and then turned her glare to Jack. “Was this your idea?”

  “It was more of a group effort.” She let out a long sigh through her nose, prompting him to put his arm around her shoulder and give her a reassuring squeeze. “Just hear him out.”

  “I should take him out instead,” she muttered back. “I bet that fireplace poker would do the trick. Pretty sure I could get both kneecaps in one whack.” I chuckled softly as I pictured her in a real-life game of Clue: Mrs. Fairchild in the living room with the fireplace poker.

  “Hello, my name is Harold Price, and I’m Ms. Weiler’s great-niece’s boyfriend’s grandpa. Say that ten times fast.” He laughed nervously and cleared his throat as he unfolded a piece of paper. “I’m a terrible poet, as you’ll soon learn, but I wrote something for a special lady who’s either cursing me a blue streak in her head or searching for a way out of this room. Maybe both.” His eyes briefly met Mrs. Fairchild’s before dropping to the paper. He cleared his throat again.

  ‘Twas the week before prom, when all through the town

  The girls were all giddy as they readied their gowns.

  The guys had it easy with just a simple black suit,

  So we spent the week relaxin’ in our boots.

  Except one guy was tense, his future uncertain.

  Would his military service be too much of a burden?

  See, he loved his girlfriend but feared after a while

  That she’d grow to resent him and their new lifestyle.

  Like an idiot, he let worry and fear cloud his vision,

  And without talking to her, made an awful decision.

  He broke up with her in the most immature way,

  A decision that jerk regrets to this very day.

  But tonight he received one final chance

  To say how badly he feels for taking the wrong girl to the dance.

  Elaine, please accept my heartfelt apology.

  I’ll explain it all better… if you’ll just listen to me.

  “That’s the end of my poem. I’m sorry, Elaine. Can we go somewhere and talk?” He stuffed the paper in his suit pants and gave the microphone back to Aunt Alma but didn’t move from his spot. Jack and I took a few steps back, as did the other attendees standing closest to Mrs. Fairchild, which opened up a path between her and Jack’s grandpa.

  Silence blanketed the room as we collectively waited for her response. Though her lips were still pressed together, her expression had morphed from “I want to murder you a little bit” to “Let’s get this over with.”

  “Fine,” she eventually huffed, rolling her eyes and storming off without a backward glance.

  The crowd cheered as Grandpa trailed behind her, but no one was smiling bigger than Aunt Alma. “Don’t you just love second chances? Now let’s get back to eating, drinking, and being merry!”

  As the group disbursed, Jack turned to me and ran his fingertip across my collarbone. “What do you think about exploring the mistletoe in the barn instead?”

  “I think that’s an excellent idea.”

  “We were tricked,” Jack said, pointing to the sprig of mistletoe hanging above the stall on the right.

  I was glad I wore flats tonight. High heels didn’t mesh well with barn floors, and going barefoot in here wasn’t an option. “Maybe it was Aunt Alma’s way of getting people to love on the animals.”

  Jack glanced at the tail facing us and shook his head. “I don’t care what anyone says, I’m not kissing a horse’s ass.”

  “Actually, that’s a donkey.”

  “I stand corrected. I’m not kissing an ass’s ass.”

  A laugh bubbled out of my chest. “If Aunt Alma was here right now, she’d kiss it in a heartbeat.”

  Jack looked confused and slightly appalled. “Why?”

  I pointed to the name plaque on the stall door. “Because the donkey’s name is Mike Rowe, so she’d literally be able to say she kissed Mike Rowe’s butt. Of course, knowing her, that was probably one of the first things she did after she named him.”

  “Why would she name him after Mike Rowe?”

  “She’s a little obsessed. Has been for years. She got this guy,”—I jerked a thumb at the stall—“while I was in college. Given the real Mike’s relationship with dirty jobs and strong work ethics, Aunt Alma figured it was a perfect fit.”

  Jack studied Mike, who hadn’t moved from his spot. “I guess in a weird way that makes sense.”

  I smiled again. “One sec. I know how to get his attention.” I went into the tack and feed room beside Mike’s stall and returned with a bucket of carrots and a small plastic bowl. “These are his favorite.” I set the bucket on the ground, tossed a carrot into the bowl, and shook it in his direction. “Come here, Mikey, time for a treat.” His ears twitched and then he spun around and eagerly chowed down.

  “Mike, you’re much more handsome from this angle,” Jack said, scratching him between the ears. “I’m still not kissing you, though.”

  “What about kissing a horse with a mustache?”

  He gave me an oh please look. “Horses don’t have mustaches.”

  “Wanna bet?”

  I grabbed the carrots and motioned for him to follow me to the stall across from Mike. He barked out a laugh as soon as Chandler poked his head out. “Holy shit, you weren’t kidding!”

  “He’s a Gypsy Vanner. They’re known for having fabulous facial hair.”

  “It’s like a living punchline to the joke, ‘What do you get when you cross a hipster and a horse?’” He opened his phone camera, so I stepped just behind him and wiggled my finger in the air. On cue, Chandler lifted his upper lip and smiled for Jack, who nearly missed the photo op because he was cracking up again. As someone who purposely sought out new experiences, I loved that I was sharing one with him right now.

  He fed a carrot to Chandler without using the bowl. That’s how I normally fed the animals, but I didn’t want my hands to get slobbered on when I was in a formal dress.

  “Well, since you’ve now been contaminated, you’re officially on feeding duty,” I said, laughing. “You can start with Joey the Clydesdale over there.”

  “Wait…” His head pivoted to the stall we’d just left. “Chandler and Joey? From Friends?”

  “One of Aunt Alma’s favorite shows.”

  He laughed for the hundredth time. “God, my life was so boring before you.” When he moved like he was going to touch me, I panicked and jumped back.

  “Uh-uh. Get your equine saliva hands away from me, mister.”

  “Equine saliva hands?” He stared at his palms. “You mean these ones?” He lunged again, so naturally, I shrieked and ran like an idiot. There weren’t many places to hide in the barn. I darted behind the only available obstacle: a small Christmas tree.

  “I’m impressed,” he said, taunting me from the other side. “I’ve never seen a barn with a Christmas tree before.” With his arms as long as they were, he could’ve easily reached me but I think he enjoyed this little game as much as I did.

  “One of the local Scouting troops volunteers out here and set it up. That would make a cute news feature, now that I think about it.”

  He smirked at me through the branches. A horseshoe-shaped ornament perfectly framed one eye. “If only we knew a reporter who had an ‘in’ with the owners of the barn…”

  “Ha, ha. I’m far from being a reporter.”

  He took a step to the right. “I beg to differ. You’re closer than ever to being a reporter.”

&nbs
p; I considered his statement as I took a step of my own, keeping the tree between us. “I suppose that’s true.”

  “Know what else is true? How ungodly amazing you look tonight.” His eyes found mine through the branches again. This time they were filled with heat.

  I swallowed. “You already said that.” Another step for the both of us.

  “It’s worth repeating.”

  “You’re not so bad yourself. Minus the equine saliva, of course.”

  “How about you show me where I can wash my ‘contaminated hands,’”—he wiggled his fingers for effect—“so I can finally kiss you good and proper. My self-control is wearing thin.”

  My hormones started clapping like that GIF of Steve Harvey. “There’s a sink in the tack and feed room. But you have to give Joey his carrots first. Fair’s fair.”

  “Tuesday Collins… smoking hot girlfriend, aspiring reporter, and animal activist. Guess that makes you the total package.”

  Upon hearing the word “package,” my gaze immediately dropped to Jack’s pants. An ornament blocked my view, but it didn’t matter. I already knew what was behind that zipper. Tingles coursed through my body and settled under the scrap of satin between my legs.

  “Have you ever had sex in a barn?” His voice was like gravel.

  I bit my lip and shook my head. Later tonight if he asked me that same question, I wanted to be able to say yes. I stepped out from behind the Christmas tree. “Carrots. Now.”

  He spun around and speed-walked to the bucket in front of Joey’s stall. “Eat up, Tribbiani.” Joey didn’t get any pats or scratches, just a carrot haphazardly shoved into his mouth. Never before had rudeness to a horse been so sexy. So much for animal activism.

  Jack picked up the supplies and pointed to the tack room. His silent gesture was full of commands like Get in there now and lift up your dress.

  I was nothing if not obedient.

  We made it halfway across the barn when the door slid open. “There you are!” Grandpa’s voice was a bucket full of ice water. If you got close enough, I’d bet you could see Jack’s erection falling by the second. “Guess what? I’m taking Elaine to Twin Falls!”