by Janet Dailey
“Mom, I’m thirty-one, not fifteen. Being the object of gossip, even a few sneers, isn’t going to kill me.”
“But what if you see Roy? What if he thinks it’s true that you’re still pining away for him?”
Clearly, she didn’t want him to have that satisfaction.
Jane tried to keep her phone to her ear as she shifted her beer to her other hand. “I’m pretty sure he won’t believe it. It’s not as if I welcomed him with open arms the other day. And I’ve been too busy, tired, or indecisive to return his calls. So don’t worry—and don’t drink all that chardonnay by yourself. I might need a few slugs of it when I get home tonight.”
Silence crackled over the line. Jane knew her mom was dying to tell her how to run her life, and she loved her for fighting the impulse.
“You’re coming over for lunch tomorrow, aren’t you?” Brenda asked her. “I’m making a roast.”
“Wouldn’t miss it,” she replied before signing off. She was probably the last thirty-something in America who still had pot roast lunches with her parents every Sunday.
Her stomach fluttered a little as she approached the downtown square where the Jam was held. Bunting had been hung between light poles, and the open area had been converted into something resembling a Bedouin blackberry bazaar. Different vendors sold blackberries, blackberry goods, festival souvenirs, and crafts. There were also carts and card tables set up on the sidewalk by people offering ice cream and other treats. The first person Jane ran into was Marcy, who she had just parted company with at work an hour ago.
“Howdy, stranger,” Marcy said. “After I saw Kaylie’s story, I expected your mother would have you hidden away.”
“Oh . . . so I guess people have read it?”
“Read it? Devoured it, from what I’ve heard around here. I had no idea you were still in love with him after all these years. You hide it pretty well.”
Jane clucked in frustration. “I only intended to say that there was no big breakup, no moment when we decided to call it off or . . . you know, stop being in love. But that doesn’t mean we still are.”
“Uh-huh.” Marcy looked confused by the distinction. “Well, maybe if I tell Keith your sob story, he’ll decide it’s time to seize the day and get off his ass and propose. You think?”
“I’m not the best person to be asking for advice on happily-ever-aftering.” Jane looked around. “Where is Keith?”
“He said he’d be showing up later. You know how the afternoons are. It’s all the lame music, blackberry-jam prizes, crowning Little Miss Blackberry, and kids getting sick on too much cobbler.”
Jane had hoped to see Erin, but she probably couldn’t get away from the salon yet. On a stage, about ten women with a sign proclaiming themselves to be the Mesquite Creek Flute Choir were doing a peppy rendition of “Wimoweh.”
“I saw Roy around here not too long ago,” Marcy said, perusing the crowd. “Look—there’s his aunt.”
Oh heavens. Jane turned and caught Ona’s glare seconds before the woman began chugging toward her.
Maybe she should have opted for Mamma Mia! and chardonnay, after all.
Ona resembled Roy’s mother, only she was twice as vigilant about guarding her size four figure. She wore pink pedal pushers and a white shirt that showed off her midriff, and her makeup was carefully done, if a little on the heavy side.
“Where’s Roy?” Ona’s tone suggested Jane had the man bound, gagged, and hidden away somewhere.
“I don’t know. I just got here.”
“But y’all have plans to meet.” She stated it as a foregone conclusion.
“No,” Jane said. “We don’t.”
Ona grunted. “I didn’t just fall off the turnip truck. I read the paper. If you think you’re going to convince him to keep Wanda’s house—”
“I don’t know anything about that,” Jane said, cutting her off. She was angry enough at the woman now, that she felt her chest rising and falling in heavy breaths.
Ona studied her for a moment before backing down. “Well, if you do just so happen to bump into my nephew, tell him to call me.”
She huffed away.
“Aren’t you sorry you didn’t marry Roy?” Marcy asked as they watched the older woman’s departing figure. “You’d have the awesomest in-laws.”
As Jane scanned the crowd, she caught several huddles of people staring back at them.
Marcy tugged on her sleeve. “Oh boy—look who’s up next.” The flute choir cleared off, making room for Doug Sims and his guitar. People gathered round. Doug wasn’t the greatest singer, but his standard opener was “American Pie,” which was a crowd-pleaser. Everyone always sang along, so by the end his voice was mostly drowned out anyway.
He thumped the mike to test it, and the reverb screeched through everyone’s spines. He had the crowd’s attention now. “I’d like to dedicate this song to a gal I went to school with,” he said. “In fact, I’d never have gotten through biology without her helping with homework during study hall.” Doug’s gaze zeroed right in on Jane, causing the crowd to pivot toward her. “Jane, this one’s for you. Keep your chin up, babe.”
A few whoops and catcalls echoed in response. Jane hoped she was smiling—whatever expression was on her face, she was sure it was going to be frozen there for the entire length of the song.
Luckily, nothing kept people from wanting to sing along with the Don McLean classic, and she was able to back away from the crowd and slip around the side of the courthouse, where there was a concrete bench next to the recessed rear door. Most of the time it was where county employees came out to smoke during business hours. During the Jam, it was a secluded spot where kids usually hung out. She rounded the corner and found it almost empty.
Except for Roy.
Roy smiled when he saw Jane’s hunted, surprised look. “Escaped from the wolves and ran smack into the bear,” he guessed. Her brows lifted and he explained. “I read the article.”
She hitched one hand on her hip. “Who are you hiding from?”
“Aunt Ona.”
He’d also been wallowing in a little self-pity. He’d hoped the Jam would be his best chance of seeing Jane. When he hadn’t found her in the crowd, he’d wondered if he should go back to the house and do some work. A crisis was brewing and he wasn’t sure Evan, his second in command, was handling it well. But he hadn’t relished spending the afternoon thinking about contracts.
Now his mood lifted considerably.
“Coming here I expected I might roust some teenagers making out or sneaking a beer,” she said.
“Why should teenagers have all the fun?” He angled a look into the sack she was carrying. “Speaking of beer . . . are you sharing?”
She appeared to debate the question for a moment, then sat next to him on the bench. “Better to hang out with you than people who think I’m obsessed with you.” She handed him a can and popped one open for herself. “At least you know better.”
“Or I thought I did, till I read the morning paper,” he said.
Her expression flashed a warning. “Watch it—or I’ll give your location away to your aunt.”
He laughed. “Do you have anyone specific you’re trying to avoid today, or was I it?” he asked. “You did a great job dodging my calls yesterday.”
She expelled a long breath. “Today is a whole new ball game.”
“The article,” he guessed.
Jane might not want to talk about it, but it was out in the open now. Pointless to avoid it.
“Kaylie made it sound as if I’m a love-obsessed spinster,” she said. “Old Miss Tatum came off way better.”
“Could you believe that picture?”
Jane leveled an amused glance at him. “You and every guy in town.” She took another sip of beer. “It sounded as if I’m a kook, saying that we hadn’t ever fallen out of love. But you know what I meant, right?”
“Exactly.”
She looked relieved until she caught him staring at her. H
e couldn’t help it. The article was one hundred percent right, as far as he was concerned. He hadn’t fallen out of love with her, forgotten about her, or stopped wanting her. Yes, he’d felt stung. He’d dated other women and worked his heart out. But sometimes the only way he’d made it through the years away from Jane was by imagining that fighting the good fight against rabies, mange, and boredom in Mesquite Creek had aged her like Miss Tatum. But no, here she was, almost as if she’d been preserved in amber. And with all the personality quirks, expressions, and the voice that made the ache in his heart tear right open again.
Maybe if they’d had a big blowup, it would have been easier to move on. Instead, he’d dragged the memory of her with him wherever he went. And the possibility that someday . . .
“Every time I’ve seen you since I moved away, you’ve always put up a great show of indifference,” he said. “I assumed you didn’t care for me at all. I’d decided there was no hope.”
She angled a distrustful look at him. “Are you between girlfriends or something?”
“As a matter of fact, yes.” He smiled.
“How long does that usually last? I don’t remember you ever being dateless back in school. In fact, I do remember a time when you had one date too many.”
Her harsh glare made him wince. Once, when they were sophomores in college, he had taken a girl from his drawing class to a movie and had bumped into Jane in the ticket line. The incident had exploded into a breakup for the rest of the semester, although they’d gotten back together in the summer, after they ran into each other at their favorite swimming hole on the creek.
“Do you remember making up over the break?” he asked.
She took another sip, avoiding his eyes. Avoiding the question. “About the article . . . it really was just a case of diarrhea of the mouth.”
“Of course. Everyone knows you’re a chronic babbler.”
“I only meant to say that we had never formally broken up,” she continued. “We just went our separate ways. Which was a good thing, considering how things worked out. We’ve both found success in our work. And isn’t that the best thing that can happen to people—to love what they do?”
“There are other good things that can happen, too.”
She scrutinized him for a moment. “I can’t believe you haven’t gotten married. Your mother always made it sound as if you were the Rudolph Valentino of Seattle.”
“Consider the source,” he said. “Also, how many times did Rudolph marry?”
“Are you saying you never found the right woman?”
Might as well tell the truth. “Actually, I did find the right person. Once. I just didn’t think she returned my feelings.”
Jane kept her gaze focused on the ground, her expression thoughtful. “That’s too bad.”
Did she truly not understand who he was talking about? “I guess I always assumed that when my mind was made up, the moment would arrive and the words would just come,” he confessed. “Spontaneously.”
She laughed. “Well, who knows? It could still happen—you’re only thirty-one.”
“Is that all? This project I’m working on with a company in Los Angeles is making me feel more like eighty-one.”
“Stressful art work?”
“Sometimes it doesn’t feel like I’m an artist at all,” he admitted. “It’s not what I expected when I was in college and imagined working on my own in a basement somewhere. This business snag today is over licensing a video game. A video game—creative, maybe, but not the masterwork I was expecting to pour out my lifeblood for. And it is a business. A big part of my life is dealing with the nuts and bolts—tax questions, and benefits. Even though I have great support staff, most days leave me feeling as if I should have taken business courses, and accounting. And plumbing—McG Studios is in an old warehouse building.”
“It still sounds pretty fun,” she said.
“It is. Even on a bad day, I can’t imagine doing anything else.”
“Then you’re a success.”
They sat sipping and listening to the sounds of the guitar strumming in the distance. “So to get back to topic A,” he said. “If we never broke up, doesn’t that mean we’ve technically been together all these years?”
“You’d better hope not. It sounds as if you’ve been cheating on me quite a bit.”
He stretched out his legs. “As if you haven’t been stepping out yourself.” When she opened her mouth to deny it, he decided to jog her memory. “Stu Lunsford?”
She eyed him sharply. “How did you find out about Stu?”
“I have my stooges.”
The memory of his mother, who’d always kept him apprised of the goings-on about town, sent a jolt of sadness through him. He wouldn’t have that anymore. Once he sold her house and left town this time, he wouldn’t have much of a connection left to Mesquite Creek. Or Jane.
“Stu’s very nice,” she said, a little defensively. “He’s a pharmacist now. Our moms set us up.”
“And you were how old?”
She ducked her head. “Twenty-eight. He’s very interesting, but when he wanted to go to a gun show for our second date, I broke it off. Something about the combination of pharmaceuticals and firearms made me uncomfortable.”
“No regrets about the one that got away, then?”
“No, not with Stu.”
As soon as the words were out, her eyes widened. Roy’s heartbeat kicked up a notch, but before he could react in any other way, someone came around the corner. Roy suppressed a groan. It was Carl. The man smiled—an expression that dimmed slightly when he noticed Roy.
“I was beginning to wonder if I would ever run into you,” he said to Jane.
What did that mean? Roy looked over at Carl and tried not to let his consternation show. He’d never considered the vet as a rival, even after he had interrupted them at Jane’s apartment. Carl was a good fifteen years older, for one thing. But he supposed that age difference didn’t mean much now.
“I’m actually glad to see you here, Roy,” Carl said, catching him off guard.
“You are?”
“Do you know anything about design?”
Jane laughed. “That’s sort of his life, Carl.”
Carl’s red brows drew together. “Yeah, the dancing food and stuff. But I’ve been wondering about lettering. See, I’m trying to figure out a new sign for the clinic . . .”
With dismay, Roy watched Jane toss her half-finished can away and slap her hands together. “I’m going back to the Jam.”
Carl looked over at her, clearly dismayed. Roy felt the same way. “Really? We could—”
“No,” she insisted. “You two talk shop awhile. I want to track down Erin. I’ll leave the refreshments with you.”
Roy’s instinct was to run after Jane. Then again, this was the second time he’d bumped into Carl and Jane together. That had to mean something. Maybe it would be useful to know what the man’s intentions were. And to keep him out of Jane’s path.
When she was gone, he turned back to the other man. “Have a beer?”
Jane hurried away, discombobulated by her encounter with Roy. The conversation had seemed half flirtation, half elegy to their dead romance. And asking him about his love life—how nosy and masochistic was that?
Masochistic, because she found herself fighting jealousy against these women that he’d mentioned he’d been seeing. Which was crazy.
Leave it to Roy to unsettle her this way. As a teenager, she’d prided herself for having her feet firmly planted on the ground. Then Roy had come along. The fun times—driving to Mexico and back on the spur of the moment, bungee jumping, skinny-dipping, staying up all night just to watch the sunrise—had all been at Roy’s instigation.
Maybe that had always been part of Roy’s allure. All through school she’d kept her head down, doing what she was told, studying hard, knowing she was destined to be one of the soldier ants of the world. And then Roy had suddenly made her feel as if she had a spark of somet
hing special inside her, as if she might actually have possessed a hint of Juliet. Someone who had “taught the torches to burn bright.”
But of course he’d probably made a lot of women feel that way. He was a man who made pretzels dance.
She bumped into Marcy again near the blackberry-lemonade stand.
“Where did you disappear to?” Marcy asked. “You’ve missed the Chamber of Commerce Barbershop Quartet and the awarding of the blue ribbon for blackberry preserves.”
“Mona Breyer,” Jane guessed. Mona always won.
“Well, yeah,” Marcy said. “But you still missed it.”
Shane approached them. “Hi, y’all,” he said, although he was looking only at Marcy. “I’d ask you to dance, but there hasn’t been anything played that has a beat to it. Creek Fire is slated to play after the Methodist Sunday School Choir, though. Maybe then . . . ?”
Marcy’s mouth set in a fierce line. “If Keith hasn’t shown up by then, I’ll be at home drowning my sorrows in a tub of Haagen-Dazs.”
“Oh,” Shane said. “Well, I guess . . . See ya Monday, then.”
Marcy nodded. “Sure.”
When he was out of earshot, Jane said, “That wasn’t very nice.”
“What?”
“The way you blew off Shane just now.”
Marcy looked confused. “He was just talking.”
“He was trying to ask you for a dance.”
“Four hours into the future? What kind of guy does that? We’re not living in a Jane Austen movie.” She lifted her chin. “Besides, everybody knows I’m as good as engaged to Keith.”
“Everybody except Keith.” Jane prepared herself for Marcy to start yelling at her.
Instead, Marcy listened to the choir for a minute before turning back to Jane. “Are you saying that the reason Keith hasn’t proposed is because he doesn’t want to get married?”
Jane shrugged. “I don’t know. What does Keith say?”
“He’s never mentioned it.”
“Have you?”
Marcy goggled at her. “Of course not.”
“Well, why not?”