You're Still The One

by Janet Dailey

  Sorry haven’t called. On my way to California. Could you assure your dad I’ll be back for aud dedication? Thanks! xoxo, R

  So. Back to normal had arrived even sooner than she expected.

  As she came through the clinic’s front door Monday morning, the sharp odor of fresh paint brought her up short.

  Jane gaped. The room was no longer its old faded eggshell white, but an eye-peelingly vivid minty green. Clutching the bag containing her lunch and the book she always read on her short lunch break, she completed a full turn.

  “What do you think?” Kaylie asked. “Really brightened the place up, huh?”

  “It’s . . . minty.” In fact, it felt as if she were inside a toothpaste tube. “Who did this?” But even as she asked the question, she knew. The weird streak in Roy’s hair Saturday night. The hours during which he and Carl had disappeared. All his hints about how Carl felt about her.

  Of course. She’d told Carl she liked green. Carl had probably mentioned her preference to Roy as a reason for his choice of color. (Not that she’d had this in mind.) With his usual enthusiasm, Roy—or R, as she liked to think of him now—had probably thought helping Carl would be a lark.

  “I think Carl did it himself—if you look closely you can see the sploops,” Kaylie pointed out. “He’s on the phone right now, but he’s been impatient for you to get here. He’s like a little kid with a huge secret.” She lowered her voice. “I guess a lot of people had interesting weekends.”

  Jane leaned on the reception desk, remembering she’d intended to give Kaylie a piece of her mind. There had to be some repercussions for a receptionist who practiced yellow journalism on the side. “That’s the last time I’m ever speaking to you while you’ve got your press hat on.”

  Kaylie laughed. “Oh, come on. I thought the article turned out great. Everybody was talking about it.”

  “Were they? I guess I was too busy hiding in my apartment to notice.” After Sunday lunch, Jane had decided to put Roy out of her mind and had turned off her phone while she did furious housework. Periodically, she would check messages and feel even more aggrieved to see that there were no missed calls. No more wildly effusive text messages, either.

  “I did some spring cleaning,” she added.

  One of Kaylie’s blond brows darted up. “Uh-huh. Was this before or after Roy was hanging out at your place?”

  “Who told you that?”

  “It’s practically public record, thanks to my brother,” Marcy grumbled from the hallway. She was mopping outside the exam rooms.

  Remembering Marcy’s troubles, Jane took a deep breath and strode over to her. “Jared told me what happened with Keith. I’m so sorry.”

  The vet tech didn’t look up. When she spoke, it was in a monologue muttered at her broom handle. “Dear Miss Lonely-hearts, I’ve been in a long-term relationship and would really like it to go to the next level. What should I do?” She answered herself, drawling sensibly, “Dear Marcy, why not pinpoint someone you know who’s barely been able to scrounge up a date for years and ask her? You might get lucky. This love expert and so-called friend of yours might advise you to corner your commitment-phobic boyfriend and ask him to marry you, and maybe you’ll even be dumb enough to take her advice. He might drop you like a greased watermelon and run as far and as fast as he possibly can.”

  Jane shuffled uncomfortably. “I can’t believe Keith reacted that way.”

  “Believe it. Said he just wasn’t ready to settle down—or maybe he just said settle. Then he told me that if marriage meant so much to me, it would be better for both of us if we went our separate ways.”

  “That’s so awful. But at least—”

  Marcy broke off her words with a bray of irritation. “Oh yeah! At least I know what kind of guy he is now. And at least there’s no uncertainty. Yup, thanks, figured that out. Glad to know.” She slopped the mop back into the janitor’s bucket and then rung it out within an inch of its life. “I’d invite you for a single-girl night of Glee-watching or something, but I hear some people’s weekends turned out better than others’.”

  If misery loved company, at least she could give Marcy some consolation. “You might have been misinformed. Roy’s already flown the coop again.”

  Marcy frowned. “What, already? Why?”

  “Business. That’s what he said in the one brief message he deigned to send.”

  “After breaking your mom’s trellis and stirring up a hornet’s nest of gossip about you?”

  God, people even knew about the trellis. “Yup.”

  “What is it with guys?” Marcy asked. “Do they all see their lives as having limitless romantic possibilities? There has to be some reason why they scoot out the door—or leave the state—as soon as things get complicated.” She angled a sympathetic look at Jane. “Is he gone for good?”

  “Well, he does have a history of disappearing for a decade. But it’s not like we had actually gotten involved.” When Marcy and Kaylie exchanged a skeptical glance, she added, “Really.”

  Kaylie sighed. “Better to have a broken trellis than a broken heart.”

  Jane shook her head. “Never any risk of that. He was just here for a few days. And he’s obviously no good at long-distance relationships. Ten years ago, we didn’t bother to attempt one, and now . . .”

  Marcy’s lips twisted into a disgusted frown. “So all that Romeo and Juliet stuff was still just playacting on his part. And Jared’s been talking him up for days as if he’s some kind of town hero. Town jerk, more like it.”

  Jane felt uncomfortable vilifying him. “Well, there is the auditorium, and the police cruiser.”

  “You don’t have to defend him,” Marcy said, looping an arm up around Jane’s shoulders. She looked up and gave her a bracing squeeze. “Single solidarity. I’m sorry I gave you crap for wrecking my relationship and maybe my entire future. If I’d known you were in the bleak corner, too, I’d have kept my yap shut.”

  “That’s okay,” Jane said as the office door opened.

  Carl came out, his face expectant. “You’re here!” He looked as if he was about to say more—probably to ask her opinion about the paint. At that moment, however, Kaylie let out a gasp, directing their attention to the clinic’s front door.

  They all turned, expecting an early arrival or an emergency. But instead of anything on four legs or an owner toting a cat box, Ann from Buckets of Blooms appeared—or at least Jane assumed it was Ann. Her face was hidden by an enormous spray of spring flowers with a Mylar balloon sprouting out the top that announced I’m Sorry in script.

  “How beautiful!” Kaylie exclaimed.

  Marcy dropped her hand from Jane’s shoulder and raced to the front. She practically tackled the florist. “Who’s that for?”

  Ann heaved the arrangement onto the counter. “Jane.”

  At her name, Jane felt an absurd flush of excitement. She approached the flowers, which seemed even larger close-up, and picked the pale yellow card off its plastic holder. Aware of all eyes on her, she quickly opened it and read. Sorry for the radio silence. Things are crazy here. Back soon!

  “They’re from Roy, right?” Kaylie asked.

  Jane nodded, trying not to smile.

  “He’s sorry because it’s over?” Marcy asked.

  “I think he’s sorry because he didn’t call,” Jane explained.

  Marcy’s face fell.

  “I was so excited when I came in this morning and saw the order online,” Ann said, standing back to take a last look at her handiwork. “Hardly anybody ever orders the Tower of Flowers. It’s only the second time I’ve done it. Lucky I had enough gladiolas!”

  “You did an incredible job,” Kaylie said.

  “Isn’t it a little much?” Marcy pursed her lips. “I mean, geez, couldn’t he have just sent an e-mail?”

  “Flowers are a tangible manifestation of sentiment,” Ann said, as if reciting from the United Florist Association handbook.

  “Yeah, and they wilt and ha
ve to be tossed out.” Marcy turned to Jane with an expression showing a lot less solidarity than before. “You might want to check with Carl to see if it’s okay to leave them there. Some people are allergic.” She skulked away to finish the mopping.

  To get Carl’s verdict, Jane twisted to where he had been standing earlier. But he’d already disappeared.

  There were days when she wished she’d never read All Creatures Great and Small. Though she’d always loved animals, it wasn’t until her father had given her a boxed copy of James Herriot’s books that her obsession had coalesced into an ambition.

  Why? she wondered now. She’d started her day with an operation on a dog with a broken leg tendon. That had been followed by the usual parade of veterinary woes, including a dachshund with a disc problem, an adorable stray with feline leukemia, and a cranky cockatoo who was even more ornery when he had a cold. Around noon she’d driven out to the county animal shelter where she volunteered two afternoons per month. She was happy to do the work, but the shelter always left her feeling low. The bottom of the food chain when it came to county funds, it survived on a shoestring thanks to volunteers. But the animals who appeared in the old, crowded cages were the flip side of the animals with devoted owners she saw every day—these were the abandoned, the abused, the lost. Most people had no idea how many the shelter processed, how many healthy adorable animals were put down because there were simply not enough homes. And there was a never-ending stream of them.

  Before leaving the shelter, she was called out to a farm where there was a sick horse. The problem was colic, and a dose of Banamine seemed to help the animal, an appaloosa beauty named Zelda. Just to make sure the horse was reacting well to the medicine, Jane stayed and walked her on a lead. The owner—actually the owner’s father, since Zelda’s rider, a scrappy young barrel racer, was in school—dogged Jane’s steps.

  “I was expecting Carl to come out. He usually did the serious work, I thought.”

  She rarely got this, but Jack Lewis was the old-fashioned type. Maggie used to joke about the expectations ingrained in old-school types when it came to veterinary medicine—the assumption that female vets were supposed to minister to kittens and hamsters. “Carl was tied up,” Jane explained.

  Jack grunted. “Maybe the next time, he’ll hire a man.”

  “Next time?” Jane’s head turned so sharply, she startled Zelda. She reached up to pat the horse’s neck and calm her. “I didn’t realize I was on the cusp of unemployment,” she joked.

  “Well, how long are you going to last out here now that the McGillam boy’s back in town?”

  She frowned. As far as she knew, Roy wasn’t back. She’d expected to hear from him Monday night, but again he hadn’t called. And she’d been too busy today to check messages. Not that it made any difference. “I’m not seeing a connection,” she said. “Besides, Roy and I aren’t even . . . involved.” One little kiss, that’s all there had been.

  Jack snorted. “Sent you the Tower of Flowers, didn’t he?” While Jane, struck dumb, led the horse, he shook his head. “No, I imagine Carl’ll be looking for somebody else pretty soon. Or maybe he’ll go it alone. That’s what I’d do, probably, if I was him.”

  Ah yes. The old “what I would do if I were a vet whose partner had run off with an old flame” scenario. A body just couldn’t help ruminating about that sometimes.

  After leaving Zelda on the road to recovery, she got back in her car and started the drive back into town. It seemed half the town already had her paired off with Roy, while her mother was certain that Carl was in love with her. The story of the green paint—which Jane had only mentioned to her mother to get her to stop fretting about Roy’s flowers—had nearly short-circuited the maternal unit.

  “Isn’t that sweet, Jane?” Brenda had gushed. “He’s like one of those little bowerbirds, making his nest appealing to you.”

  Actually, the idea made Jane uncomfortable in all kinds of ways. “Why should he have to appeal to me?” she asked. “I already work there. Of course I like the place.”

  “But I bet he wants to make it more attractive to you.”

  “Or maybe he finally noticed that the other paint had faded to a hideous khaki color and was chipped everywhere.”

  Besides, Jane had been observing Carl closely in the past day, and he had been nothing but his usual professional self toward her.

  “And don’t you think if Carl and I had any kind of chemistry, we would have found that out by now? We’ve been alone together a lot, and I can swear to you that he’s never been anything less than a gentleman.”

  “Well.” Her mother had sounded indignant. “I would hope so. Although, maybe if you’d give him a little encouragement. . .”

  As Jane went over the conversation in her head once again—the many conversations she’d had with her mother on this perplexing topic—she began to feel weary. And hot. Afternoon temperatures were already spiking into the nineties, and she’d been going all day. She should tag the clinic and then go home and take a shower, although neither the clinic nor home seemed very welcoming.

  Out of the corner of her eye she spotted the blacktop road that branched off to a smaller dirt road that led to the creek. She hadn’t been there in years, but suddenly staring at water appealed to her more than going back into town. The two-lane was empty and she hit the brake and then U-turned, looping back to the blacktop road and then bouncing down the rutted lane that dead-ended at Mesquite Creek.

  She was in luck. Only one other vehicle, a shiny SUV, was parked nearby. Probably a guy fishing somewhere on the creek. Or a serial killer dumping his latest victim. Whoever it was, hopefully they would leave her alone.

  She got out, grabbed a blanket from the trunk, and took a deep breath. The temperature seemed to have dropped ten degrees since she was at the ranch, and the spring air held a hint of honeysuckle. In the area along the bank, patches of purple thatch and Indian paintbrush provided splashes of color. This section of the creek wasn’t the most popular swimming hole—on the other side of town there was a wider spot with a more beachy area where teenagers liked to hang out. But this had always been her favorite place. A couple of flat gray boulders jutted out of the water like humps of a sea monster, providing a good place to sunbathe or just sit and meditate.

  She didn’t see him at first when she entered the clearing. She’d kicked off her shoes, rolled up her jeans, and was in the water already. But when she did spot him, her heart lurched twice in her chest—first out of surprise, and then because it was Roy. Why hadn’t he told her he was back?

  And why did she feel so absurdly happy to see him there?

  He was lying on his back on the rock she’d intended for her own use, one arm flung over his eyes. He was wearing a T-shirt and baggy jean shorts, but he still managed to steal her breath. From the definition in those muscles, he hadn’t been spending his entire life behind a desk.

  She was torn between creeping furtively back to her car or sneaking up on him when he jolted up to sitting. Startled, she shouted, and when his face broke out in a broad smile, she reached down and splashed him with water.

  “Hey!” he yelled. “You’re getting my rock wet.”

  “That’s my rock.”

  “There’s room for two.” Even from several yards away, his eyes seemed bright. “Remember?”

  Visions of their former selves came to mind, during summers when there always seemed to be time to spend a lazy afternoon hanging out at the creek. It’s where they had reunited after their one breakup during college. The miracle of the rock.

  She bit her lip. “The prodigal slacker returneth—and I didn’t even get a text. What are you doing here?”

  His head tilted. “What are you doing here? And why are you just standing there in the mud?” He scooted over to make room for her.

  She stood, torn, her toes squishing on the creek bottom as she curled them in her indecision.

  “I chased off the water moccasins for you,” he said.

&n
bsp; At that reminder, she hopped gingerly toward the rock. It was spring, so the water was higher than she remembered. She nearly lost her balance when her foot hit a dip, but she managed to keep hold of the blanket. Roy offered a hand to help her scramble onto the rock. His grip was strong.

  She spread the blanket out and sat on it, bending her knees so she didn’t get the blanket soggy. “I wish I’d brought a towel, too.”

  Roy smiled at the fussy way she settled herself. “Where did you get that blanket?”

  “I keep it in my trunk for emergencies.” It smelled vaguely of horses and WD-40.

  “Like a good Girl Scout. Always prepared.”

  “You’re thinking Boy Scouts.”

  He lifted his shoulders sheepishly. “I was a Boy Scout dropout. Didn’t make it that far.”

  She laughed. “As far as the part where they talked about the motto . . . wouldn’t that be the first meeting?”

  “My dad forgot to show up for the orientation,” he explained. “I ended up having to be driven home by the troop leader, Mr. Bernie. Dad was at the bottom of the bottle then, I guess. Anyway, he ended up slugging poor Mr. Bernie. I never joined, obviously.”

  The story didn’t surprise her. She and Roy might have grown up within a mile of each other, but their experiences had been worlds apart. When she was a girl, her every activity had been guided, monitored, and usually applauded. Roy had raised himself, to a certain extent.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to go down that path. Coming back always hits me in unexpected ways. It’s supposed to feel like home here, but it’s not always the good stuff that surfaces. It’s unsettling.”

  “I understand.” She was feeling a little unsettled herself, just being in this place with him. The irritation she’d felt while he was gone seemed to melt away in his presence.

  He studied her. “Can you? I would have guessed that you couldn’t believe anyone could have mixed feelings about Mesquite Creek.”