Blerk! Had he always been so smarmy? “We know each other, Callie,” he continued. “We’ve known each other so long. I was the first boy you kissed, remember? Give us another chance. Please, Callie. I think we’re worth it.”
I stared back at him, almost fascinated. I did remember, of course. Oh, yeah. I remembered being positive that Mark Rousseau wouldn’t have kissed me a second time in Gwen Hardy’s closet without it really meaning something. Remembered waiting for him to break up with Julie Revere, carting Freddie all over town as my prop. Remembered waiting for him to see me as more than a great coworker. Remembered those five sickening weeks when he inched a little further away each day. Remembered my desperation and frantic rationalizations as I tried harder and harder to remind him of why he had to love me.
I remembered falling apart in the DMV.
Helpless in love, that’s what I’d been.
I wasn’t helpless anymore.
Besides, he’s an asshole, Betty Boop said calmly from within my conscience, and I couldn’t have agreed more.
But Mark mistook my silence for happy nostalgia, and he leaned forward and kissed me. I didn’t move. Not because I was shocked, or thrilled, or disgusted… I sat there almost scientifically, wondering if that old melting magic would wash every smart thought away. No magic came. The smart thoughts…they stayed.
“Okay, that’s enough,” I said as I pulled back.
“Oh, bollocks,” came Fleur’s voice. “Didn’t mean to intrude. Ian was looking for you, Callie. Bit awkward, yeah, Ian?”
I lurched to my feet, practically knocking Mark over. “Ian! There you are!” My dog raced over to Ian, keening with joy. Ian didn’t move.
They were standing in the side yard of the library…obviously, they’d come from the street. Fleur was smirking. Ian looked…oh, God. He saw me kissing another man, and he thought I was cheating. Just like his ex-wife.
He looked like the deer, and this time—for the first time ever—I was the truck.
I unfroze and ran over to them. Ian looked away abruptly, toward the river. “Ian, I know this looks bad,” I began, twisting my ring. “But I can explain.”
“Seems like your little scheme worked brilliantly, Callie,” Fleur said easily. She fished a cigarette out of her purse and fumbled for her lighter.
“Ian,” I said again. With difficulty, he looked back at me. “This is not what it seems,” I whispered.
“What little scheme?” Ian asked, shifting his eyes to Fleur.
“Oh, sorry. Thought you were in on it.” She lit the death stick and took a deep drag, then exhaled, smiling at me through the smoke. “Date another man, make Mark jealous.”
Her words were a sucker punch. “That was never my plan, Fleur.” My voice cracked.
She tilted her head “No? Funny. Could’ve sworn we discussed it. At length.” She took another drag on her cigarette. “And now it’s worked. Well done, you.”
“Ian,” I said in a low voice. “I’ll explain this. It’s just…it’s not what she’s saying.”
His eyes sliced back to me. Otherwise, he didn’t move. Shit.
Fleur turned to Mark, who was approaching us, tucking in his shirt. As if I’d pulled it out in a moment of ruttishness or something, making me look guiltier by the second. “Mark, what gives?” she asked. “Have you finally come to your senses and seen the little diamond Callie is? Now that Muriel’s left you?”
That caught me off guard. “She left you, huh?” I said. “Funny, you made it seem like the other way around.” Should’ve known, not that it made any difference. “Ian, if you could—”
“So you and the boss are back together,” Fleur said. “You must be thrilled.”
“No! And I didn’t scheme anything,” I hissed. “Ian, there was no plan or scheme or anything.” Bowie barked, backing me up. Would that he could talk and bear witness. I bit my thumb. “Can we talk alone?”
He didn’t answer. Hadn’t said anything to me, in fact.
“We’ll go,” Mark said. “Callie…we’ll talk soon. Think about what I said.” Another James Dean look, this time with brow furrowed meaningfully, and then off he went, Fleur trotting at his side like a sycophantic rat terrier.
Which left me alone with Ian. A great wave of fear sloshed at my legs, making them weak and sick-feeling. “Um, do you want to sit down?” I asked, indicating the bench. “No.”
“No, of course, not there, anyway.” I took a shaky breath and looked up at him. His face had lost that slapped look and now seemed carved in stone. It was not encouraging. “Okay, Ian, here’s the thing. Mark wants to get back together with me, and I don’t want to. That’s it.” I tried to take his hands, but he pushed them into his pockets, his arms straight, fists clenched.
“You were kissing him,” he said.
“Um, well, technically, he was kissing me.”
“You didn’t seem to mind.”
“It wasn’t like that. I don’t want to get back with Mark. I really don’t. Please believe me. I’m sorry you saw us kissing, and I know that must bring back some bad memories—”
“Yes, Callie. It does.”
“But I wasn’t cheating! And I wouldn’t, Ian. I never would.”
He shook his head. “What about what Fleur said? Your plan to make Mark jealous.”
“I didn’t… It wasn’t… I never planned to…”
Except, of course, I had.
I took a deep breath, started to speak, then stopped.
“Tell me the truth, Callie,” Ian said, his voice low.
I bit my lip. “Well, you remember that day, right? In the DMV?” He nodded. “Well, after that, Annie and Fleur and I…we were talking and basically thought the best way for me to get over Mark would be to…find another fish to fry. Or whatever. Not a great metaphor, but…”
“And that’s why you came to my office that day? When Bowie ate the newspaper?” At the sound of his name, Bowie barked. Yes, I am here and will eat whatever you have on you!
“Um, yes.”
“So you lied about that.”
“Fibbed is a better word, I think.” At his dark look, I nodded. “Yes, I lied. As you suspected. I’m sorry.”
Ian looked at the ground. In the distance, the sounds of the regatta drifted toward us in snatches, laughter and music, a baby crying. “So you needed a distraction,” he said slowly. “To get your mind off Mark.” He lifted his eyes to me, and my heart shriveled.
“I wouldn’t put it that way, Ian,” I whispered. Tears pricked my eyes, because I knew…I just knew…this conversation was not going to end well.
“I asked you, that first morning after we…I asked you if you were over him.”
“And I am! Ian, I’m not using you to get over Mark.”
“But you are,” he said. “You just admitted that.”
I swallowed. “Well, technically, to be perfectly honest, yes, I guess it started that way. But the turkey, that day…that wasn’t… You must know I care about you, Ian! Let’s not get caught up in details here.”
“The details happen to be very important to me, Callie,” he barked, causing me to jump. “I’ve already been with a woman who had a hidden agenda. I’ve already been with a woman who wanted to be with someone else.” His voice rose. “I’ve already been someone’s second choice. Every time I turn around, there he is. Jesus, Callie, you were kissing him!”
“Ian, stop!” I blurted. “I don’t love him anymore. You’re not going to find us in bed together!”
“I didn’t expect to find you kissing him, either!” he yelled. “But I just did! And you know what, Callie? Maybe you do still love him. Maybe once the newness of—” he flapped his hands in the space between us “—of this wears off, you’ll realize that Mark is the love of your life. And you know what? I don’t want to hang around to find out I’m the runner-up.”
“Wait,” I said, my voice breaking. “I’m…” My stomach twisted. Oh, shit, this was hard to say, and this was not the time to say it, but I wa
s desperate. “I’m in love with you, Ian. Not Mark.”
“You were in love with Mark just a couple months ago.”
“This is different,” I whispered. “I promise.”
He shoved his fists back in his pockets. “How do I know? How do you know, for that matter, Callie?”
“I just know.” Oh, Christ, talk about a lame answer! “Ian,” I whispered, “please don’t do this.”
But he’d already decided. His face fell back into that distant, reserved expression I’d seen too many times before. “I think it’s best if we just end things now,” he said quietly.
“I don’t. I think that’s a horrible idea,” I squeaked, tears splashing out of my eyes.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
And with that, he turned his back on me and walked away.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
LIFE REALLY SUCKED. You know? I had no job, my grandfather was dead, I’d finally fallen into a good love, and he dumped me.
Of course, my first instinct was to feel completely blameless. I had, in point of fact, done nothing wrong. Not one thing. Should I have kneed Mark in the groin? Would that have made Ian happy? I wasn’t really the groin-injury type, a fact I now deeply regretted. I never needed to kick a guy in the nuts, quite honestly. I’d always been able to (work, play, manipulate) deal with men before.
And as for the whole idea of scheming and planning and using Ian…I knew I hadn’t done that. There was nothing wrong with wanting to move on from a helpless, hopeless love, was there? Was it a sin to want something better?
“Not a sin,” Annie confirmed as we swilled cheap chablis the night after the stupid regatta. “Though this is why all the dating books say to give yourself a year after a breakup.”
“Well, I didn’t give it a year,” I said, wiping my eyes and throwing the tissue on the floor, where it joined its half-dozen brothers. “I never got to that chapter. And I think Ian would be honored. You know? Because he’s the healthy, stable, good man I chose over Captain Asshole.”
“Honored. You’re right.” She nodded wisely. She was spending the night, and though we had rented several Gerard Butler movies, they all sat untouched. “I guess he just doesn’t feel that…chosen. And therein lies the problem.”
“So how do I prove my love and all that crap?” I asked.
“No clue.” At my dark look, she added, “But we’ll find something. We will.”
I already missed Ian. How could I get through the day without that smile? He was so easy to tease, and when he smiled, it was like the sun coming out from behind the clouds. Stupid, stupid Mark! He smiled all the time, like some slavering village idiot. Meaningless, empty, supermodel smiles, not that supermodels ever smiled, but you know what I mean.
“So what about Fleur?” Annie asked.
“I just ordered a voodoo doll on eBay,” I muttered.
“She’s always resented you. I can’t believe you never saw it.”
“Not helping,” I muttered.
“Well, let’s get her back, the jealous hag,” Annie said. “I know people.”
“You’re a school librarian,” I pointed out, pouring more wine for both of us. “You don’t know people. Not those people.”
“She’s a bitch.”
“Yes. She is. And her empty, bitter life will be punishment enough.”
“Not for me,” Annie said. “Let’s key her car.”
“The thing is,” I said, wiping my endlessly leaking eyes once more, “I know how Ian is. He’s like cement. This is just going to sit there in his heart and harden, and I’ll never…” A little sob squeaked out… “I should call him. Don’t you think?”
“Shit, no. You’re not calling him. Give me your cell phone. Oh. Oh, no.” She closed her eyes. “You called him, didn’t you?”
“Um…well, yes. Three times. And I, well, I e-mailed him. Twice. And I drove by his house at ten last night, but it was dark.”
“Wow. Restraining order material,” she murmured. “Did you try the door?” she added. Yet another example of why we were friends.
“I was afraid the dog would out me.”
“Right.” She ate a potato chip, chewing contemplatively. “I guess you have to wait.”
I swallowed. “I just feel that if I could say things the right way, he’d understand. But he won’t talk to me.”
“Did you tell him you loved him?” she asked.
My eyes filled again. “Yes. It didn’t work.”
Annie sighed. “I don’t know, Callie. Seems like you have to…ride it out. I mean, if it’s meant to be…” Her voice trailed off. “Right?”
“Right,” I said, blowing my nose. “He’s just not the kind of guy who…overlooks things. He saw Mark kissing me. He’s not going to forget that.”
“That was a nut-kicker, I’m sure,” she said.
“Thanks.”
“Well, come on. The man walked in on his wife in bed with someone else. Now he sees his new girlfriend kissing her ex-boyfriend.”
“If I wanted this kind of talk, I’d have called Hester, okay? Can’t you be more sympathetic?”
“Sure,” Annie said easily. “Maybe it’s time for Gerard, don’t you think?” I nodded. “Do we want 300 or P.S. I Love You?”
“P.S. The other one is just homoerotic dreck.”
“It’s Dave’s favorite movie,” she said. “So you’re probably right.”
THE NEXT FEW DAYS DRAGGED. Ian didn’t call. He did, however, respond to my fourth e-mail—Callie, I’d appreciate a little space. Ian. Try as I might, it was hard to put a positive spin on that, though I guessed it was better than Leave me alone, hag.
What I’d said to Annie had been true. If I could just get Ian to see what I meant…and what I felt. Every time I thought of that stupid line—I’m in love with you, Ian. Not Mark—I cringed and reached for more cake batter. Though my statement had been true, it just sounded…shallow.
I hadn’t realized how much noise Noah made, the saws and sanders out in the shop, the odd rhythm of his uneven gait, his barked curses and demands for dinner. Though I was glad he’d gone the way he had, I missed the old troll. Bowie did, too, often going into Noah’s room, then returning to lie quietly at my feet.
The golden light of October faded into the gray skies and cold rains the Vermont Tourism Board doesn’t want you to know about. With the foliage stripped by a wind-storm and the three rivers brown and churning, Georgebury looked bare and weary, hunkering down in resignation for a long, long winter.
Freddie was moving in…it made sense, given that he’d be working here. Somewhat surprisingly, my parents had been thrilled that Fred wanted to take over Noah’s Arks, shrugging off the small fortune they’d already spent on his education and sending him for yet another round, this time for a week at the WoodenBoat School in Maine. He’d be back in time for the wedding.
Ah, the wedding. It would be a civil ceremony, followed by dinner, at Elements. My parents were so happy it was surreal…the laughter, the flirting, the affection. Hester still looked at them with a mix of horror and amusement, but then again, that’s how we were all looking at her these days.
“Think you and Louis will tie the knot?” I asked her one day as we shopped for the girls’ dresses…red for Josephine, cream for Bronte.
“Nah,” Hester answered. “The girls and I do great together. Maybe when Bronte goes off to college, but if it ain’t broke, don’t fix it, right? And Louis likes having his own place. He has this collection of antique mortuary tools—”
“Okay, we’re done. Glad things are working out, Hes.”
“Thanks, Callie,” she said, slugging me affectionately on the shoulder, hard enough that I’d be sore in the morning. “Hey. Sorry you and Owen didn’t work out.”
“Ian. Thanks,” I said.
“How’s the job hunt going?” she asked, kindly changing the subject.
I sighed. “Not much out there,” I admitted, then glanced at my watch. “Shoot. I have to run, Hester. I’m s
upposed to clean out my office today, and I wanted to do it at lunch. Avoid a few people.”
“Good luck with that,” she said.
My mood was bittersweet as I walked to Green Mountain. I’d miss Damien’s sniping and gossip, miss Karen’s growling and Pete and Leila’s symbiosis. And I’d miss the work most of all. But I was done. I’d sent Mark an e-mail saying when I’d be in to clean out my office, asked him to have Karen settle my insurance and all that. I didn’t mention his idiotic declarations or stupid kiss.
As I struggled through the door with my empty boxes, Damien jumped up to help. “We’re interviewing for your position,” he whispered. “But Mark would take you back in a heartbeat. Probably double your salary, too.”
“Gotta pass, buddy,” I said. “But I’ll still see you, right?”
“All the time,” he said.
In a way, it was soothing to pack up my office and see the evidence of years of my work. As I looked at the hospital poster, the boy’s remarkable eyes, I thought about taking that home. After all, it was one of my best pieces ever. But it was also the poster that had brought me to Santa Fe, and I didn’t want to be reminded of Santa Fe anymore.
I packed up my books, my plants, samples of my work over the years. Quite a few clients had e-mailed when they’d heard the news of my departure, and Damien, in a rare fit of thoughtfulness, had printed them all out for me. Several clients had sent gifts, too…a complimentary stay from a B&B in Burlington, a gift certificate for a car detailing from the dealership in Stowe. John Hammill, my maple syrup zealot, had sent a gallon of each of his eight strains of syrup, so I’d be all set in terms of pancakes for some time.
He’d also offered me a job—director of marketing, which he admitted wouldn’t be a huge challenge for me. “You’d get as much syrup as you can hold,” he said hopefully, and I laughed and pointed out I had eight gallons to go through as it was.
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