Triple Love Score

by Brandi Megan Granett

  “Even with the HIV?”

  “I didn’t know about it right then. Cassadee didn’t tell the hospital until she signed out. And they didn’t think to test her when she came in. Pregnant women usually get those tests before they deliver.”

  “She put a lot of people’s lives at risk.”

  “Yes, that was her way. Still is her way. She said she never wanted to see Lynn or me again. Frankly, I don’t waste a lot of time thinking about her. Lynn has me, and we are just fine together.”

  “You are fine together. Anyone can see that. But doesn’t Lynn ever ask about her mother?”

  “Not really.”

  “Not really?”

  “Listen, Randa, Lynn knows the basics. What else can I tell her? Your mother’s a junkie? Your mother left you? How do you explain any of that to a kid?”

  “That has to be rough.”

  “It is rough. But then most of the time that stuff doesn’t even factor in. Most of the time it’s just me and her doing what we enjoy.”

  “What do you enjoy? I’d like to know more about that, too. You’re the first one of my friends to be a parent. Not that I ever would have expected it.”

  “I didn’t expect it either, but you know what? I don’t regret it. Not a single minute.” Scott finished his beer.

  Miranda liked watching the sparkle in his beautiful green eyes. She noticed a few strands of gray hair at his temples. He looked a little older but still the same. Avery always teased that he looked like a member of the Kennedy clan. “You’re a real JFK junior, all right,” she said to him during one of their Martha’s Vineyard vacations. “You just stay out of trouble okay.” Then Scott grinned, his perfect teeth glistening like a beauty queen’s. “Yeah,” she said, “that just makes it worse. Go back to playing Frisbee.”

  The loudspeaker blasted out that their gate for the flight to Istanbul changed. Miranda consulted their tickets.

  “That’s in the other terminal,” she said.

  Scott looked at his phone. “Looks like we have to run.

  Like really run.”

  On the plane, out of breath from the two-terminal trek, they found themselves seated in different rows. “I guess last-minute means last pick,” Miranda said. Her seat came first.

  “I’ll see what I can do,” Scott said, over his shoulder as he made his way up the aisle.

  Miranda took her assigned seat. An older lady took the seat next to her. They watched the safety demonstration with rapt attention. The plane taxied to the runaway quickly and took off without a delay. Gratitude washed over Miranda; the length of the flight alone filled her with dread.

  From her bag, Miranda pulled out a book from Avery’s collection of mysteries. This one featured a quilting club of all things, and she tried to get past the first page while thinking about Scott.

  “Good book,” said the lady sitting next to Miranda. “There’s even a pattern for a mystery quilt online to go with it. Do you quilt?”

  “Oh, no,” Miranda said. “I don’t think I could. I can’t cut straight with scissors.”

  “I have a friend with that problem,” the lady continued. “They make tools for that.”

  “Really,” Miranda said. She stretched up a bit to try and catch a glimpse of Scott in the back of the plane. “How interesting.”

  “Who are you looking for?” the lady asked.

  “Oh, my friend. We’re going to Istanbul for a wedding.”

  “A wedding. How lovely! I’m meeting a tour. The Byzantine Empire and Churches. Fourteen days. My daughter sent me. She’s a lawyer in California.”

  “Wow, fourteen days of churches; that’s something.”

  “For my birthday last year, she sent me to the Holy Land. I walked in the footsteps of Christ. That was only ten days, but they were the best ten days of my life. Just imagine walking where Christ walked.”

  Miranda didn’t know how to respond. Her response could dictate the next eighteen hours of her life. She took a deep breath. “The Holy Land—” she started.

  Just then, Scott tapped her new companion’s shoulder. “Excuse, ma’am,” he said. “I was wondering if you would do me a favor.” He turned on the Kennedy twinkle.

  “You must be this young lady’s friend.”

  “I am, and I was wondering if you might switch seats with me. I’ve asked the attendants, and they assure me that if you are willing it would be just fine. They’ve also assured me that if you would like a glass of wine, they would happily pass the bill in my direction for your kindness.”

  “A glass of wine, well, I don’t really drink.”

  “Please forgive me then.”

  “No, well actually, I do sometimes.”

  “Oh, sometimes,” Scott said. “Then, well, would you mind?”

  “Seeing as you went to the trouble to arrange things, no, not at all. Which seat is it?”

  “35A. It’s the window.”

  “Young man, you should have started there. I wanted a window.”

  “Then it must be fate,” he said.

  “Fate,” Miranda said. “Nice chatting with you.”

  “You too, dear. Don’t forget that quilting pattern is online.”

  Scott sank in next to her, pushing his backpack under the seat. His knees touched the back of the seat in front of him.

  “Thank you,” Miranda said.

  “What’s this about a quilting pattern?” he asked.

  Miranda raised the book. “A murder mystery with quilting. Avery’s if you can imagine that.”

  “To each his own. I can put on my head phones if you would rather read.”

  “Did you not hear me? It’s a quilting murder mystery. I’ve never had any sort of domestic goddess fantasies, certainly not ones that involved crime fighting while making up a blanket.”

  “Well, you know, your taste could have changed in the last six years. Maybe you gave up on Updike and Cheever and settled for something a little more accessible. Though I must admit I always loved when you read to me. You picked the best books.”

  “Remember the year we read Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea and then recreated it in my swimming pool?”

  “That was better than when you moped about reciting the Petit Price all over Newport.”

  “Wait, wait,” Miranda said, almost bouncing out of her seat. “I still remember some of that. ‘One sees clearly only with the heart. Anything essential is invisible to the eyes.’ Lord, I was a strange kid.”

  “I hope Lynn is just like that.”

  Miranda fiddled with the book in front of her, flipping through the pages like a deck of cards. “Just like what? A dork? You can’t hope that. She could be something better than that. She could be homecoming queen or class president. Not some book worm.”

  “Not some book worm? Really? I hated when our trips were over, and I had to go back to my regular life and my regular friends. All they wanted to do was shoot hoops or play Super Mario. When we were together, you created whole worlds for us. That pirate fort you told Lynn about—that was because of Treasure Island. Why wouldn’t I want her to be able to do that? You still do that. I’ve seen those word sculptures of yours all over the Internet. You use words to make strangers smile.”

  “I guess so,” Miranda said. “But it makes me smile, too. I love when someone new comments on a post I made or I see that it gets shared. It’s like making a difference in a really small way. But it’s the only way I’ve got.”

  “Well, with Ambrose on the job you can be sure it won’t be small for long.”

  “Yeah, well I doubt that. But it’s nice to think about.”

  “You might want to do more than think about it. Did you even read the contract?”

  Miranda buried her head in her hands.

  “You didn’t sign it yet?”

  “Worse,” Miranda said. “I just signed it. I didn’t read it.”

  “You’ve got to be kidding me. Are you crazy?”

  “I just trusted you,” Miranda said.


  “Oh,” Scott said. “Well then.”

  “Well then, indeed.”

  The attendants dimmed the lights and a hush fell over the cabin. “I think I need to close my eyes,” Miranda said. “It’s been a long couple of days.”

  “Yeah,” he said. “Me too, but it’s been worth it.”

  C H A P T E R

  THE MOST SHOCKING SIGHT when they finally landed was seeing Omar’s mom, Selin, standing with one arm around Danielle, the other arm waving frantically to Miranda.

  “We are here,” she called out. “We are here!”

  As if there was any way of mistaking the large crowd gathered. They must have taken three cars to get to the airport.

  Danielle pulled herself from the crowd and ran to hug Miranda. “I told them you were like a sister to me,” she whispered into Miranda’s ear. “They didn’t get the like part, so you are now my sister. Just go with it, okay?”

  An older man, Omar’s grandfather by the looks of things, walked up to Scott. “Sir,” he said very formally. “May my grandson have your sister’s hand in marriage?”

  Scott didn’t miss a beat. He put his hand to his chin and lowered his head as if he were thinking about it.

  “What’s this?” Miranda hissed at Danielle.

  “Oh, well that. I had to tell them that you and Scott were married.”

  “Married?”

  “It was tough for me to explain to them. I didn’t even understand. And believe me, I want the full story the minute we are alone. And anyway, if I can be married this week, so can you.”

  “It’s hardly the same thing.”

  “Don’t be upset. It’s not like you would say no if he asked. Make a dying lady happy.”

  “Wait a minute. You’re not dying.”

  “You don’t know that.”

  “I do know that. You will see the doctors at the American Hospital, and it will be fine. And don’t try changing the subject. This week is all about you, not me and my love life or whatever this is.”

  “I’m glad you’re here,” Dani said, hugging Miranda tighter.

  Then Scott cleared this throat. “This is sudden,” he joked. The old man’s face wrinkled a little. “But seriously,” Scott added. “Will she be properly cared for?”

  “Indeed,” the man replied.

  “Then I give my blessing,” Scott said.

  The two men shook hands and then embraced in a back-slapping hug. Omar stepped forward to shake Scott’s hand.

  The women, done with waiting, rushed forward to hug Miranda and Danielle. A small girl with luxurious black hair that hung in a thick braid down her back presented herself in front of Miranda, her hand extended.

  Miranda shook the girl’s hand. “I’m Jellie,” she said. “Junior bridesmaid.” Then she said something to Danielle in Turkish; Danielle beamed at her and replied. The girl skipped back to her mother.

  “She’s checking out the competition,” Danielle whispered to Miranda. “She thinks you’re pretty but that the dress suits her better.”

  “There’s already a dress?” Miranda asked.

  “Oh, you’ll see,” Danielle said. She squeezed Miranda again; this time Miranda feared the waffle weave of Danielle’s shirt imprinted on her cheek from the force of the hug.

  The ride from the airport to Omar’s house was a blur with the caravan of cars and minivans taking them all back through the city to the neighborhood Omar’s parents lived in. Scott rode in front of the mini-van with the men. They immediately started talking about soccer, golf, and whether or not Scott’s cell phone will work in Turkey. The women of Omar’s family kept holding up swaths of fabric to Miranda’s face, bickering amongst themselves about which color would suit her best.

  “Like an official bridesmaid dress? I’m still not following.” Miranda said to Danielle. “What type of wedding are you having in less than a week?”

  “It’s kind of a big deal,” she said, shrugging her shoulders.

  The convoy delivered them to Omar’s parents’ house. It stood two stories tall with gleaming white siding and little balconies jutting out from the second story windows. A white iron fence partitioned the manicured gardens from the sidewalk. They spilled out. The men surrounded Scott and asked him even more questions about golf from the snippets of conversation Miranda could catch.

  “Omar’s parents said you should stay here,” Dani said. “They didn’t want you sleeping on the floor at my place.”

  “But we wouldn’t have minded.”

  “But they would have. Things must be done right.”

  “Oh, I see.”

  “I’ll come get you first thing in the morning. Omar is staying here, too. He’s going to take Scott with him to play golf. Like some bachelor party thing.”

  One of the women leaned out of the passenger side of the second car. “Danniiii!!!” she called. “We have to get you back to your apartment.”

  Selin stepped forward and placed a hand on Danielle’s shoulder. “I promise I’ll take good care of your friends tonight.” Then she turned to Miranda. “You must be tired. I’ll have my husband show you to your room,” Selin said. “I need to check on some details for the dinner tomorrow.”

  Roger, Omar’s father, led them up the staircase to the guest room. “This is it,” he said, his own accent a mix of British and Turkish. “If you need anything, I’m sure Selin will be in the kitchen all night.” Then he ducked out and pulled the door shut behind him.

  “So we’re married,” Scott finally said, whirling around to face her.

  “I’m sorry about all that. This is really important to Danielle. Do you mind playing along?”

  “Do you mind playing along?” he asked back. He picked up her hand and dropped to one knee. “Miranda, will do me the honor of being my wife?”

  She let her eyes lock onto his. He had no idea how many times she imagined hearing him say those words.

  “At least for the rest of this week,” he stammered, before getting back up again.

  She turned away before he could see the tears she felt forming in the corners of her eyes. It had been so long since she had spent time with him, and now all of this was too much. Even though it wasn’t real, too much of her wished that it were true to just laugh it off.

  But then his voice softened. “I don’t mind playing along,” he continued. “I would like to be your husband.”

  “Very funny,” she said, then she moved quickly to the door and slipped out into the hallway to find the bathroom.

  Sleeping in the same room as Scott was nothing new. Miranda remembered the place near Cape Cod that Bunny and Linden rented. It only had two bedrooms; one on the first floor, the other in the loft overlooking the main great room. The parents naturally claimed the bedrooms leaving Scott and Miranda to take up different corners of the great room for their own. And after a few days of staying at the beach, their new friends would spend the night, too, spreading out blankets on the various cast-off chairs and sofas filling the room. But Miranda always loved the first few nights when it was just the two of them. She was short enough to take the window seat and pretend she was really sleeping on a bunk in a boat bound for a tropical island. Scott, always tall, took the longest couch.

  “What are you reading?” he would ask her.

  No matter what she replied; he would then say, “Well, share. Read to me.”

  She began to pick books at the little library in town that she knew he would like. Stories by Jules Verne or Orson Welles or Edgar Allen Poe. The night she read A Tell Tale Heart they didn’t go to sleep at all. Scott turned on all the lights and made them pancakes in the galley kitchen. She sat on the countertop and started to read the Little Mermaid from a fairy-tale book left as a decoration on the dusty bookshelf in the great room. Only that story didn’t help to dislodge Poe from their minds; it just made it worse. They spent the rest of the night playing Rummy 500, and luckily, the next day it rained, and no one questioned why they napped all day and didn’t want any breakfast.


  If this week could be like that, Miranda would probably be in heaven. But you can’t expect things to stay the same way they were when you were children. Things change; people change—even if you don’t want them to.

  Scott was already in bed when she got back to the room. The lights were still on, but she could tell from his breathing and the relaxed look on his face that he had been asleep for a long time. She climbed into bed slowly, lying on top of the blankets for fear of disturbing him. His chest rose so slightly, and the corners of his mouth turned up in the tiniest of smiles. He didn’t snore as much as buzz. Even in his sleep, he was electric.

  Turning away from him, she closed her eyes, certain that sleep couldn’t possibly come. But jet lag and maybe the old familiar comfort of him took hold quickly, tugging her down into the dark nothing of much-needed rest. In the morning, she found a note about golf and seeing her later for the night-before-the-wedding dinner. He signed it, Love, Scott.

  C H A P T E R

  DANIELLE PULLED MIRANDA ASIDE after breakfast. “I need you to do something with me today. Just us. I didn’t want Omar to know.”

  Miranda could tell this wasn’t something about the wedding. “Of course,” she said. “Whatever. Just tell me what it is.”

  “I have a follow-up appointment. Some kind of test to check out the tumor. I don’t want Omar to go. I don’t want him to be thinking about that the day before our wedding. And Omar’s family, they know something is wrong with me, but I’m not ready to have his mom in on the specifics. Like how do you say vagina or uterus to that woman?”

  Miranda couldn’t help but laugh.

  “I know, funny, right. Even though it might be cancer.”

  Danielle grabbed Miranda’s hand. It was cold and sweaty. Miranda squeezed back. “It’s not cancer. Don’t say that. Can’t it wait until after?”