I shook my head, but didn’t say anything. He took another step toward me.
“Trust me, Portia. Someone promised me forever once and it didn’t add up to anything. I won’t do that to you.”
“No,” I said. “You won’t do anything.”
“Damnit,” he said, frustration tightening his voice. “What am I supposed to do? Give up my life? Ask you to give up yours? Over a few weeks of…” He stopped, ran his fingers over his hair, swiped the rain away from his face. “The most anyone can ever promise you is the hope of staying around indefinitely, and anyone who says differently is either lying or fooling themselves. There are no guarantees.”
“That is so cynical.”
“No,” he said. “It’s honest. It’s the truth.”
I stared at him. The truth. Wasn’t that why I was here in the first place?
It’s time, I thought. It’s now or never.
“Ian, I came here tonight to tell you something.” I stared at the car keys in my hand and forced myself to say what I’d come there to say. “I care about you. A lot. More than I probably should. The reason I kept visiting you wasn’t just to work on the barn. It was to see you. To be close to you. I want...I want to be with you. Every day.” I pulled on a weak smile. “Indefinitely.”
Silence. He was staring at me, his face blank. I summoned up the rest of my courage. “I don’t care if it makes sense, or even if you feel the same way. Well, that’s a load of crap, of course I care if you feel the same way. I just don’t want to make the same mistakes...” I could feel the muscles in my legs start to shake. Time to wrap it up. “I don’t want to live the rest of my life knowing I let you go without having told you.”
He simply stared as the rain beat down on his face. He’d heard me. I knew he’d heard me.
But he wasn’t saying anything.
“It doesn’t matter,” I said quickly, grateful for the rain making my tears less obvious. “You’re going away and I can’t see you anymore.”
“Portia...”
I forced myself to meet his eye, waited for him to say...something. But he didn’t. There was no “I want to be with you, too.” Just my name, because apparently there was nothing else to say.
I pulled on a smile. “It’s okay. Really. No big deal. It’s been fun. A great time. Good job on the barn. I’ll be first in line to get your next book.”
I walked over to my car. He didn’t try to stop me. The rain began to pour with force. I pulled the driver’s side door open and paused, forcing myself to look at him one last time. We stared at each other for a minute. I stepped into the car. I didn’t look in the rearview mirror until I’d almost reached the road. He was still standing there in the rain, watching me drive away.
I busted through the front door of the house, dripping big fat drops on the hardwood floor. The rain was beating out a primal rhythm on the roof. In my imagination, Ian was still standing outside where I’d left him. In reality, he was probably packing, glad it was over.
“Mags?” I called oat. “Vera?”
There was no answer. My muscles were still shaking with cold and emotional fatigue. I sat on the arm of the old easy chair and called out again.
“Bev? Peter?”
I heard steps on the staircase, followed by Mags’s honeyed voice.
“Portia, baby, is that you?”
“Yeah,” I said, swallowing hard, trying to keep it together. Mags froze at the bottom of the steps when she saw me. Vera and Bev stood behind her.
“Baby, are you okay?” Vera asked.
“Where’s Peter?” I didn’t want him to be a part of this. “He’s sleeping,” Bev said. “Do you want us to wake him?”
I shook my head and burst into a fresh round of sobs. Mags hurried over to me and put her arms around me, guiding me to the couch and pulling a blanket over my shoulders.
“Oh, baby,” she said. “What happened?”
I swiped at my nose with the back of my hand. “Penis Teflon. I tried to face it, tell him that I wanted to be with him, because I thought maybe if I wasn’t afraid like you and Vera had been, that maybe that would work, you know, break the curse, but...” Vera grabbed a box of tissues from the end table and handed them to me. Mags guided my head to her shoulder. I inhaled her smell and felt a rush of healing go through me.
“Oh, baby,” Mags said. “Did you go and fall for that Flyer?”
“Yes,” I sobbed. “He’s going back to London on Saturday and he doesn’t want me and I’m all covered in Penis Teflon and no one is ever going to stick to me, ever.”
“Oh, now, I’m fairly sure that’s not true.” She paused for a moment, running her hand over my hair. “Did you tell him how you feel?”
I nodded.
“And what did he say?”
“Nothing,” I squeaked. Mags pulled her head back. I looked up at her. She smiled at me.
“Congratulations, darlin’.”
I rubbed my face and sat forward. “For what?”
She grabbed my hand. “Because you did it, and that matters.” I sniffled. “It does?”
“Of course,” Vera said, kneeling by my feet. “You can’t control what he does or how he feels. That’s not for you.”
“Most people don’t have the courage to do what you did,” Mags piped in, putting one hand on my face. “I’m proud of you, baby.”
“Really?”
“Yes.” She patted my knee and got up, surreptitiously snatching a tissue and dabbing at the corners of her eyes. Vera stood up and looked to Bev. Bev looked down at me, her eyes as hard and inscrutable as always. Then, slowly, a kind smile tinged the edges of her lips.
“I’ll get the fondue pot,” she said, and headed toward the kitchen. Vera and Mags put their arms around me and leaned their heads against mine, muttering words of comfort. I smiled. It was good to be home.
“I don’t care what he said or didn’t say.” Beauji pushed the stroller down River Road and I had to speed up to keep pace with her. Even pushing a stroller, she was faster than me. “I’ve seen him look at you. That boy’s crazy about you.”
“It doesn’t matter,” I said. “It’s over. He’s as good as gone and I don’t want to talk about it anymore.”
I could see Beauji watching me through my peripheral vision, but I kept my eyes straight ahead.
“What about Peter?” she said after a minute.
I shook my head. “I don’t know. He sure looks great on paper, though, doesn’t he?”
“I think the fact that he moved in with the Mizzes just to get you back is more than good on paper,” she said with a sigh. “That’s just plain ol’ good.”
“I know.” I shrugged. “I’m beginning to think that whether he’s a good guy or not isn’t the problem, though.”
“Right. So what’s the problem?”
I shook my head and shrugged. I had an idea that the problem wasn’t Peter at all, but I wasn’t ready to say so out loud. Miles gave a short cry and Beauji lifted up the shade on the stroller to peek at him. “Isn’t he just the most beautiful thing you ever did see?”
I smiled into the stroller. He was looking more and more like a real baby every day, and I had to admit, he was a looker. Beauji reached in and lifted him out of the stroller, walking over to a grassy patch off the road.
“Feel free to keep going and come back for me,” she said, lifting one side of her shirt with her free hand as she sat down. “He’s a notoriously slow eater. This might take a while.”
I held my hand over my eyes to shade the sun and looked around. There was nothing, except a dirt road by a sign that read WILKINS CONSTRUCTION. The idea popped into my head fully formed, as if it had been waiting for me, and I latched onto it. After all, misery loves distraction.
“I’ll be right back, Beau,” I said. She waved me on and I headed down the road to the trailer office next to the huge, square warehouse that had housed Wilkins Construction since I could remember. I stepped up to the door and knocked, then walked in.
> “Can I help you?” Betty Jo Allen shut a filing cabinet drawer with her hip, then looked up from the file in her hand and smiled. “Well, I’ll be damned. Portia Fallon. Ain’t seen you out here for...gosh, ten years?”
“About that, yeah.”
She grinned and tossed the file on her desk. “You here to see Bridge?”
“Yes, is he in?”
“Bridge!” she yelled toward the office door, open just a crack. “You in for Portia Fallon?”
I heard some movement in the office, then Bridge’s face poked out of the door. He smiled.
“You bet,” he said, waving me in. “Come on in, Portia.”
I walked into his office and shut the door behind me. Bridge motioned to the chair opposite his desk.
“Have a seat, darlin’,” he said. “Have you seen the barn? I took some pictures for Trudy. I think she’s going to be really pleased.”
“I can’t stay,” I said. Bridge tilted his head at me and leaned against the edge of his desk.
“Everything all right out there with...your family?”
I smiled. “Yes. Fine. Actually, we’re having a party on Saturday night. Just a casual get-together. I was hoping you might come.”
Bridge looked down at his feet, then back at me. “I’m not sure that would be a good idea, Portia.”
“Vera would like it very much if you came,” I said quickly. It wasn’t exactly a lie. I was fairly sure if I dosed her with truth serum and shined a light in her face, she’d admit to wanting to see Bridge again.
Bridge crossed his arms over his chest. “She tell you that?” I smiled. “Seven o’clock. Saturday. If you’re not there, I’ll hunt you down, hog-tie you, and drag you there myself.”
Bridge laughed, then was quiet for a long minute. Finally, he gave a brief nod.
“Should I bring anything?”
I grinned. “No, we’ve got it covered. See you then.”
I left the office and waved a quick good-bye to Betty Jo, who pretended she wasn’t calling everyone in town to tell them a Miz Fallon had just shown up in Bridge Wilkins’s office. I stepped out into the sunshine and ran all the way back to Beauji, who was just packing little Miles into his stroller.
“Did you just go see Bridge?” she asked.
“Yeah,” I said. “I’ve gotta get to the Page and tell the Mizzes we’re having a party on Saturday night.”
I started speed-walking back toward town. Beauji turned the stroller around and jogged to catch up.
“What did you do?” she asked, her voice a mix of surprise and suspicion.
I grinned at her. “I just graduated. I’m officially a Miz Fallon now.”
“Well, Beauji and Davey, of course,” I said as Peter scribbled down the names. “And Beau Sr. and Wendy.”
Mags stepped into the dining room and put her address book on the table next to Bev. “I just got off the phone with Marge Whitfield. That Betty Jo Allen has told half the town you were in Bridge’s office this morning.”
“Was she listening?” Bev asked. “Did she say anything about the party?”
Mags shook her head. “No. I’m pretty sure if she knew, she’d have mentioned it to Marge.”
I put my index finger on the sheet Peter was writing on. “Put Marge Whitfield and Betty Jo Allen and her husband, Alan.” Peter looked up with a smirk. “Alan Allen?”
I waved my hand at him. “Long story. But let’s make sure they all get invited so no one gets suspicious.” I looked up at Mags. “Have you decided what we’re going to tell Vera?”
“It’s your good-bye party,” Bev said quietly. I looked up.
“My good-bye party?”
Mags waved her hand at me dismissively. “Or something. We're Miz Fallons. If we can’t find an excuse for a party, who can?”
“You’re leaving in, what, two weeks?” Bev asked. “Why not have the party now?”
I swallowed. I hadn’t looked at a calendar in ages. I looked down at the list Peter’d been jotting down. “Sure. Why not?”
“Fine, then,” Bev said, getting up. “It’s settled.”
She stalked out of the dining room. Mags and Peter exchanged looks.
“What?” I said.
“You know what?” Peter said, standing up. “I’m gonna go get my jacket so I can walk you home, Portia.”
He slid out of the room. I looked at Mags.
“What, Mags? What am I missing?”
“Well,” she said slowly, “I think it might be a good idea if you spent a little time with Bev and talked.”
“About what?”
“You may not have noticed because Bev is so good at hiding it,” Mags said, going light with her sarcasm, “but she’s a little upset about you being away so much.”
I blinked as the obvious began to dawn on me. “Are you kidding me? That’s why she’s been so pissy with me all summer? Because I’m going back to Syracuse?”
Mags reached over and patted my hand. “She just thinks children should come home after college, that’s all. I’ve tried to explain it to her, but...well. You know Bev. Maybe you should try to talk to her yourself.”
Peter stepped back into the room. “Ready, Portia?”
I kissed Mags on the cheek and smiled. “I’ll talk to her. Later.” I smiled at Peter. At the moment, I had bigger fish to fry.
Peter and I were quiet for most of the walk home, commenting only on the honeysuckle in the air or the guest list for the party. I didn’t gather up the courage to say what I wanted to say until we’d reached the front door of the Page, and he was about to turn around and head back.
“Peter,” I said. “I think we need to talk.”
He gave me a tight-lipped smile. “I don’t think there’s ever been a pleasant conversation that started out that way.”
“I’m sorry,” I said.
He nodded. “About?”
I sighed, and pulled the ring box out of my jacket pocket. I’d been carrying it around with me for days, waiting. “I think you know.”
He reached out and took the box, staring down at it in his hand. “I see.”
“No,” I said. “You don’t. Neither did I, really, not until recently.”
Finally, he looked at me. “Care to enlighten me?”
No. But I owed it to him. I took a deep breath and started in on the speech I’d been preparing since we came back from Tuscaloosa.
“You are perfect. You always were. You were always kind. You were always there for me. There’s nothing wrong with you.” He pulled on a weak smile. “So far, so good. Keep going.”
I sighed. “I thought a lot about what you said. About me making you feel like a failure. And you were right.”
He shook his head. “No, Portia, that was totally unfair of me to pin it all on you—”
“No, it wasn’t.” I blinked. Damnit. Shouldn’t a person just run out of tears after a while? “I did it deliberately.”
He was quiet for a bit, then, “What do you mean?”
“I mean, I was a coward.” I swallowed. This hurt worse than I thought it was going to, mostly because of the extent to which Peter deserved better. “I mean, I wasn’t in love and I didn’t want to admit that the problem was me. So I drove you away On purpose. Well, subconsciously on purpose.”
He stared past my shoulder into the window display we’d built together. “I’m not sure I understand what you’re saying. Are you saying you didn’t love me? Ever}”
I wanted to tell him I had, as much to make him feel better as to make me look better, but he’d earned the truth. “I wanted to. I tried. I should have. There’s no reason not to love you, Peter.” He held up his hand and I could see his face harden. “Oh, please don’t give me the ‘it’s not you, it’s me’ crap.”
“I’m sorry,” I said. “I didn’t know any better. I didn’t know what it meant to love someone. I felt strongly for you, and I thought it was love, but I didn’t know. I didn’t have anything to compare it to.”
He nodded slowly. �
�And now you do?”
I didn’t say anything.
“And how long have you known this?”
“How long have I known?” I laughed feebly. “Or how long have I been willing to admit it to myself?”
“I’m glad you can find humor in this,” he said. I could hear the bitterness in his voice, and while it hurt, I could hardly blame him. “I’m sorry,” I said again.
“Yeah,” he said. “Me, too.”
We stood there in silence for a long time, then he turned and walked back toward the Mizzes’. I watched until he walked out of my sight, then I turned and headed up the stairs toward my apartment.
Chapter Fourteen
I stepped out from the back door onto the lawn and the stiletto heels on my strappy shoes immediately sank an inch into the ground. I stood up on tippy toe and peered over the heads of the partygoers, smiling as I saw Mags in the back talking to Bridge. The week had been full of scheming and conspiracy, and while that typically wasn’t my thing, it served as a fine distraction from all the men fleeing Truly, Georgia—Peter for Boston and Ian for London. Peter’s departure was sad, but all agreed it was necessary. Ian’s was not spoken of, and we all pretended it was just a blip on the radar, soon to be forgotten.
That was the hope, anyway. The truth was, any moment in which my thoughts weren’t properly diverted, they turned to Ian. I imagined him on the plane, flying over the Atlantic, memories of me fading with every first-class cocktail. The only thing for me to do was throw myself into figuring out my future, deceiving my most beloved aunt, and planning the party.
Not necessarily in that order.
The door opened behind me and Bev stepped out, smoothing her hands over her blue cardigan sweater.
“Has she figured it out yet?” I asked.
“She knows something’s going on,” Bev said. “She’s doing a Tarot reading right now trying to figure out what it is.”
I smiled. You gotta love Vera.
“Okay, then. Are you ready?”
“Ready,” she said, holding up the Love Kit. We each headed out to our positions—she at the liquor table, me on the other side of Bridge.
Ex and the Single Girl Page 21