Waking Amy (Amy #1)

by Julieann Dove

  I waited for Mark to help me out. The cat must have had his tongue. Maybe sharpening it for all the pending lies that waited patiently to come out later. “Actually, my grandmother got sick, so I went to take care of her. We're going to do a honeymoon soon. I've been looking at a few places online.”

  Mrs. Willis grabbed her rather large chest. “Mercy, me. Mark, you took her to a justice and never took her on a honeymoon? What a Romeo.”

  “Mrs. Willis, it's okay. I'm not big into trips and parties.” I spoke tenderly to my hostess.

  “Nonsense. He could have reserved the winery, for goodness’ sakes. Who doesn't love wine and the country? That's just a disgrace. And look at you. Having his baby and not even a reception.” She slowly shook her head back and forth.

  “Martha,” Mr. Willis warned. His tone had changed slightly from before. Like my parents, they had probably been together long enough that saying her name with a slight inflection told her what we, as bystanders, didn't understand. Mrs. Willis must have received the intended message. She didn't say anything else.

  Mr. Willis parked the cart next to the others, and we walked to the open warehouse. I pulled Mark back, trying to control my out-of-control breathing before speaking. “Mark, that's my boss, Fred Davis.”

  Mark looked to where I had targeted my eyes. “What?”

  “I have no idea what he's doing here. Maybe I should stay out here. Just tell Mrs. Willis that I'm getting air, or something.” Don't tell me my priest is on the tour too.

  Everyone was piling into the building for the tour and tasting that Mrs. Willis had planned expertly. Get them tipsy, then ask for a healthy donation for the hospital.

  “I'll stay out here with you.”

  Just then, Mrs. Willis yelled for both of us to come inside. I drew in both of my lips and bit hard on the inside of them. My screaming left foot had nothing on the bleeding flesh inside my mouth. “Just hide me.”

  We crept inside, keeping to the inside wall. I pretended to be enamored with the wine barrels and kept my head facing opposite the people. The guide explained the process of fermentation and the length of time it took to get the sample we were about to have. Mr. and Mrs. Willis stood close to their employee and waited for the group toast. As the people raised their glasses, I downed mine. I jumped when I felt a hand on my shoulder.

  “Oh, my gosh. Mr. Davis, what are you doing here?”

  “Amy, I thought that was you. I'm on the list for contributors of Mercer General. I come every year. What are you doing here?”

  Mr. Davis kept generally to himself at work. It was rare to see him on my floor, but he attended all the quarterly meetings for my branch. He was an average-sized man. Years at the department had receded his fading brown hairline and stroked deeper wrinkles on his face. Everyone respected him; he was a likeable man. Always the one who wore the Santa hat at the Christmas party, handing out fifteen-dollar gift certificates to McDonalds. This deal with Mark was branching lies into my own life now.

  “Uh, I'm also a contributor to the hospital. Of course, not on a board, but I give monthly.” Any chance that a barrel will come loose and plow over us all? Before I'm fingerprinted and given my Miranda rights for pledging false contributions?

  At that time, Mrs. Willis showed up beside Mr. Davis. “Fred, it's good to see you today.”

  I pictured myself in a mug shot. A close-up of my belly with the famous Ghostbuster sign around it. I felt myself slowly circling the drain. Mark looked as helpless as I felt. “Have you met Amy?”

  “Certainly, she's one of my best employees.” He winked at me and sipped his wine.

  “I didn't know you worked for the county, Amy.”

  “Sure.” Just point me in the direction of the nearest hole in the ground. I'll cover myself.

  “I haven't met her husband though. He seems to evade all of our company parties. Hello, I'm Fred Davis. Nice to meet you.” He extended his hand to a very worried Mark Reilly.

  “Hi, nice to meet you.” He shook his hand.

  “Honey, I'm feeling a little heated. I think I need some air. Come with me outside? Excuse us, please. We'll be only a moment.” Mrs. Willis and Mr. Davis bobbed their heads in unison, as I pulled Mark out from the circle of destruction.

  “Whew, that was close.” Mark caught up to me as I was almost sprinting to the back pasture.

  “Close? I'm pretty sure I just lied to my boss. About you, about false contributions. And he works for the department where you're incarcerated for lying.” I fanned myself and chugged my remaining sip of wine.

  “Amy, he didn't suspect anything. Evidently, the real Mr. Whitfield never goes to anything. He couldn't pick him from a lineup.” Mark put his hand on my shoulder.

  “Now he certainly couldn't.” I paced back and forth. I stopped when I saw Mrs. Willis approaching us. I imagined the feel of handcuffs on my wrists when she told me the jig was up.

  “Mrs. Willis, you didn't have to come out. I'm fine.”

  “You can ride back with me. They need my supervision back at the main house. It'll give us a chance to talk. Mark, you go on back with Mr. Willis.”

  I shot him a look of a whale caught in a fisherman's net. With eyes as big as the rims on my wine goblet. Help me.

  Mrs. Willis looked at both of us. “Go ahead. I know all about newlyweds. Kiss her so we can go.”

  I stared at Mark with a blank look, breath not circulating in my lungs. He bent toward me, his eyes telling me something. Something I knew. Like Mrs. Willis knew what her husband was telling her in the golf cart, without actually saying it. We kissed. Just a peck, but it managed a score on the Richter scale and started my breathing again. The rarity of being kissed kept it feeling like the first time, every time.

  Mark rejoined his peers, and I pulled out with Mrs. Willis driving the small tired vehicle down the bumpy hill. “I'm glad to see Mark has found someone so special. It seems he's spent the last two years on a mission to earn the award for the most irresponsible male in Oregon.”

  I flashed her a smile from adolescence, where you should be seen and not heard. Nothing was coming out of my mouth that Mark couldn't hear and corroborate later. The sun was standing in its highest position. It was noon and becoming warmer as the time ticked forward. I longed for the setting of that ball of fire in the sky. That would mean this charade was over, and I was safe from being read my rights.

  “I didn't mean to press about the wedding earlier. Richard reminded me, privately, that it was probably something that was still hard for Mark to deal with. I have such a big mouth sometimes.”

  Huh?

  “But, didn't you feel like you missed out on a wedding?”

  If she wants me to feel like I missed out, I'll feel it. Why stop the lie train and get off now?

  “I guess so.” Vagueness and ambiguity were my newest friends.

  Mrs. Willis's eyes beamed with excitement. Her smile stretched as far as the grape vines across her face. “Good, that's what I thought. That's why I called back to the main house and told them we were switching up some things today.”

  “Excuse me?” Did I just miss something?

  “I'm having the chef change the dessert to a wedding cake. Of course, he doesn't have time to perform miracles, but he's going to rig up something for you two. Just a small cake or something. I'm going to have the band play a song for your first dance. I know it's not your reception and there are strangers here, but I want to do something special for you. What is your song, dear?” She placed her hand on my arm, motherly-like.

  A woodchuck could have found a home in my gaping mouth. I sat, holding on to the rail of the golf cart that was flying down the path to the main house. WTH? “Mrs. Willis, I don't think that's a good idea. Today is about the hospital wing.”

  “Oh, phooey. This might bring more dollars out of those old tightwad's wallets. In honor of your special wedding, we are going to add to our celebration.” She shot me a look. I tried to escape it. “Honey, Richard and I didn't have any
children of our own. The staff at the hospital and winery are our children. It would bring me great joy to do this for you. Mark deserves to have a day for himself and you. He's come a long way.”

  We pulled into the driveway. I tried my best telekinetic abilities to reach Mark and scream, “Get the car! We're outta here!”

  Mrs. Willis stood, waiting for me to catch up. “Now, what is your song? I only have minutes to plan this reception. Mark will be fine. He's found you. That was huge.”

  “Why exactly is that huge?” I stepped twice to every one of Mrs. Willis's strides.

  Mrs. Willis stopped abruptly. “You don't know?”

  I wasn't stopping now. Mark was hiding something from me. Something I felt I should know. “I'm not sure.”

  “He didn't mention Carey to you? You really don't know?” Mrs. Willis had stopped her mad dash to get to the guy in charge of the fundraiser.

  “No, I don't. Who is Carey?”

  Mrs. Willis pulled me into her executive office, off the main room, and pushed the door shut. I would have paid closer attention to all the pictures on the wall with her shaking the hands of celebrity types, but I was too engrossed in her story about Mark. “Carey was Mark's fiancée. It's been almost five years since it happened. She was hit and killed by an officer, in the pursuit of an armed robber. Mark went off the deep end after it happened. I can't believe he didn't tell you.” She scratched at the back of her head. “But, then again, I'm sure he wanted to forget about it. Bringing it up probably puts a damper on how happy he is with you. Do me a favor, and don't mention it to him. I don't want him to relapse or anything.”

  My insides froze. I figured he modeled his lifestyle after his dad, according to his jilted mother. Was it possible that the reason for his endless affairs with women had a history of hurt behind it?

  “How so? I mean, what did he do when it happened?”

  “Well, right after it, he took a leave of absence and got familiar with all the bars in town. Richard tried to reach out to him, but he only retreated more. Then the women came. It was like he had transformed himself into a male robot with a raging appetite for promiscuity. A new woman every time we had a function. I tried to talk to him. He wasn't himself. Then he stopped. He didn't bring any women to the parties. He began living two lives. One at work and one in private. At least, that's what Glen Shupe told me. He's Mark's colleague, and he said that he never saw Mark with the same girl two times in a row. He began showing up late for work and never attending board meetings.”

  “That's when Richard told him that he couldn't promote him. He couldn't have a Chief Resident parading around like a gigolo.” She lightly touched my arm.

  “That's why it's so good to see that he finally has someone who grounds him. I've noticed a change in him today. The way he was holding your hand and acting like he didn't want to give you to me. He has a look of contentment again. Mark was never that guy he tried to be. Carey would have turned in her grave to know what a playboy he'd become after her death.”

  I felt woozy, and it wasn't from the one glass of wine. This guy I'd been playing house with had as big of problems as I did. Two lost souls, and only one with a chance for a future. He would be easy to fix though. It only took someone who cared and could see behind that bad-boy facade. No, Amy. He's not yours to fix.

  “Excuse me.” The man in charge peeked into the office. “Mrs. Willis, I just need to go over a few of the changes before the people come back. Do you have a second?”

  Mrs. Willis nodded her head. “Amy, make yourself at home. I'll be right back.”

  I walked out to the main area and watched the people hustle around me. Plates were being set, the band was warming up, and the wait staff was filling the iced-tea pitchers. I nervously waited for Mark, twisting my hands and scraping off the remnants of my lip-gloss, with my teeth. I had no idea what Mrs. Willis meant about changing things up a bit. Finally, I saw some of the carts drive up to the house. I went outside to wait for Mark.

  He stepped from the one that Mr. Willis drove. A few guys who hadn't brought dates got out of the back, laughing with him. He looked different to me. A broken guy with a history. I rushed out to him and pulled him to the side.

  “Mrs. Willis is changing things inside. She even asked what ‘our’ song is. I'm not sure what she has planned, but if Mr. Davis thinks this is some kind of a reception for a wedding that took place four years ago, we're cooked.”

  At that time, Mr. Davis snuck up on us. “Amy, I have to bail out early. My wife wasn't feeling well, and I told her I wouldn't stay long. Could you give this to Martha?”

  He handed me an envelope, possibly with his contribution inside it. “Certainly.”

  “Mr. Whitfield, it was nice to finally meet you. Don't be so shy and come to our summer picnic this year. We are pretty competitive during the softball game.” He firmly shook Mark's hand.

  “I will, sir. Thanks.”

  We waited until Mr. Davis was far enough away to continue talking. Our conversation was interrupted again by Mark's friend Jacob. “Mrs. Willis is looking for you two.”

  “Okay, man. By the way, this is Jacob. Jacob, this is Amy.”

  Jacob's tie was bright red, sitting on a blue pin-striped shirt. His hair was dirty blonde and stick straight, combed to the side. His friendly blue eyes warmed me up to him.

  “It's nice to meet you, Amy. I wondered what was different about this guy today. We haven't had him at one of these functions in years, it seems.” He kissed my hand.

  “Get out of here, man. I've been to plenty. I see you all enough at work. I don't want you guys to spill over into my social life.” Mark punched Jacob on the arm and walked me inside.

  I pulled his ear to my lips and whispered quietly. “Mark, I need to talk to you.”

  The flow of people moved us into the dining room. He tucked my hand into his bent arm and escorted me to the table. After introductions and pleasantries, we were served the first course. A beautiful salad of three different shades of green. Petite red tomatoes stood out like candy in the bowl. I hadn't eaten anything that wasn't inside a paper bag in a week. I tore into the salad, savoring each bite.

  “Mark, it's great seeing you here today,” said the girl with a blonde bob, two seats down from us. I looked closer to see why her shimmering lipstick wasn't being affected by the bites of food she took past them to her mouth. It looked as though Mrs. Willis had managed to set each table with a potpourri of mismatched people for equal-opportunity socializing. Older with younger. Pierced with bonnet-wearers.

  Mark put an oversized bite of lettuce in his mouth. Obviously avoiding conversation with this blonde-bob girl. I continued to eat, watching Mark like a new show I was seeing for the first time.

  “You've made such a tremendous turnaround. I was a little nervous that you'd given up the normal life,” the blonde girl said, and her husband elbowed her. Their outfits matched. His sea-foam-colored tie coordinated with her form-fitting cocktail dress.

  Mark put down his fork and took a drink of his ice water. Was he going to respond to her? “Well, Chloe, I presume that means you claim to know what normal is?”

  “Okay, guys.” Her husband called a time out. “Let's just eat and play nice for Mrs. Willis. This is a big day for her, and I don't want to be given the graveyard shift anymore if I can help it.”

  “But your wife is so good at meddling, Tom. Why would she stop now?”

  “I was only trying to help you, Mark. Dr. Willis would have found out eventually. Everyone else knew what was going on with you. You were out of hand. I don't know why you've shut us all out for so long. We're a family at the hospital, and we lean on each other for support. Anyway, you look better. That's all I'm trying to say.”

  The couple seated across the table from us looked up from their plates. Obviously, they were as much in the dark as I was. The petite woman placed her fork on the empty plate and watched Mark's reaction. Her date, the guy with the wrinkly shirt and a poor attempt at a Windsor kn
ot, continued scraping the leftover dressing from his bowl. He seemed to have come only for the food. He nearly took off one of my fingers, grabbing for the last roll in the basket in the center of the table.

  Mark wiped his mouth and excused himself. I placed my napkin on the plate and went to find him. He'd gone through the back kitchen area; the swinging door was still swaying. I found him standing on the back porch looking out over the fields of vines. I touched his arm. “Mark?”

  Without turning around, he answered me. “Amy, don't mind me. I shouldn't have come here. I usually keep it strictly professional. I don't go out with those guys anymore. I put my hours in and my free time is mine. Everyone thinks they're an expert when it comes to me. I didn't want that promotion anyway.”

  I refrained from admitting to knowing his secret. There was no way it would end well if I did. I stood there quietly with him. The ghosts of his past were catching up to him. I tugged on his arm. “Let's go back in so we can get the dinner over with.”

  The waiters had served the main course while we were gone. Chloe waved a white flag when we sat down. “I'm sorry, Mark. I didn't mean to upset you. The last thing I want to do is to chase you away. I'm happy you've moved on. Friends?”

  Mark's deadpan look spoke louder than his words. “Sure.”

  The other couple at our table, who knew nothing of what was going on, proposed talk of the weather and wine. The small woman spoke about going to the new events park downtown. “They have the cutest art gallery. They have John Hemmerstein's work on display.”

  I was a huge fan of art. I guess I got caught up in the excitement when I began interjecting my thoughts. “You're kidding! John Hemmerstein's? Oh my gosh. I'd love to go and see them in person, but my husband hates art. He says he could do the same thing if someone handed him a canvas and a brush. He has no appreciation for it.”

  I didn't realize I'd said something wrong until I saw no one was moving. Mark spoke up. “All I meant was that some of those artists shouldn't be putting their pieces out on display.”

  A piece of chicken wedged in my windpipe. I know it sounds impossible, but I felt my insides hemorrhaging from my big faux pas. So, lying wasn't such second nature to me. I guess that was a good thing. But now wasn't the time to be a girl scout. “So we can go and see it soon?”