"I didn't. And I meant every word."
Chapter Ten
Emma
Three days before Thanksgiving…
I haven't been able to stop thinking about Grant since he left. There isn't the same feeling of emptiness or hurt there used to be, and even though I am trying as hard as I can to stick to my conviction to leave him in the past where he belongs, I'm struggling. It seems my heart, mind, and body can't get themselves on the same page and come to an agreement on how we feel about him. I'm honestly starting to lose my patience with my own indecisiveness.
With only a few days left until Thanksgiving, everyone is preoccupied with their plans for the holiday, and filled with excitement about time off from school. Teachers and students alike are talking about the extended families they'll be visiting, and the traditions they can't wait for. It's another reminder that, unless Carina is miraculously able to make the trip, it will just be Mom and me for the holiday. I know Mom is still holding out hope, but with only three days left and still no decisive answer from Carina, I’m sure it will be just the two of us for Thanksgiving. It's not the first without Daddy, but every year it feels like it is. That sense of something missing never goes away, and it hasn't gotten better, though the grief seems to be lessening some. Last year was the first year I didn't have to fill up a plate with leftovers an hour after eating and bring it over to him as he watched the football game in his favorite chair. It should have been a good thing, but it felt like another loss.
After several days of moping and dreading the upcoming holiday, I woke up this morning with a new resolve to not feel that way anymore. Whether we have a family of thirty coming to feast with us, or if it's just the two of us eating turkey in front of the TV and watching sappy holiday movies, it's still Thanksgiving. I'm determined to make it as meaningful as possible, especially because this is my first one back in Magnolia Falls. As the school week winds down, I've been trying to focus on plans for the celebration. In my pouting, I hadn't thought of going out and getting a turkey, but fortunately Mom thought ahead and stashed one in the freezer, saving me a quest to the mainland in search of the last unclaimed Butterball in existence. Now it's just a matter of putting together the rest of the menu. Mom doesn't know I briefly considered ignoring the whole holiday and just having her over for pizza. I don't intend to tell her about it. She's already worried enough about not seeing Carina to have to deal with my selfish butt, too.
Today was my last class with my senior group before the break, and they thought it would be funny to make me construction paper handprint turkeys and tape them all over the theater doors. I am in the middle of peeling them off carefully – I fully intend on turning them into a scrapbook spread – when I hear a voice behind me that sends a shiver through my body even though I wish it wouldn’t.
"Hey, Emma."
I turn around, pressing the turkeys to my heart in my failed bid at looking casual and unaffected. Grant stands in front of me in a sleek, expertly-tailored suit that accentuates his muscled body and exudes power and success. My knees go weak, and for a second, I can't seem to speak. It's definitely not the reaction I wanted to have. I manage a smile.
"Hi, Grant. Welcome back."
He smiles, and I see a hint of exhaustion behind the expression.
"It's been a long couple of weeks," he says. "I don’t know if I ever want to see a snow globe again."
I laugh.
"Oh. Well, I guess it's unfortunate that Christmas season is coming up, then. That might make your whole snow globe embargo a bit more challenging. I suggest you stay out of gift shops and boutiques, and pretty much anyone's house over the age of forty."
"I'm thinking about getting a pair of those blinder things horses wear," he says. "Maybe I'll just blindfold myself and get an assistant to be my guide throughout the rest of the year. Do you think I could start a social campaign? Snow Globe Awareness?"
"Mmm," I say, returning to peeling off the rest of the flock of turkeys. "I'm not sure. I think pretty much all the ribbon colors are taken."
"That's too bad," he says. He steps up beside me and eyes the turkeys. "What's this all about?" he asks.
"My senior class thought that the theater needed some holiday spirit," I say. "These were here when I got to school this morning."
"I thought they seemed a little big for preschooler hands," Grant says.
I smile at him.
"Did your brothers make it in yet?"
He shakes his head, but he doesn't look as concerned as he did before homecoming week.
"No," he says, "but they're on their way. This time, I know for a fact they're going to make it."
"And why’s that?" I ask.
I peel off the final turkey, and we start walking toward the teacher lounge.
"Because… I sent drivers to each of their houses to get them, and a plane to pick them all up."
"So, you basically kidnapped them."
"Kidnap is such a harsh word," he replies. "I prefer to think I removed all the stress and hassle of having to make any more decisions in their already extremely busy lives."
"Ah," I say. "Very tasteful."
"I thought so. They're actually looking forward to coming. The only one who put up any fight was Archer, and that's only because he never wants to leave his animals with anyone else. He has a house closer to civilization, but he's almost never there. He likes being out in the middle of nowhere taking care of the cows, riding horses, and… I don't know, picking apples?"
We walk into the lounge, and I tuck the turkeys into my locker.
"That's sweet," I say. "It's nice to hear he found something he really loves."
"Yeah," Grant says with a nod. "He's good at it, too. And it's an amazingly successful department of the company. You'd be surprised at how many people have dreams of playing cowboy or working on a farm."
"So, you're excited about Thanksgiving?" I ask. "Do you have a traditional dinner and everything with your parents?"
"I'm looking forward to it," he says. "It will be nice to all be together, and I've never met a scoop of dressing I didn't like."
He takes my hands and guides them up to rest on top of his shoulders, then lowers his hands to my waist.
"How about you?" he asks, his voice deepening slightly. "Are you excited about Thanksgiving?"
My brain has officially been outnumbered and surrendered without a fight.
I let my hands slide over the muscles of his shoulders as I nod.
"I am," I say. "I'm going to spend all day cooking, and Carina might be coming in."
"Good," he says. He pulls me a little closer. "And what are you thankful for this year?"
My stomach tightens, and a thrill shoots through my body to settle right between my legs. I lick my lips, and start to respond, but a glimpse of someone standing beyond the door to the lounge behind Grant catches my attention.
"Wyatt?"
Grant's body tightens, and his expression changes. He narrows his eyes at me.
"Well, that's not exactly the response I was expecting," he says.
"No," I say, shaking my head and pointing around him toward the door. "Wyatt. That's him. He's here."
Grant turns around and looks where I'm pointing.
"That's your ex-husband?" he asks, an incredulous expression on his face.
I glare up at him for a second.
"Thanks for that," I say.
"Remember I said he's a fucking idiot?" Grant asks.
"Yes.”
"I'm going to amend that. He's the luckiest man who has ever walked the planet and a fucking idiot."
With those words in my mind, I turn to look at Wyatt again. I had always thought he was handsome, and even impressive in his own way. At the beginning of our relationship, anyway. Time has hit him hard, as did the microwave dinners and canned soup one-pot wonders his current wife Trixie plies him with on a daily basis. Just the thought of Trixie and her obnoxious name makes me want to gag. I hadn't fully realized just how much he
'd changed until right now. Wyatt always insisted on keeping his hair cut short enough it could almost be mistaken for a military style – which was no accident. Now, the bald spot shimmering in the middle of his head look like a serious mistake by his barber. His skin looks sallow, and has an overall appearance of... ugh.
I don't dare look at Grant. Comparing the two of them would just be cruel.
"What the hell is he doing here, though?"
Right then, Wyatt turns around, and sees me. He must have heard me.
Shit.
His face brightens, and he reaches his arms out as he rushes toward me. Grant steps in front of me, and I see Wyatt's expression drop.
"Emma?" he says. "Emma, it's me."
"I know who you are, Wyatt. I was married to you for three years. You know, before you cheated on me, lied to me, and screwed me over."
Wyatt tries his best to muster up a look of sadness and regret.
"I'm so sorry I did that to you, Emma."
Yeah, right.
"You know, that's the first time you said you were sorry."
"And I'll say it a thousand more times if that's what it takes for you to forgive me."
"Forgive you?" I scoff, stepping out from behind Grant now that I see Wyatt doesn't pose any threat except to his own dignity. "You want me to forgive you?"
"Yes," Wyatt says with a distinct note of desperation in his voice. "I am coming to you this Thanksgiving season pleading for you to forgive me and take me back. Just as the Pilgrims braved the wide-open sea to find a new land that would embrace them and give them a home, I have set out on my own voyage. I have taken the conviction in my heart, and am thrusting myself on your safe shores, asking for you to accept me as your own again. Please, Emma. Give me something I can be thankful for!"
Oh dear lord, how long has he been working on that one?
"Please never refer to thrusting anything on me or my shores ever again," I reply flatly.
"Emma, please, can't we go somewhere to talk about this?"
"No, Wyatt. How did you even find me?"
"I asked around about you. I worked tirelessly to find you so I could bring you home."
"Well, it wasn't really that much of a leap of the imagination to come to the town I grew up in," I say. "Alright. It was delightful catching up, but you can't be here."
"Why?"
"For one, school is in session, and you can't just wander around a high school. For two, this is a teacher's lounge. It's only for teachers."
Wyatt shoots a disgusted glare at Grant.
"And what does he teach? How to be a hulking brute?"
"Advanced studies," Grant replies without missing a beat.
Wyatt stares at him for only a second, before turning his pleading eyes back to me.
"Please, Emma. You have to take me back. I'm lost without you. My life, heart, and home, are empty."
"What about your new wife?" I sneer.
"She left me."
I roll my eyes.
"Of course, she did. So now because you've been tossed out on your ass, you decide to crawl back to me, expecting me to scoop you back up, and go right back to the way things were. Or at least, the way you thought they were."
"Yes. That would be very nice, thank you."
"No, Wyatt," I say forcefully. "No. You screwed up my life enough. I'm not going to come back to you."
"Yes, you will," Wyatt says, backing up slowly and eyeing first me, then Grant, then me again. "You're going to come back to me. I'm going to prove how much I love you, and you're going to be so swept off your feet, you'll want to marry me again by the end of the year. Just you fucking wait."
He turns and stomps out of the room, disappearing around the corner before I can manage a single word in response. Grant turns toward me.
"Are you alright?" he asks, taking me by my shoulders.
I nod.
"I'm fine," I say. "It was kind of a shock to see him again, that's all. I haven't seen him since the divorce was finalized."
"What do you think he's going to do?" Grant asks.
"What do you mean?" I ask, brushing a few stray strands of hair out of my face.
The bell rings, and almost immediately, the sound of the students pouring out of the classrooms and rushing to the last class of the day presses in around us.
"He said he's going to prove he loves you," he says. "What do you think that means?"
I shake my head.
"It doesn't mean anything," I assure him. "He's all puff and drama. Trixie finally came to her senses and made the first good decision in her life by leaving him, so he's in a panic. He doesn't know what to do without a woman around to do his bidding and affirm his existence. But, he has no real motivation. He'll figure out he's not going to get anywhere with me, get bored, and go home. It's nothing to worry about."
Two days before Thanksgiving…
"He's outside my house!" I hiss into the phone.
"What?" Grant asks. "Where are you?"
"I'm sitting on the floor under my living room window," I tell him. "Why is he standing out in my front yard? Look out the window."
I rise up on my knees just enough to hazard a glance under the curtains. Part of me hopes that Wyatt has wandered away by now. He's been standing out there for over an hour, and I thought by now hunger, boredom, and basic human decency, would have lured him away. Unfortunately, I can still hear the music he's been playing for me on a continuous loop. I know he's trying to pull out all the stops by recreating a romantic 80's movie moment he thinks would make me swoon. The gesture loses a bit of impact when instead of a love song pumping out of a boombox, he has an obnoxious Britney Spears song streaming out of an iPod he's holding over his head.
"Tell him to go away," Grant says.
"You don't think I tried that already?"
"So, you're sitting on the floor, hiding from someone who already knows your home?"
"Damn it."
I scramble to my feet, shoving at the curtain out of the way so I can push the window up.
"Go away, Wyatt!"
"I'm here to serenade you," he says. "I'm playing your favorite song."
"I loathe Britney Spears," I say. "Loathe her."
"Oh," he says, lowering his hand and shoving the iPod into his pocket without bothering to turn it off. "I'll be back." He turns and starts walking away. "Loathes Britney, not loves Britney," he mutters. "Loathes Britney, not loves Britney."
In his deep concentration about this complicated element of my personality, he slips off of the curb, then turns to glare at it like it deeply offended him. Somewhere in that man's pocket, Britney Spears is singing passionately to his crotch.
This is too much.
I walk over to the couch, and drop down onto the cushion, letting out a sigh.
"He went away," I inform Grant.
"I know," he says. "I'm watching him. Unfortunately, it looks like he just walked into the house across the street."
I'm back on my feet, and run across the room to look back out the window.
"What do you mean he just walked into the house across the street?"
"The house across the street," Grant says. "Number 42. The one with the pink door. He just walked in."
"Didn't that house get rented around the same time I rented this one?" I ask. "Did he just break into somebody's house?"
"I don't know," Grant says. "He didn't hesitate at all. He just walked up to the front door, and walked in. Give me a minute. I'll call you right back."
The call ends, and I put my phone on the windowsill as I continue to stare out at Number 42. That's the house the woman moved out of when she married the man who lived in my house.
I don't see any movement around the house, and his face doesn't show up in any of the windows as I watch. I don't know if that is reassuring, or more disturbing. Not disturbing in the frightening way. It’s not like he’s intimidating me. It’s disturbing in the ‘grown man taking his romantic cues from a teenager in a movie that came out be
fore he was born, and that he never watched with the woman he's trying to win over’ kind of way. My phone rings a few seconds later, and I pick it up without turning my eyes away from the house.
"Hello?"
"He didn't break in," Grant says. "Apparently that house did get rented around the same time you moved in."
"Oh, please don't tell me Susie rented her house to Wyatt," I moan.
"No, she didn't," Grant says.
"Good," I say, letting out a long sigh of relief.
"She rented it to Mrs. Markowitz for safekeeping for her daughter Brenda. Mrs. M is convinced Brenda will be getting married soon."
"I guess that's nice."
"And she’s also subletting it to Wyatt."
"Damn it!"
In my frustration, I drop my phone, and I reach for it as it skitters across the floor. I'm happy to see the screen hasn't shattered. That would be pushing my bad luck too far.
"Are you ok? What was that?" Grant asks as I bring the phone back up to my ear, an obvious note of worry in his voice.
"I'm sorry," I say. "I dropped my phone." I give an exasperated sigh. "So, what am I supposed to do now?"
"There isn't anything you really can do," Grant says. "I mean, if he's threatening you in any way, then we can call the police. But right now, the only thing Wyatt is guilty of is a lack of creativity and bad musical taste.”
I laugh and turn away from the window. There’s no point in continuing to watch the house. I can't do anything about Wyatt staying there. I head back into the kitchen to work on the pumpkin cranberry bread I had abandoned when Wyatt first pounded on my front door. It's only been a day. He’ll run out of steam eventually.
The day before Thanksgiving…
"I just called…"
"Stop it."
I hang up the phone. It rings again.
"To say…"
"Wyatt, stop."
I hang up the phone. It rings again.
"I…"
"No."
Marriage Mistake Page 18