When he called her one night, midway through July, she could tell something was wrong. “I’ve been thinking,” he said.
“Always dangerous.”
“Are there any interesting guys in Ellensburg?”
“Why, yes. One owns the motel where the students are staying. I’m at the Best Western though. It has a pool.”
“Does he play an instrument?” he asked.
“I’ll hang out at the bar more. See what I can find out. I do love a musician.”
He didn’t say anything. Jonny, when anxious, still couldn’t read her. At least not over the phone. She felt bad for teasing him, a little.
“On second thought, he probably isn’t musical,” she went on. “He’s a Mr. Fix-it. The girls call him The Tool.”
“I was thinking of coming out there. For a weekend. Or a week.”
“I’ll be back in two weeks.”
“I don’t think I can wait two weeks.”
“Well, come then. But I’ll be working a lot. You remember.”
He rustled some papers. “I’m moving. This place is too hot in the summer and too cold in the winter. Someplace bigger. You could move in.” His voice dropped. “I need you here.”
When Isabel returned from the field study she gave up her apartment. At Christmas, on their own in front of a living Christmas tree Isabel had borrowed from the University greenhouse, Jonny proposed and Isabel accepted. Their parents were not surprised. Isabel let Edie throw a small engagement party at the Botanical Gardens, under duress. Edie said it was only fair and smiled like crazy.
There were more flowers than guests at their wedding that spring, on the weekend after classes finished. Unless you counted the bees and Isabel was a little too busy for that. Margaret’s rose society went overboard with the bouquets. The backyard of the mansion on the lake was transformed by the huge tent. The Notable Knobels played a reunion set for Jonny, only making him take up Stumpy’s accordion and play a tune of his choice for old times’ sake.
The band swung into Holti’s favorite, She Likes Kielbasa Polka. Jonny felt the heavy instrument in his arms, shoved the air into it and drew it out again, just the way he always had. His mother was dancing with Father Teddy, Nora with Claude, Max with Daria, Will with Isabel. Sonya and the baby, Holti, did a spin as well. Jonny took off his jacket and put his heart into the dirty old ditty.
A rush of affection for the squeeze box flooded through him, its familiar feel, the tradition, the family. He promised himself right then that he would get out his grandfather’s accordion this summer and learn the Cajun music Claude had sent. He would play again. It was in his blood.
His father beamed from behind the drum set. His brother and sister tooted their trumpets and teased each other as the notes faded.
Jonny stepped off the stage and found Isabel in her simple white gown, the delicate crown of roses in her hair. Her cheeks were pink from the warm day, and the emotion. She shimmered like an angel. He felt the tears in his throat as his heart swelled again.
He took his bride by the hand and led her to the dance floor for one more round of polka. What had he been waiting for?
All Your Pretty Dreams Page 24