by Brea Viragh
“Next month? Wow, we’re…fast approaching.” Duncan stood, towering over me. “It doesn’t give us much time.”
“I know, I know. But why are we waiting?” I smiled. “We are here together. Why not get it over with? I mean, I want to marry you right away.”
It made sense to me in the moment, I convinced myself. Waiting for next year meant prolonging the inevitable while also dealing with the stress of the holidays. Better to put a few plans into motion while we were cooped up in the hotel with little else to do besides work, and get the thing completed.
The sooner I became Mrs. Whitaker, the better.
“What brought this about?” he asked. “Not that I’m complaining, but it seems a little sudden, even for you.” He chuckled and clicked his briefcase closed. “I’ve never known you to be Miss Spontaneous.”
“I want it to be official. I’m done with waiting.” Slicing the air with my hand, I continued. “We need to start our life together. I don’t need anything big and fancy. Just you, me, and a justice of the peace, which can all be accomplished in a heartbeat.”
“And here I thought you wanted something extravagant to break the bank. I’ve been kind of looking forward to a huge affair.” Duncan scratched his chin. “Most women dream of a big wedding but you never seem to talk about it much.”
“You couldn’t be farther from the truth.”
He was right in saying every little girl dreamed of their wedding. The white dress and long aisle, walking side by side with their father, flower arrangements of variable sizes and colors, and cake tasty enough to make angels cry. I admit to having had those same visions when Duncan first proposed to me on bended knee.
The surf had surged behind him and the setting sun turned his golden hair to burnt orange. I had looked down at the man and considered it the first step on the right path, which was a humbling feeling. Now? Now I felt like a bride with a secret. The sooner the better.
At least I wasn’t pregnant.
Duncan’s mouth curved until the corners nearly reached his eyes. “If you’re worried about money, don’t be. We’ll have the big day you dreamed about and I’ll take care of everything.”
“Wait, what?” His answer took me by surprise.
He nodded. “I know you’re just afraid to admit what you want, because you think you have to pay out the nose for it. But I’m telling you now, I want to go over the top, and I have some savings. Besides, you only get married once.”
A second hug, this time longer, gentler. I let my head drop to his chest and sighed. “If you say so.”
He gathered the briefcase in a sure sign our time had ended. “We can discuss it more when I get back tonight. Take the day to plan, if you want. Location, budget, everything. I can’t wait to see what you come up with.”
I watched the door close behind him as my smile melted. Neither can I.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
The never-ending grind of work...I’d only been at the County Corner for a few weeks and I hated it. Each day that I looked at the schedule and saw my name, I wanted to crawl into a hole. Even thinking about work sent me on a trip to the toilet until my stomach calmed.
Beyond doubt, I wasn’t built to wear an apron. My figure looked best in long pants, flowing tops, and anything accentuating my torso instead of hiding it. In a utility apron I felt like a hausfrau, only less put-together.
“You haven’t said a word since you got here,” Beulah told me one day. “What’s wrong with you?”
“Nothing is wrong. I want to make sure I’m slicing this tomato right.” I concentrated on the knife and my slicing skills.
“You’ve never been concerned before.” Kelly turned from her own work to fix me with a stare, hands on her hips. “You do a slapdash job with everything you touch.”
“Maybe I’m trying to be a better worker.”
Both women laughed. “Sure,” Beulah continued, “like anyone believes that.”
I resumed my furious carving, despite my pummeled tomato.
Clothing rustled behind me and I turned to see them removing their cooking aprons. “Where are you going?” I asked.
“Outside. Time for a break.” Kelly gestured toward her lips in the universal sign for cigarette.
I sighed, watching them leave. A few moments of peace never hurt anyone. I enjoyed the bliss, listening to the sounds of easy rock over the insignificant corner speaker.
“Excuse me, Miss Cook?”
I glanced up from the sandwich prep line and stifled a yowl. “August!”
He wore a simple black t-shirt offsetting the reddish-brown of his hair. Dark blue jeans covered his legs and fell on dirty sneakers.
Innocent eyes stared back at me until I felt blood rush to my face. My cheeks mottled as the flush rose to the tips of my ears. I ducked, hiding it with my hair. How dare he come in here looking so cute, acting so casual while some of us worked hard and still fell short!
No, August wasn’t cute. Not in the least. What was I thinking?
“What do you want?” I asked. The knife missed my index finger by millimeters and I stopped slicing.
“Something to eat.” He said it like it was obvious, the scum.
I pointed in a different direction while focusing my attention on building the turkey and Swiss ciabatta. “There’s an artisan sandwich shop down the street if you want something loaded with sodium for a lot of money. Otherwise I’ve heard there’s a great French restaurant in the other direction, and a street vendor with burritos if you’re in the mood for a little more spice.”
I chided myself. Be normal, I admonished. It wasn’t hard for some but damn near impossible for me around August right now.
“Hey, I thought we were okay,” he told me instead, following me as I moved down the line. “You said so yourself. Stress, remember?”
“We are okay,” I replied. “We’re peachy. We’ve never been more okay in our entire lives.”
The bum laughed at me. “Your actions say otherwise.”
At his words, I forced my head up and a grin on my face. “Welcome to the County Corner, Mr. McKenney. The jewel of downtown Heartwood. What can I do for you today?”
He pointed down. “I’ll have one of those, if you don’t mind, Miss Cook.”
“Pretty easy.” I jotted the order down on a pad and added it to the line of other things I had to make. “You can go ahead and look around while I finish these up. It will only be a few minutes.”
I wished Beulah and Kelly would hurry up and finish their smoke break. On any other day, I preferred the quiet to their incessant gossiping. I’d swallowed more aspirin in the last week than ever before.
Today the distraction would be welcome. Anything to act as a buffer between August and me. I popped two more little white pills in my mouth and took a quick sip of bottled water.
August casually rolled his shoulders. “I’ll stand here while I wait, if you don’t mind.”
He swiveled around to take in the rest of the store while I ignored him—something I was becoming quite adept at doing.
Two pieces of bread, add turkey, add cheese, add mayonnaise, a bit of lettuce for color, and then tomatoes…
“Pretty quiet in here today.”
I nearly jumped out of my skin at the sound of his voice. “It’s Monday, and it’s early. The lunch crowd arrives around noon. They always do.”
“I’ve never been in here since they did the remodel. It looks great. Some modern touches to appeal to the younger generation.” He dove his hands into his pockets, the picture of nonchalance.
I knew how those hands felt on my skin.
No, I didn’t. I shook my head until black spots danced in front of my eyes. “I never pictured myself working here. But a job is a job.”
“What do you want to do?” he asked. “And don’t consider this prying. I’ve been meaning to ask you but it sort of slips from my head every time I see you.”
I slapped the bread down and wrapped the order. “Not this.”
“Well, of course.
But what?”
A sticker seal held the sides of waxed paper together as the finishing touch. “You know, I told myself once I would never work in retail again. Yet here I am.” I blew air toward my bangs. “I wanted to be a lyricist. I have boxes of poems and lines of script no one wants to see except me. Kind of pathetic, if you think about it, spending your waking moments jotting down pieces of your heart only to have no one want them. I guess I didn’t know the business like I needed to.” I looked up at him then.
“Did you write lyrics in California?”
“No. Well, yes, I wrote, but had no success.”
“Why not?”
I wondered at his game of twenty questions, but at least talking about myself was better than dredging up old issues better left buried. “Who knows. I must have sent out thousands of demos, only to get back enough rejections to wallpaper my entire apartment.”
“You didn’t find the right person,” August told me, offering his sage advice. “If you’d kept trying, then eventually someone would have come along and snatched up your lyrics up like candy.”
Yes, the same old adage. Iz, you need to keep trying, because in due course you’ll find the right person who will love what you do, and their encouragement is all you’ll need.
Yeah, sure. Try paying your bills with encouragement.
“I thought so too. It just never happened. I’m sure you’ll tell me I didn’t try hard enough, but I did. I tried until my heart broke and I could write no more.”
On to the next order, and only three more until I could serve August and get him out of the store.
Where the hell were my backups?
“I would love to read some of your work one day.” August ran a hand through his hair as a speculative glint filled his eyes. “If you’ll let me.”
“Everything is in boxes right now,” I said by way of an offhand excuse.
“As soon as you get settled, then. And I hope, when the house is finished, you’ll let me throw you a party.”
I quirked a brow. “I’ve seen how your parties turn out. I’m not sure I’d be able to handle another one.”
August scoffed and rubbed his chin. “Thursday night was a fluke. It won’t happen again.”
“Which part?”
“Everything. What would you say if I swore to you that next time—if you let me—will be completely different?”
“I would say that’s a big boast. And there won’t be a next time because I’ll be very busy in the coming weeks.”
“Oh? Is there something happening I don’t know about?”
I shrugged. “I’ve pushed the wedding up.” I watched his brows lift and lines form around his puckering mouth. Good, there was a surprise for him. “Duncan and I are getting married by next month.”
August stared at me, a mask dropping over his features before he slowly smiled. “Congratulations! I wondered why you were waiting so long. Duncan is too lucky.”
“Thank you.”
“You’ll have to let me do the music for you.”
His response startled me. “You. Do the music,” I repeated, feeling stupid.
“Yes! I don’t just craft my instruments. My band practices on weekends. We call ourselves the Heartwood Harmonics, and my buddy from high school, Ewan Thompson, is still my bass player. I’m sure I told you about it.”
“No, you didn’t,” I said.
“I would be honored if you’d let the band play for your wedding. You don’t have to pay us. We would do it for free, for you.”
I fumbled with the waxed paper and managed to smash a corner of the sandwich in the process. “I couldn’t let you play for free. I’d feel wrong taking advantage of the…situation.”
“I’m offering.” August leaned against the small sill separating the kitchen from the rest of the space. “The other guys won’t mind. They’re good ol’ boys. Happy to be playing a gig.”
“You’ve already been so kind to me and Duncan. I hate putting you out, with your own busy schedule.” I muttered under my breath, “Especially after the other night.”
He crossed his arms over his chest. “I told you, the other night was a fluke. A product of a little too much wine before dinner and my parents’ fevered arguing. I apologized for it. A silly mistake.”
A silly mistake. I heard the words in my head and hoped they were true.
“I meant what I said about wanting to stay friends.” August shuffled his feet. “I think yours is the oldest friendship I’ve managed to maintain. The others sort of fell by the wayside.”
I knew how he felt. Instead of nurturing the connections I had, I broke from everyone and everything to move away and be someone else. I thought about how nice it would be to have a shoulder to lean on besides my own. Or Duncan’s.
“I suppose. I’ll get back to you on the music for the wedding. I’ll have to check with the groom first. He’s handling our finances at the moment.” I handed August the completed sandwich. “For you.”
He accepted it with a grin guaranteed to lift my spirits. “I appreciate the swift service.”
Our eyes held a bit too long and I stumbled back as the side door opened. Beulah and Kelly piled in amidst a cloud of nicotine, the smoke obscuring their features as they gabbed like children.
They stopped when they noticed August, twin expressions of devilish pleasure alighted their faces. “Well, well, what do we have here?” Beulah said in greeting. “Someone is up to some mischief, no doubt. How’s your momma?”
“She’s doing well, Miz Gordon. And your girls?” August inclined his head toward the older woman.
“Same as usual.”
Kelly puffed up her hair. “Hello, McKenney.”
“Miz Paterson. You doing well?” The query was polite and impersonal.
“Better now,” Kelly responded. “Thanks for asking.”
Beulah cocked her head to the side. “You’re not here trying to steal our girl, are you? Because she has work to do and no time to chat with the likes of you.”
August held his hands up in front of him with the sandwich visible. “I only came in for food.”
“Seems fishy. I’ve never seen you in here before.” Kelly placed her hands on her hips.
“I never had a good reason,” August retorted. “Anyway, I have to run. See you later. Hope you enjoy the rest of your day.” He fished in his pocket as he spoke, pulled out a wad of ones and laid a few of them on the counter. Then he shot me a final smirk before making a quick exit.
I turned to the women, gut flipping in dread, and inquired with forced pleasantness, “Did you have a nice smoke break?”
They turned to each and then back to me, a pair of cats with a mouse, before Kelly spoke. “I didn’t realize you and McKenney were still friends. You never mentioned it.” She grabbed an apron from the peg near the door and donned it. “I always thought you two lost touch like the rest of us, and you didn’t tell me otherwise.”
“I also didn’t mention I have a birthmark above my left hip, but it’s there,” I retorted. “I don’t see how it’s a big deal.”
Kelly resumed chopping cucumbers for a spring salad. “You know, McKenney has managed to stay single. And available.”
“Good for him. I’m not.”
Beulah tucked a lock of hair behind her ear in a casual, practiced move. “So many young girls have tried to catch his eye but he wouldn’t have any of them. Even my gorgeous Leslie, although she made a much better match. Some people say he’s been saving himself up for a certain person who didn’t have the decency to stay in the state.”
“People say a lot of things,” I remarked testily.
The trick was getting them to shut up and mind their own business.
Later in the day, I took it upon myself to listen to Duncan’s advice. I went to check on the progress of the renovation in an attempt to lift my spirits despite knowing I wouldn’t like what I found. Hank’s silence could only mean two things: more delays and more money.
The moment the figurat
ive work bell tolled to signal the end of the shift, I threw the apron down with unfeigned delight and bolted outside, managing to catch those last rays of sun on my face before twilight descended.
The drive took more than twenty minutes with traffic, as I had the unfortunate luck to land behind a tractor on a two-lane road, before I finally pulled into the driveway.
I stood in front of the house and listened to the quiet. Hank and his crew had already taken off for the day, leaving the remnants of their work in piles around the front yard, the planned chaos of a construction site. Everything changed, I knew. The house felt different though it still stood as it always had, out of view of the road and with the woods at its back.
I was different.
Duncan had given Hank the go-ahead to change out the old weight and pulley windows and replace the screens. Now those panes sparkled, along with brand new shutters in a rich shade of eggshell, glowing in the fading light. I thought about blue for the siding, something rich and deep to bring out those shutters.
The loose boards on the front porch had been replaced so none squeaked or sagged underfoot. Perhaps a pair of Adirondack chairs, something bright, to bring everything together. Green, or yellow. A pop of color did wonders for curb appeal.
I would plant different flowers in the garden to welcome any visitors who came through. Duncan always said daisies were his favorite but I saw something else in the space. Marigolds and zinnias in spring and autumn, lilies and irises for the summer.
Fields spread out on the other side of the pines planted to protect the house from view. We would need something better than my dad’s worn-out tractor to cut the grass. The thing chugged along with an occasional belch of black smoke and left irregular lines in its wake. A riding lawnmower went on my mental list of items to purchase.
I tried to see past the chaos, tried to picture Duncan and me sitting in those chairs on the porch, growing old together…and had difficulty doing so. Odd, I never had a problem seeing it in California. Now, confronted with a concrete stage set for the two of us, it felt like we, as a couple, were more a square peg trying to fit into a round hole.
Keys shook in my hand as I walked to the front door, sweat pooling under my arms. Nerves tingled and I gripped the keychain tight.