2 Days 'Til Sundae (2 'Til Series Book 1)

by Heather Muzik

  “Hey, Georgia—” She had to stop and clear her throat of shame. She should be more interested in a living breathing friendship than a stupid plastic toy that could have been purchased at any Clover or most drugstores back in the heyday of her youth. Georgia was more important than this. And so was Josey. But she was my sister, not hers. If I’m hurting anyone here, it’s myself. “—I hate to say this but I missed my flight…. Actually… I had to postpone it. I’m still in Nekoyah. Still trying to close this deal.” She tried to make it sound more important and official and less totally inane, but for whose benefit? “Anyway, I can’t get back there for tonight. I’m sorry. I really want to get together. I’m not trying to be a total flake, but I know that’s what I’ve become recently. I hope you can forgive me.”

  Catherine closed the phone, feeling dejected. Sure it was easier to leave a message than speak to her live, but she suddenly felt very, very alone. She heard twigs snapping behind her and startled, almost slipping off the rock and into the water while attempting to turn around and see who or what was coming. Even though it was the middle of a bright sunshiny day, she still felt her heart jump at the thought that she was in a secluded area—like the hikers and joggers who went missing in the middle of the day in wild, uncharted, or less-traveled places.

  Righting herself, she caught a glimpse of a boy and girl racing along the path next to the lake’s edge. They had backpacks on, and now that they were closer she could hear their voices carrying to her.

  “Slow down, Ryan.”

  “Maybe you should hurry up.”

  “Mom said you’re supposed to walk with me,” she complained. “And my shoe’s untied. I can’t run.”

  He stopped then and backtracked to her, grabbing her pink shoelaces out of her hands and tying them extra tight for her.

  They looked like they were on the tail end of elementary school, probably on their way home from class. For a moment she pictured herself and Connor doing the same. Even though she was older, he’d always left her in the dust with his long legs and she’d always threatened to tell on him.

  She watched them until they were out of sight and then opened her phone again.

  “Y’ello?” he asked, shortening an already short greeting into one word.

  “Connor?” She was surprised to have him answer in the middle of the day when she knew he was at work. She’d wanted to hear his voice but figured she’d have to make do with his voice mail message.

  “Hey Cat, what’s up?”

  “Nothing much.” She looked guiltily out at the lake view. There was a lot up; she just wasn’t willing to admit where she was or what she was doing.

  “I was actually meaning to give you a call. Lacey and I are going to be in the city and wanted to take you out to dinner tomorrow.”

  “Tomorrow? … Wednesday?” she pressed, drawing the syllables out slowly, trying to think of some way to beg out.

  “Yes, that would be Wednesday. Seriously, Cat, you have got to stop avoiding us. I know you and Lacey never really hit it off—”

  “It’s not that,” she said quickly—at least not this time.

  “Then what? You’re constantly busy,” he pointed out. His words were filled with conviction.

  “Okay, you’re right…. I’ve been a crappy sister-in-law so far. But this time I really am busy. I don’t know if I’ll even be back in town by then,” she winced, regretting the words before they were even fully out of her mouth.

  “Where the hell are you?”

  “It’s a long story,” she said with a sigh.

  “Did I say I was in a rush?”

  “I don’t really want to go into it right now.”

  “Then why’d you call me?”

  Silence. She didn’t even know where to start. She didn’t want to get all mushy and tell him that she’d been watching two kids on their way home from school and it made her think of him… and then that led to thinking about Josey walking home from school alone and what happened… and—

  “Cat? You there? Did I lose you?”

  “I’m here.” Her voice was hollow, strange.

  “What’s going on?” he asked, concern filling the air between them.

  “Do you know what day it is?” The words were heavy and awkward to try and form.

  “What do you mean?”

  “The date.”

  “Of course I know the date,” he said incredulously—all business, callous.

  She felt her heart begin to crack. She needed him right now and he wasn’t there with her—not in physical space and not emotionally—

  “It’s April 28th....” His voice was suddenly strained. “Josey’s birthday.”

  Catherine let out a sob of relief. “You remember?” Tears were on her face and in her voice. They didn’t talk about Josey. Hadn’t. Not since they were both still living at home. Josey left them abruptly, and then it seemed that her spirit and memory gradually faded away as they continued to grow up after she stopped…. This was the first time they’d even mentioned her birthday between them. Josephine had become some kind of awful unspoken nightmare they shared—a sister they alternately missed and wished had never been born, so they never had to know what it felt like to grow up without her.

  “I can’t forget. No matter how much sometimes I wish I could, it’s there—always,” he said grimly.

  “I feel her more this year,” Catherine admitted, knowing that was part of what she was going through, maybe most of what she was going through right now. She was trying to reclaim Josey. “She kind of got far away for a while, but now she’s back.”

  “Listen, why don’t we get together tomorrow? Seriously. The three of us.”

  That’s not the three of us I want. But she said, “I don’t think—”

  “For me?” he cut in hopefully. “I want us to stay close. I want you and Lacey to be comfortable around each other. I want you to be friends.”

  “She’s just so—”

  “Cold? Career-driven?” he offered. “Don’t tell me you begrudge her for us not having kids, too…. A clinical relationship. I believe that’s what Mom called it.”

  “Ooh, that smarts.”

  “You’re telling me. Try explaining that one to your wife.”

  “You saying I’m a lesbian?” Catherine challenged, breaking the tension. “You think I’m going to have a wife someday?”

  “Well—”

  “As if.” Her voice was pitched in indignation.

  “Anyway, Lacey is uncomfortable enough without the added pressure that my sister, who I happen to adore, doesn’t like her,” he said, laying the guilt on thick with a side of compliment.

  “I don’t dislike her,” she countered. “I just don’t get her. And Mom… well, let me count the ways….”

  “I’ve already counted.”

  “Can you blame her? Lacey even kept her own name, Connor. That’s a smack in the face of our Middle American values,” Catherine noted, only half kidding.

  “It’s only for professional reasons. She likes to be called Mrs. Hemmings in bed—”

  “La-la-la, I’m not listening,” she singsonged, trying to drown out his words and the icky pictures in her head.

  “I just need you on my side,” he prodded.

  “Let me ask you something, seriously. You really don’t want to have kids?”

  “No, we don’t.”

  Catherine was silent, wondering why he was protecting his wife. She couldn’t understand it. She wanted all of it—the kids, the husband, the name… the whole nine yards.

  “Don’t get like Mom. She didn’t talk to me for weeks when I finally said, unequivocally, ‘no’ to grandkids and put an end to her dreams—after years of her passive aggressive badgering, mind you.”

  “You know it isn’t the choice not to have kids that bothers Mom…. It’s who made it.”

  “I made it,” he said forcefully.

  “What?” She coughed several times, choking on the news he wanted her to swallow.


  “Lacey knew from the start. All my girlfriends—the serious ones—knew that I didn’t want them. That was why we always broke up. But when I told Lacey, she stayed.”

  “Because she didn’t want them either?”

  “Because she loves me more than what she did or didn’t want.”

  “Connor, I don’t get it. Why are you so adamant about not wanting kids?”

  Silence greeted her and then his words were almost a whisper. “—Because of Josey.”

  She was unable to form a response.

  “I watched what Mom and Dad went through… and I know how I felt. I know how everything changed and how much it hurt. I didn’t want to ever go through anything like it again, or put anyone else through it either.”

  “I never knew.” She breathed the words.

  “It isn’t something I like to talk about.”

  -22-

  This time the gate was open wide, but even though the way was clear to drive in she opted for parking at the mailbox again and walking. She didn’t want to give him any advance warning to alert him to her presence. And hopefully this time Magnus would keep his mouth shut too.

  It really was a nice bit of land the guy had. The place could be downright perfect with a different owner in residence. As the house came into view, Catherine noticed an SUV parked in her spot as well as another car around the side toward the garage, just poking out from behind some bushes. Neither of those vehicles had been there on her earlier visits. She wondered if the joke was about to be on her. Was it possible that Joel Trager, the ass—a.k.a. Fynn, the recluse—was having some kind of small get-together or party? Like he has any friends to invite, she humphed. Although just such a thing would fit flawlessly under the umbrella of bad luck she’d been carrying around for two days.

  Life is real, not ideal, her mother reminded her yet again. And boy is my life REAL here in Nekoyah, Minnesota, Mom. Can’t catch a break for nothing.

  She diverted off the driveway and into the yard, crouching low as she made her way closer and then stopping at what seemed an ideal perch, on a rise of rough grasses that demarcated the point where constrained wild became true lawn. The height of the land here put her closer to level with the front windows at porch height. The lights were on and the evening was waning toward night so she was able to see clearly inside.

  In one window, perfectly framed, she saw a couple of young boys. In the next window, a dining room, she saw—Catherine shook her head and blinked her eyes, sure her contacts must have slipped off her eyeballs into the back of her head, compromising her sight. She looked again. No, she was right the first time. It was Drew—clear as day. She almost swallowed her own tongue in shock. She’d known that Drew was married, had seen the sparkling ring on her finger. Cues like that were hard to miss as a single woman. She checked out all fingers—male and female—judging ages and marital status and comparing everyone to herself and her own sad prospects. Joel Trager’s hand had been naked, but he had been playing the part of grieving widower just last week… maybe he was a grifter and the “single thing” was all part of his con.

  Catherine couldn’t hear anything, what with the windows closed to the cool evening air that made her wish she’d thought to put on her hoodie. But she could see plenty. Like how he moved in so close and whispered into Drew’s ear something that made her throw her head back in silent, hearty laughter. It was the picture of a perfect family inside: mom, dad, kids. And there was a lovable lump of fur somewhere nearby too. They had it all, including the only thing she wanted right now. What the hell did they need Caramellie for, too?

  Her heart rose up out of its rightful place, making her throat ache. Every conclusion she’d drawn about this guy had been wrong, or else it was a lie directly perpetrated by him. She’d been mad enough at the jerk who made up a dead wife just to get his hands on her dollhouse, but to kill off his perfectly beautiful live one? Unconscionable. Diabolical. Pathological. And then there was Drew, the definitely not dead wife—talking Catherine up, all friendly, all the time knowing she would be coming home to her husband, Fynn, tonight…. That her “running into him” last night was probably in bed, where Catherine had been reduced to their pillow talk. Sick. It was just sick. She wondered if Drew knew that her man was dicking their out-of-town guest around about the dollhouse. Was she the woman he wanted to please? Another woman obsessed with a stupid child’s toy? No wonder I liked her, she seethed.

  Catherine felt ridiculous skulking around outside their windows, taking stock of their life. She felt betrayed by these people, relative strangers to her but obviously as close as God could make them to each other. They certainly made a stunning couple—a matched set.

  All she wanted to do was get the stupid dollhouse, get out of Nekoyah, and forget she ever met or ran into Joel and Drew Trager. After torturing herself for a few more minutes, peeking into their perfect little existence, she turned to leave, unwilling and unable to go to the door and shatter the calm. Perhaps Drew didn’t even know what was going on between Joel and her. She might not even know about the toy. Maybe it was a touching gift he’d gotten for her—the dick.

  Catherine started to tiptoe away, thankful she had chosen the black blouse and dark-rinsed jeans from Kohl’s rack of bargains as they helped camouflage her movements now that the sun had set past usefulness. It was a long way back to the car, but she only had to get to the trees that buffered the property from the road and she would be relatively safe from exposure—only another few hundred feet or so. Then she heard the door of the house open. She dropped quickly into a grounded belly flop, hoping to hide in what little brush there was at her feet—damn Joel Trager for keeping even the wild grasses in check. She wormed herself around on the ground to steal a peek toward the house, where she saw Magnus frolicking around in the sideyard that was lit by a floodlight someone had flicked on. It must have been the back door that opened, seeing as how there were no humans within sight but for the people who occasionally showed up in the front windows.

  The muffled sound of Def Leppard emanated suddenly from her pocket and she threw a terrified glance toward Magnus. He was perked like a pointer in the yard, training his ears on the signal she was sending and trying to focus his eyes on the source. She fought with the tight pocket of her jeans, trying to get at the phone. She knew it was Georgia; “Love Bites” was their anthem of heartache their freshman year in college.

  As she pulled the phone out to silence it, first the noise got louder and Magnus started running straight for her. He was still a safe distance away, but he could close that distance quickly. She said a prayer that he would get distracted before her ultimate humiliation was realized—caught in a stranger’s yard, scoping out his family. She braced herself for impact, closing her eyes and opening the phone to try to cut off the music by hanging up on her friend.

  Nothing happened. Her finger was on the trigger to shut the phone off when she realized that she didn’t have a big golden retriever breathing down her neck. She was alone in the dark with her phone. She ventured a look around and saw the yard was empty. Someone must have called Magnus back inside and saved her—divine intervention.

  “Cat? You there?”

  The voice startled the hell out of her. She must have answered the call by accident. “Yeah, it’s me,” she whispered back before even putting the phone to her mouth.

  “I can hardly hear you.”

  “Sorry.” She spoke into the phone this time and raised her voice slightly, afraid if she got any louder she might accidentally provoke the nature that surrounded her into a commotion. “Is that better?”

  “Marginally,” Georgia grumbled back.

  Catherine could feel the coldness through the phone. It was obvious Georgia had gotten her message.

  “What the hell are you doing?” her friend demanded before she could say anything to try and smooth things over.

  “I’m sorry, Georgia. I know I said we would get together.”

  “Oh, don’t worry about me,” she said h
uffily. “I do this for you, Cat. Every year. I do this for you.” Her voice was grim, shaming her.

  “And I appreciate it, really. I would rather be there.”

  “Then you should have come home.”

  She had her eyes trained on the house, hoping beyond hope that she remained undetected. Even the light from her phone could be enough of a beacon to warn them that someone was out here. She hunkered down, her phone against the ground, her cheek on top of it. She just wanted to be able to slink away with her tail between her legs now that she knew the story of Mr. and Mrs. Trager and their sick marriage games of which it seemed she had become a part. Next time they wanted to liven up their love life they should leave others out of it. And if she ever had the chance to tell them such, she would let them have it.

  “Hello?”

  But Catherine was no longer even trying to listen. A light had popped on in the upstairs windows and through it she saw a pink and white striped room… and Fynn being tackled in an overjoyed hug from his wife—the woman who had wickedly led her to him in the first place. She squirmed along the ground to get a closer view, but it cut off the angle too much and she was left with just two heads close enough to kiss or whisper sweet nothings to each other. Is it a nursery? Is she pregnant? Is that where my Caramellie is? Sitting on a shelf awaiting a young child yet to be born? Another of Joel Trager’s lies—that it wasn’t even there, when it was upstairs all along. What a waste! They could pick out tons of things for her to play with by the time she’s even old enough to use it. Not that Catherine was going to take it home and play with it, but at least it wasn’t a choking hazard for her—really, folks, Caramellie is too small for a baby!

  “Cat!” Georgia blasted her from New Jersey, breaking through her thoughts and the distraction of family life before her. “Jeez, you can’t even talk to me for a minute without—”

  “I know…. I’m sorry. I’m a piece of shit,” she said lowly.

  “That’s more like it. Where exactly are you anyway?”