Until Tomorrow

by Abbie Williams

  “Do you think that something even exists?” I asked, and then admitted, “Tish, I hate this.”

  “I hate it, too,” Tish said. “But Robbie the best schmoozer I’ve ever known, other than Dad. He’ll be fine. And maybe by some miracle he’ll actually find something.”

  ***

  I left the office a little over an hour later, hurrying home to change before driving over to the Rawleys’ place. Wy, fresh home from a day at high school, helped me decorate with streamers and balloons and a stack of presents. I was restless with excitement, unable to keep from checking the time. Sean and Quinn had been recruited to stall Marshall until six, after which they would bring him here. Everyone we’d invited was supposed to arrive by five-thirty.

  By quarter to six the house was bursting with excited chatter and I couldn’t sit still, checking the island counter that was loaded with food, making sure everyone knew where to hide so that we could jump out when Marshall came through the door. I was wearing my favorite sundress, my hair soft and curly over my shoulders, and I couldn’t wait another minute to see Marshall.

  Clark came to hug me, saying, “This will make him so happy, honey.”

  “I hope he’s surprised,” I told Clark, tucking into his side and hugging him back, and in that instant I felt a sudden and inexplicable flash of concern, before realizing that Marshall hadn’t texted me all afternoon, which was unusual. It hadn’t occurred to me to worry because I’d been so preoccupied with getting the party set up. Outside the rain had evolved from misting to bucketing, and I felt a sick edge of fear slice through my gut.

  Slippery two-lane roads.

  Truck drivers who fell asleep at the wheel and smashed into unsuspecting vehicles…

  My heart twisted into a hard knot of fear.

  Clark didn’t seem to notice my sudden unease, instead smiling at the controlled chaos of family and friends gathered together to celebrate; everyone was snacking on appetizers and drinking keg beer, laughing and talking. Music played from the kitchen speakers. Case and Tish were sitting together in the rocking chair by the fireplace, oblivious to anything but each other as they talked; Tish was on his lap, cuddled close. No one was worried but me.

  “No doubt about it,” Clark said in response, kissing the side of my forehead. His tone changed as he said, “Here they come now.”

  Relief inundated me to the point that my knees went weak. Thankfully Clark took charge, lowering the music volume and calling, “Here they come!” and then the room erupted with people trying to find a place to hide. I ducked behind the couch with Wy crowding my right side, both of us giggling hysterically at the excitement of it all.

  “Shhhhhhh!” rose collectively as we could hear the three of them now, hurrying through the rain to the house.

  “Damn, we’re locked out!” Quinn said from outside, louder than normal, which was the cue to everyone inside that they were here. Wy giggled again, almost knocking me over as he shifted position. My heart was out of control.

  Wy hugged me around the waist in his exuberance and whispered in my ear, “You’re gonna be so surprised, Ruthie!”

  Before I could ask what he meant, I heard Marshall say, “No, it’s open,” and then the three of them clambered inside.

  The roar of everyone yelling, “Surprise!” was nearly deafening. Marshall’s face in that instant struck me straight through the heart – my man, who often preferred to downplay his emotions, to underreact to his own happiness, stood there with such delight on his face, almost like a little boy; Marshall’s eyes sought mine at once. He reached for me and I flew to him. His hair and shirt were streaked with rain and he rocked me side to side; I was immeasurably grateful to be in his arms. With all the noise, I had to press near to say, “Happy birthday!”

  “Thank you, angel,” he said into my ear, holding me close.

  We were swarmed then, everyone wanting a hug, to offer him a drink, but Sean whistled, gaining attention. When he had the floor, he said with the air of a ringmaster, “Marsh has a birthday announcement – if he could have your undivided attention.”

  Marshall smiled into my eyes with such a look of sweet satisfaction and I crinkled my eyes at him, asking, What’s this?

  I realized that Garth and Case had guitars in their hands. The two of them came to stand near Marshall and me – everyone was murmuring in excited speculation. I tore my eyes from Marshall to observe the crowd in wonder. Tish was in on it, I could clearly see, grinning at me with her hands clasped beneath her chin. Wy was practically turning cartwheels. And then the guys began to play my favorite country song of all time, “Feels So Right” by Alabama.

  Marshall caught my hands into his and dropped gracefully to one knee, amidst a collective excited gasp from nearly everyone observing, his gray eyes luminous upon mine. He said softly, “I love you, Ruthann Marie Gordon. You mean more than the world to me. Will you give me the most beautiful birthday present I could ever dream of, could ever hope for…” His voice cracked a little, with emotion, and tears streaked through my eyelashes as he tenderly kissed the knuckles of my left hand and then slipped a ring onto my third finger. He asked, his voice steady again despite the wetness of tears in his eyes, “Will you be mine? For always?”

  “Of course I will,” I whispered, laughing and crying, and then the noise around us threatened to raise the roof from the house.

  Marshall grinned so wide, so radiantly, that probably back in Minnesota there was a burst of sunshine. He sprang to his feet and caught me into his arms, burying his face against my neck as everyone applauded.

  ***

  “You knew about this, didn’t you?” I asked Tish later, the two of us sipping beers on the couch and admiring my gorgeous engagement ring, which was a round solitaire diamond on a delicate gold band, flanked by two small garnets, my birthstone. It fit perfectly, courtesy of Tish’s knowledge of my ring size.

  My sister giggled, a little drunk. She said, “Case and Marsh went shopping together, with some advice from me, of course.” She had a new ring too, a simple engraved band in rose gold, as she was not a big fan of diamonds. She explained, “But I insisted on a diamond for you, Ruthie. Isn’t it pretty? The ring is an antique and the garnets were Marsh’s idea. He picked them out at the jewelry store.”

  I asked, “So how’d Marshall find out about the party?” Not that I was complaining – I had never been so surprised and delighted by a turn of events.

  Tish giggled again. She said, “He heard you talking on the phone with me. He wanted to surprise you and since everyone was already going to be here for the birthday, it was a perfect time.” She clinked our beer bottles together lightly and said, “You’re engaged! I called Mom and Aunt Jilly and everyone.”

  Trust my sister. I flicked her earlobe and said sarcastically, “Thanks for letting me do the honors.”

  Later, snuggled in our bed in the apricot light of the lamp, Marshall gave me the history of the ring itself. He was so giddy with excitement that he could scarcely hold still, even as late as it was and with me draped naked over his chest. He held my left hand in both of his.

  “Were you surprised, were you?” he asked for the hundredth time.

  I kissed his lips. “You know I was. You’re a master at keeping secrets. I had no idea.”

  His eyes crinkled at the corners as he grinned, kissing the ring on my hand. He said, “It looks perfect there, angel. This ring belonged to Mom’s mother, Imogene Findlay. We called her Grandma Jen. This ring was the one Grandpa Clem gave to her when they got engaged. I picked out the garnets for the jeweler to add, so it would be unique to you. And because I cherish the month you were born.”

  “I love it,” I whispered, so touched. He got me every time – he knew, he saw. This man whose face I knew above all others, this man who owned my heart. I traced my fingertips over the bold lines of his dark eyebrows, as I loved to do, following the same path I had taken many times now, over his long nose and then outlining his mouth, ending by pressing my thumbs to hi
s chin.

  I was lying directly upon him, breasts against his chest hair, my knees bent and ankles swinging back and forth, but I shifted position at the expression on his face, curving my thighs over his hips. Marshall’s eyes kindled instantly, from tender to scorching in less than a second. Fire sizzled between us; I could almost see it in the air. Outside, rain continued to strike the ground and thunder growled in the distance, indicating an advancing storm that echoed the one in Marshall’s eyes; I didn’t want to blink, because even a single blink took Marshall too long from my sight.

  “Your face,” I told him, my throat hoarse. “You. Just the sight of you – your face, no one else’s. I can’t explain how much I need you…” I kissed his cheekbones, his chin, as rain clattered against the window glass. “Marshall,” I breathed. “You are my true love.” His throat bobbed with emotion and he held my waist tightly in his strong hands. I cupped his jaws and demanded softly, “You know that, don’t you?”

  He nodded, his thumbs caressing my hipbones. He whispered, almost soundlessly, “I do.”

  I studied him as though I would not be allowed to look upon his face for ten lifetimes, and he reached and tucked my hands between his, linking our fingers, pressing his thumb to my new ring, and he said, quiet and intense, “And you are mine. I can’t do without you, not from the moment I touched you.” And then he repeated my words, “You know that, don’t you?”

  “I do,” I whispered, my vision glittering with tears.

  Marshall used his thumbs to brush the wetness from my cheeks and then kissed my mouth. I was swept away by the strength of him, the taste of his kiss, the heat of his body beneath mine, the passionate joy that his touches, his words, unleashed within me. He spread his hands against my back, stroking me. I kissed his ear, smoothed hair from his temple and kissed him there, breathing his scent; when I lifted my face to see his eyes, my heart jolted all over again.

  I whispered, “I have another present for you.”

  “You are all the present I could ever need,” he whispered passionately.

  “It’s right down here,” I said, my fingers trembling as I commandeered his hand and brought it between my legs.

  Marshall breathed out in a rush, gently cupping me as he asked, “Can I open it right now?” His voice was so husky that my knees would have collapsed, had I been standing. I kissed his bottom lip, nodding. He whispered, “You don’t know how beautiful you are. Jesus, I’m shaking.”

  “I love you,” I said intently, my palms on his collarbones, tightening my thighs around him.

  “Ruthann,” he murmured, studying me as though there might be a test later, one that his life depended upon. He said, “The sight of you. The look in your eyes. No one has ever looked at me the way you do.”

  “Marshall,” I said intently. “Make love to me.”

  He kissed me. Kissed me in a way that made all of space and time seem to twist inward on itself, as though the universe held its breath in that instant. He linked our fingers and I shifted to link our bodies.

  Later in life I was to wonder – had I somehow sensed the loss even then? Had this keen-edged knowledge, sharper than any blade, bitten into a part of my consciousness, already making itself quietly known on that beautiful, blissful night, the eve of Marshall’s twenty-eighth birthday? Had the insidious essence of our separation been lurking at the back of my mind in a way I could only understand looking back? Had I known, then, what was to come?

  Could I have prevented it?

  It was a question that, now, I would die to answer.

  Chapter Fifteen

  October 2013

  “Ten minutes or so,” Sean announced from his lawn chair, cracking the top of another beer. Jessie was snuggled on his lap, a blanket over them, while Quinn and Wy lay on their backs on another blanket, both of them pointing out constellations in the black-crystal sky. Wy was slowly waving a sparkler that he’d just lit with Sean’s lighter. I could hear Becky and Garth murmuring about something from their quilt, while Clark bounced baby Tommy on his knee in a sling chair to the right of Marshall and me.

  It was the night before Halloween, a holiday that Jalesville celebrated with a great deal of enthusiasm; earlier in the week we’d visited the pumpkin patch and carved what the Rawleys called ‘pumpkin moonshines,’ two of which now graced the counter in our little apartment. I’d given mine a cheerful lopsided smile while Marshall’s leered wickedly; he’d gone so far as to add pumpkin seed teeth, anchoring them with toothpicks. I understood that Halloween was serious business around here.

  We’d spent the evening on a haunted hayride through the foothills – which had been pretty damn scary – shrieks echoed from the rocks in a wholly eerie way. To top off the overall festive mood, Camille and Mathias had welcomed their fifth baby and third son early this morning, naming him James Boyd Carter, after two of Mathias’s ancestors. Tish and Case had stayed home to watch the fireworks at their trailer – they were deep in the throes of planning their new cabin, which would be built next spring, after the ground thawed – and Tish had told me just yesterday, swearing me to absolute secrecy, that she thought she was pregnant.

  I’d told only Marshall since then.

  Now, as it approached ten, we were gathered to watch the annual Halloween Eve fireworks display just south of town; or, as Marshall had explained, it was annual as long as it hadn’t yet snowed by now, which this year it hadn’t. It appeared that most of the population of Jalesville had turned out; The Spoke set up a makeshift bar in an RV, complete with a cardboard, hand-lettered sign reading Have Bar, Will Travel. Instead of peddling icy beers, this evening they sold primarily hot chocolate with shots of Kahlua, apple cider spiked with rum, and Irish coffees.

  I was bundled in a scarf and mittens, a green wool sweater of Marshall’s (I loved wearing his clothes so much that he joked he’d have to start wearing mine to compensate) and a puffy down vest. I’d ordered new fur-lined winter boots online at the law office, so my feet were toasty too. Clark had lit three candle lanterns, and there were orange and purple lights strung all along the front of The Spoke’s RV, so I could plainly see the buoyant delight in Marshall’s eyes as he scooted closer to me. I smiled at him and he grinned right back, radiant with the joy that bound us. My heart absolutely swelled with love for him.

  “Marsh,” I said, and he tipped his head me questioningly. I was in our lawn chair and Marshall was at my feet on a quilt; he’d been entertaining baby Tommy before Clark claimed his grandson.

  “Ruthie?” he responded, with the same teasing-questioning tone, neither of us able to stop smiling at each other.

  “It’s a little cold out here,” I said.

  Immediately he put his chin on my left knee and his hands around my calves, holding gently, while my heart took up a hot, clanging rhythm.

  “What can I do?” he asked softly, playing with me.

  I teased, “Maybe you could get me one more apple cider-n-rum?”

  “Those are good, aren’t they?” he responded, kissing my knees, one after the other.

  “Or maybe…” I said, tugging off a mitten to stroke his hair; his head was bare, his black cowboy hat near his feet.

  “Maybe another blanket…” he suggested.

  “Maybe I’m gonna barf if you guys don’t quit,” Wy said, waving a sparkler our direction.

  I giggled and said, “I’ll get us a round this time.” I addressed my future family, asking, “Anyone need a drink?”

  “Me!” Wy cried. “Two shots of whiskey, neat.”

  “Like you even know what that means,” Becky teased him.

  I took everyone’s order and then threaded through the crowd and got in line at the RV (The Bar-V, as the Rawleys called it). I had lived in Jalesville long enough now that I knew most of the people around me, exchanging friendly greetings, the same warm sense of welcome flowing around me as it would have back in Landon. The line to the bar window was lengthy; the Heller girls, clad in shiny pink wigs and zombie make-up in the spir
it of Halloween, looked busy as they made drinks.

  I was playing around with the idea of offering to help when a hand slid across my back and wrapped possessively around my hair. I knew at once that it wasn’t Marshall – and discomfort flared in my belly even before the person spoke; I smelled the sharp scent of whiskey and thought fleetingly of Wy’s comment – the man gripping me had certainly consumed far more than two shots this evening.

  “You hair grew out so fast,” he said into my ear, and he was so close that when I turned to see just who in the hell thought he could touch me this way, his chin almost brushed my forehead. In the purple-orange glow of the Halloween rope lights, I first saw glossy dark hair and gleaming-white teeth.

  Wolverine eyes, I thought then, blinking at who could only be Derrick Yancy, Capital Overland representative who was undoubtedly up to his nose in criminal activity, and whether Ron Turnbull had helped him lay waste to Case’s barn or not, Derrick was clearly also skilled at covering his own tracks. At present, he was also quite drunk; he had slurred over his words and now regarded me with unfocused eyes. I took a step away from him but he followed closely, as though we were magnetized, saying, “I thought you were…” He narrowed his eyes and demanded, “Where is she?”

  “Not here,” I said with as much sharpness in my tone as I could muster, reasonably certain he meant Tish. I sidestepped again and managed to get my left forearm between us; I was afraid he might clutch it in order to stay upright, but at least it forced his eyes and the smell of his breath farther away from me.

  “Little sister,” he said with satisfaction in his voice. “You’ve got to be…her little sister…”

  “What do you want?” I asked, more disgusted than frightened of him, although he gripped my upper arm tightly in one hand and brought his face close to me again.

  “I didn’t do it,” he hissed intently, and my vision nearly clouded from the booze wafting from his mouth. But I was determined to know what he meant.

  “Then who did?” I demanded. My blood pulsed; I raced frantically through all the things I should ask him – especially since he was so bombed. Maybe he would actually tell the truth.