It didn’t matter. Carrie’s mind had already supplied the words:
Until death do us part.
Richard’s Adam’s apple bobbed. His mouth struggled to form the words. May’s tears grew to wails. CJ stared at the floor, and so did Greg. Yet Mariah, ever-perfect Mariah, simply lifted Richard’s hands and kissed them.
“How about until forever,” Mariah said.
Richard stepped up, took her face in his hands, and kissed her soundly.
Carrie gasped. He wasn’t supposed to kiss her yet. That came at the end. Man and wife. Oliver shifted uncomfortably next to her, but Greg just smiled. Mariah had been right. Richard was perfect—for Mariah and Greg.
When Richard pulled back, he gave the judge an embarrassed shrug. “Sorry. I got a little ahead of myself.”
Oliver’s uncle waved a hand. “That’s fine. I was done anyway. Go ahead. Man and wife.”
The second time, Richard was more reserved. He cradled Mariah’s face in his hands and kissed her with all the tenderness of a couple who had been married for decades, not seconds.
And just like that, two were made one.
Everyone clapped wildly. Braden whistled and Amber cheered. The wedding was done before it had begun, and yet it was the best wedding Carrie could remember. Stripped down to the basics, it was all about two people in love, and nothing else mattered.
forty-four
OLIVER FOLLOWED CARRIE, unsure where else to go. She congratulated the happy couple, telling them how perfect and beautiful it had been, at the same time Oliver thought she was pretty perfect and beautiful herself. The way her honey-colored hair twirled away from her face, the way her blue eyes jumped out and her large smile beckoned to him. She was—
Someone put a hand on his shoulder. His uncle. He, too, eyed Carrie with obvious admiration. “Who is that little thing?” his uncle asked. “It can’t be your date, can it?”
Hearing, Carrie turned.
Oliver groaned. Introducing a girl to his family was like announcing a relationship. A date? He squirmed, but Carrie just smiled her beautiful smile.
“It’s nice to meet you, Judge Simmons.” She extended a hand. “I’m Carrie.”
“Carrie?” His uncle’s eyes grazed over her, head to toe. “What a pretty little name.”
Oliver figured he had two seconds before the old judge turned uncle on him.
Too late.
“I saw you sitting there by my Ollie, and I wondered, Who is that pretty little thing? Now I know. Carrie. What a pretty little name for a pretty little thing.”
Oliver grabbed his uncle’s hand and pried it from hers. That’s what he got for buying his uncle a few drinks on the way.
Ollie? he cringed.
He gave his uncle a gentle nudge toward the door. “Don’t you need to be going, Uncle Gerard?”
“No. We were just getting acquainted. Carrie,” he mused for the third time. “What a pretty little name for a—”
“Excuse me,” Oliver said, unable to look at Carrie. Then he grabbed his uncle and directed him through the crowd to the front door. Carrie went back to Richard and Mariah, smiling and chatting as if nothing was out of the ordinary. Greg, however, watched as Oliver escort his inebriated uncle outside.
Great. Pretty boy even got sober relatives.
Let it go, Oliver told himself. Greg has a girlfriend.
In North Carolina.
A thousand miles away.
On the porch, Oliver pulled out the pen and marriage certificate from his pocket, but his uncle held out a greedy hand instead, one that cared nothing about paperwork.
Oliver stifled a sigh. “Sign first.”
“It’s cold,” Uncle Gerard said.
“Sign it.”
“Sure, sure, sure.”
Gerard propped the marriage license against the front door. Oliver watched over his shoulder to make sure he got it right.
“No. It’s 659 at the end,” Oliver said to his uncle who was too drunk to get his own authorizing numbers right. Good thing Oliver hadn’t let him transcribe Mariah’s or Richard’s citizenship numbers—their fake numbers he’d stolen off some file in town. He was counting on ditzy Ashlee to gloss over it. She was lazy. Hopefully lazy enough.
Oliver’s uncle gave back the papers and held out his hand again.
Oliver glanced nervously toward the window. “Can’t we do this another time?”
“I just need something to gimme home.”
Oliver took out his wallet, but before he handed over the bills, he said, “Remember, not a word of this to anyone, understood?”
“Yeah, yeah. I don’t talk to anyone anymore anyway.”
Why do you think I picked you?
Money in hand, Oliver’s uncle wandered down the slushy steps to his car. “Carrie,” Oliver heard him say to the cold wind. “What a pretty little name for a pretty little thing.”
With any luck, he’d buy himself a few more drinks and never remember today happened.
By the time Oliver made it back inside, Greg stood by the door, waiting for him. The guy just couldn’t leave anything alone.
“Thanks, Oliver,” Greg said. “For everything.”
Oliver handed over the marriage license. “No problem.”
“You sure?” Greg motioned to the door.
Oliver clenched his teeth. Greg had heard every bit of that conversation. He’d probably counted the bills, passing judgment before Oliver made it back inside. “Yes.”
“Good. How’s everything else goin’?” Greg asked.
Oliver found Carrie in the crowd, smiling, laughing, and looking more beautiful than ever. May said something, and Carrie’s blue eyes danced with excitement. She was a vision.
“Good. Really good, I think.”
Greg followed his line of vision and scowled. “I meant at the precinct.”
“Oh.” Oliver lowered his voice. “Jamansky is threatening to change my route. Who knows what he’ll do when I come up short on the supplies and my arrests.”
“Make your life a living hell. And ours.” Greg blew out his breath. “Anything on the truck?”
Oliver nodded. “That’s the only good news. It’s in the log. They aren’t the brightest guys on the planet.”
“Perfect. Here’s the list.” Greg pulled a crinkled paper from his pocket and handed it over. It was an inventory of everything Oliver had returned to the clan. Greg had been thorough, right down to shirt color and size. It was almost too specific.
“I’ll have to transfer it into patrol lingo,” Oliver said.
“Do whatever you gotta do to make it believable. Just remember,” Greg said, “the truth sells. Use as much truth as you can. It’ll be your best chance.”
“What will be your best chance?” Carrie asked, joining the two men by the door.
Oliver’s heart jumped in his chest. He shoved the paper in his pocket. “Nothing.”
She eyed his pocket. “Something wrong?”
Oliver couldn’t think fast enough. Thankfully Greg took over.
“Oliver’s stressed about work,” Greg said, “but I was hopin’ to convince him to stay a bit longer. He’s worried he’d be intruding if he stayed, but he wouldn’t be. Right, Carrie?”
“Not at all.” She flashed another dazzling smile. “We’d love to have you stay, Oliver.”
“For dinner and dancing,” Greg added pointedly.
“Dancing?” Oliver said. “As in…dancing?”
Greg shot him a dark look. “Yes.”
Oliver glanced at his watch. Only 5:21 p.m. He definitely had time for dinner and had planned as much, but dancing with Carrie? In a room with thirty other people? Why hadn’t Greg mentioned that before? If Oliver had time to practice, maybe, but his feet suddenly felt like lead. Yet, he couldn’t turn Carrie down. In a hundred years, he’d never be able to turn down Carrie Ashworth.
“Okay,” he said softly. “I’ll stay.”
* * * * *
If he hadn’t been the son of t
he bride, Greg would have sat somewhere else. As it was, he did his best to keep his eyes on his plate as Oliver got his first taste of dinner at the Trenton table. The poor guy nearly fainted when he found out that being Carrie’s shadow entitled him to place at the table of honor with the whole fam.
The conversation moved ninety miles a minute as Greg’s grandma yapped Oliver’s ear off. “Where do you live?” “What made you become a patrolman of all things?” “Is it as awful as it seems?”
Oliver did his best to keep up. “Sugar Grove.” “I don’t know.” “Yes.”
Thankfully Carrie was equally curious, asking all the right follow-up questions, like a seasoned diplomat. Greg was fascinated by the way Oliver answered Carrie’s questions versus his grandma’s. His whole body relaxed under her care. He even smiled a few times, although his answers painted a sad, lonely life. His uncle was his only living relative. He’d lost several family members in the Collapse, but it was “fine.”
As much as Greg hated to admit it, Carrie really was sweet. She was gentle with the awkward patrolman, laughing in all the right spots. She overlooked his profession, his odd looks, and creepy uncle to see the guy underneath. Of course, she did that with everyone: Jeff and Jenna, Amber and May. Greg only knew one person that she didn’t see through rose-colored glasses. Oliver was lucky it wasn’t him.
Amber had done a number on Carrie, too. It had to be Amber because Greg couldn’t picture Carrie willingly inflicting that kind of detail into her looks. Dark-lined eyes. Hair swept back, except a few soft curls which brushed her cheeks. She’d taken his advice and worn the blue blouse, which completed the whole package. She was a sight to behold. Amber had done well.
Very well.
Those blue eyes turned toward him, as did her broad smile. “The fish is amazing, Greg,” she said. “Thank you.”
Greg wanted to smile back, but Oliver’s jaw tensed, seeing the same thing Greg had. Her smile was aimed at the wrong guy. Oliver was her date. Not Greg. Oliver was the goodness, Greg was the looks. Oliver was her future, the one who could offer her a life of freedom, peace, electricity, hot showers, and white picket fences. But more importantly, no more running.
Greg never should have let Carrie choose him.
He pushed his potatoes around, tuning out the rest of the conversation while calculating how soon before he could politely excuse himself. He had to get out of that stuffy room. If his grandma hadn’t changed topics, he would have slipped out after the carrots. As it was, he was suddenly stuck.
“So, Oliver,” his grandma said, adjusting her thick glasses, “do you have a nice girl back in Sugar Grove?”
Greg about choked. He looked up. Oliver’s fork hung mid-air. Carrie froze, too.
His grandma took another bite, unaware. “I’m sure a nice man like you must have someone special. What’s her name?”
Sweat broke out on Oliver’s face. He looked at Greg, panicked. Sadly, Carrie did, too. They might as well have been twins, wearing the same pitiful expression:
Help!
Anger welled up inside Greg. He couldn’t do this anymore. He couldn’t let Carrie do this to Oliver, to the clan, to him. It was time for her—and his grandma—to know where her heart belonged.
“Actually, Oliver,” Greg said, “aren’t you and Carrie on a date right now?”
Everything at the table came to a screeching halt. Carrie’s cheeks lost all color, and Oliver turned whiter than the snow outside. For some reason, Greg’s mom glared at him, but his grandma looked just shy of a heart attack. His grandpa was the only one clueless enough to respond.
“Really?” CJ said. “How nice.”
“I hope you like to dance, Oliver,” Greg continued, knowing he was pushing them over the edge but no longer caring. “Because Carrie loves to dance. Isn’t that what you told me this morning, Grandma? That Carrie loves to dance?”
“I…” His grandma looked at Carrie. At Oliver. At Greg. “Yes, but…”
Greg pushed away from the table. “Man, I’m stuffed. Anybody else done? Here, let me take your plates.”
He spent the next twenty minutes with his back to the table, scrubbing each dish to perfection. It was the first time Carrie didn’t help with clean up, the first time his mom didn’t offer to dry, and it was the first time his grandma left well enough alone.
forty-five
THE KIDS WERE HYPER AND the adults giddy as CJ pulled out his old music player. The Glenn Miller Orchestra started up, filling the home with jazzy saxophones, dancing horns, and a lot of laughter.
Carrie stood off to the side with Oliver, watching the festivities and wishing for another lost piece of technology: her camera. She would have given anything to capture the kids’ faces as they bounced around May’s squished house. She couldn’t help but think that Little Jeffrey would have loved it, too. And Jonah. But it looked like she was the only one missing the Kovachs.
Richard held Mariah in his arms, nearly carrying her as they swayed to the Big Band music. Amber held hands with Braden in a far corner, looking blissfully content. And Zach bounced around with the Dixon twins in his first attempt at dancing. About the only ones not smiling were Carrie and Oliver. They hadn’t done much of that since Greg’s little announcement. Of course, neither had Greg, who stood in the far corner of the kitchen, leaned against the counter, arms folded.
Oliver bent down and peered at Carrie. She quickly faced front.
“Do you like music?” she asked over the noise.
“Yes,” he said.
“Me, too,” she said, “but it’s been a long time since I’ve heard any.” Music was another victim of the Collapse. Yet instead of the ‘old-lady music’ soothing her, she felt herself growing tense. The last time she had danced with anyone was in high school in the throes of teenage awkwardness. She felt just as awkward standing next to Oliver. More so. She wasn’t a great dancer, and she had the inkling he wasn’t either.
One song ended, and another revved up: “In the Mood.” A Glenn Miller classic. CJ and May moved to the middle of the crowd and demonstrated a few basic swing steps. Everyone stopped to watch the old pros. Within seconds, people were laughing and mimicking their surprisingly agile moves.
Oliver straightened and brushed down his uniform.
Carrie took a quick breath. Here we go.
“Well,” he said, “I better head out.”
“You’re leaving?” she said. “Now?”
“Yeah. I have a shift and…” He shrugged. “I think I should go.”
She followed him through the bouncing bodies, feeling her energy zapped with every step. She should have been thrilled he was leaving. That meant no dancing, no more pretending. But she felt sick. Greg would blame her for this.
Oliver stopped by the door, gray eyes searching hers as if waiting for her to say something. That’s what normal people—normal couples—did. They talked before saying goodbye. Yet for the life of her, she couldn’t think of a single thing to say. Her mind was a jumbled mess.
“Um, Carrie,” Oliver said. “I wondered if sometime you and I…could maybe, uh…”
Her stomach dropped. He was asking her out. For real this time. She could see it in his pained expression.
Please don’t, she begged silently. This is all I can give you right now. Please don’t ask for more.
He cleared his throat. “…that maybe we could…”
Normally Oliver spoke in short, clipped sentences, and normally she waited for him to say what he needed, but in a knee-jerk reaction, she stuck out her hand. “See you Thursday, Oliver.”
His brows rose. He stared at her outstretched hand before forcing a weak smile. “See you Thursday, Carrie.”
As he left, her head fell against the wall. Unlike the bubbly room around her, it felt like her world was collapsing. What was he going to ask? Why did he leave so soon? But more than anything, why did Greg do that to them? She didn’t want to hurt Oliver, or Greg, or Jeff, but she was sick of the games. She was tired of fighting
with herself. And losing.
Love shouldn’t be this hard.
Amber had been wrong, too, she thought. Greg hadn’t had a hard time keeping his eyes off Carrie. Quite the opposite. He’d barely looked at her all—
“Couldn’t get him to stay, huh?” Greg said over her shoulder.
She flinched as if she’d been caught doing something wrong. Recovering quickly, she glanced out the window. “I guess not.”
“Me neither,” Greg said.
The two of them studied the lazy snowflakes while the Glenn Miller Orchestra played behind them.
After a minute, he nudged her arm. “You’re mad at me.”
As much as she didn’t want to admit it, part of her knew Greg had done the right thing at dinner. There was no reason to hide things with Oliver. But the worst part had been watching May stumble over her words to find something polite to say after Carrie’s betrayal. Oliver. Not Greg. Even Mariah grew uncharacteristically quiet.
“I shouldn’t be,” she said. And before he could crush her, she changed the subject. “You’re not bald.”
He rubbed his short hair. “Nope. So is this how you envisioned your perfect man?”
“Yeah. It looks good.” Too good.
His eyes narrowed. “Do I detect a bit of confidence in those words, Miss Ashworth?”
“I guess I didn’t do too badly.”
“I thought so, too. You’re hired,” he said with a smile.
Great. More haircuts. More alone time. More teasing and fixing her weak little tomato stem.
Her throat burned with emotions that had no business being there. It was a wedding, for crying out loud. The whole room laughed and bounced around them. There was no reason to be mad at Greg, or hurt by what he’d done, or…
“Carrie?” he said gently.
It took a moment to steel herself for what she knew was coming: It’s for the best. The clan needs you to do this—you need to keep them safe. I’m not interested in you, but Oliver is. It’s time for you to grow up and get over it—over me. For once in your life, make the right decision and stick to it.
Citizens of Logan Pond Box Set Page 34