When She Falls

by Jessie Clever

  Lydia’s face melted as the blood drained from it. “Bride and groom?”

  Molly looked up, her chubby cheeks spreading around overly large teeth that had clearly seen an orthodontist at some length in their youth. “Yes, we also have a wedding at the estate this weekend.” She gave a small shrug as if that explained it all. “It’s summer in New England. Get the events in before the snow flies, right?”

  The cheeky woman let out a funny ripple of a laugh and another shrug. Lydia wanted to bang her head on the reception counter or perhaps bang Molly’s head on it.

  “That’s one thing I don’t miss,” Cam said from behind her. “New England snow.”

  Molly rippled another laugh that slipped into a cutesy snort.

  “I know, right?” Her voice fluctuated on the last word.

  Lydia was going to puke now. She thanked Molly and took her husband’s arm, pulling him toward the wing behind them.

  “Something’s put your panties in a twist.”

  “Leave my fucking panties out of this,” Lydia muttered, her irritated stride eating up the plush Oriental carpet of the hall.

  The wing turned to the left nearly thirty feet down the corridor, and Lydia took the corner at top speed only to stop so abruptly Cam crashed into her, his hands grabbing about her waist to keep her from falling.

  There Lydia stood watching the sickening tableau before her, a tableau that would mark the end of everything.

  Five doors down stood a valet she had seen leaving the estate house as she had gone in to register. Luggage that looked to be theirs sat on a luggage cart beside him as he stood with his back to the couple just beyond him, pretending very unconvincingly not to listen to the thundering argument erupting between the two. And because fate wanted to kick Lydia in the ass that day, the woman wore a white T-shirt with the word Bride bedazzled across it while the man had Groom emblazoned on his. She was saying something about how he always picked his mother’s side and that was why they were having tiramisu instead of cake at the reception.

  But it wasn’t their argument Lydia concentrated on.

  It was Rebecca Hatfield, standing squarely beyond the entire scene, her willowy frame unmoving, her eyes pinched and mouth drawn as her fiancé lounged against the wall beside her, blatantly staring at the scene before them.

  That was when Lydia said, “Fuck.”

  Cam watched Lydia crumble at the scene in front of them. He watched her shoulders square, her cheeks suck in, and of course, the inevitable swear. But for all that, he knew she would go in there, fighting until the last to save this deal. Looking down the hallway at the wisp of a woman that was at the center of all of this, he couldn’t imagine what the young woman could possibly be thinking.

  Her fiancé, Eric, the ever jovial, flamboyant and slightly geeky young man so in contrast to his bride to be, seemed to enjoy the spectacle quite a bit. The valet who had met the car was doing a damn fine job of being professional and ignoring the entire spat. There was one last explosion from the couple as they disappeared into one of the rooms along the hall, the door slamming like an exclamation point on the whole debacle.

  Lydia took a step forward, but Cam took a larger one.

  “Damn, but they are going to have some fine make up sex after that,” he boomed down the hall, striding toward Rebecca and Eric, keeping his eyes fixed on the young woman. “There’s nothing like a good row between two people who love each other dearly to really get the blood glowing.” He reached the pair and extended a hand to Eric. “Mr. Flickinger, great to see you again, man.”

  He shook the man’s hand with enough bravado to have the smaller man shaking somewhat before turning to Rebecca.

  “I hope you two have had a good spat now and then. It’s not something to be missed.” He shifted as Lydia approached, wiggling his eyebrows at her. “Isn’t that right, my darling lass?”

  Lydia’s hand clutched her tote like a shipwreck survivor gripped a life raft, but her face gave away no clues about the stress she must have been feeling. Her long brown hair remained perfectly swept back into a long ponytail, a stark contrast against her white shirt, leaving her face exquisitely framed and serene. She smiled.

  “You’re right, my husband. Nothing like a fantastic argument to really bring a couple together.” Lydia stopped in front of Rebecca. “Hello, Rebecca, how are you doing?”

  Rebecca blinked, her eyes small, dark discs in her pale face.

  “Fine,” the young woman said while Eric shouted, “Fantastic! Who doesn’t love a luau?”

  The boisterous young man clapped his hands together, rubbing them viciously before turning to Cam.

  “I think your table is next to us tonight,” he said to Cam and slapped him on the shoulder. “Are you ready for tiny umbrella cocktails?” Bizarrely, he said this in a mangled Irish accent, but Cam smiled anyway, his back teeth set to grind.

  “Who isn’t?” he replied with a laugh of his own.

  Eric slapped him again on the shoulder before turning back to the women.

  “We’ll see you down on the back lawn then?” Here he made an awkward hula gesture like Evelyn Hatfield had, only Eric was such a small man it just looked like he was momentarily overtaken by a spasm.

  “Wouldn’t miss it!” Cam replied, laying out another hearty laugh.

  For as much effort he was putting into this whole charade, there was a hollowness to him that wouldn’t go away when he looked at Lydia. Some hopeful, or perhaps hopeless, part of him had thought if he really tried, sincerely put in a go of it, his performance here would somehow win her back. Or win her to begin with as he was never really sure he had ever had her. But as she stood so poised beside him, her features unflinching, he was fairly certain he was wrong about that.

  Rebecca gave no words of parting as the couple disappeared down the hall toward the reception area.

  Lydia turned to the valet, letting him into their room before slipping in behind him. Cam lingered in the hall a moment, watching the young couple fade into the distance, and he couldn’t help but see himself and Lydia standing there. So young. So innocent. So stupid.

  “Enjoy the luau, sir,” said the valet, returning with an empty luggage cart.

  “Hey, right, will do.” Cam smiled even though he didn’t really feel like doing so.

  It had already been a long day, and it was only half over. The truly tough part was still ahead of him. He went into their room, shutting and bolting the door behind him. Lydia was in the bathroom, water running in the sink, the room filled with the sounds of zippers unzipping and bags being set down on a stone counter. He went to retrieve his own bag, discarded at the foot of the only bed in the room.

  It was only a queen, as the room was small and tight, typical of a country New England inn. A white coverlet spread to the top, where a sea of pillows and shams bedecked in tassels and curlicues sprawled like murder victims. There were two nightstands, old antique pieces by the looks of them, similar in character but not matching. A small table with two straight back chairs sat in front of a window. A lamp behind the set promised light from the occupants of the table. A set of French doors, likely leading to a balcony, were shrouded in sheers beyond the table, and Cam turned again to the small bureau along the wall, a doily spread along its surface, nailed down by various porcelain pots all sporting a gaudy flower pattern. There wasn’t much about the room that was unexpected, and he grabbed up his bag, turning back around to find a closet.

  Lydia had come out of the bathroom, her face brighter than when she had gone in, fresh lipstick making her lips shiny. Cam smiled sheepishly, feeling awkward standing at the end of such a blatant reminder of what had happened between them the other night. But then Lydia did something surprising. She dropped her bag on the bed and turned to him, stepping into his arms until her hands rested against his chest. He bent his head to look at her as she gazed up at him, and a swift thrill rushed through him at her embrace, a smile wanting to come to his lips but fear holding it back.

 
; “Thank you,” she said, her voice soft, devoid of the edge she usually carried in her words.

  The smile slipped closer to his lips, fear abating as her words made him bolder. “You’re welcome.”

  She moved away from him, her slender hand gliding along the plane of his chest as it slipped away. He watched her retreat to the other side of the bed, dropping things into her open bag on the bed. He scooped up his clothes moving toward the closet.

  “What are you doing?”

  He turned at her words, gesturing with his clothes. “Hanging these up.” He shrugged.

  “You never hang up your clothes.”

  There was no bite to her. It was just a simple statement said simply, and it made him sad. Did she really think these things of him?

  He shrugged again. “Maybe I’ve grown up.”

  She snorted a laugh, the sound a contrast to the pristine exterior she presented. He returned a raised eyebrow. “Some people do, you know.”

  She blinked at him. “What am I going to do, Cam?”

  He found the closet and began hanging his things. “You mean about this weekend?”

  He turned to see her nod.

  “You’ll do what Lydia Baxter always does.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Get her way.”

  Twelve

  Lydia tried to imagine what she had done in a past life to deserve this.

  She stood beside the water feature on the back lawn of Lockridge, sipping a mai tai, and hoping not to be seen while at the same time hoping to catch a glimpse of Rebecca and her ill-matched fiancé so she could begin to work on them. The clock was ticking after all, and as Lydia progressed through her mai tai, her faculties would likely come into question.

  The sun was warm for an early autumn day, and she was glad she had changed into a sundress and sandals. She took a larger sip of her mai tai, adjusting her sunglasses as she looked around for her target.

  “That’s your second one already,” Cam said from beside her.

  She shook the ice in her slowing emptying glass. “I wish it were my fourth,” she replied. “I’m just not drinking fast enough.”

  She expected Cam to say something flippant, but instead he stayed so quiet and still beside her, she had to look at him. His face was a matrix of quiet lines, his set jaw and unsmiling eyes betraying a feeling about him she had never before considered. Maybe he really had grown up as he had suggested earlier in their room. While she stared at him, she couldn’t quite believe it and yet…

  He smiled, a soft gesture so smooth and confident, her stomach settled for the first time since they had arrived. But while her stomach settled, her mind raced. Who was this man standing beside her? Had she had him pegged wrong all along? Goddamnit, she needed another fucking mai tai.

  “Isn’t it a lovely party?”

  The nasally voice that pierced their quiet bubble had Lydia sloshing what was left of her drink when she turned to find the owner of the voice.

  “Hi there.” The woman extended a hand. “I’m Stacy. Tabitha’s friend.”

  Lydia’s mind flashed backward to the last time she had seen the Hatfields. Tabitha had said something about having to pick up Stacy as they’d rushed out of the shop. Lydia smiled at the odd young woman beside them.

  “Hi, Stacy.” Lydia reached out a hand for the offered one. “Nice to meet you.”

  The small woman was bedecked from top to bottom in plaid. Her button down shirt with capped sleeves had a purple and green plaid pattern while her skirt was black and white plaid. She had on knee-high socks of bright pink and yellow plaid that disappeared into dirty purple high tops. Her wide smile pushed her glasses with their dark, heavy frames up her nose, dwarfing the spray of freckles along her cheeks.

  Lydia smiled just as brightly in return, but she knew it was more of the alcohol talking than her.

  “Will you be joining in the croquet game later?” She gestured behind her to where a game field had been cordoned off, and a set of croquet balls and mallets waited patiently to one side. Lydia thought the field was dangerously close to the water feature installed in this part of the back lawn, but it was only croquet. How rowdy could it get?

  “I’ve always had a mean wallop when it comes to croquet,” Cam said, and Lydia realized the ignorance of her thought.

  Stacy laughed a piercing cackle, the dark-rimmed glasses bouncing on her face. Lydia laughed, too, because she couldn’t be seen not laughing. She and Cam were, after all, very happily married in this charade. Of course, she would laugh at his fucking jokes.

  The laugh got caught in her throat though as she turned to see the smile on her husband’s face, so natural and crinkled, as if it were a smile he had used for years without hesitation. The look startled her so the breath caught in her chest, and she wondered for a blissfully quiet moment what it would be like to be so carelessly happy.

  The moment vanished when Tabitha joined them, handing a glass of what looked like chocolate milk complete with bent straw to Stacy.

  “Yucking it up over here, eh?” She shook her shoulders like there was salsa music playing that only she could hear.

  Tabitha’s outfit was not so loud as Stacy’s but certainly portrayed her personality. Khaki board shorts and rugby shirt, her short, bleach blonde hair spiked with gel into little points, showing off the row of studs down one ear.

  Lydia smiled at the young woman, and this time, the smile did not feel so forced. There was a lot of Cameron in Tabitha. What was it like for someone to meet someone with whom a connection was felt so easily? It was probably like when she had first met Emily and Shannon at the Franconia Notch School for Girls. Making friends had been easier then. Being happy had been easier then, too.

  Tabitha and Stacy were a pair unlike she had ever met, but they were a happy pair. Who was Lydia to judge how they dressed or what they drank. There was nothing wrong with chocolate milk anyway, and if she didn’t care about her figure so much, she would probably drink it, too.

  Her eyes traveled to a spot just beyond Tabitha’s shoulder, and Lydia recalled why it was that happiness came so painfully to her. Rebecca Hatfield stood in a cluster of older matrons, holding court beside her mother. The set lines of her face and obvious frown would have suggested she was there against her wishes and likely only doing a favor for her mother, but Lydia knew better. Rebecca wore that expression all the time. So maybe she was just permanently fucking grumpy.

  And wasn’t that a spirit Lydia could relate to?

  This thought had her frowning at her nearly empty mai tai.

  “I think I could take your croquet skills on anyway.” Tabitha gave a casual flick of her hand.

  Cam laughed, and Lydia understood the conversation had turned back to the inevitable game of croquet.

  “And I think I’ll take you up on that challenge.”

  “Oh, we’re talking challenges over here. Righteous!”

  Lydia blinked as Eric joined their group, a fruity colored drink in one hand that resembled the color scheme of his Hawaiian shirt. Even though Lydia noted the color scheme of the doomed fiancé’s drink and ensemble, Lydia didn’t miss the sudden change in attitude from Stacy and Tabitha.

  “Hey, Eric,” Tabitha said with none of the flamboyant charm she had displayed to her and Cam.

  “Hey,” Eric said, performing a small, obnoxious hula in greeting. “What a great party, eh? I wonder if Rebecca wants to have the reception here,” he added, looking around them. “This waterfall thing is pretty cool, right?” He gestured to the water feature behind them, a gentle waterfall that trickled through a maze of boulders to a shallow pool filled with giant orange and white koi. It was artfully set between the wings of the house in the shade of two maples, so old and tall, their branches spread over the entire scene, lending their shade to the beautiful landscape.

  It would be a lovely place for a reception, but as Lydia watched Stacy and Tabitha struggle to find anything else to talk about, Lydia’s stomach rolled over on itself, and
she really needed that third mai tai.

  “Maybe it’s time to take Tabitha up on that dare,” Lydia said in a burst that surprised even her. She looked over at Cam, ready to get him in on the deal, when she stopped, arrested by his steady appearance.

  Cam was always there whenever she turned. Even after nearly five years of estrangement and an ocean away, he was there. God, how could she have missed that?

  “I think you’re right, lassie.” Cam took her elbow and looked to the other young people. “What do you say, Warrior Tabitha?”

  Tabitha struck a pose with a fisted hand to a hip, puffing out her chest. “I think I can take ye, Laird McCray.”

  Her Scottish brogue was so convincing, Lydia laughed, the sound free and easy. It felt so good, she couldn’t bring herself to look at Eric, his confusion evident in his squinted eyes and open mouth.

  “Then I believe it’s time for a duel,” Cam said, turning up his own Scottish brogue a few degrees.

  Stacy cackled, slapping her thighs with her hands. “Oh, I love it when you do that,” she cooed. “You sound so funny.”

  Stacy’s joy at Cam’s accent was too contagious to ignore, and Lydia laughed yet again, smiling at the odd, little woman.

  “Well, then, Mr. McCray.” Lydia turned to Cam. “We’d best better get the good mallets before they’re all picked over.”

  Cam raised an eyebrow at her. “I don’t think even the best mallet is going to help you, lassie,” he muttered, and Stacy and Tabitha erupted in laughter while Eric continued to look confused.

  Lydia cocked her head and, staring at her husband, a spark of creativity struck.

  “In that case, I’m pairing with Eric,” she said, crossing her arms over her chest.

  Cam’s eyebrows bent in surprise, and she let a smirk unfurl on her lips.

  “What do you think, Mr. Flickinger?”

  “Uh…” was all Eric said, but it was enough.

  She grabbed Eric’s arm and headed in the direction of the croquet field, passing by the cluster of women where Rebecca had taken up residence.