by Leslie Gould
Ryan found my domestic skills “sweet” and “comforting,” which made me feel as if I was the opposite of Amber’s sophistication. Now I feared that’s what he valued more.
I checked my phone again. Nothing.
If it wasn’t so early in the morning, I might have called or texted his mom. Not to bring her into our drama, but to make sure everything was fine with Ryan. Both of his parents had been kind to me, but I’d especially bonded with his mother, Nita, even though I’d only spent a handful of time with her—the previous Christmas, when Ryan asked me to marry him, and then in the summer when she came up to San Francisco to help with wedding planning. She seemed especially sympathetic to the fact that my mother had died when I was a teenager.
But what would I say to Nita now? Ask if she knew what Ryan was up to? He got along with his parents, but they weren’t particularly close. If I did contact his mom, it would probably come across as if I were tattling on him.
I tried to calm my jagged nerves with a sip of coffee, but my heart only raced faster. Caffeine probably wasn’t the best idea. My thoughts began to fly as fast as my pulse. Perhaps Ryan had been hurt. Maybe he was in an ER somewhere. Maybe Amber had done something to him out of spite, even though she’d broken up with him.
I felt utterly helpless sitting in the coffee shop at 5:30, all alone. What would my mother tell me to do if she were alive?
Move!
I reached my hand into my pocket and felt my key ring. I had a key to Ryan’s condo. Why hadn’t I marched over there and thrown open the door the night before?
I’d do it now.
I’d sold my car the week before, so I ordered a ride-share. Thankfully, my driver wasn’t the chatty type and didn’t ask any questions. I kept my eyes on the water as we crossed the Bay. For someone who grew up in the hinterland of Northern California and spent summers in Indiana, the Bay enchanted me. I never tired of watching the water.
Once we reached San Francisco, the driver quickly maneuvered along the narrow streets and then double-parked in front of Ryan’s condo. I thanked him and jumped out quickly, glancing at Ryan’s bedroom window. The light was off.
Fearing I’d lose my nerve, I marched up the front steps and unlocked his door. The alarm was off, which didn’t mean anything. He often forgot to set it.
As I turned on the lights, I noted that nothing seemed out of order. I flipped on the switch near the staircase, imagining him seeing the light and stumbling from bed, ready to apologize. And then he’d give me a convincing explanation for his behavior over the last fourteen hours.
I reached the top stair. The door to his room was open.
No one was home.
I checked his closet and then his bathroom. No clothes seemed to be missing. Neither was his toothbrush.
The helplessness I’d felt before grew more intense. Where could he be? Most likely with Amber. But I’d check his office just in case. Maybe a system was down.
I called for another ride and took it to the medical center. However, not surprising, the administration building was locked. I called his number again, vowing it would be my last time. At least for a few hours.
Surprisingly, he answered with a weary, “Hello.”
I could barely contain how crazy I felt. “What’s going on?” I tried to keep my voice from wavering. “Where are you?”
“I should have called last night. Sorry.”
I didn’t reply, afraid of what might spew from my mouth.
“Listen,” he said. “We need to call off the wedding. I’ll pay for anything we can’t get refunds on, of course.”
“What . . . what’s going on?” I asked again, even though it was obvious. He was dumping me a week before our wedding. Why did my voice sound sympathetic when inside I felt like I was going to implode?
When he didn’t answer, I lowered my voice even more, whispering, “What happened?”
“I’ve had a . . . complication.”
“Amber?” I was juggling pain, rage, and despair, trying not to reveal any of them.
“Look, I’m sorry I didn’t explain things last night. I haven’t slept because I’ve been thinking about you. But I can’t go through with the wedding. Not right now.”
My nostrils flared as I spoke. “Where are you?”
“At home.”
I clenched my fist, my nails digging into my palm. Now, besides being deceptive, he was outright lying to me too. “I was just at your place. You weren’t there.”
“I was,” he said, without hesitating. I was taken aback by how easy deceit seemed to come to him. “I left about an hour ago.”
“Where are you?” I asked again.
His voice grew deeper. “At a hotel. Downtown.”
“Are you alone?”
“I think you already know the answer to that.”
“Can we meet? And talk?”
“That’s not a good idea. Look—” his voice faltered for half a second, but then he continued. “I’ll contact my guests. You contact yours. You cancel the vendors. I’ll cancel the honeymoon. It won’t take long to clear up this mess.”
Mess? Was that how he thought of me now?
“I wish you the best, Savannah. I do. And I’m sorry, but in the long run, this is what’s best for both of us.”
He made it sound like a middle-school breakup. “So that’s it?”
“Pretty much.”
I heard a rumble of laughter in the background on his side of the phone.
“I’ve got to go,” he said. “Bye.”
The call ended before I could say another word.
I SPENT CHRISTMAS sobbing and ignoring phone calls from my father.
The next day, it took me a couple of hours to work up the nerve to do what I needed to do. After two cups of coffee and another good cry, I began calling the vendors, asking them to put all the costs on Ryan’s credit card, which they also had on file, instead of mine. Originally, he and I had decided to put the wedding charges on my card for the air miles, for future trips. Once the final bills for the wedding all came in, we would then split the costs and pay off my card.
Everyone was sympathetic. The florist said, “This happens more often than you’d think.” But I doubted that many grooms called it off just a week before the wedding, not like Ryan had.
Next, battling my embarrassment and shame, I called my father on his landline because he still didn’t have a cell. I hoped he was home. It would be like him to work the day after Christmas.
My stepmother, Joy, answered. I could hear their little girl in the background. My father had been forty when my mother died. Two years later, he married Joy, who is just ten years older than me. A year after that, they had a baby. I was twenty-one when Karlie was born; she’d just turned six a week ago.
My feelings toward my father and his new family were complicated. To anyone but us, it would appear we were estranged. But we weren’t, not technically. True, we hardly saw each other, but without a doubt, I loved my dad. I loved Joy and Karlie too.
But it was a painful love. Too much of a reminder of what I used to have—and what I’d lost. And a reminder of how quickly Mom and I had been replaced.
“Savannah,” Joy cooed. “How are you? Making the most of your last week as a single gal?”
“I need to talk to Dad,” I said.
Her voice grew concerned. “Everything all right?”
Afraid my voice might give out, I managed to say, “Not really.”
She paused. I prayed she wouldn’t ask me anything more.
“I’ll get your father,” she said. “You just caught him. He was ready to leave to check on the calves.” He worked for one of those big operations where the cows calved year round.
“Savannah.” Dad’s voice was as deep and soothing as ever. “You okay?”
I took a deep breath. Best to be matter-of-fact and to the point, just as I’d been with the vendors. Best to leave my emotions out of it. “Ryan called off the wedding. You don’t have to come to the city
after all.”
“Baby,” he said. “I’m so sorry.”
I burst into tears. So much for leaving my emotions out of it. The last time I’d felt so lost and alone was when Mom died. Well, when Dad remarried too.
“Do you need me? I’ll drive down right now.”
“No.” I may have said it more forcefully than I needed to. “I’ll be fine. I just wanted you to know so you and Joy could change your plans.” Since they were going to stay in my apartment, they didn’t have to cancel a hotel reservation, but I knew they’d both taken time off work.
“We can still come down,” he said.
“No, please don’t,” I answered.
“Savannah . . .”
“I need time alone. To process everything.”
I expected him to say more. That he wasn’t surprised. That he’d never trusted Ryan. That he hoped I’d find someone more down-to-earth. That it was better it happened now instead of after we married.
But he didn’t say any of those things. Instead he said, “I’m so sorry, baby. I really am.”
“Thanks. I’ll call in a few days.”
“All right,” he said. “Talk to you then.”
After I hung up, I started texting guests I had numbers for and tracking down contact information for the rest. It was a long, tedious process, something I knew Mom would have helped me with if she were alive. Although, it registered—again—that I wouldn’t have ever met Ryan if Mom had lived.
A call came through during the middle of it all, but I didn’t answer. When I listened to the voicemail, it was Joy, saying how concerned she was for me, and then asking all of the questions Dad hadn’t thought to ask. Did I need money? Did I have anyone to talk to? She asked if I had a friend staying with me or anyone to help notify the guests, that sort of thing. She ended her message with an invitation: Did I want to come up to their place for a few days to get away from it all?
I fought back tears as I listened to her kind words, but I wouldn’t call her back. She had a cell phone, so I sent her a text assuring her I was all right and that I didn’t need financial help. Any extra money they had was in their savings, which they hoped to use for an acreage of their own.
I finally made it through my list, trying to imagine Ryan doing the same. Maybe Amber was helping him. The thought sent another wave of nausea through me. I poured myself another cup of coffee and headed into my bedroom. My dress, wrapped in plastic, hung on the outside of my closet door. I had the urge to hurl my full cup at it, but I didn’t have the energy to clean up the mess.
What to do now? I’d sent my boss a text saying the wedding was off. But there was no way I was going into the office. Maybe I’d spend the week searching for other jobs as far away from the Bay Area as possible. New York. Philadelphia. Boston. Miami. Atlanta.
But definitely not Washington, DC.
My phone dinged again as I stared at my dress. It had been buzzing all afternoon with return texts.
I’m so sorry!
Better now than later!
What happened??!!!
I’d checked the phone each time it dinged, half hoping it was Ryan saying it had all been a big mistake. That he’d had a bad week at work. That he’d had a reaction to a medication. That Amber had temporarily hypnotized him.
But when a text came through from Nita, I knew it was all over. I just got off the phone with Ryan. Savannah, I’m so sorry. I can only guess how this must be for you. It seems so out of character for him. I’m not sure if it would help you to speak with me. If it would, please call. I’d like to do whatever I can to help you through this.
I knew I couldn’t call her without sobbing. She was a sweetheart who led a Bible study for new moms and still volunteered at the elementary school Ryan had attended.
I texted her back, thanking her for her kind message and assuring her I’d call sometime in the future. She responded with a broken heart emoji, and then that was all. But she’d reached out, and I appreciated that. I also appreciated that Ryan had been honest with her that it was his idea to call off the wedding.
A few minutes later, my phone dinged again. My boss. Mr. William Hayes. Sorry to hear that. I need you in the office tomorrow. It’s urgent.
I stared at the text. How could I answer? I finally settled on, Sorry, I’m in no shape to come in.
His reply arrived immediately. Well, get in shape or lose your job.
Pardon?
No excuses, he texted back. This is an emergency.
My vacation was approved, I texted back.
I just officially unapproved it. We’re in the middle of a fiscal emergency. Be in the office tomorrow.
I began to pace but lost my balance and grabbed the back of the couch to steady myself. I wouldn’t text him back. I couldn’t go to work tomorrow. I couldn’t stay in the Bay Area at all. I had to leave.
But I couldn’t go to Dad’s. Seeing his happy life with Joy and Karlie wasn’t what I wanted.
Where could I go?
My eyes fell to the blue afghan inches from my hand. How many times had Mammi Mast told me I was always welcome, no matter what? She still told me that in her letters and phone calls, without fail. Nappanee, Indiana, might be the end of the world to some people, but to me, it always felt like home.
Or, at the least, it would be the perfect place to escape until I could find a new job as far away from San Francisco—and Ryan Woodward—as possible.
CHAPTER 2
I flew out of San Francisco International Airport four days later with a one-way ticket to South Bend, Indiana, and one bag. I’d put everything else into storage in Oakland, including my engagement ring. I’d wanted to throw it into the Bay but talked myself out of it, deciding if I still felt the urge when I returned, I’d do it then. I’d have to come back to sort through everything, but for now, it was all out of sight and out of mind. The apartment was empty and cleaned. All I needed to do was mail my keys to the property company when my lease was up at the end of January.
I landed in Chicago at 6:15 p.m., with an hour layover before I needed to catch my puddle jumper to South Bend, but the flight wasn’t on the electronic reader board. When I checked at the desk, I found out it had been canceled for weather-related reasons. That sounded ominous. When I’d told Mammi I was coming to visit her, she’d said to hurry and to bring my warmest coat, scarf, gloves, and boots. I checked my weather app for Nappanee. Twenty-three degrees with snowflakes.
The next flight wasn’t for another twelve hours. I left a message on Mammi’s machine, housed in the shed at the end of her lane. I hated the thought of her walking to check the messages once she realized I was late. It would be dark, cold, and snowy. I called her brother, Seth, who lived a mile away from her. He was Mennonite and had a phone in his kitchen.
He answered on the second ring. When I explained the situation, he asked, “Want me to come get you?”
“Definitely not, Uncle Seth,” I answered. He drove a 1975 Chevy pickup. I didn’t like the thought of him driving it into town, let alone to Chicago, more than one hundred miles away.
“I can pick you up at the airport tomorrow,” he said.
“I’m going to rent a car in South Bend,” I answered.
He didn’t argue with me. Instead he said, “Make sure and get one with four-wheel drive. Another storm is blowing in tonight.”
“All right.” I dreaded driving in the snow, which was why I wasn’t trying to rent a car in Chicago. The shorter the distance I had to go, the better. “I’ll call you if the flight is delayed again. Otherwise, would you tell Mammi I’ll arrive tomorrow? It’ll probably be in the afternoon.”
“Jah,” Uncle Seth replied. “I’ll drive over right now and let her know.”
“Denki,” I said. Uncle Seth might be Mennonite, but he still spoke Pennsylvania Dutch, a language I learned during the summer months I spent with Mammi Mast while I was growing up. I still spoke Pennsylvania Dutch with Mammi over the phone because I wanted to retain as much of it as possib
le.
I got something to eat and then settled down in a corner of the airport to watch movies on my laptop, to do all I could to pass the time and not think about Ryan. Of course, I wasn’t successful.
After dozing on and off throughout the night, I woke to find out that the next flight to South Bend had been canceled too. “You can take the bus,” the airline representative told me. “The terminal is across the street.”
I had to go to the bowels of the airport to request my bag, then wrestle it out of the airport and to the bus terminal. It looked like there was a bus that could take me directly to Nappanee.
I changed my mind about Uncle Seth driving into town—he probably did it all the time, anyway—and gave him a call, asking if he could pick me up at the grocery store that doubled as a bus station at eight that evening.
He quickly agreed. “I’ll let your grandmother know,” he said. “She was worried about you flying in a blizzard. She’ll feel better about you being on the bus.”
After waiting most of the day, charging my phone as I did, I finally boarded the bus just before four. I dozed with my head against the cold glass window, waking up every now and then to a flat, wintery world with more snow coming down. The landscape couldn’t be more different from the mountains of Northern California. The woods in Indiana, which were really just patches of trees at the back of fields, were nothing like the forests I was used to.
The plows seemed to be staying ahead of the bus, until we reached Elkhart County. By then, the snow was coming down in buckets, and the bus slowed significantly. I shivered at the thought of Uncle Seth waiting in his old pickup for me. He was in good shape, but I still hated he was out in the cold. All for me.