The Fable of Us

by Nicole Williams

  When she slid a compact out of her clutch, she opened it and took in her reflection, immediately going to work combing a few strands of loose hair back into place and dabbing at the hollows under her eyes. A few cheek pinches followed, along with some more hair fretting.

  “You look really beautiful, Charlotte.” I felt my eyebrows come together—I hadn’t known I was going to say anything, yet there I was, reassuring her and telling her she was beautiful.

  Her back had been angled my way—I didn’t think she’d even noticed I was there—but it stiffened for one moment before it relaxed. “Really?” She tipped her face from side to side, getting a good view of all angles, sounding as doubtful as she looked.

  “Just as beautiful as you looked this morning, and just as beautiful as you have your whole life.” I turned in my seat to face her, wondering if I’d be less surprised if a leprechaun fell out of the sky into my lap than by the fact that I was attempting to make some kind of peace with Charlotte.

  “Okay . . .” she said slowly, clicking her compact closed before sliding it back into her clutch. “Thanks, Clara Belle. I mean, thanks, Clara.” Charlotte sat on the edge of her chair and angled herself somewhat my direction. There were still four empty chairs between us, but it felt like the closest Charlotte and I had been since when she was seven and sick. Mom had been out of town, so I’d stepped in as the mother hen, pressing cool washcloths to her forehead and reading her stories. “Is that what you prefer? Clara?”

  I felt my smile move into place. “That’s what I prefer. Though after years of saying that, Boone and now you are the only ones who’ve seemed to listen.”

  “I remembered you correcting us when you still lived at home. But you stopped bringing it up after you left.” Charlotte crossed her ankles and leaned forward. “Why?”

  “Because no one would listen.”

  Charlotte seemed to mull that over. “No one ever listened to me either.”

  “What a terrible childhood you must have endured.” I peered at her, watching her fight her smile. Charlotte had always fought her smiles like they were an enemy. It was nice to finally watch her lose a battle to one.

  “Probably about as terrible as yours,” she replied, having to look away when I laughed. Smiling was one thing, but laughing was uncivilized in Charlotte’s book.

  “But just look at us now.” I waved my finger between her and me. “Listening to each other.”

  “Who would have thought it?”

  “Not me.”

  Charlotte shook her head. “Me neither.”

  Shifting on her seat, she started to stand. She looked as though she was reeling from our truce, and I knew I was, but she didn’t seem in a hurry to get back to her wedding reception.

  “Charlotte?” I called before she could move. “I don’t think I’ve gotten a chance to tell you yet . . . but congratulations.” I paused, having to take my time to get this out. Not because the words were feigned, but because I actually meant them. “I’m happy for you, and I hope you and Ford have a wonderful life together.”

  Her face went flat, followed by her eyebrows knitting together how I guessed mine just had. Perplexed seem to be the tone of things tonight. “Thank you?”

  That made me laugh. “You’re welcome?”

  Charlotte came close, but she didn’t quite laugh. Waving at me, she’d just turned to head back to the dance floor when she paused. Her hand went to the back of her chair, and she looked over her shoulder. “I’m sorry about the dress, Clara Be—” She cleared her throat “Clara. I’m sorry. That was a cheap shot.”

  I smoothed my hands down it, having gotten used to it twenty hours of continuous wear ago. “I’m sorry Boone hit your husband in the eye right before you said your vows. He should have waited until after at least.”

  Charlotte’s and my gazes drifted to Ford. His eye wasn’t swollen shut, but the injury wasn’t exactly subtle. He’d deserved it, but the timing could have been a bit better. At least they’d gotten the majority of their portraits together taken beforehand.

  Charlotte stayed where she was, hovering behind her chair. “I’m also sorry for what I did.” She chewed at the corner of her mouth. “What Ford and I did to you—”

  I cut her off with a hard shake of my head. I was done revisiting the past. Unless it had to do with fond memories or funny ones, I wasn’t lingering there any longer. “You’ve loved Ford McBride from the time you were seven years old and our families vacationed together that summer in Nantucket. I knew you loved him. I knew you still loved him when Ford asked me out. I guess I just wasn’t thinking about that when I said yes, you know?”

  Charlotte stopped gnawing at her lip. She nodded. “I knew you two were together when Ford and I started spending more time together. I knew you were technically still a couple when we . . .” She swallowed, still watching him out on the dance floor. “But I guess I just wasn’t thinking about that when he leaned in, you know?”

  I smiled as she walked away, heading for her new husband flagging her out onto the floor. “I know,” I said to no one but myself, because at the core of it all, I needed to be told that the most.

  She rushed as quickly as she could to Ford, both of them smiling at each other like there was no one else around. I might not have liked Ford, I might not have wished him on my worst enemy after finding out what he’d done, but it didn’t matter what I thought about him. My sister loved him.

  I’d been the victim of people scrutinizing me for who I wanted to give my love to. I wouldn’t do the same to my sister, no matter what asshole she chose to love.

  That was when I finally caught sight of Boone. He hadn’t disappeared to escape the stifling air that traveled with my family and their friends. Instead, he was camped out beside my dad, talking to him in a way I’d never before seen them converse. It was a peaceful, bordering on respectful sort of conversation. I wasn’t sure how long they’d been talking, but when Boone shook hands with Dad before walking away, his shoulders relaxed with what I guessed was relief.

  He didn’t scan the crowd for me. He didn’t search the tables. He just headed in my direction like he knew exactly where I was without needing sight to guide him. Our connection had always run deep. Beyond attraction. Beyond friendship. It landed somewhere in the realm of the soul’s bearing.

  He was still in the same jeans and shirt he’d showed up in, but he didn’t seem to care that he was in casual wear while everyone else had donned their most formal. Kind of like I’d gotten over the fact I was parading around in the most unflattering dress for my body type. We’d had plenty of experience dealing with other people’s disapproval and didn’t seem too concerned about changing that trend now.

  “So? Did you win him over?” I called out as he lunged up toward the head of the table.

  It was only then that his eyes drifted my way. They were lighter than normal today. As light as I’d ever seen them. “I think it’s safe to say we can be in the same room together without attempting to kill one another now.”

  I smashed my lips together and nodded in approval. “Progress.”

  “Serious progress.” Boone crashed into the chair beside me, reaching for my seat and pulling me closer. He wound his arms around me and pulled me into his lap. He’d never been stingy with his affection in the past, and that was one thing I was happy had travelled with him to the present.

  Somewhere in the midst of him settling me deeper into his lap, arching my back far enough so our mouths were aligned, I heard it. The sound I’d been dreading but knowing somewhere along the way, it was bound to echo in my ears.

  That sound was the tearing of the seams stitching together The Thing. Again. The seamstress had done what she could, but it still didn’t fit right. I doubted any amount of letting out or rebuilding would make it fit.

  “Ah, shit.” Boone winced, returning me to a more upright position. “I think I just killed The Thing.”

  I felt cool air rushing against the side of my body where the tear must hav
e been. From the feel of it, the rip spanned from my hip to my armpit. “And this is something to be sad about because?”

  Boone ran his fingers down my freshly exposed skin. His extra-light eyes went darker. “Because I was looking forward to tearing it off of you later. Alone. You. Me. Minus the five hundred people who keep mistaking me for the hired help.”

  I felt my heart pick up speed. “There’s still plenty of dress left for the tearing.”

  He grinned at me as his fingers slid through the tear to cup my back. “Was that you and Charlotte I saw making what looked an awful lot like a truce?”

  “I think so, yeah.” My heart jacked up again when he leaned his face closer to mine.

  “You making amends with Charlotte. Me shaking hands with your dad.” He paused just long enough to drop a lingering kiss onto the side of my neck. The sensation of it lingered a while in other areas. “I think that’s our cue to leave.”

  “I thought our cue to leave was you talking about tearing dresses off of me.”

  “I’d say we’ve had more than enough cues. Let’s get out of here.” In one smooth motion, Boone had me on my feet and had popped to a stand beside me. Weaving his hand through mine, he started to lead me away from the table and through the reception festivities.

  We were both grinning as we rushed through clusters of people, feeling like a couple of kids skipping classes on a Tuesday afternoon. I felt light, a floating kind of light that would have no doubt sent me into the sky if Boone hadn’t kept his hold on my hand.

  We’d just made it to the edge of the party and were almost free when I heard our names being shouted from behind us.

  “Keep going,” I instructed, letting my feet take me as fast as I could.

  Boone listened, keeping our pace, but when I heard my dad shout after us again, I found my pace slowing.

  “Clara, sweetheart, hold up a minute!”

  Boone slowed to match my pace right before we both came to a stop. He looked at me staring at my family waving us back, and he sighed. “It’s like they know. Every single time. I swear they’ve got built-in radar when it comes to you and me trying to sneak away.”

  “I’m surprised you’re only just figuring this out.” I winked at him and gave his hand a tug back toward the reception.

  As we drew closer, I saw why I’d been called back. The photographer had managed to round up all of the Abbotts, along with Ford, to get the family photo he’d been trying to get earlier. This one though would be more fitting than the picture-perfect, all-white smiles and perfect posture one would have been.

  This one would be an accurate depiction of the Abbotts. Me in my ripped dress, which was ugly as sin but my sister had forced me to wear as a bridesmaid. Ford with his glaring black eye, earned from being a regular dick and all-around asshole. My dad with his bow tie a little cock-eyed, half-drunk tumbler of scotch in hand. Even my mom . . . she’d kicked off her heels and was padding around the grass in her sheer pantyhose.

  “Come on, honey. We’ve got to get a family photo to remember the day.” My dad motioned me over as everyone else clustered up in a way that was not wedding-photographer approved based on the way the photographer was gaping at the scene forming in front of him.

  I started their way, Boone following me until he stopped beside the photographer. He couldn’t stifle his smile as he inspected the group before him.

  The photographer was just getting into position to snap the photo, when my dad lifted held up his hand. “What are you doing over there, Boone?” He waved him over. “You better squeeze your way into this circus too.”

  My head twisted toward my dad.

  Boone’s brows touched his hairline. “I thought it was a family photo.”

  My dad circled his finger around all of us and shrugged. “It is.” He gave Boone another wave. “Now get the hell over here.”

  Boone didn’t pause to think that over. Jogging to my side, he squeezed in between my dad and me, cinching his arms around me. His mouth lowered to my ear as the photographer fired off a series of sighs before returning to his camera.

  “Thanks for asking me to be your plus one.”

  I looked back at him. He was looking at me. “Thanks for being my date.”

  The photographer snapped the photo.

  Frozen in time. Moments could be seen through the shutter of a camera, but eventually we all had to move on from the past. Willingly or forced.

  For the first time in years, I was marching forward of my own doing, content to leave the past exactly where it belonged. It was a revelation. One that set me free at the same time it grounded me.

  Another two hours had gone by, my family refusing to let Boone and me sneak away like we’d attempted earlier. Well, they let me sneak away for a few minutes, but it was only to change out of The Ruined Thing into something more comfortable. After a few more rounds of photos, a few more spins on the dance floor, and the three Abbott sisters taking the stage to serenade the guests as they slowly made their way back to their cars, we finally got our moment.

  He didn’t say a word. He just took my hand and led me across the lawn toward where his truck was parked out in the field. The night was more morning than evening by that point, almost silent but for the sounds of the night coming to an end and the sounds of morning not quite ready to come alive. It was the time when a person could almost be made to believe in magic. The time of the night when a person could almost be swayed into believing in foolish notions and fairy-tale endings.

  “Are you sure you don’t want to stay?” Boone asked as we came around the side of his truck.

  I brushed his stomach as he swung the door open for me, and I stepped inside the truck. “Let’s see. I like all of my family right now. They all like me. I’m not going to press my luck.”

  “Sounds like a solid policy,” he said before closing the door.

  As he loped around the front of the truck, I settled my number eighteen angel into my lap, nestling her between my legs so she wouldn’t bounce to the floor and break again when we hit a pothole.

  After launching himself inside the truck, he fired it up, put his hands on the steering wheel, studied the empty space in front of us and the quiet road behind us, then glanced my way. “Well? Where are we heading?”

  “I don’t know. How long of a journey did you have in mind?”

  “As long of a journey as you plan on taking, that’s how long.” Boone punched the truck into reverse, sending a spray of dust and gravel around us before he fired his old truck down the road. Down the road that led west. The direction I had in mind.

  “Have you ever thought of visiting California?” I peered at him as I hung my arm out the window. Even the muggy air seemed to have taken a temporary break.

  “I’ve been thinking of visiting California for the past seven years.” He gave the truck a bit more gas, until the rearview mirror was rattling from the speed we were cruising down the gravel back road. “I think it’s about time I got there.”

  “Funny you say that, because I’ve been wondering when you would visit California for these same past seven years. I think it is about time you got there too.”

  Boone smiled at me, keeping his eyes on the road. “I don’t know how long I’ll be able to stay—I have some things to take care of back here too—but I should be able to sneak away for a while.”

  “That’s good to hear.” I snapped open my clutch and pulled out something I’d stuffed in there earlier that morning. I dangled the set of keys, tinkling them just outside his ear. “Because you’ve got some big responsibilities to see to when you get back. Rest and relax with me in California—my bed’s the perfect place for that—because you’re going to be busy when you get back.”

  The corners of Boone’s eyes creased when he glanced at the keys. His eyes returned to the road for a moment, and when they drifted back to the set of keys I was holding out, recognition dawned on his face. “Those keys . . .” He swallowed, eyeing them. “Are those what I think they are?�
�

  “Well if you think they’re the keys to a brand new F-350 Super Duty, then no, sadly they are not.” I jingled them again. “But if your next guess leads you to wondering if they’re the keys to the Kids’ Center, then ding! Ding! Ding! . . . you are correct.”

  At first, he didn’t say anything. His chest just rose and fell in heavy pulls. “Clara—”

  But I cut him off. “I believe in you. I always have.” Lowering the keys to the steering wheel, I looped them around his thumb. “It’s time you did too.”

  He was quiet again, his grip tightening around the steering wheel enough to make his knuckles go white. After a minute, he opened his hand and let the keys fall into his palm. He wrapped his fingers around them. “How did you manage it? The bank? The short timeframe? How did you do it?”

  I shrugged. “I’m an Abbott. I had to cash in on my name at least once in my life.”

  Boone shook his head. “No, you’re Clara. The girl I grew up loving, and the woman I’ll die loving.” His hand, the same one still holding the keys, found mine, and he managed to knit his fingers through mine and still maintain his hold on them. “You’re the best person in the whole world. That’s who you are.”

  I tipped my head back against the headrest, letting my hair whip around my face from the wind rushing into the truck, and I wondered how long it would take us to get to California. What I realized then was I didn’t care. Where we were heading didn’t really matter—what counted was that we were on our way.

  This time, when I went to suck in a breath, my lungs responded. They filled with air to capacity, strong and solid. I exhaled.