by Elle Casey
I ignored her scolding. Shuh, right. As if some minimum wage clerk down at the courthouse is going to give me lessons in filling out forms. Raise your hand if you went to law school. “Yes, that’s correct. That’s me.”
“And your middle name is Lynn and your social security number is 078-05-1120?”
“Yes, that’s also correct. Is there a problem?”
“Yeah. That’s why I’m calling. There’s a question on the form you’ve answered incorrectly, so I need you to come back and do another form and include your divorce decree with it. I can’t process it until it’s complete, and without that decree, it won’t work. The system won’t even accept it, so I’m not even going to try. And don’t ask me to change it for you, because that’s not how it works.”
“Wait … what?” My brain was misfiring, trying to put together her nonsensical words into a sentence that would mean something to me.
The woman sighed loudly. “Don’t play. Seriously, I don’t have time to play lawyer games today, okay? I got fifteen … no sixteen forms to process before I leave for the day, and if I don’t get it done the team leader will be all up in my business, know what I’m sayin’?”
“Yes, I do … but no, I’m not playing. I’m serious. I’ve never been married in my life.” A huge pit opened in my stomach, and that pit was filled with molten lava. This cannot be happening to me. Bradley will totally shit a hamster if there’s a glitch. He’s planned a bachelor’s golf party and everything, with fraternity brothers coming in from all over the world to attend.
“Are you sure you’re not married?” she asked, sounding doubtful.
“Positive,” I said, sincerely irritated with this jerk in the courthouse who obviously hadn’t gone anywhere after high school except maybe to McDonalds’ hamburger university. “Believe me, I’d know if I was married to someone other than my fiancé.”
“You ain’t never been to Nevada?” she asked, an evil-sounding smile in her voice.
My ears burned as memories washed over and threatened to drown me in fear. I almost couldn’t get the word out. I have been to Nevada. Oh fuck me, I have been to Nevada! “Maybe. Once.”
“When? Any chance it was about two years ago?”
My heart was pounding like a really loud and fast bass drum. I could literally feel the pulse in my neck without even touching it. “Maybe?” My voice was only capable of squeaking at this point. Two years ago. That was Kelly’s bachelorette party! No, this can’t be happening!
“Says here in my system you married a man by the name of … Gavin MacKenzie, on April tenth, two thousand and eleven. The signature matches the one you put on the form, maybe a little more messy, but it’s the same one. That name ring any bells? Gavin MacKenzie? What is that? Scottish?”
My brain and heart both felt like they were going to explode now. My vision went fuzzy and my jaw dropped open as all the blood drained out of my head.
“Ma’am? Are you still there?” she asked, sounding bored and far away.
The phone dropped from my hand and hit the desk. A tiny voice came from down near my blotter. “Ms. Marks? Are you there? Are you okay? Hello? I’m gonna hang up this phone, you know. I don’t have time for these games, I already told you.”
The room started spinning and I blinked my eyes several times, trying to get my vision to come back. But it just kept narrowing down, a long gray tunnel with eventually just a pinprick of light at the end.
That’s the last thing I remembered seeing before I woke up again on the floor with Ruby’s worried face hanging over me.
Chapter Fifteen
THE PLANE TOUCHED DOWN AT lunchtime in Boise, Idaho, the closest airport to Baker City, Oregon. I’d spent a sleepless night yesterday at my apartment. I begged off going with Bradley to the pub after work, telling him I had to attend to an emergency client meeting out of town that I couldn’t put off. Luckily we worked in different departments and he wasn’t privy to all of my client files, otherwise he would have known I was full of crap. I was also fortunate that Ruby had zero issue with hiding things from that Bradley. She’d been almost too delighted to make my plane, hotel, and car rental reservations. The feelings of guilt were turning into an ulcer, eating through me from the inside out.
The memory of Ruby pressing her good luck troll doll into my hand made me smile weakly, easing the pain somewhat. “Take this,” she’d said after I’d sat in my chair like a zombie and tried to explain the huge error I had to go fix out in Oregon of all places. I had less than a week to get an annulment or divorce and fix the license garbage at the courthouse, or I was done. Single once again. Lifeplan in the dust. “It’ll bring you luck,” she assured me. “I had it in my pocket when I met my Michael, God rest his beautiful soul.” She tilted her head back to stare at the ceiling for a few seconds, a contented look on her face.
I didn’t ask her why she had a lumpy, plastic, ridiculous-looking troll doll in her pocket when she met her future husband. It was irrelevant, and I had to save all my energy for relevant facts only. I’d stared down at the thing in my hand, its ridiculous blue and purple hair sticking out in all directions, and almost shut it up in my desk when she turned around. But instead, I threw it into my purse and dragged it along with me on this fool’s errand.
I sighed heavily, looking for the signs that would direct me to the car rental agencies. This had to be a mistake; it just had to be. How could I possibly have married a man in Vegas and not remembered any of it? This stuff doesn’t happen in real life.
Only, it kind of does. It happens often enough that I’ve found myself part of a statistically valid group. I slogged through the airport as I recalled what I’d uncovered, my feet and legs moving through virtual mud or quicksand or something. I was so not motivated to deal with this shit.
After I’d gotten up off the floor of my office and convinced Ruby I didn’t need an ambulance, I’d gone into research mode. No one can conduct discovery like this girl can, no one … especially when I was this focused on finding a loophole. While looking up my alleged husband’s name and vital information provided on the faxed-over marriage certificate, I’d run across several newspaper articles about these twenty-four hour wedding chapels in Las Vegas that catered to the too-drunk-to-remember crowd. One of them was the one I’d been inside. And there was no doubt about it; I had been inside. My signature on the form was real. Yes, it was sloppy. Yes, it was crooked. Yes, it was even smudged. But it was definitely mine.
The signs for Enterprise car rentals appeared above my head. My hand shook as I wiped my upper lip. Boise was hotter than I would have guessed it could be this time of year. I continued down the hallway, lugging my overnight bag over my shoulder.
All my research had not been able to uncover one important fact: whether or not the marriage had been consummated. I wasn’t even sure if I’d remember what Gavin MacKenzie looked like. The law firm’s resources were pretty strong in the area of conducting background checks, but nothing had brought up a picture of the guy. I had his driving records - spotless - but no DMV mug shot.
I wanted to sob with anger and frustration. This whole mess flew in the face of my lifeplan. If Bradley ever found out that I’d kept this from him or that I’d even done such a stupid, irresponsible thing, our wedding would be canceled. And then I’d be one of those girls: the ones who get left at the altar. Ugh. Shoot me now. My rainmaker title would surely be gone soon thereafter. Who wants to do legal work with a girl who tries to become a bigamist on the sly? It’s sick how quickly bad news makes it around our town. No one would believe me if I tried to convince them I didn’t know I was married. Even as a skilled litigator, I was certain that was an argument I’d never be able make convincingly.
“Welcome to Enterprise. Can I help you?” asked the man at the counter.
“Yes. I have a reservation.” I handed him the papers Ruby had given me. They were all so neatly organized and labeled. She was back on her game in a major way, even giving me a hug and kiss when I left the office
. I guess that was one small consolation in my craptastic life. She didn’t even scold me when I dropped the F-bomb no less than five times.
The rental agent typed some things into his computer, gave me some forms to sign, and then handed over some keys and a small black box. “Here you go. Enjoy your stay in the greater Boise area. Do you need a map?”
“No, I’ll just use the GPS.” I looked at the tiny device he’d given me, not feeling overly confident that it would do the job, but I was terrible with maps.
He smiled and nodded, my dismissal clear when he spun his chair around and faced the opposite direction.
I walked out into the parking lot and found the space he’d written on the rental folder. I frowned at the bright yellow and black machine that sat there waiting for me. What is that? A riding lawnmower? “This can’t be right,” I said to no one. I was the only one out there, so I don’t know who I thought I was talking to, but having a thousand conversations in my head over the last twenty-four hours was making me question my own sanity. Probably talking out loud to myself wasn’t any better, but what the hell … might as well change up the crazy every once in a while to keep it fresh.
I pressed the button on the key ring and the headlights flashed on once, proving this was not a mistake. “A Smart Car? Are you kidding me?” It looked like a giant, wasp-yellow roller skate. Maybe not even a giant one; maybe just a large-ish roller skate. Surely looking like a giant wasp flying down a country road was a bad idea for a girl with a sting-allergy…
I debated in my head whether I should go and argue for one of the other fifty full-sized cars on the lot, but then gave up on the idea five seconds later. “Screw it,” I said, annoyed as hell. “Might as well get eight hundred miles to the gallon, right?!” The tone of my voice had drifted a little over to the hysterical side, but there was nothing I could do about it. I was barely hanging on, the stress almost enough to send me to the looney bin. I just kept picturing Bradley saying, “You got married? To a complete stranger? In Las Vegas? When you were drunk? By a guy named Elvis?” It was too horrible to fully fathom. He’d dump me just for humiliating him in front of all his clients and his frat brothers and his parents. There were so many people expecting me to be the perfect fiancée.
I threw my overnight bag in the passenger seat and drove off the lot, wishing I could peel out and really express my anger in a satisfyingly loud and obnoxious way. But I quickly learned that a Smart Car doesn’t know how to peel out; it’s not equipped to do much with its lawn-mower sized engine. It just knows how to deliver me from Point A to Point B on a very small amount of gas with almost zero elbow room. I felt like a clown buzzing around in her little circus car. The only things missing were a little face paint and some floppy shoes. At first I thought I was also missing one of those brass honky-horns that clowns carry around, but then I pressed on the steering wheel and found out differently. Yes, it’s true. The Smart Car comes equipped with a clown honky-horn.
I arrived in Baker City, Oregon a little over two hours later and checked into my hotel room. Sitting on the bed in the tired old room, I stared at the ugly wallpaper. The folder sitting next to me on the nightstand was full of information I could use to help me find the mysterious Gavin MacKenzie. Now I just had to build up the nerve to use it. Then I could take off, ask a few questions of some strangers, track him down with their clues, and have that conversation with him. The one where I ask him if he remembers sleeping with me and then possibly marrying me too. My stomach was in knots.
Chapter Sixteen
MY FIRST STOP WAS THE local diner. Baker City’s a smallish town, so I figured it would be like all the small towns I’d seen in the movies. Everyone goes to the diner for a coffee and pie right?
I sat at the counter and ordered a decaf, getting the lay of the land before making my first move. I skipped the pie because I didn’t trust my stomach right now; it was way too full of a large contingent of very anxious butterflies. My phone buzzed in my bag, but I ignored it. Bradley or whoever it was would just have to wait until I got some direction.
My first goal was to work up enough nerve to ask some of the most ridiculous questions I’d ever asked in my life. Here’s how I pictured that conversation going:
Me: Do you know Gavin MacKenzie?
Country person: Who’s askin’?
Me: His wife.
Country person: — vacant look—crickets—
There was no way I was going to be able to track him down without a story. I needed a good story that wouldn’t humiliate both of us. A nice fat lie. I picked up a sugar packet and emptied it into my cup as I thought about my options. I’ll say I’m a lawyer and I’m tracking him down for an inheritance. I frowned at my coffee cup, picking up the teaspoon to stir in the sugar. No, that won’t work. They’ll want to know relatives’ names and I don’t have anything like that with me. I stirred and stirred and stirred. I’ll say he’s won some money in a contest. No, that’s stupid. What am I … Publisher’s Clearing House? I shook my head, grabbing more sugar. I ripped the packet open sloppily, spraying small white crystals all over the counter. I’ll say that I’m a relative from another city and I’m tracing my genealogy.
“How’re you doing over here?” asked a woman’s voice. My waitress was staring at me from behind the counter, waiting for my response.
The words came flying out before I could stop them. “I’m looking for Gavin MacKenzie, do you know him?” Oh, shit. Did she say how are you doing or what are you doing? My skin flamed up a burning crimson, and I had to restrain myself from fanning my face with the napkin. I could not believe I just blurted that out. What happened to my kickass plan to play it cool? Argh, I totally hate myself sometimes.
“Of course I know Mack. Everyone knows Mack. But no one calls him Gavin except his mother and his grandmother.” She smiled, the happy emotion not quite making it to her doe-brown eyes. Her name tag said Hannah. She was cute, even though her blonde hair was a little too brassy and her skin a little too heavily made-up. I guessed her to be a couple inches taller than me and about the same age, maybe a couple years older. The only thing keeping her from being a totally cliché diner waitress was bubblegum-smacking. She reminded me of a country version of Candice. My heart pulled uncomfortably at the thought of my friend. It had been way too long since we’d spoken. I blamed it on work, but Ruby blamed that Bradley.
“Can you tell me where to find…Mack?” I asked.
“Who are you, and what do you want to find him for?” She stood there with the coffee pot in her hand, her hip cocked, fully prepared to remain there until I confessed.
My ears burned with the shame of the coming deception. “I’m …uh… Andie. And I’m looking for him so I can put together my genealogy chart.”
“What’s that? Like a school project or somethin’?”
“Yeah,” I said, a lie sparking up in my mind and quickly turning into a roaring wildfire of bullshit. “I’m taking this special college course and we’re learning how to put together our family tree and stuff and his family …the MacKenzie’s… they’re in my tree. I think. The MacKenzies of Baker City to be exact.”
A gravelly voice came from behind me, making my hair stand on end with fear.
“Luceo non uro!”
I spun on my stool. “Wha…!” I banged my coffee on the way around and sloshed it all over my hand and the counter, but I didn’t bother with cleaning it up because I was too busy worrying that I was about to be eaten by a giant man-bear-pig.
“Luceo non uro!” he yelled again and then laughed. His mouth was completely covered by a gnarly, unkempt beard. I caught glimpses of teeth and tongue which made me feel just a tad bit safer. The idea of a toothless man-bear-pig somehow scared me more than one with proper dental care. I was obviously not functioning with all my brain cells online.
“Yeah, that’s about right,” said the waitress, snorting a little.
My voice finally started working again when I realized he wasn’t about to attack or ea
t me. He was just standing there looking down at me from very high up and speaking Latin. There was a slight chance he was even smiling, but it was impossible to tell with the brown shag carpet he was wearing as face decoration.
I cleared my throat, giving it a little jump start. “I’m sorry, but what did you say?”
His voice came out gentle then, and smooth. He could have been a book narrator when he wasn’t growling at women in diners. “Luceo non uro. It’s the MacKenzie clan motto.”
“MacKenzie clan?”
He cocked his head. “You know what a clan is, right?”
I gave him my best you-must-be-kidding look to cover up for my ignorance. “Of course I do. Don’t be ridiculous. I’m doing a project.”
“So I heard you say. What school are you attending? It sounds like a very interesting project.” His tone suddenly went from man-bear-pig to cultured academic.
I decided it was a distinct possibility that I’d either fallen into the same rabbit hole as Alice or been slipped something illegal on the flight over. “Just a community college. In Florida where I live. It’s pretty small, I’m sure you’ve never heard of it.”
“Could be I haven’t … could be I have, though,” he said, putting his hands behind him and rocking a little on his heels, waiting expectantly. “Won’t know until I hear the name.”
“Palm Beach State College?”
“Are you asking or telling?” he said. His beard moved. I took the upward shifting of the hairy mess as a smile.
“Telling.” I turned partway back to my coffee, using my napkin to dab away at my mess. “So, what was that motto again?”
“Luceo, which means shine .. Non, which means not…and Uro, which means burn.”
“Shine not burn,” I said, almost to myself. Why was that ringing a bell? Why did I think I’d heard that somewhere before?
“Kinda cute, huh?” asked Hannah.
