by Emma Woods
“How cool!”
We began to talk about the logistics of making piano lessons a reality. I told Tom about the importance of practicing every day, and we came to an agreement about how much the lessons would cost as well as when they would be. By the time we got the kids on the bus, I had my first piano student booked for a week from the next Saturday morning.
It was a good thing I didn’t start that Saturday. It was Emily’s wedding day, and all the Bumblebee girls were determined to make it a beautiful day for her. Emily’s mother had died when she was young, and she didn’t have much of a relationship with her dad, who wasn’t coming to the wedding.
We all headed to the Beanery, where we strung white lights and unpacked boxes of artsy centerpieces that Rosa had made. The Beanery was going to stay open until just before the reception, so we couldn’t get everything into place until later. However, we did want as much done as possible beforehand.
Mae and Emily headed back to Bumblebee House an hour before the ceremony was to start, and the rest of us followed shortly after. I pulled on a pretty flowered sundress, put my curly blond hair up into a ponytail, and strapped on a pair of high-heeled sandals.
When Emily floated down the stairs, all of us squealed with delight. She’d chosen to wear a simple white, knee-length dress. Mae had put her dark hair into a loose braid and pinned a circle of flowers around her head instead of a veil. Emily’s simple beauty shone through, and we were all on the verge of a weeping fit by the time Rosa sensibly ushered us out to the cars.
The ceremony was lovely. It told the story of Emily and Nate with its simplicity and earnestness. From my vantage point at the piano, I got an excellent view of the couple as they promised their lives to each other. There were only about thirty guests, but we put up a loud cheer when the pastor pronounced them husband and wife.
I made a point not to think too much as we moved the party to the Beanery. I nibbled desserts, sipped coffee, and danced with the Bumblebee girls. I grinned and told Emily and Nate how happy I was for them. We laughed and talked and celebrated.
But later, when I was sitting on the window seat in my bedroom, I let my heart ache and the tears slip down my cheeks. I pressed my forehead against the cool glass and hugged my knees to my chest. The way Nate had looked at his bride had filled me with such longing. Was that how Marco would look at me at our wedding? I knew that the answer was no.
And it hurt so much that I didn’t have words for it.
7
It didn’t help that Marco and I hadn’t been able to talk much. We’d exchanged a number of lackluster text messages, but had only spent a total of ten minutes on the phone together over two weeks’ time. This was made even more frustrating because I knew he was in the States at the moment. He had an evaluation at work, which might mean he’d be promoted and able to stay put for much longer stretches of time. At least, that’s what I guessed it meant. There hadn’t been time for explanations.
I felt completely helpless where Marco was concerned. I had no idea what to do. I spent more time questioning the relationship than actually having one. I wanted to go to breakfast with Marco at Denny’s and tell him everything about my first year of school. That had been our favorite place to catch up back in college. I missed those days. I missed the specialness of being in a relationship with someone who made my heart squeeze when he took my hand. Someone who was my friend.
School was starting to be less fun and more work. The kids were testing their boundaries, and I’d had to deal with my fair share of behavior problems. The second Wednesday in September, I awoke with a headache. Coffee didn’t take the edge off, and I was dragging through a fog by the time I got to school. I’m not sure if I was less patient with the kids or if they were really much more difficult than usual, but it was not a good day. It rained steadily, and we were unable to go to the ranch for riding club like we were supposed to, which meant that Kelly and I were left trying to figure out how to entertain fifteen disappointed kids.
I was all too happy to slog to my car and drive home that afternoon. What a day. And, of course, it began to pour all the harder as soon as I pulled into the driveway. I had to run from my usual parking spot to Bumblebee’s long, covered porch, where I could escape the deluge.
There was a big box by the front door. Considering that five women lived there, a package on the porch was nothing surprising. I leaned down, dripping, and saw that the FedEx box had my name on it. I wrestled it inside, trying to remember if I’d ordered anything lately. I was practically a professional online shopper, but this one wasn’t ringing a bell.
Curiosity got the better of me, and I took the box to the dining room table, which was right off the foyer. I had to run to the kitchen to get scissors, but soon I had the tape opened and gaped at the gorgeous bouquet of flowers inside. With awe, I pulled them from their packaging. There were a full two dozen pink roses with greenery and baby’s breath.
Almost as an afterthought, I plucked the little card out of its envelope. Hey, Beautiful! I was thinking of you and wanted to let you know it. Love, Marco.
Tears sprang to my eyes. It was such a sweet thing for him to do! I pulled my phone from my pocket and sent him a quick thank-you text, hoping that he’d call me as soon as he was free.
I arranged the flowers in the cut glass vase that came in the box, feeling special and loved. I had to convince myself that the mature thing to do was to leave them in the middle of the dining room table, rather than carry them around with me wherever I went in the house.
After that, my mood improved tremendously. I took a long, hot shower and used all my best smelling products. I put on my favorite PJ pants and softest t-shirt. Since it was just the end of summer, it still felt good to pull on thick socks, since I hadn’t done so in awhile. So, on went my fluffiest pair.
Rosemarie was the first one home. She caught sight of the gorgeous bouquet on the dining room table and came up to my room to see me.
“Wow, those are some flowers. Who sent them?” she asked.
I’m pretty sure I was glowing when I said, “Marco sent them to me.”
Her eyes widened, and she looked unflatteringly surprised. “That was sweet of him.”
I bit my lip. “I was just thinking today of how much I wish we could go back to how we were in college. We went to Denny’s almost every Saturday and ate huge amounts of pancakes and talked about everything.”
Rosemarie climbed onto my bed and wrapped herself in the quilt that lay across the foot. “It’s got to be hard to be so far apart all the time.” She was watching me carefully, as though she wanted me to admit to something.
Stubbornly, I said, “It’s just for a little while.” But that opened up another big box of questions. If we got married, I’d have to move back to Seattle and be a substitute again. There was no way Marco could ever move here. He loved the big busyness of Seattle. I loved the quiet peacefulness of Birch Springs. Why was there never any question of who would compromise in this relationship?
My phone rang, and I saw that it was Marco. Rosemarie tactfully headed to her room as I answered.
“Thank you for the flowers! They are beautiful! I had such a bad day, and then I came home and there they were. Thank you!” The words exploded from my mouth as soon as I picked up the phone.
The sound of Marco’s smooth voice laughing met my ears. “I’m so glad you liked them. I had a really good quarter, and I know we haven’t had much time to talk lately, so I wanted to do something nice for you.”
“Feel free to do that any time,” I teased. “I was just thinking today of when we used to go to Denny’s every Saturday in college. I miss that.”
“Really? There are so many better places to eat! I was in Cairo last week and had the most amazing hummus.” Marco was off and running. He gave me the details of all the delicious food he’d eaten on his recent travels.
I played with the tie on the quilt on my bed. He was missing the point. What I missed wasn’t the food, it was being with h
im. I missed having normal life rhythms that included him. I missed the time in our relationship when he’d actually sit and listened to me talk. It felt like there was only time for him to talk anymore.
He took a breath and I dived in, determined to prove myself wrong.
“Did I tell you that I’m sponsoring a horseback riding club after school? We actually go out to a local ranch two days a week. In the beginning, some of the kids were kind of scared, but they all love it now. I think we’ll go on a trail ride soon.” I paused, hoping that Marco would ask something about that.
“That’s cool. Say, before I go, I have to tell you about the meeting with Steve, my boss.”
I was disappointed, but I wanted to hear about it. “Did you get the promotion?”
“I got a different one,” Marco said, excitement coating his voice. “I’m going to be head of sales for the Asian division! Isn’t that crazy? I don’t think they’ve ever promoted anyone to head of sales in under five years.”
I swallowed hard. “So you’re going to be traveling more?”
“Yes, but I’ll be more focused. I’ll take fewer, longer trips.”
I let that settle over me. Fewer trips was good. Longer trips, not so much. “I’m proud of you, Marco, but I thought that you were going to be promoted and staying put in Seattle. I was thinking that maybe we could finally set a date for the wedding.”
“We can still do that. When we get married, you could stay in Wyoming, since I’ll be traveling. You could keep your job and everything. Then we could get together when I’m home. It’s a big pay raise, so I’ll be able to fly to you more often.”
I had no idea how I felt about that idea.
Marco’s voice grew soft. “I meant what I said in the card, Jill. You’re my beautiful fiancé. I want you by my side through my life.”
He had to go a few minutes later, and those words stayed with me. I sat on my bed feeling numb. I was looking forward to being married because I hoped it meant that Marco and I would be together. If we were married and living apart, it might not feel like much of a marriage. Could I do that? Could I do it if it meant that I got to stay here in Birch Springs?
I got up to go start supper and stopped in front of the mirror. I analyzed my features. My skin was holding on to the last of my summer’s tan, which made my blue eyes a little brighter. My blond, curling hair was particularly crazy, thanks to the moisture in the air. I turned sideways and checked out my overall shape. At five foot three, I didn’t have any hope of having Rosemarie’s tall grace or Emily’s slim, bouncing energy. I was curvier than both of them with a tendency to have a wider bottom half, but I didn’t have Rosa’s womanly figure by any stretch.
I bit my lip. Marco told me I was beautiful. I had the sneaking suspicion that he was wrong about that. I was cute. Maybe pretty on my good days, but I wasn’t beautiful. I knew how to dress and how to put on makeup. I could pretend I was beautiful, but I wasn’t really.
Was that one of the reasons I was with Marco? Did I need to have someone who flattered me? Was I with him because he was good-looking? Marco knew how to dress. He had great taste in shoes and actually ironed his own clothes. When we both got dressed up, I was proud to be with him.
Did being with someone good-looking matter more to me than being with someone who was, say, kind? Unbidden, Tom came to mind. He was really the kindest man I’d ever met. I loved the way he talked to Sophie. But there was nothing flashy about him. Oh, it wasn’t that he was unattractive. In fact, I thought he was very handsome in a rugged, unpolished, rope-a-cow sort of way.
When I thought of Marco—tall, hair always in place, with his perfectly straight, white teeth—I felt proud that he’d chosen me. Was that wrong? What would it be like to date someone like Tom? For the first time, I let myself ponder that idea. He wouldn’t send me expensive bouquets of roses. He wouldn’t want to fly to Hawaii for Christmas. Marco was definitely more of a high-end boyfriend than Tom would be.
But then the image came to my mind of Tom letting Sophie choose to watch “Tarzan” over and over again. Not only did he let her choose, he watched it with her without complaint. It had been a long time since Marco had let me choose anything.
I shook my head. No. Comparing Marco and Tom wasn’t fair. It would make me dissatisfied in my relationship, and that was a problem.
Still, the mental picture I’d allowed to form of me snuggled up on the couch with Tom’s arm around me and Sophie cuddled up on my other side wouldn’t go away. It followed me through supper and popped into my mind while I washed the dishes. When Mae and I watched Jeopardy, calling out wrong answers just to make each other giggle, it sprang back into my mind.
And though I told myself I was just wishing for a family, I couldn’t force the picture of Tom to become Marco no matter how hard I tried.
8
On Sundays, I had gotten into the habit of going to church with my grandfather. He had been attending the same church for thirty years, ever since coming to Birch Springs. It was fair sized and had a lot to offer all age groups, since it was the largest in town. However, most of the Bumblebee girls chose to attend a bigger church about half an hour away in Melbourne. From what they said about it, I know I would have preferred the style of worship their church had. It would have been nice to be surrounded by more people my age.
Still, I didn’t regret choosing to attend with Granddad. During the school year, my schedule was crammed, and I knew I would let too much time slip by between visits. Granddad wouldn’t be around forever, and I had a feeling I would look back on these Sundays without regret.
I slid into the pew beside him and gave him a nudge with my elbow.
Granddad looked up from his bulletin. “Hi there, Pumpkin. How was your week?”
I loved the way he always wore one of his old polyester suits to church. His shirt was yellowed with age, and his tie wasn’t anywhere close to fashionable. Still, I knew he polished his shoes every Saturday night so he would look his best. His hair had gotten increasingly gray over the years. Wrinkles marked his face, and his blue eyes were paler now. Still, he was the family member I liked most of all, and I was always glad I’d come to church when I saw him.
“This week was long. I was tired by Tuesday,” I said with a wan smile.
Granddad nodded. “I remember those days. It’s worse for the principal, if you can believe it. I almost gave up going home and considered sleeping in my office.”
“Granny would have loved that,” I quipped.
He gave me a mock penitent look. “She would have come down to school and dragged me home.”
I laughed as the pastor climbed onto the stage. Our aging choir sang. We stood and opened our hymnals. As one, we recited the Lord’s Prayer and the Apostles Creed. The pastor donned his robes and gave a short sermon on the importance of giving. Then he said the benediction, and we got to our feet.
Granddad had plenty of his friends to wave and call greetings.
“Jill, aren’t you glad your grandfather got you a teaching job?” Mrs. Roberts asked.
I gritted my teeth and smiled. I hoped Granddad hadn’t been the only reason I’d been hired, but the elderly community at church seemed certain it had been on his merit alone that I’d been given the job. It was one of the weekly rituals that I could do without.
“Don’t you look pretty today,” Mrs. Dilmount piped. “How are those children at school? I’ll bet you’re grateful to your grandfather for helping you get that job.”
Some weeks I could stand up under the constant reminders fairly well. This was not one of those weeks. It had been a difficult one at school. I was still out of sorts about Marco. And now it felt like everyone doubted my ability to do the job I was hired for.
I clomped down to the always-musty basement to my adult Sunday School class. Granddad had suggested we each attend Sunday School, and then get lunch together every week. Which was how I’d gotten involved in the College and Careers class. It consisted of about a dozen adults who were in
our twenties and thirties.
To be frank, it wasn’t the coolest group I’d ever met. I was glad that I had an engagement ring to ward off the more fervent attention from the three single male members. Everyone was perfectly nice, but I sometimes got the impression that the class was just a cover for a really conservative singles club.
The leader was a middle-aged man by the name of Mike Harris. He was married and the father of four kids, the youngest of whom was in seventh grade. Mike was paunchy, loud, and friendly. He reminded me of a big, slobbery mutt who was past his prime and loved everyone.
“Grab your seats,” he called, and we all moved to sit on the red-brown chairs that the women’s circle had purchased back in the 1970s.
I settled next to Elizabeth Zonkowsky, who attended church on Sundays and, according to her Instagram feed, played fast and loose with her morals the rest of the week. She always whispered funny comments to me, but otherwise seemed uninterested in participating. We weren’t close, but she was the closest thing to a friend I had in the class.
“Today is the kickoff for our service projects,” Mike announced. “Later on, you’ll have a chance to sign up for whichever project you want to help with.”
“Oh goody,” Elizabeth said under her breath.
I shot her a small smile. I wasn’t a huge fan of service projects. Over the years, I’d had far too many less-than-stellar experiences while “serving the Lord.” In particular, I recalled one in which we’d stood under a tarp trying not to get soaked while handing out water bottles at a sporting event. I doubted I’d ever made any sort of actual eternal impact on anyone during a service project.
I was settling deeper into my grumpiness when the door opened behind us. From his seat, Mike sat up a little straighter and waved the newcomer in.
“Great. I wanted to introduce you to my new co-leader of the group. Everyone, this is Tom Jerrett.”
My stomach jolted and my eyes swung to where Tom was striding across the room, smiling warmly at us all. When his eyes met mine, his smile brightened and his eyes crinkled.
