“I want it, Samuel. I just need to sort through a few delusions.” Like the fact that my friends could read Samuel better than me. Molly would have a field day with this. “You threw me for a loop and I’m not sure I’ve caught up.”
“Next week—can I count on you to ask your question? I’ll read the letter you gave me, and don’t forget about our book.”
The book had completely slipped my mind. Dang, the man was persistent. And pushy.
“I’m still in, but so help me, Samuel, I don’t know if I can handle another week of turmoil. Please promise me your book doesn’t have anything about a long-lost brother in it.”
I heard him exhale. “No. It’s all us, Firecracker.”
“Thank you.” A whoosh of air escaped my lungs as well. I ran a hand through my hair, shaking my head at the unbelievable turn in our relationship. Oh, if the tabloids only knew. I quietly laughed at how they’d spin it: Siren Author Drowns Ex-Wife in Kisses, Drives Her Over Edge.
“What?”
“I was just musing about the tabs. The other evening in Boulder, when I teased you about your plan to smooch your ex-wife in the middle of Pearl Street? I didn’t know you were serious.”
“Hmm. It is rather daytime talk show-ish, isn’t it? Now all I need is for some fan to charge the stage and claim I’m her baby’s daddy.”
I cringed at the phone. Ugh, was that even a possibility? I didn’t want to think about him picking up women at his book signings. What if it was a signing TrilbyJones had scheduled? Frickin’ craptastic.
“Kaye? That was a joke. A pretty bad one, evidently.”
I breathed out. “Too soon, Cabral. Too soon.”
“Kaye?”
“Yeah, Sam?”
There was a pause, and I heard a smile in his voice. “I still want you.”
“Shut up.” I bit my bottom lip, holding back a smile of my own.
“Kaye?”
“Yes, Sam?”
“You’re lovely.”
“I’m going to bed now. Goodnight.”
“Kaye?”
I groaned. “What, Samuel?”
“Sleep well.” Ha. Fat chance.
“I hope the ghosts of all those crickets I killed come back to haunt you.” But I smiled regardless of what my brain told me. “Sam?”
“Yes, Kaye?”
“You sleep well, too.”
Chapter 19: Belay
To keep a raft from slipping down river, one person
will wrap a rope around tree or rock, allowing them
to hold fast under the tremendous pull of the current.
DANITA CABRAL HAD FORCED me to play “wedding” with her when we were children. She’d been the bride and I’d been relegated to various roles, such as madrina, cake-maker, or groom (one time she even scribbled a goatee on my face with a black marker). Sofia purchased old quinceñeara dresses at a consignment store for us to play with, and one was a fluffy, white number with poufy sleeves and lace trim. Danita snatched it as her “wedding dress.” With several clothespins and a rhinestone belt, she tailored the frilly frock to her eight-year-old frame. If Angel and Samuel made the mistake of showing their faces during dress-up time, they were stuffed into Alonso’s old suit coats and obliged to join the wedding party.
As much as Dani had loved to play wedding, when it came to the reality of marriage, like her brother, she was stone-serious. Many in Lyons thought it odd that Angel Valdez and Danita Cabral were just now tying the knot after a decade of dancing around the other like mating birds. I wasn’t surprised. Dani and Angel always did things in their own time, never bowing to pressure—even as our classmates settled into married life, two by two. I think Angel always knew he’d marry Danita, so he waited her out, biding his time in the Air Force. And given the disastrous outcome of Samuel’s and my short-lived marriage, they were determined not to marry until both were ready to walk down the aisle.
Today, they were ready.
My friend was a portrait of regal beauty as her mother finished with the row of tiny buttons along the back of her wedding dress. Only Danita could carry off the gown she’d chosen. It was not-quite white, but more of an antiqued, silvery white Dani called “candlelight.” With hair piled high on her head, like a blackened wick gracing the top of her long neck, she really did remind me of an elegant candelabrum. She turned in front of the full-length mirror in her bedroom, showing off every ruched curve.
“Well?” she asked, taking a deep breath.
Molly’s eyes glowed, her aubergine skirts rustling as she bobbed up and down. Tears gathered in my own eyes. I swiped at them, already forgetting Molly’s earlier threat not to smear my mascara.
“Danita, Angel’s going to faint dead away. You are, by far, the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen. Supermodels got nothin’ on you.”
She nervously smiled at me in her mirror, tucking one final bobby pin with a trembling hand. “I know this is right. But Ave María Purísima, I can’t stop shaking!”
Sofia wrapped warm arms around her daughter and whispered encouraging words into her ear. Molly and I exchanged quick looks. But Danita closed her eyes and nodded, breathed in, and grabbed her beaded purse and shoes.
“Kaye,” she said as settled onto her vanity bench, tightening the ankle straps of her shoes, “about Samuel.”
My smile fell. “I’m working on it, Danita.”
“No, no, I’m not hounding you. I just…” She glanced between me and the other three women in the room, biting her lip. “Can you give Kaye and me a minute?”
“We’ll be in the living room, baby,” Sofia said. “Don’t be too long.” They picked up their things and left.
Danita turned to me and grasped my hands. “This is difficult for me to do. I need to apologize for pushing so hard with my brother. It’s hard on you, I know, but I’ve wanted the whole family together for so long, united for my wedding day, one way or the other. I thought changing your name would help you move on, once I discovered Caroline was in the picture. That maybe Samuel would feel like he could come home more often if he had evidence the divorce was water under the bridge,” she admitted. “And then that backfired, so I pounced on New York.”
“Danita, come on. You’re getting married in a couple of hours. Don’t do this now.”
“I just want to get this off my chest—go in with a clean slate, you know?”
“You’re getting married, not walking the aisle to the electric chair.”
She half snorted, half sniffed. “I just want my family together again.”
I sighed. “Dani, you have nothing to apologize for. We are together, aren’t we? We’re all here for you and Angel. We love you. And if you want Samuel to come home more, just ask him.”
Danita nodded, her grip on my hands tightening. A tear dripped from her eyelashes and splashed onto our fingers.
“I’m just so scared, Kaye. And if you tell anyone, Samuel included, I’ll—”
“String me up by my ta-tas, yes, I know.” I met her eyes. “Why are you scared?”
“Don’t get me wrong, I want to marry Angel more than anything. But what if we completely suck when it comes to marriage? We’ve managed so well up to now…what if we screw it up? He’ll be deployed again…”
I hugged her neck. “Dani, being terrified just means you aren’t cavalier about exchanging vows. But you can’t be self-defensive in a marriage. Go into it balls out. Just love hard.” Her pink lips twitched and I realized what I’d just said. “Okay, so I’m obviously speaking from past mistakes. You want some real advice? Don’t eff it up like your stupid sibling and BFF did.”
“That was really inappropriate.” Danita was fraught to hold her laughter.
“Hmmm, more advice from my past mistakes…Oh! The first time he says, ‘That’s not the way my mom makes it,’ smack him. You can’t let that crap go.”
Dani rolled her eyes. “Yeah, I’ve already heard that one.”
“And never, ever tell him he reminds you of one of those
Family Circus kids, even if he does. Samuel fumed for a full week over that one.”
Danita couldn’t contain her laughter anymore. Soon, we both heaved and clutched our ribs, our faces red and tear-streaked.
“Oh man, he does!” Danita wailed. “I can just remember Samuel when he was a kid, tugging on Mamá’s pants and asking her how to spell ‘spell.’”
“Or when he used to shove all of his hair forward and he’d have that cowlick sticking up in back? All he needed was a closet full of purple T-shirts and black pants!”
Molly pounded on the door.
“So help me, Danita Cabral, if you or Kaye ruin those fabulous up-dos again, I’ll shove your bouquets so far down your throats, your asses will sprout flowers!”
We pulled ourselves together, touched up our hair to save the flowers, and hit the road.
“All right, floozies,” Danita exclaimed with fierce determination, “let’s go take Angel Valdez out of the game.”
I tried not to follow him from the corner of my eyes. When he mingled in the foyer while Angel and Danita posed for altar photographs, I only saw a blur of crisp, black tuxedo and lightly bronzed skin. When he clasped Caroline’s hands and kissed her cheek as she arrived, I kept my face firmly riveted on the wall. Fascinating wall. Lovely old bricks.
This man wanted me. This man kissed me, and what a kiss it was…Pink heated my cheeks and spread across my skin…not good in a strapless dress. Even with Caroline drifting around him, willowy perfection in a jacquard dress, Samuel wanted me. And because he wanted me, I had the power. Control. The Afghan hound could have been sniffing up his leg and rubbing her scent all over him, but I no longer felt threatened.
“Holy crap, you’re friends with Taralie Rocheford!?” Angel’s little sister exclaimed, grabbing Caroline’s elbow. “Wow, I always read about her in the New York social diaries, especially now that she’s involved with Prince Henrik von What’s-his-face…”
Okay, maybe I felt a teensy weensy bit threatened.
Hector sidled up to me, also looking dapper in a tux and new cuff links he’d purchased just for the wedding, sweet man. I linked my arm with his as Samuel and Caroline joined our chattering circle of friends. As Cassady and Santiago went on about a nasty thunderstorm during a biking trip, I peered at Samuel, getting an eyeful of his lithe, tuxedo-clad frame. Starched white shirt, skinny tie and black vest, freshly-shaven jaw. Heat scorched through my body. My throat went dry, leaving me with cotton-mouth, ugh. I left Hector’s side and wandered down the stairs into the fellowship hall, alone, in search of water.
Samuel didn’t follow me. I tried not to feel thwarted.
So far, so good, as long as I didn’t eyeball him. Right, Kaye, because you can go an entire evening without a single glance at him.
But the past reared up and kicked us both in the teeth as we stood at the altar and witnessed Danita Cabral and Angel Valdez vow to love one another in sickness and in health, joy and sorrow, good times and bad. We fought valiantly to focus on our friends…the light in Danita’s eyes…the comforting curl of Angel’s lips as he held her shaking hands. But every now and then, my gaze drifted past Angel’s and Santiago’s shoulders.
“I, Danita Maria Cabral, take you, Angel Esteban Valdez, to be my husband, secure in the knowledge that you will be my constant friend, my faithful partner in life, and my one true love…”
I studied the intricate little buttons on the back of Danita’s shimmery dress, my vision focusing and unfocusing while she recited her vows. Samuel and I had both royally screwed up. When we exchanged them, I thought our vows would be easy to keep. We’d been childhood sweethearts, after all. Piece of cake. But now, seeing the solemn set of my two friends’ faces, it hit me that we hadn’t kept a single one of them.
“I promise to comfort you in times of distress, encourage you to achieve all of your goals, laugh with you and cry with you…”
He met my eyes, and I saw it again—that warmth, that urgency. That want. But overshadowing it all was profound guilt. Once again, his shoulders slumped. Once again, his mouth sagged sadly. Eyes rimmed in red. Tired. World-weary. I’d seen him like this too many times the past couple of months…warm, cold, warm, cold.
“I, Angel Esteban Valdez, take you, Danita Maria Cabral, to be my wife…”
Each time I sought him, his troubled blue eyes found mine. The reminder of our broken vows was killing us, even though we managed to plaster smiles on our faces. If we didn’t find a way to relieve our guilt, and soon, it would crush us.
“I promise to love you without reservation, honor and respect you, provide for your needs as best I can, protect you from harm, always be open and honest with you…”
Vows.
That’s what we needed. I perked up, growing animated in my idea. We could write new vows. Friendship vows. We’d both decided that, more than anything, the very foundation of our relationship needed to be re-laid. What better foundation was there than spoken vows? Friendship was a lifelong commitment, too, and having that contract would go a long way to re-solder our trust.
Samuel looked at me strangely as my demeanor shifted. I grinned at him. He returned my grin, and some of the misery fogging his features burned away.
“This ring I give you, as a sign of our constant faith and abiding love…”
Yes, friendship vows would serve us well.
Unluckily for Samuel, celebrity trailed him to Lyons—even to his sister’s wedding. One would think his hometown offered a breather from fan-girls. After all, these people had known Samuel when he was a gangly kid with braces. But that history also carried a sense of entitlement, because they had known him for a long time. And with so many new “best friends” vying for his attention, it was tricky for anyone—including me—to garner his attention for more than five minutes.
I watched with emulous eyes as Samuel’s first crush, frickin’ Jennifer Ballister with her red tresses, tight pink dress, and cherry ChapStick, rested a hand on his bicep and tittered at something he said. Several tables over, Caroline shot daggers at her, too, ready to clobber her like a minute steak. Several other old Lyons High gals were jonesing for time with Samuel Caulfield Cabral: World-Famous Author, Renowned Hottie. And now that Indigo Kingsley was allegedly out of the picture, they tacked “Eligible Bachelor” onto his title. If Jennifer wasn’t careful, she’d be torn limb from limb.
Women weren’t the only ones with Samuel in their scope. Alan Murphy had a blatant man-crush on his beloved author and spent half the night hovering, stalking, bringing him drinks, and firing questions as he clutched a precious, plastic-wrapped first edition of The Last Other to his chest. It was peculiar watching Samuel work the crowd. Before, he would have been too reticent to venture far beyond his assigned seat. He still didn’t enjoy playing the part of socialite author, but he was all politeness, subtly ditching cocktails on random tables. Just another script to follow.
Pushing my envy aside, I absorbed the magic of the Cabrals’ garden, transformed to a world of tea lights and hydrangea. Sheets of filmy white tulle and ivy were draped from tents. Crisp linens covered dozens of round tables, each set with glistening porcelain and silverware. Beyond the dining area, a dance floor and stage had been assembled, where the mariachis crooned sultry bolero. And the lights…thousands of little white lights twined around trees and dangled from canopies, bathing the entire banquet area in luminance against a dusky sky.
Hector rested a hand on the back of my tulle-covered chair, chortling with the rest of our table as we watched Samuel towed between classmates, classmates’ moms, and classmates’ younger sisters, sending “help me” glances my way. Frick, I even used to babysit a few of them.
Santiago chuckled. “I think Mr. June wants you to rescue him, sweet pea.”
I felt a little wicked. “I’m his ex-wife, sugar tush. People expect me to let him suffer.”
“If you won’t chase off those girls, then I will,” Molly huffed. “Get ready for your toasts, honey muffins. It’s that t
ime.”
Santiago cleared his throat, becoming very stiff and very anxious. I gave him an incredulous look.
“You did write a toast, didn’t you?”
He ran a finger under his collar. “Well yeah, but it wasn’t very good. Too saccharine, not personal enough. Samuel helped me revise it. You?”
“Danita sat on me and jabbed my ribs until I promised to leave out the embarrassing stories, so that didn’t give me much to work with.”
The wedding party slid into their respective seats, Samuel diving for his as if he’d just bounded through a pit of pedicured crocodiles. Caroline gracefully settled next to Samuel and leaned over, flashing a hint of cleavage for the entire table. Tart.
Molly flipped on a mic, cringed when it squealed, and handed it to Santiago.
Showtime.
Despite his obvious nerves, Santiago did a fantastic job toasting the new couple. “It’s been said that marriage is an adventure, like river rafting…” That was all Santiago. Then came a couple of embarrassing stories about Danita and Angel: “I’m not going to tell you about the night they spent in jail after mooning the town sheriff. Second date, right, Angel?” (I was shocked this particular story cleared Samuel’s screening. Judging from his quaking shoulders as he hid his face in his hands, I gathered it was an ad lib).
Santiago grew serious. “Remember to listen to the unspoken words as well as the spoken. Wake up each morning, loving to give and giving to love.” He lifted his glass. “Angel, Danita—may you fall in love every evening, only with each other.”
I pressed a hand to my throat, feeling a lump swell. That. Now that was vintage Samuel. I gulped my ice water, loosening my voice so I could speak.
When I stood, I thought my kneecaps would pop out, they wobbled so badly. I closed my eyes and imagined I was prepping for a TrilbyJones presentation (the whole “audience in their underwear” method didn’t work for me), and plunged in.
“Phyllis Diller said ‘Never go to bed mad…stay up and fight.’” Laughter, not stunned silence—good. “And for all of us who have been blessed to watch Danita and Angel’s love for each other deepen, we have seen them perfect ‘the fight,’ infusing it with passion, love, and humor…”
Hydraulic Level Five Page 30
