Tequila Rose

by Willow Winters

  She’s the one who gave me this necklace, a rose gold simple chain with a pretty and chic silent whistle on the end of it that matches the color of the chain. It’s quite stylish, but it’s supposed to be calming me down.

  In through my nose, out through my mouth as I stare at the computer screen for the third time, attempting to pay attention so I can put a sticker on the right piece for Martin.

  I’m a wreck. Crying is useless and I don’t want to, but my goodness, my heart won’t stop racing. I just needed time to collect myself, that’s exactly what I thought I was doing. Back on the restaurant porch, on the walk back here and in the hour that has passed since then.

  That’s what I do, I take time and I process everything. And now that I’ve done that, I have collected a mess. I am in a horrible mess and I have no idea what to do other than to pray that this is a dream, nightmare, or both. Or that he will suddenly vanish and I won’t have to face Brody anymore for as long as I live.

  Which … breaks my heart just a little. Maybe a bit more than a little. Maybe it hurts a lot to even think that years ago when I searched for him and prayed for him to come save me, he was nowhere to be found, and now he shows up?

  I used to dream about him and the way he was with me, so sweet and charming, just so I could sleep at night. Because somewhere in the world was someone else who might think differently about me and about my little Bridgey. It was long ago, though; it feels like a lifetime ago. How awful is it now that he’s here and all I want is for him to go away?

  He looks the same, handsome and charming with a roughness about him … the images of him at the bar, of us years ago, come to mind. Of the bed he took me in … My memory did not at all do that man justice.

  Sucking air in through the whistle and blowing it back out again, my shoulders rise and fall chaotically. I will not cry, but I don’t know what else to do.

  “It’s for your parasympathetic nervous system, you have to breathe through your nose.” Renee keeps her place in the corner of the art gallery, eyeing me pointedly as she readjusts on the floor so she’s now cross-legged with her back leaning against the wall. She shouldn’t be here and I should focus on working. But Brody shouldn’t be here either! That’s all I keep thinking. What the hell is he doing here?

  Ripping the whistle out of my mouth and making my way to her, past the easels and paintings, I finally come close to the edge of losing it. “You know what I’m not parasympathetic to?”

  With the ring of the bell on the door to the gallery, my mouth slams shut, my hands fold politely in front of me and I welcome Miss Jones to the gallery. My smile is fake as can be and I hope she can’t tell. I pray she doesn’t know anything is wrong, but I would be a fool not to think the entire town will talk and by tomorrow rumors will have spread like wildfire.

  It’s so very wrong of me, but I’m hoping they’re talking about Renee and Brody’s friend. Not Brody and me. Please, please, I don’t want to be the topic of whispered conversations anymore.

  “Miss Jones, can I help you with finding anything in particular, or would you like to peruse? We have a few new pieces over in the more contemporary section,” I say and gesture behind me, remembering the last paintings she bought. They were mostly for her foyer, but I think one was for her bedroom.

  Miss Jones is quite the spender, not just in here but anywhere she’d like. That’s what happens when you’ve been married three times to wealthy men who either died or cheated, each time leaving her with a heap of cash. Miss Jones is loaded. Hosting parties and wining and dining is what she lives for, or that’s what she’d say. Southern hospitality raised her, and she won’t let it die.

  Tapping a perfectly polished, French manicured nail against her chin, she smiles broadly, the wrinkles around her eyes making her appear ever approachable as she says, “I’m here for a look, dear.”

  I’d love it if the conversation ended here, not because I don’t enjoy waiting on Miss Jones. She’s honestly lovely and when I was pregnant with Bridget, she offered to host a baby shower for me. I didn’t take her up on it, but it was sweet. She is more than well-off and somehow still manages to be kind.

  However, I’d love it if she took her white-jeaned and blue-bloused self out of this store right now so I can have a moment to decompress with Renee.

  I’ve barely spoken to Renee, other than to put her on the task of how the heck Brody got here and how long he’ll be here. Thus why her attention has been on her phone and my attention presumably on calming down.

  This silent whistle, though, is useless. I hope she didn’t spend a pretty penny on it. It’s only worth a dull one found between sofa cushions.

  “Nice to see you, Miss Renee, how is your mother?” Miss Jones asks, making conversation as she rounds the counter toward the section of new arrivals.

  Her thin lips, painted a shade of pink that’s nearly the same as her skin tone, purse as she gets to the first watercolor scenery.

  Their conversation is littered with small talk and polite laughter, which I mimic. Making sure to laugh at just the right time, even though inside I feel like my chest is cracking wide open. It’s obvious she’s prying, but Renee also has a soft spot for the woman. It’s easy for Renee to ignore most of the gossiping hens, as she calls them, although she usually adds in other colorful language. Miss Jones gets away with it, though.

  My mind drifts as the conversation turns to white noise. Everything was finally okay. I was okay. Bridget is doing so, so well and I felt free for the first time in years.

  Tears threaten to prick at my eyes so I resort to turning my back to the two of them and focusing on the computer screen at the desk. As if something is so very important that it’s all right for me to ignore a client.

  If my boss were here, she’d be livid.

  He cannot be here. Brody … my throat tightens as I take out a bottle of water from under the desk and quietly have a sip.

  “Dear, Magnolia, my dear, is the change of weather getting to you?” Miss Jones asks although I know for certain she knows it’s not allergies. “The change of season always bothers me,” she continues without pausing and opens the clasp of her purse to produce a small pillbox. “Allergies can be brutal, here you are.”

  Renee’s gaze dances between the two of us as I accept the pill and take it. Why the heck wouldn’t I? Better to play along and for Miss Jones to not have any new information to spread gossip. I’m pretty sure the little pink pill was a Benadryl. Maybe I’ll get lucky and it’ll help me sleep tonight.

  “I saw Robert just yesterday,” Miss Jones says casually, slipping the pillbox back into her purse as I nearly choke on the sip of water.

  Here it is. Here it comes. First she started with Renee and now it’s my turn.

  “He said his mother’s allergies are getting worse. Every season it seems to be something new.”

  I offer her a smile and answer, “Maybe I’ve developed an allergy to something.”

  Renee’s grin is Cheshire catlike as she peeks up at me from behind Miss Jones’s back. “Roses,” she mouths and I swear if I didn’t love her, I’d hate her right now.

  “Mm-hmm,” Miss Jones murmurs, gracefully taking in another piece of art as she continues, “I believe Robert may carry a soft spot for you still.” Her voice is quiet, contemplative but still casual. “The way he’s helped you, a man doesn’t help like that unless he wants more.”

  Every ounce of blood drains from my face. Oh my Lord, I can’t even think about Robert at a time like this.

  “I didn’t mean to upset you, dear,” she’s quick to add and the look on her face seems practiced but genuine. The look is one that screams, “I’m sorry I said something alarming, upsetting … something that crossed the line, but also it needed to be said.” I know it well. “I thought we’ve had this conversation before? No?”

  “We have,” I say and force a smile although I can feel it waver. Renee takes the moment to stand now, no longer seated and very much paying attention to every word. Bless
her, but she doesn’t need to be my protector. Well, not from Miss Jones anyway, of all the people in this small town. “I assure you we’re only friends.”

  “Oh, well then,” she says with a nod and moves on to the next piece, letting a little gasp show her approval of it, “then maybe that gentleman you happened to run into earlier? Is he a friend?”

  “Word gets around fast,” I joke, feeling my cheeks heat.

  “So he’s a friend then?” she asks, glancing behind her shoulder at me before telling me, “I’ll take this one.” As if this conversation isn’t exactly what she came for.

  “A friend from your college days, I suspect?” she says and tilts her head, a blush coloring her own cheeks as well. I don’t have a moment to answer, not a single moment because just then the bell above the front door chimes and in walks the man of conversation, grabbing the attention of all three of us.

  Involuntarily, I reach for the useless silent whistle as if it’ll save my life.

  There’s a saying I never understood: he’s a tall drink of water.

  The older women around here say it in the beauty salons and at luncheons all the time and it’s followed with slight blushing and laughter. I understood what it meant when I heard it; I’m not dense.

  The men they were talking about were handsome. Got it, check, understood.

  But I didn’t really get it until just now. As Brody stands there, slipping his hands into his jean pockets and biting down on his bottom lip like he’s unsure of his good-looking self, it hits me.

  My mouth is dry and I can’t swallow. I can barely breathe, so there’s not much in my body that’s working at all. Other than the thermostat. One look at him and his broad shoulders, and his strong, stubbled jaw, with the snap of a finger, my insides are all burning up.

  It takes a long second for me to close my mouth and gather up the energy to give a polite smile and say, “Welcome.” Even the singular word shakes as it drifts into the air.

  From the corner of my eye I see two things happen at once.

  Miss Jones takes a half step to the right, pretending she’s admiring a piece of art I know she hates. “I may take this one as well,” she says under her breath. “I’ll just have to look at it a minute.”

  The second thing is that my good friend Renee, really my dearest and closest friend Renee, rolls her eyes. And not at Miss Jones. No, she rolled them at me.

  My eyes close as I scold myself. Welcome? Really?

  My smile falters but I widen the thing anyway. “Is there anything I can help you with?” My voice is a faux cheery tone and it’s obvious even to my own ears. Still, I’m doing the best I can, given the fact that I’m parched and hot and in desperate need of … that tall drink of water standing there, looking back at me like he may be lost.

  “Magnolia.” He says my name and it feels like an ice bath drenches me from head to toe. So much so that my toes go numb.

  “That’s me,” I say with my throat still tight, feeling like I’m swallowing down sawdust and pretending I’m just fine. I’m all right. The man who could be the father of my daughter isn’t standing right here. I didn’t lie to him back then. I didn’t run from him just hours ago.

  Slipping my fingers around the whistle, I absently toy with it. It would be far too obvious to slip it between my lips and blow right now, but darn do I want to. He takes his time walking to stand in front of the desk where I am. Like a gentleman, he stays on the other side of it, but quite frankly, it’s not far enough away.

  Everything in this place disappears. There’s no big hunk of wood that separates us. Not at all. It’s just him with his piercing gaze, and boyish charm. And me, scared and knowing I’m ruining everything. Everything I worked for is going to be ruined by a lie and a secret and there’s nothing I can do but to bear the consequences and I hate it. How do you tell a man you haven’t seen in years that he has a baby? A sweet baby girl with his eyes. Well, probably. She could be Robert’s. Oh my Lord, may the ground open up and swallow me whole.

  Both hands wrap around the whistle, my fingers twining together as I try to get the courage to just spit it out. Get it over with. The only thing that keeps me from speaking is the thought that he’d deny her. My perfect little girl. That and the onlookers, and … well, maybe there are a lot of reasons. Either way, I can’t speak. Not a word slips out from between my lips.

  “Hey.” Brody lowers his voice and glances at Miss Jones. I don’t even think he knows Renee’s right behind him. She’s practically hidden in the corner. “I get it,” he says then shrugs and offers me an asymmetric smile that’s so comforting and soothing.

  It takes me back to that night at the bar, the nostalgic smell of a sweet cocktail and then him. His warmth. His touch. The way he laughed.

  I want to hear him laugh. Just to know if my memory is right.

  Given the way he looks right now in front of me, my memory hasn’t done him any justice at all.

  “You all right?” His question brings me back to the present, the here and now of this man I’ve dreamed of for so long standing so close to me.

  “Yes. Yes. What, umm … get what?” I manage to ask and this time it comes out even. I haven’t got a clue how. I clear my throat and say to clarify, “I’m sorry, but you get what?”

  “I get why you freaked out. You’re a sweet girl. You’re from a small town.” He nods with each statement, then leans in closer to whisper, as if Miss Jones doesn’t have the hearing of a fruit bat. “You don’t want anyone to know about your college days.”

  Oh my God. How is this conversation happening right now? My body blazes again but this time with sheer embarrassment. I know my cheeks are red and my jaw has dropped, but I can’t help a single reaction.

  In an effort to look anywhere but at his handsome face, I look to my right, which is a mistake because Renee’s grin only adds to my chagrin. She sure is getting a kick out of my humiliation.

  One breath in, one breath out.

  “It’s not that,” I say then shake my head and manage to look Brody in the eyes.

  “It’s not?” The smile he’s been wearing falls and I wish I could take it back. I wish a lot of things. Wishing isn’t going to make this right, though.

  “So … why’d you take off like that? Because you lied about your name?”

  I promise I want to answer him, I want the words to come out and just give him the truth regardless of how much of a surprise it is and how much it’s going to change everything. The words, though … they’re stuck at the back of my throat and all I can do is stare back at him with a pained look. I’ve never felt both so foolish and helpless.

  “Wait, wait,” he says, raising his voice and Renee’s brow climbs so high on her forehead it catches my attention. “I have this idea.” Brody runs his hand down his jaw and clears his throat before saying, “Hi. My name’s Brody. When you left, I asked the waitress what she knew about you because I couldn’t take my eyes off of you. She said you’re sweet and you’re single.”

  My chest rises and falls as I watch him pretend like this is the first time we’re meeting. Like we’re starting fresh. His grandstanding is cute and flirtatious, but his nerves are clearly getting to him judging by the way he rubs the back of his neck before asking me, “I was wondering if you want to go out with me sometime.”

  “Oh, how sweet,” Miss Jones comments as if she’s innocent and doesn’t have a clue what’s going on.

  “A date?” I ask in a voice that doesn’t sound like my own. It’s breathless and filled with disbelief.

  “If you’d like, I’d really like to take you out this weekend.” His voice is lower and filled with a longing I recognize when he adds, “I want to redo this.”

  “You should say yes to that sweet man, Magnolia.” Miss Jones butts in and at that, I roll my eyes. This woman and her pestering are killing me right now.

  “Thank you very much,” Brody says and flashes her a charming smile. Sweet but completely ignorant Brody. He turns that charm on me next.
“So? Will you go out with me?”

  Thud, my heart beats in a way that both feels right and like the next beat will take me to death’s door.

  “Yes, yes,” I say and force a small smile to my lips, “let’s go out on a date.” Even though a part of me is jumping up and down for joy, I cross my arms and the chill across my shoulders doesn’t leave me. I’ll go on the date to tell him about Bridget and confess everything. Somewhere quiet, where we can talk.

  “How about to eat at Morgan’s? Have you been?” I suggest and immediately notice Miss Jones’s huff of disapproval. I shouldn’t be taking the lead, according to Southern etiquette rules, but you know what? She can stuff that huff where it came from.

  “I haven’t yet, but if that’s where you’d like to go, that’s where it’ll be.”

  “You said this weekend?”

  “That’s right,” he answers, rocking on the balls of his feet.

  “You’re staying long then?”

  “I might be moving down here.” His answer echoes in my head, over and over like a bad replay and in that time, I somehow agree to him picking me up after work on Friday for the date.

  With the time and place set, he leaves with a short wave.

  The second he’s gone, the whistle is between my lips as I hyperventilate.

  “Oh my, oh my.” Miss Jones has more color in her cheeks than I’ve seen since the dinner she threw for New Year’s two years back.

  “Oh my what?” Renee asks, picking herself up.

  “We are in for a treat.”

  “It’s not a treat,” I murmur and Miss Jones is quick to click her tongue in disagreement.

  “Take it from me, dear, I know a thing or two.” She gives me a kind smile even though her eyes reflect sympathy. “This is going to be a wild ride. So smile, dear. When you look back on it, you’re going to want to remember you did it with a smile.”

  Brody

  “Is this for some girl?” My mother’s tone is grating as I run a hand down my face.