by Hope Ramsay
His uncle draped an arm around him and half guided, half dragged him off to the old barn that had been converted into a four-car garage. They found a couple of lawn chairs, fired up the electric space heater, and passed the bottle a couple of times, all without speaking.
For a woodshed talk, this was taking a while to get off the ground. The silence stretched out, and David had to stomp on the urge to break it, until Jamie finally said, “Love’s a bitch,” and then lifted the bourbon to his lips.
“It’s been eight years since your aunt Debra died,” he continued, once he’d swallowed down the liquor, “and I still need to crawl into a bottle when the anniversary rolls around. ’Course, the truth is, Debra and I were not very happy together, so it’s always a surprise when I feel the need to drink myself into oblivion.”
This was such startling news that David didn’t know what the hell to say. So he kept his mouth shut.
“We didn’t agree on how to raise the kids,” Jamie said after another pull on the bottle. “She spoiled all of them. Spent money like it was water. She lived to shop. It was all she ever thought about—material stuff. It got so that I couldn’t ever have a meaningful conversation with her. And, a long time ago, I cheated on her. She never forgave me for that, which only made things worse.”
“Uh, Uncle Jamie, I thought we came out here so you could give me some sage advice about dealing with my anger, not so you could make a confession. I don’t really—”
“The woman I slept with—I loved her.”
“Um…”
“But I decided that I needed to sacrifice love for the good of my family. This woman I loved, she wouldn’t have met with anyone’s approval. Not just because we had an affair, but because she wasn’t the kind of woman that your grandmother would have approved of. You don’t remember Grandmother, but she’s the one who handpicked your daddy’s wife for him. And let’s just say that Mother and Pam were cast from the same mold. Both of them were governor’s daughters, born and bred for the political life.”
“Okay,” David said, standing up and starting to pace. If he didn’t move, he might try to punch something—not Uncle Jamie, but a wall or something. And he didn’t want to break his hand, and a primal scream would probably scare all the wedding guests. “I get it. I know what I’m supposed to do, Jamie. It’s been drilled into me since I was a baby.”
Jamie let go of a big breath. “And that, right there, is the problem.”
David stopped pacing, turned, and stared at his uncle.
“Sometimes you give the impression that you’re just going along to get along. You know, like you’re drifting in your life. Everyone’s given you a little time because of Shelly’s death, but it seems to me that you’re still drifting, David.”
“I’m planning to run for Congress. That’s hardly drifting.”
Jamie settled back in his chair and propped his feet on the fender of Mother’s Land Rover. He offered the bottle. David shook his head and waited for Jamie to say something. He didn’t say anything. He just took another sip of bourbon.
“I am running.”
“Why?”
Because it’s expected of me. The words formed in David’s mind. They weren’t a good enough reason. His brain kicked in and he came up with a dozen additional reasons, all of which were acceptable. But they all lacked one thing: passion.
“See what I mean?” Jamie said, offering the bottle again. This time David snatched it and took a big gulp.
“Now, you see, if Heather was here and we were talking about her running for Congress, I don’t think she’d have trouble coming up with reasons for why she wants it. I mean really wants it. And, David, I hope you take this the right way, but I don’t for one minute think you have the personality to be a good politician. Heather, on the other hand, has the knack. People naturally like her. You know what I mean? She’s social, and you’re not. She’s good in a crowd, and you’re not. She’d have no problem making cold calls to raise campaign contributions, and I just don’t see you doing that.”
David passed the bottle back to his uncle and sat back down. “If I don’t run, what the hell do I do with my life?”
Jamie had the temerity to laugh out loud. “Boy, you are confused.”
He glared at his uncle.
“I wouldn’t presume to tell you what to do. But let me point out a few things. First, there’s always fly-fishing. A man can never get enough of that, and being a congressman is going to cut into your fishing time. Second, there’s that beautiful redheaded daughter of yours. She’s growing up, David. Fast. You’ll be astonished how fast the kids grow up. If you give your time to politics, you’ll lose your time with Natalie. You seem to be doing a better job of parenting lately. I approve.” Jamie paused a moment to wet his whistle.
“And there are a couple of other things that come to mind. You could champion hopeless causes. You seem to have developed a talent for that. I’m impressed by the way you’ve stood shoulder to shoulder with Dusty McNeil, even though I deeply disagree with your position on that one. I hear that you solved a long-standing problem with a teacher down at Daniel Morgan Elementary with your negotiating skills. And then there is your crowning achievement: the end run that you orchestrated around Pam and Nina and their plans for Jeff and Melissa’s wedding. Bravo on that one. Without you, we’d all be in New York celebrating this family occasion with two hundred deep-pocketed fund managers.” He raised the bourbon bottle in salute and took another sip.
“You want me to become Don Quixote?”
Jamie laughed. “No. But you could try for George Bailey.”
“Who?”
Jamie shook his head and looked heavenward. “It’s a Christmas reference. Look it up on your smartphone when you get a minute. I think this town could use a George Bailey.”
David refrained from digging for his iPhone right then. “Look, Jamie, I’m not a hero. I was pushed and prodded into all of those things.”
Jamie nodded. “I know.”
“You do?”
“Yeah, I do. But how did those things make you feel?”
Alive. The word came to David without any thinking. He didn’t say the word out loud. But he did accept the bottle when Jamie passed it to him. He was beginning to feel a little buzzed.
And so was Jamie. His uncle leaned forward and put his hand on David’s knee. “Kiddo, here’s the main thing I wanted to say. Love is the only thing truly worth treasuring.”
David found himself nodding, his eyes watering. “Today,” he said in a gruff voice, “when I went out to visit Shelly’s grave, I wondered if they would put the word ‘sacrifice’ on my headstone. It was a morbid thought, but it’s the way I feel right now.”
“You don’t have to feel that way.”
“Jamie, I’m not the one who walked away from Willow. She walked away from me.”
Jamie frowned. “She did?” He truly sounded surprised. “Really? Are you sure about that?”
David nodded, but then suddenly the pieces of the puzzle rearranged themselves. Shit. Sure she’d walked out the night Mom came storming in, but that wasn’t when he’d lost her. It had been in that moment out at Laurel Chapel when he’d asked her to give up her private action against Restero.
What an idiot he’d been.
The largest impediment between him and Willow wasn’t his family. It was his decision to run for Congress—a decision he hadn’t even really made for himself. And yet to save his so-called political career, he’d asked the woman he loved to walk away from a position that she regarded as the high moral ground.
“Damn, Jamie, I really blew it with her,” David finally said, taking the longest pull yet on the bourbon.
“How?”
David hung his head. “I told her she had to behave according to my rules.”
Jamie tipped back his head and laughed. “Yeah, that was a tactical mistake, son. You don’t ever tell a Petersen woman to behave. They’re likely to start painting signs and picketing your front lawn. Here, have a drink.�
� Jamie shoved the bottle at David. He took a long pull and handed it back.
They stayed in the garage until the bottle was empty, and then they stumbled back to the party, where they endured Pam’s disapproval with drunken dignity.
Chapter 18
Willow got to the inn at the crack of dawn on Saturday, December nineteenth. Most of her work was finished, but she felt the need to hover and check off the items on her list.
She expected to run into David and Natalie and she quite literally didn’t know what she would do or say, but Mrs. M explained that they’d ended up sleeping at Charlotte’s Grove the night before. That news was oddly disappointing. She’d been avoiding them for more than a week, and yesterday had pretty much confirmed that her feelings for them ran deeper than she’d been willing to admit.
But did they run deep enough for her to give up her self-esteem to be with them?
The unequivocal answer to that was no.
So she threw herself into the issues at hand: the delivery and placement of the centerpieces, the arrangement of candles and numbers on tables, the placement of the guest book and table cards, a couple of crises relating to the DJ’s PA system, and at least one emotional outburst from Antonin over the quality of the mushrooms available in the local market.
She also arranged for Melissa to pick up Natalie at Charlotte’s Grove for her hair appointment at Glamorous You, the local beauty shop. This almost turned into a big, honking disaster, because Pam insisted that Natalie was too young for a manicure and pedicure, not to mention that she didn’t need a fancy hairdo. Thank God for Courtney, who, according to Melissa’s telephone account, had told Pam where she could shove her concerns and had literally pulled Natalie from the clutches of her overbearing grandmother and whisked her off to a big-girl party at the beauty shop.
Willow wished she could gate-crash the fun times at Glamorous You, but her heart wasn’t strong enough for that. She had Courtney’s assurance that Natalie would get her mani, pedi, and a fabulous hairdo, which they both conceded would probably last about five minutes, given Natalie’s talent for tangled hair. It wasn’t so much about the hairdo as it was about the kid’s self-esteem. Courtney understood. The bride and her bridesmaids were totally on board with making Natalie feel like the most adorable child in the world.
Which, as far as Willow was concerned, wasn’t far off from the mark.
With all that chaos, she was surprised when Jeff showed up around lunchtime and pulled her into the library and closed the doors.
“What?” she said. “If you’re here to tell me you’ve got cold feet, I will shoot myself.”
He laughed. “No. No cold feet. I’m here to thank you.”
She blushed. “You’re welcome. It’s been…” She paused a moment and looked around the library, freshly painted and newly staged with rented furniture that had already generated an offer from Bryce Summerville.
She took a big breath. “I guess you could say it’s been a labor of love. Shelly would approve, you know. She had such big plans for the inn.”
“Uh, well, that’s kind of why I’m here.”
She turned back. “What?”
“I still have your business plan, you know. And I’ve read it. More than once.”
She said nothing as her heart started to pound.
“I’ve come to a decision, Willow, about a lot of things. I’m going to marry the love of my life today, in a smallish ceremony, in a pretty small town that I intend to make my home for the rest of my life. I’ve decided I don’t ever want to go back to New York. And while helping Melissa run a used bookstore is fun, it’s not really a big enough thing for me, you know. I mean, I have money to use, and I want to use it doing something important.
“I used to think that important stuff was what happened in New York or DC, but Melissa has opened my eyes. Important things happen here too. I think you understand that.”
“I do,” she said with a nod. “I used to think I wanted a corporate life. But these last few months I’ve come to understand that even a small business—like an inn—can be hugely important to a community.”
He nodded. “Yeah. So here’s the deal. I want to invest in the inn. I’ll put up the money under the terms you outlined in your plan.”
She stood there utterly nonplussed. “You will?”
He laughed. “Yeah, I will. And I’m going to look for other local business opportunities. I never saw myself as a businessman, you know. But I’m going to be living here, and I want this place to be more than it is right now. I suspect that means I’ll be doing regular battle with Aunt Pam. Who knows? Maybe I’ll join the Historical Society and oust her. What do you think?”
“I’d vote for you.”
He laughed again, a truly wicked laugh. “Look, I know you’re busy, but I just wanted to let you know that whatever Bryce Summerville’s willing to pay for this place, I’ll gladly match. The inn is yours, Willow. Merry Christmas.”
She stood there for a moment, utterly speechless, and then she did something she never did. She gave Jefferson Talbert a crushing hug. “Thank you, thank you,” she said in a rush. And she couldn’t say any more because tears filled her eyes.
“I hope those are happy tears.”
She nodded. “Thank you so much.”
“It’s an investment, Willow. I expect to see returns.”
“And you’ll get them. Now, get out of here. I have work to do. And you need to get ready.”
He checked his watch. “I’ve got more than four hours before the ceremony. Maybe by that time David will be sober.”
Her joy faded. “Is he all right?”
“He’s fine. Uncle Jamie got him drunk last night. I guess we all forgot about the anniversary of Shelly’s death…everyone but you, it would seem.”
“She was my best friend. Until recently, I would say she was my only friend. But I guess I’ve made a few more now that I’ve come back home. It’s funny I never thought I belonged here, but you and Melissa and Courtney and Arwen have made me feel as if I do.”
“Don’t forget Gracie and Poppy. Or Poppy’s bridge club. You’ve got a boatload of fans among that crowd, you know.”
“What about the bridge club?”
“They’ve been trying to rebrand you.”
“What?”
The grin on his face was almost devilish. “Faye Appleby darkened my door the other day with a bunch of questions about how she should go about investigating you so as to clear your name. She was asking me professionally because of my journalism background.
“And someone got to Gracie with the idea of rebranding you. I have no idea where that term came from, but Gracie has been using her many business channels to spread the word that you are a fine, upstanding citizen who was motivated by your concern for Medicare patients who were harmed by Restero. Do you have any idea how many Medicare recipients live in Jefferson County? It’s a substantial number. They see you as their champion.
“And I heard through the grapevine that Poppy has been all over Walter to get him to discourage Bryce Summerville. He can’t do that ethically, but I’ve been told that Poppy has even resorted to using her body as an inducement.”
“What?”
He snorted a laugh. “That was the way Gracie put it. I actually think that Poppy and Walter have a thing going.”
“I guess I kind of knew that, after the way they were at Thanksgiving,” Willow said.
“So there you have it, Willow. Poppy wants you to have the inn, and everyone seems to think that Poppy ought to get what she wants. And I just happen to have the means to make it happen.”
“Thank you,” she said.
He leaned in and gave her a kiss. As he drew away, he spoke again. “I think you might want to talk to David.”
“There isn’t any point. If I’m going to be an innkeeper and he’s going to be a congressman, I don’t see much of a future for us. He as much as told me that his campaign people see me as a problem to be managed. No woman wants to be told
that.”
“Yeah, I guess so. But I still think you two should talk. Promise me that you will.”
“Okay. I promise. Now get out of here. Go feed David some coffee. I’ll see you at the church.”
* * *
Willow stood in the narthex of Grace Presbyterian Church and sent Natalie down the aisle. Her hair had miraculously not tumbled down from the curly updo she’d gotten at Glamorous You. The few sprigs of baby’s breath in her hair looked like snow in the light of the candles.
She walked slowly and with a great deal of grace to the organist’s rendition of “Jesu, Joy of Man’s Desiring.” She had a basket filled with rose petals that she carefully dropped on the white runner that ran down the aisle.
The moment had arrived. Willow opened the door to the small room where the bride awaited. Melissa looked fabulous in her ivory taffeta, with the velvet cloak—exactly like the heroine in a fairytale.
“It’s time,” she said.
Gracie helped Melissa out into the foyer, arranging her train and veil. Then she took Melissa by the arm. “I wish your mom and dad were here,” she said, tears glittering in her eyes.
“It’s okay, Gracie. I have you.” Melissa gave Gracie a big hug. “I can’t think of anyone else I’d rather lean on as I make it down the aisle. I hope I don’t trip on this ridiculous skirt.”
They both laughed. The organist struck up the “Wedding March.” The congregation stood, and Melissa headed off to marry Jeff, who waited for her, with his big brown eyes filled with love and the light of a hundred candles.
Willow stayed behind at the back of the church, where she allowed herself one hungry glance at David, standing beside Jeff, wearing a classic black tux, his hair just a little mussed and curling over his forehead.
And then, as her gaze lingered, he looked up from the approaching bride. Time seemed to stop as they stared at each other, but that was an illusion. As their gazes held, Melissa made her way down the aisle. And then the minister said, “God is love, and those who abide in love, abide in God, and God abides in them.” Only then did David look away.
