Chose the Wrong Guy, Gave Him the Wrong Finger

by Beth Harbison

  “That doesn’t sound like Burke,” I said simply. Lots behind those words, of course. What did sound like Burke these days? Had I ever known?

  He looked me in the eye, the amber brown color expanding as his pupils narrowed. “When was the last time you saw him?”

  “At our wedding,” I answered, my voice dry. I could talk about this without crying, but it was a heavy emotional weight. “The happiest day of my life, remember?”

  Now, I knew it wasn’t Frank’s fault. This was a classic case of shooting the messenger. And then doing him. So my feelings of anger at him for telling me—and telling me then—were all mixed up in this soup of good memories and bad. Mostly bad.

  Obviously I was more pissed at what Burke had done, but that didn’t necessarily let Frank off the hook.

  “Yeah, well, you should have seen him at his wedding.”

  It didn’t even take time for me to process the words. My core went rigid before I even digested the meaning. “His wedding?”

  Frank nodded. “That’s right.”

  Oh, god. Burke was married?

  How had that little piece of information gone unshared? Dottie loved to chatter about everyone, but no one more than her grandsons. How on earth had she never mentioned Burke’s marriage in all of her mindless blatherings?

  Had she purposely avoided the subject, knowing it would affect me just this way?

  Probably.

  Wacky as she was, Dottie was kind of sensitive and intuitive that way.

  “I didn’t know,” I said to Frank.

  He looked genuinely surprised. I was glad. I didn’t want to think he took inordinate pleasure from telling me upsetting things about Burke. That would be a pretty mean hobby, though apparently one rich with material. “I’m sorry, Quinn. I thought for sure you’d know. That he’d told you, or Dottie, or”—he shrugged—“someone.”

  “Oh, it’s been so long, I don’t think anyone even associates us with each other anymore,” I said, in a voice much lighter than the boulder it felt like was sitting on my chest. “There’s a lot of water under that bridge.” The bridge we’d burned. “No one would think to keep me posted on things like that. I’ve got so many other things going on.” I made some sort of vague hand gesture that I suppose was meant to illustrate how very, very many fascinating things I had going on.

  What did she look like?

  How tall was she?

  What did she weigh?

  How old was she?

  Could she sing along on key with the car radio? Did she always take Paul’s part when the Beatles came on?

  Where did she come from?

  “Yeah, I guess you’re right,” Frank said. “So all I meant was that Burke looked a little like he was facing a firing squad at his wedding.”

  So she’d trapped him? Oh, dear god, she’d gotten pregnant and trapped him into a marriage and now he not only had a wife but a child as well, and this was how I was finding out, here in the frozen food aisle of Giant, where I didn’t have so much as a bag of frozen corn, much less a husband and child and blissfully fucking happy marriage of my own?

  “I’m sorry to hear that.” Tell me more. Stop, don’t say anything else, but tell me everything!

  I wished he’d never said anything.

  Was that my thing with Frank in this lifetime? Was I always going to wish he’d never said anything? Would every chance encounter, however infrequent, bring some sort of news to make me sad?

  “Anyway, that’s not really the point,” Frank was saying. “The point is, somehow we’ve got to get the entire farm cleared out in just a few weeks so Dottie can go on her honeymoon at least hoping someone bites on the property so she can spend with impunity.”

  “I can understand that.”

  “Obviously I’m going to have to hire outside help as well. That’s one of the things Burke’s in charge of.”

  He sounded so disgusted with his brother. They’d always had a certain distance between them, but they’d also been pals in a way. Obviously, when Frank broke up the wedding and subsequently kind of dated the bride, that had probably put a crimp in things, but I couldn’t believe it would still matter to them today. Not enough to put that hard edge in Frank’s voice when he talked about Burke.

  “Well, if there’s anything I can do…” What? Call me and I’ll come help haul the refrigerator somewhere? I had my hands full making the bride’s dress! Speaking of which, “Oh, my gosh, Dottie was supposed to come in for a fitting this evening. I guess she’s not going anywhere, though.”

  “Not a chance. At least not in the immediate future.”

  Well, this was a pickle. I couldn’t really progress too much without her. I could bide some of my time making the little roses, since they’d have to be made at some point or other, but I would much rather have gotten the dress itself done and fitted before I moved on to the embellishments.

  “I guess I’ll have to go to her,” I said, picturing the farm and knowing exactly how I was going to feel when I went there. It was going to be hard. No question about it.

  “Oh. Well, then. Problem solved, I guess.”

  I nodded.

  “I’d better get these back to her, meanwhile,” he said, lifting the basket. “She’s already making noise about how she’s only walking down the aisle twice in her life and she did it once without hobbling, so she has no intention of hobbling the second time. The sooner we ice her down, the better.” He gave a half smile. “Come to think of it, it would probably be nice to occupy her mouth with some nice hot peas at the same time. I have a feeling this is going to be a long few weeks, at least for her fiancé.”

  I had to laugh. Dottie could be hard to take under the best of circumstances, when she was bustling about from here to there, like a little butterfly who didn’t stay in one place for too long. Dottie laid up and in pain and worried that she might not be able to walk down the aisle was a different creature entirely.

  “Is she taking painkillers?” I asked, trying to imagine Dottie on prescription pain meds.

  He shook his head. “Just ibuprofen, thank god. I cannot imagine her on something that made her loopier than she already is.”

  We laughed, but the laughter dissolved quickly into another self-conscious silence.

  Finally I said, “When you get back, please let her know she should call me to set up a time when I can come by.”

  “I will,” he said. “Thanks. I know that’s out of the way for you.” There was an uncomfortable hesitation before we both tried to excuse ourselves at the same time.

  “It was good to see you again, Frank,” I said, and you’d never know, from the stiffness of the exchange, that I had been naked in bed with this man more than once.

  “Likewise. And I guess I’ll be seeing you around. At the farm or whatever. The wedding.”

  “Definitely the wedding.”

  “Okay, then.”

  More silence.

  “All right. So.” Why was he still here? Why hadn’t he bolted? Why hadn’t I? “Remember to tell Dottie to call me,” I reiterated. “I’ve got to stay on top of the fittings or her dress won’t be finished on time for the wedding.”

  He nodded and his eyes shifted just enough for me to gather he was also getting pretty sick of this discomfort. “I’ll tell her. She’s going nuts just sitting there, I’m sure she’ll be glad for the distraction.”

  And with that, the exchange finally, mercifully, ended.

  For now.

  Chapter 7

  “It just seems ridiculous to wear white, or anything like it, even yellow, to my fourth wedding, you know?” Nicole Sizemore looked exactly like someone who’d had multiple husbands. Perfectly highlighted blond hair, elfin but pretty face, tiny waist, round butt, and I never ever saw her in anything but heels. If she went to the gym, I bet she wore them there too somehow.

  Men loved women who looked like Nicole.

  “I agree,” I said. Because what was I supposed to say? People came to me for my honest opinion and
I was good at this. I sucked at my personal-life stuff, but I did have a reputation for coming up with all the right touches for wedding attire. I couldn’t send Nicole out in a puffy white Bo Peep dress for her inauguration into Liz Taylor territory.

  “Black?”

  I shook my head. “Too ironic. Where is the wedding going to take place?”

  She gave a grimacy smile. “His ex-wife’s place on the bay, July fourth. We’re really starting to sound like freaks, but they have a good relationship, a couple of kids together, and she offered.…”

  “That’s really nice,” I said enthusiastically, thinking there’s no way I’d ever want to marry a man in his ex-wife’s presence, much less on her property, but whatever. That wasn’t because I was right, it was just that I wasn’t as mature as Nicole, maybe. Or as progressive. Or something. “I have an idea.” I took out a scrapbook I kept pictures and ideas in and turned to the beach section. I’d gone through it so many times it took only a few seconds to get to the page. “Something like this?” It was a light cotton sundress, strapless, that flared slightly at the hip and had a swingy A-line skirt. It was a shape that hinted at a fifties sort of Grace-Kelly-on-the-beach-in-Monaco look that would be perfect on Nicole’s figure. “Maybe linen, in a pale sky blue? A color that suggests optimism more than, say, innocence…?”

  She reached for the book with interest and gasped when she saw it. “I love it!”

  “It’s not totally traditional, but not out of the ballpark either.”

  Nicole smiled. “Like me.”

  “Exactly.”

  “You’re a genius.”

  I laughed. “Hardly.”

  “Can it be done on time?”

  This was a piece of cake. It could be done in a day or two. “No problem.”

  “Then you’re better than a genius, you’re an angel. Thank you so much!”

  I know I’m not an angel, but every once in a while it’s kind of nice if someone else thinks I am.

  * * *

  It was unusual for me to stop for breakfast on my way in to work, but since it was Watch the Sun Rise Day—the envelope had been issued the night before, on my windshield, in preparation (with a note saying he couldn’t give me more notice because he didn’t know if it would be cloudy till the last minute)—I had ended up with quite a long morning.

  The dry cleaner’s across the street was already alive, I noticed with some irritation. The people coming and going at this hour were probably just dropping off their dry cleaning, not looking to screw me out of business, but I couldn’t help but feel annoyed, with the business and with everyone who patronized it. Which wasn’t fair, I realized, so I decided I probably just needed to get some breakfast to quell my moodiness.

  So it was both coincidence and yet not entirely shocking that I ended up at Blue Ridge Bagel Co. that morning when Frank was there.

  He was at a booth, where I was just planning to pick up carry-out, but our eyes met as soon as I walked in and it would have been conspicuously rude for me to say nothing, so I went over to say hello and he invited me to join him.

  It was still early, and, I’ll be honest, I had a certain morbid curiosity about how his life had been going, so I did.

  The waitress, Jody, came over and poured coffee in my cup the minute I sat down, and asked for our orders.

  “Good thing you already knew what you wanted,” Frank said when Jody walked away. “That was kind of a bum’s rush.”

  “It’s the best breakfast place in town,” I said. “They try to keep the traffic moving.” I snap-snap-snapped my fingers.

  He nodded and looked at me evenly. “You look great, Quinn.”

  I hadn’t expected that, and the blush I felt creep into my cheeks felt embarrassingly girlish. “Thanks, Frank. So do you.” And he did. Really. He’d always been a classically handsome guy—even features, eyes as hard as flint, and wavy dark hair that always looked just a little tousled but still good enough for church.

  By contrast, Burke always looked like he’d just rolled out of bed. Even at his conscious best, he looked like he’d just rolled out of bed. Burke was hot, where Frank was handsome. The kind of handsome that you had to see behind in order to see hot.

  I’d seen him hot, though. That was hard to forget when I was sitting right in front of him.

  “So you still live in town, huh?” he asked.

  It was like the nerve was exposed and he walked up and said, Hmm, what’s this? You never got a life? But I knew he didn’t mean it that way, I was just hypersensitive to begin with and I knew he’d become a huge financial success, which made my contrast even smaller. “I have the business here,” I said.

  He took my meaning immediately. “I wasn’t being condescending. To tell you the truth, you’ve come to mind a few times and I wondered if you were still here or if you’d gone off into the wild blue yonder somewhere. I hoped you’d still be here.” He shrugged. “So I guess I’m glad you are.”

  I poured cream into my coffee and stirred the swirl into beige. “Well, I’m not exactly a wild-blue-yonder kind of girl.”

  He frowned. “No? You used to be.”

  I had to laugh. “I think you have me confused with someone else.”

  “Are you serious? Quinn, don’t you remember how you wanted to go to Ireland and become a nanny?”

  That was true. I’d seriously considered that once. I’d even looked up agencies. How had I forgotten that? “That was just during my brief and ill-advised Colin Farrell crush.”

  How would my life be different if I’d followed through on that?

  “What about fishing in Alaska? You wanted to do that too.”

  I groaned. Wow, did he remember every embarrassing, harebrained idea I’d ever had? “I just heard it paid a lot. Like working on the pipeline. I never would have done it.”

  He smiled. Nice smile. I remembered being very fond of that face for a while. “You were pretty convincing about that one. Remember? When I questioned how serious you were, suddenly you had a place to live and everything. You were going to leave in June and—”

  “Come back in September and buy my own farm in Middleburg,” I remembered. “I might have overestimated the pay just a little bit.”

  He sipped his coffee. “Probably a good thing you didn’t go, then. Lots of disappointment in dark days, cold weather, and low pay.”

  “More disappointment than flights home,” I agreed, but I remembered seeing some extremely beautiful pictures of Alaska and being genuinely interested in going. It was only for a few weeks, but I honestly had checked flights, lodging, and, I’m afraid, I’d made more than one public declaration that that was my intention.

  I’d said the same thing about becoming a blacksmith once too. Also a lucrative profession, by the way.

  And an acupuncturist. I don’t know why I’d thought that was going to be a quick study, though I am good with a needle, obviously.

  “See, you had some blue yonder in you,” he said.

  The waitress arrived with our orders, and we both leaned back in our booth seats, as if that would make more room for the food on the table.

  “I don’t anymore,” I said, picking up my knife and fork. “Now I’m literally the spinster with a sewing room.” I cut into the sausage patty on my plate.

  “Equally admirable.” He’d gotten an omelet. Onions, peppers, and jalapeños. No cheese, though I remembered that was because he had a thing against thick, gooey cheese, having nearly choked on it on pizza as a kid. Still, he probably thought I was a complete porker. Which I was, actually, when it came to buying breakfast. I love restaurant breakfasts. “How’s business going?”

  “Really well, actually.” I was glad to be able to say something I was proud of and have it be the truth. “Better than expected. I have an employee and two outside seamstresses for the foundation work.”

  “Dottie’s really excited about you making her dress.” He took a bite, then waved his fork in my direction and said, “She thinks it’s going to bring he
r good luck.”

  We were making small talk when, after all these years, there were bigger questions and answers, and we both knew it.

  “Because I’m so lucky with weddings?”

  He hesitated before saying, “I’m not sure you’re not.”

  Ouch. But good point. “What happened after you got back from Vegas?” I asked, knowing it could seem abrupt.

  He didn’t look surprised. He just leaned back and sighed briefly. “He was pissed.”

  “I’d imagine.”

  “He made a lot of noise about me hurting you, accused me of doing it callously in an effort to get to you, but he never owned up to his part in it.”

  The thought came to me immediately, and unbidden: Had he played no part in it? Had he actually been falsely accused? Had I dumped him for no reason?

  As if reading my mind, Frank said, “I think he would now, if you cared to ask him.”

  I looked down. I knew enough. I didn’t need more details to whip me back in time and make the small part of my old self that still existed in me feel even worse. “How long was he mad at you?”

  Frank gave a small shrug. “Not very. He knew it was his own fault.”

  “So things just went right back to normal?” He couldn’t know how horrible the thought was to me, given how much I’d suffered.

  So when he answered, I knew it wasn’t meant to hurt. “Whatever our normal is, yeah.”

  Does he ever talk about me? I wanted to ask. Does he ever think about me? But those were questions Frank couldn’t answer, and, more important, they were questions that shouldn’t matter in my real life now. It was my ego asking, not my heart.

  “What about Dottie selling the farm?” I asked, making a conscious effort to change the subject. “How do you feel about that?”

  “It’s up to her.” He didn’t shrug, but he may as well have.

  “But aren’t you sad about it?”

  He considered before answering. “There’s no point in going to that place mentally. If I think about it, allow myself to feel attached to an outcome I have no control over, what’s the good in that?”

  Okay, now, I know that sounds really cold and impersonal, but I have to confess, that is one of the things I always liked best about Frank. His soft-spoken, hard truths, just like he’d just thrown at me about Burke. This one didn’t hurt, though. It made good sense. If I could genuinely face my life that way, accepting the things I cannot change (to recite a phrase), I’d probably be a much happier person. Certainly I’d have a lot less free-floating anxiety humming along in the background all the time.