The Someday Jar

by Allison Morgan

A wedding dress drapes across the couch.

  Evan gathers the clear plastic covering, bunches it near the hanger, and reveals the sheath gown. Pearls, beaded along the sweetheart neckline, reflect in the sunlight and the ivory-colored silk looks spun from clouds. It’s gorgeous. Exactly as I would pick. “Stacee said you left without selecting a dress, so I took the liberty and chose one for you. It’s simple, yet classy. Just like I like. And see, here—” He points at the eggshell-colored sash tied into a small bow at the hip. “—It’ll match the napkins you selected.” With a smile, Evan says, “I’ll meet you at the courthouse. Yes?”

  Before I answer, Wes steps from his room in a V-neck charcoal sweater and dark jeans. He glances at the gown. “That’s a beautiful dress,” he says, looking at me.

  “Isn’t it, though?” Evan says, pleased with his selection and unaware of the static hovering in the air between Wes and me.

  I don’t turn away, willing Wes to speak. Tell me the night in the chapel meant something to you. Tell me not to marry Evan. Tell me how you feel. Say something. Anything. Please.

  He doesn’t.

  With a half nod, he excuses himself and heads toward the front door.

  My stomach drops at the sound of it closing behind him.

  Gone.

  Just like that.

  Fine.

  Good.

  Walk away.

  Honestly, what does he expect me to do? Run after him and scream his name? Flag down a cab and whisk through the city streets like in those stupid romantic comedy movies? Does he expect me to chase after him like a schoolgirl with a silly, lustful crush? Isn’t this all it is, anyway? Wild pointless thoughts about a man I barely know.

  For Christ’s sake, Lanie. Forget it. Forget all of it. For the last time, stop thinking about Wes. Stop thinking about his strong hands, his captivating jawline, his gentle nature with Hollis and Maria. Stop thinking how the tips of your fingers tingle every time he says your name. Stop thinking about all of that and start thinking about Julie and Trevor. He’s got a family. A boy that desperately needs him. What do I want to do? Break that up? Of course not. Get him out of your head and focus on your future. Focus on Evan.

  “Lanie?”

  Evan’s voice jars my thoughts. I stare into his hopeful eyes.

  What I have in front of me is real. It may not be perfect, and we may have our differences, but it’s right now. It’s here. My future will be set. Never will I have the financial worries that Mom did. Never will I have a tumultuous, roller-coaster life, wondering what lies ahead. My days will be smooth, calm, and consistent. Each day congruous with the next. I’ve said my whole life that fireworks don’t exist. That stability and security are what’s important.

  I stand beside Evan and realize I haven’t given him enough credit. He’s steady. He’s constant. He colors inside the lines. And what’s so wrong with that? He’s a spring day with no wind and a chilled glass of wine compared with Wes, who is a sultry summer day and a shot of tequila. Though that may be fun for a while, I know from experience that too much sun blisters my skin and tequila makes me sick.

  Evan directs my attention with a shake of the gown. He waits, expecting my answer.

  Most women in America wouldn’t hesitate to marry someone like Evan Carter. Not even for a fraction of a second.

  “Yes,” I say with a smile, and accept the dress. “I’ll meet you there.”

  “Wonderful.” Evan throws his fists in the air in victory. “You’ve made me a happy man. Okay, then, I’m off. See you later.” He kisses me hard. “Oh, and don’t forget to tell Hollis.” With a wink, Evan dashes out the door.

  Upstairs, I lay the dress on the bed and stare at it for several minutes.

  I pick one of the coffees and take a sip, but as soon as the liquid hits my lips, I hurry toward the bathroom sink, and spit it out. Awful.

  After a shower, I head downstairs and pop a blueberry bagel in the toaster.

  “Hey.” Wes’s voice startles me from behind.

  I spin around. “I thought you left.”

  “Just took a walk, wanted to give you and Evan some privacy.”

  I nod, unsure what to say.

  Wes steps forward. “So, congratulations are in order.”

  “Yes, thanks.” Right away, I busy myself, cleaning crumbs off the counter, avoiding his eyes. “You probably think it seems hasty, but we decided, why wait?” You have Julie. I have Evan. That’s the hand we’ve been dealt.

  “Why should you wait?”

  I lift my glance and his eyes bore into mine. Why should you wait? His voice echoes in my head, over and over. From the corner of my eye, I notice his bags are gathered by the door.

  “You’re leaving?”

  He stuffs his hands in his pockets—I love when he does that—and says, “Yes, I called Evan and told him the plans are essentially done. I’ll finish the rest at my office. The City Core opening isn’t for a few weeks. It’s time I get back home.”

  “Right. Of course.”

  “Well, good luck today, Lanie. I’m sure you’ll be a beautiful bride.”

  I chew on my lip. “Thank you.”

  “I almost forgot.” He turns around and grabs a tube lying on top of his bags. Walking back, he shakes out a rolled set of plans into his hand. “Here. These are for you.” He offers me the papers.

  “House plans?”

  “Something like that. Oh, and this.” He pulls a small bubble-wrapped package from his bag. “A wedding present for you.”

  Accidentally-on-purpose, I let his fingers brush mine. “Thank you.”

  “My pleasure.” We stand in awkward silence before he says, “This is silly.” With a chuckle he opens his arms for a hug. “Congratulations, Lanie.”

  I accept his embrace and though I shouldn’t, though it’s wrong and weak, I linger. I close my eyes and rest my cheek against his chest. Our arms entwined. Our bodies close. There’s no denying the draw between us.

  It isn’t until the doorbell rings that we let go.

  “My taxi,” he says.

  I wipe a tiny tear from my nose. “Sorry, I’m just extra emotional this morning. A big day.”

  “A big day for sure.” He steps back. “Well, good-bye. It was great meeting you.”

  “You, too.”

  Walking toward his bags, he slings the empty tube over his shoulder, opens the door, and disappears outside.

  The moment he’s gone, my body feels hollow, disconnected from reality, like some sort of bad dream. Before I can stop my legs, I run outside, toward the taxi. “Wes!” I shout.

  He turns around and walks toward me.

  My palms are sweating and my mouth has forgotten how to move. Wiping my hands on my pants, somehow I manage, “You’re really leaving?”

  Wes’s jawbone flexes beneath his cheeks as he glances at the ground and shifts his feet before looking back at me. “Can you give me a reason to stay?”

  There are a million reasons for him to stay, but only one—the most important reason—for him to go. Julie.

  I reach my arm across my chest and clasp my bicep, pinching it tight. Damn! Honestly, what does he want me to say? Stay. Stay because I might be in love with you.

  “Aren’t you getting married today, Lanie?” Wes asks.

  It’s as if he slapped me across the face. “Yes.” I wring my hands together. “I am. Four o’clock. I just thought you might like to stay and see the wedding.”

  “Nah,” Wes says with a short tone. “You know how I feel about a girl in a wedding dress.”

  Wes climbs into the cab and disappears into traffic.

  This time, he’s truly gone.

  Inside the condo, I toss the plans into the spare bedroom closet and pretend not to notice how much the room smells like Wes. I close the door and shut out Wes and my childish fantasies b
ehind me. For good.

  I return to the kitchen and unwrap Wes’s present. Tears flow from my eyes as a Larry Fitzgerald bobblehead rests in my palm.

  twenty-four

  At the office, a few hours later, I think of the Someday Jar and the slips I’ve pulled out. Kit was right. Stepping out of my comfort zone and tackling these challenges has given me confidence. Yes, the slips have been good for me. All of them. Of course, I haven’t technically made broker and there are one or two slips left, one being unquestionably difficult, but overall, I’ve done pretty well. And, today my focus will be on the wedding.

  God, I wish Kit were back from her vacation. She could walk me down the aisle. Never did I think I’d get married without her present. Or my mom. Or Dad.

  Before I back out of the parking spot toward home to get ready for the courthouse, my phone rings.

  I fumble for it, buried deep in my purse, and on the fourth ring, I answer, “Hello?”

  “Lanie-Lou, it’s Hollis.”

  At once, my mood lifts. “How are you?” I switch off the engine.

  “Fine as frog’s hair,” he replies. “You?”

  “Fit as a fiddle.”

  “Hey, I read a good obituary yesterday.”

  “Oh yeah? What’d it say?”

  “Not much on how the guy died, but what caught my eye was the funeral will be held at Hooter’s. All-you-can-eat hot wings, but there’s a two-drink minimum. Want to be my date?”

  “Sure.”

  Hollis’s breathing turns into a raspy cough.

  “Have you had that cough checked out?” I ask.

  “Rubbish.” He pants. “Doctors are rubbish. They’ll just pump me full of medicines. I’m dizzy enough without drugs interfering.”

  “Dizzy?”

  “Damn. Don’t tell Bevy I said that. She’ll cane me with my walking stick if she knows.”

  “Hollis?”

  With a somber voice, Hollis says, “Lanie, it’s time.”

  “Time for what?”

  “We need to sell the house. It’s more than I can handle. Yesterday, I sat down twice in the hallway because the damn kitchen is clear across the other side of the house. It’s too big for my tired body.”

  “Hollis—”

  “Yeah, yeah. So it goes. I hate to leave.”

  “I thought you listed it with your nephew?” It occurs to me I never saw the listing on our database.

  “He’s a schmuck. He passed the listing on to some newbie agent whose idea of marketing residential properties is posting the house on Craigslist and a friend’s blog. His friend sells air compressors. I unlisted the house with him today.”

  “Sorry, Hollis.”

  “No, don’t be. I’m the one who’s sorry. I want you to list the house, should’ve done it days ago.”

  My excitement swells like a balloon. I maintain my composure and reply, “I’m honored. Want to come by tomorrow? I’ll have the papers ready.”

  “Tomorrow? Won’t you be on your honeymoon? Evan called this morning.”

  Oh, right. I thought he told me to call. He must be excited. Well, I’m sure Evan won’t mind. In fact, the Murphys’ listing will be like a wedding present. “We aren’t going out of town or anything. Shall we say ten o’clock? Does that leave enough time for your morning swim?”

  “Ten, it is. I’m gonna rest now. See you tomorrow, Lanie.”

  “Looking forward to it, Hollis. Take care.”

  “Don’t worry.” His breathing is labored. “I’ll have a candy cane for you. Do you remember why?”

  “Because every girl needs a candy cane.”

  “That’s right,” he replies with satisfaction. “That’s right, indeed.”

  “Good-bye, Hollis.”

  “Woo-hoo!” My screams echo in the car. The Murphys want to list their house with me. Me. I can’t believe it! I did it. I secured the Valley’s most coveted listing. And I did it before we got married. I did it on my own. And now, Evan will grant me a partnership. This is so fantastic. Today has turned out to be a fantastic day.

  Oh, but wait . . . the wedding. I’d really like to check the latest pending and expired listing reports before the Murphys come in tomorrow, make sure I’m prepared for any questions Bevy might ask. Given the nature of this deal, I bet Evan won’t mind postponing our ceremony for a day or two. Besides, after the Murphys sign the papers, we’ll have even more to celebrate.

  “Evan, guess what?” I blurt as he answers my call. “Hollis called.”

  “And?” His voice fills with anticipation. “Is he coming to the wedding?”

  “Better. He wants to stop by the office tomorrow at ten o’clock and list the house with me. List the house, Evan. Isn’t that awesome?”

  “You’re kidding. Goddammit, Lanie, that’s incredible news. I knew the wedding would work.”

  “What?”

  “It’s nothing, really. I just knew he’d be impressed with our nuptials.”

  “Right, well, not only did I secure the most desired listing in the Valley, but remember, you promised me a partnership.”

  “Let’s get the listing signed first. Job well done.” He’s happy. “Very well done.”

  “Thanks, Evan.” I pause. “Actually, there’s one more thing.”

  “Anything. You name it. Damn, Lanie. Nice work.”

  “Well, that’s the thing. There’s quite a bit of paperwork I need to prepare before they come in tomorrow. Would you mind if we postponed—”

  “Postponed their signing?” Evan interrupts.

  “Not the meeting. The wedding.”

  “Oh.” He hesitates. Finally he says, “I guess that would be best.”

  “Okay, good. I’m staying here at the office, then. Lots to do.”

  Stepping from my car, I replay Hollis’s voice in my mind. He didn’t sound good. I hope Bevy persuades him to see a doctor soon.

  Once inside the soon-to-be Evan Carter and Lanie Howard-Carter Realty office, I retrieve the listing documents. My feet bounce around the office as if there are mini-trampolines attached to my shoes. I’m so dang excited. And proud of myself.

  I dig for my Someday Jar in search of the Broker slip. The first one I unfold reads Broker. Perfect.

  The office line rings, and after I answer questions on a triplex in Mesa, I tackle the stack of listing documents and then get started. I want to have most of the paperwork completed ahead of time so the Murphys won’t have to stay long.

  After three and a half hours, I’ve completed the exclusive listing agreement, the seller’s agency disclosure, the swimming pool addendum, and a dozen other forms equivalent to an entire tree in paper. Here I thought we lived in an environmentally friendly world. I also generated a trifold brochure, accentuating the features of the gorgeous property. I’ve highlighted the many areas requiring their signatures, and once they’ve signed, I’ll schedule an appointment with our photographer. While he shoots pictures, I’ll measure the rooms and compile the list of amenities for the Property Detail Sheet.

  I can’t wait to see my name as broker on this property. But more than that, I can’t wait to get this house sold, alleviating some stress for my sweet old friend.

  Early the next morning, my cell phone vibrates across the dresser and wakens me. Scrambling out of bed, I hurry toward it, but am too late. Missed Call highlights my screen. Beside my phone is a note jotted by Evan. Stopping by the house this morning, before heading to the office. Big day.

  What time is it? My phone blinks 7:00 a.m. Evan got an early start. I glance at my phone again, still not recognizing the number. Must be important to ring this early, so I return the call.

  “Hello,” a man’s voice answers.

  “This is Lanie Howard. I believe you tried to call me a minute ago.”

  “Lanie, yes, hello. My name is Tucker.
I’m the Murphys’ caretaker.”

  “Yes, good morning,” I reply, wondering why his voice shakes.

  “I’m calling about the meeting planned for ten o’clock this morning.”

  Oh no. Please don’t tell me they’ve changed their mind. Please don’t tell me their nephew’s friend’s blog got a hit and the house sold. “Yes, I’m looking forward to it.” Caution laces my words.

  “About that,” Tucker starts.

  “Is there a problem?”

  “Mr. Murphy suffered a stroke last night. He didn’t recover. He died a few hours ago.”

  My legs waiver and I grab onto the dresser for support, but still, I fall to my knees. I press the phone close to my ear, hoping I heard him wrong. “What? How did he . . . is he . . . oh, God.” Tears soak my cheeks. “He died?”

  “Mrs. Murphy wanted me to call you.”

  “Yes, thank you,” I stutter through sobs. I feel dizzy and my breathing is labored like I just ran ten miles. Hollis.

  “Okay, miss. I’m going to hang up now.”

  “Wait!” I scream and clutch the phone as if keeping Tucker on the line is somehow holding on to Hollis. “Do you know about services?”

  “Not yet. Mrs. Murphy mentioned waiting a few days, allowing time for all the kids to come home. I’ll be sure and let you know.”

  “Thank you, Tucker.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” He hangs up. Just like that, Hollis is gone.

  The phone slips from my fingers and onto the floor. I cover my face with both hands and cry. Not because of the stupid listing or the lost commission, but because this sweet old man who smelled like mothballs and granola is gone. No more long hugs. No more stories. No more candy canes.

  “Dammit!” I scream, feeling sorry for myself, wishing I had a shoulder to cry on, someone to hold me. Wes’s face pops into my mind. I shake my head. Foolish girl. Quickly, I gather my purse and head out the door. Evan. I need to find Evan.

  Evan’s Mercedes is in the driveway of Orchid Lane along with a silver Tahoe that I don’t recognize. One of the subcontractors? I pull behind Evan’s car. Before I step out, I let a wave of emotions overcome me and cry for several minutes. When my tears run dry, I catch my reflection in the rearview mirror. My face is blotchy and my eyes are swollen. I haven’t changed out of my PJs, or brushed my teeth, or combed my hair.