Caribbean Crossroads

by Connie E Sokol

  Until Megan. Instantly, he remembered the look on her face, the doubt. Breaking this promise would kill anything between them. She could not forgive, not now when her trust factor was barely rising, and if he messed that up, Bryant knew it could be so long for good. No second chance.

  He looked at the family, all waiting for a response. “I can’t miss this. It’s”—How could he articulate it?—“It’s important.”

  Looks were exchanged.

  His dad roughly scraped his chair on the hardwood and stood with his knuckles on the table. “So is this. We expect you to hold up your end. Nothing more.”

  He paused as if to say something else, as he typically would. But surprisingly, he said nothing. Turning, he walked silently toward his den.

  His mother shifted in her chair, giving him a pointed, obligatory look. “That’s not the only thing we need you here for. It’s not your favorite, but Mrs. Landry—”

  “Not another debutante thing,” said Bryant, rolling his eyes.

  “Not technically. But yes, hidden in the usual trappings. Just a minute—” she stopped Bryant as he made to speak. “It’s a fundraiser for the girls’ college and they’re parading every 18- to 25-year-old in the county for a scholarship pageant. You’re the beefcake. They need your charm to help co-host the pre-pageant fundraiser dinner. With Missy.”

  “You have got to be kidding me.” Bryant looked at Piper for help. She only smiled sympathetically.

  “The Landrys are one of our biggest accounts. You know their building contracts almost entirely sustained the yard during that downturn a few years ago—”

  Bryant shook his head. “I’ve already tried dating Missy Landry, you know that. It was a fiasco. I feel like I’m 17 all over again. Out of the whole town they couldn’t get someone else to play game show host?”

  Shirley leaned forward. “They’ve practically advertised for weeks that you’ll be hosting. Stella Landry said to me, verbatim, ‘Bryant will make those tickets sell like hotcakes sizzling on a sidewalk.’”

  Piper took another drink of water.

  “She obviously thought you had curb appeal and, Missy aside, they are in dire need of the scholarship money. All you have to do is wear a tux, smile at the ladies—young and old—and eat rubber chicken. Is that so hard?”

  Bryant looked between the five conspirators at the table—the men staring at their plates and the women with an agenda.

  “It’s a done deal, isn’t it?” he said.

  His mom looked at Piper and back to him, somewhat sympathetic but her voice urgent. “That’s not all. There are two more sort of ‘welcome home,’ meet and greet—”

  “—marry me off to the highest bidder,” said Bryant.

  “—one of them is the church women’s auxiliary and they need—”

  “Do I even get a say in these things?” Bryant sat back, exasperated.

  “Bryant, honey, I’m sorry. But you knew the deal waiting when you came home this time. And we had no idea about Megan. You wrote nothing, you told us nothing. Before you left I made it clear that we wanted you to move on with your life, in several ways. And I had to tell these people something.” She sat back with her arms folded. “Besides, we need you here.”

  But he was here, and likely would be for the next 50 years of his life.

  “I’m sorry about your not seeing Megan, I really am, but have her come here, instead. We’d love to meet her.” She was unusually serious, and determined. “But we need you here.”

  Why did she keep saying that?

  Bryant shook his head. So it had begun. Once again his life was not his own—it was get married and get to the yard. And now he would have to bail on Megan, and the wedding. He fought his frustration, pictured Megan’s response, and fought it down again. Between the lumber yard and his family pushing him full steam ahead, what choice did he have?

  Bryant stared hard at the table. “Looks like Mrs. Landry and the ladies’ club win again. And tell Dad not to worry about the yard. I’ll be there.” He shoved his chair back and walked in the opposite direction of his father.

  ***

  In the cool early morning with the tiller rumbling beneath his hands, Bryant focused on the dark rich earth it churned out. His mom loved her garden. Year round too, though the old men in town said it couldn’t be done. Bryant smiled. She’d proven them wrong every season, coyly toting a basket of winter vegetables to their counter with a, “Thought you might be up for some fresh greens, boys.”

  Bryant chuckled. That was Shirley. But she was a straight shooter when it came to life, so last night’s ultimatum was tough. She was done patiently watching from the sidelines. He finished the row then turned off the machine with its slow whinnying sigh. He paused for a minute, leaning on the handle then took out his cell phone. It was early but he knew it needed to be done, and he’d be at the yard all day anyway. Involuntarily he scowled. The yard. An invisible noose tightened around his career neck every minute he spent there. Touching her name on the screen, he hesitated then pressed it again.

  “Hello?” Megan sounded young—sleepy and quiet.

  “Hey, early bird.” He could see her, with hair tousled, cheeks soft, and eyes just opening, like when she had slept next to him, arm in arm, on the beach chairs in Jamaica. He had watched her for close to half an hour, had enjoyed seeing her slowly come to. A low yearning passed over him.

  “Bryant? What’s wrong?”

  “Why does something have to be wrong for me to call you?” He checked his watch. “At 6:00 a.m.”

  “You woke me, and that’s a punishable offense in this state. Besides, I can hear it in your voice.”

  How could she know that?

  He knew it was best to cut to the chase. “It’s about this weekend.”

  Quiet. He had expected that, but it still made his gut jerk.

  “Look, something’s come up with the yard and my brother. And some other things. They need me here.”

  “Oh. Really? What kind of things?”

  He sighed. “Oh, these throw Bryant on the girl-town grill and serve him up kind of things. It’s just how it is.”

  “Girls?”

  “Nothing to worry about, just having to do my duty.” He could hear the odd sound in her voice and knew what she’d be thinking. “It’s the game they play here. I’m an eligible bachelor and there are two hundred old ladies determined to noose me. I just have to play along.”

  Silence.

  “Megan, I’m sorry I can’t make it, I know how much this means to you and I would if I could. It’s just”—How did he explain the situation?—“it’s just complicated.”

  “I understand,” she finally said, but it sounded far away.

  “I know what you’re thinking, Megan . . .”

  “No you don’t. I get it, I really do. Things happen. There’s a yard to run, there’s a family to please, and you’ve been gone for a while. It’s fine, really, I know.”

  “Megan, I’m sorry. If I could change it I would . . .”

  “I know.”

  “You could come here, if you wanted?”

  Silence again.

  He could feel the timing wasn’t the best on that idea. Inviting her down while he attended a bunch of girl-infested “nab Bryant” parties wasn’t a great solution.

  “Okay, bad idea. But I’ll be up another time. I’m checking into it.” This wasn’t going like he had hoped. How could he help her understand this all meant nothing, it was just hoops to jump through?

  “Sure, that sounds great. Listen, Bry, I’m really tired. I’ll call you later.”

  But he knew she wouldn’t. And guessed she did too.

  ***

  Hanging up, Megan sat still, staring at the phone. I keep my word. That’s what he had said. Express miniature ponies couldn’t keep him away, right? It was one simple wedding reception. One weekend. And he couldn’t even make that. Even knowing what that meant to her—not just Jillian, her best friend’s wedding—but the promise he had made
and the trust she had placed in him.

  And he still broke it.

  And for girls? Hadn’t he told his family anything about her? Hadn’t he made a stand, said something, anything, about the two of them?

  The worming doubt now wriggled up to her heart. Yes, this was one time, and he supposedly had a commitment to the yard. But he hadn’t committed before and now suddenly, the one time it was important to her, the time he had promised her he’d be there, suddenly he’s now committed to the yard for the weekend? What about the next time? And the next? And then asking her to go there instead, while he’s surrounded by giggling groupies?

  Megan fought to hold onto rational thought. She knew Bryant, knew his sureness, and that meant there had to be a very good reason for him to stay. But then why didn’t he explain it?

  The worry about the Real Bryant Back on Dry Land that had plagued her heart for the past few weeks let loose in her mind—familiar feelings of being let down, unable to trust. Betrayed. No, that was too far. But the feeling still played at the edge of her heart.

  The cell phone buzzed in her hand. Megan instinctively answered it. “Bryant?”

  “Um, no, but I can go an octave lower. Expecting someone, are we?”

  “Jillian? What are you doing calling so early?”

  “What are you doing awake? I thought I’d catch you in the throes of sleep. They’re not making you work horrendous hours at that loser job are they, or did you finally cave and decide to go full-time?”

  “Not yet. I don’t know. I haven’t made a decision.”

  “Well, that sounds familiar as of late.” Through the phone Megan heard a scraping sound. “What are you waiting for, the perfect opportunity? Speaking of, were you expecting the Bryant Boy to call?”

  “He just did.” In a flat voice she recounted the conversation.

  “Truly, I’m so sorry, Megs. But you’re not holding this over him, are you?” Silence. “Megan Genevieve McCormick, that is so unfair. You don’t know what happened or why. And of course his family is going to have him doing stuff like that, that’s what moms and old biddies do with single guys. What’s the matter with you? You used to blow things off easier than this. It’s like you’ve become this little old lady. I’m gonna start sending you Medicaid pamphlets.”

  “It was a promise.”

  “Yeah, and so are lower taxes. Things happen.”

  Megan paused. “I know.” How could she explain the reality to Jillian? She was sure of Derek and knew where they stood. They’re relationship had been tested in all kinds of situations and had come out solid. But she didn’t know Bryant, not really, not in daily life. Brittany had said he couldn’t commit long-term emotionally, that he jumped to the next thing when his focus changed. Mrs. V. had said he couldn’t commit until he knew what he wanted, and that took a while. She couldn’t just ignore these things like she’d done with Jackson. Choices were warning signs, and if she didn’t pay attention, she’d make the same mistakes all over again.

  “Look, if I know him, he’ll be up here the second he can get away from the yard,” said Jillian. “And aren’t you the one that wanted him to settle down to a job and be responsible?”

  Yes, she did. But responsible to their relationship promises first. Otherwise work would always be an excuse to be first. She’d seen that firsthand with her dad. It was, “But I have a conference, we’ll celebrate our anniversary when I get back.” But he never did. It was always onto the next big deal, pleasing the customer, ignoring the family. This wasn’t about Bryant being a dedicated worker. This sounded too much like convenience and not making waves.

  Another scraping noise through the phone from Jillian. “I don’t know why you’re putting so much stock into this one promise. He’s in a no-win situation, it sounds like to me—pulled by old women and working for the family. You can’t have it both ways, wanting him to be a responsible working man but loyal to you, in another state. If you keep at it, you’re gonna split him down the middle.”

  “That’s a pretty picture. What is that noise?”

  “What noise?”

  “That scraping sound?”

  “Oh,” Jillian hesitated. “I’m going through a kind of ice cream phase again.”

  “What? It’s three days before the wedding.”

  “I know. And this is my second.”

  “At six in the morning?”

  “You try getting married. It’s no picnic.” Last scraping. “Which brings me to two key points in this entire banal conversation. Stop messing with him like you’re a three-year-old. If you keep stringing him out and up and down with this nonsense and expectations, he will walk. I’m not kidding. Why don’t you go see him? I mean, what exactly keeps you here? It’s certainly not job fulfillment.”

  “For starters, he lives 12 hours away, Jillian. And besides, that’s so final. If I follow him there, it’s the scarlet D for desperate. The last straw of my dignity. I’d be throwing myself at his wood pile saying, ‘Marry me.’”

  “What’s wrong with that?”

  “The man should do the chasing.”

  “You sure have a lot of rules about what should happen when.” Jillian swallowed. “Look, when I realized Derek was the one for me, I got scared too. Do you remember?”

  “I recall another definite ice cream phase.”

  “Major phase. I ate one of those humongous Styrofoam ice cream cups every single day for two weeks. Gained like five pounds. And all because of the brakes.”

  Megan shook her head and sat up. Sometimes following Jillian took work. “What brakes?”

  “I put the brakes on, Meg. I put them on in the relationship, but in a fake way. When you force something to stop that should keep going, it’s not good. For one thing, it’s exhausting.”

  “And for another, it makes you consume copious amounts of ice cream.”

  “My point exactly. So, stop putting on the brakes.”

  “But aren’t I supposed to be wise? I’m in a healing phase right now, isn’t that something like the fourth step on the grieving pyramid or whatever?”

  “Healing is as healing does, Meg,” she rattled on, perfectly satisfied. “You’ve had time and now, you’re forcing it into something that it’s not. It’s time to trust, to move on, to not get freaked out by every little movement. I know you can feel it. You just won’t let yourself.”

  “Because what if I’m wrong? Maybe, let’s say for argument’s sake, I’m better and my heart is ready and I can trust myself to be right. But I thought I was before. What if I’m completely wrong about him too?”

  “Megs, what exactly are you afraid of, have you asked yourself that?” said Jillian. “I mean, we’re all afraid of something about falling in love. But we have to still get out there and live, not curl up and die in a corner, trying to pretend we won’t get hurt.”

  Megan paced her bedroom floor, fully awake now and holding the cell phone while gesturing with her other hand. “I have to face facts, and the cold reality is that I hardly know this man. We sang, we danced, we were on a cruise ship. It sounds ludicrous, it has to even to you. Am I really going to put my life in the hands of someone who ultimately can’t decide what job he wants? Who actually has a great job for the asking but just doesn’t want it? Or who makes a promise to me and right out of the gate changes it up because of pressure from some old ladies? The cruise life was great and it all looked good on paper, Jillian, but this is real. Marriage, children, mortgage—these are the things that make up real life, not snorkeling and buffet lines. He’s a great guy. He’s the best guy I’ve ever met, and when I’m with him”—she shook her head, blinking back emotion—“I just feel right—I—” Her voice felt tight. “And then I know it’s coming, like climbing the rollercoaster on the first hill—it’s exciting and great. And the second, and the third. But then you get to the twister, and you can’t breathe. I can feel myself want to let go but I’m stuck before the twister, holding back the whole car, because I’ve spun out of control before and I didn�
��t like it. I didn’t like it at all.”

  “Megs—”

  “He’s a patient man, but he’s not that patient. No one can be. But I can’t figure out what signals to pay attention to and what to ignore. I want to enjoy the relationship ride but I have no idea what it will take to let go like that. I just can’t yet. It’s scary. It’s too soon to get hurt again. If I do it wrong, I might never want to love someone again, ever.”

  Jillian remained silent, thankfully letting Megan release the angst and worry without impatience. Megan rubbed her eyes to eliminate the blurry tears. It was complete child-like fear, irrational to a point, but it was so real. A scene flashed in her mind—kindergarten immunization shots. She had never forgotten it. Listening to that little red-haired girl in the room ahead of her, half hidden from where Megan stood in line, but clearly heard throughout the building. Screaming and writhing, the little girl had sobbed through the entire experience. Megan had been almost paralyzed to walk in next, but her mother half-dragged her, promising it wasn’t as painful as she thought, and that it would be over in seconds.

  Megan didn’t believe her, not after the red-haired girl. So she fought, cried, screamed, kicked, and even upturned one of the side tables. But still, the solid-looking nurse hadn’t faltered for a moment, securing her to the chair and chattering about the new kangaroos at the zoo. Then she smiled. Megan hadn’t understood until she said, “First one done.” She hadn’t even felt the shot. After that, it wasn’t so bad.

  Megan sat down hard on her bedroom chair. How was she ever to get past this? “Jillian, I’m stuck. And either I deal with this or I’ll be an old maid working at the library indexing book titles.” She paused. “Or in an asylum.”

  “I’ll come visit.”

  “You always were a good friend.”

  “You’ll figure it out, Megs, you always do. Now if you don’t mind getting off your whiny horse, I actually called for a reason and it’s a really good one. I have a floral emergency.”