Waylaid

by Sarina Bowen

  I’m too stunned to answer.

  But then Paul taps out one more thing. I gotta run. But tell your girl it wasn’t your fault. You were really looking forward to that date, too. You had a necklace made for her which was super weird, and a dreamy look on your face. I made fun of you for it, but I was super jealous. Later!

  Daphne and I slowly turn to look at each other. We’re wearing identical shocked expressions, before she leans in and kisses me. “I knew it,” she whispers.

  “You did not,” I argue, throwing down my phone and rolling on top of her. “You thought I stood you up.”

  “That was before I got to know you,” she argues. “Now I’m mostly a believer.”

  “Mostly?” I tease. Then I cup one of her breasts and gently stroke it. “How can I seal the deal? Can you think of a way?”

  “I can,” she says, smiling. “Order two different kinds of wings, and some french fries, too.”

  I bark out a laugh. “Okay, Shipley. Anything else?”

  “A private karaoke performance. Naked.”

  I let out a hoot of laughter. “Sure, baby. Anything for you.”

  Forty-Seven

  Daphne

  We don’t wake up until Chastity raps on the door of my farmhouse bedroom. “Daphne? Rickie? Family meeting in half an hour.”

  “Okay,” I mumble.

  “There’s bacon,” she adds helpfully.

  “Mmm. Thanks.”

  But I don’t get up. Rickie is curled tightly around me. That may have something to do with the modest size of my bed in the farmhouse. Or maybe he’s just in a very snuggly mood.

  Either way, I like it. Except it’s giving me ideas. And we can’t get busy here in my childhood bedroom.

  “Rickie,” I whisper. “We have to get up. Family meeting.”

  “I’m not family,” he slurs. “I’m not anybody’s family before at least ten in the morning.”

  “Be that as it may, it’s also breakfast time. I heard there’s bacon.”

  “Mmf. You know what would really motivate me to wake up?”

  “I’m sure it involves sex,” I guess.

  “Ding ding. Shower sex. Let’s go. I have some very fond memories of you and me in that shower on a hundred-degree day after baking pies.”

  “Not today, McFly. Wake up and come downstairs if you can.” Against all my deepest desires, I slide out of his comfortable embrace. I have to, because it’s going to be a very busy April Friday, and I need that half hour to get ready.

  So I head to the bathroom, bracing myself.

  First, there’s a family meeting. That wouldn’t be a big deal, except that I’m going to open up my grad school financial aid packages and compare them. It’s always terrifying to confront your future head-on.

  Then again, I’m pretty grateful that I have a few options. Reardon Halsey didn’t break me. In six short weeks I’ll have a degree from Moo U, and then in the fall I’ll head off to one of the three grad school programs that accepted me.

  Two weeks ago I found out that I didn’t get into Berkeley. Or Johns Hopkins. Although Berkeley wrote me a lovely letter encouraging me to get more work experience and reapply.

  That had been a blow to my ego. But in hindsight it’s not that surprising. I have a funny-looking resume, and I lack the real-life experience that many public health masters’ candidates have.

  Still, I have choices. I’ll make the most of them.

  Grad school decisions aren’t even the biggest thing on my mind this weekend. May is getting married tomorrow. That’s why we’re all here in the farmhouse, to celebrate her wedding weekend. Today there will be a quick rehearsal at the church, and then the men are all headed out to play paintball in the woods somewhere. The women are getting a yoga class, followed by mani/pedis and mocktails.

  Then, tomorrow, there’s a church wedding, followed by May’s reception at Speakeasy. The gastropub’s private upstairs space will be decked out for dancing and a barbecue buffet.

  It will all be great. Just as soon as I get through the scary financial aid parts.

  Mom went all out for brunch today, so I nibble on some extra strawberries while I wait for the family meeting to begin. In front of me on the table are three large envelopes. Sealed.

  “You haven’t opened them?” Griffin asks, sipping his coffee.

  “No,” I admit. “I promised myself that I’d open them here, where you could remind me that prestige isn’t everything. If North Carolina isn’t a good deal for me, then I’ll have to let it go.”

  “Prestige isn’t everything,” my big brother says.

  “Thank you.”

  “Neither is money.”

  “Now you’re just confusing me.” He grins.

  Mom hurries into the room and takes a seat at the head of the table. “Sorry. Are we all here?”

  “Almost!” Dylan yells from the kitchen, before appearing in the doorway. “I’m here. Let the party start.”

  “First order of business,” my mother says. “The battery in my new pickup truck is dead. So if one of you can’t jump it, that’s an expense I wasn’t expecting.”

  “Again?” Griffin mutters. “Huh. Someone must be running the heated seats or the radio too long with the engine off.”

  Grandpa’s voice comes from the TV room. “It’s been a cold spring! Somebody probably had to keep his tushie warm.”

  “But not without the engine running,” I point out. “Why stay in the truck if you’re parked?”

  Dylan snorts. “I can think of a couple of reasons.”

  “In April?” I argue, because arguing with your twin is a God-given right. “Brrr.”

  Dylan shrugs. “Maybe you really were snatched by aliens, because you clearly didn’t grow up in Vermont.”

  There are a few chuckles around the table. And then Griffin calls out, “Hey, Gramps? Didn’t you take Mabel on a date in the truck last night?”

  “Don’t pin this on me,” he grumbles. “Something must be wrong with the truck.”

  There’s a stunned silence among us.

  “Okay!” my mother says too brightly. “Next subject—Daphne’s grad school decision. Open up those envelopes, honey.”

  “This one can wait. Let’s get the drama over with.” I pick up the envelope from North Carolina and slit it open with my thumb. I pull the financial aid letter out and drop it on the table.

  “Dear Miss Shipley,” Griffin reads. Then he trails his finger down the column of numbers. “They gave you some aid,” he says. “Next year would cost us twenty-two thousand dollars.”

  “Ouch,” I say. “That’s…a lot.”

  “Don’t panic yet,” my brother says. He hands me the envelope from the University of Massachusetts. “Let’s have some more data points, first.”

  I open that one, and it’s better news. They’ve funded me for everything except for thirteen thousand dollars. “Better!” I say cheerfully. Except I’m not as wild about that school, even though it has a good reputation.

  Griff slides the third envelope toward me. Everyone watches while I open an offer from the Burlington U. I pull it out and slap it on the table. I read the letter.

  Then I read it again.

  “Full ride!” Griffin hoots. “Yes, baby, yes!”

  There’s a note written in ink at the bottom. I really hope you’ll join us, Daphne. We’d love to have you. —Dr. Drummond

  “Who’s that?” Griffin asks.

  “The Dean of the whole program,” I say in a hushed voice.

  “Nice,” my brother says, slapping me on the back. “You think it all over. But sometimes it’s pretty great to stick with the people who love you.”

  “True,” I murmur, lifting my eyes from the page. And there stands Rickie in the doorway, a mug of tea in his hand. Our gazes lock, and he smiles at me.

  Then he gives me a wink and turns to go back into the kitchen.

  “Wait!” My mother says, pulling another envelope out of her folder. “You got one more yesterday.�
� She hands it to me.

  “Ooh, it’s from Harkness,” my brother says. “Didn’t know you applied there.”

  “I didn’t,” I admit. “I have no idea what this could be.” A girl can’t apply to a program after admitting to breaking and entering. That’s just bad form. So I have no idea what’s in this envelope.

  “Don’t keep us in suspense,” May chirps.

  So I rip it open. It’s a letter from the other powerful woman in my life—Dean Reynolds.

  * * *

  Dear Miss Shipley—

  The matter of survey tampering has finally been resolved. An employee was removed from the study. And an undergraduate was removed from the college. Thank you for your cooperation.

  Per our investigation, it has come to light that harassment by a member of your program led to your transfer. We do not condone harassment in any form.

  Meanwhile, since you completed more than 75% of your Harkness requirements—and then fulfilled the rest at an accredited institution—you are technically eligible to receive your Harkness BA in lieu of graduating from Burlington University.

  If you wish to ask for reinstatement, please write a letter indicating your interest before May 8th to be considered for commencement in June.

  Sincerely,

  Dr. R. Reynolds

  * * *

  “Wow!” May says. “Check it out!”

  “Who knew?” my mother asks.

  “You have to do this,” Griffin insists.

  Somehow my whole family has crowded around in order to read over my shoulder.

  “You’re going to get your fancy degree after all,” Dylan chuckles. “Of course you are. I knew it all along.”

  I didn’t, though. The whole year has been harrowing. And I can’t believe I’ve come out on the other side of it. The paper grows blurry as my eyes fill with grateful tears.

  A firm hand lands on the back of my neck and squeezes lightly. It’s Rickie. He doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t have to.

  He’s just there for me.

  Forty-Eight

  Rickie

  “Alec, receive this ring as a sign of my love and fidelity. In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.” May slips the ring onto her new husband’s finger.

  Father Peters, his job nearly done, smiles gaily at the two of them. “There is no mention in the Catholic liturgy of kissing. However…”

  Alec promptly leans in and kisses May, while everyone cheers.

  Seriously, the Shipley clan really knows how to throw a wedding. The bridal party is up there looking sharp in a style I’d call Vermont Formal. The three groomsmen are in pressed khakis, crisp blue shirts and matching tawny vests instead of jackets. While the women wear pink dresses that are totally cute but not fussy. Daphne’s long legs are particularly eye-catching in a skirt that ends just above her knees. I heard that there’s dancing later, and I can’t wait to whirl her around in it.

  For now, I’m sitting on a pew next to Grandpa, who gave May away at the start of the ceremony. He spent the last half hour mopping tears away with his handkerchief.

  Father Peters says one more prayer, although the business of marrying Alec and May is done now. The bride and groom are smiling at each other, hand in hand. And the wedding party looks ready to get to the next part of these festivities. Dylan and Keith stand up from the first pew and pick up their instruments. When Father Peters nods, they begin to play an Irish reel as a recessional.

  We all rise, and the bride and groom join hands to lead the way out of the church. It’s slow going, as people keep thumping Alec on the back and blowing kisses at May.

  The wedding party is next. Daphne takes the arm of Benito, one of Alec’s three brothers. Then comes Lark, May’s best friend, with Damien, another Rossi brother. Then Audrey Shipley links arms with a man I’ve never seen before. Griffin was supposed to stand up for Alec, too. But at the last minute Alec’s oldest brother turned up in town after a long absence. J.M. is striking, with long, badass hair and a broody look in his eye.

  “Well, son. Let’s shake a leg,” Grandpa says when it’s our turn to leave. “I heard there’s bacon-wrapped scallops for the cocktail hour. We could be first in line. Most of these suckers are going to walk down the hill to the bar. But you could drive me in that sweet old Volvo of yours.”

  “Yessir,” I say. Because you do not argue with Grandpa Shipley. Not when there’s bacon on the line.

  A few hours later I’m sipping a Shipley cider as Daphne pounds a Coke. We’re both full of barbecue and flushed from dancing.

  “I heard there’s karaoke next,” I say, teasing my girl.

  “You wish,” she says, setting her empty glass down on a tray.

  “You’re right.” Instead, the band segues into a slow song. I finish my drink as couples begin to sway to the music. “Is it true that this cider has magical properties?” I ask. They’re serving the Audrey cider at the wedding, which has been rumored to be an aphrodisiac.

  “How would we know?” Daphne whispers, sneaking a hand underneath my vintage velvet jacket.

  “Good point, baby,” I whisper back. The two nights we’ve spent in her childhood bedroom have been our longest dry spell in months. “Although others may be affected.”

  We scan the room full of slow-dancers. The bride and groom are dancing together and laughing about something. Griffin is dipping Audrey while she giggles. Dylan and Chastity are staring meaningfully into each other’s eyes. Her grandpa is dancing with the woman who may or may not have kept him company on the truck’s heated seats.

  Even Ruth Shipley is out there, dancing with Gil, the same man who accompanied her the night we bumped into them at the noodle shop. They’re a couple now. “But taking it slowly,” Ruth had explained over the holidays. He’s a nice man, too. Even Daphne thinks so.

  “Baby, dance with me?” I ask, closing a hand around hers.

  She puts her hands around my neck and tows me out to the dance floor. The song is a gorgeous fiddle ballad. I rest my cheek against hers and sigh. “I feel lucky tonight,” I whisper.

  “Mmm,” she agrees.

  “Although you seem a little distracted,” I point out. “Are you having deep thoughts about grad school?”

  “Some,” she admits. “You haven’t asked me about it at all.”

  “That’s intentional,” I say, kissing her jaw quickly. “I don’t want to influence your decision. It’s not my place.” I’d never ask Daphne to pare back her dreams on my account.

  She pulls back a titch and studies me. “I’m trying to figure out how much is at stake.”

  “Thousands of dollars,” I point out. “Is that what you mean?”

  “I guess.” She tilts her head uncertainly. “Would you think it was odd if I stayed in Vermont?”

  “Odd?” My feet forget to move, and we come to a stop, while couples sway around us. “Not odd, baby. I’d be a lucky man if you stayed in Vermont.”

  “Oh,” she says, her voice breathy. “I didn’t want to assume. I’d always said I was leaving.”

  “Whoa. Don’t leave on my account. Although if you end up in Carolina, we’ll deal. I’d have to stay behind in Burlington and finish my degree. But that won’t take forever. Then, unless you throw me over, I’ll probably end up applying to grad school near wherever you are.”

  She blinks. “You’d do that?”

  “Of course I would. I’d sell my house and follow you anywhere, Shipley. If that’s what you needed.”

  “Rickie,” she says, placing a hand over my heart. “That’s a lot for me to ask.”

  “When I find something good, I don’t let it go. How long does a public health degree take, anyway? Two years, right?”

  “Or four, if I have to go part-time. There are a lot of variables.”

  I tuck my arm around her waist, and guide her to dance with me again. “Make a spreadsheet, baby. Figure out your next move. Choosing a school is hard. Once upon a time I chose the wrong one. I went against
my gut, and it almost blew up my life. What does your gut say?”

  She takes a breath and blows it out. “My gut really likes the idea of getting a full ride and finishing in two years.”

  “Really.” I think that over for a moment. “I thought you wanted to pick the best program.”

  “I thought I did, too,” she admits. “But I like the people I work with now. I trust them. That means more to me than it used to.”

  “Okay. How long do you have to decide?”

  “Two weeks.”

  “That long, huh?”

  She smiles up at me. “I spent my whole life trying to do better than Moo U. I thought I needed the top of the list. Someone’s external seal of approval. But Moo U took me in when I had nowhere to go. My family bails me out when I need their help. It really annoys me to be wrong, but—”

  “You? Really?”

  She pinches me. “Behave. I’m trying to be humble, here. It doesn’t come easily to me.”

  “Sorry. Go on.”

  “I like my life in Burlington. I love you…” She traces her fingertip across the nape of my neck. “And it sounds so lovely to just say yes to Moo U, and the people who already love me.”

  “I could get on board with this,” I agree.

  “I’d be around when my family needed help. I’d be close by for Dylan and Chastity’s wedding.”

  “Mmm,” I murmur in her ear. “You’d be close by when I needed you underneath me. Naked.”

  “That too,” she says. “That too.”

  I can’t take it anymore. So I kiss her slowly, right there in the middle of the dance floor.

  That’s when the song ends. And someone picks up the microphone and declares that it’s time to cut the cake.

  “Break it up, you two,” Dylan says, elbowing me. “There’s cake to be had. Hey, Daph? Did you decide about grad school?”

  Daphne pulls back and smiles up at me. “I think I just did.”

  “No way!” her twin brother says. “What’s the verdict?”