Say what? That he hadn’t been able to finish what he started? That he didn’t have any follow-through?
And what did his father have to do with it anyway? He’d quit doing what his father wanted a long time ago. And the arguments had stopped.
Somewhere along the line, the arguments had stopped. And he couldn’t remember why they’d had them in the first place.
Toria was still talking to Mrs. Sid. She hadn’t even taken off her raincoat. And now a student approached them. Donna—the one who was in charge of the stage. Toria started to turn and then she stumbled with her crutches, falling.
He leapt to his feet, but then he saw Donna had caught her . . . steadied her. Brenda was there now, bringing her a chair so she could sit, and Donna was helping her out of her coat. Mrs. Sid threw her hands up in the air, and left the gym.
And then Toria looked his way. And smiled.
A shot of desire charged through him, followed by a flood of confusion. He wasn’t attracted to women like Toria. She was spinny and ditzy and unorganized and—and―
And totally in charge of this gym and this grad project. Without seeming to be in charge. She gave complete control to her students and yet, without her here, nothing would get done. Before she’d shown up on Wednesday, nothing was getting done.
How the hell . . .
He squeezed his head again. Why had he ever thought she was a bimbo? Being around Toria was unsettling. And soothing at the same time. He liked her, even when she told him what he couldn’t do. And yet―
Focus O’Callaghan. What he needed was a problem to focus on. Maybe Jim needed him. Maybe he should call and see if―
No, Jim would call him. That was the plan.
The other plan was to get this waterfall sheeted. Waiting for these kids to do it was frustrating and he wanted to take over.
But Toria wouldn’t let him.
· · · · ·
Work progressed throughout the morning and the lunch hour and now it was just past one. Ryder watched as Brett and Brandon lifted another sheet, and then Megan tacked it. He could have done it in two minutes with the nail gun. But, he conceded, they needed to learn. And they needed the satisfaction of doing it themselves.
“What kind of corsage should I buy, Ryder?”
“Corsage?” Ryder was sitting on the floor again, watching them work.
“Y’ know,” Brett elaborated, as he positioned the plywood. “You’re supposed to get them this little bunch of flowers they wear on their shoulder.”
“Or their wrist,” Megan said, looking up from pounding nails.
“Well, what would you want, Meg?” Brett asked her.
“Depends on the guy.”
“Like, give me a hint.”
“Roses, I guess.”
“What kind?”
“The color matters.” Brandon joined the discussion. He leaned across the structure, measuring. “Color is important. Each color means something.”
“It does?” Brett nudged the plywood into place.
“Yellow means friendship,” Brandon said, closing his tape measure.
“I like pink,” Megan said, slipping her hammer into her utility belt. “What’s pink mean?”
“Let me check.” Brandon pulled a chart out of his pocket. He stared at it a moment. “Damn. Pink can mean lots of things, depending on the shade of pink.”
“We need someone from Home Ec over here. Those people know their pinks,” Megan said.
“How about Derrick?” Brett asked. “He’d know. Right?”
All three of them had stopped working as they stood around Brandon and his chart. Ryder listened, curious. He hadn’t gone to his Grad. He’d never bought a girl a corsage.
“Just because he’s gay doesn’t mean he knows,” Megan said. “What’s the chart say?”
“Deep pink is gratitude and respect,” Brandon read. “Light pink is sympathy.”
“Like a funeral?” Brett grimaced.
“Maybe,” Brandon said. “Or maybe you have sympathy for her being your date.”
Brett elbowed him. “Read more.”
“Light pink can also mean,” Brandon paused, and looked up, “I think you’re special.”
“I think we’re doomed,” Brett said.
“Orange is desire, or new beginnings,” Brandon read, sounding hopeful.
“I like desire,” Brett said, nodding his head.
“How about red?” Megan asked.
“Love, respect, courage.”
“How about white?” she asked.
“White means Humility,” Brandon read. “Or, I apologize.”
“Uck,” they all said.
Brandon looked again. “But red and white is unity . . . or mending bridges.”
“I’d go with red and white,” Brett said, looking off into the distance.
“You need to apologize?” Brandon asked.
“No, not freakin’ apologize. But if I needed to, like, mend bridges, y’ know?”
They stopped talking for a moment, as if they were weighing options. As if the choice of a corsage was harder than building the waterfall.
And maybe it was.
“How about we just ask them what color they want?” Brett said.
“Yeah.” Brandon closed the chart. “We could do that.”
· · · · ·
“They don’t look like they’re working,” Mrs. Sidorsky said.
“They’re having a discussion. Planning. It’s part of the process,” Toria answered. “How many chairs are we putting in the Refreshment Area?” Her cell was vibrating. She risked a glance.
Greg, this time.
“Who is it?” Mrs. Sidorsky wanted to know.
“Greg,” Toria said, without thinking.
“Oh!”
“Oh what?”
“You’d better take it. He’s your fiancé.”
“I―”
“You go ahead. Answer. I’ll go over and count chairs.”
Toria braced herself. The phone continued to vibrate. Mrs. Sidorsky waited, smiling. What to do?
There was nothing to do but answer it. “Hello?”
“Hello, darling.”
“Hello,” Toria repeated, watching Mrs. Sidorsky, who was not going over to count chairs.
“I wanted to let you know your mother and my mother will be at your apartment on Saturday.” He paused. “Tomorrow,” he added, as if she had lost track of the days.
Wishing Mrs. Sidorsky would leave, Toria said, “Saturday.” And she also wished she had not answered the phone. Except she’d had to, or risk having Mrs. Sidorsky find out the wedding was cancelled. And then Mrs. Sidorsky would tell everyone, and Ryder would know.
It shouldn’t matter if he did know because he really was getting married. But, somehow, Toria felt safer with Ryder thinking she was engaged. It was like she was doubly protected from this—this inconvenient infatuation of hers.
“I know you’re under a lot of strain,” Greg’s voice said. His appease-the-client voice. “You need to forget about your father.”
Her mind buzzed. Of course, she needed to forget about her father, but Greg kept reminding her, and her mother kept reminding her. They would never let it go. And then, like a book opening to the right page, the beginnings of a plan formed in her mind.
“On Saturday,” she said, agreeing. “What time?”
“Does one o’clock work for you?” he asked, like it was a business appointment. To him, it probably was. He was letting Samantha and Geraldine smooth out a minor problem for him, so he could deal with more important things.
“One o’clock is fine. Are you coming?”
“I’m leaving for Edmonton. I’m on my way to the airport now.”
That made sense. Perfect sense. She’d been slipped into the slot of taxi travel. How come she’d never noticed how little time they spent together?
“I’ll drop by Monday night when I get back, darling,” he said, still in his appeasement voice. “Play nice with the parents
.” He disconnected.
Toria turned off her phone and stared at it.
“Is everything all right?” Mrs. Sidorsky wanted to know.
Toria looked up. She could see the wheels turning, the gossip forming. Trouble in paradise. She’d have to fake this.
“He’s going to Edmonton for the weekend,” she said, trying to sound disappointed.
“Oh.” A small note of sympathy. “Well, don’t you worry. It will make it all the nicer when he comes back.”
· · · · ·
A few minutes later, Isabelle appeared, carrying two heaping bags of plumeria. “Hello, Mrs. Sidorsky,” she said. “Mr. Burrows was wondering if you could help him with his opening comments.”
Mrs. Sid scurried off and Toria wondered if Isabelle and Mr. Burrows had some kind of system where they traded off on the lady.
“What was that all about?”
“It was nothing, Isabelle. Don’t worry about me.”
“You just looked . . .”
“That was Greg.”
“Why did you pick up?”
“I happened to say it was Greg and Mrs. Sid expected me to . . . you know.” Ryder would be bored soon, and he’d leave and then she’d announce the cancelled wedding, but until then―
“Now you’re calling her that.”
“Calling her what?”
“Mrs. Sid.”
“Oops.”
· · · · ·
Right after they’d solved the corsage problem, Brett, Brandon and Megan had to return to classes. Ryder studied their progress. They’d have to work quickly to get the waterfall finished by tonight.
And then Toria was there. He could sense her standing behind him. The noise in the gym had masked the sound of her approach on her crutches, but he knew she was there so he turned around.
She looked shy, like she always did when they first started talking. A sense of warmth, of goodness, of all is right with the world washed over him. He wanted to reach out and touch her―
What a crazy way to think . . .
“You’ve got a lot done.”
“They’ve got a lot done. I could have finished this thing yesterday.”
“You have to let them do it.”
“They have to be in classes, Toria. Just let me do it.” He knew she wouldn’t, but she was fun to annoy.
“You supervise.”
“I don’t have anyone to supervise. They’re all making flower wreaths.”
“Leis.”
“Listen,” he said, touching her shoulder. Awareness brushed him and he took his hand away. “We need to finish the sheeting today. The expanding foam needs to be applied before we leave tonight.”
“I know. And here he is now.”
“Who?”
“Your new student.”
A tall, young man with baggy clothes draped over his thin body ambled toward them.
“Hi, David.”
“Hi, Miss Toria. Thanks for getting me time off.”
“I’m glad you can help us. This is Mr. Ryder. He’ll show you what to do.”
After she introduced them, she left. Ryder wanted her to stay, and he almost said so. But the rest of the students needed her.
The boy stared at the frame of the waterfall, studying it.
“What did she mean, time off?” Ryder asked.
“I’m in the Apprenticeship Program,” David said, turning away from the structure. “But Miss Toria thought I’d like to work in the gym for a day.”
“Apprenticeship program?”
“I get to work as an apprentice auto service technician in between semesters. So when I graduate I have some hours toward a trade.” David looked around the gym. “And I make some money at the same time as I learn.” He waved to the group of boys testing the rigging for the balloon drop. Then he turned back to Ryder. “Besides, Mrs. Sidorsky didn’t want me in her English class.”
Good ol’ Mrs. Sid. Inspiring students again. “Done any woodworking?”
“Some. Helped my dad build a gazebo.”
“How’s it going?” said a familiar voice.
Ryder turned around. “Pro?”
Pro stood there, dressed in his lawyer uniform. Navy suit, white shirt, red tie with thin blue diagonals. Odd, Ryder thought, seeing the man here, in a high school gymnasium. Especially one full of activity like this one.
“This is David,” Ryder said. And, “This is Pro.”
Pro shook hands with David. David eyed the suit.
“He’s in the Apprenticeship Program,” Ryder said.
“I’ve heard of that,” Pro answered. “You collect hours toward a journeyman ticket and go to school at the same time.”
“That’s right,” David said.
“What are you working on here?” Pro studied the framing.
“I’m helping Mr. Ryder build a waterfall.”
“Call me Ryder.”
“A waterfall?”
“They want to build a waterfall,” Ryder said.
“Of course.”
“It’s a Tropical Paradise,” David explained.
Pro glanced around the gym, which overflowed with plants, paving stones and garlands of fabric flowers.
“Want to meet me for a beer after work?” Pro asked him.
“Don’t know,” Ryder answered. “We have to get the foam applied before we leave tonight.”
“Of course,” Pro said. “The foam.”
“And then Isabelle has me taking some stuff to Toria’s apartment.” He motioned for David to pick up the other side of a sheet of plywood.
“I still have to go over that prenup with her. We can meet there.”
“We can?” They were lifting the plywood into place, lining it up.
Pro walked around the frame of the waterfall and stood near the end of the pool they’d built this morning. He nodded, considering the structure. “My Aunt Tizzy wants me to help make these flower things.”
“Leis.”
“That’s it.”
“Isabelle knows your Aunt Tizzy?”
“Yes,” Pro said. “As a matter of fact, they know each other quite well.”
Typical of Isabelle—to recruit volunteers for her project. Funny that she knew Pro’s Aunt Tizzy.
At any rate, it sounded like a good plan and he didn’t have anything else to do. Except get that stupid tux fitting over with. But that could wait until Monday. Today he needed to get the waterfall to the painting stage.
“Where are you doing your apprenticeship?” Pro asked David.
David was eyeing the suit again. “At Carron Motors. Right now, I’m a garage serviceman. I do mostly oil changes.”
“How do you like that?”
“It’s easy,” David said, with a touch of attitude. “Drain out the old. Put in the new. Change the filter. Anything with a grease fitting gets lubricated. Drive shaft U-joints, tie rod ends, ball joints, other steering components.”
Pro nodded. He stood at ease with his hands behind his back. “And you enjoy doing that?”
“Oh, I like it,” David said, not quite sounding that way.
Pro was nodding again, encouraging the boy to talk more.
“When I take out the drain plug, depending on how quick I am, I get hot oil all over my hand. Sometimes, when I’m not careful, hot oil splashes in my face. When I remove the filter, hot oil usually runs down my arm. Oil changes are fun.”
“So you’re not finding it a challenge right now.”
The boy smiled. “The challenge is dealing with the customers.” He whacked some nails into place.
Pro changed his stance, slipped his hands in his pockets, and waited for the boy to continue.
“The ones who want you to tell them why their engine is leaking oil and to check their tire pressures and their brakes while you’re at it. They pay for an oil change but they want a complete vehicle inspection.” He reached for another handful of nails.
“Mmm hmm,” Pro nodded. “I see.”
“Even if there�
�s nothing wrong with their car and all they really need is an oil change, they still manage to dream up more things for you to do.”
“Such as?”
“Adjust their seat.” Whack. “Polish their steering wheel.” Another whack. “Empty their ash tray.” David was turning out to be talkative. “One guy had me program his radio.”
Pro nodded. “I’d say you’re being underutilized.”
· · · · ·
David turned out to be a natural. He needed little instruction and hardly any supervision.
“What do you think?” Ryder asked, looking back at the waterfall frame.
“I can’t believe you’re actually doing this,” Toria said.
He watched those strange green eyes and thought of Kananaskis lakes again. “You don’t have a lot of faith in me, do you?”
“I didn’t mean that,” she said, blushing for some reason. “I knew you could build a waterfall. I just didn’t know you could . . .”
He waited. What was going through that un-bimbo head of hers?
She watched as David showed one of the other students how to square the plywood. “I didn’t know you could work so well with the students. Bring out their initiative.”
Initiative? He was bringing out initiative?
“Some of these students have never been enthusiastic about school.”
He shrugged. “Never thought of that.”
Isabelle appeared next to Toria. She did that a lot—turning up out of the blue.
“Pro is coming over tonight,” Isabelle told them.
Ryder noticed the confusion flicker across Toria’s expression. Like him, she probably hadn’t realized that Isabelle knew Pro and his Aunt Tizzy.
“To your apartment,” Isabelle continued.
Toria frowned. Obviously, Isabelle hadn’t filled her in.
“It’s Friday night,” Isabelle said. “No one has to be at work tomorrow. I thought we could get a lot done.”
“I suppose,” Toria answered, sounding bewildered.
“I’m bringing the pizza,” Ryder added. He didn’t want her to nix the idea. “You’ve got to eat.”
She looked like she was coming up with an objection, but Isabelle was talking again, distracting her.
“Are you worried about them missing school?” Isabelle asked.
“They’re not missing school.” Toria turned around on her crutches, and scanned the room. “They’re all here, aren’t they?”
On the Way to a Wedding Page 17
