Elderberry Croft: The Complete Collection

by Becky Doughty

  “Julie.” He smiled, his straight white teeth irritating her, while his satin voice soothed her. “It’s good to see you again.” He paused meaningfully, his lids lowering. “Really good.”

  “Why are you here?” Be strong, Jules.

  He hesitated briefly, but it was enough to let on that he’d been expecting a slightly warmer reception. He held out the bouquet. “These are for you. Your favorites.” When she tentatively reached for them, he didn’t let go. Instead, he covered her hands with his own so they held the flowers between them.

  She flinched at his touch and tried to pull away, but he tightened his grip, pulling her toward him. “Don’t I get a thank you kiss?” As he bent forward, she turned her face away in an attempt to evade his mouth. His lips brushed her cheek instead.

  She jerked back at the rasp of his jaw against her skin. “Stop it, Mike.” She hoped her voice sounded stronger than she felt.

  He stood so close, that even over the heady fragrance of the lilies, she could smell the familiar Mike smell she had loved for so long. Against her will, she felt herself softening the tiniest bit, just around the edges. He must have felt it, too. He cocked his head.

  “I knew you’d be home tonight, missing me as much as I was missing you.” She wrenched out of his grasp and took a step backwards, flowers now clutched tightly to her, trying to restore the boundaries between them. He looked her up and down and smiled indulgently. “No wild weekend plans for you, are there, my sensible Julie? Let me in.”

  He knew she’d be home tonight? His Julie? His? And how many times had she told him not to call her Julie? There were so many things wrong with what he’d just said. She felt her stomach knot, and her voice quivered. “You can’t come in.”

  “Come on, Julie-baby.” He tugged on a strand of her hair that had fallen forward over her shoulder. “I’ve forgiven you. Can’t you do the same for me?”

  She scowled at him over the top of the lilies. “You’ve forgiven me for what, exactly?” Suddenly the deep scarlet petals looked sinister to her; beautiful, but speckled with deceit.

  “For walking out on me.” He stroked her cheek, but she flinched, and he dropped his hand. “You hurt me, Julie. It’s taken me a long time to recover from your little temper tantrum.”

  A Valentine’s Day he’d been too busy to celebrate with her.

  Had he come to her with flowers and kisses a few months ago, she might have been swayed. She might have apologized for causing him so much pain. She inwardly cringed knowing she might even have been grateful for his offer to forgive her. But now he was too late. Her heart, though bruised by his nearness, was no longer willing to make excuses for him.

  A million thoughts raced through her head in that moment; all the times she’d put aside her own plans to accommodate his, all the times he’d canceled last minute and left her alone. All the times he didn’t tell her she was important, worth it, loved. She wanted to rage at him, to pour over his head all the poison he’d used to douse the fire that had once burned in her heart for him.

  But she didn’t.

  “Excuse me, Mike. I’m kind of busy right now.” She started to close her door, but he thrust his arm out to block it.

  “You’re busy? What plans do you have, Julie? In your pajamas?” He pushed on the door, but she wedged her foot against it from the other side. He lowered his voice. “Stop pouting. It’s not cute. Let me in.”

  “I’m not pouting, Mike.” Her voice no longer trembled. “I really am busy. Go home.”

  “You’re lying, and we both know it. Now let me in.” He pushed a little harder, and Juliette saw something shift in his eyes. He was angry. Very angry. A chill went up her spine.

  “Go home, Mike.” She said it more forcefully.

  “I’m not going anywhere, baby-doll.” His voice became menacing. “Do you have any idea how much I had to pay for red tiger lilies in September?”

  “You need to leave right now!” She shoved the crimson flowers in his face, making him stumble backward. From the edge of her vision, she noticed her neighbor watching them from her own front porch. Mrs. Cork’s little dog ran out to the lawn, barked a few times, then sauntered across into Juliette’s yard, where it turned around three times and squatted. She slammed the door on Mike, his scarlet flowers, her scowling neighbor, and the defecating dog.

  For once, she was thankful for Mrs. Cork’s nosiness. She knew Mike wouldn’t try anything now that he had an audience. She ripped off the beige top, crumpled it into a ball, and threw it away. Even he thought her wardrobe was boring.

  “Tiger lilies are still in season, you creep. I hope that florist took you to the cleaners!”

  ~ ~ ~

  JULIETTE stared at the mirror, trying to see herself the way any man other than Mike would. She thought of all the things he used to love about her, from her long, black hair, her gray eyes, and slender neck, to her slightly turned out feet.

  “I look like a duck,” she muttered. The woman who gazed back at her stood just under 5’6” and weighed just over her ideal weight. Mike always liked the extra pounds; maybe she should lose them to spite him. No, losing weight might make it look like she was pining away for him. Besides, she really didn’t think it would be right to abandon Mr. Yu or Mona, and she knew they’d be the first to go if she was going to drop a few pounds.

  She’d gone on a whirlwind shopping spree over her lunch break, and the long, empire-waist dress she wore looked good on her, she admitted to herself. The raspberry tones brought color to her pale cheeks, and the drape of the fabric made her feel feminine. She peered down at her toes sticking out below the ruffled hem, and smiled at the iridescent turquoise she’d painted them earlier this evening. Be bold, she told herself. Be daring. Do something stupid. Like actually going out with the first guy on The Monday Man-Date list.

  “I’m a chubby, pink, bold, and stupid duck,” she declared. She flapped her way into the kitchen where she stubbed a turquoise toe on a chair as she passed her table.

  “Ouch! This is not a good sign.” She sank into the offending chair and massaged her throbbing appendage. She wondered again what had gotten into her. This was not like her at all. She liked things organized, sensible, planned out. She didn’t do well with change. She was not quick on her feet, and she inevitably made a fool of herself when put on the spot. She certainly wasn’t bold. Or daring. And she didn’t do stupid, if she could help it.

  Okay. Maybe waiting nearly ten years for Mike Wilson to make up his mind about her might fall under the “stupid” category, but she’d been fooled by him. She’d believed the years were gifts of time; time for them to plan and prepare, to sort everything out so they could step into their future with all the details taken care of in advance. She glanced through the arched opening to the living room where she could see a row of 3-ring binders, color-coded and labeled, lined up on the bottom shelf of her bookcase. She rolled her eyes. My well-planned life.

  One binder held all their wedding and honeymoon plans, another, their home plans. There was a binder filled with travel plans for future vacations, and the newest one was labeled Wilsonettes. In it, she collected pictures of babies from magazines, catalogs, and online, as if she had choices when it came to how their offspring would turn out. She squirmed at the thought of Mike paging through it, but knew there was no way he’d ever seen it. Even though they’d only split up six months ago, his unexpected appearance last night was the first time he’d been to her place in over a year.

  She always went to him.

  She stood and shoved the chair back into place under her rectangular dining table. “He called, I went running.” She clenched and unclenched her fists at her sides, her skin prickling with humiliation. “What is wrong with me? I’m such an idiot. I’m a chubby, pink, bold, stupid, idiot duck!” She charged into the living room, grabbed her purse off the floor, and dug down to the bottom where she knew there was a small clutch of make-up. Years ago, she used to wear lipstick, but Mike told her once that he didn’t
like kissing her when she wore it. She never knew whether it was because he didn’t like the way it felt, or if he was afraid he’d end up with it on his lips instead. She just stopped wearing it. For him.

  “It took me a long time to get used to going naked-lipped, and you still didn’t kiss me often enough,” she railed. “Or long enough. Or sweetly enough.” Her voice trailed off.

  “Enough! Put on your lips, Jules, and let’s see what tonight has in store.” She pulled the cap off the Burnished Plum, a slightly shimmery, somewhat dated color that she loved. It made her eyes look smoky, and it made her feel dressed up. It was amazing what a little lipstick and toenail polish could do for a girl.

  There was a knock at the door, and Juliette froze. Her doorbell didn’t work and she’d hung a pretty lantern in front of it to keep people from using it, but tonight, the rap of knuckles on wood sounded rather ominous. She stared at her face in the mirror over the entry table, her eyes large and overly-bright, her skin translucent in the glow of the chandelier overhead. You can do this, Jules, you can. Bold and stupid, bold and stupid.

  “No, bold and daring!” She pressed her lips together gently and smoothed her hair away from her flushed cheeks.

  Her phone rang from somewhere in her purse, startling her. At a loss, she didn’t know which to answer first, and she dug the phone out just as she pulled open the front door.

  The man on her stoop wore khaki pants and a white shirt, his hair combed neatly back from his forehead and temples. He had gentle eyes, a wide smile, and an air of confidence in his stance that made Juliette automatically step back and open her door wider. She caught herself before inviting him in, realizing her immediate sense of comfort was due to his uncanny likeness to Mike.

  What was Renata thinking?

  She glanced down at the phone in her hand. Speak of the devil. Renata. She shoved it back into her bag. She’d deal with her sister later.

  “I’m Paul Rudyard. As in Rudyard Kipling.”

  “I’m Juliette. Um, as in … Juliet Capulet.” She could think of no other renown Juliettes on the spot. “But spelled differently.” She stuck out her hand. “Nice to meet you.”

  The man shook her hand, then offered her the bouquet of mixed wildflowers he’d brought. “And these are for you.”

  “Thank you. They’re beautiful.” He let his fingertips drift over the back of her hand as she took them. She couldn’t help but think of Mike’s last visit and tensed, prepared for flight.

  “Juliette. What a lovely name. Very romantic. Maybe I should change my name to Romeo.” He chuckled, and Juliette smiled politely, taking a step back. This was all so awkward. She was having a hard time remembering why she had agreed to the ManDates at all.

  “Oh, I think Paul suits you,” she said, trying desperately to steer the conversation away from romantic notions. “Besides, if we were that Romeo and Juliet, this night would be ending very badly for both of us.”

  There was an awkward silence that lasted way too long, and the uncomprehending look on Paul’s face compelled her to explain. “You know, we’d have to kill each other. I mean ourselves. We’d both have to commit suicide. But first I’d have to take a poison that made it look like I was dead, and then you’d kill yourself rather than living without me, and then I’d come around and find you dead, and then I’d have to kill myself for making you kill yourself. Not a good first date.”

  In her head, Gia chirped, “Cricket. Cricket.”

  “You haven’t read Shakespeare,” she stated.

  “Oh. Yes. Shakespeare. Of course.” Paul nodded, then he smiled, recovering his composure. “Your sister did tell me you were a little depressed.” He winked and his smile broadened. “But I have a much better plan for this evening than a double suicide.”

  “She told you what?” Juliette stiffened. Renata really was the devil.

  “It’s all right.” He reached over and patted her shoulder. “She thought I should know that you were feeling a little down, that’s all.” His placating tone was beginning to make her skin crawl. “Well, I’m here to change the way you feel. I’m going to take you out, and wine and dine you until you can feel nothing but happy.”

  Juliette reached for the handle of the door, and Paul mistook her intentions. “Are you all ready to come outside and play?”

  “Oh dear,” she murmured, looking down at her toes poking their little blue tips out at her. “Oh dear,” she repeated, shaking her head. Bold and daring, Jules. He’s already got the stupid thing down.

  “What is it?” Paul asked, hunkering down a little in order to see her face. Finally, she looked up at him.

  “I can’t, Paul. I can’t go out and ... and play. I’m sorry if you were misled about me. I’m afraid you and I have very different expectations about this evening.”

  “Oh. I see.” He nodded sagely. Then he shook his head. “No, I don’t see. That’s why I’m here. To change your expectations.” Paul’s confidence didn’t seem to waver at all.

  Juliette took a deep breath and blew it out slowly before she replied, setting the blossoms in her hand fluttering their petals encouragingly. She chose her words carefully, but kept them firm. “Paul, I was under the impression this was a blind date, not therapy. I don’t mean to be rude, but I don’t think this is such a good idea after all. I’m sorry. I’m—I’m going to say good night now.” She stepped back and began to push the door closed.

  “No, wait!” Paul put a hand up to block it, just like Mike had done, and Juliette felt panic swirl in her belly. The look on Paul’s face, however, was not angry, just a bit desperate. “Don’t do this, Juliette. I promised your sister I’d—“

  “You shouldn’t be making promises about me to my sister.” She said it so quietly she wasn’t sure if he’d heard. Then very gently, she closed the door in his face.

  She still held the flowers clutched in one hand, and she was trembling as she waited, listening. She could hear nothing from outside, so she worked up the courage to look through the peep hole. Paul still stood on the stoop, facing the door, as though trying to figure out what had just happened. As she watched, he finally turned, shoved his hands in his pockets, and began to whistle as he walked away, his pants stretched oddly over his backside. She wrinkled her nose in distaste; she’d seen Mike do the same thing a hundred thousand times.

  “Juliette!” A muffled, faint voice made her spin around, her heart pounding.

  “Who…who’s there?”

  Chapter 4

  “HEY! PICK up the phone!”

  Juliette unearthed the device from the black hole of her purse. She stared down at the screen. Eight minutes and counting. The whole traumatic exchange had lasted less than ten minutes. And Renata had heard the whole thing. “Hi, Ren.”

  “I can’t believe you sent him away!”

  “Well, I can’t believe you sent him here in the first place!”

  “Oh, Juliette! Why couldn’t you be polite?”

  Juliette stomped her foot, her sandal smacking the entryway tiles. “I was polite, Renata. I was so polite that it took him several minutes to realize I’d closed the door in his face. But you,” she waved a hand in the air in frustration. “You told him I was depressed? Thanks! I wish you’d warned me. I could have been better prepared. I still have my black sackcloth and shroud, you know!” She was shouting into the phone. “That was insensitive and manipulative, Ren. I don’t think I really like you right now.” She covered her face with the hand she’d been waving around above her head.

  Renata was silent a moment before answering. “Well, I don’t like you right now, either. You’re not acting like yourself these days, Juliette, and it makes it difficult for me to know how to handle you.” Renata’s tone warned her that her feelings were hurt, but then, so were Juliette’s.

  “I don’t want you to handle me. What I really want is for you to leave me alone! But since clearly that isn’t possible, I’d at least appreciate a little respect on your part. I do not need some man showing up on my
doorstep offering to help me find my happy place again. Just because you think you can control your little world, Renata Gustafson, doesn’t mean you have the authority—or the insight—to control mine, okay?”

  “Dixon.”

  “What?”

  “My name is Renata Dixon, Juliette.” Renata’s voice was tight, and Juliette fleetingly considered warning her about triggering her TMJ. Nope. Grind away, little sister. Grind those teeth down to nubbins.

  “Are you serious? Really? After everything I just said, that’s the only thing you heard?” Juliette held the phone out in front of her, and shook it as though the other end was connected to her sister’s head. She put it back to her ear and said, “I love you, Renata Dixon,” she punched out her sister’s married name across the line. “But you make me want to do very bad things to you, so I’m hanging up on you now. Good night.”

  What was it about Renata that could make her behave so irrationally? No one else made her feel so out of control and childish, not even Mike. She kicked off her sandals and sent them skittering across the floor, resisting the urge to pick them up and return them to the empty spot on her organized shoe shelf. She stepped over them with purposeful indifference on her way to the kitchen, where she tossed the bouquet on the table. Her toe still hurt from kicking the chair, and stamping her foot on the hard tile hadn’t helped it feel any better. And her hair was starting to bug her.

  “Who am I kidding?” she muttered, as she headed to the bathroom. She wasn’t the kind of girl who wore fluttery dresses and left her hair streaming down her back. She dug out a clamp from her accessories drawer and clipped her hair up in a knot at the back of her head. All she needed now was a pair of black pants and a tee-shirt—or better yet, an old pair of jammies—in order to feel that everything was as it should be.

  She looked down at her pretty pink dress and swished the skirt around her legs a few times. She wished the night had turned out differently with Paul Rudyard. He had a nice name. He had a nice face, a nice smile. But he was just too … well, too nice. Nice wasn’t all it was cut out to be. Mike had been nice once, too.