It was after the child calmed down that a medium-sized beagle rounded the corner of the aisle, trailing a leash but no owner.
“Oscar! Oscar, you naughty boy, you come right back here.”
The voice was vaguely familiar, but he couldn’t place it until Oscar stopped stock still in front of Rowan and began to bay as if he’d found a moose or treed a mountain lion. His owner slipped in behind him and scooped him into her arms. “I’m so sorry,” she said and looked up. Then she laughed, a smile of pure delight spreading across a wide, lush mouth. The girl who’d tried to murder Joely all those twenty years ago. He held in a smile of his own.
“Why, Alec Morrissey! I think I’m about to have a fan girl moment right here. Between you and that gorgeous dog, a couple of fantasies just came true.”
“That’s nice of you, Heidi wasn’t it?”
He wouldn’t have thought her mouth could stretch any wider, but it did. “You remembered! I’m honored. And, actually, this is serendipity. I’ve had a question for you for weeks and haven’t known how to find you.”
“I guess it’s our lucky day.” He smiled as he lied.
Chapter Fifteen
JOELY MET TIM in Wolf Paw Pass’s small town park after a solitary dinner of Kraft Mac and Cheese and a ballpark-type hot dog. She was finding the brainless world of processed dinners to be all the gourmet cooking she could deal with since the weekend, even though her restaurant-owning sisters would have been horrified.
She’d swallowed her pride and rolled herself the four blocks from her apartment in her wheelchair. She’d worn raw, sore spots into her armpits by using her crutches exclusively for the past week. She could navigate the sidewalks more quickly in the chair, and she supposed it wouldn’t hurt for Tim to imagine her as slightly helpless. She needed all the sympathy she could get from the man, and there wasn’t an overabundance of it spilling from his Gucci-lovin’ heart.
She could see he already waited for her when she propelled her chair along the walkway beside the gazebo in the very center of the park and made for the long, low open-sided pavilion that had stood along the park’s west side for as long as Joely could remember. She wasn’t late, but Tim was early as always. She tamped down her irritation. She’d asked him to meet here because it was anonymous and far more private than the close-set tables at Dottie’s or the few booths at Ina’s.
To her surprise, he smiled as she drew closer, stood up, and actually met her before she reached him. He scooted behind her and took the chair handles in order to push. Shock robbed her of any ability to protest, and she let him push her to the end of a heavy, wooden picnic table. A brown-and-white-striped bag from the bakery at the other end of town sat on the top.
“Thanks for finally meeting me,” he said. “I do need to leave tomorrow despite what I said. I think we’d both like to finish this business.”
Business. That’s what their time together had been reduced to. She didn’t feel any grief, just a slow, sad burn.
“I would,” she said. “So I have a request, and then I’ll sign.” She pulled the thick envelope of papers out of an oversized purse wedged between her and the side of the chair.
He nodded and opened the bag on the table.
“Have dessert,” he said. “A peace offering. And before you make your request, let me make you my offer.”
“You have an offer?”
He drew a giant, chocolate-covered bismark from the bag along with a napkin and handed it to her. Despite her gourmet meal of orange-sauced macaroni, Joely’s mouth watered, and her attitude toward the man beside her nearly softened.
“Oh my gosh,” she said.
“Your favorite as I recall.”
Suspicion crept into her charitable mood. “What do you want?”
He had the grace to laugh self-deprecatingly. “I haven’t been very nice lately, have I?”
“What’s the saying? I’m not even going to dignify that with a reply. Don’t start being nice now. I don’t like scary movies.”
He shook his head, a smile still playing on his lips. “I’m nervous about the baby, a wedding, all of that. I haven’t been myself. I’m sorry.”
Oh, sweetheart, she thought. You don’t know yourself very well then. This week has been a crash course in classic Tim Foster. She took a bite of the pastry, and a soft, sweet burst of vanilla cream danced across her tongue. She closed her eyes and almost groaned. Let him say whatever he wanted.
“I know you’ve tried every legal avenue in your power to get back at me,” he said. “I suppose I understand that. And I know you’re struggling right now with all the medical costs. I’m glad I could help you with those.”
“That’s big of you,” she said, licking cream from her finger. “Since I did nothing to add value to the marriage or the home and wasn’t really entitled to VA health care—which we all help pay for with our taxes. Rightfully so, I might add.”
He sighed as if preparing to explain life to an argumentative child. “Don’t make this so difficult, Jo. I’m trying to tell you that I know things are tough right now. It’s not looking like the insurance companies are going to settle anytime soon.”
She paused over another bite of the bismark. “How do you know that?”
“Honey, I’m your husband. All I had to do was ask.”
She set the pastry down with deliberate care. “You are not my husband. Not in any way that counts. You’re living with another woman, you got her pregnant while legally married to me, you’ve invited me off your insurance even though until the judge signs this decree I’m legally entitled, and it’s my coverage, too. So, if I ever hear that you’ve looked into my personal affairs again, I’ll—”
“Hold on now,” he said and held up a hand. “I’m sorry. I hear what you’re saying. I only went to find out the status of your claim, so I could make a reasonable offer. I didn’t find out anything that personal.”
“Just spit it out, Tim, so I can present my case, and we can be done.”
“Fine. I’m not hard-hearted. I understand that I have money, and things are tight for you at the moment. I’d like to offer you a stipend for spousal support.”
She stared in surprise. This was what she’d come for. “Oh?” she asked.
“Yes. Five hundred dollars a month for the next year. No strings attached except that you sign an agreement that it’s a gift, it won’t be used for anything but living expenses, and you won’t ask for more at the end of the year. That’s all just so it doesn’t need to be put into legalese on the divorce papers, and I can use it on my taxes.”
The evening light fogged to an angry red in front of her eyes, and with dizzying disbelief she tried to think of a response that wouldn’t get her into trouble. Something Alec had said two days before roared through her brain. “Overcoming his dickwaddedness will send a much stronger signal than tying yourself to him financially.”
She’d ignored him, but in a way Alec was right. If she agreed to this “stipend,” Tim wouldn’t see it as payment for wrongdoing. She’d be tied to an ex-husband for another year in a deal that made her nothing but his charity case. And he could brag about how charitable he was being—out of the goodness of his heart?
Without a word she picked up the envelope containing the divorce papers. She drew out the stack, flipped to the last page and dug briefly in her bag for a pen. With a quick, fluid hand she signed.
“What you just said to me was almost a bigger insult than having the affair.” She flipped the sheaf of papers that now contained her declaration of independence back in order, folded them carefully, and placed them in the envelope. Before she slid it across the table she fixed him with a steady gaze he couldn’t dodge. “You offered to pay me off so you wouldn’t ever have to admit you did anything wrong. I’m not even sure what that would have made me—something not very admirable.
“Well, you can have what you want, and you don’t have to pay me a cent. I want no ties to you or your new family, and good luck to you. But I want you to r
emember something. You and I know what really happened. You know exactly what you did to me, to us, and you know it was cowardly and, despite what you tried to claim, very hard-hearted. Tell people whatever you want now. That I was a terrible wife, that I made your life miserable, couldn’t satisfy you, whatever. And you can tell them that in the end I lost my looks and could no longer remotely satisfy your need for arm candy.”
“Joely, for crying out loud—”
She shushed him—something she usually considered the height of rudeness. There wasn’t a lot of satisfaction in it, but his shock and slight confusion gave her enough for the moment.
“You don’t get the last word this time. That’s the only stipulation I’m putting on this signature.” She finally placed the envelope in front of him.
“Jo, I’m—”
“No. There’s absolutely nothing for you to say. Not sorry, not good-bye, not thank you. Nothing. Your chance to say anything ended when you left me lying in a hospital bed. Alone. You have two choices right now. Sit here until I’m gone and then get on a plane. Or get up and walk in that direction”—she pointed away from Mountain Street—“and take a slightly longer route to your plane.”
She pushed away from the table and oriented her chair to leave. “Oh, and I expect those papers to be filed tomorrow.”
She pushed away, looking inside herself for emotion—sadness, relief, anger, lightness, anything would have been fine. She was only numb. Fully expecting Tim to ignore her order and speak, she prepared her verbal shutdowns, but the final insult was his absolute silence. When she’d nearly reached the edge of the park, she took a quick glance over her shoulder. He was gone.
THE MAIN STREET was surprisingly busy for a Tuesday evening at eight o’clock. Most businesses were closed with the exception of the eating establishments and the main souvenir shop, Wanda’s Wolf Paw Gifts. Wolf Paw Pass was a minor tourist destination. People came for the tiny Museum of Ranching at the edge of town, the good food at Dottie’s, and now the Basecamp Grill, with its local craft beer, Wolfheart, that was gaining astounding regional popularity. But even for a pretty evening, with the sun starting to bathe the mountains in purple, the town seemed unusually bustling.
She stopped beside one lodgepole pine leg of the hand-hewn sign welcoming people to Founder’s Park. Maneuvering to the outside of the pole where she was half-obscured by ornamental shrubbery, she let herself wilt into the chair seat and watch the glut of people. Slowly she surfaced from her detachment and let the shock of what she’d just done start to fill her. Should she be crying? Laughing? How was a person supposed to feel after a divorce? Why would she feel anything different from what she’d been feeling for a year? What stupidity had she shown turning down five hundred dollars a month? And then, without warning, the euphoria started to bubble up inside her. She’d done it. She’d freed herself—her signature had sealed the future. She’d given the man everything he wanted and let him off scot-free, and yet? Everything inside her felt like she’d won. The better person had rolled away with the last word and all the dignity. Even if she was the only one who knew that—it was enough.
She lifted her eyes, and the bottom dropped out of her newfound optimism, draining the joy as quickly as it had filled her. Directly across the street, beneath Ina’s pretty, striped awning, Alec stood six inches from Heidi Bisset, his bicep bulging nicely beneath the tips of her moving fingers, their long elegance clear even from Joely’s distance.
Pain rose from behind her heart, and her throat filled with suffocating down fluff, as if someone had stuffed socks or pillows—or a pair of buns-high Daisy Dukes—in her mouth to asphyxiate her. A half gasp, half cry escaped through the stuffing, and Joely covered her mouth. Alec tossed back his head and laughed. Laughed! Ridiculous tears beaded in Joely’s eyes. She couldn’t hear words, but Heidi clearly cajoled him, switching from stroking his muscle to wrapping it with those fingers and tugging him toward Ina’s door. For one second Joely held out hope as Alec put up one hand in protest. But it was short-lived. He laughed again, and followed her skimpy-shorted, cowboy-booted figure toward the door.
She had no reason to be upset. None. She’d told Alec to go take a hike.
But, please, Lord, not with Heidi Bisset.
“Your mouth is open and your eyes are shining. You must know the woman with your gentleman friend across the way. I’m guessing you might even be unhappy about it.”
Joely turned toward the voice that rumbled deep and quietly almost in her ear, refined, slightly accented. Mayberry, now without his coat or hat but with the same brown, cuffed trousers and the addition of a blue, Mr. Rogers-style zip-front cardigan, stood beneath the park sign. She could see the gray ponytail fully now, surprisingly thick with a slight wave. It hung to the base of his neck, a peculiar contrast to the stodgy sweater.
“Mr. Mayberry!”
“Miss Crockett, I apologize for intruding, but you seem upset.”
She had no idea how to respond. She didn’t know this man from a potential serial killer, and it dawned on her that she’d never followed up with her grandmother on the contents of his note. How could she have forgotten? Yet his eyes were kindly and his concern sincere.
“I’m fine. It’s been a long day, and I’m trying to decide if I want to brave the foot traffic with my bulky chair.”
“And you’re seeing things that upset you.” He lifted his head toward the ice cream shop across the street, where Alec’s broad shoulders and tapered waistline were just disappearing through the door.
“Really, I don’t think it’s—”
“Any of my business. You’re quite right. But you were with him the last time we met as I recall. I thought perhaps, this is a tryst that shouldn’t have been for public consumption.”
She wanted to laugh at the man’s proper speech and cry at his observation. He was more than an enigma and certainly far less than an appropriate confidant, but the urge to unload about the vague cruelties of the male gender was strong. She definitely wished she hadn’t publicly consumed the . . . tryst. Those seconds of happy relief just before she’d seen Alec and Heidi were already a faded memory.
“Alec and I are just new acquaintances,” she said and was surprised by the stab of sadness the admission caused.
“Really?” He smiled.
“I met him at my sisters’ wedding less than three weeks ago. So yes, really.”
“Sometimes, things happen very quickly.”
“Well, not in this case, so I think you’ve read the situation wrong.”
He bent slightly forward and rested one wrinkled hand on the back handle of her chair. “Good people are usually very bad liars.”
“Mr. Mayberry, you don’t know me. I think this is slightly . . . inappropriate.”
“No need for the ‘mister.’ It’s just Mayberry.”
“But no real name?”
“Didn’t Sadie tell you?”
“No. She hasn’t offered anything from your . . . correspondence.”
“Ah. A woman of discretion. Well, Joely, everybody and everything has a real name. It’s just whether they choose to share it. I’m not sure the real name of the thing you saw across the street is what you think it is.”
She was too intrigued by the man’s existential rambling to be offended. His pop-spiritualism fit with his ponytail better than his clothing did.
“What do I think it is?”
“A man interested in a woman.”
“Every man is interested in that woman.” She laughed drily. “Men like perfect things. I know. I used to be fairly perfect.”
“And you aren’t any longer?”
She laughed for real.
“You know,” he said, “most things look one way and are nothing as they seem. Like you. Your inside does not match your outsides, but don’t people jump to conclusions about who you are? It’s always up to you to set aside the conclusions you jump to and find out what’s really going on. What the true name of something is.”
�
�Are you some sort of Indian guru? A shaman? A spiritual leader?”
“Hardly. I just learned early on that we can’t take anything for granted and very little at face value. Sometimes even people and places, solid ground that we’ve depended and stood on our entire lives are not what they seem.”
She got the clear impression he was not talking about Alec and Heidi any longer.
“All right . . . ”
“If I were you, I’d go at least tell that couple in there your real name. Some people learn early on how to take advantage of a hand they’re dealt. But some of us take a little longer.”
The man was not dangerous. But he was definitely certifiable. “You sound like a wise man,” she said, hoping maybe he’d take it as a nice little wrap-up to their conversation.
“Not wise. I am a little bit crazy, however.” He smiled as if the admission should reassure her. “But this time, I know what I’m talking about. You greet your grandmama for me, hear? Tell her Trampas said hello again.”
In the literal blink of her astonished eye, Mayberry disappeared. She swung her gaze around and saw him behind her, already twenty-five feet away. How did the elderly man move that quickly?
Trampas? Of the Mantervilles her grandmother had told her about? How was that possible? She couldn’t fathom why he’d be here all these years after the time Grandma Sadie had described. And living as a homeless man spouting wisdom in the form of weird riddles? She pinched herself to make sure she wasn’t dreaming. Maybe she wasn’t really divorced from Tim, and she was pinching herself in her bed at home.
But the breeze danced through her hair, and people continued filing past her on the busy street, their boots, shoes, and flip-flops percussing the air. Linden blooms from the park behind her filled out the scene with sweet fragrance. Her dreams were never that full of sensual detail.
Go tell them my real name.
What did that even mean? Everything has a name, he’d said. She supposed that applied to situations as well as things and people, but what was the name of this situation? Anger? Jealousy? Misunderstanding?
The Bride Wore Starlight Page 22
