by Janet Dailey
The words didn’t appear to comfort her. “You just surprised me. If I’d had any warning . . .”
“I surprised me, too. I don’t know what happened—one minute I was talking about the auditorium, the next I was proposing. I guess I should have practiced my speech more.”
“Then you didn’t mean it. I didn’t think you could have.”
“No,” he said, making sure that she was looking him in the eye. “I meant every word.”
He felt that strong tug between them, pulling them toward each other.
She broke the connection with a toss of her head. “But that’s just crazy. Marriage? We’ve only talked to each other—what?—ten times in the past nine years?”
He smiled. “Are you saying we don’t know each other well enough yet?”
“There’s knowing and there’s knowing,” she said.
“Jane, we’re as close as two people can be already. We might have spent too much time apart, but I’ve been alone most of that time. And why? Because you set the bar high, Jane. You’re smart, and funny, and compassionate, and an incredible lover—”
She raised her hand, traffic cop–style, stopping him. “Those are words.”
He closed the distance between them. “What else is there? We fell in love over words, remember?” He lifted her hand to his cheek, as he had all those years ago. “ ‘For I ne’er saw true beauty till this night.’ ”
She stepped back. “Roy, we’re not seventeen anymore. We’re talking about living together. Marriage. And just seeing each other this past week has been bumpy. We’re grownups, with different lives.”
“ ‘For you and I are past our dancing days,’ ” he said.
She practically hopped, in a Yosemite Sam stamp of frustration. “Will you stop quoting at me? It’s irritating! I can’t think.”
“I don’t want you to think. I want us to run away together, like we should have years ago.”
“Okay—there you go again. You think I should have run away with you to Seattle.”
“It’s a great city.”
“Sure, but it’s a thousand miles away from my home, my parents, and my friends—not to mention the clinic.”
“We’ll work something out.”
“How?” she asked. “Are you going to move your studio to Mesquite Creek?”
“I have forty people to think of, remember?”
“So what you mean is, I’ll work something out. I’ll pick up and follow you.”
He took a deep breath. He couldn’t tell if they were making progress or not. “Is that your only objection? Geography?”
“It’s a big objection. And . . .” She bit her lip.
“What?”
She hesitated, then blurted out, “I don’t trust you. You left. For years. No phone calls, didn’t seek me out when you visited. Just cut me out of your life. And now you’re back—and you’ve decided in a week that you want me to go back with you. Just like that.”
“I was wrong. I was twenty-two, and hurt by your decision. We’d been going out since we were seventeen. I didn’t realize what not having you in my life forever would be like.”
“But you never called, never wrote.”
“Neither did you. I thought you were choosing here over me.”
She gnawed this over for a moment. “I guess I was.”
Maybe she still was.
Her gaze focused on the carpet. “You blurt out things and make snap decisions. I can’t do that. I know it might not seem like much to you, but I have a life here. I need time.”
“I know, but . . .”
She glanced back up at him. “But what?”
He swallowed, sure this was going to be the wrong thing to say. But he couldn’t lie. “I’m leaving tomorrow.”
Her glance turned into a gape. “Tomorrow? You’re just taking off?”
He nodded. “I got a one o’clock flight.”
“But what about your mother’s house?”
“We’re selling it.”
“When did you decide that?”
“This afternoon. When I got back. Ona’s happy.”
“I’m sure she is.” She tilted her head. “I bet you are, too.”
“Believe me, right now I’m the opposite of happy.” He reached out, but she darted away before his hand could clasp her arm. If he could just touch her, kiss her . . . they could work everything out somehow.
She edged around him and started for the door. “I’m sorry, Roy. I can’t make the kind of jackrabbit life decisions you do. It’s not even fair of you to want me to.”
She left him before he could argue that he didn’t, which wouldn’t have been entirely truthful anyway. He did want her to go back with him. He did see them galloping off into the sunset together . . . or flying off into the wild blue yonder.
Roy closed the door behind her and then sank against it, depressed. He tried to look on the bright side—she had come to talk to him. On the other hand, she’d didn’t appear about to budge.
Maybe, given time . . .
He sighed. He felt woeful.
“It was romantic, you have to admit.” Erin twirled the last of her red wine around the bottom of her glass.
It was a water glass, Jane noticed. I’m almost thirty-two, I make good money, and I don’t own any wineglasses. She sank against the cushions, considering that fact. Roy took off, started a business, made millions. She bet his condo was loaded with wineglasses. Or at least enough of them to entertain. Meanwhile, here she’d been, living as if she was camping out waiting for Prince Charming. She’d had a lot of crust to lecture poor Marcy.
She straightened.
“You know what I’m going to do tomorrow?” she asked Erin. “First I’m going to rent a truck. Then I’m going to load up all this stuff and take it to the Salvation Army or someplace like that. And then I’m going to drive to Dallas this weekend and I’m going to shop till I drop. I’m going to buy wineglasses, and furniture—heavy furniture—and new silverware that isn’t just mismatched stuff that my relatives don’t want anymore. I’m going to buy a whole set of china—something beautiful and permanent that most people only expect to receive as wedding gifts. Eight place settings, along with all the extras. Gravy boats and soup tureens . . .”
Her friend studied her worriedly and then proceeded to cork up the wine bottle. “Maybe I shouldn’t have brought this over.”
It was nice of Erin to come check on her after the visit to Roy’s, especially since she had already spent part of her afternoon listening to Jane’s Roy lament. Erin hadn’t been at the auditorium, but she’d been appropriately dismayed by what had happened—and sympathetically indignant on Jane’s behalf. But it was she who had encouraged Jane to go see Roy this evening, pointing out that she couldn’t avoid the man forever.
Although apparently if she had waited another day to confront him, she could have. Because he would have been gone.
Because that’s how Roy operated.
Jane drained her glass. Not that she was drunk. In fact, she was finally seeing things clearly. “My life’s been in a holding pattern. But no more.”
“Gravy boats? This is a solution?” Erin’s brows arched. “Buying the trappings of a life for yourself. Sounds great.”
“It’s a start.”
“It’s a distraction. But you’ll probably figure that out after you’ve drained your savings account.” Erin stood and stretched. “It’s late. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.” She looked at her watch. “Which is actually already today.”
“But you want to come with me?” Jane asked her. “Sunday?” They both worked Saturdays.
“Oh sure. When have I ever passed up an invitation to go soup-tureen shopping?”
After she left, Jane intended to go to sleep but ended up gathering all the boxes she could find in the apartment and in the garage below and tossing things in. Chipped bowls and ratty towels, clothes she hadn’t worn for ages or ever, videocassettes and college textbooks. She filled box after box, amazed at how little connection
she felt to things. Then she ran across a shelf with her old yellowed copy of Romeo and Juliet.
She flipped through it, impressed by the exhaustive margin notes overlaid with stage directions in green pen. Had she really been that obsessive about a school play, and that organized? On the inside of the back cover Roy had sketched her—relaxed, with her head resting against her hand. It was a good drawing, if way too flattering. Around the picture, he’d written in careful calligraphy, O, that I were a glove upon that hand, that I might touch that cheek!
She could hear his voice saying the words, like a caress in her ear.
The letters blurred. She let out a strangled cry and tossed the book in a box next to a CD she barely remembered owning. It was as if Roy were trying to romance her retroactively.
To get the voice out of her head, she decided to vacuum.
Sometime around three, she fell into bed, exhausted.
Her six-thirty alarm went off like a firehouse bell in her ear. She careened out of bed and got ready as fast as she could, downing a coffee and two aspirin on the hoof. Maybe she’d had more wine than she thought.
Her mother was surprised to see her. “You poor thing! I saw your light on till all hours.”
Jane headed automatically to the fridge. She pulled out a container of orange juice and poured a glass. “Will you do me a favor? I need someone to take me to the rental-car place.”
Her mother’s brow furrowed. “What happened to your car?”
“Nothing. I’m renting a moving van.”
Brenda sank into a chair at the breakfast table, tears in her eyes. Buddy hurried over to rest his head on her lap. He wore a bright green bandanna now, and smelled of rosemary-lavender pet shampoo.
“I always knew it,” her mother said on a sigh.
“Knew what?” Jane gulped down some juice.
“That you’d want to be with him eventually.”
“Mom, I—”
“I don’t want to be clingy. I just want to know you’re happy.”
“I’m renting a van to run errands with. Why would you think that I was running away?”
Her mother breathed easier but didn’t look entirely convinced. “Because I can still see the gleam.”
“The what?”
“That something that was always between you and Roy when you were together. I used to think it was just mischievousness, like me when I went out with Wade McGillam. Later, I never had a gleam. You’ve still got it. You’ve had it for days.”
“A gleam? Mom, that’s whacked. Now, get your keys and let’s go to the rental place. Otherwise I’m going to be late.”
Her mother stood up. “If you do go, what are you going to do with Buddy?”
“I’m not going anywhere but to work,” Jane insisted.
All the way to the car place, however, she had to force herself not to stare into the vanity mirror to see if she could detect the gleam.
Floating on her overnight resolution to reboot her life, she almost forgot how fresh in people’s minds the events of yesterday would be. The clinic was an instant reminder.
Even Kaylie wasn’t smiling at her this morning. She was on the phone when Jane walked in, and looked harassed. “Oh good—you’re finally here. Could you check and sign for this drug delivery Shane has? Carl’s holed up in his office and I’ve been calling Marcy, but . . .”
Jane frowned, disconcerted by the chilly reception. But she put her things down and turned to where Shane was waiting.
“I heard you’d gone into hiding,” he said.
“I had yesterday afternoon off,” she corrected, skimming her eyes over the delivery order. “Besides, why should I go into hiding? I didn’t do anything wrong. I was just there to watch his speech, and then, wham. Gruesome public situation.”
Kaylie hung up the phone and looked at her. “But it was so sweet, so romantic—or at least it was until you freaked out and ran. Then it was just sad. If you could have seen Roy standing up there . . .”
The mental image of Roy left standing at that podium after she’d run was horrible, but . . . “What about me standing up there in shock while my boyfriend from a decade ago proposed to me in front of my parents, the entire town, and my congressman? That was awkward.”
“Awkward, but not insulting,” Kaylie said.
“It was not the right moment for a rational discussion,” Jane argued. “For one thing, I didn’t have a microphone. I would have had to shout my reasons across the auditorium.”
Marcy drifted in. “If you’ve thought over such a sweet, impulsive gesture in such a cold, reasoned way, then it’s clear you have no heart.”
Jane was starting to feel cornered again. “How would you have reacted?” she asked Marcy. “Would you have said yes just because you were backed into a corner?”
“No,” Marcy said, “I would have said yes because I’d know someone who had put himself on the line like that must be really in love.”
“Seriously?”
Jane was still processing this insane pronouncement when Shane walked over to Marcy and dropped to one knee. For a moment, her heart stopped—almost as completely as it had in the auditorium.
Kaylie vaulted to her feet and leaned over the reception desk for a better view.
“Marcy, I’ve loved you since you knocked me off the monkey bars,” Shane confessed. “I just have to ask if—”
Marcy’s stunned, panicked look as she stared into Shane’s eyes probably mirrored Jane’s expression the day before. Jane was about to rush forward and intervene when Shane caught Marcy’s look. His throat hitched, and he swallowed, apparently thinking twice about going for the whole enchilada.
“—ask if you’ll go out with me tomorrow night.”
Marcy exhaled in relief. They all did.
“Tomorrow night? Of course.”
Shane straightened up from the floor, almost looking as if he didn’t trust her. “Really?”
“Yes,” Marcy said.
Shane beamed. “It only took me twenty years to ask.”
Marcy turned to Jane. “See?” Almost smug, she strolled away past Carl, who was standing among them now.
“What’s going on?” he asked. When no one volunteered to explain, he beckoned Jane toward his office. “Can I speak to you for a moment?”
Uneasiness took hold of her. He never called people into his office except on the rare occasions when he’d had to fire someone. He wasn’t going to do that, was he? She flashed back to the couch and chairs arriving, and the awkwardness when he’d popped up at her apartment, and the surprise of the new paint. Could her mother’s spin on these events have been completely wrong? Maybe he was hoping to make a clean sweep by getting rid of her.
Catching his nervous expression as he settled himself in his desk chair, she was sure something terrible had happened, or was about to happen.
“Take a look at this,” he said.
He leaned forward and swung his computer monitor so she could see it. Jane nearly jumped back in horror. There on the screen were she and Carl, standing back-to-back in white coats, all smiles. Huge smiles, like you’d see on billboards for morning news teams and real estate agents. She leaned forward, amazed at the amount of Photoshopping and airbrushing that must have been involved to create this image. Her teeth hadn’t been that white or her skin that clear since she was four years old. Carl had been cleaned up, too. His burnt-orange hair appeared to have been toned down to a more palatable auburn. Underneath their cutoff torsos was a line of cats and dogs in various frolicking poses, sitting atop the words Mesquite Creek Animal Clinic.
“What do you think?” he asked. “We make quite a team, don’t we?”
A shiver went through her. “Like a demented Donny and Marie. In lab coats.”
He frowned. “You don’t like it?”
“What is it?”
“It’s the new sign for the clinic. Or it will be, once I send in the order. I want to offer you a partnership, Jane.” His face darkened a little. “I want to of
fer you more, if you’re interested.”
She thought of the old rustic woodcut sign in front of the clinic, there since the eighties or maybe earlier, from before Carl and Maggie had taken over the clinic from old Dr. Spaulding. Coming here after school, turning up the walkway at that sign and looking forward to a couple of hours of being around the vets and the animals, had been one of the highlights of her childhood. Seeing the old sign go would be sad, but replacing it with this would be a travesty. It was wrong on so many levels.
“Roy suggested the lettering,” Carl said.
That name made her even more wary. “Carl . . .”
“You don’t like it, do you?” He swerved the monitor back to inspect it some more. “Is it the composition”—he lifted a brow—“or is it you and me?”
“It’s all of it. This is your clinic, Carl. The business you built up with Maggie. I’ve never thought I was doing any more than filling in.”
“But that’s what I’m saying. I want you here permanently. I was hoping there might be a chance that you’d—”
She cut him off. “I’d still be filling in, Carl. It’s been so great to see you springing back recently, more like your old self. Maggie would want that. But I’m not the right person to turn to.” She smiled. “My mom says she could give a list of ten women who are half in love with you already.”
Carl drew back, and she worried she’d made a blunder mentioning the list.
“But you’re not on the list, obviously,” he said, his mouth turned down. “I thought you’d see things differently. I know you’re younger, but you had your big romance already, and I had Maggie. That doesn’t mean that we shouldn’t be happy. And this is a perfect setup—we work together, have similar interests. What could be more reasonable, more practical?”
Those words chafed. He made it sound as if she should be settling in for life’s evening already. And why not? She had been on the verge of making a similar decision for herself, keeping herself earthbound with heavy furniture and soup tureens. What was the matter with her?
“That’s just it,” she said, thinking aloud. “I’ve worn myself into a reasonable, practical rut. We shouldn’t have to settle for practical. Love shouldn’t be reasonable, or convenient, should it?”
