ONE EAGER BRIDE TO GO

by Pamela Burford

  Sunny closed her eyes for one brief moment and inhaled deeply. Don't do this to yourself, she thought. Stop torturing yourself with memories. That particular pastime had been pointless twelve years ago, and it was downright destructive now, when she had to focus on her goals. She was thirty years old. Dwelling on the past would not put a husband in her bed or a child in her womb.

  They shared the floor with Charli and Grant, the newlyweds holding each other close, sharing secret smiles and private whispers.

  "Some reunion, huh?" Kirk asked. His warm breath stirred the loose hairs springing free at Sunny's temple.

  She looked up at him. "Is that what this is? A reunion?"

  "I'd say when you haven't seen someone in over a decade, it qualifies as a reunion." When she didn't respond, he added, "It was nice of Charli to invite me at the last minute. I just got into town yesterday."

  Sunny forced a smile. "So. You're a daddy."

  Kirk's expression softened. "His name's Ian. He's eighteen months old." He smoothly steered them away from the other couples now drifting onto the dance floor.

  "Um … I knew you were teaching physics out there at Stanford. I didn't know you'd gotten married."

  "Three years ago." He glanced away for a moment; his fingers tightened around hers. "Linda died in a car accident on New Year's Day."

  Sunny's chest constricted painfully. "Oh, Kirk … I'm so sorry."

  He said nothing. She felt stiff and awkward, wishing suddenly that they were someplace quiet and private.

  Kirk's voice was strained. "I stuck it out at Stanford till the end of the school year. Now I'm home for good. We're home, Ian and me."

  Home for good? Sunny searched his eyes. "You mean … you're moving back here? To Long Island?"

  He nodded. "This is where I belong, I was thinking of moving back a few years ago, and then I met Linda, and, well, those plans got shelved. When I lost her I realized it was time to come home. Ian will be near his grandparents, his aunts and uncles and cousins…"

  The bleakness in his eyes grabbed hold of Sunny's heart and squeezed.

  He added, "It won't be like having his mom back, but it'll be good for him, having his whole extended family nearby."

  Sunny nodded, at a loss for words. Amanda, dancing past with one of Charli's many brothers, caught her eye and winked. Did Sunny's Wedding Ring pals know about Kirk's marriage and the death of his wife?

  They had to, she realized. None of them had seemed surprised when he'd mentioned his son. Raven had described Kirk as lighthearted and buoyant. Clearly she was remembering him the way he'd been in high school, when he hadn't a care in the world aside from fixing up his vintage Jaguar. The man Sunny was dancing with was not that same carefree youth.

  She said, "Something tells me you wouldn't have moved back here without lining up a job first."

  "I'll be teaching at Garrison in the fall." Garrison University, a renowned research institution, occupied a sprawling campus on Long Island's South Shore. "What about you?"

  "What about me?" She averted her eyes, already feeling a prickle of embarrassment.

  "What have you been doing with yourself?" he asked. After a moment of silence he added, "Still single, I assume, since you caught the bouquet."

  "Yep. Still single."

  When she didn't elaborate, he asked, "So what are you up to nowadays?"

  "Same thing I was up to last time we saw each other."

  He chuckled. "Right. Serving the He-Man Special at Wafflemania. Seriously. What do you do for a living?"

  Sunny kept her gaze directed at the band as she said, "That's what I've been doing, Kirk. Seriously."

  He was silent for long, agonizing seconds as the merriment around them continued unabated. "Listen," he said quietly, "I didn't mean to make it sound…"

  Sunny pasted on a smile. She forced herself to meet his chagrined gaze. "Sure you did. Don't worry, I'm used to it. I fill an important function in my social crowd. I'm the resident underachiever. My job is to make all my friends feel good about their lives."

  "Sunny—"

  "I mean, there's Raven, a successful hypnotherapist, with her own practice and everything. And Charli, teaching instrumental music at our old high school. And look at Amanda. Publisher of a children's magazine! Rewarding, well-respected careers, all of them. And then there's Sunny. No drive. No ambition. Whenever the others are feeling crappy about their lives, all they have to do is look at me and—"

  "Sunny, stop it." Kirk's body radiated tension, even as he continued to lead her around the dance

  "I'm just telling it like it is."

  He took a deep breath. He glanced around at the couples dancing nearby and lowered his voice. "What happened? You started working at that greasy-spoon joint right after graduation. For some quick cash, I figured. I never thought it would last."

  Neither did I. "What can I tell you? I've discovered the smell of grilled burgers is a real turn-on."

  "That's not the kind of job you make a career out of. Not you."

  "Hey, we can't all be hotshot college professors with our name splashed all over the physics journals."

  "You know, this is something you used to do. Bluster your way out of it when you felt defensive or embarrassed."

  "Sounds like you missed your calling, Dr. Larsen. Maybe you should've gone into psychology."

  "It won't work, Sunny. I want an answer. What the hell happened? You had so much promise."

  Sunny swallowed hard. "What I do is good honest work, Kirk. It's nothing to be ashamed of."

  "I never said it was. I'm sorry if that's how I came across. I'm just … confused. I figured you'd take a year to get your act together, accumulate a little money. And then you'd go to college, get some kind of liberal arts degree. Maybe become a teacher. You always loved kids."

  The song ended and the band struck up a livelier tune. Sunny was relieved when Kirk took her hand and drew her off the dance floor, and surprised when he headed straight for the exit. Raven caught Sunny's eye as they passed her table. Sunny felt as if she were under a microscope, every detail of this "reunion" with Kirk analyzed and overanalyzed by her well-meaning Wedding Ring friends.

  Kirk didn't stop until they were outside the elegant catering establishment, located within a huge county park. It was nearly 10:00 p.m., a balmy night in early July. A parking attendant approached. Kirk waved him away and led Sunny under the colonnade and past the lit fountain to a wooden bench nestled in a grouping of giant boxwoods strung with tiny white lights. There they sat, listening to the muted sounds of revelry from within the building, inhaling the summer-scented breeze.

  The minutes stretched on. Kirk leaned back against the bench, and Sunny felt a bit of the tension drain from him. She sensed that he didn't often let himself relax. She stared at his profile by moonlight, the strong jaw, the steep, high-bridged nose that had always put her in mind of a Roman emperor. Or a Viking, now, with the long hair and grim expression. No, not grim, she thought. Melancholy. When did he say his wife had died? New Year's Day. Six months ago.

  How crushing it must have been, to lose her so suddenly like that. His life partner. The mother of his child. Sunny did some quick mental arithmetic. Ian had only been a year old when it happened. Had his mother gotten to see him blow out his first birthday candle?

  That was perhaps the saddest part, Sunny thought. Kirk's son wouldn't remember his mother; he was just too young.

  Automatically her hand moved to cover Kirk's, where it rested on his thigh, but she stopped herself.

  "I was out of line before." He sounded weary. "It's none of my business what you do with your life."

  His words settled like a deadweight in Sunny's chest. There'd been a time when everything about her had been very much his business, when the two of them had been hopelessly in love and completely wrapped up in each other's lives.

  How could she explain twelve years wiping coffee and syrup off Formica diner tables, while pocketing her measly tips? Twelve long years with
her life on hold, waiting for her soul mate, whoever he might be, to stroll through the doors of Wafflemania and order the He-Man Special with one eager bride to go.

  No. She couldn't share that with him. Not Kirk. Better that he think he'd misjudged her all those years ago, that youthful ardor had caused him to see promise in her where there was none.

  He lifted a strand of her hair and drew it slowly through his fingers. He twisted the end around his fingertip and watched the waves spring back when he released it. For the longest time he didn't meet her eyes. A fluttery sensation rose in Sunny's throat.

  She could still read him. It may have been a dozen years since she'd set eyes on Kirk, but there was still something there, a connection, albeit frayed.

  "I've thought about you," he said, staring off into the inky blackness of the woods. Sighing, he loosened his necktie and undid the top button of his pale blue dress shirt. "A lot. Too much." He looked at her then. "Don't misunderstand me. I loved Linda."

  "I know you did."

  He searched her face. "How could you know that?"

  "I know you, Kirk. For you to marry someone, make a life with her, make—" Sunny's voice cracked "—make a child with her, well, I just know you had to really be in love. You're … you're the most sincere guy I ever knew."

  He stared at her for long moments, while crickets trilled and a trio of guests exited the building, laughing. "People change," he said. "Maybe I'm not the same sincere guy you remember."

  She tilted her head, studying him. "You have changed. It's been twelve years. You've been through a lot. But deep inside…" She laid her hand on his chest, over the strong, steady beat of his heart. "You're still you."

  Slowly Kirk lifted her hand from his chest, wrapped his long fingers around hers. Absently he brushed his lips over her knuckles, side to side. It was a gesture she remembered well; he used to do it when he was deep in thought. Had he done it with Linda?

  Finally he spoke. "Are you involved with anyone?"

  There it was. Sunny's head reeled with conflicting emotions. She'd been bushwhacked by her best friends, when she'd least expected it. It was too soon. She needed time: time to think this through, to decide how she felt about getting involved with Kirk again, after … everything.

  When she didn't answer, he said quietly, "Can I assume that's a yes?"

  "No. I'm…" She cleared her throat. "I'm not involved with anyone."

  He settled their linked hands on his thigh and rubbed his thumb across her palm. "I'd like to see you again, Sunny."

  Under the terms of the Wedding Ring pact, she was now officially obligated to date him—for at least three months unless he broke it off sooner. She had no choice in the matter, and she couldn't decide whether to be outraged by that—by her friends' presumptuousness in choosing this man of all men for her—or relieved. The decision, after all, was now out of her hands. She didn't have to analyze it, to weigh the pros and cons. Her lifelong pals, who supposedly knew her better than anyone and knew what, and who, she needed, had already done that for her.

  Lightly he squeezed her hand. "There hasn't been anyone since Linda. It was all I could do to … well, getting involved with someone else has been the furthest thing from my mind. But when I saw you in there…" He trailed off.

  "You don't think maybe it's just that you, well, feel comfortable with me? I mean, I'm someone from your past. In a sense, I must represent the 'good old days.'"

  He smiled wryly. "You mean, is this just a pathetic effort to recreate happier times?" He seemed to ponder that a moment. "Maybe it is, Sunny. I won't pretend to know my own mind at this point. I haven't been thinking straight since…" He released her hand and leaned forward, elbows on knees, head cradled in his palms. After a moment he dragged his fingers through his hair.

  "You're right," he said, standing. "This is premature."

  "I didn't mean…" What did she mean? Here was her out. He was backpedaling, and it would be easy enough to shut up and let him. "Nice try," she'd tell Amanda and Raven and Charli, "but he's not interested. So that's that. Find me another guy."

  And they would. They'd find her someone new, made of all-new materials. No recycled emotions. No threadbare psychological baggage. No good old days.

  Kirk turned and started toward the building. He was almost there when Sunny called, "Kirk?"

  He turned and looked at her, a tall, almost spectral presence, his pale suit and hair suffused with silvery moonlight.

  Sunny realized she no more knew her mind than did Kirk. All she knew was that if she let him walk away…

  "I'd like to see you, too." She stood. Her thigh tingled where the bridal garter hugged it. "If you still want to."

  Kirk stood staring at her, his expression unreadable. Finally he lifted his hand to her. Sunny closed the distance on unsteady legs and twined her fingers with his.

  * * *

  Chapter 2

  «^»

  "Just tell me you didn't turn vegetarian on me."

  Kirk looked up from where he sat cross-legged on the floor of his new office, surrounded by cartons of books and files, to see Sunny leaning in the doorway.

  He couldn't ignore the rush of pleasure he experienced at the sight of her standing there in her short white sundress and floppy straw hat, wagging a wicker picnic basket at him, even as he asked himself, for the hundredth time, what the hell he was doing.

  It's too soon. Isn't it? Linda had always said that if "something happened" to her, she'd want him to get on with his life; she'd want him to find someone else and be happy.

  That was what she'd said, but he'd never really believed her. He'd never given it much thought, actually, except in the most abstract sense. Not when she was alive, anyway.

  Kirk nodded toward the old-fashioned picnic hamper. "I didn't think people really used those. Don't you have to be in a feminine hygiene commercial or something to carry a basket like that?"

  "Beats a plastic cooler for charm any day." Sunny ambled into his office, glancing around at the functional furnishings, the row of framed diplomas propped against one wall, awaiting picture hooks. "I found it on one of those home-shopping channels. A steal at twenty-nine ninety-five. Check it out." She flipped open the basket's hinged double lid and gestured expansively. "It came with everything you see here."

  "All that food?"

  "The food, no. The sixteen-piece set of picnicware in durable, festively colored melamine, yes."

  Kirk shoved a file into the open credenza, slammed it closed and rose to his feet. "Home-shopping channel, huh? I've never ordered anything off TV myself."

  "Don't tell me. You surf past the Diamonique baubles with all due haste on your way to the more intellectually demanding channels. Discovery, History, Learning…"

  "When I can find time for the boob tube at all, it's either ESPN or one of the movie channels. And to answer your question—" Kirk took the surprisingly heavy basket from Sunny and peered into it "—I still eat meat. What's on the menu?"

  "Roast beef sandwiches, potato salad, iced tea and apple pie. Oh, and some Waldorf salad left over from last night's dinner."

  "Everything homemade, I assume."

  She smiled. "I still like to cook."

  Sunny's mother had gone back to work as a daycare teacher when her youngest child, Sunny's sister Samantha, entered junior high. All four siblings had been assigned chores. Sunny, the oldest, cooked dinner each night. She loved to cook, but she hated to run to the grocery store for ingredients that weren't on hand. Thus her culinary policy of "imaginative substitution," which resulted in some interesting meals.

  The Bleecker household was laid-back, and the kids' friends were always welcome at the dinner table. Kirk had broken bread countless times with his girlfriend and her family. Those were good memories, full of warmth and laughter and stimulating conversation.

  Perhaps Sunny was right, Kirk mused. Perhaps his impulse to renew their relationship was a retreat into the comforting refuge of the past, a time when his world wa
s rock-solid and his biggest quandary was deciding whether to go to Stanford or Caltech.

  "Let's get out of here." He laid a palm on Sunny's back and ushered her into the third-floor hallway of Garrison University's physics building. "I've been holed up in this place for so long, I'm going stir-crazy."

  * * *

  Kirk lounged on his side on the picnic blanket Sunny had brought—a handmade quilt that had seen better days—and watched her toss a Frisbee with a couple of shirtless college students and a chocolate Labrador retriever sporting a yellow bandanna around its neck. Kirk and Sunny had settled in a grassy field near one of the campus's dormitory complexes and polished off the picnic lunch in short order. When the Frisbee had landed in Kirk's potato salad, he'd whipped it back like a pro, and the guys had asked him to join the game. He'd declined, an automatic response, but Sunny had jumped up, shed her sandals and hat and invited herself to play.

  The guys had exchanged a look. Clearly they hadn't bargained on this. A female—particularly one of Sunny's advanced years—was bound to put a damper on their fast-paced game.

  But they hadn't counted on this particular geriatric female. She sprinted after the blue plastic disk with seemingly inexhaustible energy, breasts bouncing, long hair flying, the Lab barking at her heels. Each time she leaped to catch a high throw, the hem of her short dress flipped up, revealing the entire length of her bare, suntanned legs and, every so often, a glimpse of floral-printed panties. Her keen-eyed fellow Frisbee-tossers, meanwhile, appeared to suffer a lapse in concentration, causing them to fumble their catches more often than not. Far from resenting her participation, they began to throw it to her at every opportunity, their aim suspiciously high.

  Observing Sunny's unrestrained exuberance as she wrestled the dog for possession of the Frisbee and hurled it through the air with more enthusiasm than skill, Kirk didn't have to ask himself why he hadn't even considered joining them. The reason was part and parcel of why he suspected that even this innocent outing—a picnic with his high school sweetheart—was a monumental mistake.