The Clover Chapel

by Devney Perry

  I steeled my spine and took a deep breath. It was time to tell my father to stay the hell out of my life. Nervous energy was running through my body but I reminded myself to keep a steady voice.

  “That isn’t any of your business, Father. And before you interrupt me, I want to make myself clear. I will not discuss this with you. My relationships are exactly that. Mine. What I decide to do about my marriage is not your concern. Now I am happy to visit if you have other topics you wish to discuss. But this one is closed. Understood?”

  “I’m surprised at you, Emmeline,” my father replied in his icy voice. “Your stupidity. That you would dare speak to me this way. I could ruin you.”

  “Do what you must, Father. Destroy my reputation amongst your friends. I don’t care. I won’t be returning to New York. My life is here and nothing you can do will change that.”

  “I don’t understand you,” he snapped.

  “No! And you’ve never even tried!” I shouted. “I have always wanted a relationship with you. Always. But living on your terms isn’t an option for me anymore and I won’t continue to have you threaten and berate me just because I’m living a life that finally makes me happy. Good-bye, Father. Happy Easter.”

  I ended the call and tossed the phone on the counter.

  I did it. Finally. I put my father in his place. I should have done it years ago instead of always running away from him and avoiding the confrontation.

  I walked quickly outside. My heart was pounding and I was still shaking but there was pride in my steps.

  I hopped down the porch steps and headed straight for Nick. He was bent over a tree but stood when he heard my footsteps. By the time I was a few yards from him, I was running. He stood and braced, opening his arms as I launched my body at his. My legs wrapped around his waist. My arms at his shoulders.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked, holding me tightly. In the outside light, the sage-green centers of his vibrant eyes were fiercely bright.

  A huge smile spread across my face. “For the first time ever, I didn’t hold back and I just told off my father.” My arms flew into the air and I threw my head back. “Yes!”

  Then we both started laughing.

  Thirty minutes later, there was dirt under my fingernails. My jeans had grass stains on the knees. There was a twig in my hair. And the smile on my face felt permanent. I had found every one of his hidden eggs but one.

  “I give up,” I told Nick.

  “Right there,” he said, jerking his chin to the porch. And sure enough, a bright yellow egg was hiding in plain sight.

  “Thank you.”

  “Whatever your heart desires, Emmy.”

  My cheeks turned pink. I really loved it when he said that.

  With the Easter egg hunt complete, Nick and I worked together in the kitchen to prepare our holiday dinner. With plates loaded, we sat at the dining room table and dove in.

  “So what did your father want?” Nick asked.

  I had been so elated by my own personal victory that he hadn’t asked while we were outside. But now that he had, it was my chance to tell him the truth. That I thought a divorce would be a good thing for our relationship.

  I’d found the courage to talk to him about it last week but had gotten distracted when he’d told me his dad was pressuring him to help the club. Since then, I hadn’t found the right time to bring it up. But now I wished I had forced it earlier. Having this conversation today was sure to ruin our Easter.

  Here goes.

  I opened my mouth and then clamped it shut when his dispatch radio upstairs kicked on. It was followed by a shrill beeping from his fire station pager and the chimes on his cell phone.

  “Fuck,” he muttered, rushing to his pager.

  “Is everything okay?”

  “The movie theater is on fire.”

  “Get your coat, Emmy. Hurry.” Nick was scrambling to find his keys while pulling on his boots.

  “You go. I’ll just be in your way,” I said though I was still rushing to the coat rack.

  “I don’t want to be worrying about you up here alone, not with Dad’s shit going down. I need to concentrate on the fire and won’t be able to with you here.”

  The ten-minute trip to town took three. While Nick sped down the road, he took call after call, giving orders to the men who had beat him to the fire station.

  When we hit Main Street, I could see smoke coming from the theater’s front doors. Jess’s bronze truck was parked, blocking the road, with his police lights flashing.

  Nick took a sharp right off Main, maneuvering through the side streets to avoid the blockade. When we pulled back onto the highway, two deputy’s cruisers streaked by, heading in the opposite direction.

  Sliding to a stop in front of the station, Nick jumped out and sprinted inside. I shut off the truck, grabbed my purse and rushed after him.

  Most of the volunteer firefighters had already arrived and the ones dressed in their protective gear were climbing on the truck. The others were by the lockers, pulling on coats, boots, gloves and hats. Nick threw on his gear in seconds.

  “Lock the door!” he shouted, running across the concrete floor and hopping onto the truck as it pulled out of the station. The minute the fire engine’s wheels hit the drive, the siren shrieked as it went flying down the road.

  I checked my watch.

  Seven minutes.

  It felt like we had been eating dinner hours ago, not minutes. I just hoped that it was fast enough and the men could save the theater.

  The sound of the siren disappeared and was replaced by an eerie silence. The excitement around me was gone but my brain was still whirling.

  When the doors were locked, I wrapped my arms around my stomach and made my way to the on-call pit. Sinking into one of the tattered couches, I let myself panic.

  What if Nick got hurt? Or worse? The mental image of him running into a burning building consumed my mind.

  Nick had a dangerous job but for months nothing had happened. I had fooled myself into believing his work was all volunteer trainings, pancake breakfasts and kindergarten demonstrations.

  Now I was faced with the crippling reality. He could be seriously injured in a fire. Firefighters died. What if he didn’t come back?

  “Stop freaking out,” I told myself. I had to stop these negative thoughts. I was losing my mind. And the quietness of the room was making me even crazier. I was proud of Nick for fighting fires. It was heroic and brave. But right now, in this moment, the worry was consuming. I needed a distraction. Something to keep my mind occupied while I waited. And I had just the thing.

  For the next three hours, I sat at Nick’s computer and researched the cost of starting up a garage. By my calculations, three hundred thousand would buy Slater’s Station.

  It was too late on a Sunday evening to transfer any money out of my trust, but tomorrow morning I was calling my financial manager. By the end of the week, that money would be available at Jamison Valley Bank. If Draven did end up coming after my fortune, I wanted Nick’s garage fund in cash.

  I was shutting down the computer when the garage door started to creak open.

  Prescott’s firefighters slowly piled off the fire engine. They were all covered in dark soot and sweat. I nearly fell to my knees as Nick walked toward me.

  “You’re okay,” I sighed, running my hands over his dirty coat. I didn’t care if my hands got messy as long as I could touch him.

  “Yeah. We’re all fine,” he said.

  I closed my eyes and willed myself not to cry. For hours I had been anxiously imagining the worst possible scenarios.

  “I’m okay,” Nick reassured me.

  I nodded and inhaled another calming breath. “What can I do?”

  “Nothing. We’ve got to unload the truck. Get equipment prepped and put away. I’ll probably catch a shower here, get some of the smell off before we go home.”

  “Okay. I’ll stay out of the way,” I said.

  Reaching for his bearde
d cheek, I tipped my chin so Nick could bend down and lightly brush his lips against mine.

  He did smell bad. Like burnt popcorn and campfire smoke. The stench would stick to my hair and I’d be catching whiffs of it all night. But I didn’t care.

  It was dark when we pulled away from the station.

  Nick had taken a quick shower but he was still a mess. His hair needed at least two more rounds with the shampoo, and the soot ground into the rough skin of his hands was likely going to be there all week.

  “Is it bad?” I asked as he turned down Main Street. I didn’t know if I could stand seeing the theater in ashes.

  “No. It looks the same on the outside. The inside is a fucking mess but the good thing is we got there early. Most of the damage was isolated to the concession area. The owners should be able to get it fixed back up.”

  “That’s great. Do you know what caused the fire?”

  “Fucking kids. One of the high school kids that works at the theater decided to go in today with his girlfriend.”

  “On Easter?” I asked.

  “Yeah. Theater was closed. They needed an empty place to go have sex.”

  “What makes you think that?”

  Nick didn’t answer but instead started chuckling. After a few moments, his chuckles turned into full-blown laughter. His belly was heaving and his hands slapped the steering wheel as he roared.

  “Nick!” I shouted. “Tell me!” His smile was contagious.

  His laughter died down by the time we passed the theater. One remaining deputy cruiser was still outside but all the spectators and other officials had gone home.

  “This kid was stupid enough to stay inside. He comes rushing out of the bathroom, coughing and hacking in the smoke, with two Coke cups filled with water. I grabbed him by the shirt, ready to yank his ass outside, when I looked down to see his tiny pecker hanging out.”

  Nick started laughing again.

  “Pecker?” I asked.

  “Yeah. You know? His junk.”

  “I get it. No need for further explanation. I just don’t think I’ve actually ever heard someone say the word ‘pecker.’ ” I laughed.

  “I might have to say it more often then.”

  “No, thank you.”

  Nick did not have a “pecker.” He had a cock. It was big and thick. It brought me immeasurable pleasure, and if he ever called it a pecker, I was taking away Friday-night blow jobs.

  “So what did he do that caused the fire?” I asked.

  “Turned on the popcorn machine. He must have put in too much oil. Him and his girl went into the theater and forgot the damn machine was on. It burned too hot and caught on fire. It pretty much destroyed the concession area. One of the walls will have to be taken out and replaced.”

  I was so relieved that I held Nick’s hand in silence for the rest of the drive. I was exhausted but so happy everything had ended well. As soon as I set the dinner dishes to soak, I was going right upstairs to bed.

  Maybe next Sunday we could go the whole day without drama. I would love nothing more than to head into a Monday with a full night’s sleep.

  “Emmy?”

  “Yes?”

  “Next Sunday we’re shutting off all our phones and locking the door.”

  He wasn’t going to hear any arguments from me.

  Nick

  “I need to go to my house tonight,” Emmy told me over the phone. “It’s been a month since I cleaned and I’m sure there’s an inch of dust everywhere.”

  “Okay. I was thinking of getting my bike out of the garage. It’s pretty warm today. I wanted to take it for a quick ride, find out if there’s anything I need to tune up before summer.”

  “You have a motorcycle?” she asked.

  “My dad’s the president of a motorcycle club.”

  “A club you don’t like.”

  “I don’t like the club. I never said I didn’t like the bikes,” I said.

  “Right. So you’ll do your riding thing while I clean?”

  “No. I’ll help you clean and then we do my riding thing together.”

  “Me on the back of a motorcycle? No. No way. It’s not happening.”

  I opened my mouth to dare her but stopped short. Emmy had told me that she’d forgiven me for Vegas but she also winced whenever I did something that reminded her of our wedding night.

  Maybe in time we could get to the place where she enjoyed the reminders, when she’d like reminiscing about how special that night had been. But not right now.

  I was finally getting her to a good place, the place where we acted like husband and wife. All I had left to do was get her permanently living under my roof and get my ring back on her finger.

  Fuck, I hoped she still had our rings. That by some miracle she’d kept them for ten years.

  Getting them back on our fingers would go a long way toward easing my mind. Toward healing the wounds I had inflicted upon us. If I had to buy us new ones, I’d do it, but I’d hate it.

  My second biggest regret from Vegas was leaving my ring behind. I had set it on top of my one-word asshole note and then walked out the door. Five steps down the hallway, I had turned to get it back but the room had been Emmy’s and I hadn’t had a key.

  For years, I’d touched the spot where it had rested. I’d only worn it for hours but its weight had always been there. I could still feel the brush of Emmy’s fingertips from when she’d slid it on my finger.

  And at times, that spot had hurt like a son of a bitch. Any time I had been with another woman, not that there had been many, the area had burned and itched. But I’d deserved that punishment for betraying my wife.

  “Nick?” Emmy called, pulling me away from my thoughts.

  “Yeah. Sorry.”

  “Do you need me to let you go?”

  “No. Let’s plan to meet at your place around five thirty. I’ll swing home and get my bike. You can pick us up some takeout.”

  “Okay. What do you feel like eating?”

  “Whatever. And Emmy, you do not go into that house without me. Wait in the Jeep.”

  “Right,” she said.

  I couldn’t see it but I was fairly certain I got an eye roll.

  The second I hung up with Emmy, my dad called. Again. “Fuck, you’re stubborn.”

  Mostly I had been ignoring the calls these last ten days, but I was getting sick of them and wanted to reiterate my point. Under no circumstances would I be helping the Tin Gypsies in their war against the Arrowhead Warriors.

  “Then you’re a chip off the old block, Son,” Dad rumbled.

  “I’m not helping you.”

  “Not the reason for my call,” Draven said.

  “What is?”

  “Just a heads-up. Shit went down last night. Watch your back.”

  Before I could ask what had happened, I was listening to dead air.

  Fuck.

  “That’s your motorcycle?” Emmy asked with wide eyes.

  “Yeah.”

  My bike was fucking sweet. Last year I had upgraded and bought a new Dyna Low Rider, then tricked it out. Chrome. Matte red paint with matching rims. The color was almost exactly the shade of Emmy’s hair, the color I’d seen in my dreams for nine years and now got to breathe in every night before I fell asleep.

  “I like it,” she said breathlessly.

  Yeah. She liked it all right. The flush of her cheeks and the way her shoulders shuttered told me that she liked it a fuck of a lot.

  My dick jerked in my jeans. Before dinner, I was getting her naked in the living room.

  Then after cleaning, I’d take her for a ride. I couldn’t wait to get her on the back of my bike. I wanted to have her thighs pressed against mine. Her chest against my back. Her small hands wrapped around my middle.

  “Inside, Emmy,” I said, taking the bags of Chinese takeout from her hands.

  Sex. Chinese. Cleaning. Ride. Sex.

  Not a bad way to spend my night.

  “Where’s your kitchen cleaning st
uff?” I shouted to Emmy upstairs.

  I had given up searching after opening five cabinets, including the one under the sink, to find only coffee mugs.

  “By the fridge!”

  “By the fridge,” I muttered. “Because when I’m looking for a glass to get some water, the most logical place to start is under the sink. Certainly not in the eye-level cabinet right here next to the ice and water dispensers.”

  I found the cleaning supplies and got to work. Not long after I started, the countertops were dust free and the stainless appliances wiped down.

  “Fuck, she gets a lot of junk mail.” For weeks, I had watched Emmy pick up her mail and shove it in a drawer. Now the drawer was overflowing and a huge stack was piled on the wet bar.

  “Can I throw out your junk mail?” I shouted.

  “Okay!”

  Catalogs. Holy shit, my woman got catalogs. Home decorating catalogs. Swimsuit catalogs. Clothing catalogs. More clothing catalogs. I was going to need another recycling bin just to keep her damn catalogs after she moved in.

  I worked my way through the pile and decided to start on the drawer. My eyes caught on a large manila envelope stamped URGENT. The postmark was dated the end of January, nearly three months ago.

  I grumbled and pried open the seal.

  Emmy was so organized normally. I was astounded that she was so bad about going through her mail. I just hoped that whatever was inside wasn’t actually urgent.

  The first words that caught my eye were Divorce Decree. The second were my name and Emmy’s, both spelled out in full.

  I got so light-headed, I nearly toppled over. Gripping the counter with both hands, I let my head fall between my arms while I tried to pull in some air.

  Why did she still have these? Did she want a divorce? After everything we had gone through these last few months?

  I racked my brain, trying to figure out where we had been in January. She had gotten back from Italy. We had gone to Gigi and Maisy’s ridiculous kidnapping anniversary party.

  Was it before or after she’d promised to give our second chance a real shot?