His Best Friend's Wife

by Lee McKenzie

  “It’s as though each picture tells a story.”

  She had forgotten Paul was still holding her hand until she felt him stroke her skin with his thumb.

  “These are amazing,” she said.

  “They are. And so are yours.”

  “But I’m not a professional photographer.”

  He didn’t agree or disagree. Instead he handed the catalog to her. “This will have a lot of information about the photographers and their work in this show. You can take it home with you.”

  “Thank you. And thank you for bringing me here, Paul. This is so inspiring. When Emily gave me the camera, I never imagined taking pictures would be so—and I know this sounds silly—satisfying.”

  “I’m glad you discovered photography. Or maybe it discovered you.”

  “I don’t know. Do you think maybe I can learn to take pictures like these? Pictures that tell a story?”

  The intensity of his gaze took her by surprise. “Annie, you already do.”

  She felt her chest swell with an emotion she couldn’t identify but was so overwhelming, she needed a minute to adjust to it before she could speak. He had planned this whole day for her. She would be too embarrassed to confess she had never been to an art gallery before. Riverton had been the center of life for all of her life—it was her home and she loved it and she never wanted to live anywhere else. She also loved how Paul had gone out of his way to open new doors for her, to show her that although she was a small-town girl at heart, there was still a big, wide world out here for her to explore.

  And the way he was looking at her now...she could tell he was seeing her in a way no one else ever had. Suddenly she wasn’t just a mom, a daughter, a sister, a whiz in the kitchen and everyone’s go-to for organizing another bake-sale fund-raiser or the school’s next fun fair. She was a real person with her own interests and possibly even some unique talent she had yet to explore. For a quick second, she thought about the unused reading chair in her bedroom.

  “While we’re in the city, do you think we’ll have time to go into a bookstore?” She was going to put her chair to use, she decided, and she would start with a book on basic photography.

  “Besides the gallery, and lunch, of course, I can’t think of anywhere I’d rather go.” He linked her arm with his and gently urged her along. “Still lots to see here.”

  He was right. She wanted to soak it all in, and she didn’t want to miss a thing.

  By the time they had toured the entire main floor, then climbed the wide staircase with its clear acrylic side panels—everything about this space was open, airy and fresh—to see the displays in the loft, Annie looked forward to checking out photography books and pouring over the show’s catalog. Her reading chair would finally see some use. Most of all she was excited to pick up her camera. She wouldn’t look for images, she would be searching for stories. Paul said she already did that without being conscious of it. She wanted to explore light and perspective and close-ups versus wide angles.

  Back at the sales desk in the main reception area, the woman in black gave them another friendly smile. “What did you think?”

  “I loved it,” Annie said. “I’ve always considered art to be drawing and painting and I thought photographs were just a way to preserve memories or capture images for a news story. But these photographs are every bit as artistic.”

  “I’m glad you think so. The five photographers who contributed to this show have different styles, as I’m sure you noticed. What they have in common is their love for their small hometowns, both the history and the people who live there now.”

  Annie looked again at the cover of the Snapshots of a Small Town catalog. “It shows. I’m sure a lot of folks believe small towns are all the same, but they’re not. It’s the unique blend of history and current residents that sets each one apart.” She was startled by her own observation and once again grateful to Paul for opening these doors for her.

  “Did you have a particular favorite?” the saleswoman asked.

  “I did. Upstairs there’s a photograph of a little round table in an apple orchard. It’s set for tea for two, with a lacy tablecloth and cut flowers and mismatched vintage china. It looks so inviting.” Annie had been completely captivated. Near the table was an old wooden wheelbarrow filled with rosy red apples. She had wondered who would be having afternoon tea in an orchard. The apple pickers?

  “I know the one you mean. It does look inviting. And very romantic, don’t you think?” the woman asked, glancing meaningfully from Annie to Paul and back again.

  “Very.” Annie felt her nose get warm, and the one-word response was all she could manage.

  “Is that piece still for sale?” Paul asked.

  She looked up at him, wondering where his question was going.

  The saleswoman turned and retrieved a small laptop from the white credenza behind the main desk, tapped at a few keys and smiled. “I’m happy to say it is.”

  “We’ll take it.” Paul took out his wallet and handed a credit card to the woman, whose smile had suddenly become a little warmer.

  “Thank you. I’ll have my assistant wrap it up for you and I’ll be right back to ring this through,” she said before she disappeared into a back room.

  “Are you sure?” Annie asked when they were alone.

  “Judging by the amount of time you spent admiring this photograph, I figured it was your favorite. If the gallery owner hadn’t asked, I would have.”

  “But...” Annie had noticed the prices and was aghast to think he would spend so much on it.

  “No buts. I want you to have it. I hope you’ll think of today every time you look at it. I’d also like it to be a reminder that your photographs are every bit as evocative.”

  “Thank you.” She wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him. They were still locked in the embrace when the woman returned with Paul’s receipt and the framed photograph wrapped in brown paper.

  Paul thanked her in return, tucked the package under his arm and led Annie outside into the crisp air. It felt even colder than it had earlier.

  “So?” Paul asked. “What did you think?”

  “I loved it. I can’t believe we spent...” She checked her watch. “Two and a half hours? We’ve been here for two and a half hours?”

  “We have. Where to next? Would you like to go for lunch, or should we find a bookstore first?”

  It was already past lunchtime and she was starving, but she would enjoy the meal more after she found the book she was after. “Bookstore.”

  “Then your wish is my command, my lady.”

  And for the first time in her life, she felt a little like a character in a fairy tale. Cinderella? No, more like Eliza Doolittle.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  THOMAS SAT AT a table near the back of the retirement home’s social center. He had just finished a game of Yahtzee with a trio of octogenarians. Now he was watching the woman he loved drift around the room. He had worked as a volunteer here for the better part of ten years. He knew most of these men and women, some of them had become friends. Libby moved comfortably and confidently from one activity and conversation to another. Now she took a seat with an elderly widow with blue-gray hair whose husband had served in Korea more than six decades ago, admiring the photographs the woman kept in a small photo album she carried with her everywhere. Grandchildren and great-grandchildren. Thomas had looked at those pictures himself on more than one occasion.

  Libby appeared to be much more at ease with that sort of thing. She leaned attentively close, pointing to pages as they were turned, asking questions. Pride radiated from the woman as she shared details about her family with Libby.

  They had spent the morning here and it was now almost time for the residents to head to the dining room for lunch. While Thomas had played a few games of Pin
g-Pong with another resident who was also living life on wheels, Libby had read the morning newspaper to a small group of residents whose eyesight was failing. Then she had spent some time with a woman who tried to teach her how to knit until Libby declared she had been born with two left hands. After a physiotherapist showed up and wheeled Thomas’s fellow Ping-Pong player away for a therapy session, he had joined a group who were having coffee and a game of Yahtzee at a round table in the corner. From time to time he would glance around to see what Libby was doing, sometimes catching her eye—exchanging a look and a smile—sometimes not. Either way, he loved having her here, appreciated her willingness to give back to people who had given a lot and risked so much more for this great country they called home.

  Just before noon, several staff members came into the social center to help those residents who needed assistance to get to the dining room for lunch. Thomas waited for Libby to cross the room to where he was, watching. True to what he now recognized as her style, she was wearing one of her colorful outfits—purple pants with a soft pink pullover that matched the large square-cut stones in her earrings.

  “Hi,” she said.

  “Hi. You are amazing. Did you know that?”

  “Funny thing,” she said. “The last time I was out with a really handsome guy I know, I seem to recall he said the same thing.”

  “Handsome and wise. This guy sounds like the whole package.”

  She laughed. “Oh, he is. And he promised to take me out for lunch today.” She put her hands on the arms of his chair and leaned in. “And after lunch,” she whispered, “we could go back to my place.”

  He caught her wrists, holding her close. “Why, Ms. Potter. Are you propositioning me?”

  “Mr. Finnegan!” she said playfully. “My only proposition is a cup of coffee and a slice of red velvet cake. Possibly a game of cribbage with my elderly mother.”

  “Sounds like a very decent proposal.” He looped a finger in the chunky gold chain around her neck, gently tugged her closer for a quick kiss. “I accept, and I’ll hope for something a little less...decent next time.”

  She gave him a saucy wink, unhooked his finger and straightened. “Should we go?”

  “Definitely. I would suggest running out to the farm for lunch but Annie is out with Paul for the day. Cassie Jo’s out, too, so Rose is there watching Isaac.”

  “Really?”

  “You sound surprised.” Frankly, so was he, but he’d be interested in her take on the situation.

  “I am. I mean, I don’t know your girls very well yet, but Annie seems very much in control and maybe a little overprotective of her son.”

  Bingo.

  “Annie, Emily and CJ obviously have a very close bond.”

  Also true.

  “I don’t want to offend you, and I realize she isn’t your daughter, but Rose seems to be the odd one out and, if you don’t mind me speaking my mind, there may be good reason for that. She seems to have a few...issues.”

  They had arrived in the reception area, where they put their conversation on pause while they collected their jackets. When he had picked her up that morning, she’d been wearing a plaid cape that looked unexpectedly perfect, in spite of being purple, gold and green and pale pink. The same shades of purple and pink in the outfit she was wearing. She had so much class and such a big-city style—a vibe as his daughters would call it—and yet she had seamlessly readjusted to small-town life.

  “Whatever is on your mind, I want to hear it. And you’re right about Rose. She has more than her share of issues. How about I fill you in over lunch?”

  “I’d like that.”

  “Where would you like to eat?” he asked as they left the building and headed to the parking lot. “I was thinking we could drive over to Wabasha and check out that little Italian place.”

  Libby pulled the front edges of her cape close to her body and looked up at the sky. “I don’t know. Does it feel colder now than when we went out this morning?”

  “Sure does. I’m thinking it might even snow.”

  “Me, too. Let’s stay in town.”

  “Good plan,” she said. Fifteen minutes later, they were settled at a table at the Riverton Bar & Grill.

  “Good to see you, Mr. Finnegan. What can I get you?” the waitress asked, pencil poised. Her name was Heather, Thomas recalled. She had been in school with Annie and had married the town troublemaker, Jesse Wilson.

  “Do you know what you’d like to order?” Thomas asked Libby.

  “I do. You?”

  “I’ll have the BLT,” they said in unison, and then they both laughed.

  “On sourdough,” he said.

  “Make that two.”

  “Toasted?”

  They both nodded.

  “Coffee?”

  “Please,” they both said.

  Libby smiled at him after the waitress walked away. “Great minds,” she said. “You were going to tell me about Rose, but I think you should wait until we’re back at my place.”

  Never one to air dirty laundry in public, he completely agreed. “Good plan,” he said. They could have talked at the restaurant over in Wabasha—no one would have known them there—but staying in town had been a wise idea. The sky was looking more ominous by the minute. So much so that he hoped Annie and Paul were considering cutting their day in the city short and heading home.

  “Thank you for coming with me to the retirement home. You were a big hit.”

  “I had fun, believe it or not, and the residents really seemed to enjoy having us there.”

  “Some of them don’t have any family nearby. Some don’t have any family, period.”

  “Here you go.” Heather set down two cups of coffee, cream and sugar.

  “Thank you,” Libby said to her. “That’s so sad, isn’t it?” she said to Thomas. “About those people not having family close by. I’m so glad I can be here for my mom. She couldn’t have continued living by herself, and I know she’ll eventually need more care than I’m able to provide for her at home. But for now and the foreseeable future we’re okay with everything as it is.”

  Thomas had his own ideas about how he would like to see the “foreseeable future” unfold, though, and he’d be more than happy to accommodate Libby’s mother in his vision. The importance of family was something he understood better than most.

  “How does she like having the young Dr. Woodward taking care of her?”

  Libby grinned. “I think she’s halfway in love with him. Every time she sees him, she makes a joke about fifty years not being an insurmountable age difference.”

  “Good for her,” Thomas said, laughing. “I think she might have some competition, though.”

  “Annie?”

  “Yes. She might be coming around to seeing Paul as more than a friend, although I don’t think she realizes it yet.”

  “These must be difficult times for her. It hasn’t been long since her husband died, and there’s her son to think about.”

  “All true, and I’m not saying she should rush into anything.” Even the thought of his level-headed eldest daughter being impulsive made him smile. “I would like to see her happy, though, and Paul is a good man. What’s more, it’s as plain as day that he’s head over heels for her, and for Isaac.”

  “Obvious to everyone but her?”

  “So it seems.”

  “Annie strikes me as the type of woman who’ll come around in her own time, and on her own terms. I like that about her.”

  There seemed to be some subtext to what Libby was saying. Thomas just wished he knew what it was.

  “I married my husband because everyone thought we were a good match. In some ways, we were, at least in the beginning. Still, I should have waited, given it more time before agreeing to everything that everyo
ne else thought was best for me.”

  Thomas reached across the table, took her hand in his. “I wonder what people think about us.”

  “I know this,” she said. “If anyone tries to tell me what they think, I’m going to tell them to mind their own business.”

  “And what about taking your time this time?”

  “At our age, time is a precious commodity.”

  Truer words were never spoken. Still, he had no intention of proposing to Libby in the Riverton Bar & Grill. He had a better idea. He planned to do it soon, but he also intended to do it right.

  * * *

  WHEN THOMAS PULLED into the driveway behind her mother’s house, Libby was hoping her mother would be tired from her morning at the seniors’ center and would want to rest. After their volunteer session at the veterans retirement home and lunch at the café, she was ready for some alone time with him. He had promised to tell her about Rose, which meant he would have to talk about Rose’s mother, his ex-wife. And the honest truth—she was curious. She knew she could ask around. Plenty of people in Riverton loved nothing more than a good gossip session, but she wasn’t interested in any of it. She wanted to hear his story, however he wanted to tell it to her.

  She watched him transfer himself from the van seat to his wheelchair to the hydraulic lift, walked with him up the back sidewalk to the ramp she’d had built for her mother after she started using a walker, and followed him inside.

  Her mother was sitting at the kitchen table with Thomas’s daughter, drinking tea.

  “Dad!” Emily jumped up and wrapped her arms around his neck. “I was hoping you would come in when you brought Libby home. Hi, Libby.”

  Libby placed a hand on her mother’s shoulder. “Hi, Emily. Thank you for spending the morning with my mom.”

  “No need to thank me. It was fun, and I’m sure I gathered enough material for at least two new blog posts.”

  Libby laughed. “That’s great. How was the whist tournament, Mom?”

  “We played cards,” her mother said, pouring herself another cup of tea. “I think we won. Right, Emily? Did we win?”