by Wendy Wax
He spent even more time thinking about Olivia herself. She popped into his head without warning, and it took a huge amount of effort to shove her out. When he caught himself contemplating how much brighter and more endearing she was than other women he’d known, he knew something was very wrong.
He gave it his best shot, but nothing he did seemed to cure the emptiness he felt or point him in a direction that made sense. Everything that had mattered most to him— his work, his lifestyle—suddenly seemed unbearably shallow and lacking in some elemental way.
Even the bedroom of his youth offered no real answers. Floor-to-ceiling shelves still bulged with boyhood treasures. Little League trophies sat next to the airplane models Adam had painstakingly assembled. A complete set of Hardy Boys mysteries leaned against a plexiglass cube that contained a baseball signed by the 1974 Cubs. Everything that had mattered before the age of thirteen was on these shelves.
Matt had made the transition to teenager alone in this room. But even as the sports posters he and his twin chose together gave way to Matt’s budding passion for rock bands and fast cars, Adam had always been there, the missing part of him standing to his right and sharing his life.
Matt closed his eyes and remembered. He’d lost his virginity at the age of sixteen in the twin bed he now sat on. He’d been nervous as hell, afraid his parents would come home early and catch him and MaryAnn Hightower doing the deed, but sex had been the first thing that knocked Adam out of his brain. He’d been seeking that oblivion ever since.
A knock sounded on the door, and Matt welcomed the interruption. “Come in.”
“Hi.” His sister stood in the threshold. “Thought you might like to come to the restaurant for lunch today.”
“Love to. Mom said something about a walk down to the lake, but we’ve talked about doing that every day since I got here, and it still hasn’t happened. I’m not counting on it.”
Sandra walked over and sat next to him. “She’s never been able to go back there.”
“She’s never been able to do a whole lot of things.”
“She can’t help it, Matt.”
“Sure she can, she just won’t.”
“No. After Daddy died, she finally agreed to try therapy, but she’s kept everything bottled up for so long, I don’t think she knows where to begin. Sometimes I think Kyle and Kenny will do it for her, but I don’t know. She still blames herself.”
“We all do. But she’s the mother. It was her responsibility to get hold of herself and give a shit about us.”
Sandra smiled an incredibly sad smile. “I’m a mother now, little brother. And I can promise you she gave a shit. And she still does. She just can’t show it the way we want her to.”
Matt knew he sounded like a petulant child, but he couldn’t stop himself. “She wasn’t the only one who lost someone.”
“No, she wasn’t.” His sister slipped an arm up around his shoulder and squeezed. “And I don’t think any of us ever really understood what it must have been like for you. But we all have our chosen method of coping.” She placed a hand on his cheek and turned his face toward hers. “Or hiding.”
“Olivia accused me of that very thing. Called me a Peter Pan and said I refused to grow up.”
“Yeah, I know. I watched the show on the Internet. And I haven’t been able to get you to utter her name all week. Obviously my attempts to make you talk have been too subtle.”
Matt snorted at the idea of Sandra and the word “subtle” sharing the same sentence, and his gaze cut to the laptop he’d set up to monitor WTLK.
“Things were heating up between you right before we left for Italy,” Sandra said. “But we missed the remote. What happened?”
“You don’t even want to know.”
“Yes, I do. It would be nice to have some inkling why you’ve been moping around here all week.”
“I’m not moping.”
His sister just gave him that look she’d been giving him since she turned thirteen and decided girls were inherently superior to boys. “Well, as far as I’m concerned, she’s on the air telling it like it is, while you’re . . . ?”
Matt scowled at her.
Sandra just laughed. “I love her show. I keep picturing men in minivans trying to survive in suburbia.”
Matt winced. It was hard to believe men and women could ever get together with that kind of condescension coming from the other side. He was just as capable of expressing his feelings and coping with everyday life as the next guy.
Sandra glanced at the clock on the wall and moved toward the computer. Both of their gazes traveled to the screen, and Matt reached over to adjust the volume. A moment later they heard, “This is Dr. Olivia Moore. You’re on the air.”
“So that’s what you’re doing here,” his sister said. “You’re hiding from Dr. O.”
“Shhh.” Matt raised the volume another notch and heard Olivia say, “I appreciate all the calls and support, but you can stop sending condolence cards. Nobody died. I told Matt Ransom how I felt and he didn’t feel the same way. End of story.”
His sister shot him another look, but Matt was completely focused on Olivia.
“Granted,” she said, “most women don’t expose themselves quite so publicly. But to my knowledge no one’s ever actually died from embarrassment. I’m fine. Let’s get on with your problems and issues.”
Matt’s gaze strayed to the cell phone lying next to the computer, then moved back to the screen.
Sandra stepped up beside him. “You’d have to be stupid to pass up a woman like Olivia Moore.”
“I can’t give her what she wants.”
“Then give her what you can. She’s a professional. She should be able to help fix your sorry ass, and she’d probably do it for free.”
Sandra picked up the phone, flipped it open, and scrolled through the electronic phone book. When she found the number for WTLK, she hit the send button and handed it back to him. The door clicked shut behind her as Diane Lowe came on the line.
“Diane? It’s Matt.”
There was a silence and then, “Well what do you know, the schmuck calleth.”
“Nice to talk with you, too, Di. Will you let Olivia know I’m on the line?”
“Probably, but not because I want to.”
“Just put me through during the next break.”
“Sorry, but as far as I’m concerned you can talk to Olivia on the air or not at all. You owe her at least that.”
“All right.” Matt took a deep breath and sat down in front of the computer screen, wondering what in the hell he was going to say to her.
A few seconds later they were on the air together.
“Hello, Livvy. How are you?”
At the sound of Matt’s voice, Olivia’s heart began to pound.
“Never better,” she lied, as calmly as she could. “Where are you calling from?”
“Chicago. All the flights to Never Land were full. And I got voted out of my minivan.”
She wiped sweaty palms on her pant leg and ordered herself to calm down. Apparently she wasn’t prepared for the reality of confronting Matt on the air.
“Glad you’ve been catching the show. Are you having a good trip?”
“Yeah, everything’s great.”
“That’s good,” she said.
They sounded like two acquaintances who’d bumped into each other at a cocktail party. If they didn’t watch out they’d be talking about . . .
“How’s the weather down there?” Matt asked.
“Fine. It’s a little dry, but there’s a fifty percent chance of rain over the weekend.”
There was a protracted silence.
“So. Are you calling about anything in particular?” she prompted.
“Yes.”
He paused, and Olivia braced herself, having no idea what was coming next.
“I’ve been meaning to apologize for the fiasco during the remote,” Matt said. “I have the greatest possible respect for your, um, pr
ofessional capabilities. And I’m sorry I was partly responsible for compromising that professionalism.”
“And?” she prompted again.
“And, uh, I’ve missed seeing you around. Maybe when I get back we could go out for a drink or something.”
“You’re asking me out on a date?” she asked incredulously.
“I think so. Is that a problem?”
“Matt, I went on the air over a week ago and admitted that I love you. You didn’t bother to call. Now you’re calling to ask me out on a date? As far as I’m concerned, we’re a couple of light-years beyond dating.”
She paused, trying to clamp down on her anger and disappointment; this was not the place to air either. “I don’t know what you’re doing in Chicago, but it doesn’t seem to include getting in touch with reality or yourself. Even you should realize that this would be an ideal time for some self-exploration.”
“Olivia, I’m on a vacation, not a spiritual quest. And in my world one person doesn’t just blurt out their feelings and then demand that the other person do the same. Why the hell did you say you love me if you think I need so much work?”
His tone had that annoying edge of amusement to it, but Olivia could hear the anger and confusion underneath. At least they had that in common.
“Look,” Matt continued. “When you’re not trying to nail my ass to a wall, I really enjoy your company. We’re good with each other. We have great chemistry together. I want to spend time with you. I have . . . feelings for you, but I am not looking to make declarations of undying love.”
“But you do love me, Matt. And your inability to deal with it is an incredible waste.” For both of us.
She could feel tears forming. Tears of anger and frustration, tears for what could be if only she could make him see it.
She was a professional therapist in love with a man who refused to take so much as a poke at the cotton wool he’d wrapped around his feelings. And he wouldn’t let her take a poke, either.
She scrubbed at her eyes with the back of her hand and blinked back the tears. There was no way she was crying over Matt Ransom. She hadn’t allowed it in private; she sure as hell wasn’t going to do it in public.
A glance at the digital clock confirmed she was close to sign-off, so she went ahead and brought her theme music in low.
“Oh, no, Olivia. We’re not leaving it like this. I came to Chicago for a vacation, not to climb some emotional Everest.”
“That’s too bad, Matt, because that’s exactly what you need to do. If you won’t let me help you, then find someone who can. You’re way too wonderful to spend the rest of your life as Atlanta’s Bachelor of the Year.”
“And you’re totally incapable of accepting people the way they are. I don’t think a psychologist’s job is supposed to be changing people against their will.”
She brought the music up a notch, but Matt didn’t stop talking. “You heard the word ‘vacation,’ didn’t you, Olivia? That means fun . . . friends . . . women. I’m not ready to give that up.”
“Then we have nothing else to talk about. I’m sorry, Matt, but we seem to be out of time.”
She brought her music up full, almost drowning him out.
“Olivia, I’m warning you. I’ve got my little black book with me, and I’m not afraid to use it.”
“Knock yourself out, Matt. And then I’ll just finish up getting over you. I understand it doesn’t take anywhere near as long the second time.”
And then with a great deal of unprofessional satisfaction, she dumped the call.
It took Dawg two days to choose the ring and another day to admit that JoBeth was actively avoiding him. He’d left messages, tried to catch her at work, even carried flowers over to her house, and each time, no JoBeth.
Last night at bowling he’d tried to pump Emmylou for information, but she’d been stubbornly closemouthed except to let Dawg know that JoBeth seemed to be seriously dating her old boyfriend—the accountant her parents had long ago given their seal of approval to.
A sense of urgency gnawed at his gut as Dawg climbed into the Jeep and drove to the Magnolia Diner. Enough was enough. Tonight he intended to get engaged—even if he had to browbeat a little gray-haired waitress to do it.
Noreen didn’t look too happy when Dawg slid into the only empty table in her section. In fact, she looked downright ornery.
“Hey, Noreen.”
“Hey, Dawg. What can I get you?”
“I need to know where JoBeth is. I want to talk to her.”
Noreen stuck her pencil behind her ear and slipped the order pad into her apron pocket. “She doesn’t want to talk to you, Dawg. She’s pursuin’ her dreams.”
“With Middleton?” He shook his head. “I’m not buyin’ it. It’s me she loves.”
“You know, sometimes that just isn’t enough. She deserves a future and a family, and Middleton wants to give her both.”
“She’ll have to tell me that herself.”
“She has told you that, Dawg. More than once. You just haven’t been listening.”
“Well, I’m all ears now.”
The waitress folded her arms across her chest and stared stonily at him.
Dawg reached in his pocket and pulled out the small black velvet box. “You aren’t the first person I was planning to show this to, you know.”
Noreen’s face thawed considerably. She lifted the box in her hand and held it up to the light, admiring the sparkle of the diamond. “That must be a whole carat.”
“Well, it’s not cubic zirconia, I can promise you that.”
“It’s right nice, Dawg. But I’m afraid you’re a bit late.”
Dawg snatched the box back and snapped it closed. “What do you mean?”
“JoBeth bought herself a fancy new dress for her dinner with Kevin tonight. If I don’t miss my guess, she’s expecting him to propose.”
Dawg slid out of the booth and stood, towering over the waitress. “Where are they, Noreen?”
“Well, now, I’m not sure I should—”
“Noreen, I’m going to give you exactly one chance to tell me where they are, and then I’m going to pick you up and sling you over my shoulder and carry you out of this place. If you don’t tell me where they are, I’ll make you show me.”
Noreen giggled like a teenager. “It does my heart good to see you finally realizing what you’ve had all this time. They’re at La Parisienne. I just hope you’re not too late. Their reservation was for seven.”
Dawg looked down at his watch as he raced for the door. Damn . It was eight-thirty, and it would take him at least twenty minutes to get there. He tried not to run over anyone on the way into town, and while he drove he prayed that the service was bad at La Parisienne, or at least real slow.
Twenty minutes and a twenty-dollar bill later, he was knotting the loaner tie around his neck and squeezing into a dinner jacket made for a much smaller man. The maitre d’ led him to a small linen-covered table in a secluded alcove, where Kevin Middleton sat alone.
“Where’s JoBeth?”
“ ’Lo, Rollins. Guess I shouldn’t be surprised to see you here.”
“Where’s JoBeth?”
“You’ve been on every date we’ve had. Been a silent partner in every conversation. Might as well be here tonight.”
“You’re drunk, Middleton. Where’s JoBeth?”
“Ladies’ room, I think. Asked her to marry me, and she started crying. Said she had to go to the bathroom.”
“But what did she say? Did she say yes?”
“Don’t know. Couldn’t understand a word she was saying. She was blubbering all over herself.”
Heartened by Middleton’s confusion, Dawg got directions to the ladies’ room. After a warning knock, he opened the door and went inside.
JoBeth sat on a fancy sofa sobbing into a wet hanky. When she looked up and saw him, she cried harder.
“JoBeth? Honey?”
“Wh-wh-what are you doing here?” she sobbed. “D
on’t want to talk to you.”
“Now, sweetheart.” He plucked a big wad of tissues out of a gold-plated holder on the counter and went to sit next to her on the couch. “Why don’t you tell me what happened?”
Her face crumpled, and a line of black gooey stuff streaked down one cheek as she cried. “K-K-Kevin asked me to marry him.” She wailed even harder, as if her heart were broken. “Supposed to be the happiest day of my life. Wahhhhhhh.”
He put an arm around her shoulder and drew her up against his chest. “Hush, sweetheart. It’s okay.”
“No, no it’s not.”
She sobbed until his shirt grew damp from her tears. Not knowing what else to do, he patted her on the back and rocked her like a baby. “Everything’s okay, JoBeth.”
“I wanted to fall in love with him. I tried so hard.”
“I know, sweetheart. I know you did.”
Her sobs lessened. She hiccupped, and he handed her another wad of tissue, taking the used ones and shoving them in the jacket pocket.
“But I already love you.” She looked up at him, the tears rolling down her cheeks and carrying the last of her makeup with them. “I can’t help it.”
“I know, JoBeth. Me too.” He used the pad of one thumb to wipe the tear tracks off her face. And then he bent down and kissed her.
“I’d rather just be with you than marry anyone else,” she whispered.
Even tear-stained and without makeup, she was the most beautiful woman Dawg had ever seen. He wanted to make babies with her and grow old by her side. He’d buy her a gym membership, so she could help him around the equipment when he was old and doddering.
“But I want you to be married,” he whispered back.
JoBeth sat up and sniffed. She looked at him in confusion. “You do?”
“I do.”
He pulled out the velvet box and placed it in her hands, smiling at the way they shook as she opened it, reveling in the gasp of surprise and delight when she saw what lay inside. “As long as you get married to me.”
