Regrets Only (Sequel to The Marriage Pact)

by Pullen, M. J.

  Yvette had missed her calling as a tour organizer, Suzanne thought. She suddenly had a clear mental image of the mousy little woman hustling tourists on and off an enormous bus, reminding them that they had two hours on their own before a buffet lunch and a stop at the gift shop.

  “A few days” was longer than Suzanne anticipated staying at the “cabin,” which apparently was large enough to have a guesthouse, and she thought about telling Yvette this. Under what normal circumstances was a wedding planner required to spend days on end with the family of the bride in Nowhere, Tennessee?

  These aren’t normal circumstances, she thought. Be gracious. Maybe you can get the plans taken care of and sneak out of there by late Wednesday. She made a mental note to have Chad call her a couple of times with pretend emergencies to give her an out if she needed it. He’d called a few times to see how she was doing, sounding almost as listless and lost as she was. Maybe Chad doing her a favor on a coffee break from his new job would make them both feel better.

  #

  A mixture of fear and relief washed over her when she heard a sudden, emphatic knock at the door late in the afternoon. She took the phone with her to the door and peered nervously through the peephole. Never in her life had she been so happy to see the face on the other side.

  “I hope you don’t mind the intrusion,” Rebecca said in her usual haughty tone. “But I know given your…er, circumstances, I thought maybe you wouldn’t mind.”

  Normally this kind of jab from Rebecca made Suzanne’s blood boil. After the past few weeks, however, she was too beat down to be bothered by condescension. She could accept an offer of friendship from wherever it came. “I don’t mind, Bec. Come in. Please.”

  Rebecca looked surprised at this reception but smiled broadly as she entered. “Suzie,” she said with intensity, gripping Suzanne’s hands. “How. Are. You?”

  “I’m okay, really,” Suzanne said. “Mostly just bored.”

  “That’s why I’m here,” Rebecca trilled. “I talked to Marci, and she mentioned your little…tiff. I do hate seeing best friends fight so. I’d love to help get you two back together. But you both have always been stubborn as mules.”

  This much was true. In part, Suzanne could tell, Rebecca was enjoying the fact that the rift between her and Marci left a space for Rebecca to become more important to both of them. She did seem a little sorry, though, for their sadness. Suzanne wondered vaguely what Rebecca did with herself when there was no drama to keep her busy meddling.

  Come to think of it, she was actually surprised Marci had confided in Rebecca, after her attempt to claim Jake for herself a few years before. Marci must’ve been pretty lonely, too.

  “How is she?” Suzanne asked.

  “Okay,” Rebecca said. “She seems like she has more energy this week. Not as tired as the early part of the pregnancy. She misses her best friend, though.”

  “Yeah,” Suzanne said, looking at the floor. “I bet she’s giving Jake fits.”

  “Probably,” Rebecca muttered. “I don’t know.”

  When Suzanne glanced up, she saw that Rebecca had now looked away, feigning interest in something in the kitchen. Her face was red and blotchy, an appearance Suzanne recognized from her own countenance of late. For the first time ever, it occurred to Suzanne that Rebecca might actually have been in love with Jake. It didn’t excuse her behavior, of course, but it did make Suzanne sad for her.

  “So what brings you over today?” she asked cheerily, hoping that a subject change would help them both.

  “Marci told me what happened. I thought you could use an evening out. Maybe a reason to shower?” She glanced at Suzanne’s disheveled hair and sloppy clothes with an attempt at a teasing smile.

  Suzanne had to admit she didn’t look her best. Normally meticulous in the extreme about her appearance, she had been letting things slide since her self-imprisonment began. Going out was certainly tempting, but…

  “You can’t hide here forever, Suzanne.” Rebecca’s tone was matter-of-fact and firm. Motherly. “The Suzanne I know is many things, but a coward isn’t one of them. I’ve never seen you let anyone bully you before, and I don’t see why this guy should get the better of you.”

  Immediately, she knew Rebecca was right. She had not realized until that moment that she had been hiding out, cowering in her pajamas and self-pity. This wasn’t like her.

  “Give me ten minutes,” she told Rebecca, and headed off to the shower.

  #

  They went to the Mexican restaurant down the street. In her heart, Suzanne knew that Manuel was not on the list of stalker suspects, but she wanted to face him anyway. They had not seen each other much at all since they stopped hooking up a few months ago—when he started dating his new girlfriend—and when she did go into the restaurant, she always chose a time when it was crowded so he wouldn’t feel pressure to make polite conversation. If he noticed her, he’d wave politely and comp her drinks, but that was all the communication they had.

  Tonight she and Rebecca got a table close to the bar and Suzanne did not request a change. The place was crowded, but Manuel gave her a nod as he poured tequila shots. She smiled back as she and Rebecca took their seats. No way it’s him. She was almost positive.

  “So you come here a lot?” Rebecca asked, not missing the silent exchange.

  “Yeah,” Suzanne said. “It’s close by. And the food’s good.”

  “I could see that,” Rebecca said lightly, with an appraising look at Manuel. He was a good-looking guy, Suzanne conceded mentally. He was smart, and funny, and their occasional hours together had been enjoyable, if a bit on the primal side. A memory floated to the surface: following him, tipsy and giggling, hand-in-hand, to the cramped office in the back of the restaurant. So why hadn’t they ever actually dated? Something told her Manuel would have been open to the idea, but he had never approached her with it.

  The two women ordered margaritas, chips, and dinner. Rebecca chattered happily about her job as a flight attendant. She was always name-dropping about the people—hip-hop artists, producers, actors—she met in first class on the well-traveled route from Los Angeles to Atlanta. As distasteful as this was to Suzanne, she listened, smiling and even gasping in awe when appropriate. It was good to get out, whatever the reason, and it was nice to have something to think about other than her wretched life.

  They were halfway through dinner when Manuel stopped by the table, surprising Suzanne completely. “Hi, ladies. Everything all right?”

  “Fantastic,” Rebecca said. “This green chili sauce is heavenly.”

  “Thanks, it’s house-made,” he said to Rebecca. He turned with feigned casualness to Suzanne. “Haven’t seen you around in a while, stranger.” He pushed a foot gently at Suzanne’s chair, like an adolescent flirting in the school cafeteria.

  “I know, I’ve been…busy,” she finished lamely. “Did I hear correctly, though, that you’re off the market? Dating someone special, are you?”

  “Engaged, actually,” he said, and appeared to be watching Suzanne for a response. She held onto the big smile she’d plastered across her face, so he turned to Rebecca conversationally. “Getting married in December.”

  “Congratulations,” Rebecca said. She raised an eyebrow at Suzanne, calling attention to the fact that Suzanne should say the same.

  “Oh!” She came to herself. “Of course, congratulations, Manny. That’s wonderful. Really.”

  She stood abruptly and wrapped the restaurant owner in a warm but awkward embrace. The smell of him was familiar and oddly comforting. She found that while her happiness for him was genuine, there was a twinge of sadness, too. Sad for what? she asked herself. You’re going to miss having sex behind the bar of a deserted Mexican restaurant at two in the morning?

  “Thanks,” Manuel said, guiding her gently back to her seat. “I’m very happy. It’s good to get married.”

  He looked at Suzanne when he said this. She saw an intensity in his soft brown eyes that she had
never noticed. In the space of a heartbeat, she realized three things: One, that Manuel had loved her once, and would’ve devoted himself entirely to her if she had ever given him the chance. Two, that the door on such an opportunity was solidly and irrevocably closed. He had moved on. And three, that Manuel was absolutely not her stalker.

  “Cross that one off the list,” she muttered under her breath, after Manuel had politely taken leave and informed them that their entire check was on the house.

  “The list?” Rebecca asked.

  “Nothing,” said Suzanne dismissively. She filled each of their glasses to the rim from the pitcher of margaritas. But Rebecca’s inquiring look remained. Suzanne shook her head. “You wouldn’t understand.”

  Rebecca lifted her glass in a salute, took a sizeable sip, and put it down again. “Try me.”

  #

  They staggered back to Suzanne’s apartment arm in arm, singing. Barely 10:30, it felt like the end of a long night drinking and dancing. We are getting old, Suzanne thought.

  “I was wondering what this was!” Rebecca said, swaying in the dining room in front of the grid.

  “Mmm-hmm,” Suzanne answered, digging in her pantry for something chocolate.

  “So is this just a list of people who might be stalking you, or everyone you’ve ever dated?”

  “Well,” Suzanne answered from deep inside the pantry, disappointed to find that what she had thought was a bag of Oreos was actually a blue bag of potato chips. “It started as just potential stalkers, but the police said people I’d dumped would be the first people to consider. Then when I started making the list, I decided to include everyone. I thought it might help me figure out what I want in a relationship.”

  Rebecca seemed to consider this for a while, scanning the grid and muttering the names of guys and reasons Suzanne had stopped seeing each one, like a spell. She waved away Suzanne’s proffered potato chips, and looked at her. “Did you figure it out?”

  “What? The stalker?”

  “No. What you want.”

  “Oh, that. No. I guess I found a long list of things I don’t want, so that’s a start, right?”

  “Is it?” Rebecca asked.

  It had not occurred to Suzanne to question this reasoning. “Well, how else do you figure it out, besides trial and error? Eliminating what doesn’t work.”

  Rebecca made a noncommittal sound.

  “And on the positive side, there’s William,” Suzanne said. “All this led me to think maybe I made a mistake letting go of him.”

  “Isn’t he the one who proposed to you? The country club guy? I thought you turned him down and he never spoke to you again.”

  Suzanne reddened, trying to ignore what she thought might have been a note of satisfaction in Rebecca’s voice. “Yeah, but I hope that’s water under the bridge now. I mean, it’s been so long.”

  “You hope? You haven’t talked to him yet?”

  “No, I can’t seem to track him down yet, but I did find his parents and I think—”

  “Suze,” Rebecca said. “How on earth do you know you made a mistake breaking up with him if you haven’t even seen him? What if he’s married now, or gay or something?”

  “He is not gay,” Suzanne said emphatically. “That was not the problem.”

  Rebecca laughed. She crossed the big open room to the couch and flung herself on it with a deep sigh. “You know what? I always resented you.”

  This was a sobering change of subject. Suzanne had felt it over the years, of course, and had never been Rebecca’s biggest fan either, but hearing it stated so plainly was a little jarring. Rebecca’s face clouded as she concentrated on her words in a way that only a very drunk person can. “I never told you this. No, I didn’t. Never said it out loud, out loud. You know? But I felt it. I always felt like you had everything I wanted—a name people respect, money, connections. All handed to you. It was like you were born into the life I was supposed to have.”

  Rebecca’s lip curled into an unattractive snarl as she said this last bit, and she was staring at the floor with a deep, absorbing bitterness. She seemed temporarily unaware Suzanne was still in the room. A thought flickered into Suzanne’s head: Could it be Rebecca? Is it possible that I’ve just gotten smashed with someone who tried to kill me and brought her back to my apartment, alone on a Friday night?

  As though sensing Suzanne’s thoughts, Rebecca turned to her. “I’ve always liked you,” she said baldly. “But I kind of hated you, too. You could have been a legacy at the sorority I’d always dreamed of being in, and you didn’t even rush. Your mom had to drag you kicking and screaming into the Junior League, where you skipped provisional status somehow. Meanwhile, I had to scrounge for a sponsor to get me in, plus I’ve been stuck on the thrift shop committee for three years…”

  “I didn’t realize—” Suzanne started.

  “It’s okay,” Rebecca said. “I just need to say this to you. After all these years, I want you to understand. My dad was a mailman in a small town; my mom was a housewife. My parents were pissed when I called to tell them that I was staying in Atlanta. They could care less about the Junior League. They said I was acting like I thought I was better than them.”

  They had known each other for more than fifteen years, and yet Suzanne felt she was somehow seeing Rebecca for the first time. “I don’t fit in anywhere. When I go home to Alabama, I’m a snob, and here, I’m nobody. Even with you and Marci.”

  “That’s not—”

  “No, it’s okay. I know I’m not easy to be friends with,” Rebecca said, nodding in vigorous agreement with herself and wiping tears with the back of her sleeve. “And I don’t want pity. It’s actually a relief, tonight. I’ve spent so long trying to be you and wishing I had what you had, and now…”

  Suzanne turned to look at the dining room wall where Rebecca was pointing with an expansive wave of her arm. After a moment, it dawned. Suzanne concluded for her: “Now you realize I’m just as fucked up as the next person.”

  Rebecca nodded, wiping more tears. “No offense.”

  Suzanne sat down hard, on the floor right where she was, and began to laugh. Rebecca looked at her hesitantly, and then began to chuckle through snot and tears. The soggy noises that resulted struck them both as funny, too, and soon they were both helpless to stop—Rebecca rolling on the couch, Suzanne on the floor.

  When the laughter subsided, neither of them had much else to say, and a small measure of their usual awkwardness returned. But Suzanne flipped on the TV to Project Runway, plopped on the couch next to Rebecca, and rumpled her hair.

  They watched in companionable silence as the contestants tried to make eveningwear out of the contents of a recycle bin. When Suzanne stood a little while later, she covered the snoring Rebecca with her favorite throw before wobbling to her own bed. Drifting off easily, Suzanne realized it was the first time in years she had let anyone other than Marci sleep over at her place.

  Chapter 14

  Following the instructions Yvette had emailed to her, Suzanne set out from Atlanta at 10:00 a.m. and arrived in the surreal little vacation town of Gatlinburg, Tennessee a little more than four hours later.

  The sudden hustle and bustle of the packed little tourist town was overwhelming after the long, peaceful drive through the Great Smoky Mountain National Park. She had to pee by then, but didn’t see a convenient place to pull over. Gatlinburg seemed to be one of those places where tourists parked their cars for the whole day and crowded into store after store, buying trinkets and ice cream and t-shirts for hours on end. There seemed to be nowhere to pull in for a minute to use the restroom in exchange for a bottled water purchase. Yvette had mentioned that the cabin was closer to Gatlinburg than anywhere else, so Suzanne opted to wait, rather than pay to use a parking deck and search frantically for a public restroom. Perhaps there would be someplace clean along the way.

  Dylan’s cabin, in fact, was a solid twenty minutes into the mountains from Gatlinburg. Suzanne cautiously followed a
series of long and curving two-lane roads that scaled gradually and consistently upward. They were not well-signed, which led her to constantly question whether she had missed a turn or was on the wrong road altogether. She even turned around once to go back to the last intersection and make sure she had followed the directions correctly. Her cell phone had only spotty reception up here, and as she passed hand-painted signs warning dourly against trespassing, she wondered what she would do if she really did become lost. Or when her need to pee became a true emergency, as it shortly would.

  The route eventually narrowed to a seemingly endless high country lane, surrounded by dense forest on either side. Houses—or at least mailboxes and gravel driveways leading into the thick—popped up every quarter mile or so, becoming more spread out as the road became rougher and civilization seemed increasingly farther away.

  To Suzanne, every grove of trees looked like a rest stop at this point, but there was hardly any shoulder on which to pull off to get out of the car. Even if there had been a place to stop, something about peeing in the woods on her way to see a celebrity bride just didn’t seem right. So Suzanne danced in her seat, deeply regretting the choice to pass up an earlier gas station that didn’t look very sanitary on the outside, and praying that Yvette’s directions would not steer her wrong.

  The mailbox at the top of the cabin’s driveway was unremarkable, but the street number was clearly signed, and the gravel drive freshly maintained—wider than most she’d seen. She followed it for thirty yards or so to a large, sturdy iron gate that crossed the drive at a creek. The gate was open, the tiny guardhouse empty. She wondered whether it had been installed just for Dylan or whether he had purchased the cabin from someone else who valued his privacy. As she crossed the creek, thinking almost exclusively of her overinflated bladder, Suzanne realized that keeping the press and other interested onlookers at bay for Kate’s wedding would be her responsibility. Sheesh.