This Love of Mine

by Miranda Liasson

  “It’s Labor Day weekend and I’m making you lose business,” Meg said.

  “Honey, these folks are retired. They can shoot the shit with each other until I let them in. Now, what did your man have to say for himself?”

  “Don’t worry. In a couple weeks we can break it off. Like breaking off an engagement is as easy as pie. And—like he didn’t ever want to be engaged to me. He said he wasn’t even thinking about marriage at this point in his life. He’s enjoying his freedom, and he’s not the marrying kind. Hell, he’s not even the relationship kind.”

  “Oh, honey. That skunk. That swine. That lousy excuse for a man.” Ted violently pulled out one Kleenex after another and handed them all over.

  Good thing, because she needed every single one. Plus now she was shaky from all the coffee she just drank. Mascara rolled off her face in inky wet streaks. As she wiped her chin, melted chocolate came off. How was she going to get it together enough to go to work?

  “Go home, Meg,” Ted said. “Take the afternoon off.”

  “I can’t. The bridal show is tonight.”

  “You’ve taken on too much already. You’re stressed to the max. Don’t go in when you feel like this. It will only lead to more disaster.”

  “The bank president and her husband have front-row seats for the show. They’re about to decide on our loan and after all this work, I have to prove that my shop is a worthy investment. I have to.” Not just because of the loan, either. Her shop was the one part of her life that felt alive and intact. The rest was the equivalent of plague, pestilence, and nuclear disaster combined.

  “Okay,” Teddy coached, “just take deep breaths. If you take a couple hours to regroup, it might help you in the long run.”

  “I cannot take off. I have three appointments this afternoon plus Sam’s been working on all the final details for the show and we have to go over them one last time.” She swallowed down the rest of coffee. “I can do this.”

  Teddy made her go and wash her face in the bathroom, and when she came out, he dabbed at her puffy face with her compact. “You got lipstick? Put some on then you’re set.”

  She reached for her lipstick and her compact mirror but when she examined her reflection, she winced and tossed the compact back in her purse.

  “It’s all right,” Teddy said. “You’ll look better in a few hours.”

  After giving him a good glare, she gripped his hand tight and kissed his cheek. “Thank you for helping me.” She would survive this. For years, she’d looked at Ben from afar, dreamed and fantasized about him. She knew now that not one of those fantasies would ever equal the reality of the past twenty-four hours. Maybe someday she’d be grateful for that Cinderella moment but for now it was past midnight and her shop was going to turn into a smashed pumpkin if she didn’t get going.

  “The whole town probably knows about the engagement by now,” she said. “Please don’t say anything. I need time to figure out how to handle this.”

  “Honey, you’re not alone. Just say the word, and we’ve all got your back.”

  “Thank you.” Then she left out the front door, making sure to flip the sign back to Open.

  After fighting her way through the senior citizen cookie line, Meg walked into Bridal Aisle to find Priscilla Kline and her mother talking heatedly with Gloria, who was inspecting Priscilla’s wedding dress through her bifocals as it was laid out on the countertop in all its ball-gown grandeur.

  “It’s too plain on top,” Priscilla said. “It’s just a little . . . I don’t know . . . boring.” The elaborate decoration on the bodice with hand-sewn beads and pearl sequins could be called many things, but boring wasn’t at the top of Meg’s list. “I think it’s beautiful,” Meg said. “All the handiwork is exquisite.” Gaudy to normal people. Besides, it was a week before her wedding. It was too late to change.

  “I know,” Priscilla said, “but my neck and shoulders will be bare. Maybe the problem is I need something around my neck to sparkle and shine.”

  Meg bit down hard on her lower lip. She’d like to put something around Priscilla’s neck, all right, but that might just be her hands—to wring it. “Didn’t you say you were going to wear a diamond pendant of your great-grandmother’s?” she asked.

  “Evan says it’s too old-fashioned looking. It doesn’t go with the dress.”

  “Pearls never go out of style,” Gloria suggested. “The Queen wore a double strand at her wedding.” She walked around the glass display cases that contained all of their accessories. “You’re welcome to look around, dear. But a large necklace might detract from all that beautiful beading.”

  “Oooh, how about this one?” Priscilla pointed to an elaborate statement necklace, with rows of different sizes of pearls twisted together with a winding rhinestone chain and topped off with a big, sparkling brooch. It had just come in this morning. Meg had unwrapped it just before lunch to check it before she called the bride and told her it was in.

  “This was a custom order,” Gloria said, “done by an artist in New York. The bride’s picking it up today.”

  “Can I order one?” Priscilla asked.

  “There’s not enough time,” Meg said. “Custom orders take six to eight weeks with our designers.”

  “Call the bride,” Priscilla said. “I’ll pay double whatever she paid.”

  “Before I do that,” Meg said politely, “I think you should try it on with your dress to be sure you like it. We also have other necklaces that aren’t custom.”

  Meg didn’t feel comfortable having Priscilla try on someone else’s necklace. But she did let her, praying she wouldn’t like it.

  “I love it,” she said as soon as it was around her neck. “I’ve got to have it.”

  They put in calls to the bride, which made Meg cringe, and to the artist, but those only confirmed what Meg already knew.

  Priscilla was tapping her nails nervously on the top of the glass case. Meg had handled a lot of stressed-out brides. She felt confident that she could handle Priscilla, even with a throbbing head and a caffeinated, broken heart. “You know, the last week before the wedding is very anxiety-provoking. It gets very stressful near the end and—”

  “Everything is perfect,” Priscilla snapped. “And if I could only deal with people who knew what they were doing in this stupid small town, my look would be perfect, too.”

  Meg ignored the insult. “You’re putting so much pressure on yourself. Maybe if you just—”

  Priscilla slapped both of her hands against the case. “I am marrying into a political dynasty. Dignitaries from all over the east coast will be there. It’s . . . it’s like uniting the Kennedys and the Roosevelts. And I’m going to have a great life. I really am.”

  Priscilla’s eyes grew watery. Don’t say anything, Meg warned herself. It’s not your business.

  Mrs. Kline said, “There’s got to be a local seamstress who can give us an assessment. Maybe add a bit more beading to the dress.”

  “You don’t understand,” Meg said, forcing herself to speak calmly. “Those beads were ordered from India. Even if they’re in stock, they have to clear customs and ship to the U.S. It can’t be done in time.”

  “Then we’ll order a new dress,” Priscilla said.

  Now Meg bit down on the insides of her cheeks to keep from saying something she’d regret.

  “What is that look on your face?’ Priscilla snapped. “I said I want a new dress. Mother, tell her I need a new dress.”

  “Well, I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to look, dear,” Mrs. Kline said.

  So this was to be the culmination of a year and a half of putting up with every whim, every ridiculous request. Bending over backwards and over the moon to please people who were simply unpleaseable.

  Just then, something inside Meg snapped. She was so done kissing ass. “You don’t need a new dress,” she blurted. “You need a new personality.”

  The air stood still. The silence was funny, like the kind that comes from walking outside a
noisy bar after listening to a rock band for a few hours.

  “A new what?” Priscilla said.

  “You heard me,” Meg said. “I wish your fiancé all the best in trying to please you, because we sure can’t.”

  Mrs. Kline bristled. “So you’ve insulted us and you won’t find us someone who can help us.”

  “No one in this country—no, on the planet—is going to touch this dress again a week before the wedding,” Meg said. “I’m sorry.”

  “You’ll never be a destination shop if you can’t stand behind the products you sell,” Mrs. Kline said.

  Meg ignored her. “Priscilla, you’ll never be happy if you keep focusing on things instead of what’s really the problem. And maybe the problem is you’re not sure you really want to marry this guy.”

  Priscilla started to get that blotchy look again, like she did back in the hotel room a few weeks ago. Meg absently wondered where she could get a paper bag on short notice.

  “Think about it,” Meg said. “I mean, do you love him? Does he make your heart sing just looking at him? Do you see him and picture the beautiful children you’ll have, that maybe they’ll have his big brown eyes and long lashes and maybe his wavy hair? Do you picture long nights making love by the fire and talking about everything and anything under the sun, and do you have the feeling that of anyone in the world, he just gets you? Like no other person in the world ever can?”

  Now Meg was crying. She’d gone and lost it at work, in front of her most difficult but most influential clients. Priscilla and her mother stood there, open-mouthed, shocked at the spectacle. Her grandmother sent her a concerned look.

  “That’s enough,” Gloria said, grabbing Meg by the arm. “My granddaughter is right. We’ve done everything possible to accommodate all your needs and wants. We’re going to insist that you take any further business elsewhere.” She strode over to the door and held it open.

  Mrs. Kline huffed to the door, Priscilla in tow. Then Mrs. Kline got in Gran’s face. “I’ll make certain the loan committee knows just how accommodating you are to one of your most important clients.”

  “Every client of ours is important, Irene,” Gloria said. “But not all of them are—are bloody plonkers.”

  Meg gasped. The Queen never cursed and her gran sure as hell never did. But that was the closest Meg had ever seen her come.

  Gran closed the door firmly and turned to Meg, who was just shocked as the Klines had been. “If you’ve ruined your chance at the bank loan, then I went ahead and ruined it right along with you.”

  “Oh, Gran.” She ran to her grandmother’s arms and cried like she was six again. Her blurry gaze lit on Samantha’s newly painted bright green wall with the unfinished purple cursive stencil that so far spelled out only the word Beautiful. Her mind filled that in with Disaster.

  And she wondered just how the hell her entire life could implode so spectacularly in a mere handful of hours.

  CHAPTER 20

  “Mom, you shouldn’t be doing that,” Meg said when she found her mother kneeling in the garden pulling out weeds. Guilt washed through her as she thought of the craziness of the past few weeks and the neglected task she never completed. She’d left her shop for just a little while to try and calm down and get her head clear before she had to go back for the big show. She couldn’t afford to fall apart, despite feeling like she was on the verge. To be honest, she desperately wanted her mother’s comfort but she knew her mother would never be sympathetic to any story involving Ben Rushford.

  Her mom sat back on her garden stool, trowel in hand, and managed a weary smile. “I was just tired of looking at this eyesore and thought I might give it a go.” Her gaze zipped up and down her daughter’s form and she frowned a little, no doubt taking in the fact that her daughter looked worse than the thistles she’d just yanked out and left to languish in their wilted state over the side of a plastic garbage bag.

  “This is my fault,” Meg said. “I should have done this weeks ago.”

  Her mom stopped pulling. “Stop treating me like I’m helpless. Do you think I like seeing you work yourself to the bone to get my chores done?”

  “I’m not working myself to the bone.”

  “Yes, you are, and it’s high time we put a stop to it.”

  Meg dropped down next to her mom and started pulling. “Let me worry about what’s too much work for me.”

  They worked in aggravated silence for a few minutes. Finally, her mother’s bright blue eye searched hers. “Is it true?”

  “Is what true?” Oh, no. She couldn’t have heard. Not already.

  “That you’re engaged to Ben Rushford.”

  “No! Of course not! Never!” But even as she said it, she broke down with a sob. All the strain of the last weeks and all the bad shit that had gone down today seemed to heap on her like this enormous expanse of dirt that was now blanketed with weeds.

  Her mom ignored Meg’s tears for the moment. “That’s not what Brenda at the Curli-Q told me. She did Lillian Donaldson’s hair this afternoon and she said Ben Rushford is about to get offered the ER job . . . and that he and his fiancée were house hunting. How could you, Megan?”

  “How could I what, Mom? Love the guy who was best friends with Patrick? Because we all know that could never happen.”

  The sun was hot. Her head was pounding, her blouse was sticking to her armpits, and she didn’t have any sunglasses. No surprises there, on the most miserable effing day of her life.

  “I’m just shocked I had to hear such a horrific thing at the beauty shop instead of from the mouth of my own daughter.”

  Meg supposed she could go on denying it. But this was her mother, for God’s sakes. And she’d spent the last ten years smoothing things over, sugarcoating her own problems, and appeasing everyone so her mom could have a better life.

  But not anymore.

  “Ben wasn’t with Patrick when he died. I know you think he was. I know you’ve held it against him all these years, but he wasn’t lying, Mom. He didn’t want to get drunk with Patrick that night. He said no.”

  Her mother had gone pale as the white roses behind her. “It would be just like him to say that just to save his own skin. Ben Rushford was a hellion. He bought liquor for Patrick. He was a troublemaker.”

  “He may have done some bad things but he didn’t talk Patrick into drinking, or fail to save him, or do anything other than be a friend to him. A best friend, who refused to abandon him, and it cost him everything. He dove into that water over and over to find him and he pulled him out by himself. Can you even imagine how traumatic something like that must have been? Yet for years he felt guilty because he didn’t know CPR and thought that if he did, he could’ve done something. But it wouldn’t have mattered. Ben doesn’t deserve your anger. And this has to stop.”

  Meg doubled over and leaned her throbbing head on her knees. She was hot and thirsty and miserable and exhausted. And tired of pretending that everything was fine, just fine, for everyone else’s sakes. Because she was not fine. At all.

  Suddenly she felt her mother’s hand on her sweaty head. She combed Meg’s hair back gently with her fingers. “I never blamed Ben for not being able to save Patrick.”

  Meg pulled herself up and faced her mother. “He blamed himself. Maybe if you would’ve spoken to him just once in all these years you would’ve known how much sorrow and regret he carries. You’ve never forgiven him and he’s never been able to forgive himself.”

  “He was a wild boy. I blamed him for leading Patrick astray.”

  “Patrick was already astray, Mom. His grades were bad and he was angry.”

  “Patrick was a good boy. He never drank or got into any kind of trouble before he started going around with Ben.”

  Meg shook her head. “How can you not remember? He got a ton of detentions and had incomplete assignments, and he got suspended that time for starting a fire in the boys’ restroom.”

  “He was always so sensitive. He took it hard when your fa
ther and I weren’t getting along. I tried to talk to him, discipline him, but your father was no help. Then he took up with that—woman—and that’s what started everything that night. We’d argued and he left to be with her. Trust me, Megan, Ben is not the only one who carries a burden of guilt for what happened that night.”

  Meg supposed they had all second-guessed themselves. “Patrick asked me to watch a movie with him, but I went to work. I had no idea he was that upset.”

  “You couldn’t have known,” her mother said, shaking her head sadly. “None of us could have known.”

  “Just once, I wish we could talk about the happy times. All those photos he was always sneaking up on us to take. The drawings he loved to make. I miss saying his name, sharing how sad I am when it’s his birthday or Christmas, or when it’s soccer season and I see all the boys at the high school practicing like he did. All this anger and silence—it’s torn us all apart.”

  Her mother sighed. “I have been angry. It’s a bitter, devastating thing to come to grips with, losing a child so—senselessly.” She was still a long time, staring out over the garden, before she turned back to Meg. “As for Ben, I suppose a lot of it was just that—that my boy was gone and he wasn’t.” Her mother broke up then, her face contorting in pain. The garden trowel fell to the ground.

  Meg hugged her mom. They were both crying. “I’m sorry, Mom. I’m sorry we lost him. But he’s gone and we’re still here. We’ve got to make peace with the past and move on.”

  After a while her mother asked, “Are you in love with him?”

  “At first we pretended to date to help him get hired at the hospital, but then it turned—real. But he’s not interested in a relationship.”

  “Sounds like he was out to serve himself all along.”

  “He’s not like that. He wants to be a doctor to help everyone like his grandfather did. He’s kindhearted and good with kids and loves his family and . . .” Oh, God. She’d jumped to his defense without even thinking. The scary thing was, she believed what she’d said, despite what had happened between them.