Jumped

by Colette Auclair

Another question answered with a question. “I don’t know. That’s why I asked.”

  “No.” He ate his salad. Calmly.

  Wait a minute. Finn and Melissa knew each other, but they weren’t great friends. “Why are you here to begin with? You only know Melissa because of me.” Gah, Beth! Stop talking!

  He took a good long time to finish chewing and swallowing. Then he sipped his wine. Then he wiped his mouth. Then he looked at her straight on.

  “As it happens, I did some work for Melissa and Nick. After . . .”

  After the divorce. The words hung, unspoken, in the thin mountain air.

  “A house?”

  “Yes.”

  So he was still working in construction. Still, she wondered why Melissa had asked him, of all people, to build their house. Was it simple coincidence that he’d been on the crew? Beth patted her lips with the napkin again. Stop being like this, she scolded herself, then said to Finn, “That’s nice, that you helped with their house. I’m . . . sorry for all the questions. I’ll stop now. I was surprised to see you, and started firing away.”

  “Bethany, you were never one to pull punches. It’s part of your charm.”

  He grinned and she automatically smiled back.

  The server appeared with the main course, which featured elk medallions, since the animals were plentiful in the state’s high country. Beth was grateful for the interruption. As they ate, the conversation flowed breezily around the table and included everyone. Amanda spoke politely to Finn, even though she hadn’t seen him since well before he and Beth had broken up. And Grady, who was used to public appearances but didn’t need to be the center of attention, entertained the table with stories about being an actor. Beth, now on her second glass of wine, started to relax.

  This was going to be a piece of cake. No problem. Why had she worried?

  Plates of fruit and assorted cookies were delivered to the tables to supplement the wedding cake. The DJ switched from mellow jazz to some livelier dance music. However, the bottles of wine at their table were empty, and Beth wanted an excuse to escape. She set off in search of the ladies’ room and the bar.

  “Finn!”

  Finn was heading to his table when he heard a woman’s voice. He turned to see Amanda Brunswick sidling through various conversations to get to him. She was easily one of the most beautiful women in the room, with her long, golden-brown, wavy hair, broad smile, and tiger eyes. She had been one of his favorite friends of his wife’s, quiet and intense but warm and sincere. Tonight she had a new confidence about her, presumably because she had lived a rags-to-riches story over the past year; she had married Grady Brunswick and was, from what Finn gleaned from occasionally browsing the horse-show news online, collecting a bevy of blue ribbons at the big jumper shows with her mare, Edelweiss.

  He nodded to her. “Amanda.”

  “Care to dance?” she said. He heard another motive just beneath the surface of her request.

  “I’m waiting for them to play a minuet.”

  Amanda laughed. “In that case, let’s go check out the lobby.” He let her lead the way out of the ballroom. In the Old West-meets-contemporary-comfort decor and furnishings, they found a conversation nook with a bay window and sat next to each other—but not too close—on the cushion.

  Amanda formed a line with her lips, then spoke. “Finn. I’ve always liked you.”

  Finn opened and closed his mouth. This was going to be one of those talks.

  She went on. “Beth is, as you know, very important to me. She’s my best friend. I don’t know everything that happened between you two, and I’ve only heard Beth’s side of things. So I don’t pretend to know the whole truth at all. I don’t think you’re a bad guy. And one can’t know what happens inside someone else’s marriage. I just don’t want to see Beth get hurt. I know she seems to be tough on the outside, but you know how she is. If you came to this wedding with any ulterior motives . . .”

  Finn was surprised to hear this, and even more surprised at how her eyes darkened as she spoke.

  She continued, “. . . just . . . don’t hurt her. She didn’t put me up to this; she doesn’t know I’m talking to you. She hasn’t told me anything that would lead me to believe you’d do anything to harm her. But I’m her friend, and I’m being proactive here. No offense but, let’s face it, this is the first time she’s seen you since the divorce, and it’s bound to be awkward at best and awful at worst.”

  He sighed and raised his hands, palms up. “I would never intentionally hurt her. Why would I? Amanda, I didn’t like getting divorced. I hated it. Believe me, I have nothing against Bethany.”

  She leaned back against the window frame and stared at him, her chin lowered. She was gauging his honesty! For Pete’s sake.

  She nodded and bit her lower lip. “Okay, then.” She lifted her chin, sighed, and smiled. “Let’s get back to the party.” She stood and he followed.

  Well. He walked behind her. She’s protecting her friend.

  Harris stood next to Beth on the balcony where Beth had gone to cool her bare feet on the flagstones. Her sandals were so pretty, yet completely at odds with every bone in her foot. “Did he say anything to you? Because if he did, believe it or not, I can defend your honor. I’ll start with verbal barbs, and if we get into a debate over, say, whether or not you can wear white after Labor Day, I’m all over it. But even if it comes to fisticuffs, I simply channel the imaginary love child of Suze Orman and Jillian Michaels and I’m a force to be reckoned with. If I can get Grady to join in, well, sister, watch out.”

  Beth laughed. “No, he didn’t say anything.”

  She paused. “He was always a nice guy, you know?” She was staring at her left hand on the railing—her left hand, which had no rings on it—and then started to get wistful, which was simply not going to fly. “But we’re both adults, we’re at a wedding, and I want cake. Have they cut the cake yet?”

  Harris grinned. “My, but aren’t we the little carb trollop? Okay, if you want to let that trim figure broaden into another zip code, who am I to stop you?”

  She shot him a killing glance. “Why do I put up with you?’ ”

  “Where to start? Advice on clothes, shoes, makeup? Real estate? Cleaning products? How to peel garlic?” He grinned at her—his resistance-melting, Harris grin—and offered his arm. “Shall we go indulge? I shudder to think of the extra cardio I’m going to have to endure tomorrow, but I must admit, cake sounds carb-tacular.”

  Beth picked up her sandals—nobody would care if she was barefoot now; they were all drunk and dancing—and took his arm. The evening was looking brighter, with or without cake.

  Back in the ballroom, Finn was weighing his options. The geologist was sitting at the table and he didn’t want to have to talk to her, because he sensed she had her sights set on him. Instead, he leaned against a pillar near the bar, watching guests dance. Some looked like they could compete on one of those talent shows on TV, others like they were having seizures.

  But back to his dilemma. He was going to be around these people for the next couple of days. Destination weddings meant activities, meaning that if he chose to participate, he’d see them. He could leave now, before the schmaltzy parts of the reception, if they were going to have a garter toss and the rest of it. He was already astounded at how much all this had affected him. He hadn’t been to many weddings since his divorce, but maybe because Bethany was here, this one was mounting a surprise attack. Although they had eloped, he had always wanted a proper wedding, mostly because he knew Bethany had. But they’d run out of time. At the end of their yearlong marriage, instead of figuring out a guest list, they’d figured out how to divide their belongings.

  For some reason, he remembered packing his architecture textbooks in a box as a thunderstorm raged outside and he’d wept. It was the only time he’d cried during the whole ordeal. Why am I thinking of
that now?

  Just then, Grady appeared before him as if he’d been conjured to interrupt Finn’s memory. “How’s it goin’?” the famous actor asked.

  Finn had to look up at him, but only slightly. Grady was about an inch taller than he was. The man hadn’t said or done anything to pose a threat, but Finn’s defenses went up automatically. It was a caveman response. “Not bad. You?”

  Grady looked around. “Can’t say I enjoy these. Can’t wait to ditch this,” he indicated his tux. “I end up wearing them so often, it’s like a uniform now.”

  They made more I-hate-weddings small talk before Grady said, “I’m going to say something that’s going to seem out of left field. I’m also going to say something that I mean very seriously. Beth is a friend of mine, and an even better friend of my wife’s. I don’t know anything about what went on with you two, and it’s none of my business. But Beth, here and now, today, is my business. Don’t hurt her. That’s all I’m going to say about it. I mean it, though. Don’t hurt her, or you’ll have to answer to me.”

  Was everyone at the wedding going to have a talk with him? When had he become the villain? “I have no intention of hurting her.” And then, because he felt cornered, he added, using Grady’s most famous character’s name, “You don’t have to worry, Braxton.”

  Grady laughed, held his palms up toward Finn, and said, “Fair enough.”

  Finn strolled to the bar and got another club soda. Kristen-the-geologist appeared next to him. He somehow doubted she wanted to talk about rock formations.

  “Hi there,” she said. He took in her straight black hair and blunt bangs. She had brown eyes and wore burgundy lipstick. Hers was a severe beauty, and she was working it. From the way her “hi there” came out, she had also been working on a bottle of wine. Great.

  “Kristen,” he said. Just over Kristen’s head, he saw Bethany and Harris cross the room and take up residence on the dance floor. He took in Bethany’s hair, which was the color of semisweet chocolate morsels and hung down her back. This was new—he used to love running his fingers through her short blond bob, but the darker color suited her, as did the length. Finn was more interested in watching Bethany, but Kristen demanded his attention.

  “Where’d you wander off to? I was looking for you.”

  “Ah. Well. Talking to some old friends. Can I get you something?” he said, indicating the bar.

  “Ooh. Sure. White wine.”

  The bartender obliged. The three of them chatted about nothing in particular for two songs.

  The bartender returned to tending bar, and Kristen-the-geologist asked Finn, “You staying at the hotel?”

  He hated to tell her. “Yes.”

  “Me, too! Do you have a good view from your room?”

  “Nah,” he said, not knowing what the hell the view from his room looked like. He hadn’t opened the curtains.

  “Maybe you could show it to me anyway.” She said this quietly. He sensed she didn’t do this often—come on to men—and he didn’t want to hurt her. He also had zero interest in spending time with her in his room. Or anywhere.

  And then, like a misguided angel sent to save him, Harris appeared. He was a little sweaty, but Finn knew how Bethany could be on the dance floor. He smiled at the memory of his relentless dancing-queen ex-wife.

  Harris was breathing hard. “Dude,” he said. “She’s a machine. Is she taking human growth hormones? Does she sleep in a hyperbaric chamber? We’re at eight-thousand feet and she’s not even winded.”

  “Welcome to my world,” said Finn. He half-smiled. “Or . . . my former world.”

  “I’ll see you later, Finn,” Kristen said. She held his gaze and winked before sauntering off and, it seemed to him, exaggerating her hip sway. Probably for his benefit. Sorry, sweetheart. Don’t waste your time.

  He turned back to Harris. “Want a Gatorade?”

  “Give it some vodka for company and I’m there.”

  “What do you drink? I should’ve warned you about Bethany’s dancing. ”

  Finn raised a hand toward the bar. Harris got a whiskey and the two men stepped aside so other thirsty dancers could get to the libations.

  “McNabb, that’s your last name?” asked Harris.

  “Yeah.”

  “Well, McNabb,” Harris said, still somewhat out of breath. “I’ve grown rather fond of our little Bethany, as you call her. And I’m here to tell you here and now, in the Elke Sommer Ballroom of the Hotel Jerome—”

  “That you’ll break my legs if I hurt her,” Finn interrupted.

  Harris tilted his head. “Yes. How’d you—”

  “So far almost every guest has told me the same thing. You, Amanda, Grady. I’m waiting for the flower girl. Look, I’m not here to cause trouble. What’d she tell you about me that’s got all of you rattling sabers?”

  Harris sent him a look. “Honey, you’ll know if I rattle my saber. But to answer your question, nothing. She’s been quiet as a Prius. But it’s a little like bringing a box of nitroglycerine and a match together. Or drinking orange juice after eating champagne truffles. Not a good idea. You might be as harmless as a declawed Persian, but we don’t know you. We know Beth and we like her the way New Yorkers like Cronuts. All I’m saying is, don’t cross our Cronut.”

  “I have no intention of crossing anyone’s Cronut. Whatever that is.”

  “It’s a cross between a croissant and a doughnut. I shun them—this girlish figure doesn’t happen by accident—but they’re a gourmet craze. The only thing missing is putting them on a stick and deep-frying them, and I’m sure some enterprising vendor with a funnel cake concession will take care of that.”

  “Tell you what. I’ll do what I can to avoid her. How’s that? Will that keep you and Amanda and Grady and everyone else in the state of Colorado happy?”

  Harris eyed him. “I don’t see the need for any rules and regulations beyond don’t cross the Cronut. You keep that one commandment and we’ll all be the very happiest of campers.” He leaned in. “Don’t think for a moment I mean that literally. This gay doesn’t camp. Never has. Never will. Which is a feat in this state, since you can’t swing a Birkin bag without hitting a camper. Although—thank God—Aspen’s a veritable haven of civility and culture in an endless wasteland of rock climbers and cyclists. I can walk down the street and browse Chanel, and an attractive bartender will make me a mojito instead of handing me a Red Bull.”

  “I take it you won’t be fly fishing with us tomorrow?”

  “Fishing’s different. Fishing can result in food, and food I can do and do well. And when it’s done, I can go back home immediately instead of sleeping on an air mattress, besieged by insects and being an Atkins snack for a mountain lion. Oh, look.”

  Finn followed Harris’s gaze to the dance floor, where Bethany was dancing with Grady. A small dart of jealousy stung him. Didn’t see that coming. Shake it off. He’s married, and she’s not yours anymore.

  “He seems like a nice guy,” Finn said, still watching them. Still wishing they’d stop dancing together because married or no, Grady was a very handsome man and Finn could tell Bethany liked him. And that wasn’t even counting the formidable movie star part.

  “He is, for the most part,” Harris said.

  Finn decided he ought to look at Harris and stop torturing himself. “For the most part?”

  “Scratch that. He’s the nicest guy in the free world. He makes Tom Hanks look like Rasputin. I have to talk trash about him or his head will get too big.”

  Throughout these sentences, Finn thought Harris was looking at him too intently, as though he could read his mind. Could he tell Finn was jealous of Grady? Was his expression broadcasting this particular insecurity about his ex-wife? I need to be more careful, just in case.

  Finn asked, “Will Grady and Amanda be around for the weekend’s activities?”

&
nbsp; “I think so, or at least some of them. Since they live here in the summer, they might pass on a few things they can do whenever they want, but I believe they’re planning on dining with the lot of you. In fact, one of the activities is a cocktail party at Aspen Creek—that’s Grady’s place. Well, Amanda’s, too, now. You should come for that—if only to see the family manse.”

  Gazing out of the corner of his eye, Finn was relieved—more than he wanted to admit—to see Bethany and Grady returning to the table. Bethany was laughing, throwing her head back, which meant she was having a great time. Which was great. Wasn’t it?

  Harris was saying something about Grady and Amanda’s house, but Finn hardly heard him. He was watching Bethany, who said something to Amanda standing next to her. Without thinking, he said to Harris, “Excuse me, will you?” He ordered a gin and tonic and another club soda. Then set sail for his ex-wife.

  Finn came up behind Bethany and said, “You nearly killed Harris. He might press charges.”

  She whipped her head around like a mustang spotting a wolf and flattened her palm over her heart. “Like how you just nearly killed me? Jesus, Finn, you’re like a ninja.”

  “Sorry. But a herd of elephants could have snuck up on you.” He smiled at Amanda. “Hey, Amanda.” He handed Beth the gin and tonic. “Thought you might be thirsty after your murder attempt.”

  “Ha.”

  He sat in the chair next to her. “Seriously. They’re putting him in an iron lung right now.”

  She laughed, hesitated, then said, “Thanks.”

  Finn frowned. “Damn, I should’ve known—you just want water. You want my club soda?”

  “No, it’s fine.”

  “No, I forgot—you hate sparkling water. Be right back.” He stood.

  “Finn, it’s fine.”

  “Uh-uh.” He looked at her like a stern father staring down a toddler. “Stay put.” He strode toward the bar.

  “Fine! Be that way!” she called after him, but he could hear the laugh effervescing in her voice.