by Denise Wells
I pretend to see her for the first time. “Tabatha? Is that you?” I narrow my eyes at her. “Are you stalking me? Or do you hate me so much you just want to wreck my car?”
“You wish. This was an accident and you know it,” she says. “I didn’t even realize it was you in front of me. Someone behind me honked and I was looking in the rearview mirror at them when I accelerated. I just assumed that whoever was before me had moved on along with the line of cars like they were supposed to.”
“Tsk, tsk, Tabs.” I shake my head. “You know you should always be looking in the direction you are driving.”
“Yes, well—”
“And you should never assume anything when behind the wheel. I thought I’d taught you better than that. Always be driving defensively.”
She rolls her eyes. The ferry horn sounds off, echoing through the parking level, as it pulls smoothly away from the terminal.
“There’s no damage, as you can clearly see.” She gestures to the bumpers.
I knew there wouldn’t be.
“So, I should call my insurance company back and tell them never mind?”
“You already called your insurance company? What the hell, Pax? When did you even have time? Plus, I was barely even moving and—”
“Relax, Tabs. I’m kidding. I was just trying to get a rise out of you.”
She sighs heavily, running her hand over her brow. “You know, today’s just not the day for that, Pax. Any other day and I’m happy to fight you. But today, I’m just too tired.”
In her defense, she does look tired. Beautiful, but tired.
I feel guilty for trying to rile her up.
Kind of.
“Hey, I was going to get a cup of coffee,” I say. “Would you like one? My treat, as an apology for getting in your way.”
She raises an eyebrow.
“And for trying to get a rise of you.”
She looks at me, her face a blank stare.
“And for not telling you sooner that I’m Matthew Hanhauser.”
She dips her chin in a gesture I take to mean acceptance. I wave my arm for her to walk ahead of me to the stairwell that will take us to the enclosed upper level seating area and coffee bar. We get our coffee and take a seat across from one another in a window-facing booth.
“I’m guessing you didn’t tell Simple—err, Hunter who I am since I still have the job?”
She shakes her head, then looks off toward the fading shoreline.
“You okay?” I ask.
She shakes her head again, tears pooling in her eyes. I’m tempted to move to her side of the booth and put my arm around her shoulders and comfort her. But I refrain, instead reaching a hand across the table.
“Hey, Tabs. Everything okay? What’s going on?” I don’t touch her, but I do leave my hand there as a nice guy gesture.
She pulls a tissue from her purse and dabs at her eyes. “Nothing. I’m fine. Just emotional.”
“Pregnant?”
“Pfft. No.”
“No sex before the wedding, huh?”
“What? No. I mean, yes. Of course we have sex. Actually, what business is it of yours?” She blows her nose delicately. “None, that’s what.”
“Hey, no judgment here. I’m all for sampling the goods before final purchase. You need to know what you’re getting. After all, you and I sampled—”
“I know what I’m getting and I’m perfectly happy with it.”
“Perfectly happy, huh? That doesn’t sound too convincing.”
“It’s great, okay. And if you must know, you’re the reason why I’m upset.”
“Me? What did I do?”
“You’re here, for one.”
I look around dumbly. She laughs despite herself. I’ll admit it, that’s the reaction I wanted.
“Don’t be a dork,” she says, pulling out a compact and fixing her still perfect makeup.
“You look beautiful,” I tell her, my voice low.
“You don’t have to say that,” she says.
“I know.” I smile. “You’re too thin though, Tabs. Your curves are gone.”
“Oh god, now I know you’re laying it on thick.”
“I’m not. I swear. One friend to another.”
“Pax, I’ve got mere weeks before I get married. Which means I either need to find a designer who is willing to make me a dress, like, yesterday, or I have to be able to buy something off the rack. You have to be thin for those.”
“You were already thin.”
She rolls her eyes at me for what seems like the millionth time.
“Is Wipplecock making you lose weight?”
She giggles, then covers her mouth and gasps, looking around to make sure no one saw her laugh. Not that anyone would care.
“You know that’s not his name,” she says. “And no, he’s not. He thinks I’m perfect just the way I am.”
“Well then.” I sit back in the bench seat and cross my arms over my chest. “My job here is done.”
She glances at my biceps, then back up at my face. If I’m not mistaken, her face reddens. It’s hard to tell sometimes with all the makeup. She wears a lot more of it these days.
“I like your hair better down,” I tell her. “And when you aren’t wearing so much makeup. You don’t need all that stuff. It just takes away from your natural beauty.”
Her eyes meet mine, but it’s hard to tell what she’s thinking. So, I purposely blank the expression on my face. Because right now I’m thinking too much. And the too much that I’m thinking is comprised of thoughts I should not be having. Thoughts about a woman who is about to marry another man. I had my shot and I blew it.
She blinks after a moment, collecting her thoughts. “It doesn’t matter what you think anymore, does it?” And with that, she shuts the moment down for both of us. I’m grateful, because I don’t know that I would have been strong enough to do the same. It was a huge mistake agreeing to be her photographer. Having to spend this much time with her. Too many memories get dredged up, which just confuses emotions and creates feelings that aren’t really there.
The horn blows, signaling the time to return to our cars as we’ll be disembarking soon. I take her coffee cup and toss it with mine into the recycle bin, then we make our way back downstairs, along with most of the other passengers.
Neither of us say another word. I’m sure it’s better that way.
15
Tabatha
It doesn’t take long to make it from the ferry terminal to the Cascadian House. Even though I’m using my GPS, I’m still pretty much following Pax since I’m still the car behind him. We pull into the lot at the same time and I park next to him in the front row. I see Hunter is already here and I’m assuming one of the other cars is Liza’s.
The front grounds are breathtaking. The perfect blend of indigenous plants and trees interspersed with green grass, annuals, and perennials. To one side is the coast and to the other is rolling hills. It’s hard to tell what is behind the property, but my guess is more of the same. I’m out of my car before Pax and I head toward the front door, not bothering to wait for him. He catches up to me anyway and we walk in together.
The building itself is only nine stories tall with maybe twenty-five rooms per floor in addition to varying sizes of ballrooms and meeting rooms. The first floor hosts the lobby and staff areas, a restaurant, cafe, gift shop, and lounge. According to the brochure, there are 180 rooms and another fifteen suites. With the guest list that Hunter has planned, we could end up filling the entire hotel.
The hostess points us to the elevator and lets us know Liza and Hunter are upstairs on the eighth floor in one of the larger ballrooms.
“The elevator attendant is on break, but it’s easy to use,” she tells us. “One lever for pretty much everything, one way to go up, and the other way to go down. And you can only go up from this floor.” She smiles big and her voice sounds overly cheery. If I had to listen to her all day, I’d slap her and throw her in the sound.
The entire inside of the elevator car is copper. It’s gorgeous. We get in and Pax moves the lever to the door close position. A gate closes first, then the doors, and we start to move slowly. Very slowly.
“It may have been faster to take the stairs,” I say, knowing full well it wouldn’t have. I’m in heels and a pencil skirt, the last thing I want to do is walk eight flights of stairs.
I watch as the floor indicator moves from one to two.
Two to three.
Three to four.
Four to five.
Five to six.
Six to . . .
The arrow stops between the numbers six and seven. And I realize the car has stopped too.
Pax moves the lever back to open; the doors don’t budge. He moves it back to up. Nothing.
“You broke it!” I tell him.
“I didn’t break it,” he says. “It’s an old elevator, it’s probably just tired and needs a little break. I’ll just call—”
“There’s no phone.”
He looks at the elevator panel. “There’s no phone,” he repeats. “But there is an emergency button.” He pushes it. Nothing happens.
I reach over and push it.
“What? You think somehow when you push it, it’s better than when I do?”
“You might have pushed it wrong,” I say.
“Really? I might have pushed the button wrong? You don’t think that’s a skill I learned, oh I don’t know, when I was two?” He pulls off his hat/wig and runs his hands over his head. The glasses come off next and he pinches the bridge of his nose. He holds it so tight I can see the skin turning white under his fingertips.
I remain silent, then remember, a bit belatedly, that Pax gets a little panicky in small enclosed spaces.
He pulls his cell phone out of his pocket and holds it up. “I don’t have a signal. Do you?”
I shake my head. It was the first thing I checked, but I don’t tell him that.
He bangs on the gate. “Hello! Hello, can anyone hear us?” With his other fist, he bangs on the wall. He continues banging for at least a solid minute.
“I don’t think they can hear us,” I say when he finally pauses.
“Well, someone has to hear something. This is crazy. We can’t just be stuck in here. I can’t be stuck in here. I don’t like this. I don’t like elevators. Why didn’t I take the stairs? Stupid. So stupid.”
I put my hand on his shoulder. “Deep breaths. Calm down and take deep breaths.”
He does as I suggest.
“There you go,” I say calmly. “Smell the flowers in and blow the candles out.” I use the same saying I know his dad taught him as a kid when he would get upset.
He laughs. I do too.
Pax leans back against the elevator car wall and slides down until he’s sitting on the floor, legs bent, and lowers his head between his knees.
“You’re supposed to put your head between your knees while you’re still standing if you’re going to hyperventilate,” I tell him.
“I know, but I feel better sitting. And I’m not going to hyperventilate.” He takes off his jacket and spreads it on the floor. “Join me?”
I move to sit but realize I can’t with how tight my skirt is. I squat a bit and push my butt to the right but can’t make it all the way down to his level. Repeat to the left results in the same outcome. Pax stands, laughing.
“Here, take my hands and I’ll lower you down,” he says.
I do and he helps me lower to the floor, bottom first. I tuck my legs to the side and pull my heels off.
“Oh god, that feels good,” I moan, rubbing my insoles with one hand.
We sit there a moment, each lost in our own thoughts.
I’m the first to speak. “I’m sure that Pax will realize that I’m late and come looking, see my car and realize we’re stuck in here.”
“Hunter,” Pax says.
“Hunter, what?”
“Hunter. You’re sure Hunter will realize you’re late.”
“That’s what I said.”
“No, you said Pax.”
I scoff. “No, I didn’t. Why would I say Pax? Especially when you are sitting right here and I’m talking to you.”
He shrugs. “Just telling you what I heard.”
Did I say Pax?
Good lord, get it together, Tabatha.
He laughs after a moment. “Hey, remember that time we snuck into the photo lab supply closet to make out and got stuck?”
“Ohmigod, yes!” I giggle. “I thought for sure Mr. Henderson was going to suspend us when he finally unlocked the door.”
“I thought we were going to die in there and never get out.” Pax chuckles.
“You were very brave,” I tell him.
“Eh. I’m pretty sure I wet my pants in fear and just hid it from you.” He ducks his head as he laughs some more, then looks up at me with a sidelong glance. Big bright eyes, long dark lashes, wide smile. He’s just as handsome as ever. It makes me almost proud to have once been his.
I look away to cover the sudden discomfort I feel. I know that seeing him like this brings up past emotions and memories. But that’s just it—past. Because I definitely do not have feelings for him now. That ship sailed long ago. I clear my throat and collect my hands in my lap, back straight. Thinking about the past does nothing to help our circumstances right now.
I pull up a word game on my phone. I like to play against the computer.
“What are you playing?” Pax asks.
“Scrabble.”
“Let’s play together. Start a new game and we’ll pass it back and forth.”
“Okay, but you know the rules, no more than sixty seconds per turn,” I remind him. That was my rule when we were together and it’s still my rule now. Though now, it’s just self-imposed. I had to institute the rule back then, otherwise Pax would take five minutes per turn and it would take days to finish one game.
“Fine,” he agrees with a sigh.
I start a new game and play my word—unfold. I pass it to him.
He plays and hands it back. His word: hug.
“Is that really the only word you could play?” I ask.
“It’s too much pressure when you put a time limit on it.”
“Okay, but if I don’t put a time limit on it, then you take forever. Besides, it’s more fun with the added pressure. Keeps you on your toes.”
“Speak for yourself.”
I play my word: triaged.
We keep going back and forth, until I realize it’s been over thirty minutes.
“Why haven’t they come for us yet?” I ask and immediately regret it. Pax was calm and playing the game with me. The minute I remind him we’re stuck, he stands and begins banging on the doors again.
I look up at him. which is when I notice the roof hatch.
“Oh, Pax, we’re dumb.”
“We are?”
I point up to the hatch. He closes his eyes for a minute, I know he’s chastising himself for not seeing it or thinking of it first. He reaches up, but is short by at least half a foot
“Let me boost you up,” he says.
“I’d rather wait, thank you.”
“Come on, Tabs. Let me just boost you up to get the panel open and then I’ll jump up and grab the edges and haul myself out.”
“How do you even know there’s a way out?”
“You’re the one who pointed out the hatch. Why’d you do that if you didn’t think it was a way out?”
“Because it’s always a way out in the movies.”
“Well . . .”
He has a point.
I let him pull me to my feet. “Okay,” I start. “How are we doing this?”
He goes down to one knee. “Stand on my thigh to boost yourself up to my shoulder. You sit on my shoulder and I’ll stand, then you’ll be able to reach the hatch.”
I do as he says, and perch myself on his shoulder, hoping I’m not too heavy for this.
He stands
with ease, holding my calves to his chest to keep me balanced. I’m not wearing stockings, and the feel of his arm hair against my bare skin tickles, making me squirm.
“Hold still or I’ll drop you,” he growls straightening to his full height. I have to duck to avoid hitting the ceiling. I push at the hatch using one hand, but it doesn’t budge.
I try again using both hands. Nothing.
“I don’t think I’m strong enough.”
“Okay, I’m going to crouch a little. Straighten your arms against the top, then when I start to push up, lock your elbows. That way the strength is coming from my legs and not your arms.”
He’s pretty good with this stuff.
We try it his way. It still won’t budge.
He makes me try it three more times, but there is no way that hatch is moving.
“Do you think it’s locked?” I ask.
“I guess it could be,” he says, sighing. He takes a step toward the wall just as the car jolts and begins to ascend. Pax loses his footing. I grasp at the ceiling for balance. It’s no use. Before I realize what’s happened, we are tumbling down.
“Aaahh!” The sound is too high-pitched to have been Pax, so it must be me screaming. To his credit, Pax somehow catches me as we go down. I land firmly in his lap, one of my arms around his neck, one of his arms around my waist. It reminds me of how the hero catches the heroine in the old-time movies when she escapes out the window.
Pax throws back his head and laughs, so I do the same.
Which is how Hunter finds us when the door opens.
16
Pax
“What on earth? Tabatha, what is going on here? Who is this man?” Hunter asks her.
I realize I don’t have my hat or glasses on, so he would have no real way of knowing I’m actually the photographer.
Tabby scrambles to get off my lap, turning and contorting until she’s in a pose akin to yoga’s downward dog before straightening with superhuman core strength.
