by Cheryl Holt
If she didn’t accompany him, she’d never have another chance, and she was positive she’d always regret it.
“I’d like to go with you,” she told him.
She’d surprised him, and his grin widened. “I can’t believe you said yes.”
“I’ve been stuck in a rut for ages, so I’m trying to be more spontaneous.”
“Well, then, aren’t I lucky?”
He linked their fingers and led her toward the stairs.
“What a nightmare, huh? I’m glad it’s over.”
Sharon smiled at Greg and said, “When I woke up this morning, if you’d told me we wouldn’t be having a wedding, I’d have laughed. I was so sure we’d trudge ahead, then be mopping up the mess for decades to come.”
“In a way, I’m grateful to Eric and Crystal,” Greg said. “They saved us from a lot of problems down the road.”
“How is Jennifer?”
“She’s actually fine, which seems so weird to me. I’d have expected her to be crying her eyes out.”
“At the moment, she’s probably too stunned. The realization of what occurred will likely catch up with her shortly, and she’ll be devastated.”
“Or it might not. She might decide she’s relieved to have escaped.”
They were down in the village, snuggled in a booth at the sports bar where they’d had their first date. Had it been a date? She didn’t know what else to call it.
They were flying home the next day, and after all the upheaval at the Inn, they’d snuck away for a few hours and had left their children far behind.
“What will people do with those fridge magnets I painted?” she asked him. “What’s your bet? Will they keep them or toss them?”
“Why wouldn’t they keep them? Who can’t use another fridge magnet?”
“That’s what I like about you. You’re so pragmatic.”
“It’s the working man in me. I’m a handy guy to have around.”
“You certainly are.”
She sighed with happiness, but with regret too. She’d arrived at Cross Creek as one sort of woman, but while she’d been in residence, she’d been drastically altered, so a completely different woman would be returning to California.
She’d spent fifteen years wallowing in misery, blaming Crystal for her situation, fuming over the injustices Dennis had leveled. But she’d begun to see that Dennis had been destined to divorce her. The major tenet of his personality was that he’d always been dissatisfied with where he was at in life and had wanted what he didn’t have, and Crystal had simply spurred him to it.
With amazing swiftness, Sharon had accepted that reality, and she’d shucked off her doom and gloom to the point where she felt as if none of it had even happened to her. Or maybe that it had happened to another, less fortunate female, and she’d been a spectator.
The pain and fury had floated away, and she didn’t understand why. It might have simply been time to forget the past or it might have been her meeting Greg Layton that had provided the impetus she’d needed to move on.
“Will your ex-husband murder Crystal or simply divorce her?” he asked. “What’s your prediction?”
She chuckled. “I doubt he still cares about her enough to murder her. Did I tell you he brought a girlfriend with him to Cross Creek?’
Greg was moral and decent, and his jaw dropped in astonishment. “What? No way!”
“She’s a young actress whose career he’s building. Apparently, he couldn’t bear to be away from her for four short days.”
“That’s gross.”
“I know, but that’s Dennis.”
“May I hope Crystal will get half his money?” he asked. “You’d receive enormous satisfaction from that.”
“I’ve heard that he made her sign a pre-nuptial agreement.”
“Smart man, I guess.”
“Eric once told me her pay-out is a mere hundred grand.”
“In their world, that’s pocket change.”
“And she’s in trouble with that college admission thing.”
“She’s involved in that?”
“Yes, and Dennis was probably keeping it quiet, but if they split, she won’t have his protection. She and Lindsey have been losing their advertising sponsors, so she might have financial difficulties winging in her direction—on top of her legal problems.”
Greg snorted with amusement. “Don’t you dare gloat.”
“I’ll try not to.”
“Will Eric marry Crystal now? If Dennis dumps her, would Eric latch onto her?”
The notion hadn’t occurred to Sharon, and she winced. “Gad, I hadn’t considered the possibility. If I have to shift from Crystal being my ex-husband’s trophy wife to her being my eldest son’s first wife, I’ll have to throw myself off a cliff.”
“Eric seems like a player to me. Is that the appropriate word? Or can we just call him a playboy? Is that an antiquated term?”
“I think playboy still works.”
“I don’t see him marrying Crystal or anybody. He likes being a bachelor too much. That’s Jennifer’s opinion anyway.”
“If that’s his position,” Sharon said, “why propose to Jennifer?”
“It will have to remain one of the great mysteries of the universe.”
“I’m claiming it was temporary insanity on his part.”
“I can go with insanity,” he said. “I mean, who would select Crystal over my daughter? In my view, it was the choice of a lunatic.”
They smirked and clinked their beer glasses.
They’d had a pizza and had watched a baseball game, but the game was over and the pizza eaten, so they had to return to the Inn. In the morning, they’d pack their bags and head for the airport. The prospect left her very sad.
He hadn’t mentioned their keeping in touch. He lived in Portland and had a whole life there with his kids and his job. She lived in Malibu, and she had a life there too. It was a small and unfulfilling life, but it was all she’d managed to scrape together since her divorce. Their brief romance had her wanting more for herself.
In many areas, she was very old-fashioned. The man was supposed to talk about the future. Not that she was hoping they would marry. She was too gun-shy to ever wed again, but her plan was that they’d be intimately bound for many years.
Was he thinking along those lines? If she jumped into the void and suggested a continuing connection, how might he reply?
Men and women were such different creatures. Women read deep emotion into situations where men didn’t notice any emotion at all. The idea of an enduring bond might not have dawned on him.
She decided she had to speak up. If she didn’t, she’d always regret it. Wasn’t it better to hear his answer? Wasn’t it better than dreaming about what might have been?
“We’re leaving tomorrow,” she said.
“Doesn’t it seem as if we’ve been in Colorado for an eternity?”
“Definitely. When do you head out?”
“Our flight is early, so our car is picking us up at seven. How about you?”
“My flight is later in the afternoon.”
“We’ve got one of those big limos taking us to Aspen,” he said. “Why don’t you ride with us?”
She would love to accompany him, but he was traveling with his family, and she tried to picture herself wedged into a car with them. They’d be criticizing Eric, spewing blame. Her name would be on the tips of their tongues as they speculated over what kind of mother could have produced such a selfish child.
She and Greg wouldn’t be able to whisper personal comments, so it was a recipe for disaster.
“I’ll spend my last few hours at the Inn,” she said. “I can’t imagine when I’ll ever visit a place like this again. I want to suck up the atmosphere while I can.”
If he was disap
pointed by her response, he didn’t show it, but then, he was the most unflappable guy she’d ever encountered. Nothing dismayed or distressed him. He’d been widowed young and had reared four kids on his own, so no event or circumstance could disturb him.
“After the drama here,” she said, “it will be very quiet in Malibu.”
“You’ll be calmer now, won’t you? With this behind you, some of your anger has vanished.”
“I agree, and I have a question for you.”
“My life is an open book, so ask away.”
“I feel like we were destined to cross paths.”
He nodded. “I feel that way too.”
“It might be the reason for Eric’s idiocy with Jennifer: so we’d meet.”
“Could be.”
“So I was wondering if you’d like to keep in touch.”
She braced, ready to be embarrassed, but he said, “I’ve been wondering the same, but I can’t figure out what that would look like. Would we write letters? I’m not much for writing letters.”
“I am. I could write constantly.”
“But I would never answer you, so that wouldn’t be fair.”
“We could call on the phone like a couple of teenagers. Would that be so bad? We could chat every night before we went to bed, and we’d tell each other about our day.”
The problem with that scenario was that her days were so boring. She’d walked out of her divorce with a fortune, so she didn’t have to work. She had breakfast every Wednesday with some female friends. She attended a yoga class twice a week in the evenings. She volunteered at the library on Friday afternoons. That was it.
Her world was dull and dreary. She didn’t even have a dog to mention.
“Should we start phoning regularly though?” he said. “I’ve been struggling with whether this is just a wedding romance. They happen frequently; you know that.”
“I know.”
“What if, once we arrive home, we realize it was a fantasy?”
“Then I guess we’d call less and less until we stop calling, but why be such a pessimist? What if we wind up being close until we’re a hundred years old?”
He laughed. “Wouldn’t that be nice?”
“You never have a vacation, but would you consider it? What if you flew down to California for a visit?”
“I could, but what if it was awful, and we decided it was a mistake?”
“You are being an absolute beast.”
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I can’t raise my hopes only to have them dashed. It’s been ages since I was happy like this.”
It was the dearest remark he could have uttered, and it left her greatly assured. They would be fine. She was convinced of it.
“How about this?” she said. “We don’t contact each other for an entire month.”
“What would be the purpose of that?”
“Well, if thirty days go by and we’re not eager to grab the phone, then it was a wedding romance after all. But if we’re dying to connect, if we can’t wait, then it’s obviously something more.”
“If it’s something more,” he said, “our lives could get very complicated.”
“We’re not dead, Greg. We can survive a little complication.”
He chuckled. “You’re right.”
“What if I came to Portland? I haven’t ever been there.”
“It’s rainy, you Californian, you.”
“I could survive it.”
He grinned. “If you came, I’d buy you an expensive raincoat.”
“You know how to sweet-talk a girl, Greg Layton.”
“Not really,” he said. “You just bring out the best in me.”
“Hello, Josh.”
“Hello, Mr. Layton.”
“We haven’t had a chance to become acquainted,” Greg said, “and it’s almost time to head home.”
They’d stumbled on each other in the bar, and it was surprisingly empty. Out on the rear patio, it was still fairly crowded, with guests wringing a last bit of merriment out of the depressing conclusion to the wedding, but Josh was sitting on a stool by himself, drinking a beer all alone. If the other kids knew he was present, they were content to give him some space.
Greg slid onto the stool next to him and ordered a beer of his own. He would just stay a minute. Sharon was taking a shower, so he’d snuck out, but shortly, he’d hurry up the stairs. His lovely interlude with her was winding down, and he couldn’t miss a single second of what remained.
Josh said, “Can I apologize to you?”
“For what?”
“Eric is my friend, so I feel as if some of this debacle is my fault. I should have forced him to behave.”
Greg waved away the comment. “You’re not his nanny, and could we not discuss Eric Benjamin? I’ve been talking about him all day, and I’d rather stop.”
“I hear you.”
The bartender delivered Greg’s beer, and he and Josh clinked their bottles together.
“We never chatted about baseball,” Greg told him, “and I think I’m the only person in this blasted hotel who is actually a fan. Is it odd to not be playing this summer?”
“It’s odd—and terrifying.”
“Amy tells me your shoulder is screwed up, but it hasn’t been in the news.”
“We’ve kept it quiet, so it would sound as if it was no big deal.” Josh sighed. “But yes, it’s permanently wrecked. I have a checkup on Tuesday, but I don’t expect a good prognosis.”
“Will it destroy your career?”
“It looks like it.”
“It must be scary to be so young, but to have your world ending.”
“It will be difficult, so I’ll have a lot of adjustments—as well as surgery with a painful and lengthy recovery.” Josh gave a mock shudder. “I never like to be incapacitated.”
“Of course you don’t,” Greg said. “You’re an athlete. You guys want to proceed full-speed forever. When will you make some decisions?”
“Once I’m in Dallas, I’ll have some serious conversations with team management. They’ve already figured out what’s in store for me, but I have been pretending I’m fine.”
“After you have your surgery, where will you recuperate? Do you have family to take care of you?”
“Not really. I have two parents—who are divorced and remarried—so I’m pretty much on my own.”
“That’s too bad. Aren’t you from California?”
“Yes. I grew up in LA, then moved to San Diego after I was first drafted.”
“Will you go back there?”
Josh was bewildered by the question, and he shrugged. “I don’t know. I’m telling myself none of this is happening.”
“You need some down time to get your head on straight.”
“My head’s never been on straight.”
Greg laughed at that and held out his phone. “Give me your number. I’d like to keep track of you, so I can hear how you’re faring.”
“It would be nice to have somebody worry about me. With the great children you’ve raised, you might be an excellent worrier.”
They exchanged numbers, then Greg slid off his stool and said, “I wish I could talk baseball all night, but I’m in the middle of a marvelous date.”
“Have fun.”
“I am having fun. In fact, I’m having too much fun. I’ve astonished myself.”
Josh chuckled. “Good for you.”
Greg contemplated for an instant, wondering if he shouldn’t shut his mouth, but he’d always had a soft spot for his dear Amy, and he said, “I should probably butt out, but I’m aware that Amy spent several hours in your room this afternoon.”
Josh turned such a hot shade of red that he nearly ignited. “Well, it’s just that we were, we . . . ah . . . she . . . ah . . .”
The poor boy was mortified, and Greg patted him on the shoulder. “I don’t mind that she was there. She’s an adult, and she can pick her friends, but she’s taken some hard knocks in this world.”
“Yes, she told me about the wreck.”
“She did?” The admission was shocking and very interesting. Amy never spoke about that terrible period with anyone. “Just remember that she’s my favorite—out of all my kids.”
“I can certainly see why. She’s amazing.”
“Be kind to her,” Greg said, “because if you’re not, her brother and I will have to have a few words with you about it.”
“Message received, sir.”
“Have I mentioned that I’m a carpenter? I may be fifty, but I’m really, really strong.”
“She’s in very good hands with me,” Josh insisted.
“I’m delighted to hear it.”
Greg walked on, thinking that the whole wedding had been worth every minute.
Through earbuds, she listened to the song she’d intended to dance to with her husband at her wedding banquet. She was trying to recollect why she’d selected it, but she couldn’t recall. Had Crystal Benjamin suggested it? Had Victoria DeAngelo? Jennifer didn’t even like the stupid song, and it wouldn’t have been her choice.
She was on the Inn’s patio, in the area where the guests should have congregated after the ceremony in the chapel. She closed her eyes and moved in a circle, struggling to imagine what the scene would have been like, but she couldn’t bring it into focus.
Had she nearly been a bride? It seemed so distant now that it might have been some sort of stage play she’d watched from the audience.
She was clutching a bottle of champagne and had drunk most of it by herself, and because she wasn’t much of a drinker—none of her siblings were—she was feeling tipsy. But then, after the day she’d endured, she supposed she was allowed.
Had there been a moment when she should have recognized that her relationship with Eric was cursed?
