Manny watched, his eyebrows arching as Brianna and Maeve swung through the door, shook the excess water off their umbrella, and darted over to the ladies’ room.
There wasn’t much space behind the jukebox. Fortunately, Will didn’t need much space. The speakers were small, and he was able to wedge them between the back of the machine and the wall. Straightening, he crossed to one of the booths Manny had already cleaned and busied himself with his phone, calling up the songs he’d prepared.
The scene looked normal by the time his mother and Ed returned. “That’s impressive,” Ed said, sounded natural enough. “And yeah, I’m convinced you know how to use it.”
“It’s just a scanner and a grid,” Gus said. “Any idiot can work that.”
“Not necessarily,” Ed argued. “The way the grid sorts things out, lets you know exactly what you’ve got and what you need. It’s pretty cool.” If Will hadn’t been listening for it, he wouldn’t have noticed the thread of tension in Ed’s tone. “Could you fix me a cup of coffee?” he asked Gus. “The stuff at the station house was really awful today. I could use a cup of your good stuff.”
“My good stuff isn’t coffee,” she noted, gesturing toward the bottles she’d been lining up when they’d arrived. She lifted one of the decanters from her industrial coffee maker and filled a mug for him. “I take it you don’t have to be at work this morning?”
“I worked all morning. I’m allowed a few minutes of down time.” Lifting his mug from the bar, he ambled across the room to the jukebox.
“You want some lunch? I could heat up some wings for you.”
“That’s all right. I could use some music, though.” He exchanged a quick look with Will, who nodded in encouragement. “You should listen to music when you work, Gus. It’ll make the labor go easier.”
“I listen to enough music once the customers start feeding quarters into the jukebox. I like the peace and quiet before the place starts jumping.”
“Well, I’d like some music,” Ed said. “How about it, Manny? Want to hear some music?”
Manny’s gaze shuttled from Ed to Will and back to Ed. “Um, sure. I like music,” he said helpfully.
Ed smiled again—tense and taut-lipped, but still a smile. He hunched over the jukebox, reached into his pocket, pulled out a quarter, and pantomimed sliding it into the slot.
Will hit an icon on his phone, and “Chapel of Love” emerged from the speakers behind the jukebox.
Manny grinned. He’d clearly figured out that Ed and Will were up to something, and that particular song, with its cheerful tune and its lyrics rejoicing in a wedding, must have given him a hint about what that something was. Gus appeared oblivious, however, once again engrossed in emptying cartons of liquor in preparation for when the customers began to trickle in.
“‘We’re gonna get mar-ar-ar-ried,’” Ed sang along in a passable baritone. Will noticed the ladies’ room door open a crack. His mother, across the room and busy, couldn’t have seen that.
Apparently, the song hadn’t cast a spell on her. Nor had Ed’s serenade. His broad shoulders heaved as he let out a sigh and sipped his coffee. It smelled delicious. Will should have asked for a cup, too. But he remained where he was on the booth’s bench, as unobtrusive as he could possibly be in a room where he was one of only four people present.
The song ended. Will angled his head to glimpse his mother. She showed no sign that Ed, or the music, or her demonstrated expertise with the new inventory software, meant anything much to her. He hoped the next song would have more of an effect on her.
It began with a catchy bass line, a sharp rhythm. “‘Ooh, you make me live,’” Freddie Mercury and his band mates sang. Ed joined them for the refrain, “‘You’re my best friend.’”
Gus still didn’t seem transfixed by the song. But if Will wasn’t mistaken, she was responding to the beat, her shoulders bouncing a little, her steps in tempo. She wasn’t quite dancing—her mother’s attempt to force her into a leotard and ballet slippers forty-five years ago had apparently traumatized her—but she was moving with the music, letting the music move her.
That was promising.
The ladies’ room door opened another half-inch. Will could picture Brianna and Maeve peeking out, hearing the music and wondering whether the plan would succeed.
Ed moseyed back to the bar, took a sip of coffee, and set his mug down. “‘You’re my best friend,’” he serenaded Gus.
She sent him a fleeting smile, then grabbed a dish cloth and wiped down the beer taps.
Maybe the song had to come directly from the jukebox to work. Maybe what they were doing—turning the jukebox into a ventriloquist and making it look as if it was playing their selected songs—was cheating. But if Ed had actually inserted his quarter, who knew what songs the jukebox would have played?
The Queen song ended. Ed watched Gus intently, hopefully. “What?” she asked, his stare apparently making her uncomfortable.
The third song began, the one Will and Brianna hadn’t been familiar with until they’d listened to it the other night and realized how appropriate it was. “Right Down the Line.” That was Ed’s approach to life, and Gus’s, too. When I wanted you to share my life…I had no doubt in my mind…
Ed didn’t sing. He just watched her.
It was you, woman…
His mother watched him back.
Were they under a spell? Had the song enchanted his mother? Truth to tell, it was enchanting Will. He glanced toward the ladies’ room door, wondering if Brianna could see him, wondering if she could feel those lyrics as if he’d been singing them to her.
It was you, woman…
The song ended. Ed dug into the pocket of his khakis again, this time pulling out not a quarter but a small velvet box. He set it on the bar, flipped open the lid, and said, “Marry me, Gus.”
She looked at the ring. She lifted her eyes back to Ed. “We’ve talked about this…”
“Yeah, we’ve talked and talked. Now, let’s do it.”
She set down her towel, bit her lip, gazed into Ed’s eyes. “Okay,” she said.
“That’s a yes?”
“Yes.”
The ladies’ room door flew open and Maeve and Brianna charged out into the bar. Maeve raced straight to her father, while Brianna detoured to the booth where Will was rising to his feet. Her smile warmed him, as bright as sunshine on this damp, dreary morning.
They walked together to the bar, where Manny was now clapping Ed on the back. The slap jolted Ed, who nearly dropped the ring. But he recovered and slid it onto Gus’s finger. The sparkling diamond seemed almost incongruous on his mother’s work-roughened, unmanicured hand, but it was beautiful. Her smile was even more beautiful as she and Ed both leaned across the bar, their lips meeting above the polished wood as they kissed.
“Champagne!” Manny shouted.
“It’s too early for champagne,” Gus argued.
“It’s five o’clock somewhere,” Ed said.
“And people drink mimosas for brunch,” Maeve pointed out.
“The thing is, I don’t like champagne much,” Gus said. “All those bubbles make my nose itch. But we can toast with coffee.” She filled several mugs and set a bowl of packeted sweeteners and a pitcher of milk on the bar beside them. Her gaze settled on Will and Brianna. “You plotted this with him, huh,” she said, motioning with her head in Ed’s direction. “Behind my back.”
“It was Brianna’s idea,” Will defended himself.
Brianna held up her hands in protest, but Ed bolstered Will’s claim. “She said the right song would bring you around. I wasn’t sure which song would be the right one. I thought ‘Chapel of Love’ would get you in the mood to say yes.”
“No. It was the last one,” Gus said. “And it wasn’t magic. It was you, Ed.” She glanced at the glittering diamond on her left hand and smiled, looking slightly dazed. “That’s what the song says, right? It was you, right down the l
ine.” She sighed, peered at her hand, and shook her head. “All right, then. I’ve dragged my feet long enough. I guess it’s time for us to make it legal.”
“We’ll save money on insurance,” Ed reminded her. “I can put you on my health care policy.”
She laughed and kissed him again. “That’s why I love you, Ed. You’re so practical.”
Chapter Seventeen
Brianna was happy for Will’s mother—and for Will, too. He told her he still had vivid memories of his father, even though his father had died eighteen years ago, and Ed Nolan would never replace his dad in his heart. But Ed was a good man, and he loved Will’s mother, and Will was convinced they’d be stronger as a husband and wife than they were as girlfriend and boyfriend. It took two to make a dream come true, right?
Right. Brianna knew that. The song—her song and Will’s--insisted on it.
Sadly, she knew that one of her dreams would not come true. She and Will had glided into a comfortable, steady romance, but time was slipping away. He would be leaving soon. They didn’t talk about it, but it was there, a dark cloud hovering in the sky, casting a shadow that grew closer every day.
So she focused on her other dream: the Town Hall building.
In the run-up to the town’s vote, lawn signs had sprouted like mushrooms after a rainstorm through Brogan’s Point. Many of them said “Out With The Old, In With The New.” She had no idea if Rollie had paid for those signs. She, on the other hand, hadn’t paid for the signs she spotted on other lawns, reading “Protect Our Heritage! Preserve Town Hall!” Whenever Brianna spotted one of those signs, her spirits lifted.
True, the ultimate design for the Town Hall would be determined by an election. But it did seem a little silly to her that an architectural decision should be treated like a political campaign. However, if some Brogan’s Point residents wanted to plant signs supporting her Town Hall proposal on people’s lawns, she wouldn’t object.
She was less pleased by the string of posts appearing on the Brogan’s Point Facebook page, debating the two designs. Will was concerned about that debate, too. Someone named Peter Grogan had written, “Make sure you check out the new, reduced price for the Cahill and Associates design. They’re going to bring their building in at a much lower price than originally quoted. It you were undecided, that should make your mind up for you. It’s time for something new and exciting in this town.”
A Maryanne O’Hara countered that Rollie’s design would still cost a lot more than a renovation of the current Town Hall.
Peter Grogan called Maryanne O’Hara a Luddite. “WAKE UP, PEOPLE!” he posted in screaming capital letters. “It’s the twenty-first century! We need the Cahill and Associates Town Hall!”
“Even in the twenty-first century, money is still money,” someone named Eva Kopnik posted.
“Would you rather your tax dollars go the schools and road repairs, or to a fancy new building?” Laurie Goldstein asked.
“The building will bring prestige to the town. Prestige brings business. Business brings in tax dollars,” Peter Grogan argued.
“There’s no one named Peter Grogan living in Brogan’s Point,” Will told Brianna as they sat side by side in his bed, their hips jammed together, reading the string of posts on Will’s laptop, which was balanced on his left thigh and her right thigh.
“How do you know that?” she asked. “Did you look him up in a town phone book?”
“Phone books don’t exist anymore,” he said with a laugh, then grew serious. “I saw these posts earlier today and got curious. I mean, come on. Peter Grogan? Brogan’s Point? Pretty similar, no?”
“That’s not Peter Grogan’s fault,” she said.
“Anyway, I hacked into the town’s taxpayer rolls. There was no Peter Grogan listed there.”
“Isn’t hacking into the town’s taxpayer records illegal?”
Another laugh. “Probably not. If the rolls were supposed to be secret, the town would have layered in more security.”
“Maybe they need a new, modern Town Hall with better internet capabilities,” Brianna muttered.
“WiFi is WiFi, the same in the old Town Hall as anything Davenport would wire into his building. What I’m saying is that Peter Grogan is either an outsider or a pseudonym. Or both.” He gave Brianna a meaningful look.
“You think Rollie is posting under that name?”
“I do.”
“Can you hack into the Facebook page and find out?”
He set his laptop on the nightstand beside his bed and slung his arm around Brianna’s shoulders, drawing her against his chest. “I could try, but there isn’t much point. He’s already posted. People who read that page have seen his posts. It’s just…kind of bogus, posing as a town resident to make his case.”
“His games with the cost estimate are bogus, too.”
“It’s a good thing you aren’t with him anymore.”
Definitely a good thing. That she was with Will was an even better thing, even though the thought of his leaving weighed on her, the dark cloud moving closer and closer.
She tried to put his impending departure out of her mind, but that proved impossible. A few evenings when she was with him, he received phone calls from his friend Gaurav, one of the two classmates with whom he’d developed his inventory software. Gaurav had already moved to Seattle and seemed to like giving Will updates on how things were going with the high-tech conglomerate that had hired Will and his colleagues. When Gaurav phoned, Will always excused himself and wandered into another room with his phone, seeking privacy. She could hear scraps of Will’s side of the conversation, which usually amounted to variations on, “I can’t talk long, I’m busy right now,” as well as an occasional “That’s great!” or “Send me a screenshot and I’ll have a look at it.” He usually ended these calls after a few minutes and apologized when he returned to Brianna. She didn’t mind him talking to his friends, but the calls were painful reminders that a new life awaited him three thousand miles away.
His stay in Brogan’s Point was temporary. She’d known that from the start. She had no one but herself to blame for falling in love with a man who was destined to leave her soon.
“Are you worried about the vote?” he asked now, gesturing toward the laptop as if the discussion on the Brogan’s Point Facebook page represented the election itself.
“Not worried,” she said. “I’ve got a couple of new clients.”
“But…?”
She sighed. “Well, there’s my ego. And the money it would bring into our firm would be nice. And the experience. It would probably lead to more commissions. And it would be the biggest project I was ever involved in.”
Will pulled the laptop back onto his own lap and started to type. Brianna watched the screen as the words appeared on the Facebook page: “Hey, Peter Grogan, how long have you lived in Brogan’s Point? What do you know about our town’s tastes and values? We love our old buildings!”
“Do you really?” she Brianna asked him. “I thought you’d favor something more modern.”
“I like Davenport design,” he admitted, setting the laptop back on the nightstand. “I just don’t like Davenport. Or—excuse me, Peter Grogan,” he added, gesturing toward his laptop.
“Let’s not think about it anymore,” she said, cuddling closer. “The vote will be what it’ll be.”
“You’re right.” He tilted his head so he could kiss the tip of her nose. His lips slid further down, to her mouth, and then they were kissing deeply, hungrily, lowering themselves to the bed, sliding their hands over shoulders, across chests, between legs. There were much better ways for Brianna to spend her time than worrying about the Town Hall building.
***
The morning of the town vote was sunny and mild. Brianna woke early, scooted ahead of Will into the bathroom for a quick shower—that room could use some updating, too, although she loved the classic tile work surrounding the tub and the sink—and donned the s
lacks and blouse she’d brought with her the night before. She hadn’t moved any of her clothing into his mother’s house. That would represent a commitment as serious as what had existed between Will’s mother and Ed up until the moment he’d slid that gorgeous diamond ring onto her finger. How could Brianna commit to anything with Will when he had one foot out the door? She was reminded of that when she paused at the open door of what had once been his brother’s bedroom. Several cartons stood stacked along the wall. Will had never unpacked them. He’d left them sealed, ready to be shipped to Seattle.
He had talked her into bringing a change of clothes with her whenever she spent the night with him, though—and she was spending every night with him. A few nights, they’d slept at her apartment, but it was tiny and she lacked the time and funds to decorate it properly. It was functional, a place to live until she felt secure in her position at North Shore Design.
She knew she ought to pull back, spend less time with Will, start putting some distance between them so his farewell wouldn’t hurt so much. She needed to protect herself. He had never even whispered the word love to her. As far as she knew, she was just someone he enjoyed passing the time with until he moved on to his next adventure.
She felt his hand on her shoulder as she stared into his brother’s bedroom. “What are you looking at?”
Your moving boxes, she nearly blurted out. She bit her lip, then sighed. What did she have to lose by being honest? He was going to leave, anyway. “I’m thinking about your move to Seattle.”
He said nothing for a minute, just rubbed his fingers gently against her shoulder. “Yeah,” he murmured.
With her back to him, she couldn’t see his face. But his tone was wistful, not brimming with anticipation about the move. “When do they need you there?” she asked.
It Takes Two Page 15
