Читать книгу Rom-Com Collection - Kristan Higgins - Страница 12

CHAPTER TWO

LEVI COOPER, CHIEF OF POLICE of the Manningsport Police Department, all two and a half of them, tried to give people a break. He did. Even the tourists with the lead feet, Red Sox stickers and complete disregard for speed limits. He parked the cruiser in plain sight, the radar gun clearly visible. Hi there, welcome to Manningsport, you’re going way too fast and here I am, about to pull you over, so slow down, pal. The town depended on visitors, and September was prime tourism season; the leaves were starting to turn, buses had been rolling in and out of town all week, and every vineyard in the area had some special event going on.

But the law was the law.

Plus, he’d just let Colleen O’Rourke off with a stern lecture and a warning while she tried to look remorseful.

So another speeder just wasn’t going to be tolerated today. This one, for example. Seventeen miles an hour over the limit, more than enough. Also, an out-of-towner; he could see the rental plates from here. The car was a painfully bright yellow Honda Civic, currently clocking in at forty-two miles per hour in a twenty-five-mile-an-hour zone. What if Carol Robinson and her merry band of geriatric power-walkers were out? What if the Nebbins kid was riding his bike? There hadn’t been a fatal crash in Manningsport since he’d been chief, and Levi planned on keeping it that way.

The yellow car sailed past him, not even a tap on the brakes. The driver wore a baseball cap and big sunglasses. Female. With a sigh, Levi put on the lights, gave the siren a blip and pulled onto the road. She didn’t notice. He hit the siren again, and the driver seemed to realize that, yes, he was talking to her, and pulled over.

Grabbing his ticket pad, Levi got out of the cruiser. Wrote down the license plate number, then went over to the driver’s side, where the window was lowering. “Welcome to Manningsport,” he said, not smiling.

Shit.

It was Faith Holland. A giant Golden retriever shoved its head out of the window and barked once, wagging happily.

“Levi,” she said, as if they’d seen each other last week at O’Rourke’s.

“Holland. You visiting?”

“Wow. That’s amazing. How did you guess?”

He looked at her, not amused, and let a few beats pass. It worked; her cheeks flushed, and she looked away. “So. Forty-two in a twenty-five-mile-an-hour zone,” he said.

“I thought it was thirty-five,” she said.

“We dropped it last year.”

The dog whined, so Levi petted him, making the dog try to crawl over Faith’s head.

“Blue, get back,” Faith ordered.

Blue. Right. Same dog as from a few years ago.

“Levi, how about a warning? I have a, um, a family emergency, so if you could drop the cop act, that’d be super.” She gave him a tight smile, almost meeting his eyes, and pushed her hair behind one ear.

“What’s the emergency?” he said.

“My grandfather is...uh...he’s not feeling well. Goggy’s concerned.”

“Should you lie about stuff like that?” he asked. Levi was well acquainted with the elder Hollands, as they made up about ten percent of his work week. And if Mr. Holland really was under the weather, he’d bet Mrs. Holland would be picking out his funeral clothes and planning a cruise.

Faith sighed. “Look, Levi. I just took the red-eye from San Francisco. Can you give me a break? Sorry I was going too fast.” She tapped her fingers on the steering wheel. “I’ll take a warning. Can I go now?”

“License and registration, please.”

“Still got that branch up your ass, I see.”

“License and registration, and please exit the vehicle.”

She mumbled something under her breath, then groped around in the glove compartment, her shirt coming out of her jeans to reveal a patch of creamy flesh. Looked like the fitness revolution had passed her by; then again, she’d always been a little lush ripe chunky, ever since he could remember. The dog took the opportunity to shove his head out again, and Levi scratched him behind the ear.

Faith slammed the glove box shut, shoved some papers in Levi’s hand, got out of the car, nearly hitting him with the door. “Stay put, Blue.” She didn’t look at Levi.

He glanced at her license, then at her.

“Yes, it’s a bad picture,” she snapped. “Want a tissue sample?”

“I don’t think that’ll be necessary. This has expired, though. Another fine.”

Her eyes narrowed, and she crossed her arms under her chest. Still had that amazing rack.

“How was Afghanistan?” she asked, looking over his shoulder.

“Really great. I’m thinking of getting a summer place there.”

“You know what I wonder, Levi? Why are some people always such hemorrhoids? You ever wonder that?”

“I do. Are you aware that antagonizing an officer of the law is a felony?”

“Really. How fascinating. Can you get it in gear, please? I want to see my family.”

He signed the paper and handed it to her. She wadded it up and tossed it in the car. “Am I free to go, Officer?”

“It’s Chief now,” he said.

“See someone about that branch.” She got into the car and drove off. Not too fast, though not slowly, either.

Levi watched her go, releasing a breath. Up to Blue Heron Vineyard, the place her family had owned since America was a baby, to the big white house on the Hill, as her neighborhood was called.

He’d always known Faith Holland, the kind of girl who hugged her girlfriends six times a day in school, as if it’d been weeks since they’d seen each other, not two periods. She reminded him of a puppy trying to woo prospective owners at the pound... Like me! Like me! I’m really nice! Jessica, Levi’s old neighbor from the trailer park and on-and-off high school girlfriend, had dubbed her Princess Super-Cute, always bouncing around in frilly outfits and pastel colors. Once Faith had started dating Jeremy...it was like eating a bowl of Lucky Charms topped with syrup, so sweet it made your teeth ache. He was surprised bluebirds hadn’t fluttered around her head.

Funny, how she’d never noticed her boyfriend was gay.

Levi knew she’d been back over the years—Christmas and Thanksgiving, a weekend here and there, but her visits were short and sweet. She sure never stopped by the police station, though he was friendly with her family; sometimes her grandparents would ask him to stay for dinner after they’d summoned him to the house, and once in a while, he’d have a beer with her father or brother at O’Rourke’s. But Faith would never think to drop by and say hello.

Yet once upon a time, when she’d cried herself dehydrated, she’d fallen asleep with her head in his lap.

Levi got back into his cruiser. Plenty of work to do. No point in dwelling on the past.

* * *

FAITH KNOCKED ON THE BACK door of her father’s house and happily braced for impact. “I’m home!” she called.

“Faith! Oh, honey, finally!” cried Goggy, leading the stampede. “You’re late! Didn’t I tell you dinner was at noon?”

“Just got hung up a little,” Faith said, not wanting to mention Levi Cooper, Ass Pain.

Abby, now sixteen and so pretty, wrapped herself around Faith, burbling out compliments: “I love your earrings, you smell so good, can I come live with you?” Pops kissed both her cheeks and told her she was his prettiest girl, and Faith breathed in the comforting scent of grapes and Bengay. Ned hugged her amiably, despite being twenty-one, and tolerated a hair muss, and Pru gave her a hard hug, as well.

Her mother’s absence was still the most powerful thing in the room.

And finally there was Dad, who waited his turn for a solo hug. His eyes were wet when he pulled back. “Hi, sweetpea,” he said, and Faith’s heart gave a tug.

“Missed you, Daddy.”

“You look beautiful, sweetheart.” He ran a purple-stained hand over her hair and smiled.

“Mrs. Johnson’s not here?” Faith asked.

“It’s her day off,” Dad said.

“Oh, I know. I just haven’t seen her since June.”

“She doesn’t approve of Grandpa’s girlfriend,” Abby whispered as she petted Blue.

“Hi, sis,” Jack said, handing her a glass of wine.

“Hello, favorite sibling,” she answered, taking a hearty slug.

“Don’t drink it like it’s Gatorade, sweetpea,” her father chided. “We’re winemakers, remember?”

“Sorry, Dad,” Faith said. “Nice aroma of freshly cut grass, a rich, buttery texture, and I’m getting overtones of apricot with a hint of lemon. I love it.”

“Good girl,” he said. “Did you get any vanilla? Honor said vanilla.”

“Definitely.” Far be it for Faith to contradict Honor, who ran everything under the moon at Blue Heron Vineyards. “Where is Honor, by the way?”

“On that phone of hers,” Goggy said darkly. She tended not to trust anything invented after 1957. “Get in the dining room before the food gets cold.”

“I was serious when I asked to come live with you,” Abby said. Prudence sighed and took a slug of her own wine. “Plus,” Abby went on, “then I can establish residency in California and go to some awesome school out there at half price. See, Mom? Just saving you and Dad some money.”

“And where’s Carl, speaking of my favorite brother-in-law?” Faith asked.

“Hiding,” Pru answered.

“Well, well, well! You must be Faith!” A woman’s voice boomed as the downstairs bathroom door opened, the sound of a flushing toilet in the background.

Faith opened her mouth, then closed it. “Oh. I—I am. Lorena, I’m guessing?”

The woman Honor had warned about was a sight to behold indeed. Dull black hair, obviously dyed, makeup so thick you could carve in it and a squat body shown in horrifying detail through a clinging, leopard-print shirt.

The woman shoved a Sharpie pen in her cleavage where it stayed, quivering, like a syringe. “Just touching up my roots!” she announced. “Wanted to make a nice impression on the little princess! Hello there! Give us a hug!”

Faith’s breath left her in a whoosh as Lorena wrapped her in a python grip. “Nice to meet you,” she wheezed as Pru gave her a significant look.

“Can we please eat before my death?” Pops asked. “The old woman here wouldn’t let me have my cheese. I’m starving.”

“So, die already,” Goggy answered. “No one’s stopping you. I’ll barely notice.”

“Well, Phyllis Nebbins would notice. She got a new hip two months ago, Faithie. Looks like she’s seventy-five again, out there with her grandson, always with a smile. Nice to see a happy woman.”

Goggy slammed down a massive bowl of salt potatoes. “I’ll be happy once you’re dead.”

“That’s beautiful, Goggy,” Ned said.

“You two are such hoots!” Lorena practically yelled. “I love it!”

Faith sat down, inhaling the scent of Goggy’s ham, salt potatoes and home.

There were two houses on Blue Heron Vineyard: the Old House, where Goggy and Pops lived, a Colonial that had been updated twice since being built in 1781—once to install indoor plumbing, then again in 1932. Faith and her siblings grew up here, in the New House, a graceful if creaky old Federal built in 1873, where Dad lived with Honor and Mrs. Johnson, the housekeeper who’d been with them since Mom died.

And speaking of Honor... “Sorry, everyone,” she said. She paused, gave Faith a brief kiss on the cheek. “You finally got here.”

“Hi, Honor.” She ignored the slight reprimand.

Pru and Jack were sixteen and eight years older than Faith respectively, and generally viewed their baby sister as adorable, if slightly incompetent (which Faith had never minded, as it got her out of a lot of chores back in the day). Honor, though... She was four years older; Faith had been a surprise. Maybe Honor had never forgiven Faith for stealing the title of baby of the family.

More likely, though, she’d never gotten over the fact that Faith had caused their mother’s death.

Faith had epilepsy, first diagnosed when she was about five. Jack had filmed a seizure once (typical boy), and Faith had been horrified to see herself oblivious, her muscles jerking and clenching, eyes as vacant as a dead cow’s. It was assumed that Constance Holland had been distracted by one such seizure and therefore hadn’t seen the car that had smashed into them, killing Mom. Honor had never forgiven Faith...and Faith didn’t blame her.

“Why are you just sitting there, Faith?” Goggy demanded. “Eat up, sweetheart. Who knows what you’ve been living on in California?” Her grandmother passed her a plate loaded with smoked ham, buttered salt potatoes, green beans with butter and lemon, and braised carrots (with butter). Faith imagined she gained a pound just by looking at it.

“So, Lorena, you and my dad are...?” Faith asked above the background noise of her grandparents bickering over how much salt Pops should put on his already heavily salted meal.

“Special friends, sweetheart, special, special friends,” the woman said, adjusting her rather massive breasts. “Right, Johnny?”

“Oh, sure,” he agreed amiably. “She was dying to meet you, Faith.”

According to Honor, Lorena Creech had met Dad about a month earlier during a tour of Blue Heron. Everyone in the area knew John Holland had been devastated by his wife’s death, had never wanted to date anyone, was happy among his children, grandchildren and grapes. Any attempts at a relationship had been gently rebuffed in the early days until it was accepted that John Holland Jr. would remain a widower the rest of his life.

Enter Lorena Creech, a transplant from Arizona, clearly a gold digger, and not a candidate for stepmother. All three local Holland kids had discussed this with Dad, but he’d just laughed and waved off their concern. And while Dad was many things, Faith thought, watching as Lorena held the silverware up to the light, he wasn’t the most observant of men. No one had anything against Dad finding a nice woman to marry, but no one wanted Lorena to be sleeping upstairs in Mom’s old bed, either.

“So how many acres have you got here?” Lorena asked, taking a huge bite of ham. Subtle.

“Quite a few,” Honor said icily.

“Subdividable?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Well, some of it is, Honor, honey,” Dad said. “Over my dead body, of course. More green beans, Lorena?”

“This is nice,” Lorena said. “The whole family together! My late husband was sterile, Faith. A groin injury when he was a boy. Tractor backed up, squished him in the soft parts, so we never could have kids, though, hell, we sure got it on!”

Goggy was staring at Lorena as if she was a snake in the toilet. Jack drained his wine.

“Good for you!” Pops said. “Have some more ham, sweetheart.” He nudged the plate across the table toward Lorena, whose appetite was not restricted to the boudoir, it seemed.

“So, Faith,” Jack said, “Dad says you’ll be staying here for a while.”

Faith nodded and wiped her mouth. “Yep. Finally gonna fix up the old barn up on Rose Ridge. I’ll be here for about two months.” The longest she’d been back since her wedding debacle, and not just to fix up the barn, either. Both the mission and the length of time gave her a pang of alarm.

“Yay!” Abby said.

“Yay,” Ned echoed, winking at her.

“What are you doing with the old barn?” Pops asked. “Speak up, sweetie.”

“I’ll be turning it into a space for special events, Pops,” she explained. “People would rent it out, and it’d bring in some extra income for the vineyard. Weddings, anniversary parties, stuff like that.” She’d first come up with the idea when she was in graduate school—transform the old stone barn into something that blended into the landscape effortlessly, something modern and old at the same time.

“Oh! Weddings! I’d love to get married again,” Lorena said, winking at Dad, who simply grinned.

“It sounds like too much work for you, sweetheart,” Goggy said.

Faith smiled. “It’s not. It’s a great spot, and I’ve already got some plans drafted, so I’ll show them to everyone and see what you think.”

“And you can do that in two months?” Lorena asked around a potato.

“Sure,” Faith said. “Barring unforeseen complications and all that.” It would be her biggest project yet, and on home turf, too.

“So, what do you do again? Your father’s told me, hell’s bells, all he can do is talk about you kids, but I forget.” Lorena smiled at her. One of her teeth was gold.

“I’m a landscape architect.”

“You should see her work, Lorena,” Dad said. “Amazing.”

“Thanks, Daddy. I design gardens, parks, industrial open space, stuff like that.”

“So you’re a gardener?”

“Nope. I hire gardeners and landscapers, though. I come up with the design and make sure it’s implemented the right way.”

“The boss, in other words,” Lorena said. “Good for you, babe! Hey, are those Hummel figurines real? Those get a pretty penny on eBay, you know.”

“They were my mother’s,” Honor bit out.

“Uh-huh. A very pretty penny. How about some more of that ham, Ma?” she asked Goggy, holding out her plate.

Lorena...okay, she was kind of terrifying, there was no getting around it. Faith had hoped that Honor was exaggerating.

A prickle of nervous energy sang through Faith’s joints. Before she left San Francisco, she and her siblings had had a conference call. Dad was slightly clueless, it was agreed—he’d once been nicked by a car as he stood in the road, staring up at the sky to see if it might rain—but if he was ready to start dating, they could find him someone more suitable. Faith immediately volunteered for the job. She’d come home, work on transforming the old barn, and find Dad somebody great. Someone wonderful, someone who understood him and appreciated how loyal and hardworking and kind he was. Someone to take away the gaping hole Mom’s death had left.

Finally, Faith would have a chance at redemption.

And while she was at it, she’d finally be able to do something for Blue Heron, too, the family business that employed everyone except her.

Dinner was dominated by Lorena’s commentary, bickering between Ned and Abby, who really should be too old for that, as well as the occasional death threat between Goggy and Pops. Norman Rockwell meets Stephen King, Faith thought fondly.

“I’ll do these dishes. Don’t anyone move,” Goggy said, a hint of tragedy creeping into her voice.

“Kids!” Pru barked, and Ned and Abby jolted into action and started clearing.

Honor poured herself an ounce of wine. “Faith, you’ll be staying with Goggy and Pops, did Dad tell you?”

“What?” Faith asked, shooting Pops a quick smile to make up for the panic in her voice. Not that she didn’t love her grandparents, but living with them?

“Pops is slowing down,” Pru said in a whisper, as both grands were a bit hard of hearing.

“I’m not slowing down,” Pops protested. “Who wants to arm wrestle? Jack, you up for it, son?”

“Not today, Pops.”

“See?”

“You look good to me, Dad!” Lorena said. “Really good!”

“He’s not your father,” Goggy growled.

“You wouldn’t mind Faith staying with you, would you?” Dad asked. “You know you’ve been getting a bit...”

“A bit what?” Goggy demanded.

“Homicidal?” Jack suggested.

Goggy glared at him, then looked more gently at Faith. “We would love for you to stay with us, sweetheart. But as a guest, not a babysitter.” Another glare was distributed around the table before Goggy got up and went into the kitchen to instruct the kids.

“Pops, I wanted you to check out the merlot grapes,” Dad said.

“Count me in!” Lorena barked cheerfully, and the three left the dining room.

With Abby and Ned in the kitchen, it was just the four Holland kids around the table. “I’m really staying with them?” she asked.

“It’s for the best,” Honor said. “I have a bunch of stuff in your room, anyway.”

“So check this out,” Pru said, adjusting the collar of her flannel shirt. “Carl suggested that I get a bikini wax the other day.”

“Oh, God,” Jack said.

“What? All of a sudden you’re a prude? Who drove you home from that strip club when you got drunk, huh?”

“That was seventeen years ago,” he said.

“So big deal. Carl wants to ‘spice things up.’” Pru made quote marks with her fingers. “The man is lucky he’s getting any, that’s what I think. What’s your problem, Jack?” she called to Jack’s back as he left.

“I don’t want to hear about your sex life, either,” Honor said. “And I’ll return the favor and won’t tell you about mine.”

“Not that you have one,” Pru said.

“You might be surprised,” Honor returned.

“If I can’t talk to you guys, who am I gonna tell? My kids? Dad? You’re my sisters. You have to listen.”

“You can tell us,” Faith said. “So, no bikini wax, I take it?”

“Thanks, Faithie.” Pru leaned back and crossed her arms across her chest. “So he says to me, why not give it a try? Like the Playboy models? So I say to him, ‘First of all, Carl, if you have a Playboy in this house, you’re a dead man walking. We have a teenage daughter, and I don’t want her looking at fake boobs and slutty hair.’” She shifted in her chair. “A bikini wax! At my age! I have enough trouble with facial hair management.”

“Speaking of terrifying older women,” Faith said, ducking as Pru tried to swat her, “Lorena Creech. Yikes.”

“She asked Jack to sit on her lap the other day,” Pru said. “You should’ve seen his face.”

Faith laughed, stopping as Honor cut her a cool look. “It’s funny until Dad finds himself married to someone who’s only after his money,” Honor said.

“Dad has money?” Pru quipped. “This is news.”

“And he wouldn’t get married without it being someone great,” Faith added.

“Maybe not. But this is the first woman he’s ever had as his ‘special friend,’ too. And why her, I have no idea.” Honor adjusted her hair band. “She’s asked Sharon Wiles about the price of building lots the other day, so, Faith, don’t waste time, okay? I don’t have the time to cruise dating websites. You do.”

With that, she left, going back to her office, no doubt. All Honor did was work.

* * *

THAT NIGHT, AFTER FAITH had brought her stuff to the Old House and returned the rental car to Corning (Dad had said she could use Brown Betty, the aging Subaru wagon, while she was here), she climbed between the clean sheets in her grandparents’ guest room and waited for sleep.

Mom wasn’t the only one whose absence had been felt today. Faith still half expected to see Jeremy there, as well. He’d always loved her family dinners.

And at the moment, he was probably just down the road.

She’d been home seven times since her wedding day, and she hadn’t seen him. Not once. Granted, she’d only been home for a few days at a time. She’d been into town, to the bar owned by her best friends, Colleen and Connor O’Rourke, but Jeremy hadn’t shown up. He hadn’t stopped by her family’s house, though he did while she was away. People had gotten over the shock of his coming out, including her family (eventually). Jeremy had been a part of their lives, too, not to mention their doctor and next-door neighbor, though next door was a mile away.

But when she was home, he lay low.

For the first six weeks after their non-wedding, she and Jeremy had called each other every day, sometimes two or three times a day. Even with his stunning news, it was hard to believe they weren’t together anymore. From the moment she’d seen him by her bedside in the nurse’s office, for eight solid years, she’d loved him without one moment’s doubt. They were supposed to be married, have kids, have a wonderful long life together, and the fact that all those future decades were just whisked away...it was hard to wrap her heart around it.

He tried to explain why he’d let things go so far. That was the hardest part. She’d loved him so much, they’d been best friends...and he never even tried to bring it up.

He loved her, he said it repeatedly, and Faith knew it was true. Every day, every conversation, he apologized, sometimes crying. He was so, so sorry for hurting her. So sorry for not telling her, for not accepting what he knew in his heart.

One night six weeks after their wedding day, after they’d talked to each other in gentle voices for an hour, Faith had finally told Jeremy what they both already knew: they needed to truly break up. No more emails, no more calls, no more texts.

“I understand,” Jeremy had whispered.

“I’ll always love you,” Faith had said, her voice breaking.

“I’ll always love you, too.”

And then, after a long, long moment, Faith had pushed the button to end the call. Sat there on the edge of the bed, staring into space. The next day, she’d been offered a freelance job working with a well-known landscape designer at a new marina, and her post-Jeremy life began. Her father had come out to visit three times that year—unheard of if you were a farmer—and Pru and the kids had come once. They all had called and written and texted.

Forcing yourself out of love...it seemed impossible. Sometimes, she’d forget—someone asked her if she wanted kids, and her answer was, “We definitely do,” and then came the slap of remembering that there would be no beautiful, smiling, dark-haired kids running through the fields of the two vineyards.

And now, here in the Old House, it was impossible not to think of Jeremy. Memories of him were everywhere—he’d sat on the front porch, promising her father he’d take good care of her. He’d pushed Abby on the swing when she was little, took Ned for rides in his convertible, flirted with Pru and Honor, had beers with Jack. He’d helped her repaint this very room the same pale lilac it was now. They’d kissed right in that corner (lovely, chaste kisses, perhaps not what one would expect from one’s twenty-six-year-old fiancé) until Goggy had walked in on them and told them there was no kissing in her house, she didn’t care if they were engaged.

Faith had kept one photo of her and Jeremy, taken one weekend when they’d gone to the Outer Banks...the two of them in sweatshirts, hugging, the wind blowing her hair, Jeremy’s big smile. Every day, she forced herself to look at it, and a small, cruel part of her brain would tell her to get over it.

She hadn’t deserved him, anyway.

But for those eight years that they’d been together...it seemed that the universe had finally forgiven her for her dark secret, had presented Jeremy as a sign of absolution.

Seemed like the universe had the last laugh, and its agent had been Levi Cooper. Levi, who’d always judged her and found her ridiculous.

Levi, who had known and never said a word.