Читать книгу Rom-Com Collection - Kristan Higgins - Страница 18

CHAPTER EIGHT

THERE WERE PROBABLY five hundred people crowded onto the green and the streets around it for the Seventeenth Annual Cork & Pork, which sounded disturbingly perverted but was in fact a pig roast and wine tasting. Five hundred people, Faith noted, and it seemed like at least half of them were dying to console her—still—over being jilted on her wedding day.

“You were the most beautiful bride,” Mrs. Bancroft was saying. “Really. We were all so shocked. So shocked.”

“Thanks.”

“Have you seen him? Is he here?”

“I haven’t seen him yet, Mrs. Bancroft. But we’re getting together next week.”

Mrs. Bancroft stared at her, shaking her head. “You poor, poor thing.”

“Oops. There’s my brother. Gotta run.” She left Mrs. Bancroft and went over to the Blue Heron tables and looped her arm through Jack’s. “You needed me desperately, dear brother?”

“No,” he said, pouring a one-ounce taste for a woman whose T-shirt proclaimed her as Texan and Carrying. “In fact, I’m not sure we’re even related. How many sisters do I have, anyway? You seem to be multiplying.”

“Mrs. Bancroft is the eighth person to call me a poor thing and ask how hard it is to see Jeremy again.”

“You are pretty pathetic,” he agreed. “Your name again?”

“Why are so many people in my way?” asked Mrs. Johnson. The long-time Holland housekeeper managed somehow to convey terror in her beautiful, lilting Jamaican accent. “Shoo, children. If you don’t leave soon, there will be body parts everywhere, and I washed and starched and ironed this tablecloth this morning. If you want to live, move, I say.” She straightened out the bottles so they were perfectly aligned.

“It’s a wine tasting, Mrs. J.,” Jack said. “We can’t move.” He turned to the gun-toting Texan. “What did you think? Can I pour you something else?” he asked.

“I’ll just have more of the white zin,” she said.

“It’s a rosé,” Jack said. Faith imagined he was trying not to weep over the misnomer of his beloved wine. The lady drained it, smiled and wandered off.

“Jackie,” Mrs. Johnson said, “did you eat this morning? I brought you a sandwich. I don’t want you eating any of the slop they’re serving here.” This earned her a dirty look from Cathy Kennedy, who was staffing the sausage booth for Trinity Lutheran. Mrs. Johnson returned the look hotly, till Cathy Kennedy broke. Most people did.

Mrs. J. unwrapped the sandwich and put it in Jack’s hand.

“Yes, little prince,” Faith said. “Eat up. Maybe Mrs. J. will chew the food for you so you don’t have to work so hard.”

“Don’t be so disgusting and unladylike, Faith, and here, Jackie. Eat.”

“Where’s my sandwich?” Pru asked, joining them.

“Did I not make you griddle cakes this very morning?” Mrs. J. asked.

“Oh, God. I hear Lorena,” Jack said. “Pru, uh, come help me with something really important. Faith can handle the tasting.”

“Get back here,” Faith hissed. It was no good. Both siblings bolted, leaving her to staff the tasting table with their housekeeper, who clucked in disapproval. “Mrs. J., why can’t you marry Dad and make us all happy?” Faith asked. Though she wasn’t completely sure, Faith thought Mrs. Johnson was widowed. Then again, the woman didn’t spill about her personal life. Ever.

“Don’t get me started on your father’s many flaws, the least of which is his recently terrible taste in women.” Mrs. Johnson stared at Lorena, her face swelling with regal disgust. “Five o’clock in the afternoon and she, with a dress that exposes more than half of those tired breasts. Shameful, shameful.”

“I’m working on a replacement,” Faith murmured, unable to tear her eyes off Lorena, who wore a strapless tiger-print sundress several sizes too small. The bodice was smocked, the stitching stretched to the “we can’t hold on much longer” point. Dad, on the other hand, was in his customary aging Blue Heron shirt, stained Blue Heron cap and stained jeans, yucking it up with Joe Whiting, another winemaker from farther up Keuka. Dad was probably unaware that Lorena (and everyone around them) assumed he was on a date.

“You’d better work fast, my dear,” Mrs. Johnson said. “Your father, he is not the most observant of men.”

“I know.” If it wasn’t related to grapes, Dad tended not to notice. So, yes, it was possible that, before he fully realized what was happening, Lorena could move in, change his will and sell off ten acres to a water park developer. But finding the perfect woman, that was a challenge. Dad worshipped the memory of St. Mom.

“Can I have a taste of the Gewürztraminer?” a man asked.

“Absolutely,” Faith answered, snapping to attention. “This one got a 91 from Wine Spectator, and we’re very proud of it. It’s been aged for eighteen months, so it’s just now starting to speak. The nose is lovely, don’t you think? Passionfruit, pepper, a little honeysuckle, just a touch of pencil lead in the body, with a whisper of lychee in the finish.”

Mrs. Johnson snorted, and Faith bit down on a smile. Yeah, yeah, she’d made that all up, not having tasted the wine yet. Faith wasn’t even sure whether or not lychee was an actual fruit. Those descriptions got a little silly sometimes, but it almost seemed the more ridiculous the description, the better the sales. Still, Honor would kill her if she heard. She took wine descriptions very seriously.

“Oh, yeah,” the man said. “Pencil lead. I love it!”

At that moment, her dog bounded over to her. “Hi, baby!” she said bending over to ruffle his wet fur. “Where’ve you been? Did Ned take you swimming?”

“My brother and your dog just took a shower together,” came a voice. “Kinda pervy, if you ask me.”

Faith looked up. “Sarah! I haven’t seen you in a long time. How’ve you been?”

Faith had always envied Levi for having a little sister; he’d always been very protective of her, one of his few (only?) redeeming qualities. Sarah had the same green eyes as Levi, though hers weren’t filled with dismissal. Yeah. That was it. Levi could dismiss a person in one glance. He was, in fact, doing it right now.

“Keep a better eye on your dog, Faith,” he said, deigning to speak to her. “He was terrorizing the Knoxes’ chickens.”

Right. Like Blue would terrorize anything. “Branch,” she said. Ass, she mouthed.

“Chief Cooper! You’re a sight for sore eyes,” Mrs. Johnson said, getting a kiss on the cheek from Levi. Weird, seeing him acting with social graces.

Faith turned back to Sarah. “You must be in college now, right?”

“Yeah, I just started at Hobart.”

“Great! Do you like it?”

“I hate it, actually.”

“Hey, Sarah,” Ned said, coming over and slinging an arm around Faith. “Faith, I’m here to take over, because Honor says you don’t know what you’re doing.”

“Hi, Ned.” Sarah blushed. Ned was very cute.

“How’s school?” he asked, and the two started talking about classes and clubs. They looked nice together, Sarah with her blond hair, Ned tall and dark. And while Ned was already out of college, that didn’t really matter. He didn’t have a girlfriend that Faith knew of, and she interrogated him frequently on the subject.

Levi was watching the two of them. No smile. He glanced at her, scowled, then resumed his staring. Faith suppressed a sigh. It wasn’t like she was playing matchmaker; she was just standing there. Like a lump, now that she thought of it.

Dad came over and handed her a bottle of water. “Make sure you drink enough, sweetpea,” he said, his kind blue eyes crinkling. “It’s hot compared to what you’re used to.”

Alas, Lorena appeared at his side. “Finally!” Lorena boomed. “Something decent to drink around here! Blue Heron has the best wine ever! I haven’t had anything but swill all day long!” She gave Dad an exaggerated wink, and Faith suppressed a cringe. The winemakers in the region were a very tight bunch; there was some quiet competition, of course, and everyone wanted to win a medal or snag a great review. But what was good for one vineyard tended to be good for them all, so Lorena’s type of PR wasn’t scoring any points.

“Hi there, Sarah,” Dad said. “How are you, sweetheart?”

“Fine, thanks, Mr. Holland.”

“Levi,” Dad said, “you’ve seen Faith since she got back, haven’t you?”

She was abruptly aware that Levi was standing very close to her, smelling like soap, his hair damp. What had Sarah said? He’d given Blue a bath?

He gave her a look that fell around an eight on the Boredom Scale, something she’d first invented sophomore year of high school, when she’d asked if he wanted to sign up to tutor with her in Corning. One was Oh. It’s you. Ten was You’re invisible. And today’s look, the eight, was Really? You’re still here?

“Yes, sir,” he said to her father. “Gave her a speeding ticket the other day.”

Irritating. Then again, he hadn’t mentioned the fact that she’d been wedged in a bathroom window, either. Points for discretion.

Dad gave her a surprised look. “You, honey? You’re usually so careful.”

“I didn’t realize they’d dropped the speed limit, that’s all.”

“Well, you let me pay for that,” he said.

Goggy appeared from the crowd. “Faith, take a look at what your grandfather is wearing. He knows I hate that shirt. It’s polyester! And it’s from 1972.”

“A classic,” Pops said, though he was already sweating from the airless fabric.

“Levi,” Goggy said, laying her hand on his forearm. His tanned, smooth, muscular forearm. Little golden hairs caught the light. Faith cleared her throat and looked at something else. “The squirrels in our attic. They make noise every night! Faith can hardly sleep.” This earned her another disgusted look from Levi.

“Goggy, it’s fine. I’ll go up there with some Havahart traps.”

“I’ll take care of it,” Levi said.

“Oh, thank you, sweetheart,” Goggy said. “I don’t want Faith to fall.”

Pru returned to the Blue Heron table, Abby in tow, and cuffed Levi fondly on the shoulder. “Here he is. Viagra for women.”

“Mom, please! We’re in public!” Abby said.

“You said it, Pru!” Lorena answered. “Can I get an amen? Right, Faith?”

“Yeah, no, I’m not feeling it,” she murmured.

“Sorry, Sarah, didn’t see you there,” Pru said. “Didn’t mean to ogle your brother in front of you. And what can I say? He’s cute. Levi, you’re cute.”

Abby rolled her eyes. “Sarah, want to go find something to do? Get away from these horrifying adults?”

“Sure,” Sarah said. “See you later, big bro.” She smooched Levi on the cheek, who took it manfully. Even smiled.

It was just a small smile, but it took Faith unawares. Granted, she’d seen him smile over the years. Plenty of steamy looks at Jessica... Honestly, he probably practiced those in the mirror. Otherwise, it was the Boredom Scale for her.

Except for that one day when he’d shocked the living daylights out of her and kissed her. Chances were, he’d smiled then. And yes, there’d been a steamy look or two. Something else, too. Something...protective.

Or not. He was looking at her now, the smile gone and that much more familiar bored look...a six...now a seven...getting close to an eight. He crinkled his brow at her as if to say, What, Holland?

“Johnny!” Lorena boomed. “What’s a girl gotta do to get a meal around here? Buy me a sausage, what do you say? I love me some sausage! Right, Faith? Us girls love sausage!”

“I’d say she has some nerve, calling herself a girl,” Mrs. Johnson muttered darkly.

“What would you like, Lorena?” Dad asked. “Faith? No? Mrs. Johnson, how about you? Can I buy you some of that kettle corn you like? Hmm? I’ll take that silence as a yes.” He winked, then walked away, Lorena and her mammoth breasts flopping along beside him.

“Think he even knows she’s interested?” Ned asked.

“Your grandfather is too good-hearted,” Mrs. Johnson said. “That woman.”

The next customer at the wine tasting was a familiar face. “Hi, Mrs. McPhales!” Faith said, her throat tightening. “It’s so nice to see you!” Mrs. McPhales had been Faith’s Girl Scout leader one year, one of those die-hard types who actually made scouts earn the badges. Ned, who was on the Manningsport Volunteer Fire Department, said they went up to her house fairly often these days. Apparently she was heading down the sad road toward dementia...today, she was wearing her slippers instead of shoes. Faith came out from behind the table and kissed the old lady. “What can I get for you, Mrs. McPhales? Would you like some wine?”

“I’ll take a coffee, I guess,” the old lady said.

“Coming up, dear lady. Cream and sugar?” Mrs. Johnson asked. She really was a peach once you got over her Darth Vader type of omnipotence. Mrs. McPhales nodded, then seemed to recognize Faith.

“Faith! How are you? Aren’t you and that nice Jeremy getting married soon?”

“We’re not,” Faith said. “Sorry.”

“Oh! That’s right! He’s a confirmed bachelor, from what I hear.”

“I think so,” Faith said.

“You poor thing. Chin up, Faith, dear. You’re very brave.”

Faith thought she heard a snort. Right. Levi was still here. Brian, Mrs. McPhales’s son, came up and took his mom by the arm, smiling at Faith as he led her away.

At the moment, there was no one around except Levi. “Thanks for washing Blue,” she said, attempting to be friendly. “That was really nice of you. And unnecessary, but thank you.”

“Keep him leashed.” A five on the scale. “I’ll have to start fining you if he runs loose all the time.”

Sigh. “It was one time, Levi.”

“Make sure it’s only one.” He wasn’t even looking at her; casting about instead for someone more interesting to talk with.

Faith felt her jaw clenching. “Heard you got divorced, Chief.”

His eyes came back to her. An eight. “Yes.”

“How long were you married?” Colleen had passed on the details, of course, but why not torture him?

He waited before answering, his green eyes filled with disdain. “Three months,” he finally said.

“Really! Wow. What a short time.”

“Yes, Holland,” he said. “Three months is a short time.”

“Bet you wish someone had stopped your wedding.” She smiled sweetly. “Seems only fair, since you’re so good at doing that for others.”

Levi was crinkling his brow at her again. “When do you go back to San Francisco?”

“We’ll see.”

“Really? No job?”

“I’m very successful, actually. And I’m doing two projects here, one up at Blue Heron, another for the library, so I’ll be around for at least six weeks. Isn’t that great?” He didn’t answer. “There’s Julianne Kammer now. I should go and talk to her.”

“When are you going to see Jeremy?” he asked.

“Gosh. Is it really any of your business? Oh, wait, I forgot. You’re Jeremy’s guard dog.” She was going to see Jeremy; it wasn’t her fault he was in Boston for a conference.

Levi leaned in close, and she could smell his shampoo, feel the warmth from his cheek, and an odd tension coiled in her stomach. “Grow up, Faith,” he whispered.

The man. Was. Suchapainintheass.

Then she went to talk to Julianne about the library courtyard and tried not to feel Levi’s eyes on her back.

* * *

ON HIS FIRST TOUR, Levi found that war was all it promised to be, at times stupefyingly dull...days on end of doing nothing more interesting or challenging than cleaning your gun. Then you’d be coming back to camp and a kid who’d taken food from you the day before might throw a grenade at your Humvee. Once, a car loaded with explosives detonated just outside camp, killing three soldiers, including one who’d won fifty bucks off Levi the night before.

But there were good things, too. Levi liked the structure, liked his fellow soldiers, liked the feeling that as screwed up as war always was, maybe they were doing something important. His unit was the 10th Mountain from Fort Drum, and they were the guys who got shit done. Sometimes it was best not to think about what those things were, but he was a soldier, a link in the chain of command, and he did his job. After his tour ended, he signed up for another. Made sergeant, then staff sergeant. Re-upped again and sent the bonus home to his mom.

Then one day, while on patrol in some horrible little town where people lived in shacks and everyone seemed to stare at them with dead eyes, a bullet sang right past his head, shattering rock. Another crack, and before Levi could even turn around, Scotty Stokes, a private who’d just joined their unit, crumpled to the ground. Levi grabbed him by the back of his vest and dragged him to shallow cover. They were cut off from the rest of the patrol, and the kid was bleeding badly from the leg, maybe an artery. Levi tourniqueted the kid’s leg as best he could. Returned fire, killing one of the gunmen, then hefted the kid over his shoulder and made a run for it, praying that neither of them would be hit.

They made it. The medic thought Scotty would lose his leg, but some badass ortho with a great pair of hands managed to save it. Scotty would set off metal detectors for the rest of his life, but he’d walk on the legs God gave him. And Levi got a Silver Star, though to him, it seemed more like dumb luck than any real forethought or skill. Lots of training, maybe. His mom and Sarah were proud, though. The Lyons, too, acted as if he’d saved the world. They had Mom and Sarah up for dinner, and all four of them Skyped with him, and that was pretty great.

From the time Levi had left on that Greyhound until he came back to Manningsport, Jeremy stayed in touch. Sent him emails all the time, Skyped once in a while, always smiling, always able to tell him something funny. Stuff about college, football, dorm life. Those little glimpses were almost hard to picture—Levi had never been to Boston, couldn’t imagine playing in a stadium that huge. When Levi described the desert sand storms, Jeremy sent him really excellent ski goggles and six boxes of Visine. Elaine and Ted sent him candy and organic potato chips, and of course Mom and Sarah sent him stuff constantly. Sarah’s report cards, Mom’s long, worried letters.

Everyone emailed pictures, but Jeremy went a step further and had them developed. Levi tacked them up next to his bunk—a picture of Sarah at Christmas, since the Lyons had had them over for dinner; the dense clusters of grapes hanging from the vines in the fall; the hills covered in snow in December, the water of the lake black and deep.

Home.

And when a car came screaming up to your outpost or you braced for the IED to blow you into chunks, when bullets streaked through the night air, home was the only thing that kept your shit together. On the days when the temperature hit a hundred and thirty and his gun was so hot he had to wear gloves to hold it, when his water was the same temperature as McDonald’s coffee and his mouth felt like leather from being so dry, those pictures were little pieces of paradise.

Faith’s name, which had been mentioned fairly often at first, stopped appearing after Jeremy graduated and started med school (he’d turned down the NFL, for crying out loud). There was some mention of one of Jeremy’s fellow medical students, a guy named Steve, and Levi wondered if maybe there was something there. Honestly, though he didn’t give it much thought. If his friend had come out of the closet, Levi would hear about it when Jeremy wanted him to.

Finally, five years after he’d first gone to Afghanistan, Levi got a leave long enough to go back. He’d seen his mom and Sarah twice since shipping out, once on a long weekend in New York City, once when he surprised them with a trip to Disney World. But this time, he wanted to go home. He popped in on Sarah at school in one of those tear-soaked CNN moments, endured an impromptu assembly in which the principal told him how proud they were (despite having given him a record number of detentions not so long ago). His mom made his favorite dinner—meat loaf and mashed potatoes, then wept happily all the way through it.

And finally, Levi called Jeremy; it was October, and Jeremy was home for the weekend from Johns Hopkins. “Hey, bud, wanna grab a beer?” he asked, then grinned as his friend cussed him out for not giving him more notice.

A few hours later, Levi was slightly drunk from all the beers bought for him. Connor O’Rourke had done a round on the house, and everyone had toasted Levi. He’d been hugged by every woman in the place and practically leg-humped by Sheila Varkas (total freak, that one), was repeatedly thanked for his service, had his back pounded and his hand shaken and was told how proud the town was. It was...nice. It was great, actually. The kid from the trailer park turned American hero and all that.

And then, finally, he and Jeremy got to sit down and talk.

“So how are you really, buddy?” Jeremy asked, his eyes as kind as ever.

Levi watched a drop of condensation slip down the side of his bottle. “Doing okay,” he answered, not looking up.

Jeremy was quiet for a minute. “Do you need anything?”

A good night’s sleep. War had definitely taken that away. A brain bleach to get some of the more horrific images out of his head. “No,” he said. “But thanks for all those packages and stuff. Especially the pictures.”

Jeremy leaned forward. “Well, listen. I don’t know what it’s like, I’m just some dumb-ass med student studying bowel disease.” Levi gave a half smile. “But if you ever need anything, or want to unload or whatever, I’m here. And I’ll be here the whole time, and when you get back, too. Okay? You’re my best friend. You know that.”

Levi gave a nod, peeled a shard from the label. Maybe there would be a day when he told Jeremy some of the things he’d seen...and done. It wasn’t today, though. He looked up at Jeremy and nodded again. “Thanks.”

Jeremy sat back in the booth and smiled, that broad easy grin that Levi remembered from football huddles, when Jeremy would tell them just how they were going to shock and awe their opponents by coming from behind and stealing the win. “So. Any way you can get a few days off next June?”

Levi shrugged. “It’s possible. Why?”

“I need you to be my best man. June eighth. Faith and I are getting married.”

Levi didn’t blink. “Holy crap.”

“Yeah.” Jeremy grinned sheepishly. “She said yes. I was a nervous wreck, but she said yes.”

Yeah, right. Faith Holland had probably been planning their wedding since the day she’d met Jeremy.

His buddy was blathering on about who’d be in the bridal party, and Levi suddenly held up his hand. “Jeremy,” he said. “Just one second, okay?”

“Sure.”

To ask or not to ask. That was the question. Levi glanced around. O’Rourke’s was almost empty; two people at the bar, two more at a table. Connor was behind the bar, tallying up receipts.

“What is it?” Jeremy asked.

“You’re getting married,” Levi stated for clarification.

He nodded. Levi didn’t say anything, just looked. Maybe lifted an eyebrow. Jeremy swallowed, then forced a grin. “Yeah. So?” He wiped his forehead, suddenly sweaty, and that was clue enough. If he was this nervous, then maybe he was just waiting for someone to bring it up.

“I guess I was always under the impression that you were...” Levi waited, hoping Jeremy would supply the word.

“I was what?”

Shit. Levi took a deep breath and held it. “That you were gay, Jeremy,” he said very, very quietly.

Jeremy’s face didn’t change for a long second. Then he took a deep breath. “No! Uh...I don’t think so. I mean, everyone has...thoughts. But just because...” He looked away. “No. I’m not. I’m not gay.” His voice was hollow.

Levi didn’t say anything—what do you say, after all? “It would be okay if you were.”

Jeremy looked back at him, and something crossed his face. The truth, maybe. Then he shook his head a little. His eyebrows drew together, and he looked at the table. “I love Faith.”

Right. Jeremy certainly was wrapped around Princess Super-Cute’s little finger. Levi looked at his friend, who’d been so loyal and decent and constant. He exhaled, nodding. “Okay. My bad.”

Again, that thing flickered through Jeremy’s eyes, but he put on his game face and smiled. “Well, whatever. If you’d be my best man, that’d be great.”

“Sure. If I can get the time, I’m in.”

“Excellent! Faith will be thrilled.”

Probably not. “Is she around?”

“No, sorry to say. She and her sisters went to the city to shop for wedding gowns and all that. Girls’ weekend. Anyway, my parents are giving us the house after the wedding; they’re ditching me for San Diego, but it’s all good. Can’t see that Faith would want her in-laws around all the time, you know?” Jeremy kept talking, firmly back in the role of doting fiancé.

Levi told himself it wasn’t any of his business. If Jeremy wanted to marry Faith, he could. But, hell, you had to wonder. How Jeremy could marry a woman he didn’t know how to kiss.

You had to wonder how Faith could not know.

You said your piece; now shut up, his brain told him. Be a good friend. Be a good best man.

He almost pulled it off.