Читать книгу Rom-Com Collection - Kristan Higgins - Страница 31

IT WAS FULLY DARK when I left the funeral home, as we’d all ordered celebratory pizzas and started planning the wedding.

The night was cold … cold enough for frost, maybe. A thin slice of moon hung in the sky, and leaves rustled and fell from the trees as I walked down the hill. I checked my phone. No messages. I wasn’t sure what that meant regarding Ian and me, but as I said earlier—time for wild monkey make-up sex. Heck, if my parents could get together after all that, Ian and I could certainly get past this bump. I’d just nip home, check on Noah and Bowie, throw on some slutty underwear, then trundle out to Bitter Creek Road.

The lights of Georgebury were dark, as the sidewalks rolled up around 8:00 p.m. The Whoop & Holler showed signs of life, but the other storefronts were dark. Only Green Mountain Media had its lights on. Mark was still there. I could see his dark head in the window as he sat at his desk in the apex of our iron-shaped building.

I stopped, looking up at the office, the light golden and inviting. And then, just like that, I decided. Tomorrow, I was giving notice.

It was time.

A weight lifted from my heart. Yes. It was definitely time. I’d find something else soon enough. Could even start my own business, maybe, or help Noah for a few months ‘til another opportunity presented itself. But it was time to cut whatever tattered strings kept me near Mark. He’d been in my life forever, always clouding the waters one way or the other, and finally … finally! … I was sick of it.

“What do you say to that, Michelle?” I asked aloud. The First Lady didn’t answer, but that was okay. I didn’t need her voice of reason when I’d finally found my own.

When I got home, Noah’s truck was in its customary space. As I went into the kitchen, I snapped on the light … the house was pitch black. And quiet. Where was my doggie? He usually greeted me at the door, alerted to my presence at the first whisper of my footsteps, quivering in joy. Tonight, though, there was nothing.

“Bowie?” I called. “Mommy’s home, buddy!”

There was only silence.

“Noah?” I said. My voice seemed to echo.

He must be out with Jody, I thought. And he took Bowie, that’s all.

But bile rose in my throat. My purse slipped from my suddenly sweaty hand. “Bowie?” My voice was quavery and weak.

Then came a small sound. It’s probably Noah, Betty Boop said. He’s in his bedroom with Jody, and they’re having geriatric sex, so make a lot of noise.

But I knew it wasn’t that.

The sound came again, a small, keening cry. It was my dog.

Turning on every light as I walked, my legs wobbling—because I knew, I already knew—I made my way through the kitchen, the great room. Then, my hands shaking violently, I opened the door to the workshop. Bowie whined again, louder now.

My hand hesitated as I reached for the light switch. I was absolutely certain I didn’t want to see what was in here. Without turning the overhead light on, I stepped into the workshop. I knew the way, after all.

“Grampy?” I whispered. Bowie’s tail thudded against the floor, the only answer.

Slowly, carefully, I made my way to the worktable in the corner and then, after a moment’s hesitation, turned on the old copper light. Its gentle light was more than enough to show what I already knew I’d see.

My grandfather sat in his old recliner, Bowie lying at the foot of the chair. My dog’s tail thumped once, but he didn’t get up.

Noah’s eyes were closed. More than ever, he resembled a skinny Santa Claus, the white beard and hair, the gentle, capable hands. Without his customary scowl, his face was sweeter and more relaxed. Those lines around his eyes … they were laugh lines. My grandfather had a wonderful smile. He’d always tried to pull off that grumpy old man persona, but I’d never bought it—not really. A person couldn’t hide a good heart, no matter how hard he tried.

He really looked as if he were sleeping. Such a cliché, but reassuring, because even though I’d grown up in a funeral home, I’d always been afraid of the dead.

Bowie whined again. “You’re such a good boy,” I whispered. “Such a good dog, Bowie.”

I covered Noah’s cold, stiff hand with my own and knelt by the chair, hot tears slipping down my face. He must’ve been here for a while, because the shop was chilly, no fire hissing in the woodstove. It was so quiet. “Oh, Noah,” I whispered. “I’m so sorry I wasn’t here.”

Don’t be an idiot, I could almost hear him saying.

“Mom and Dad are back together,” I told my grandfather, my voice wobbling. “So you don’t need to worry about your son anymore, okay? And I’ll look after Freddie. He’ll be fine. He’s just young. He’s growing up, though. I know he’ll make you proud.”

I thought of my grandmother, the love of Noah’s life. Thought of Mr. Morelock and my uncle Remy, gone for so long. I hoped they were there for Noah. I was so glad I got to live with him and tease him and help him. Glad he’d found a little fun with Jody in his last weeks. Glad he died out here in the shop he loved so well, working until his last day, because an old Vermont Yankee wouldn’t want it any other way. Glad my excellent dog had been here, because Noah had so loved Bowie.

I kissed my grandfather’s forehead, then rose. “Come on, Bowie,” I said. “You did a good job. Come get some bacon.”

My dog, released from his duty, followed me into the kitchen.

Funny. I didn’t really know what to do, despite my upbringing. I gave Bowie his reward, then picked up the phone. Dialed a number almost without realizing it. Please be there, I thought.

He wasn’t.

“You’ve reached Ian McFarland. Please leave a message and I’ll call back as soon as possible.”

“Ian?” I said, my voice small. “I know you’re a little mad at me, but I was wondering if you could come over, because my grandfather just died.”

TWO HOURS LATER, I WAS alone again in Noah’s house.

My parents had come almost immediately. Dad standing silently next to his father for a few minutes, then kissing his head. Mom took Dad in her arms then, murmuring softly. Robbie Neal, River Rat and paramedic, had come to confirm that Noah was indeed gone, and Shaunee, another ambulance volunteer, gave me a hug.

“Looks like a massive heart attack,” she said.

The police asked a few questions … when I’d seen him last, if he’d had any visitors, the usual. They did a routine check, but it was obvious that Noah’s heart had simply stopped. Louis came, quiet and efficient, and for the first time, his voice didn’t seem creepy … instead, he seemed only kind and capable.

Both my parents were concerned about me, wanted me to stay over, offered to stay here. They figured Hes and Freddie could wait ‘til morning to hear the news … Freddie had gone out with friends, Hester always went to bed early. I offered to tell Jody tomorrow. Poor Jody.

“You sure you don’t want to come home, sweetheart?” my mother asked, petting my hair as I sat at the kitchen table. Dad was out with the EMTs.

“I’m fine, Mom,” I said. “Just, you know … sad.” Bowie, who was definitely putting in some overtime, put his head on my lap and winked his blue eye. I smiled at him and gave him half of the sandwich Mom had made for me. I looked up at my mother. “I’ll just stay here tonight, have a good cry.”

She looked at me sternly, assessing my truth-o-meter. “Okay. I’ll call you in the morning.”

“Thanks, Mom. I guess you have all the arrangements and stuff?”

She nodded. “Yes. He gave them to me after your gran died. He never thought he’d live so long without her.”

I looked up at my mother. Her face was contemplative. “Mom?”

“Yes, honey?”

“I’m so glad you and Daddy are back together.”

Her eyes filled with tears. “Me, too,” she whispered.

“You sure you want to be alone, Poodle?” Dad asked, coming back into the kitchen.

“I’m sure, Daddy.”

I hugged them both, assured them once more that I’d be fine, watched as Dad held the door for Mom. As he got into the car next to her, she took his hand and kissed it.

Then I turned away from the window and went upstairs to wash my face and brush my teeth, change into pajamas. My throat was tight and hard with tears, and the house was so horribly quiet.

There, in the corner of my room, by the window that overlooked the river, sat my Morelock chair. On the shelf above it sat seventeen little wooden animals, carved over the years by my grandfather, and at the realization that he’d never make another, a sharp pain stabbed my chest.

I came back down to the great room, sat on the couch. Bowie leaped up next to me. Maybe Deadliest Catch was on, but the thought of watching it without Noah made my throat ache even more. I could’ve called Annie, but I didn’t, just sat in the quiet, quiet house. When a knock came on the door, Bowie and I both jumped. I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding. He was here. Finally.

It wasn’t Ian.

“Mark,” I breathed. “What are you doing here?” I glanced past him to see if there was anyone else coming … Ian, for example.

His face was solemn. “I just heard,” he said, taking me in his arms. “I’m so sorry, Callie.”

It was a full-body hug … not just the lean-in type, but a full court press, thighs to faces. His cheek was against mine, smooth and warm and clean-shaven. He smelled like he always did—that Hugo Boss cologne that I’d loved so much, I’d pathetically bought a bottle after our breakup. Many maudlin hours were spent sniffing the stupid cologne and analyzing those famous five weeks.

I disentangled myself. “Thank you, Mark. Um … who told you?” I stepped back, letting Bowie go through his ritualistic sniff the visitor routine. My face felt hot.

“I just stopped by the Whoop & Holler,” he said. “Shaunee Cole told me.” Word did spread in a town this size. “Are you all alone?” he asked.

“Yes,” I said, hesitating. “Um … come on in. Would you like something to drink?”

“Sure. Let’s raise a glass to old Noah.”

Part of me bristled. Old Noah never liked you, Mark. Thought you were pompous. But Mark was being kind. Besides, I guess we needed to talk.

A minute later, we were seated on the old leather couch in front of the fire, each of us with a finger or two of whiskey.

“To your grandfather. A better boat builder there never was,” he said.

“Cheers,” I returned, dutifully clinking my glass against his. Took a sip. I never liked whiskey. Mark drained his, I noted.

“Take as much time off as you need,” he said.

I took a deep breath. “Actually, Mark, I need to talk to you about work.” I traced Hello Kitty’s face on my pajamas, then took a deep breath. “I’m giving notice. Might be best if it was effective immediately, given the circumstances.”

Mark didn’t move. Didn’t even seem to breathe. Then he blinked and inhaled abruptly. “Callie, sweetheart, don’t be rash. That’s crazy. You can’t leave.”

I paused. “Well, actually, I can.”

“You’re upset. Your grandfather just died. You shouldn’t make this decision now.”

“I didn’t. I made it earlier today.”

He blinked, then rubbed his forehead. “All right, let’s be blunt. Is this about me?”

I considered his face, his eyebrows drawn together in a frown, those lovely dark eyes, the ever-rakish hair. The face of Lord Byron or something … romantic and expressive and ridiculously handsome. Ian’s face wasn’t quite so good-looking, but it was far more interesting, full of hidden nuances and almost smiles. Mark might embody male beauty, but Ian … Ian’s face told quite a story. Mark was simply blank perfection.

“Callie,” Mark whispered, taking my hand.

I took it back. “You know what, Mark? You’re right. It is about you.” I took a throw pillow and clutched it against my stomach. “I want to be honest here, because it’s just dawning on me that I haven’t been honest with you. Ever, maybe.”

He pulled a face. “Don’t be silly.”

“No,” I said. “I haven’t been. The truth is, Mark, I … I was in love with you for years. A long time. Well before the Santa Fe thing.”

Mark opened his mouth, started to say something, then reconsidered. “Uh … okay. Go on.”

“Well, first there was high school, Gwen’s basement, all that.” He smiled a little, and I continued. “Then later on, ever since the day I interviewed with you, I just sort of sat there like some hopeful puppy, waiting for you to notice me.” Bowie yipped in support.

“Of course I noticed you, Callie,” Mark said impatiently. “I’ve always thought you were great.”

I snorted. “Right. But it took three years and a near-death experience for us to hook up. And the thing was, I didn’t mind. I was completely head over heels, and at long last, it seemed like you felt the same way. For a few days, anyway. When we got back, you got all squirrelly and I thought, okay, well, he just needs some time. So I waited some more, thinking any day you were going to realize you loved me, too.” I shook my head. “That night … the night you broke up with me, when you made that nice dinner—I actually thought you were going to propose, Mark.”

He looked at his hands, and a slight flush colored his cheeks.

“And then you gave me that bullshit line about timing.”

“Callie, that wasn’t bullshit.”

“Um … bullshit, Mark.”

He exhaled in exasperation. “All right, fine, Callie. Look. You and me … Santa Fe, that was a mistake. It was special, but the timing was wrong, and I should never have slept with you. I’m sorry.”

Even though I was over him, the words stung like little bees.

“But, Callie,” he continued, “that doesn’t mean you should quit! You love what you do. And you’re great at it!”

“I know,” I said. “I just … I just want something different now. And quite frankly, I don’t like the way Muriel’s steamrolled everyone at the agency. I just want to move on and make a clean break. I’ve wasted enough time on you, Mark.”

He shook his head. “I had no idea you felt this way,” he muttered.

“Yes, you did!” I barked, making him jump. “And you played me! You’re still playing me! Just tonight, you told me how special I was. You knew how I felt, and you used it, and you’ve been using it for years.” He shot me a guilty look, and I sighed, suddenly exhausted. “Mark, my grandfather died today, and to be honest, you’re the last person I want here. I quit. Please go. We’ll talk next week, okay?”

He stood up. “All right. But we’re not done. And I don’t accept your resignation, because I think you’re upset and sad and you shouldn’t make a big decision right now. Just think about it, okay?”

“I don’t need to.”

“Well … do it anyway.” He took a ragged breath. “Look, I didn’t mean to make your day worse, Callie. I just wanted to say how sorry I was about Noah. I know how much you loved him.”

That was always the problem with Mark. He was never all bad. “I appreciate that,” I said more gently. I got up and walked him to the door. “Thanks for coming.”

“You’re welcome,” he answered, opening the door.

Ian stood on the porch, wearing scrubs and no coat, despite the cold autumn air.

“Ian,” I breathed. Bowie began crooning with joy.

Ian looked at me, then Mark. “I was in surgery,” he said hesitantly. “A dog was … well.” He swallowed. “I just got your message now, Callie.”

“I was just leaving,” Mark muttered. “Good night.” He trudged out to his car, got in and drove away, his taillights harsh in the dark night. Behind me, Bowie whined, then flopped on the floor, offering his belly for a rub, should anyone be so inclined.

“Is it too late?” Ian asked.

“For what?”

“For company?”

“Not for yours,” I answered, and with that, Ian wrapped his arms around me and kissed me on the forehead.

“I’m so sorry about Noah,” he whispered.

“Thank you,” I said, and he was so warm and strong and gentle that tears once again sloshed out of my eyes.

“Do you want to talk?” Ian asked.

“I just want to go to bed,” I squeaked, my face pressed against his chest.

“Okay, sweetheart,” he said. He’d never called me anything but Callie before, and it made me cry harder. Ian closed the door, said some kind words to Bowie, and led me upstairs, turning off lights as he went. “Need to brush your teeth or anything?” he asked.

“No,” I wept. “I’m all set.”

He tossed all my little throw pillows over the side of the bed and turned down the quilt. “In you go,” he said, and I obeyed, feeling so heavy and tired all of a sudden.

Ian pulled the covers up to my chin, then bent to kiss my hair. I caught his hand, and he sat at the edge of the bed, his thumb gently stroking the back of my hand, and the thought came to me that Ian McFarland would make a great husband, a great father, a great anything.

“I’m really sorry about last night,” I whispered.

“Well,” he said, smoothing back my hair. “Your heart was in the right place, I guess. I’m sorry, too.” He looked down at the quilt, traced a piece of fabric. “She’s never going to be easy, Callie.”

“I guess not,” I said.

“Are we done with that, then?”

I nodded.

“I thought you broke up with me last night, when you left,” he said, not looking up.

My breath caught. “Oh. No, Ian. We just … we just had a fight.”

“Okay.” He swallowed, and my heart seemed to swell abruptly.

“In fact, I was going to come over for some wild monkey make-up sex. But then I came home and found Noah, and … and … well …” My face scrunched up.

“Oh, hey,” Ian said, and honestly, nothing on earth ever felt as good as those solid arms around me. He pressed my face against his neck and let me cry.

“Can you stay with me tonight?” My voice sounded small.

Ian pulled back and looked at me with those summer-blue eyes. “That’s why I came,” he said simply.

Then he pulled off his scrubs and came into bed with me, holding me so close that my cheek rested over his heart. Within seconds, I fell asleep.