Dances with Wolf (18 page)

He hung his head until it grazed his chest. “Come on, Abby. Please just listen to me.”

“No. I’m done. I need someone I can count on. I need—” She paused before pushing the door open and stepping into the sunlit center of the barn. “—someone else.”

Chapter Twenty-One

Abby
’
s hands fluttered over the covered buttons that ran the length of Bridget
’
s dress. She was shaking with excitement, but something more, too. The two of them had giggled, joked, laughed or cried on every occasion that marked the three weeks before Bridget
’
s big day. But neither one had stopped to consider what might happen after the wedding. Mark and Bridge had already moved into a two-bedroom house on Merrilea Road. The three showers given in their honor had yielded several housefuls of possessions: a grilling set that made Mark the master of his backyard universe; red and white-striped dishes in multiples of twelve; even a baby stroller that folded neatly into the bumper seat of Bridget
’s 4x4.

While Abby was confident that the wedding wouldn
’
t alter her friendship with Bridget, or with Mark for that matter, she was beginning to realize that it would change
her
. That she and Wolf would be an important part of everything that happened to this duet “from this day forward”—the wedding later today, the baby
’
s birth around Thanksgiving, its christening, its upbringing, its well-being, its future. Bridget had already asked her to be the godmother. And Wolf, the baby
’
s uncle, would be godfather. For better, for worse, she and Wolf were now part of the same family. They were stuck with each other.

“How many buttons do you have left?” asked Bridget.

“I’m halfway there. Sorry, my hands are all sweaty.”

“Please. I
’
m so nervous I can hardly breathe.”

Bridget, despite the short span of time between engagement and wedding, had been particular about every detail of the event. Music, food, flowers—not a detail too small for her to debate. Abby had done her best to weigh in at the right moments, but mostly she just nodded and said what she thought Bridget would want to hear. Corsages and appetizers seemed beyond her powers of concentration—she tried to stop feeling sorry for herself, but it was hard. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw Wolf’s face, and the pain would resurface.

She took a deep breath. For Bridget’s sake, as well as her own, she had to get through this wedding. The old Abby would have run out of the church and hidden under the nearest tamarack. But she was way past that. She summoned an image of Bullet, hampered by pain but head held high as she finished an event. She could do this. She
would
do this.

As the trumpets sounded from the front of the church, Abby delivered Bridget to her father and tucked herself neatly off to one side to watch the expression on Jess Olsen
’
s face. A smile blossomed beneath his newly trimmed mustache; he looked as peaceful and content as she’d ever seen him.

“Daddy, please don
’
t cry,” she heard Bridget warn him. “If you lose it, how will Mom ever hold it together?”

Abby turned around to smile at the two of them before she began to walk. She, too, had felt the onset of tears—hot, angry ones—but somehow she kept them at bay. Walking just ahead of her was one of Mark
’
s nieces, eight-year-old Hadley, who had scattered rose petals with military precision onto the deep crimson carpet. Abby let herself imagine, for a few seconds, how she, Abby, might slip on an unlucky cluster of petals and fall face-first in front of everyone. Why not? She couldn’t feel any more humiliated than she did already.

But such a catastrophe wasn
’
t in the cards, thankfully. She put one foot in front of the other, kept her bouquet of wildflowers discreetly tucked against her lace bodice, and tried not to think about Wolf, who remained out of her peripheral vision as long as she kept her eyes dead-center. As she reached the end of the long aisle, she followed Hadley to the left and found her pre-marked space near the altar.

The congregation was uniformly silent, as if each person had been asked to take a deep yoga breath and hold it. But once Abby had arrived, heads began to turn toward the back of the church, each person straining to catch the first look at the bride. There was a communal “awww!” from every woman in the congregation as Bridget and Jess began their processional.

Abby cleared her throat.
I will not cry. I. Will. Not. Cry.
After the first look at Bridget
’
s face, like sunlight beaming from the pale cloud of tulle veil, Abby turned her head toward Mark. He was leaning forward with his hands pressed tightly together, as if he couldn
’
t believe his good luck.

Wolf stood just behind him, his face barely visible to Abby, but as he moved forward to put one arm around Mark
’
s shoulder, she saw that his own eyes were glistening. His mouth was set in a straight, grim line, as if it were taking all his powers of concentration to keep a flood of tears from streaming onto the crisp white collar of his tuxedo shirt. The muscles in his face flexed as he watched his sister join Mark at the altar. God, he looked so handsome and so vulnerable, his pecs straining the impeccable black jacket, but those blue eyes unfocused, clouded over as if he were watching from a great distance.

Just then, Wolf leaned to one side to return Abby
’
s look. His face was flushed, his eyes impossibly bright. “Hi,” he mouthed.

Abby turned away from him. Was she in a dream of her own making? She looked down at her feet, encased, as Bridget
’
s were, in rhinestone-covered lace. For the last week, she
’
d had nightmares of this wedding: horrid fantasies involving demonic flower girls and shredded veils. She
’
d woken from each dream wondering which was worse—these nightmare visions, or the sad reality of her aloneness. Here was Wolf, the man she’d always wanted, right in front of her, and yet it would never work between them. She rid herself of all thoughts of him.

The minister
’
s lines were familiar, but Abby heard them as if for the first time. There was coughing in the audience and the sound of joyful sniffling and happy tears from relatives seated in the second row, but Bridget and Mark kept their eyes on each other like they were the only two people in the room. Even young Hadley
’
s fidgeting at the altar
’
s edge failed to deflect the couple
’
s focus on each other.
To be that much in love
. Would you actually feel the rush of the moment and the calm of infinity at the same time? It seemed a miracle Abby was not likely to experience. Not anytime soon, anyway.

“I now pronounce you man and wife,” intoned the minister. Bridget and Mark turned slowly and kissed, and Abby handed Bridget her bouquet. The afternoon sun filtered through the stained glass, illuminating the wedding party in mosaic patterns of light.

It
’
s pure magic. And Bridget deserves this, her own special, magical day.
She watched as the newly anointed couple departed down the aisle, followed by hoots, hollers, whistles, and applause.

But so
do I
.

As the minister announced, “I am proud to introduce you to Mr. and Mrs. Mark Miles,” Abby reminded herself that she was required to walk back down the aisle on Wolf
’
s arm. Though she
’
d gotten through the rehearsal by laughing and joking with Bridget and Mark, this was different. Her parents were sitting in the third row, right behind the Olsens. They, along with everyone else, would be studying every move she made, every expression on her most unpokerlike face. She tried to visualize the solemn expression of a Salish chieftain. She could do it. She could. She set her lips in a rigid half-smile.

Applause woke her from her trance. Bridget and Mark were kissing a second time for good measure. More laughter, whistles, a couple of cheesy catcalls. She swiveled the train to fall gracefully behind Bridget
’
s back, and returned to the left side of the altar, all without looking at Wolf, though she could feel his eyes on her. The organist struck a chord, and after a stiff rotation, she took Wolf
’
s arm.

He pressed her elbow warmly and leaned over to whisper. “
You look beautiful.”
She ignored him, proceeding down the aisle like some kind of apparition.

As Mark and Bridget spilled out into the sunlight, Wolf insisted on keeping hold of Abby
’
s hand. She would have jerked it away, but didn’t want to cause a scene. Wincing at a sudden blinding brightness to her right, she turned toward it to see the wedding photographer, on his knees three feet in front of them, snapping away.

Great,
she thought.
Our shining moment, captured for posterity.

Chapter Twenty-Two

The morning after the wedding, Wolf woke in a royal blue funk. He’d only had a single glass of champagne, but he felt like a rag wrung dry. Abby had looked absolutely beautiful at the reception, but she’d kept an ice-maiden smile on her face all night. She
’
d danced with Luther, Doc, and a baker
’
s dozen of Mark
’
s fraternity brothers, but whenever Wolf got anywhere near her, she whirled away from him, that same frozen look on her face.

He wondered how he could break through to her. Clearly, his foray into Ranch & Home had been unproductive. The package that she
’
d left unopened on the stall floor was still in his truck. The cardboard was frayed at the edges, the ribbon undone like Wolf
’
s raggedy heart.

Forget the presents, the futile gestures. If Abby were only able to see what he was feeling right now, she
’
d have to melt a few degrees, wouldn
’
t she?

He showered hastily and put on a pair of freshly laundered jeans. His tux pants and jacket lay over a chair, the bow tie hanging from the breast pocket. If he couldn
’
t win Abby over wearing a penguin suit (and his sister
had
reminded him how fantastic he looked in it), how could he hope to impress her in his workaday uniform? A thought did occur to him, though: if he didn
’
t have the key to Abby
’
s state of mind, he knew one man who surely did. He’d go to him, hat in hand, and ask for some advice.

At eight a.m., his mom was the only other person awake in the house. Her hair was somehow still in the up-do she
’
d perfected for the wedding as she bustled around the cozy kitchen. The smell of bacon permeated the air, but Wolf was immune to its charms. Hunger was the least of his needs. He
’
d been so sure he
’
d wake the morning after the wedding with the memory of Abby
’
s arms around him, if not the real live Abby. Or at least, that some pathway to forgiveness would have opened before him. But it seemed like he might have blown it for good this time. The pathway to forgiveness was buried under a glacial ice pack.

He scarfed some toast, washing it down with black coffee, and answered his mom’s questions as politely as possible. Yes, he’d enjoyed himself. Yes, he was happy for his sister. But he was no actor; Mom could tell something was wrong. He just hoped she wouldn’t press him.

“Where
’
re you off to?” she asked as he put his jacket on.

“I
’
m off to get some advice,” he said. “Or a talking-to. Not sure which.”

“If it
’
s about Abby, I might have a tip for you.” He ducked his mother
’
s eager look. “Don’t worry, I’ll be subtle.” She had a way of making him feel like he was seven years old and in need of a good scrub behind the ears. Maybe he was.

“I
’
m listening.
” He sat down on one of bar stools facing the polished barn-wood counter and twirled the seat until he could finally look her in the eyes.

“Yesterday was a very emotional day, for our family, for Bridget and Mark, of course. But for that darling Abby, too.” She wiped her hands off on a corner of her apron.

“Go on.” Wolf leaned his elbows on the counter. His mom
’
s face was faintly etched with smile lines and the map of forty-nine summers under the Flathead sun; she had never looked more earnest to him. She’d never looked kinder, either. He tried to remember, she only wanted what was best for him.

“It seemed to me that Abby had the most to lose yesterday. Her best friend became a wife, but she
’
s also about to become a mother. That does something to a woman. Something huge and probably hard for a man to comprehend.”

“I get it. Or I think I do.” Wolf felt his edges begin to soften. Whatever she was about to say, he’d take it to heart.

“Abby needs some time to get used to it. That
’
s for sure.”

“How much time, do you think?”

His mom grinned at him across the counter. “It depends.”

“On me?”

“You know there was just a minute last night when I saw Abby with her maid of honor mask off. She looked like a newborn filly who doesn’t even trust the legs underneath her yet.”

“Mom, you know I never meant to knock her off her feet. She’s one of the most grounded people I know.”

“You were young and self-absorbed.” She smiled at him. “You might not have known any better.”

“Kinda goes with the territory of being a nineteen-year-old kid.” Of course, it was more complicated than his mom knew, but that was okay. He was used to keeping his dad’s secret to himself. “So you think a squared-away adult might still have a chance with her?”

“If you listen real hard, honey, you
’
ll be able to hear what her heart is trying to tell you.”

“Okay, Mom.” Wolf
’
s feet found the floor. He was shaking slightly. He hoped his mom didn’t see it.

His mom shook her head. “So you
’
re headed to the Macreadys
’
?”

“Thought I
’
d talk to Doc first, maybe get his take on things?” Wolf shoved his hands in his pockets, fumbled for his keys. “If it feels right, I
might
try my luck with Abby.”

“Hey, does she know why you weren
’
t able to take her to prom?” Her eyes crinkled at the corners. “The real reason?”

“Do
you
know the real reason, Mom?”

She laughed, a bit sadly. “I do, sweetie. Your dad and I sorted all that out a long time ago.”

“I thought…” Wolf didn’t want to say it, but he never thought his mom had been in on the secret.

“Your father’s a good man. We’ve put it all behind us now. Have you, though?”

“Sure,” Wolf said. “I mean, I did what I had to do. And it’s fine. I’d do it again if I had to.”

She stood and hugged him, then pulled back, looking into his eyes and appraising him with tears in her own. “I know you would. And I know it’s been hard keeping it a secret all these years. But maybe now it’s time to come clean. She doesn’t know a thing, does she?”

Wolf shrugged. “Not likely. Unless Dad ever had a heart-to-heart with her. Like that would ever happen.”

“Isn
’
t it time you told her yourself?”

He knew it was true. He knew he wanted to—he just didn’t want to betray someone he loved in the process. “I still feel like it’d be pushing Dad under the bus. Plus, it doesn
’
t sound like much of an excuse, not when it
’
s delivered so late in the game.”

“You do realize what a soft nature Abby has, don’t you?”

“But what about Dad? This has still got to be embarrassing for him. I kept his secret this long. Maybe I shouldn’t spill the beans now.”

“You’re not telling the whole world. Abby’s like family. She’s not going to go around spreading gossip. She loves your dad almost as much as you do.”

“You’re right about that. He said he had to twist her arm just to get her to send him an invoice for that mare of his.” She laughed. “So I guess I have your permission. Should I ask Dad about it first?”

“Let me take care of that.” She reached her hands to his face, then traced his cheekbones with the back of her hand. “Now get out of this kitchen and down the road. There
’
s not a minute to waste.”

Wolf scooped his Resistol off a hook and reached for the front door. When he turned around to wave good-bye, his mother was standing motionless on the black-and-white linoleum, one hand cast across her heart. He read her lips.
Go on,
she said.
Hurry.

The Macreadys
’
door was half open. Stella lay diagonally on the mat, her back feet tucked inside, her front paws and face nosing the late-morning breeze on the porch.

“Hey, my friend, where is everybody?” Wolf patted her head. The dog thumped her tail against the floor, then rose slowly to thrust her muzzle into Wolf
’
s hand. “Actually, I’d settle just to know where Doc is.”

“Gone fishing,” he heard Abby say in an affectless voice.

He startled—he’d hoped he wouldn’t run into Abby first—then stepped inside. She lay stretched across Doc
’
s old leather couch, the one he
’
d kept in his waiting room on Riverside Drive. He’d imagined sitting on it, the wiser, older man bolstering his courage so he could talk to Abby in a day or two. But not this afternoon. It wasn’t to be. He needed to man up and find the right words
now.

“Is this a bad time?” he asked.

“Not really.” She propped herself up on her elbows, a wet cloth across her forehead. “I have a headache, that’s all.”

“Join the club.” Abby was silent. “I mean, I
’
m sorry about that, your headache. That was quite a night last night.”

“This isn
’
t a hangover, if that
’
s what you’re thinking.” She swung her feet under her, then rolled up the washcloth and set it on the coffee table.

“Well, that’s the good thing about a wedding, I guess. Whatever booze you’ve got in you, you sweat it out on the dance floor.”

“How would you know? I didn’t see much of you out there.” Abby finally raised her eyes to his face. “Two songs, maybe three.”

He’d been in too much pain, of course, but he didn’t want to bring that up again. Of course, even if he’d been feeling one hundred percent, the only person he’d wanted to dance with had wanted nothing to do with him. “Well, your dance card was pretty full, from what I could see.” He paused. “Mind if I sit?”

“Suit yourself.” She tossed a pillow toward the far corner of the couch.

He sat down, then reached for his boots, turning his face toward the door. That pain again, the damned pain. He doubled over.

Abby sat up. “What
’
s wrong with you?”

“Nothing,” he said gruffly, “that a little R and R won
’
t fix.”

“Great. Party on, Wolf.”

Without looking at her, he reached across for her hand. “You want to know where it really hurts?” He molded her hand into his, then laid it across his chest.

She let her hand spread open, not resisting him, but not yet yielding.

“If you’ve got something to say,” she said, pulling her hand back, “just say it.”

“First things first. Yep, I was injured down in Polson, and bad. Bad enough I’m not sure if I’ll ever be at full strength again. But that
’
s not what I came to tell you.” He blew out a long breath. “I want to talk about May 2008—prom and everything after.”

Abby groaned. “You already told me about this. Do we really have to—”

“But I never gave you a full explanation, not really. So here it is, for better or worse.”

Abby made a face. “For better or worse? How’s about we avoid the wedding metaphors?”

Wolf laughed
grimly, then cleared his throat and looked directly at her. Once he started, the words fell out in a torrent. “The Friday before prom, Dad called me to come downtown to look over a bunch of papers at your dad’s office. The game was up as far as our ranch was concerned. First, Flathead had been gobbled up by Boise Republic. They were calling in a bunch of loans, including the one on our property.

“Dad was humiliated. But there was no other way around it. He had to come up with the money—we’re talking mid-five figures, a hell of a lot for us—by the end of the month, or the bank would foreclose. Your dad offered to help, of course—that’s why he insisted we meet at his office after hours—but at first, Dad wouldn’t accept. Said stuff like, ‘Wolf is man enough to carry some of the load,’ and ‘Olsen men
abide
.’ And there was only one way I could ‘abide.’ Dad knew that, and so did I. I went home, packed my bags and took off for Laramie.”

Abby blinked. Once, twice, then kept her eyes on his face. “Wouldn
’
t you think Bridget would tell me that?” she whispered, almost to herself.

“She didn
’
t know. Luther didn
’
t know. Hell, my dad only shared it with your dad and me, for the longest time. I only found out my mom knew this morning.”

Abby leaned toward him. Her hair fell around her face. Shadows congregated under her eyes. He felt the need to hurry, so that he might
hold her
sooner, if she would let him.

“I
’
m listening.
” Whether she was involved in his story, or just impatient for him to be done with it and get out of there, he couldn’t tell.

“When Dad asked me to go on the circuit, he said it was the hardest thing he could imagine a father asking of a son. But we needed the money. Right then and there.”

“I can picture that.”

He took a deep breath, remembering that song on the radio:
God closes one door as he opens another.
He hoped it was true.

Wolf closed his eyes and rolled back the clock. If only he had danced with her that night so many years ago, there
’
d be no need for words today. He would have danced with her again, at his beloved sister’s wedding, without a care in the world. He’d have drawn her to him, savored the scent of the bouquet she
’
d carried. He would have noticed the way her breathing quickened when he held her, remarked on the tears he
’
d seen in her eyes as Bridget and Mark said their vows. How he longed to hold her now, to have this time with her. It was a new kind of longing, for the Abby who’d be by his side for decades and decades to come. If he played it smart right now, that is.

“I never wanted to leave without an explanation. But there was this big crisis, and in my stupid teenage brain, I wanted to step up and be The Man.”

“I understand why you had to go. But why did it take you six years to tell me the reason why? It just doesn’t make sense.”

“For the first few months, I didn’t have much of a choice. My dad was so proud, so private. And I couldn’t tell anybody except
your
dad.” He thought to reach for her hand—it was just instinct—but restrained himself. She was listening to him, and he didn’t want to mess that up. “Believe me, I couldn’t have come back here for as much as a weekend, even if I’d wanted to. My schedule was just insane back then.”