Had To Be You (5 page)

He shrugged. “Yeah.”

“Okay. So, we’ll come up with another plan.” He gazed out at the choppy surf in the distance, continuing offhandedly, “So, should I check with you again on that, or make it easier and run it directly by Amanda to get the final word as to what would be acceptable?”

Matt almost choked on his coffee. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“Aw, c’mon, Matty!” Danny let out his booming laugh. “You gotta admit—she’s got you on a pretty tight leash there. But, hey, don’t get me wrong! I actually think it’s good for you. You need someone to keep you in line.”

Hesitating, he relented with a sheepish grin. “Yeah, I kinda do.”

It was true that, in her own reserved way, Amanda was no pushover. She pretty much made it clear from the beginning that she wasn’t interested in casual dating, and that those tactics of avoidance and runaround Matt had perfected to an expert skill with other girls over the last couple years were going to be of no use to him here. She outlined all her expectations, and left him with the option to take it or leave it. He was happy to take it. Years of repeated heartbreak and rejection can sometimes do that to a guy.

Matt glanced down into coffee, and tried to sound as casual as possible.

“Hey, listen, Amanda’s mom is getting a little anxious. They’re still waiting on some responses, and, of course,” he said, raising his brow with a wry smile, “they’re all my slacker friends. So, have you or Kevin talked to anyone lately?”

“Well, Jill Feeney is definitely coming. Kevin talked to her the other day.” Danny narrowed his gaze thoughtfully. “And Bobby and Lindsay will be flying up from North Carolina, right? Scott Marino, Johnny Mac, Pat Connelly…all those guys will be there. Is Murph going to make it out from Chicago?”

“Yeah, his mom said he booked his flight.” Matt paused, glancing at the floor. “I just, um—I haven’t seen any response from Rory yet.”

“I’m sure she’ll be there.”

“Yeah, well, whatever. That’ll be good,” he returned, now rushing through his words. “You know, if everyone can make it. It’s been a while since we were all in the same place together.”

“When was the last time you talked to her, by the way?”

“I don’t really recall.” Matt brushed it off as he dumped the remains of his coffee into the sink. This wasn’t, however, entirely true. He recalled exactly when it was, exactly what was said, and exactly what wasn’t. It didn’t even seem possible that they’d been out of contact for almost a year now. There was a time when he could barely go a day without her. Of course, with their close, shared set of friends, he always knew
of
her. He knew where she was, what she was up to, and even sometimes who she was with. He didn’t need anyone to tell him, however, that it wasn’t him. “But I should head down to the bar for the day’s deliveries.”

“All right. We’ll see you around this weekend?”

“Yep. See ya then.” He went to depart through the glass doors that led out to the deck but stopped to poke his head back in with a grin. “And thanks for the coffee.”

Danny lifted his cup in a gesture of farewell.

Climbing into his truck, Matt reminded himself again just how lucky he was to have Amanda. In a few short weeks, he was going to be a married man, looking towards a happy future.

Adjusting his rearview mirror, he drove away down the beach road. He was done with looking back.

***

The late afternoon sun hung low over the shimmering horizon as Rory drove past the stately Federal-style homes downtown, gardens in full bloom. As the road rounded the harbor, she caught glimpses of bright ocean blue beyond the quaint and trendy New England shops, buds bursting forth from hand-painted flowerboxes in storefront windows. It all looked exactly the same, only the names had changed.

Circling the town common and bandstand, passing arrow signs to the old beach road, she eventually turned down a side street and into the first driveway on the left. The car’s bumper scraped the overgrown hedges that divided the yards, and she gazed out through the windshield at the familiar weathered, gray-shingled house before her. The peeling white trim needed a fresh coat of paint and the front stoop was missing a brick or two. At least the new plantings at the end of the drive brightened the place a bit, the mailbox now propped in a bed of geraniums and impatiens, curling green vines and ivy trailing out to the ground all around.

Rory’s foot hit the brake as she realized what they trailed down from was a raised flowerbed—a raised flowerbed planted right inside in her old flat bottomed skiff. Her frown sank down, feeling a slight, inexplicable sense of doom and tragedy in the scene. It was like showing up to find a burial plot.

Climbing out to peel herself from the seat and stretch her limbs, she felt the dewy moisture in the air from the rising humidity of the day. It brought out the sharp scent of the brackish waters of the harbor inlet, adding to her rather steamy disposition.

Stepping up to the porch, she opened the warped screen door to enter the cool cavern of the house. Her eyes needed a second to adjust to the sudden change in light as she glanced around.

“Hello? Anyone home?”

Her mother, Helen, appeared from the kitchen. She looked slightly frazzled at first, but her face suddenly brightened.

“Rory?”

She smiled, struggling against all those old warring emotions. “Hey, Mom.”

“What are you doing here?”

“Just had a few days off.”

“Well, how is everything going in New York?” Her mother suddenly surged forward to clasp her in a brief, mostly obligatory hug. They weren’t exactly a touchy-feely type of family. “Is the job okay?”

“Good. It’s all good,” Rory assured her. “I just figured it was time to come home for a visit.”

“You’re home for the whole weekend?”

She shrugged uncertainly, picking up something in her tone.

“Yeah.”

“Well, you certainly picked a fine time.” Her mother’s expression suddenly looked pinched. “You do know it is Memorial Day weekend, right? I have your Aunt Dot, Frank, and the boys coming down to stay. They’ll all be here first thing in the morning! I just finished getting the linen closet stocked and now I have to get the bedrooms ready. I’ve been doing laundry all day.”

“So, I’ll just crash on the couch or something,” she offered, covering her frown. Her younger cousins were complete hellions, and the impending arrival of her least favorite relatives hadn’t really been part of the plan—if she actually had a plan, that is. Redirecting her irritation, she motioned towards the front yard, adding a subtle touch of sarcasm. “And, by the way, what’s with my boat?”

“Excuse me?” Her mother raised her brow. “
Your
boat?”

“Last time I checked, yeah,” she said, persistent. “It would have been nice if you’d at least asked, Mom.”

“Oh, so sorry,” her mother replied much too airily, “but when you move away and leave things behind here to fall into disrepair, they kind of become fair game.”

Rory glowered at her a moment, realizing they’d just set a new record as to how quickly they could turn a conversation into a bickering match. Fortunately, it was interrupted by the soft slam of the screen door, and both turned to see her stepfather enter the house. Rory welcomed the relief from the tension.

Bill was a good ten years older than her mother, an exceedingly calm and rational man, and his gentle spirit always provided a nice buffer. He was once her mother’s kindly employer at the local market downtown, but eventually ended up as her improbable savior of sorts.

“I saw the rental car out there with New York plates.” He gave her a warm embrace. “I was hoping it might be you. Here for the long weekend?”

“I was, but apparently you guys have a full house,” she said, exchanging sharp glances with her mother when he released her.

It never made any sense to Rory that her mother would open up the place as a family vacation spot all summer, when these visits made her so crazed. But the house was the one thing her mother got in the divorce, and Rory often suspected she just wanted to prove to everyone she still had something of his—that her dad hadn’t taken everything when he left.

Helen turned to him with some exaggerated patience. “I was just telling her the courtesy of a simple call first might have been nice. Otherwise, how are we supposed to ever know what she’s doing? Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to finish getting everything ready.”

Rory stared after her, slightly dumbfounded.

“What’s with her?”

Bill narrowed his eyes behind his wire-rimmed glasses and pressed his lips together in a thoughtful pose. “She’s just a little stressed. You know how she is about your Aunt Dot coming. Everything has to be just so.” He chuckled a bit and then paused on a slight intake of breath, rubbing a hand over his balding, freckled head. “And, well, there’s also the possibility she might still be a little hurt about you not coming home for the holidays this year.”

Rory lowered her gaze to the knotted pine floorboards, feeling the uncomfortable weight of guilt settle on her shoulders. “But she said she was fine with it when I told her I was going skiing.”

“Well, anyway, let’s think about getting you set up. It’s supposed to be warm all weekend. Maybe we can put you out on the sun porch. You used to love sleeping out there, with the ocean breeze coming in. Remember?”

A rapid blush stained her cheeks. It was, of course, something she recalled very well. Only the way she remembered it had a little more to do with a certain neighborhood boy, and how it provided an easy escape to sneak out and not disturb the rest of the sleeping house.

Her mother poked her head out of the kitchen.

“Bill? We’re down to the last bar of soap in the bathroom. Can you run down to the drugstore for me?”

“I’ll go,” Rory offered. “I have something to do downtown, anyway.”

Her mother hesitated, her forehead creasing into a dubious expression. “You will? Okay, well, grab some of the small seashell hand soaps, if you can. They come a dozen per package down at Grayson’s. I’ll get you some money.”

“I’ve got it, Mom.”

Bill smiled encouragingly, resting a hand on her shoulder as she turned to go—most likely his way of thanking her for playing nice.

Stepping back out into the hazy glare of the late afternoon, Rory drank in a deep breath of salt air and crossed the yard to her rental car. She was just about to turn the key in the ignition when she heard the muffled buzz of her phone. Leaning over the passenger seat, she dug around in her bag. Her face fell when she saw the incoming number.

Hesitating, she bit down on her lower lip before bringing it to her ear. “Hello?”

“
Rory
?” Jonathan’s voice sounded far away, which somewhat muted his urgency and aggravation. “Why haven’t you responded to any of my texts? Where are you?”

“Oh, Jonathan.” She brought her hand to her forehead. “I’m so sorry, I feel terrible. I didn’t even think to call. I’m home—at my mom’s house.”

“What?! What are you doing there?”

That was a question she might ask herself.

“There was, um…” She paused uneasily. “There was sort of a family emergency. I had to re-route my trip.”

“Oh.”

His voice went quiet, much more subdued, and Rory realized she had just used the magic words.

Jonathan had a definite aversion to situations involving others’ personal problems, to the point where it even kind of freaked him out a bit. For instance, when Sarah had shown up crying on her apartment doorstep one night, having just received the call her beloved grandmother back in Staffordshire had passed, he was so uncomfortable he’d needed to leave.

Still, Rory knew she had to guarantee that he wasn’t going to interrogate her any further. Or, worse yet, insist on coming.

“Yeah, so…” she continued, “I got the call on the road and drove straight here. Bill needed me. She’s going through a really emotional time.” She whispered with an exaggerated delicacy, “It might be, you know, something
menopausal
.”

The use of the word certainly must have scored her extra points. True to form, she sensed his resignation in the uncomfortable stiffness in his speech.

“Well, if you think that’s what you have to do. I just can’t believe you’re not going to be here for the opening night of my play.”

“I know. I’m sorry.” Rory winced inwardly, only realizing at this moment how bad her timing was. “I promise I’ll call as soon as I get back to New York.”

They said their goodbyes and she ended the call, her heart pounding. Did it still make her a terrible person, even if she felt horrible about deceiving him?  Rory didn’t know how she could ever explain to him—or to anyone, really—that this was something she
had
to do.

Glancing back once at the little gray house, she drove away down the street. It could still be as suffocating as ever in there. Rory wasn’t sure what would have become of her if Bill hadn’t stepped into their lives after her father was gone, and sometimes felt guilty she didn’t do more to show her appreciation. He was the one who’d even supported her later decision to reconnect with her dad, though she knew the conflict it probably caused with her mother.

This was the last thing, however, that Rory wanted to think about right now.

She stopped at Grayson’s Apothecary to pick up the packages of soap but took the opposite route back through town, past the new waterfront businesses near Fisherman’s Wharf.

The approaching twilight painted the sky in pastel hues by the time she finally spotted the little harborside tavern, the tables outside crowded with customers, wait staff wielding full trays of drinks. She gripped the steering wheel determinedly in her hands.

This was it.

Her eyes darted around looking for somewhere,
anywhere
, to pull over and park, yet there were absolutely no available spaces downtown at this time. It was the very start of a Friday evening, in a little neighborhood crowded with shops and restaurants. Rory was forced to continue past, on down Main Street until she could turn back around. She refused to have her date with destiny thwarted by tourists and a lack of municipally funded parking.