Summertime Dream (30 page)

“Thanks, honey.” Arthur’s cheerful voice boomed through phone. “Christopher, how are you? Have a good vacation?”

“Hi, Arthur. Doing good. Sorry to call so late.”

“Not a problem. You know me, the night owl. Always glad to hear from you. I’m just tinkering with the old Thunderbird.”

“I’m calling about our meeting. Something’s come up and I need to change our plans.” He cleared his throat. “A family matter.” If his plans worked, that wasn’t exactly a lie. “I’ll still fly in on Thursday, but I need to make a fast turnaround and fly out early Saturday. I’ll be happy to do any follow-up by teleconference. That work for you?”

“I don’t see a problem. Family comes first. I hope everything’s okay. I’m just sorry you’ll be missing the golf and Braves game we had planned.”

“Thanks. I was looking forward to it. That should be a great game.”

He made his next call as he pulled up his airline reservation. “Hey, Ari.”

“Hello, Chris! Welcome home! Are you home?”

“Yeah, thanks. I’m back in town. Question for you—You still interested in those Keens and Ayraults of mine?”

“You’re pulling my leg, right? Seriously?”

“Seriously offering. How about the York?”

“Your York, too? Are you nuts? Hell, yeah.”

“Yeah, everything actually. Making some changes.”

“If you’re seriously offering, I’m seriously interested. I want those pieces. When can we get together? Damn, I can’t get over to you today. You available tomorrow? Don’t talk to anyone else.”

“Yeah, I’m around tomorrow. I fly to Atlanta on Thursday.”

“Yes! Checking my calendar…I’ll buy you lunch. Wait—Damn, I’m in meetings until three. I can be there at four. We’ll make a deal, then to celebrate I’m taking you to this new restaurant I found.”

“Great. See you then.”

His next call was to his real estate agent. Time to give his answer on the contract offer from Edward Heller.

“Hey, Frank, it’s Christopher Gordon. I’ve made a decision.”

****

The apartment was officially hers. Margie slipped her new keys onto the ring beside her car key, torn between elation and dejection. This was a serious, positive move forward in her life, something to celebrate. If she did not take decisive action, her family would never take her adult independence seriously.

However, Christopher had been gone nineteen days—not that she was counting or anything—and for the last eight of those days she’d heard nothing from him except one short email saying he missed her and the appraiser’s appointment she’d volunteered to handle was canceled. Yes, he’d warned he’d be utterly buried by work and on the run with business and with his New York and Atlanta trips. He’d been right. And she hadn’t called or emailed Christopher since her reply to that last email or followed through on the urge to quit out of sheer self-preservation.

Truth? His not keeping in touch hurt. He couldn’t make one short call or email? How could he say he loved her and then not even email?

And you’ve done what? Mope. The phone lines work both ways.

Stupid, ostrich in the sand move. Ignorance might not be bliss, but it let her lie to herself. If only she could hold onto the faith, but Eddie’s betrayal was too recent, and ugly doubts rose two for every one realistic excuse for Christopher’s failure to stay in touch. Silly girl that she was, she’d trustingly accepted everything he’d told her, when every word could have been a lie. If the man she’d loved and known all her life could pull off his lies, how on earth could she be sure she could trust a man she’d known for a month?

Being a naïve doormat was her own fault. Fool me once…fool me twice…

She swallowed hard against the ache. She might have stood up briefly for herself when she’d said no to Christopher, but her follow-through needed some serious work.

Okay, focus on the now.

She began the drive back to Falk’s Bend. Nothing she could do about Christopher right this moment, but Mom, Dad, and Joe were all at work this morning. She could break the
I have an apartment
news all at once. Waiting on the lease being a done deal before she hit them with the news had left her guilt-ridden over sneaking around about her plans. She hadn’t even breathed a hint to Debi.

But, boy, oh, boy, she dreaded telling them. Mom would probably take her news best, and then fuss and hover and help with all the setting up house. Dad, he’d understand the least and worry the most. He was happiest with all his chicks under his wings. Joe, ugh, he’d round up his buddies to help move her in and then grouch and grumble the entire time and continue driving her nuts with phone calls.

Over the last year, she’d often considered whether she’d been as ready for married life with Eddie as she had believed. Looking back now, with the whole tumultuous year behind her, yes, and no. She’d been severely naïve about many things. All that trauma had made her stronger and much wiser.

And now knowing Christopher, she had a new perspective on what she wanted in her life. Funny how going for that tiny opportunity for change back on the Fourth of July had done so much. A beer, a shared seat, a kiss…No going back to that old pre-Christopher life any more, and despite the present hurts, she didn’t wish that old life back.

At the restaurant, a normal Saturday morning crowd scattered the booths, tables, and counter. She waved at Aunt Ida at the counter. “Where’s Mom?”

“Good morning, hon. In the kitchen, last I saw her.”

“Thanks.” She took a steadying breath.

You are an adult. The deal is done. Let’s do this!

But Mom, Dad, and Joe were all missing from the kitchen. Maybe they were upstairs in the office? She waved to the guys and headed for the back stairs.

The office door was shut, nothing unusual. Hearing Joe’s grumbling voice, she tapped on the door first and walked in—only to find Joe faced off with Stephanie, just as Stephanie shouted, “Would you listen for once! It’s not your fault!”

Both rounded on Margie, flushed and tense. Tears glittered on Stephanie’s cheeks. Joe was ragged, unshaven, and shadow-eyed.

“Your brother’s an idiot!” A harsh sob broke from Stephanie. She slammed her hands on the desk and crumpled into tears.

“Out!” Joe snarled at Margie over his shoulder as he grabbed an arm around Stephanie, his expression sheer anguish.

“Oops. Sorry.” Oh, whoa. Didn’t expect that. She backed out from the crazy tension in the room and shut the door fast. She turned and found Dad at the head of the stairs.

“Uh, Joe’s in there with Stephanie.” Worry furrowed his brow. “They’re fighting. Your mom is worried.”

“Ah, yeah, I walked in on them by accident.”

No shouting now, just the low rumble of Joe’s voice.

“Maybe they’re finally talking as well. Maybe they’ll start working things out this time. They love each other. I know they do. It has to be okay.”

Dad shrugged helplessly, looking past her with watery, heartbroken eyes. “Even her parents don’t know. We talk to them and they’re still as at a loss as we are.”

A pang struck her at how much he’d aged over the last year. “Come on, Dad. They don’t need an audience. Let’s go sit down and have a coffee with Mom. Maybe when they come out, things will be better. Maybe they’ll talk to you and Mom then.” She hugged him and led him downstairs into a quiet corner booth.

Mom emerged from the ladies’ room, her face showing signs of tears and carefully repaired makeup.

Margie sighed. Today was out for bringing up her apartment news. The intent and attempt to tell them was progress in itself, though, right? “Mom, sit with Dad. I’ll get us some coffee.” Then she fetched three coffees and a box of tissues and waited with them, listening as Mom and Dad helplessly rehashed what they didn’t know about the inexplicable breakup and how much Joe and Stephanie had changed.

Please, please, please let them reconcile. She hated that all she could do to help was pray for them. That they were perhaps really talking, for the first time since Stephanie had tossed his clothes out on the front lawn, was good, wasn’t it? Joe needed Stephanie, even if he was too stiff-necked to realize the fact. Stephanie had to realize how much Joe loved her.

About a half hour later, Stephanie marched down the stairs, face tearstained, but composed, and she disappeared out the front door without a word.

Bare minutes later, a muffled, anguished bellow and crash reverberated from the office, jolting everyone and making customers turn around and stare wide-eyed. Joe stormed downstairs, a napkin wrapped around his hand, and ignored Dad calling his name as he charged out the front door.

Dad’s face crumpled, his eyes watering again. “I guess I had better get in the kitchen and cover for Joe.” He turned vaguely toward the kitchen, but then he wrapped his arms around Mom and pressed his cheek to hers. Mom heaved a sigh and patted his back.

Margie sucked in a breath and slipped out of the booth. “Uh, I’ll go see what fell in the office.”

Nothing had fallen. A splintered, fist-sized hole gaped in the office door and several drips of blood spotted the tiles. Renewed worry for Joe and Stephanie crashed through her. “Oh, Joe. You big dummy.” Things just kept getting worse and worse.

She cleaned up and returned downstairs. “Joe broke the office door. I was going to go over to Christopher’s, but I’ll stay if you need me here.”

Dad shook his head. “No, don’t change your plans. We’re fine here. Come by to eat supper, right? And, I’ll call you, if I hear from Joe...or Stephanie...or...” He waved his hands helplessly.

After a choked-up round of hugs, Margie fled. She was so focused on Joe and Stephanie’s situation, realizing what was different with Christopher’s driveway took her a moment.

The For Sale sign was missing.

No! Her heart plummeted. How could it have sold so fast? Why hadn’t Christopher told her? Or at least let her know what to do with the key. She glanced at the time on the dashboard. He should be traveling home from Atlanta now. She’d have to call him tonight.

Head spinning with the day’s whiplash, she headed inside to the kitchen. She dropped her purse on the table and started some coffee. She’d pull herself together with another caffeine jolt, find some music that didn’t make her think of Christopher or Joe, and finish sorting out Loretta’s room.

The coffee was taking a long time to finish. She looked up and rolled her eyes. She’d made a whole pot of coffee as if Christopher were here, not the one large mugful she’d planned. She turned off the pot and poured her coffee, but instead of getting to work, she headed out onto the porch. Too full of worries, she kept walking, following the long path past the pond and through the orchard and on down to the river where she’d fallen in love.

Dragonflies hovered and zoomed, glittering over the lazy flowing water. A fish swirled the water close to shore, reminding her how Christopher wished he’d had his rod and reel with him and her little fantasy how they could sit here in the peace, him fishing and her writing. Maybe ask him to teach her to fish…

Her legs shook and she crumpled to sit on the driftwood log, fighting the urge to cry with a hard swallow of coffee. If this was a story she was writing, this would be the scene where the spunky heroine gave herself a rousing good talking to, pulls her act together, and forges on to solve the mystery and live happily ever after. But she wasn’t a spunky heroine, just Margie, and her heart ached too much to give herself a pep talk or to pull her act together right this moment. As for happily ever after? Not looking so good.

She hugged her legs close, resting her chin on her knees, and huffed out her breath. Really, why should she ever want a house filled with a history of so much grief? The mystery of Loretta’s leaving was merely an unreconciled rebellion against parents. Reba Falk had merely been a bitter, crazy old lady. No loving romance or true mystery existed in that house, just sorrowful old history.

No—that wasn’t completely true. She’d found love because of that house. They’d loved and laughed and found joy together there. He’d said he loved her. She’d believed him. She still wanted to believe him.

But today was a hard day to believe in love.

Yes, that someone else owned this place was for the best. Even if she had been able to scrape together a decent down payment or succeeded in begging Joe to help, living here without Christopher would just be too hard.

Just because Eddie had wanted to make an offer, didn’t mean he was the one to buy the place. Maybe a family had also offered. She hadn’t seen all the people who had viewed the house.

Okay, time to pull herself together, keep her promises to Christopher, and go finish off that room. Then she’d work on owning her feelings and call him.

****

There was always a moment in every trip when the traveling reached the enough already point. Christopher had passed that point a good twenty miles back.

His stomach growled in complaint, fed up with running on adrenaline. He glanced at his empty coffee cup. He couldn’t stop now, not with less than five miles to his destination.

He’d made the right decision about the house. About everything.

Damn, he sure hoped so.

He’d have his answers soon. His SUV and the trailer rattled across the bridge and the bright blue, white, and yellow sign greeted him:
Welcome to Falk’s Bend
.

Of course, he caught both of the town’s stoplights.

Hauling the trailer finalized his decision on heading to the house first. Parking in town to check in at the restaurant would be a pain with the trailer, and he wanted Margie to know he was back before he saw any of her family anyhow. If she wasn’t at his house, he’d unhook the trailer and then swing by her home, then, if she wasn’t home and she still hadn’t answered her phone, he’d head to the restaurant.

His throat tightened as he turned onto Peach Street. He hadn’t been this nervous since his first major job interview. No, not even then. He was a cucumber then, compared to now.

The house came into view, the shabby graceful porch and grandiose tower. Still rundown, but tidied and welcoming thanks to all Margie’s efforts. What a difference from his first look at the place.