Bittersweet Creek (8 page)

Julian

W
hen I walked up to the Satterfield place, I immediately regretted the decision not to drive. Sure, it was a short distance, but there was the silver Porsche and there was Richard Paris pacing on the Satterfields' front porch. I stopped short.

As I got a little closer, I couldn't help but hear his conversation.

“Yes, Mother, of course she said yes!” He paced a bit, his other finger in his ear. “Well, I'm not sure the wedding will be in the cathedral after all.”

He held the phone away from his ear, noticing me for the first time. Even I could hear his mother, and I was still a few feet from the porch. City Boy stepped aside to let me pass, and I knocked on the door, almost tripping over a box there against the wall.

Romy answered the door looking shell-shocked, and I couldn't look away from the rock on her left hand. I mean, Gibraltar wouldn't have measured up. A lump came up in my throat. It dwarfed the ring I'd given her: the worn band decorated with orange blossoms that had belonged to my mamaw.

“Mother. Calm down. Just keep the reservation for the cathedral. No, I'll talk with her. No, you don't need to—”

I picked up the large box by the door and entered the house, glad to leave that conversation behind. Romy swallowed hard. She looked more like she'd narrowly survived an
Independence Day
alien attack instead of becoming engaged to one of the richest men in Tennessee.

“I'm ready,” I said, but she continued blinking as though looking through me.

“Ready for what?” Hank asked.

That got her attention.

“I have something of his I needed to return,” Romy said hastily.

“You can bring it to him, then.”

“But he has that box.” She turned to me. “Mind taking that upstairs?”

As if Romy had ever once asked me to carry something for her before. I gave her a look, but said, “Not at all.”

“Tell Richard I'll be right back,” she said to Hank.

He pursed his lips and lowered his brows. Apparently, in his eyes, being closer to thirty than twenty didn't make it any more appropriate to take a man up to your bedroom alone.

I ducked as I reached the top. It was significantly warmer upstairs, and she had a couple of windows open to pull what little breeze there was across the house.

“AC doesn't work as well up here,” she said apologetically. “Granny didn't like to use these rooms because she was afraid of fire, you know.”

I waited in the area at the top of the stairs, the spot that was originally designed to be a sitting room. Romy disappeared into the first bedroom and returned with a manila file folder and a small box. I swallowed hard at the sight of it. “That's it?”

She nodded. “This is it.”

There was a little end table beside a tiny couch. She moved the lamp and opened up the folder, then handed me the pen before pointing me to the X below her name. I handed her the box I'd picked up outside, and she made an almost orgasmic sound when she read the label.

My hand hovered over the paper and I had to ask, “What's that?”

“It's my Keurig,” she said with reverence. “I'll have coffee again.”

I shook my head and almost told her it was pretty sad when coffeemakers could cause her to make that sound. Before I could form the words, she reached to push back a strand of hair, and the sun caught the solitaire on her finger, flashing a kaleidoscope of color on the opposite wall.

Nope. No way I could top that show.

I scrawled my name in each and every place she pointed out, then pulled myself up straight. “That's it?”

“Well, except for this.” She chewed on her bottom lip as she handed me the small box. I knew what was inside, but popped the lid open anyway. My mamaw's ring sat sternly against the velvet but looked as though it'd been recently cleaned. Irrationally, I wanted to tell her to keep it, but it had belonged to Mamaw and had never fit Romy's ring finger anyway.

I took the ring out of the box and crammed it in my pocket before setting the box down. No need for anyone downstairs to see me return with a ring-sized box. “All right then. For what it's worth, I'm sorry.”

“Me, too.”

We stared at each other for what seemed an eon. Richard's muffled voice echoed off the window above the porch. A dirt dobber whined in the window, batting against it while trying to reach the sunlight.

“This is good-bye, then,” I said over the lump in my throat. “I'll do my best to stay out of your way.”

She nodded, something glistening at the corners of her eyes. Breaking up with someone was always sad no matter what, right? I had this irrational urge to beg her to rip up the papers, to go all Julia Roberts in
Notting Hill
. I'm just a hick, standing in front of a girl—

Hell, I wasn't going to sissy out like that.

Instead, I kissed her softly on the cheek, telling my heart not to race at the familiar scent of her pear shampoo, a scent made all the better by the hint of sweat from an honest morning's work in the garden.

“Good luck, Rosemary Satterfield.”

As I went down the stairs, practically crouching because the stairwell was so narrow and steep, I ran into Richard on his way up. We shimmied past each other as best we could.

“Congratulations,” I said, leaving off the
jackass
that I wanted to add.

“Thank you,” he said with a grin full of impossibly straight and professionally whitened teeth, a politician's smile—or a shark's.

I should've left it at that, but I couldn't resist adding, “Hurt her in any way, and I'll hunt you down and kick your ass.”

Romy

“T
here's the future Mrs. Paris!” He was all straight white teeth and perfect hair with a slight curl. Dear God, I should've been swooning. Instead I was sick to my stomach.

“Richard, I—”

He pulled me close and kissed me gently before resting his chin on top of my head. “You have made me the happiest man on earth! Although I should've come up with a better proposal. Is it too late for a mulligan?”

I twisted off my ring and handed it back to Richard, whose face deepened into a dark frown. “I was just kidding, darling.”

“Richard, there's something I have to tell you before I can accept your ring.”

He ran a hand through his hair. “You're still in love with him, aren't you?”

“What? No.”
Most certainly not. Never again.
“But there is something I have to tell you.”

Richard put his hands on his hips and trained his chocolate eyes on me. “I'm listening.”

My hand was halfway to my mouth before I realized I was about to do that disgusting thing where I chew on my hangnails. Seems like my accent wasn't the only bad habit I'd picked up since coming home. “Remember how I told you I was engaged to Julian?”

“Mm-hmm.” Richard's eyes narrowed. He didn't like the direction this was going. For what it was worth, I wasn't too keen on it myself. Better to take a deep breath and get it over with.

“Julian and I secretly got married the day before graduation. Only he stood me up that night.”

“Stood you up?” Richard's righteous indignation warmed my heart and coaxed a few extra beats out of it. “Wait. You married him?”

“Yes, but we never actually lived together. Besides, he just signed the papers. That's why he was here.”

“I can't believe you would hide something like this from me. Wait. What kind of papers?”

“Divorce papers.”

Richard ran his hand through his hair again and started pacing. “Romy—”

He couldn't finish the thought and went back to pacing. At first I couldn't tell how angry he was. Finally, he turned to me again. “Romy, I can't marry you if you're divorced. You have to get the marriage annulled.”

Nausea hit the pit of my stomach with such force my cow-slobber hand clamped over my mouth. Dear God, I couldn't face Julian again. Not to tell him I needed an annulment. Not after I'd finally convinced him to sign the divorce papers. We were supposed to be done. Through.
Finito
.

“Come on, Richard, there has to be another way—”

He clamped his hands on my upper arms, realized his grip was too hard, and eased off. “No. Did you have sex with him?”

My face felt as though it might burn off. “Not on our wedding night.”

Something died behind those warm chocolate eyes. “How many times?”

What did that matter?
“I don't know. How many women have you slept with and how many times?”

He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Fair point.”

I couldn't help but notice he wasn't answering the question. I told myself I wasn't about to feel guilty about having slept with Julian. I hadn't asked Richard if anyone had come before me, but his response told me someone had.

“Romy, I need to think this over.”

“So this is it between us?” I could hardly force the words over the lump in my throat, and tears blurred my vision.

He grabbed both shoulders and looked me in the eye. “Of course not, you crazy woman!”

I should have been feeling relief. So why did it feel so much like sorrow instead?

“Look, I'm not happy you lied to me, but I know you haven't been with Julian because you only come home once every few years, and—” He stopped there, his eyes crazed. “Did you?”

“I swear to you, Richard, I hadn't even
seen
Julian until the other day.”

Richard plopped down on the old love seat and buried his face in his hands. “I'm sorry. This is all so crazy. I would've never thought that you, of all people, would have kept such a secret from me.”

“I was ashamed,” I whispered.

He stood, and I could see him shifting into solutions mode. “If you didn't consummate the marriage, we can still work with this. I'll call my lawyers. Tell, tell . . .
him
that he's probably going to need a lawyer, too. As for these?” Richard picked up the papers and ripped them down the middle. “Never happened. I'm going for a drive.”

I was still staring into space when the Porsche purred to life then sprayed gravel as Richard tore off down the road. I needed to cry, but I couldn't find the tears, just an overwhelming sadness. This was supposed to have been one of the happiest days of my life.

Instead, I'd disappointed him. Deeply. He said he still wanted to marry me, but I wouldn't blame him if he changed his mind. He might decide while driving around the sticks that he didn't want to have anything to do with me. Staying married—on paper, at least—to Julian was such a stupid thing to do for someone who was supposedly so smart. And to think I used to get mad at Granny when she told me I needed to get some common sense to go along with my book learning.

Placing the engagement ring on the table, I plopped onto the love seat. “Mom, I could really use you about now. You see what a mess I've made of all of this?”

She didn't answer me, of course. It's not even like I could feel her presence wrapped around me in some kind of maternal hug from the great beyond. Maybe that's why I was so deficient with the boys. I'd blamed it all on Julian for so long, but the truth of the matter was that I'd screwed up things with Richard royally. And all by myself. Would I have done any better if Mom had been there to talk me through periods and crushes and what to do when jilted by your high school sweetheart? Would I have done better talking about sex if I'd had someone to answer my awkward questions instead of reading about periods from that pamphlet that came with my introductory Always kit? And about sex from romance novels and my mom's dog-eared copy of
Everything You Always Wanted to Know About Sex, But Were Afraid to Ask
? The former was more entertaining but not always as informative.

Now if only there were a book called
How to Tell Your Ex-Husband You're Still Married After All and You Need an Annulment Instead of a Divorce
. That would be handy.

Julian

S
omehow after signing divorce papers, I didn't want to be alone and I had some time to kill before going to the dealership for my other job. So I drove over to Ben's place to give him hell about stranding Romy with me the night before. He, of all people, should've known not to pull a stunt like that.

I pulled up beside the old Victorian house he called law office and home. Sonuvabitch owed me after making me sing “Ebony and Ivory,” too. That's why I was surprised to see him edging out on the front porch to meet me. He had to know I was going to be less than happy with him.

“Got company or something?” I laughed as I took the two cracked steps up to the wide veranda.

Ben ran a hand over his super-short black hair and scratched a place at the back of his scalp. “Uh, actually . . .”

At his embarrassed expression my anger evaporated. “You didn't!” I slugged him hard on the arm.

He flashed a grin. “Yeah, I did.” He punched me back. “But you don't say a word because I'm too much of a gentleman to kiss and tell.”

I held both hands up in surrender and eased into the glider rocker that had belonged to his grandmother. “Well, I came here to kick your ass over last night, but—”

“You could try. I would mop the floor with your pasty ass.”

“If I didn't need cheap legal advice so often, I'd prove you wrong. What the hell were you playing at leaving Romy to ride home with me? We've had that discussion before. Besides, City Boy proposed. I signed the papers. It's a done deal.”

Ben frowned. “Aw, man, I was rooting for you two crazy kids, but I guess I can't stop you if you want to be a miserable son of a bitch the rest of your life.”

“Your support is encouraging.”

“Hey, Ben?” Genie appeared at the door wearing one of his dress shirts and nothing else. “Where's the coffee? Oh, hey, Julian.”

Not so much as a blush from her, but I felt a twinge of something lost. I had to find a way to get over Romy and find someone to make me coffee. Or maybe I needed to get one of those coffee thingies like she got. Might be a full-service kind of machine, based on her sound effects.

“In the pantry by the fridge.”

She disappeared and he turned on me. “Don't look at her like that.”

Had I really been staring at Genie? “Wasn't really looking at her, more like looking past her.”

“The hell you were,” he muttered under his breath.

“The way she was looking at you, I'd say the show was just for you,” I said.

His head snapped to me. “I thought you weren't looking!”

“Not that much, but I do have a pulse,” I said. “So if Curtis were to draw up some papers transferring power of attorney to me, do you think you could look them over?”

“You want me to look over some papers?”

“Next oil change is on me?”

“Ha! If he brings the papers, then I will peruse them thoroughly and make sure he isn't taking you for all you're worth.”

Genie appeared again, still not shy. “Hey, Julian, you want some coffee?”

“No, thank you,” I said, making sure I kept my eyes on hers because I could feel Ben's glare. She disappeared inside, and I got to my feet. “I gotta put in some hours at the dealership. In the meantime, don't do anything I wouldn't do.”

Ben harrumphed. “I've already done a lot of things you haven't done in a
long
time, and I'm going to continue to do so because
I
am not an idiot.”

I waved away his comments and climbed into my truck. Poor Genie wouldn't last long. None of Ben's women did. The first time he invited them to Sunday dinner at the nursing home where they had to watch him spoon-feed mush to his dementia-addled grandmother, they fled.

Then again, maybe she'd stay. Hadn't nurses seen it all?

When I pulled into my parking spot at the dealership the sunlight caught something on the seat beside me. I picked up the delicate gold hoop and sighed deeply. A hoop like this had once brought Romy and me back together.

I'd been carrying around Mamaw's ring for a while, letting it burn a hole in my pocket while I tried to get the courage to ask her to marry me. One day we'd been up in the barn, and I couldn't wait anymore. I got down on one knee and proposed. After what seemed like an hour, she said yes. We took a little celebratory roll in the hay then promptly got into an argument about the particulars.

“I'm not getting married at the Baptist church,” she'd said.

“Well, I'm not getting married at your church.”

“Why not?”

“Because I'm not.” At that point it occurred to me I'd just screwed up royally. I had a gorgeous naked woman on a quilt in a hayloft. She'd agreed to marry me, and I was arguing about the how.

“Well, I'm certainly not agreeing to obey you, so I'm not getting married by a Baptist!” She started jerking clothes on, and that wasn't the direction I wanted things to go.

“Romy.”

“Don't you ‘Romy' me!”

She ran off, but that afternoon I found her earring, which gave me the perfect excuse to come see her and to make an alternate suggestion: the justice of the peace.

Now I stared past the gold hoop. It looked an awful lot like the same earring. But even Cinderella didn't lose the same shoe twice, so I put her earring in the ashtray and got to work.

Maybe this time I'd return the earring by mail.