Ex and the Single Girl (34 page)

“
So why are you reading it now?”

I didn
’
t say anything. Peter reached over, picked up the book, and lo
oked at the picture, then set it down again.

“
Never mind. I can guess why.”

“
What is your problem? You know Ian and I are friends.”

“
Yeah. Well.”
He walked over to the coffee bar. “
This is a really stupid argument. I
’
m gonna make some coffee. You want some
?

I nodded, three parts guilty, one part indignant.

“
Portia, honey!”
Vera
’
s voice rang through the store accompanied by the jangling bells on the door handle. “
Are you helping out today?”

“
No, actually,”
I said. “
I wa
s in here reading last night and I guess I fell asleep.”

“
Too bad,”
she said, glancing at Peter and then tossing a smile my way. “
Peter and I were just talking about updating the window display with the summer beach reads. You know, put up a lawn chair and
a towel and maybe a beach ball, then set all the books around it.”

I raised an eyebrow at Peter. “
Your idea?”

Peter stared at me, saying nothing.

“
Of course it was his idea,”
Vera said, patting him on the arm. “
He
’
s brilliant. He
’
s a godsend to this place
.”

She winked at me and walked back to the office, chattering about placing an order for the children
’
s section. I smiled at Peter.

“
I
’
d like to go upstairs and shower, but I could come back if you really need the help.”

Finally, he smiled. “
I
’
d like that.
”

“
Hey, that looks great!”
Vera said as she checked out the window display, filled with beach-style paraphernalia and about twenty breezy paperbacks. She grinned at Peter and me. “
You two make a great team.”

Peter touched the small of my back lightly, then
pulled his hand away. “
I
’
ve always thought so.”

I tucked my hand into my pocket and felt the little piece of paper I
’
d been carrying around with me for days. It was as good an excuse to get away as any, and maybe if I picked up the phone during the day ra
ther than at night, I
’
d actually go through with it and dial.

“
Hey, Vera, do you think I might be able to use the phone in the office for about fifteen minutes?”
I caught her eye. “
Privately.”

“
Sure, honey,”
she said. “
Go on back. Peter and I will sit with
some coffee and admire your handiwork.”

Peter squeezed my elbow. “
See you soon.”

I stepped away, tightening my grip on Mags
’
s red sweater, and headed toward the back office.

I shut and locked the door behind me, then sat down at the desk. I picked up the
phone. Hung it up. Picked it up, dialed three numbers. Slammed it down. I stood up, stretched my arms, and sat down again.

“
Oh, for Christ
’
s sake, Portia, just do it,”
I said, dialing the entire number with shaking fingers and then turning around in the se
at to discourage myself from hanging up.

Ring. Ring.

Ring.

If it
’
s the answering machine, I
’
ll just hang up,
I thought, a sense of refreshing relief washing through me.

“
Hello?”
A woman
’
s voice, light and Southern with a hint of honey. A lot like Mags
’
s.

M
y throat closed. My eyes watered.

“
I
’
m calling for Jack Tripplehorn?”
My voice sounded childlike. I cleared my throat. “
Is he at home?”

“
No, he
’
s at work right now. May I take a message?”
I heard water running in the background. Dishes clanking.

I cleared
my throat. “
Do you know when he
’
ll be back?”

The water stopped. “
This is his wife. May I ask who
’
s calling?”

His wife. His
wife.

My stepmother.

Oh, god. Would she even know who I was? Would she even know I existed?

“
This is his daughter.”

I heard
a gasp and what sounded like the clatter of a glass hitting a countertop.

“
Portia?”
My name came through the line in an incredulous whisper.

He
’
d told her about me. My eyes started to tear up.

“
Um, is there a better time for me to call?”
My heart was batt
ering against my chest and I was sure it would burst through if I didn
’
t hang up soon.

“
Oh, honey, yes, he
’
ll be home tonight.”
Her voice gave a little squeak, and then came through again, an octave higher. “
I can
’
t believe it
’
s you. Jack has missed you so
.”

My heart stopped its battering. “
What?”

“
He
’
s missed you, honey He
’
s just a big, stupid, stubborn, stupid man is all. Oh, I
’
m so glad you called. I
’
ve been after him to call you forever.”
She sniffled, and I heard her blow her nose.

“
He did call me,”
I
said, feeling as though someone else was talking. Detached.

“
He did?”
She huffed. “
Well, he didn
’
t tell me. But that doesn
’
t matter. What matters is that you two reconnect. Can we see you?”

I started to reattach, and the anger flowed in like lava.

“
If he
’
s
missed me so much, why did you have to bug him to call me?”

“
I told you, because he
’
s a big stupid man.”
She paused, sighed. “
I don
’
t mean that, baby. Your daddy
’
s a good man. It
’
s just that after your mama threw him out and returned all the letters he wr
ote you, he kinda bought into all that pardon-my- French crap about you being better off without him
—”

“
What?”
My heart was doing double-beats now, and my hands were going cold.

“
He understands now how a girl needs her daddy, but by the time he figured it
out it had been so long
—”

“
My mother threw him out?”

There was a long pause. “
You didn
’
t know that?”

“
He wrote me letters?”

Silence.

“
I
’
m so sorry,”
she said finally. “
I shouldn
’
t have said anything. That
’
s between you and your mama, honey. Oh, this is a h
orrible way for us to start our relationship, me causing you trouble in your family. I just assumed you knew the whole story.”
I could hear the earnestness in her voice, the understanding, the compassion I
’
d always wanted from Mags.

Mags.
Fury raged in my
gut.

“
I
’
ve never gotten the whole story,”
I said after a minute. “
I
’
m sorry, baby.”

“
I have to go. Thank you, uh...”
I paused, realizing I didn
’
t even know her name.

“
Marianne,”
she said quietly. “
My name is Marianne.”

“
I have to go, Marianne,”
I said.

“
Portia?”
I could hear the tears welling in her voice.

“
I
’
m sorry I
’
ve upset you,”
I said.

She sniffled. “
Oh, don
’
t you worry about me. I cry when the peas overcook.”
She laughed. I wished I could laugh with her. “
I just...Can I tell Jack you
’
ll call again?
Or is there a number where he can reach, you?”

Only with the Mizzes, at home or at the Page, and I didn
’
t want them messing with this anymore. “
I
’
ll be in touch. I promise.”

“
Okay,”
she said. “
You take care now, Portia.”

I nodded without realizing that wo
uld mean nothing to her and hung up the phone. I felt dizzy I clenched my hands into fists and pushed them into my legs, trying to find something solid I could cling to.

I heard the bells jingle on the door. Mags
’
s tinkling laugh floated through to the bac
k of the store, followed by Bev
’
s deeper tones. I stood up and walked with heavy feet toward the door of the office, pulling it open.

Mags was standing across from Vera at the front counter, wearing a light blue Donna Reed dress, every brown hair perfectly
placed. Lips flawlessly lined. She saw me approach and was about to speak, but stopped as I came close enough for her to see my expression.

“
You threw him out?”

I could see Bev stiffen in my peripheral vision, but I kept my focus on Mags.

“
You sent back t
he letters he wrote me?”

Mags looked around the store. No one else was there but Peter, and he was busying himself at the coffee bar, pretending not to listen.

“
Do you want to tell me where the hell you got the right to return
my letters
?”

Bev took a step
forward. I held my hand up.

“
So help me God, Bev, if you tell me this has nothing to do with me
—•”

“
Don
’
t you dare speak to me in that tone, young lady,”
she hissed.

“
No,”
I said, pulling up to my full height. “
Don
’
t
you
dare, Bev. Don
’
t you dare pretend t
his is okay. This has less to do with you than it does with me, so why don
’
t you just stay the hell out of it?”

Bev
’
s face burned red. Vera stepped out from behind the counter and put her arm on my shoulders. “
Portia, you
’
re upset, maybe you should go upst
airs for a while and
—”

“
No, Vera,”
I said through clenched teeth. “
Thank you. I
’
d like to stay here and have this out.”

Peter and Vera exchanged looks, and Peter wordlessly headed to the front door, quietly flipping the OPEN/CLOSED sign and locking the doo
r. I turned my eyes back on Mags.

“
Are you going to give me an answer, Mags?”

She turned her head to the side. There was a tear running down her cheek, but her shoulders were still as stone.

Bev stepped forward. “
I think you should go upstairs and cool off
for a while, Portia.”