Talk of the Town (28 page)
“Manda . . .” he said softly.
“I have to go,” I whispered. “I’m sorry, David. Don’t bother calling me back. I won’t answer.”
“Manda, wait . . .”
“I can’t, David. There’s no point in waiting. There’s no point in hashing it over again and again and again, or trying to explain. Don’t you see? If you have to try to make it happen, it isn’t real. You and I were never real. You obviously knew that all along, and now I guess I know it, too. We were just looking for . . . security, someone to be with, but I’m done playing let’s pretend. I don’t want to be with someone who’s just looking for any port in a storm. I want to be with someone who wants to be with me forever. Anything else isn’t good enough. Good-bye, David. It’s over.” Hanging up the phone, I curled my knees to my chest, rested my chin on them, and stared out the window at the cloudless Texas sky. Strangely enough, I didn’t cry. I just sat and quietly waited.
By the time Butch called again to tell me he was on the ground in Austin, I’d stopped trying to figure out how my private life had become such a mess. The only thing to do now was focus on my job—prove to myself and the rest of the world that I wasn’t the dewy-eyed idiot David thought I was.
Unfortunately, Butch had no idea where to find Amber. He’d tried to call her cell phone, but she wasn’t answering, even for him. Reports were that Justin Shay’s private plane had landed at a Vegas airport after having mechanical problems. Amber and Justin had been spotted briefly in Vegas, and speculation about a quickie marriage ran wild. The pair had left the city sometime during the night, pulling a clever switcheroo involving another private plane. They were headed to Texas, or were already here. No one knew for sure.
Butch had gained all of this information from a TV in the airport bookstore. The media were wild over the gospel good girl and the aging Hollywood bad boy. The right picture of the new Mr. and Mrs. Shay would be worth millions.
As we talked, I eased toward the window and peeked out. The street was clogged with vehicles of all sizes, cables, satellite dishes, monitors, receivers, reporters, and countless photographers, heavy laden with cameras and zoom lenses.
I peeked around the curtain, and at least a dozen lenses turned my way. Jumping back, I stood against the wall. “Butch, it’s insane here. Whatever you do, don’t come into town.” It occurred to me that, with the aid of modern technology, people outside could even be listening to my cell conversation. I’d produced a morning news segment on wireless eavesdropping devices two years ago. “Butch? We shouldn’t talk any more on this line right now. Call Rodney and tell him to strictly follow the directions in my email from last night.”
“All right, Ms. Florentino. I’m on the mission.” Butch’s voice held an edge of excitement. “I just picked up a car and I’m headed out. I’ve got an idea. There’s a place Amber told me about—somewhere she went to get away from everything. I think I can find it. She said . . .”
“Butch!” I cut him off, emphatically. “Don’t tell me any more.” What were the odds that Butch could actually track down Amber? “I’ll try to call you back on a land line later. In the meantime, call Rodney. Tell him what I said.”
“Roger, Captain. Over and out.” Butch hung up. At least one of us was having fun.
Carefully avoiding the window, I moved to the alcove between my room and Carter’s and knocked on the door. “Carter, I was wondering if I could borrow the phone. I can come around and get . . .”
To my surprise, the door lock clicked, the adjoining door opened, and there stood Carter, surrounded by Care Bears.
I glanced down at the lock, shocked to find out that he’d had the key in his possession all along. Had I known that on the first night of my stay, I wouldn’t have slept at all.
“The front door key opens it on my side,” he said sheepishly. “I thought you’d probably rather not know that until after I left.”
Glancing past him, I noted the packed suitcases and the blue gorilla, ready for travel. The gorilla smiled happily at me, and a rush of remembered emotions came back. “You’re not leaving . . .” The words surprised me as much as the realization that I didn’t want him to go. I wondered if this was some sort of knee-jerk reaction to my breakup with David.
Glancing at the suitcase, he nodded. “I only had the room for two nights. Truth be told, you were supposed to have the whole suite all along. Now you’ll have a phone
and
your own light switch.” He smiled, and warmth slid over my skin like a thick, soft blanket. He was wearing a walkathon T-shirt from some hospital in Nashville, faded jeans, and cowboy boots. The azure shirt made his eyes an even deeper shade of blue. The first thing I’d noticed about him were his eyes.
“I don’t mind. You can have the room. I just need the phone for a minute.” I wondered what had come over me. I was acting like a heartsick schoolgirl, dumped by one boyfriend and looking for someone else to give me a class ring.
“A little too crowded around here for me.” Shrugging toward the window, he leaned against the doorframe, crossed one leg over the other, and looked down at his boots, then back at me, his eyes twinkling mischievously. “It’s been fun, though.”
“It has been fun.” All at once, I realized that was true. In spite of the setbacks, the work-related disasters, and the collapse of my personal life, I’d had more fun these last two days with Carter than in the previous six months put together. Carter was easy to spend time with. He had a relaxed way of dealing with people that was natural and comfortable. “Thanks for saving me from the ghost, helping me steal nachos, and talking me into the roller coaster. I know I probably wasn’t very good company. It’s been kind of a tough weekend.”
A one-sided grin sketched a dimple on his cheek. “You were good company.”
I scoffed at the compliment, then blushed. “Thanks for putting up with me.”
“It isn’t a hard job.” He pushed away from the doorframe, preparing to leave, then he hesitated there, the smile fading, as if he might say something more. Finally, he shook his head and backed a few steps into his room. “Sure you don’t want to trade the fish for the gorilla? Last chance.”
I wondered what he’d been about to say before he’d brought up last night’s carnival prizes. “You can have both. Maybe your nieces will have fun with the fish.” Moving to the table, I balanced the Ziploc bag against a lamp and poured the fish into its travel container.
When I came back, Carter and the gorilla were waiting in the doorway, smiling at me, side by side. “Nah. I can only go for a fair trade. Give a little, get a little. It keeps the balance even.”
I was struck by the comment, by the simple decency in it.
“Besides,” he added, “if I bring the girls one more stuffed animal, their mom’ll hang me. The fish, I might get by with. The fish is small.”
I pictured him presenting the fish, my fish, to his nieces as they waited for their father to come home from the hospital, and my heart felt light. “I’d have to know where to check on the welfare of the fish.”
His eyes met mine, and he raised a curious brow at the blatant request for contact information. The comment surprised me, as well. It was completely uncharacteristic, but I didn’t care. Something inside me couldn’t bear the idea of Carter simply walking out the door, never to be heard from again. I wanted to know where he was. I wanted to know whether his brother recovered, whether his three little nieces would grow up with a father.
A knock on the hallway door startled both of us. “Amanda-Lee? Amanda-Lee?” The door creaked open and Donetta’s voice echoed through the room. “Ye-ew ready, hon? It’s time. The mail wagon’s down . . .” Before I could react, she was standing in the alcove, looking at Carter and me with no small amount of surprise. Taking in the gorilla and the fish, she frowned apologetically. “I forgot that key unlocks the center door, too. I’m sorry about thayut. I hope it didn’t cause any—” blushing, she looked away for a moment—“problems.”
“Not a one,” Carter answered. “We were just about to make a trade.”
Poking a long red fingernail through her puffy helmet of hair, Donetta scratched her head, then shrugged. “Well, thay-ut’s real nice. It surely is.” Squinting speculatively at Carter and me, she tapped the red fingernail to her lips. “Carter, hon, ye-ew in a big rush today? You think you might-could spare a few hours to help with somethin’ rea-ul important?”
The trade would have to wait.
Carter shrugged good-naturedly. “I’m sure I could—unless you’re going to ask me to go down there and help Buddy Ray with crowd control. I wouldn’t take that on, even for you, darlin’.”
Giggling, Donetta fanned her face, her cheeks turning red. “Oh, I declare, you are such a flirt. If I was forty years younger and not married, you’d have trouble on your hands.” She glanced pointedly at me.
I blushed and looked away, wondering what in the world Donetta had up her sleeve. Clearly, this conversation was leading somewhere.
Donetta turned her attention back to Carter. “Hon, can you drive a stick shift diesel pickup and a four-horse slant trailer with a dressing room up front, because we got a little problem this afternoon. . . .”
All at once, Donetta’s intentions became clear. Whether he wanted to be or not, Carter had just been drafted into the Daily, Texas, version of
Mission Impossible.
Seems like it never fails that when you’re expecting company, something will go wrong. From the time Donetta called in the morning, it was one mishap after another. My old vacuum picked that very day to break down, so the boys and I had to sweep the floors the old-fashioned way and shake the rugs off the back porch. While we were out there, I noticed that the flower beds were a mess. I was trying to decide if there was anything we could do about it when my neighbor with the horse-hauling rig stopped by on his way to take his wife to the hospital to have their baby a week sooner than expected. He dropped off the keys to his truck and trailer and said Magnolia was waiting in his corral, but he couldn’t be there to help us load her up. No sooner did he leave than Jack Junior called, and he was all in a stew because he’d seen the commotion in Daily on the news. He wanted to make sure I didn’t get in my car and drive into that mess. I told him I was fine and he shouldn’t worry, but he felt the need to keep me on the phone and chat a while anyway.
By the time I got off the phone, the Anderson boys had disappeared into the yard. When I went out, there they were, Andy trimming the bushes and the other two hard at work with the rake and the hoe. They’d spotted some bluebonnets and Indian blanket flowers blooming out in the pasture, and bless their hearts, they’d dug up a wheelbarrow full to plant in the flower beds.
It’d been a long time since little boys brought me flowers from the field, and I stood there on the porch, wanting to cry, because it touched me so. I didn’t, though, because I figured it might scare the boys. They really were such good children—hard working, quiet, and sweet. They deserved a better life than they had.
Brother Harve and O.C. showed up in Harve’s old Pontiac with Verl in the back, covered in hay, stinking of whiskey, and still wearing his dirty, paint-covered clothes from the day before. I wanted to grab him by the neck and shake him around until he thought twice before he took one more swallow of whiskey. At that particular moment, I think I could have done it. I was filled with what Brother Ervin called
righteous fever
. Any kind feelings I’d had toward Verl the day before were gone. I was holding the garden shovel, and I had a mind to do some rebukin’ right across his skinny rear end.
Donetta gives him a day’s honest work and this is how he spends the money. Imagine!
Brother Harve was a lot nicer about it all than I would have been. He and Otis Charles got Verl out of the car real gentle-like and brought him up the walk, Verl stumbling along on O.C.’s shoulder, with his legs dragging and his head lolling on his neck. I started to send the boys inside, but before I could say anything, Avery ran up, gave the old drunk a hug, and said, “Hey, Peepaw, look at the flowers we dug up. We didn’t hurt anything. They was just growin’ out in the pasture.”
Verl swished his lips around and blinked, trying to make out the flowers, which I’m sure he was seeing double or triple of. “Them’s shhr-real nice, Aaa-ve-eee,” he slurred, then leaned forward and planted a big whiskey kiss atop Avery’s head. Staggering, he put his hand on Avery’s shoulder, using the boy as a brace to steady himself. He had the nerve to grin at me with tobacco hanging all over his nasty teeth. “Mmm-mor-nnnin’, Mmmiii-zzz Doll.”
I’ll good morning you, you filthy old drunk
. I wanted to rip his hand off Avery’s shoulder, tell O.C. and Brother Harve to let him fall in the flower bed and leave him there with the worms, the way he deserved.
Verl let his head sag forward, like all this talking was too much effort.
“We better take him inside and get him a bath,” I told O.C. Being as there were kids and a pastor present, I didn’t say the things that really should’ve been said. The idea of helping get that old fart undressed and in my shower was about more than I could stand. Maybe we could just stuff him in, clothes and all—wash everything at once.