The Calendar Brides (6 page)

“We didn’t take a honeymoon.”

“Oh, yes, we did. We’re still on it.”

Emma sat back in her chair and studied him, this man that she cherished—still, after all this time. It was easy to forget that she’d hated him for a decade. “Just give me five more minutes, okay? I’ve almost got the tag line down.”

Donny shrugged and stood. “You’re gonna have to change ‘algebra’ to ‘history’.”

Emma snatched up the legal pad to swat his behind. “Better get out of here before
you’re
history.”

Donny chortled a laugh and stepped back before she could whack him. “Yes, ma’am.” He grabbed a beer from the fridge and started to leave, but stopped and turned in the doorway. “How come you go first?”

Emma looked up, her mind already reabsorbed in her work. “Huh?”

“The calendar,” he said. “What makes you Miss January?”

Emma was glad to be going before the others. That way she wouldn’t have to sit there at Victor’s worrying over her turn coming up. Worrying made Emma nauseated. She couldn’t stand being in suspense, and especially hated waiting. Even standing in line at the pharmacy caused her to break out in hives. Donny, on the other hand, never worried about anything. Except for maybe selecting pepperonis over anchovies. That’s why she left their prescription pickups to him. “I’m the oldest,” she explained with a smile.

That’s how they’d worked it out. Each of them would go in sequence arranged by birth order. There was no other way to finesse it. They couldn’t go by the months in which they’d married, because not all of them were hitched. They’d talked about each woman claiming her birthday month, but there were too many duplications, including—obviously—the twins. Even between Angie and Haley, someone was older. Angie was born first and she rarely let Haley forget it, especially when she wanted to win an argument. “I’m older, so I know better.” “Yeah, by about four minutes,” Haley would challenge back. Emma sighed, thinking of her cousins. They were all so quirky but lovable just the same. Only Emma and her two sisters, Claire and Rachel, seemed to be the normal ones. Beautiful Claire with the never-ending hair had been born just fourteen months after Emma. Their baby sister, curly-headed Rachel, had come seven years later. God had given them several cousins in the interim. Emma marveled at how they all got along. Everyone was so sweet… Okay, so Jane could get a little snarky at times. So could Trish. But even they meant well, and would move heaven and earth for the others should push come to shove.
 

Emma heard the TV switch on in the next room and knew Donny was watching a ball game. It was like Donny had some magical power to touch the remote and make sports appear. Even in the dead of winter. Emma swore it was a skill. She recalled the first time she’d seen Donny since graduating high school. He’d been in a sports bar shouting at the screen because his team was losing. Emma had only been there because friends had dragged her along. There was some sort of major soccer match in action. The whole world was in on it, so she should be, too. Bev had been there and insisted on that. Even in those days, she’d worn one of those silly scarves. Not that Emma would ever tell her she looked out of place wearing them in this small fisherman’s town. Donny’s beer tab popped, and Emma stared at her pad, knowing he was taking a swig from the can. He didn’t really drink much, but when he did, he enjoyed it. Just like during that night when they’d seen each other again for the first time in years.

“Hey, your name’s Emma, right?”

She stared at him as he glanced down the bar in her direction. There was a couple seated between them. It was hard to recognize him at first, but then she did. His face was thinner now, and his build a bit more athletic, but the sensible brown haircut was the same. Donny Mallory. That obnoxious guy who was always cutting up in the halls in high school. The one who’d stolen her seat in algebra class. She’d always blamed it on him that she’d failed math. Maybe if she’d situated herself closer to the front, she wouldn’t have. “I remember you,” she said without smiling. “It’s Donny, right?”

“Yeah!” he said. “Good to see ya!” His mood had turned jovial. His team was finally winning. At least that’s what Bev had told her. Emma had no clue how anyone could watch soccer for more than ten minutes. She’d fixated on it for five and had become extremely bored.

The man sitting beside Donny turned to him. “If you and your friend want to talk we can swap places?”

Nooooo
…Emma screamed in her head. The last thing she wanted was to be pinned in a bar between Donny Mallory and sports on television. Oh, the horror!

“Sounds great, Mac,” Donny said. “Thanks.”

The word “Mac” grated like fingernails on a chalkboard, sending chills down Emma’s spine. All that year she’d had to listen to his erudite comments. And each of them began with, “Ah, here’s what I think, Mac…” This was his standard reply. To each question anyone asked him. He even said it to the teacher. It’s a wonder he didn’t fail algebra, too. But he hadn’t. He’d graduated with higher marks than hers, then had gone on to take over his dad’s auto business. They sold cars or fixed them, Emma couldn’t recall which. And frankly, she didn’t care. She’d been to college. Yo. With a capital C. Okay, so it had been the neighboring town’s community college, but at least she’d gotten through with her associate’s degree. And now, here she was back in Chandelier… working at the dry cleaner. Emma frowned into her mug and Donny noticed.

“Buy you another beer?” he asked, sidling up beside her. He took his place on the stool and she caught a whiff of strong cologne. Why did the wrong guys always go for her? She hadn’t liked Donny in high school, and hadn’t seen anything at present to change her opinion.

Without waiting on her answer, he flagged the bartender over. “What’ll it be?” he asked. “Another one of what you’re drinking, or do you want something else?” The truth was she did, but Emma didn’t think they served chocolate milkshakes in sports bars.

“I’m okay with this,” she answered, wrapping her fingers around her mug.

“Yeah!”
The crowd roared and Donny glanced briefly at the television before looking back at her. She appreciated that he acted like the game was interference at this point. In truth, he seemed a whole lot more interested in her than in soccer. Which was strange. Emma surreptitiously peered down at her blouse, trying to remember which one she was wearing. It was the pearl-colored one, the one that shimmered in dim light like it was doing now. When she raised her head Donny was staring at her. “I remember you from high school, but you were never this pretty.”

“Uh, thanks.”
 

“What I mean is… Geez, Mac. I’m mucking this all up!” His eyes rolled heavenward then settled on his beer. The bartender had just refreshed it. “What I meant to say was, I always noticed you before. But you look different now, more mature in your beauty.” He met her gaze and swallowed hard. “Yeah, that.”

“Are you always this good with words?” she asked him.

“Sometimes better!”

They both laughed, something oddly comfortable settling between them.

“So what have you been up to?” he asked her.

“Oh, this and that.”

“I heard you were working at the cleaner’s.”

“Who’ve you been asking?”

“I haven’t.” His neck flushed crimson beneath his open collar. “I just heard it around.”

“I’m manager now.”

“That’s great!”

“How about you?”

“I’m not.”

“Not what?”

“Not a manager now.”

Somehow this tickled Emma and she found herself laughing again. Bev, who was seated on her other side, lifted an eyebrow, but Emma ignored her. Instead, she focused her attention back on Donny. “You’re funny, you know that?”

“Funny-looking, you mean?”

She nudged him with her elbow. “Come on.”

He grinned. “Where we going?”

“Where do you want to go?”

“How about the Dairy Queen?”

Emma pressed her lips together to keep from squealing with joy. “You’re joking,” she finally said.

“No, Mac. I’m as serious as a heart attack, one I just might have after what I’m going to order.” He settled his gaze on hers. “What are you up for?”

Emma didn’t see any harm in revealing the truth. “Chocolate milkshake.”

“That can be arranged.”
 

She screwed up her face and scrutinized him. “Who’s treating?”

“I’ll do the honors.” He fumbled a bit with the words. “I mean, if you don’t mind. If you’ll let me.”

He was suddenly adorable, his big round eyes expressing hope. Maybe he
had
changed since high school. Back then, the only thing Donny had treated Emma to was a raging headache. Could be she was setting herself up for another one now. Something else happened on television and the bar roared again. That’s when Emma realized she stood a greater chance of getting a migraine in here. “Just this once,” she said, hopping down off her stool.
 

Then, without even peeking to see who was winning the sports contest of the world, Donny extended his elbow and escorted her out of the bar.

“Penny for your thoughts?” Emma felt a warm nuzzle at the back of her neck and realized Donny had kissed her. There was this sweet spot right below her hairline that he knew made her weak in the knees.

She peered over her shoulder, still in a dreamy daze. “Donny.”

He wrapped his arms around her shoulders and hugged her against the chair, placing his chin on her shoulder. “Where were you just now? Daydreaming?”

“Remembering.” She gave him a soft smile. “Thinking about when we first went out.”

“Yeah.” He grinned happily. “I took you to Friendly’s for a sundae.”

“It was to Dairy Queen for a—”

“No, it was to—”

“I distinctly remember.”

“Hey…” He lightly jiggled her in his arms and kissed her cheek. “Does it matter?”

Emma felt herself warm from head to toe, and kicked her shoes off under the table. “Not really,” she answered with a breathy sigh.

He rounded her chair to kiss her on the lips. “Come on to bed, Mac.”
 

It was incredible that after hating the word for so long, she now found being called Mac endearing. Almost sexy.

“My photo shoot’s next Friday.”

“I know. That’s why I’ve taken that day off to be right there with you.”

Emma’s eyes misted. “You didn’t!”

“Do you think I’d miss a chance to see you wearing that dress?”

She shot him a sultry look. “I thought you’d be more interested in taking it off?”

“Oh, I will be. Just as soon as your session’s over, and after…we’ve hit Friendly’s.”

“Dairy Queen.”
 

“Any place you’d like, baby.”

Then he took her by the hand and led her to bed, making Emma feel way more important than any sports game on television, even the one still raging in the next room.

Chapter Four

Claire

Five years ago in September, Claire walked down the beach combing it for seashells. She had plenty in her collection, but could never have too many. They piled in baskets in her home and adorned bookshelves and the mantel. Stacked arrangements filled glass jars crafted into homemade lamps. An ocean theme permeated her entire small cottage on the east end of town. It was packed with wicker furnishings and wooden seagulls standing in various poses, some on two legs and others on one. Claire was bending to examine a pretty coquina shell, butterflied open yet still connected, when some guy catching a Frisbee stumbled into her. She yelped with surprise, tumbling backward onto the sand.

“Oh! Oh, no!” the man cried. “Are you all right?” He was lanky and handsome with wavy dark hair and chestnut-colored eyes. He dropped his disk and stooped quickly, scooping up the shells that had scattered from Claire’s small plastic pail. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t see you.”

“Yeah.” Claire stood and dusted off her jeans. “I got that part.”

The guy’s friend hurried over with a big dog. It had light eyes and a dark coat and was tall and lean. Claire thought it was a Weimaraner. She’d seen one in a magazine one time. The magazine was called
Puppy Times
and her sister Emma was always mooning over it. Emma was going to get herself a dog some day. Once she had a house of her own in which to keep it.

When the friend drew closer, Claire saw that she recognized him. “Chet?”

He smiled with pleased surprise. “Long time no see, weather girl! I mean, except for on the tube.”

Chet drew her into a hug and she returned it briefly. They’d been friends for a while in high school, but then had gone their separate ways.

“I’m Brad. Brad Estep,” the other man said, holding out his hand. He appeared sincerely apologetic. “I hope there’s no harm done.”

“Nothing I can’t get over,” Claire answered, not having any clue how wrong she was.

“Oh, yeah, sorry.” Chet turned to Brad and then Claire. “Brad is a friend of mine from grad school. He was in the teacher scholar program with me.”