The Someday Jar (13 page)

“Now? I didn’t know we had anything scheduled.”

“We didn’t.”

“Hollis Murphy?
The
Hollis Murphy?” Paige squeals.

Evan nods and straightens his tie.

When I return with a box of Kleenex, I find Evan and Paige hovering around Hollis like a vulture circling a dead rabbit on the roadside. Strange how people act around those with
money. He’s a human being, not a bag of cash. Wes stands a few feet off to the side with hands clasped behind his back.

Evan announces, “This is my architect, Wes Campbell, and Paige Davis, my interior decorator.”

Paige snakes around Evan and sits on the arm of the chair, closest to Hollis. “It’s such an honor. I’ve read all your articles and seen your home in
Phoenix Home and Garden
. I’ve always admired your eclectic style of decorating. Such a lovely balance of old world charm with modern enhancements, and the array of colors really brings life and warmth to the structure. I also—”

Mr. Murphy lifts his hand. “Thank you. My wife is the decorator. I’ll pass along your compliments.” Hollis takes a tissue and thanks me with a smile.

“Mr. Murphy, if I may.” She rummages in her purse.

Hollis blows his nose.

“Where are they?” She flashes a nervous smile, then digs like a ferocious raccoon trying to bore a hole into a trash bag. “Found them.” She nearly shoves her business card into the old man’s hand. “If I may ever be of decorating service, please call.”

“Lanie, I’m busy the next few days. How’s your schedule early next week?”

“Wide open,” I say without checking. “Would you like to make an appointment?”

He nods. “Turns out we’re ready to make a change in our life. You’re the gal to help us.”

Yes!
I can feel satisfaction spewing from Evan’s pores. “How’s ten o’clock on Monday?”

“Perfect. I’ll tell Bevy.” With a shaky hand on the couch arm, he flounders to stand.

Wes rushes over to help.

“Thank you, son.” Hollis waves good-bye as he and I walk toward the door.

I swing it open.

“Bye, Mr. Murphy,” Paige calls. “Hope to hear from you someday. I’m always available. Anytime. Anytime at all.”

He dips his head toward her in acknowledgment, then leans close to me and whispers, “Is there something wrong with her?”

“Be nice.” I wag my finger, then say, “And yes, I think there is.”

We laugh and step outside.

“See you later.” I wave and watch him drive away.

Back inside Evan practically prances toward me with a smile so wide that I notice a silver filling on a back molar I never realized he had. “I knew it. I knew we could nail this listing.” He plants a hard kiss on my lips. “Damn good.”

“Congratulations, Lanie,” Wes says.

“Yes,” Paige adds.

I nod at them all and try not to rocket my hopes too far in the sky. “Let’s not jump the gun. They still have to sign.”

“This gets me thinking,” Evan says. “The past few days we’ve all worked so hard and I’m quite grateful for all the effort put forth. So, I say, let’s take a day and relax.” Evan squeezes me close. “Wes, Paige, we’d like to invite you both to a Cardinals game.”

In shock, I stare at Evan.
What?

“That sounds like fun. Doesn’t that sound like fun?” Paige asks Wes.

“Yeah, a blast. Thanks.”

“It’s settled then. Paige, come by the condo, next Sunday, around ten. We’ll go for lunch before the game.”

“Perfect.” She gathers her bag. “I better run. Make a decision on the cabinets. It’ll give us a starting point.”

“Sure thing. Thanks for your input today.”

“My pleasure. Good-bye, everyone.” She tosses us air kisses, winks at Evan, then blows out the door.

“Why did you invite her?”

“Why not?”

“Seriously? You don’t see it? She’s crazy about you.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. You never struck me as the jealous type.”

Wes’s phone rings. “Excuse me.”

I return to Evan. “I’m not jealous. These are my tickets.” At first I thought about inviting Kit and Rob or the Murphys, but since I’ve felt distanced from Evan and can’t shake these jitters that infect me like bacteria, I’d hoped we’d spend the day together, reconnect.

I grasp his hands. “I hoped to spend the day with you. Just you. We’re not going to be able to focus on one another with Wes and Paige around.”

“Babe, I just bought a house. I’m designing and remodeling it to perfection. I’m planning a wedding most girls dream of. Surely, you’re getting enough attention? And surely, you aren’t upset about sharing a couple of football tickets with those making our house a home?”

When he says it like that . . .

“Fine. Next time ask me first. Whether you’re buying a house, adding raspberry filling to our wedding cake, or inviting semistrangers to an all-day event with us, ask me first.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He pats me on the butt. “There’s that feisty attitude I like so much.”

“I’m serious.”

“So am I.”

I’ve been sitting in the parking lot of Rudy’s gym for ten minutes, painfully aware that the courage I felt on the drive here is gone. Vanished. Kit’s not coming. She texted me a few minutes ago that Dylan has a fever, and without her, I fear that once I’m inside, Rudy will seek revenge and have the women use me as their punching bag. I sucked last time and ruined class. Ruined it for everyone.

But I should go inside. I
want
to go inside. I want to get better. I want to knock over the bag with one punch. The slip says
Learn something new
, not
Half-ass a challenge
. Regardless, I need to return his gloves.

“Welcome, Howie,” Rudy says when I swing open the door. There’s a black, purple, and gold semicircle underlining his eye.

“God, I’m so sorry.”

“A job hazard.” He laughs, patting his swollen skin. “I’m glad you’re back.”

My anxiety subsides with his gentle smile. “Check out my knuckles.” I fan them with a sense of pride.

“Nice.”

“How’s Kitty-litter feeling?”

“Cursing your name every time she squats to pee. As am I.”

He laughs. “Everyone starts off that way. Take it easy on those hands today.”

“Will do.”

“Howie, come join me.” Blue smacks a spot on the mat beside her.

I grab my ball and sit close. “Hi. How are you today?”

“Fine as frog hair. You?”

“A little nervous to be here. I was afraid everyone would be mad at me.”

“Think nothing of it.” She nudges my elbow. “Gonna do that again today? Shoot for the rib cage this time?”

“God, I hope not.”

“Hi, Blue,” says a muscled fighter with railroad tracks tattooed across his chest. He and a group of guys walked in a few minutes after me, some already inside the fenced practice cage at the far end of the room.

She taps her cheek.

He places his gloved hand on her shoulder, leans over, and kisses Blue on the cheek.

“Sweet boy.” She smiles. “Now go kick some ass.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He catches up with the other guys.

“You sure have a way with people.”

“I don’t know about that, Howie. Be good to them and they’ll be good to you. That’s my motto. Truly, there’s only one man that matters to me.”

“Your husband?”

“My husband,” she confirms with a sparkle in her eye.
“What about you? A darling young woman like you must have someone special in your life.”

“Yes, thank you. I’m engaged.”

“Lovely. Tell me how you met. I always love hearing the story.”

“Well, at a Starbucks of all places. I was having coffee with a friend.” My heart dances at the thought of three years ago when Hollis and I met to discuss the damage to his truck. He insisted the dent gave his old Chevy character and refused to let me repair it or pay for any more than a cup of coffee. “Anyway, my friend left, and when I went to the counter for another shot of whipped cream, this handsome man approached me.”

“Ooh, I like this story already.”

“I had an instant crush. Who wouldn’t, seeing a good-looking man expertly dressed in a dark suit and tie? Those broad shoulders . . .”

“You didn’t stand a chance,” she says.

“I know, right?” I laugh, reminded that Evan really is a catch. “We shared a slice of lemon cake and talked for hours. He took me out for dinner the following night and a couple weeks into dating, persuaded me to come work with him. We’ve been together since.”

“So, you’re sleeping with your boss?” She winks.

I laugh. “Yes, technically. But after I secure a certain business deal, he promises to make me a partner.” I don’t want to say any more; Evan wouldn’t approve of me sharing our business with a relative stranger.

“Let’s get started,” Rudy calls.

At the end of class, I sit on the bench and guzzle my water. I’m tired. Exhausted, actually. Rudy said my jab-jab sequence
still sucks, and I’m nowhere near knocking over the bag, but he did compliment me on not punching his face and the women were nice, so all in all, a good day.

“You go and get yourself that business deal,” Blue says on her way out the door.

“Thanks, I will.”

Later, when I walk through the front door of Evan’s condo, I find Wes on the couch, reading official-looking documents with fine print and scribbled notes in the margin, a pencil in his hand. He wears jeans and a faded black T-shirt, revealing a thick snakelike scar that starts at his elbow and disappears underneath the hem of his sleeve. A beer rests on the coffee table.

“Hi,” I say, and head toward the fridge, setting my purse on the counter.

“Hi.” He flicks his pencil on the stack of papers. “Evan’s upstairs.”

“Okay, thanks.” I pour myself a glass of orange juice.

“What’s with the sweaty look?”

My soaked shirt clings against my chest, my soiled towel is thrown over my shoulder, and I can only imagine what my face looks like. Oddly enough, I don’t care. “Kickboxing class.”

“I wondered how you got the scraped knuckles. That’s bad-ass.”

“Thanks. I had no idea kickboxing could be so intoxicating. I love smacking the hell out of a bag.”

“Pent-up aggression? Anger management issues? Violent tendencies?”

“Ha. Ha. Ha.”

“Was this a Someday Jar slip?”

“It was.” I sip the juice, hiding my pleased reaction that he remembers the jar.

“Cool. I can tell you’re excited.”

“It’s only my second time and I did much better today. The first time, well, I gave my trainer a black eye.”

“Seriously?”

I chuckle and step toward the couch, surprised with my ease around him. “I felt really bad, but luckily he’s cool about it. And, I’ve made a new friend named Blue. She’s this saucy older woman wrapped up in pearls who’d embarrass a truck driver with her potty mouth.”

“Good for you, Lanie Howard.”

A tiny tickle wiggles up my spine.

“Um . . . anyway.” I set the glass in the sink and grab my purse. “I’m gonna take a shower.”

“Yeah, okay.” With his hand clasped around the papers, he steps from the couch and heads toward his room, stopping at the threshold. He turns, meets my eyes, and says, “Lanie?”

“Yeah?”

“You should be proud of yourself.”

“Thanks. I am.”

We say no more, but neither of us moves.

I silently count to five before looking away.

“Hi, there.” Evan sits on the edge of our bed in a white polo shirt and navy twill pants, clasping his watch. A couple of water droplets dampen his shoulder. “Just got cleaned up from my run.”

Guilt floods through me for the moment I felt with Wes—what was that about anyway? I drop my purse on the ground and practically lunge toward Evan. I kiss him with a passion as if he’s just returned home from war.

“Whoa,” he says, almost immediately, pulling away. “What is this all about?”

“Just trying to finish what we started last night.”

We kiss again, this time, soft and slow. Comfortable. Rhythmic. Familiar. In our time as a couple, we’ve developed a pattern. Lips slightly open, then closed. Open. Closed. Open. Closed. It reminds me of a goldfish’s gaping mouth.

For shame.
Stop it! What the hell is wrong with you?
Be thankful for Evan. Just like his kisses, he’s steady and predictable. Safe. Besides, it was just a look with Wes. A look. Nothing more. Not worth remembering.

“Lanie?”

It’s only then I notice we’ve stopped kissing.

“Sorry.” I pull him closer. “Where were we?”

He steps back, eyeing my sweaty clothes. “Where have you been, anyway?”

“Kickboxing.”

“Really? I hoped you’d gotten over that by now.”

“No. I love it. Next week I’m learning kicks.”

“I still don’t think fighting is an appropriate activity for a young woman. How about tennis?”

“I don’t want to play tennis.”

“Golf?”

“No.”

“What about your knuckles?”

“They’re getting better.”

“You keep me on my toes. I grant you that.” He glances at his watch. “Okay, I’m off.”

“Where are you going?”

“Dinner and then catch the Suns game with Wes. Don’t wait up.” He kisses my cheek.

Deflated, I sit on the top step of the stairs, listening to the voices of Wes and Evan until the garage closes and only silence remains.

I meander toward the dresser and trace my finger along the top drawer groove, one side to the other, then back again. Something sparked between Wes and me. I can’t deny it. Nor can I deny it’s something I don’t feel with Evan. So what was it? A connection? Yearning? Desire?

No. No. No.
This is absurd. Totally absurd. Damn cold feet. It doesn’t matter that I feel confident and sexy whenever Wes stands close. It doesn’t matter that I fall boneless when he says my name. It doesn’t matter that my mind wanders to him, occasionally. All the time.

I am
not
with the wrong man.

With a long sigh, I gather my purse and on my way to the closet, think of my Someday Jar. The exact distraction I need. Focus on something else. I reach for the crock, pop off the cork, and dump out a slip.

My heart sinks further as I read the words.
Oh, God.
This is the slip Kit talked about. Her favorite. The one I wrote as a kid. I twirl the fortune in my fingers and shake my head in disbelief. Could there be two more difficult words in the English language? A more unobtainable goal? No, I can’t. I can’t do it. There is no possible way. None.

I tuck the slip back into the jar and pull out another.

Scuba dive.

Yeah, I can do that.