“
I don
’
t care what he said or didn
’
t say.”
Beauji pushed the stroller down River Road and I had to speed up to keep pace with her. Even pushing a stroller, she was faster than me. “
I
’
ve seen him look at you. That boy
’
s crazy about you.”
“
It doesn
’
t matte
r,”
I said. “
It
’
s over. He
’
s as good as gone and I don
’
t want to talk about it anymore.”
I could see Beauji watching me through my peripheral vision, but I kept my eyes straight ahead.
“
What about Peter?”
she said after a minute.
I shook my head. “
I don
’
t
know. He sure looks great on paper, though, doesn
’
t he?”
“
I think the fact that he moved in with the Mizzes just to get you back is more than good on paper,”
she said with a sigh. “
That
’
s just plain ol
’
good.”
“
I know.”
I shrugged. “
I
’
m beginning to think
that whether he
’
s a good guy or not isn
’
t the problem, though.”
“
Right. So what
’
s the problem?”
I shook my head and shrugged. I had an idea that the problem wasn
’
t Peter at all, but I wasn
’
t ready to say so out loud. Miles gave a short cry and Beauji lifte
d up the shade on the stroller to peek at him. “
Isn
’
t he just the most beautiful thing you ever did see?”
I smiled into the stroller. He was looking more and more like a real baby every day, and I had to admit, he was a looker. Beauji reached in and lifted
him out of the stroller, walking over to a grassy patch off the road.
“
Feel free to keep going and come back for me,”
she said, lifting one side of her shirt with her free hand as she sat down. “
He
’
s a notoriously slow eater. This might take a while.”
I h
eld my hand over my eyes to shade the sun and looked around. There was nothing, except a dirt road by a sign that read WILKINS CONSTRUCTION. The idea popped into my head fully formed, as if it had been waiting for me, and I latched onto it. After all, mis
e
ry loves distraction.
“
I
’
ll be right back, Beau,”
I said. She waved me on and I headed down the road to the trailer office next to the huge, square warehouse that had housed Wilkins Construction since I could remember. I stepped up to the door and knocked,
then walked in.
“
Can I help you?”
Betty Jo Allen shut a filing cabinet drawer with her hip, then looked up from the file in her hand and smiled. “
Well, I
’
ll be damned. Portia Fallon. Ain
’
t seen you out here for...gosh, ten years?”
“
About that, yeah.”
She grinned and tossed the file on her desk. “
You here to see Bridge?”
“
Yes, is he in?”
“
Bridge!”
she yelled toward the office door, open just a crack. “
You in for Portia Fallon?”
I heard some movement in the office, then Bridge
’
s face poked out of the doo
r. He smiled.
“
You bet,”
he said, waving me in. “
Come on in, Portia.”
I walked into his office and shut the door behind me. Bridge motioned to the chair opposite his desk.
“
Have a seat, darlin
’,”
he said. “
Have you seen the barn? I took some pictures for T
rudy. I think she
’
s going to be really pleased.”
“
I can
’
t stay,”
I said. Bridge tilted his head at me and leaned against the edge of his desk.
“
Everything all right out there with...your family?”
I smiled. “
Yes. Fine. Actually, we
’
re having a party on Satu
rday night. Just a casual get-together. I was hoping you might come.”
Bridge looked down at his feet, then back at me. “
I
’
m not sure that would be a good idea, Portia.”
“
Vera would like it very much if you came,”
I said quickly. It wasn
’
t
exactly
a lie. I
was fairly sure if I dosed her with truth serum and shined a light in her face, she
’
d admit to wanting to see Bridge again.
Bridge crossed his arms over his chest. “
She tell you that?”
I smiled. “
Seven o
’
clock. Saturday. If you
’
re not there, I
’
ll hunt you
down, hog-tie you, and drag you there myself.”
Bridge laughed, then was quiet for a long minute. Finally, he gave a brief nod.
“
Should I bring anything?”
I grinned. “
No, we
’
ve got it covered. See you then.”
I left the office and waved a quick good-bye to B
etty Jo, who pretended she wasn
’
t calling everyone in town to tell them a Miz Fallon had just shown up in Bridge Wilkins
’
s office. I stepped out into the sunshine and ran all the way back to Beauji, who was just packing little Miles into his stroller.
“
Did
you just go see Bridge?”
she asked.
“
Yeah,”
I said. “
I
’
ve gotta get to the Page and tell the Mizzes we
’
re having a party on Saturday night.”
I started speed-walking back toward town. Beauji turned the stroller around and jogged to catch up.
“
What did you
do?”
she asked, her voice a mix of surprise and suspicion.
I grinned at her. “
I just graduated. I
’
m officially a Miz Fallon now.”
“
Well, Beauji and Davey, of course,”
I said as Peter scribbled down the names. “
And Beau Sr. and Wendy.”
Mags stepped into the dining room and put her address book on the table next to Bev. “
I just got off the phone with Marge Whitfield. That Betty Jo Allen has told half the town you were in Bridge
’
s office this morning.”
“
Was she listening?”
Bev asked. “
Did
she say anything about the party?”
Mags shook her head. “
No. I
’
m pretty sure if she knew, she
’
d have mentioned it to Marge.”
I put my index finger on the sheet Peter was writing on. “
Put Marge Whitfield and Betty Jo Allen and her husband, Alan.”
Peter look
ed up with a smirk. “
Alan Allen?”
I waved my hand at him. “
Long story. But let
’
s make sure they all get invited so no one gets suspicious.”
I looked up at Mags. “
Have you decided what we
’
re going to tell Vera?”
“
It
’
s your good-bye party,”
Bev said quietly.
I looked up.
“
My good-bye party?”
Mags waved her hand at me dismissively. “
Or something.
We're
Miz Fallons. If we can
’
t find an excuse for a party, who can?”
“
You
’
re leaving in, what, two weeks?”
Bev asked. “
Why not have the party now?”
I swallowed. I had
n
’
t looked at a calendar in ages. I looked down at the list Peter
’
d been jotting down. “
Sure. Why not?”
“
Fine, then,”
Bev said, getting up. “
It
’
s settled.”
She stalked out of the dining room. Mags and Peter exchanged looks.
“
What?”
I said.
“
You know what?”
Peter said, standing up. “
I
’
m gonna go get my jacket so I can walk you home, Portia.”
He slid out of the room. I looked at Mags.
“
What, Mags? What am I missing?”
“
Well,”
she said slowly, “
I think it might be a good idea if you spent a little time with Bev
and talked.”
“
About what?”
“
You may not have noticed because Bev is so good at hiding it,”
Mags said, going light with her sarcasm, “
but she
’
s a little upset about you being away so much.”
I blinked as the obvious began to dawn on me. “
Are you kidding me?
That
’
s why she
’
s been so pissy with me all summer? Because I
’
m going back to Syracuse?”
Mags reached over and patted my hand. “
She just thinks children should come home after college, that
’
s all. I
’
ve tried to explain it to her, but...well. You know Bev.
Maybe you should try to talk to her yourself.”
Peter stepped back into the room. “
Ready, Portia?”
I kissed Mags on the cheek and smiled. “
I
’
ll talk to her. Later.”
I smiled at Peter. At the moment, I had bigger fish to fry.
Peter and I were quiet for most
of the walk home, commenting only on the honeysuckle in the air or the guest list for the party. I didn
’
t gather up the courage to say what I wanted to say until we
’
d reached the front door of the Page, and he was about to turn around and head back.
“
Peter
,”
I said. “
I think we need to talk.”
He gave me a tight-lipped smile. “
I don
’
t think there
’
s ever been a pleasant conversation that started out that way.”
“
I
’
m sorry,”
I said.
He nodded. “
About?”
I sighed, and pulled the ring box out of my jacket pocket. I
’
d been carrying it around with me for days, waiting. “
I think you know.”
He reached out and took the box, staring down at it in his hand. “
I see.”
“
No,”
I said. “
You don
’
t. Neither did I, really,
not until recently.”
Finally, he looked at me. “
Care to enlighten me?”
No.
But I owed it to him. I took a deep breath and started in on the speech I
’
d been preparing since we came back from Tuscaloosa.
“
You are perfect. You always were. You were always ki
nd. You were always there for me. There
’
s nothing wrong with you.”
He pulled on a weak smile. “
So far, so good. Keep going.”
I sighed. “
I thought a lot about what you said. About me making you feel like a failure. And you were right.”
He shook his head. “
N
o, Portia, that was totally unfair of me to pin it all on you
—”