The Someday Jar (22 page)

“Guess we can go now,” Wes says.

“Yeah, guess we can.”

We climb into his car and he switches on the windshield wipers, cleaning off the rain spots.

“Thank you for bringing me here.”

“Thanks for coming.”

My eyes hold on to the reflection of the chapel through my side mirror as we drive away. I wonder how the place will look once restored, once the water stains darkening the stucco dry, the scaffolding is gone, the doors are adjusted, the trees are trimmed, and the hole is patched in the roof. The stars hidden.

There’s a qualm rippling through my body. I don’t want to leave. I want to stay in the chapel. I want to stay in Wes’s arms.

Oh, God.
My body tightens and I twist my engagement ring around my finger, staring through the windshield, praying that Wes can’t read my thoughts. Wishing I couldn’t, either.

I don’t see Wes during the day and Evan isn’t home when I return from work later that evening. He left a message on my phone, saying several fellow brokers are meeting for dinner, and then he’ll start the two-hour drive home.

As I step out of my shoes and line them up beside the entry rug, I feel the moisture in the air from Wes’s bathroom. He must’ve recently showered and left, for the house is quiet. I pour myself a cup of tea and linger in the solitude.

Aimlessly, I meander through the house, straightening the picture on the wall in the entryway, fluffing the couch pillows, three times just as Wes said, and picking a few stray pieces of lint off the armrest. The plants have enough water, the blinds are twisted closed for the night, and the hall bathroom has plenty of toilet paper. Before I realize it, I find myself in the guest bedroom.

Wes’s room.

I shouldn’t be here. I shouldn’t be in his room, invading his space like some sort of creeper. I ignore that voice of reason and convince myself it’s technically not his room. Legally or anything.

Slung over the backrest of an armchair is the light brown T-shirt Wes wore to the chapel. Although I specifically order my legs otherwise, they walk over to the chair. I pick up the shirt, soft in my hands, and before I can stop myself, I lift the shirt to my nose and inhale Wes’s scent. It smells like oak. It smells like the church. It smells like him.

What are you doing, Lanie? Put the shirt down.

As if the cotton catches ablaze, I throw the shirt onto the
chair, slinging it over the backrest as it was. Something slips from the breast pocket. I reach behind the chair and pick up a small photo, creased and folded in half. I shouldn’t open it. It’s none of my business. Nothing that concerns me.

Okay, just a peek.

I unfold it and find a picture of a strikingly beautiful woman with olive skin and long dark hair. Julie? She’s at the beach, sitting on a blue-and-white striped towel, smiling in her profile at a small boy, probably Trevor, as he digs with sand buckets and shovels beside her. The boy’s bottom tooth is missing, leaving an adorable gap. There is a sweet innocence in this boy’s eyes. Eyes that share a resemblance to Wes. Eyes that blind me with reason.

Get out of here, Lanie Howard. Get out of here now.

Carefully, I fold the picture and tuck it into the pocket. I clamp my hand around the body of the shirt, making it look messy like it did initially.

Good. He’ll never know I was—

“What are you doing?”

I spin around and see Wes standing at the door. He leans against the jamb with his hands folded across his chest.

“Hi, I was, um . . . just looking for my tiara. Yes, my tiara. I thought it was behind this chair, but now I remember it’s in the closet. I mean, why else would I be here? In your room.” I laugh as if I told a hilarious joke.

He stands still.

“Right. So, anyway, may I?” I point toward the closet.

“By all means.”

“Great, thanks.” I dig open the top box and pull my tiara free from the bubble wrap. “Here we are. Got it. Got what I came for. Okay, I’ll be going now. Excuse me.”

“Nice tiara.”

“Thanks.”

“I can see why you’d want that now, so many years later.” There’s a tease in his voice.

“It’s special to me.”

“Aren’t you going to wear it?”

“Sorry?”

“Aren’t you going to put the tiara on?”

“Right, right. Of course. That’s why I’m here.” I rest the crown on my head and smile.

“You look ridiculous.”

I meet his gaze.

“Lanie,” he whispers, his voice slow and thick. His lips inches from mine.

“Yes?” My heart hammers hard enough that I’m afraid he’ll spot it through my shirt.

“I, um, you—” At that very moment, his phone rings. The familiar jingle. Once again. And, as if electrocuted, he quickly steps back, stares at the wall behind me, and says, “Excuse me.”

“Yes, of course.”

He strides toward the front door. “Hey, there, how’s Trevor?”

The picture of Julie and Trevor comes to mind. I recall the smoothness in her face, the gap in Trevor’s teeth, and the simple beauty of the moment.

The photo was crinkled and lined, like it’s been folded and unfolded a thousand times.

Julie. What would she say if she discovered I’d spent the night in Wes’s arms? What would she think of me? What would Evan?

The tiara slips from my head and falls onto the floor.

I want to cry.

Later, it’s after eleven o’clock and I lie in bed, waiting for Evan to come home. I contemplate calling Kit, but she’s in Maui. The last thing I want to do is sour her trip with my problems. Wes is downstairs. The TV is on a sports show, I think. He’s opened the fridge twice, and from the clanking glass, I assume he’s retrieved a beer. Wes and I are still alone.

My mind wanders to the familiarity and comfort and confidence I feel when we’re together. The safety of his arm wrapped around me. The fact that I long for his touch, even if just a quick brush of our fingers.

I pull the comforter over my head, trying to hide from my musing, trying to block out my feelings, trying to suffocate my conscience, but it doesn’t work.
Why can’t I get him off my mind? Why can’t Wes be more . . . forgettable?

I punch at the blanket until it slips onto the floor, then let out a long sigh.

It’s more than that.

It’s more than my feelings for Wes.

It’s more than just wedding jitters.

I can’t do this.

I can’t pretend any longer.

Evan and I need to talk.

I didn’t hear Evan come to bed and it isn’t until the following morning, when wafts of coffee drift by my nose, that I see him. I open my eyes and find him dressed in the navy suit and tie I bought for him last month, holding four coffees tucked safely inside the cardboard carryout tray. Two dozen roses decorate the nightstand beside me.

“What’s all this?” I sit up.

Evan joins me bedside, and says, “Here.” He hands me the coffee tray. “I got four different types.” He refers to the black hash marks on the side of each cup and says, “This one is a white mocha, this is a macchiato, and this is a—”

“It’s okay, Evan. You can set them on the nightstand.”

“Listen, I need to apologize. I’ve been a beast, lately. All this talk about listings and remodels and promotions and wishes has really got me thinking.”

“Me, too.” I smooth a bedsheet wrinkle with my palm, sigh, then say, “Maybe we’re rushing into this. I’m not sure we should—”

“Marry me.” Evan interrupts me and by the focused look in his eyes, I’m not certain he heard what I started to say.

“That’s what I want to talk to you about. I don’t think we—”

“Today.”

“What? Today? Why today?” I scrunch the sheets with fisted hands. “What about all of Stacee’s plans and the lily centerpieces, and the cranberries, and . . . and why today?”

“I’ll call Stacee and write her a check for her effort. Let’s hop over to the courthouse this afternoon.”

I stare at him confused. “Evan, I—”

“I got to thinking. Remember when Hollis acted surprised that you and I were moving into Orchid Lane before we’re married?”

“Yes.”

“Let’s honor him.”

“What?”

“Call me old-fashioned, but let’s get married before we move into the house. Speaking of the house, we’re going to remove that dining room wall so you can have more light, just as you asked.” He chuckles. “You’re speechless.”

“Evan, this isn’t a good idea.”

“Are you kidding? This is an excellent idea. Let’s be spontaneous. Isn’t that what all this Someday Jar business the past few weeks has been about? A little fun? A little impetuousness?”

“I suppose, but—”

“C’mon, love. You and me, the courthouse, four o’clock. We’ll spend the night at some swanky hotel and finish what Wes interrupted.” He winks. “Let’s have some fun together.”

I’m shocked. I don’t know what to say, so I spout what comes to mind. “Um, I don’t have a dress.”

“Come with me.”

In my pajamas, I follow him downstairs.

A wedding dress drapes across the couch.

Evan gathers the clear plastic covering, bunches it near the hanger, and reveals the sheath gown. Pearls, beaded along the sweetheart neckline, reflect in the sunlight and the ivory-colored silk looks spun from clouds. It’s gorgeous. Exactly as I would pick. “Stacee said you left without selecting a dress, so I took the liberty and chose one for you. It’s simple, yet classy. Just like I like. And see, here—” He points at the eggshell-colored sash tied into a small bow at the hip. “—It’ll match the napkins you selected.” With a smile, Evan says, “I’ll meet you at the courthouse. Yes?”

Before I answer, Wes steps from his room in a V-neck charcoal sweater and dark jeans. He glances at the gown. “That’s a beautiful dress,” he says, looking at me.

“Isn’t it, though?” Evan says, pleased with his selection and unaware of the static hovering in the air between Wes and me.

I don’t turn away, willing Wes to speak.
Tell me the night in the chapel meant something to you. Tell me not to marry Evan. Tell me how you feel. Say something. Anything. Please.

He doesn’t.

With a half nod, he excuses himself and heads toward the front door.

My stomach drops at the sound of it closing behind him.

Gone.

Just like that.

Fine.

Good.

Walk away.

Honestly, what does he expect me to do? Run after him and scream his name? Flag down a cab and whisk through
the city streets like in those stupid romantic comedy movies? Does he expect me to chase after him like a schoolgirl with a silly, lustful crush? Isn’t this all it is, anyway? Wild pointless thoughts about a man I barely know.

For Christ’s sake, Lanie. Forget it. Forget all of it. For the last time, stop thinking about Wes. Stop thinking about his strong hands, his captivating jawline, his gentle nature with Hollis and Maria. Stop thinking how the tips of your fingers tingle every time he says your name. Stop thinking about all of that and start thinking about Julie and Trevor. He’s got a family. A boy that desperately needs him. What do I want to do? Break that up? Of course not. Get him out of your head and focus on your future. Focus on Evan.

“Lanie?”

Evan’s voice jars my thoughts. I stare into his hopeful eyes.

What I have in front of me is real. It may not be perfect, and we may have our differences, but it’s right now. It’s here. My future will be set. Never will I have the financial worries that Mom did. Never will I have a tumultuous, roller-coaster life, wondering what lies ahead. My days will be smooth, calm, and consistent. Each day congruous with the next. I’ve said my whole life that fireworks don’t exist. That stability and security are what’s important.

I stand beside Evan and realize I haven’t given him enough credit. He’s steady. He’s constant. He colors inside the lines. And what’s so wrong with that? He’s a spring day with no wind and a chilled glass of wine compared with Wes, who is a sultry summer day and a shot of tequila. Though that may be fun for a while, I know from experience that too much sun blisters my skin and tequila makes me sick.

Evan directs my attention with a shake of the gown. He waits, expecting my answer.

Most women in America wouldn’t hesitate to marry someone like Evan Carter. Not even for a fraction of a second.

“Yes,” I say with a smile, and accept the dress. “I’ll meet you there.”

“Wonderful.” Evan throws his fists in the air in victory. “You’ve made me a happy man. Okay, then, I’m off. See you later.” He kisses me hard. “Oh, and don’t forget to tell Hollis.” With a wink, Evan dashes out the door.

Upstairs, I lay the dress on the bed and stare at it for several minutes.

I pick one of the coffees and take a sip, but as soon as the liquid hits my lips, I hurry toward the bathroom sink, and spit it out. Awful.

After a shower, I head downstairs and pop a blueberry bagel in the toaster.

“Hey.” Wes’s voice startles me from behind.

I spin around. “I thought you left.”

“Just took a walk, wanted to give you and Evan some privacy.”

I nod, unsure what to say.

Wes steps forward. “So, congratulations are in order.”

“Yes, thanks.” Right away, I busy myself, cleaning crumbs off the counter, avoiding his eyes. “You probably think it seems hasty, but we decided, why wait?”
You have Julie. I have Evan. That’s the hand we’ve been dealt.

“Why should you wait?”

I lift my glance and his eyes bore into mine.
Why should you
wait?
His voice echoes in my head, over and over. From the corner of my eye, I notice his bags are gathered by the door.

“You’re leaving?”

He stuffs his hands in his pockets—I love when he does that—and says, “Yes, I called Evan and told him the plans are essentially done. I’ll finish the rest at my office. The City Core opening isn’t for a few weeks. It’s time I get back home.”

“Right. Of course.”

“Well, good luck today, Lanie. I’m sure you’ll be a beautiful bride.”

I chew on my lip. “Thank you.”

“I almost forgot.” He turns around and grabs a tube lying on top of his bags. Walking back, he shakes out a rolled set of plans into his hand. “Here. These are for you.” He offers me the papers.

“House plans?”

“Something like that. Oh, and this.” He pulls a small bubble-wrapped package from his bag. “A wedding present for you.”

Accidentally-on-purpose, I let his fingers brush mine. “Thank you.”

“My pleasure.” We stand in awkward silence before he says, “This is silly.” With a chuckle he opens his arms for a hug. “Congratulations, Lanie.”

I accept his embrace and though I shouldn’t, though it’s wrong and weak, I linger. I close my eyes and rest my cheek against his chest. Our arms entwined. Our bodies close. There’s no denying the draw between us.

It isn’t until the doorbell rings that we let go.

“My taxi,” he says.

I wipe a tiny tear from my nose. “Sorry, I’m just extra emotional this morning. A big day.”

“A big day for sure.” He steps back. “Well, good-bye. It was great meeting you.”

“You, too.”

Walking toward his bags, he slings the empty tube over his shoulder, opens the door, and disappears outside.

The moment he’s gone, my body feels hollow, disconnected from reality, like some sort of bad dream. Before I can stop my legs, I run outside, toward the taxi. “Wes!” I shout.

He turns around and walks toward me.

My palms are sweating and my mouth has forgotten how to move. Wiping my hands on my pants, somehow I manage, “You’re really leaving?”

Wes’s jawbone flexes beneath his cheeks as he glances at the ground and shifts his feet before looking back at me. “Can you give me a reason to stay?”

There are a million reasons for him to stay, but only one—the most important reason—for him to go.
Julie.

I reach my arm across my chest and clasp my bicep, pinching it tight.
Damn!
Honestly, what does he want me to say?
Stay. Stay because I might be in love with you.

“Aren’t you getting married today, Lanie?” Wes asks.

It’s as if he slapped me across the face. “Yes.” I wring my hands together. “I am. Four o’clock. I just thought you might like to stay and see the wedding.”

“Nah,” Wes says with a short tone. “You know how I feel about a girl in a wedding dress.”

Wes climbs into the cab and disappears into traffic.

This time, he’s truly gone.

Inside the condo, I toss the plans into the spare bedroom closet and pretend not to notice how much the room smells like Wes. I close the door and shut out Wes and my childish fantasies behind me. For good.

I return to the kitchen and unwrap Wes’s present. Tears flow from my eyes as a Larry Fitzgerald bobblehead rests in my palm.