Cancel the Wedding (17 page)

I stopped talking so he would have an opening to speak. He was trying to be understanding. “Livie, honey, I don't mind you being down there. I want you to find out about your mom. I know this is important to you. I just don't think this is the best time. We have some important things coming up.” I knew he was worried about planning the wedding but I really couldn't think about that at the moment. He continued. “I have four dinners in the next ten days.” Or maybe he was just worried about making the right impression at work. “You're expected to be there and you're putting me in a bad position.”

“I'm sorry.” I was sorry. I felt horrible for everything I was doing, saying, and feeling toward Leo right now but I wasn't going to heel just so he could have a date to his work dinners.

He said, “Me too.”

We hung up and I wondered what exactly Leo was sorry for. I looked at my phone. I thought,
That was a very unsatisfying conversation.
My phone didn't console me in any way.

Logan finally came back from the lake and I took her to buy a one-piece bathing suit for her new camp counselor job at the marina. Being with her was the most satisfying distraction. She had this unencumbered view of life that made you feel like anything was possible. She was so excited about starting her new job in the morning. Even the idea of work being fun was a possibility again when Logan was around.

When we got back to our room, I was so tired I thought about getting ready for bed. But I couldn't seem to settle my head. I decided to go for a walk. Maybe I would just walk downstairs to the bar.

It was almost nine o'clock and there were only a few people sitting in the lounge. I hadn't heard from Elliott all day. I hadn't really expected to necessarily, but then again I missed talking to him.

I peeked in the lounge and looked around to make sure Emory wasn't in there lurking. I wasn't in the mood to bump into him again.

I went to the bar and ordered my usual. There was a half-empty beer and a cell phone sitting on the bar so I moved a few seats over and sat down.

I was lost in thought, stirring my drink when I felt someone sit down right next to me. The owner of the abandoned beer and cell phone was back. Before I even looked at him I knew it was Elliott.

Without looking up I said, “You're back.”

“Yep.”

He sounded as tired as I felt. I turned my head to get a look at him and he just seemed beaten. “Are you okay? Because you look awful.”

He smiled. “Thanks.” He called out to the bartender. “Mark, can we get two more?” Then he looked at me. “I'm okay. It was a long couple of days and . . . hard. But it was the right thing. I mean . . .” He paused for a minute before continuing. “Never mind.”

“That bad, huh?” I was trying to be playful, but he was obviously upset.

“Yes. But . . . it's really good to see you.”

“You too.” I wasn't sure what to say. “I'm glad you're back.”

Elliott picked up a napkin and began absentmindedly wiping down the bar. “I just drove into town and headed over here. I was sitting here trying to decide if I should call you or knock on your door. Then you just showed up.”

The bartender dropped off two more drinks in front of us and looked back and forth from me to Elliott. Then he asked Elliott, “Did you just get back from Atlanta?”

Something passed between them. Some sort of understanding. Elliott nodded his head. Mark said, “Sorry dude.” And he went to the other side of the bar.

I put my hand on Elliott's; I was a little bit worried about him. “What happened?”

He smiled that little half smile of his and stood up. “Come on, let's move over there. Mark loves to listen in on a conversation.”

We settled into a pair of chairs by the window and leaned in so that we could talk to each other in low voices.

I thought maybe I knew what this was about. “I assume this is the same girl trouble from the other day.”

He was genuinely confused. “What trouble?”

“When you wouldn't answer the phone at your office.”

He nodded, understanding now. “Yes, same trouble. We haven't been in a good place for a long time.”

I felt a tinge of jealousy as soon as he started talking about this other woman, which was ridiculous so I pushed it aside. “I'm sorry. I'm a good listener if you want to talk about it.” I waited but he just kept staring at his hands. Maybe I wasn't such a good listener; maybe I was a little impatient because I started feeding him lines. “Her name is . . . and we've been together since . . . and we had a fight about . . .”

He laughed a little and finally spoke. “Amy. Four years. This was the last fight, the last of many fights. I just couldn't keep up this toxic thing. We started fighting before I left Atlanta and I didn't see an end to it. The things we want are just too different.”

“She lives in Atlanta?”

He nodded. “We moved there from Chicago. She thought being closer to my family would make things better, but it was just the same problems in a different city. Then I started the paper and we couldn't find a way to . . .”

“Would she consider moving here?”

He made a face that told me the answer before he even started speaking. “No. She wouldn't be happy here. She needs things, to climb after things that I just can't begin to want. She needs to be at the right parties with the right people. But I just can't chase all of that; it's not important to me. But Amy, she needs to be seen and to have the trendiest bag and right car. I don't know. It just got to the point where everything was hard.”

Against my better judgment I defended Amy. “You know that you don't get to decide what's important to her.”

He smiled a sort of sad smile. “It wasn't that. I don't judge that she needs it.” He reconsidered. “Maybe I judged it a little. But I can't need it too. We both began to realize that if it was going to work then one of us was going to have to change drastically.”

I already knew how these stories ended. “People aren't really that capable of change, are they?”

“Well, we weren't. She's happy with that lifestyle. But it's not for me. I won't play that game. And she can't come here to this place with so much . . . less. So”—he shrugged—“we just stopped working.”

“Sorry.”

His voice was very serious and very quiet. “I'm not. I mean I'm sorry that things ended the way they did, but I'm not sorry for having been with her. And I'm not sorry that it's over now. She'll find someone else who wants the same things and she'll be happier for it.” Elliott was tracing the rim of his glass with his finger in a slow circle. Round and round. “And, well, there were other . . . reasons . . . that I needed to do it now.” His eyes darted from the glass to mine for a split second and in that instant I wondered if this could have anything to do with me. There was an air of calm resolution on his face. “Being with someone shouldn't be so much work.” The air was charged between us. I could feel a heaviness in my chest.

It took me a moment to find my voice, which sounded strained when I spoke. “You're right. That's the one thing in life that should be easy.”

Elliott smiled, breaking the tension, and held his glass up to mine. “Like breathing.” We clinked glasses. I was immediately reminded of my mother and her advice to be with someone I needed as desperately as breathing.

Elliott and I sat in that dark corner for the rest of the night discussing everything and nothing. As if unspoken permission had been granted for us to get to know each other better. We talked about my job, his paper, my sister, his family. I never brought up Leo and at some point he made the conscious decision to stop discussing Amy. We talked about the house I had rented on the lake and Logan's summer job. He told me about his parents and I told him about mine.

I found myself watching his hands as he spoke. He was so expressive with them and used them as emphasis in his stories. I had to stop myself from reaching out and taking them when they were still.

As the bar emptied and became quieter we found ourselves leaning into each other even more, our heads bowed together, our voices lower. It was an intimate conversation and we didn't want to share it.

We stayed until the bar was closed and even then we didn't leave. When Mark had finished cleaning up, restocking, and closing everything down he made us get out.

I walked Elliott to the front porch of the inn to say good-night. There was a summer thunderstorm brewing and the thick, damp wind was swirling around the porch. Strands of hair broke free from my elastic and blew around my face. The low pressure in the air forced the fragrance of the jasmine to sit low to the ground, perfuming the night.

This suddenly felt like a very awkward good-night. I had to say something to cut the tension. “I'm glad you came by tonight. I hope you're feeling better.”

“I am.” He stood there for a moment then he smiled and held up his hand in a small wave as he turned to go. I was watching him walk down the steps when he stopped, ran his hand through his hair, and turned around. His head was down, determined, as he marched back and stopped right in front of me, standing inches from me. His head was bent low, staring at our feet. Slowly his hand moved out and gently brushed against mine, squeezing for just an instant before letting go. In a whisper he said, “You are easier for me to be with than anyone I have ever met.”

When he finally looked at me, my breath caught. He gently brushed the hair out of my face and tucked it behind my ear. His hand moved over my skin, lightly tracing the curve of my neck down to my collarbone. His palm rested on my shoulder as his thumb gently stroked the base of my throat. We stood there, eyes locked, inches apart, as his hand moved slowly to the back of my neck. He pulled me in slightly and placed a kiss on my forehead. He said, “I just wanted you to know that.”

He was gone before it ever even registered with me that he had left. I was standing there, alone in the blustering wind with my hand on my neck, trying to hold on to that feeling.

This wasn't just a crush anymore. At least not for me.

All I could think was,
I am falling for Elliott. And I don't even know his last name.

After another night of fitful sleep I drove Logan to her first day of work at the camp. It was just as adorable as she had described it. The little campers were dropped off at the marina by boat. Then they waddled across the dock in their life jackets toward the camp. I made my way back to the inn to check out of our room.

Mrs. Chatham was walking around the property with a landscape crew directing the cleanup of the debris from the storm the night before. When she saw me she waved and I waved back.

She finished with the landscapers and came over to me to say hello. I told her again how much we had enjoyed our stay at the inn and that we would be in town for a few more weeks at a lake house.

She patted me on my hand, and told me that if I needed anything I was welcome to ask her. Then she pulled out a wrapped box of locally made pralines and gave them to me. They were a small thank-you gift to me for the candle I had given her. My phone rang, so she excused herself and went into the inn.

I answered. “Hello?” It was Elliott.

“Morning.” His voice sounded gravelly, as if he'd just woken up, which I found very endearing.

I wasn't sure what to say regarding the things he whispered to me in the dark the night before so I just said hi.

He asked, “What're you doing?”

I looked down at the pralines that were a thank-you for the candle that was a thank-you for the garden club books. “I think I'm in a game of manners chicken with Betty Chatham.”

He started laughing. “She'll never blink. You should just resign yourself to losing right now.”

“I'm at a loss. Do I get her another thank-you gift for the thank-you gift? Or do I just say thanks and let this thing die?”

“Definitely let it go. What are you doing right now?”

“Nothing. I just sent Logan off for her first day of work. I can't get into the rental house until three o'clock.”

“Okay then, want to meet me at Jimmy's for breakfast? Ten minutes?”

“Sounds good. I'll see you there.”

When I got to Jimmy's, Elliott was already there. I felt a little shy when I first looked over at him. Considering how relatively small and tiny the kiss was that he planted on my forehead the night before, the nervous excitement in my stomach was disproportionably large.

Elliott and I grabbed the table near the front. I asked, “How did you sleep last night?”

He got a wicked little smile on his face, which told me he thought I was asking about one thing when I was actually asking about another. I winced, embarrassed. “I meant after all of your drama in Atlanta.”

“Sure you did.” He leaned over to the next table to get some sugar. “I slept well. Had interesting dreams.”

At that my face blushed so fiercely I could feel the heat coming off my skin and he laughed at me. “You are easily flustered, Olivia.”

“No more talking until after I get coffee.” He opened his mouth to say something else and I cut him off. “I'm not kidding. Go mute on me right this minute.”

He laughed, nodding. We ate our breakfast like that, in silence. When he was finished eating he said, “May I talk now?”

“No.”

“How long do you think it will be until I'll be allowed to talk again?”

“That depends on what you're going to say.”

“I was going to ask if you wanted to head over to the cemetery today.”

“Oh.” This was a nice surprise. “I'd love to. Do you have time?”

He smiled and I was starting to think there might be nothing more captivating than when Elliott was smiling at you. “Of course I have time.”

Huntley Memorial Gardens was a sprawling cemetery on low rolling hills that backed up to the National Forest. We pulled in and parked in front of the office.