Jumped (27 page)

Beth said, “I know, because you love me and want what's best for me and you're trying to circumvent my impulsive streak.” She paused. “I don't think I ever stopped loving him. We didn't get divorced because we didn't love each other. We got divorced because we had drifted apart. We were living these separate lives and barely ever saw each other. Then we were stubborn and neither wanted to give in and do the work to stay together. We thought we'd be better off divorced because it felt like we were hardly married. We weren't contributing to each other's lives. The relationship had . . . deteriorated. It was sad. I was sad more than mad. Finn said he never stopped loving me, and I guess I never really stopped loving him, either.”

Beth gave them a lopsided smile and poked at an ice cube with a cocktail straw. “But wait, there's more.” She told them about how she had thought her job was more important than his. Then she hung her head and said, “How attractive is
that
?”

“You've had better moments,” Amanda said. “Haven't we all? What did Finn say?”

Beth said, “He forgave me the next day. In retrospect, probably because he knew he was going to give me the land and he bulldozed my—my family's former—house. Because when he razed it, technically, it was
his
house.”

Harris continued, “So you're still in love with him, princess. You can love him in your heart, the way I still love Luke Perry circa
90210
. You don't have to act on it.”

Amanda turned to Beth. “You guys spent an awful lot of time together. And . . . I feel okay telling you this because if you'd been at breakfast today you would've been as surprised as the rest of us. Finn bought something else while he was on his Percocet shopping spree—an engagement ring.”

Beth gasped.

“Yes,” Harris said, “I'd bet Krugerrands to Cronuts it's your size. And you can see it from space.”

“Do you want to marry him? Have things changed enough?” Amanda asked.

Beth licked some deviled egg from her finger. “I . . . maybe. He used to have this thing about not making enough money. He said he felt he wasn't worthy of me and my dad is, as we like to call him, ‘the hardware baron of Ohio.' Only Finn was serious, even though I didn't care—after all, it's not like I'm a Kennedy. But he grew up poor. That's why he worked two jobs. Now, though, he's doing well, and set to do even better if he gets Uncle Mitch's project. So that conflict's gone. Besides making more money, having his own firm means he controls his time.”

“Even more reason for him to fight for this project,” Amanda said. “What else are you conflicted about?”

“Me. Back then I was too busy, but not to make money. I wanted to do exactly what I wanted. I wanted Finn to accommodate my job. He'd ask me to do things with him, and I'd say yes and then cancel, over and over. Like, we needed a bed, and I said I'd go pick one out with him, and I canceled. He was frustrated, and I was annoyed that he didn't understand. But in retrospect, his requests weren't important to me. He didn't ask that much, and I kept . . . to be blunt, I had no interest in compromise or sacrifice. Not that meeting your husband for dinner or at a furniture store is a huge compromise or sacrifice. But I did it far too often, and I can see that now. At the time, I thought he should just pick out a stupid bed. I missed the point. He wanted us to do things together. I wanted to be at the barn for as long as I pleased. It always seemed like something came up, and it was legit. But the truth is, I had—and sometimes still have—trouble saying no and I wanted to be the hero at the barn or the show.

“And it got me a divorce. It's the reason I got burned out on the whole show scene. For so long, I loved getting my kids ready for shows and running between rings, coaching. I loved feeling like I was so important and my students needed me so badly.

“One night I was at a show, checking on the horses before I went to the hotel. I was looking in on this one gelding—a sweetie who tried his heart out. It was his last show because his rider wanted something fancier, and her parents bought her a bigger, better horse from Europe, because she didn't win
enough
. Not all kids and their parents were like that, but I was getting a reputation and attracting more elite students. They didn't love riding; they loved winning. And, yes, I found that horse a great home with another kid who adored him. But . . . I was putting in these long hours and it didn't seem to be worth it anymore. Little by little, without knowing it, I had changed my focus to winning instead of producing good horsemen and good riders. There's a subtle difference, but you know what I mean.” Beth looked at Amanda, who nodded.

She sipped her gin and tonic and said, “This is going to sound crazy, but my clientele changed so that I had students with super-talented horses, I was making more money than ever because they all wanted soup-to-nuts training, they were winning, and I had never been more unhappy. A kid would ride well, but the horse nicked a pole, the kid wouldn't win, and even though she rode great, she'd be in tears and the parents blamed me. Horsemanship didn't matter. Ribbons did. Horses were a means to an end, period.”

Beth ate the last four peanuts.

Harris looked at Beth with his tan brow furrowed. “Is that why you want to rescue horses? Because they're treated like such commodities?”

“I hadn't thought about it like that, but I think you're right. Amanda,” Beth said, “Harris just said something deep.”

“He'll do that on occasion to keep us on our toes.”

Harris grinned. “It's like seeing a cocker spaniel play the piano, isn't it?” He looked at Beth. “So you burned out and started making shirts. Now you're hoping to sell your line so you can start the horse rescue. Aha! Here's my question!” He said this as though he were a lawyer in front of a jury. “If you marry Finn and you succeed rescuing horses, Betty White, won't you run into the same my-time-is-more-valuable-than-your-time issue?”

“No, because now I'm aware of my tendency to be a workaholic and save the day. Finn used to shrug it off and be understanding.”

“Enabler!” Harris said.

“Yeah. So when he finally had enough, I was shocked because he'd never seemed to mind before. He'd grumble, but he never told me how much it bothered him.”

“So you also had some communication problems,” Amanda said. “Not unusual.”

“Right again.”

“Did you guys talk about getting back together?” Amanda asked.

“In between all those orgasms?” Harris added.

Beth punched his arm. “It was tough to talk, since we were always panting from all the sex. But . . . he told me he wanted to marry me. Flat out told me.”

“And you said . . .” Amanda prompted.

“Nothing.”

“If you decide to do it again, do you think you can succeed?”

“Yes. Before, we just . . . stopped. I know it sounds stupid now, but at the time, it seemed like the only option.”

“You couldn't see the forest for the Gumps,” said Harris.

Beth and Amanda groaned. “Next time we come here, we're not telling you,” Amanda said.

“Such a pretty face,” Harris said. “Such a black heart.”

“You want to know what I think?” Amanda asked.

“Don't I always?” Beth downed the rest of her gin.

“I think you've both learned a ton and you get it now. Getting divorced and coming back together has made both of you realize how good you had it, and if you get married again, you'll put your marriage first.”

Harris said, “Your first marriage was like a test drive—a very long test drive where you accidentally drove off a cliff. But now you're ready to buy. Not the same exact car, because it's at the bottom of a canyon with Thelma and Louise. But you know what I mean.”

Amanda said, “So give it some time and see what you think. You'll know.”

Her friend was right. As annoying and frustrating as it would be to wait and see, it made complete sense. Anyway, she had plenty to do. She had Brooke to ride under Amanda's tutelage, at least for a couple more weeks. She had to take advantage of being in Aspen with her best friend. She had to work on selling her shirt business. And most of all, she had to start learning about running a horse rescue. Her dream was closer than ever now that she had the land.
The only thing that matters;
the only thing that lasts.
She and her procrastinating literary doppelganger, Ms. O'Hara, had something else in common, only Beth's Tara was in Ptarmigan.

Finn missed Bethany.

He should have been thrilled to have a huge opportunity dropped at his door. He got jazzed when his education, experience, and talent were tested. He felt a rush when meeting with a potential client and convincing them he was the only man for the job. It reminded him of when his high school football team went to state, when he had a single focus and played his heart out. It was pure and simple. Not easy, but simple.

And yet, every day, despite preparing for his meeting with Mitchell Frederick, he hoped to hear from her.

He hoped he'd hear from her personally when the land transfer was complete, but he wasn't sure how long it would take.

Of course, he really wanted to know if she'd marry him. He considered calling, but she'd told him she needed time and he didn't want to push. If he played his cards right, the planets aligned, and the romance gods were feeling frisky, they'd share a life again.

His big presentation to Mitchell Frederick was on Friday.

Finn was still so grateful to Bethany for giving him such valuable information about Uncle Mitch's personality and preferences. Still, he wanted to go above and beyond for this presentation, so he made a movie. He had his part-time assistant, Connor, come to his home office and help him. He put together a presentation showing his portfolio and schemes for the house. Finn could hold his own in a presentation, and although he never thought of himself as charismatic, he thought well on his feet and could answer questions and reverse objections.

Over the next four days Finn worked twenty hours at a stretch. Connor, who had four tattoos and a pet snake, was almost as tireless. On Thursday Finn flew to Cleveland and checked into a hotel.

Friday morning, Finn put on his lucky Hugo Boss suit. He brought his laptop and extra cables. If it weren't such a ridiculous idea, he would've brought a generator in case of a blackout. He arrived at Mitchell's office thirty minutes early and sat in the waiting area. He didn't go over his notes because he had memorized them. So he thought about Bethany and how much he needed to get this project so he'd be worthy of her.

“Mr. McNabb?” It was Val, the receptionist, a woman in her midfifties with short brown hair and a pair of reading glasses pushed on top of her head. She had been sweet when he'd arrived and had almost insisted on making coffee for him.

She led him through a dark wood door and down a carpeted hallway to a conference room. “You can set your computer up right there,” she said. “The big screen is here. Call me if you have any problems.”

Finn nodded to her. “Thank you, Val.”

She smiled again. “Good luck!”

Finn set everything up. Sat. Picked a different chair. Went back to the first chair. Tugged on his lapels. Looked at the oil painting of Mitchell Frederick at one end of the room.

Mitchell Frederick himself appeared in the doorway. Mitchell didn't seem to recognize Finn, but he'd hardly seen him while he had been Bethany's husband. Uncle Mitchell had an army-issue gray crew cut topping a round, florid face punctuated by a knobby nose that belonged to a 1940s character actor. He was several inches shorter than Finn, several pounds heavier, and wore a dark pinstriped suit and tie.

Finn got up and limped to him.

“Hullo there, I'm Mitch!” The man was loud. And he didn't so much shake Finn's hand as pump his entire arm.

“Good morning, Mr. Frederick.”

“No ceremony here. Call me Mitch. And any friend of Beth's is a friend of mine. She's a glorious gal, isn't she?”

“Good morning, Mitch and, yes, she certainly is.”

Mitch dropped his gaze. “What in the Sam Hill d'you do to your leg?”

“A bunch of guys fooling around playing football.”

“You don't say. I was All-American fullback. Notre Dame, class of sixty-eight.”

“Wow,” Finn said, impressed. “Ara Parseghian. What was it like to play for a legend?”

Mitch's face lit up the way Bethany's did when she saw bacon. Finn gave himself a mental high-five.

Mitch said, “He was tough, he was fair, and we all woulda crawled through fire for him. You play ball?”

“High school, in Cincinnati. We went to state. I wasn't fast enough to play college ball.”

Mitch laughed, which was a wheezy, full-blown affair. “Doesn't matter. You know what it's like to be a team player and I need a team. And I like new ideas, especially from young people like yourself. Let's see whatcha got.”