The "What If" Guy (10 page)

“Really?” I pictured Henry in his rental car, navigating winding, country roads.

“In big cities, you don’t get that. When you go into a store and ask the clerk how he’s doing, he thinks you’re casing the joint. Studies have shown that people in big cities find it creepy if you hold eye contact for too long. Around these parts, the clerks want you to talk to them. Where are you from? How are you doing? Why are you in town?”

The undeniable, ever-present tug at the corner of his mouth won, and Henry’s lips pulled up lazily into a bright grin. I thought I heard the “Hallelujah Chorus,” but realized it was in my own head. Henry had one of those goofy, crooked smiles that would look comedic on a child, but on Henry, it looked completely sexy. I gripped the arms of my chair to keep from jumping on his lap.

“You learn so much about a town’s history by talking to people,” he said. “There are residents in Fairfield who have lived here since birth, and they’re in their nineties now. And some families have lived here for generations. It’s fun to listen to their stories and become part of their history, you know?” Happiness danced in his eyes.

“I’ve never looked at it that way before.” I pressed my lips together in a tight smile.

“I know,” Henry said, his words confident. “Which is why you need to let go and enjoy yourself.” He pointed to the window, the shorn fields beyond trembling in the November wind. “Look at what you and Elliott have around you.”

A tumbleweed rolled across the plain, and I suppressed a shudder. “I’ll work on that.”

He smiled patiently. “I can tell you’re unconvinced.”

“Is it that obvious?” I grimaced.

“Families here have deep roots.” He gestured to a few snapshots of students he had hanging nearby. “When I have a parent-teacher conference here at Palouse Plains, I’m not only meeting the parents of my students, but I could potentially be creating a relationship with a future student’s grandparents. People invite me to their house for dinner, and to their kids’ baptisms. You don’t get that kind of long-term connection in big cities.”

“No, you don’t,” I admitted. Back in Seattle, Elliott had had some excellent teachers. But we’d never felt close enough to one of them to invite a teacher over for dinner.

“I love the tight-knit feel,” He continued. “The community works together to raise kids. Everybody looks out for each other because they know that the kid kicking the soccer ball over the fence will someday own the land next to theirs. They all invest their time and love into each other, because they know it will benefit the town one day. It’s great to be a part of something so meaningful.”

I thought of Holly and Cody’s kids. It was likely that at least one of them would eventually take over the Judd farm and raise their children in Fairfield. Maybe someday Henry would not only have taught Tabitha, but her children, also. He would become part of Palouse Plains’ legacy. Strangely, I felt sad at the notion that Elliott’s future children would never have the chance to be taught by Mr. T. Once we moved back to Seattle, being a part of his class would just be a memory. What a loss that would be.

A reluctant smile tickled the corners of my mouth. “I hate to admit it, but I agree. It
does
sound meaningful.”

“When I was offered the position here, I might as well have won the lottery. I’m in the country, teaching middle-graders, and a long way from the drama I left behind.”

My ears perked up. There I went again, with the inappropriate curiosity about Henry’s marriage. “Drama?”

His smile faltered. “Divorce is never fun. Especially when it happens after only eleven months of marriage.”

“What happened?” Henry looked at me strangely, and I quickly backtracked. “Wait. Don’t answer that. None of my business.”

“Actually, nobody around here asks me about it. They all treat me as if getting divorced is the equivalent of having cancer. I’m pretty sure they’ve started a prayer chain for me at the Lutheran church.” Henry’s tone turned regretful. “Laurel’s family was pretty upset with me when we split. I’d been with her for so long before we got married that they thought I gave up too easily.”

“Did you?”

“I don’t know. Maybe I did.”

We sat in silence. Again, that invisible cloud hung between us, thick with unasked questions and unsaid words.

My attraction to Henry flickered like heat lightening. I felt like a teenager with a crush on the quarterback of the football team. Whenever he looked at me, I wanted to do the “Maniac” dance from
Flashdance
, complete with the water splash.

Henry must have noticed me twitching in my seat with my unrelenting curiosity. “Laurel and I dated for eight years.”

“Eight years?”

He nodded. “Her family kept telling me to marry her or leave. Every time we went to a family function, they joked about my fear of commitment. Laurel finally gave me an ultimatum. Marry her, or get out of her life. So, I married her.”

“How romantic,” I quipped.

“I owed it to Laurel to marry her. She’d put in eight years with me.”

I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. Not only because Henry had given me grief about Cliff, but also because he had told me after three dates that he loved me, that he pictured us moving into a house with a wrought iron fence and a pet beagle. Now he was telling me that he’d dated a woman for eight years, and then finally married her because he’d owed it to her? Either he wasn’t the romantic man I’d always thought he was, or he’d changed since then.

“Laurel planned everything. My job was to simply show up. And it was a major wedding. Five hundred guests, sit-down, six-course meal with a cocktail hour, ten bridesmaids, and—”

“Ten bridesmaids?” My mouth dropped open. “Who were your groomsmen?”

Henry laughed, his expression open and friendly again. “Mostly Laurel’s friends. I had my old roommate, Kyle, though.”

“Is he the one that I hit with your car?” I asked, winding my hair into a makeshift bun.

Henry leaned back in his seat, watching me. “You should have seen your face that night. It was classic.” Imitating my horrified expression, Henry’s eyes widened and his mouth formed an exaggerated “O”.

“Okay, okay, you can shut up now.” I giggled. “You would have been freaked out, too, had you been the one behind the wheel.”

“It took me almost an hour to calm you down.”

“Couldn’t you bring up a happy memory?”

“That
is
a happy memory. Kyle still talks about it. My car had a Kyle-shaped dent in it.”

“Stop teasing me.”

He gave me an impish grin. “We had some good times in that car.”

I shifted in my seat as his smile took on a more provocative tilt. The light behind his eyes changed. He looked at me, not through the eyes of my son’s social studies teacher, but through the eyes of a man who used to make me tremble by simply brushing my hair behind my ear. Two seconds passed, then five, and then ten. A flame of passion ignited inside me. I thought I might spontaneously combust and burn down the whole damned school.

We
had
enjoyed some good times in his old Volkswagen Bug.

God knows, I have never forgotten the time we wound up in the back seat, steaming up the windows, fingers fumbling. We were close to consummating our young relationship when Henry announced that our first time wouldn’t happen in his car. He vowed to make our first time special. Memorable and perfect—all because he loved me so much.

Our first time had never happened.

I returned Henry’s heavy stare.
Please ask me to climb into the backseat of your car with you again
.

A knock at the door caused us both to jump. I wanted to throw a textbook at whoever came through that door.

“Mom?” Elliott poked his head in the classroom.

“What? I mean, yes?” I sounded like I’d been caught in the middle of a make-out session with his teacher. Which would have been awesome, if I did say so myself.

“When will you guys be done? Garrett and Marshall left already.” He glanced at Henry and pushed up his glasses.

Henry cleared his throat. “Did you have a good time this afternoon?”

“Yeah.” Elliott nodded happily.

“Garrett and Marshall are good guys, huh?” Henry pointed at a flyer hanging on the bulletin board that promoted the strings group. “They also come to my after school strings program. You thinking about joining us?”

El looked thrilled. “That might be cool.”

“Good. We’d love to have you.” Henry stood and grabbed a Frisbee off of the file cabinet. “Think fast.”

He launched the disc in the air, and it landed with a slap on the floor at Elliott’s feet.

Elliott blinked.

“We’ll work on that. Why don’t you go shut off the lights in the gym while your mom and I finish up?”

“Sure.” Elliott dashed off.

I turned my attention back to Henry. “So, what happened to that car?”

The all-too-familiar wrinkle between his eyebrows returned. “Laurel made me get rid of it when we moved in together.” His lips tightened into a frown.

“Sorry,” I whispered, then stood.

Henry walked around the desk, his hand extended. “Thank you for coming in.”

We clasped hands, and my skin tingled. “Thank you for taking such good care of Elliott.”

His gaze locked with mine. He swallowed. “It’s my pleasure.” Our handshake went on for longer than appropriate. Henry stroked the back of my hand with his thumb, sending a shiver two-stepping up my spine.

He stepped forward carefully, closing the space between us, his crooked smile tugging in the corner, his eyes cautious. He clasped my arm, and that familiar jolt of electricity zapped between us. I flinched, hitting a file folder that rested on the corner of his desk. It fell, skittering Elliott’s schoolwork all over the floor at our feet.

Henry’s eyes hardened a bit, and the trance disappeared.

“I guess we’re done here,” he mumbled, looking down at the mess.

“I’m sorry.” The fire in my belly fizzled.

Henry avoided my eyes and bent to retrieve the papers.

“Mom?” Elliott’s voice rang out from the doorway. “Lights are out.”

I tore my eyes from Henry, and forced myself to smile at my son. “Okay. Let’s go, sweetie.”

Putting my arm around his wiry shoulders, we walked out, leaving Henry and his thoughts behind.

Chapter Seven

The aroma of roasting turkey and stuffing swirled around us as we unloaded the car at Holly’s house, ready for a down-home family Thanksgiving. Two of Holly’s boys greeted us, running around the front lawn, one wearing a pilgrim hat, the other, an Indian headdress.

“I thought wearing Native American stuff was disrespectful.” Elliott hefted a pie out of the back seat.

“You ain’t in Kansas anymore, Dorothy,” my dad ribbed, getting out of the car with a groan. “’Round these parts, they’re called Indians—or relatives.”

I frowned behind his back, then shrugged at El. “Seattle is a bit more P.C. than Fairfield. I remember Thanksgiving when I was in second grade—half the class wore paper headdresses, the other half wore Pilgrim hats and collars. We played games with guns and tomahawks.”

My son wrinkled his nose. “Sounds archaic.”

“Sounds accurate,” Dad huffed.

“We’re playing Plymouth Rock,” Tanner called, pointing a neon-green, plastic gun at his brother.

“I don’t remember the Pilgrims having laser guns.” Elliott adjusted his plaid tie, and looked at the boys skeptically.

“They didn’t.” Dad hiked a basket of rolls beneath his arm. “Thank the good Lord that there was brew, though. I’m going in to watch the game. Did you tell Holly to buy me some Hamm’s?”

I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. “No, Dad. I thought maybe you could avoid the beer for the next few hours.”

He grimaced. “Who the hell eats turkey without beer?”

“I do.” Elliott smirked.

“I thought you were a vegetarian,” Dad snapped, glowering.

Elliott conceded. “I am.”

“Okay, you two.” I said. “Chill. It’s a holiday.”

And what a holiday it was turning out to be. I’d had pies in the oven by seven a.m. and had slaved over my sweet potatoes while the two of them watched television and argued about football versus MTV. So far, the only thing I was exceptionally thankful for this Thanksgiving was Tylenol.

Of course, I had plenty more to be grateful for. Elliott had become great friends with Garrett and Marshall, and the three of them regularly attended Henry’s after school strings program. Though El still got teased, he dealt with it better, now that he had two allies. And there was Tabitha, with whom Elliott was not-so-secretly enamored. The fact that my son went to school every day without making me feel like the world’s worst mother was something for which I was definitely thankful.

And I had Holly. Even though she spent half her time with her face in the toilet because of her pregnancy, she’d invited my motley crew for Thanksgiving dinner. She’d said that most of her and Cody’s families would be out of town for the holiday, and she didn’t feel right not feeding a crowd on Thanksgiving. I was so fortunate to have regained the affection of my friend. I often wondered how I’d gone so long without it.

My father grunted at my call for a truce, and stomped to Holly’s side door, leaving El and me to follow.

“Hello,” I called, as we entered the noisy house through the kitchen.

The place defined chaos. The Indian and the Pilgrim rushed past us as we filed in. Holly, sweaty and exhausted, mashed potatoes. Tabitha wrestled a can of olives away from baby Ty, singing a Jonas Brothers’ song at the top of her voice.

Cody bellowed, “Touchdown!” in the next room, encouraging my father to quickly toss the basket of rolls on the table, mumble a halfhearted greeting at Holly, and bolt around the corner.

“Good to see you, too,” Holly said with a wry grin, brushing a lock of golden hair from her face. “And Elliott, I’m so glad you’re here.” She held out her hands for a hug, realized they were covered in potatoes, then giggled and wiped them with a towel.

Elliott gave her a shy hug. “Your house is really big.”

Holly smiled warmly. “This house has been in Cody’s family for four generations. His great-great-grandfather built it.”