Unfinished Business (28 page)

“You poor thing,” Josie’s sister is saying to me. “If I’d known she was this freaked out I would’ve got you a better prize. You need more than a day at the spa.”

Caroline’s face flashes red. “You got her the prize?”

“Yes. And I wrote the article.”

For once I’m glad that Josie’s sister is a power bitch because I will never ever forget the crazy mixture of embarrassment and rage swimming across Caroline’s face. In fact, I’m still admiring it when I realize that she’s streaking toward Josie’s sister with both fists swinging. The snarling string of curses tumbling from her mouth would’ve impressed both Kid Rock and Eminem.

It’s delicious.

We all step back. Some of us are shocked. The rest of us are delighted as Caroline and Josie’s sister tumble around the office like second-rate stunt doubles. Papers are flying, files are spilling, and for a few seconds everyone not in motion is stunned silent. About the time Caroline’s shirt is getting torn, Mr. Neville breaks them up. Josie grabs her sister, and Nick and I duck out of the door. Outside, I give Riana a huge hug and tell her how proud of her I am, and we all laugh about Caroline and Josie’s sister.

Nick mumbles something about Mr. Neville breaking it up just when it was getting good so I smack him. “You’re an idiot.”

“I know,” he says softly and our gazes hook up and something snaps between us. It’s simple and obvious and I wonder why I didn’t figure it out sooner. I’m in love with one of my best friends. He sets his hand on my hip and I know he feels the same thing.

Caroline is loitering in the doorway clutching her purse and pushing around her stiff hair. Mr. Neville is stepping toward us, calling my name. “Please step inside when you have a minute, Hayley.” Without waiting for an answer, he goes back inside then closes the door.

“You okay?” Riana asks Josie’s sister who has just come out of the clubhouse. I have to admit for a girl who was trading jabs a minute ago she looks pretty good.

For a tense minute I think she’s going to say something totally bitchy. She doesn’t. Instead, she and Josie glance at each other and break out laughing. It’s a crazy, wild, silly laugh and pretty soon Riana, Nick and I are laughing with them.

Still laughing, Josie’s sister looks at me and says, “Hayley, we need to talk about the chickens.”

My laughter dies in my throat. “What about them?”

“We want you to teach us how to raise them,” Riana says.

I’m stunned. “What are you talking about?”

Josie kicks sharply at nothing then holds out her hands, carrying an invisible bird. “That stuff you did to rescue Asshole Peter and the maintenance guy was amazing. And those roosters are awesome. We want some.”

“The city changed the laws. Lots of people are raising chickens in their backyards and I want to do a piece on it,” Josie’s sister says, using her know-it-all voice, which suddenly I find a tiny bit less annoying. “I’ll call you. We’ll set something up.” Then she waves, calling out goodbye as she heads to the parking lot.

Josie and Riana are grinning and shaking each other like little kids. “We want chickens!”

I frown because they are being weird beyond belief.

Josie stops shaking Riana. “You teach us about the chickens and we’ll be even for me saving your hair and showing you all the best places to buy clothes and helping you pick stuff out.”

“I—I—” But what can I say? She did save me.

“Don’t look like that!” Riana says. “We love that you’re from the country. Especially now.” She and Josie are hopping up and down again as she finishes with, “Because you’re going to get us some chickens!”

I catch Nick’s eye and see he’s smiling and I’m smiling too because they are so excited and crazy. “You can have hens. Not roosters. You saw what they can do!”

Riana isn’t giving up. “Can we have just one rooster?”

“Maybe. We’ll see how you do with the hens first.”

Nick wraps his arm behind me and we all laugh until a low thumping beat bumps through the air. Nick nudges me and points to the podium where Frankie is standing, holding the mic in one hand and waving out at an imaginary audience with the other.

He taps the mic again, making it thump, then clears his throat and giggles.

“There once was a boy named Bart,

With great delight he did fart.

The gas he would pass,

Came out of his ass,

Until his butthole would smart.”

Good God.

I guess I won’t have to discuss the dangers of limericks and microphones with him after all because he’s running from his mom and I bet when she catches up to him she’s going to take care of that herself.

For the first time ever, I’m actually excited to go talk to Mr. Neville. So I’m smiling as I head into the clubhouse.

Chapter Thirty-Four

Then This Happened

Nick and I are sitting around a table in a private dining room with Mr. Neville and the guys from Regional. We’re at a hip restaurant on Woodward and ‘the guys’ from Regional have turned out to be a mix of guys and women, and are actually pretty cool. We all got drinks from the bar and turned into best friends while waiting for the table. Holding my glass of wine, I bend down and give Nick a kiss. It’s quick and sweet but means everything.

“That was pretty amazing, what you did with the chickens,” he says as I slide into the chair next to him.

I say, “No big deal.” But secretly I’m glad he noticed. That girl, the one who can handle chickens, is also this girl, the one who’s been invited to this celebration dinner. And for the first time, that’s feeling totally all right.

I lean over, kiss Nick on the cheek then actually giggle. It’s a bit embarrassing but right then I don’t care. Call me giddy.

Right after I’m seated, Ollie places himself at the head of the table and raises his drink. He waits until everyone around the table falls silent. “First thing, we need a round of applause for Hayley, who has just moments ago accepted the promotion to complex manager.”

A polite round of clapping rises and fades. The people from Regional are cool, but wild would not be a word used to describe them. They are calm and collected. They’ve probably been to a bunch of these promotion dinners. But not me, I’m still smiling when Ollie raises his glass again. “A promotion well deserved, I must say. Not only did she do an amazing job with the celebration, she also solved one of our biggest and most expensive problems when she found our new painting company, Midtown Improvements. And I’m so impressed by their work that I’ve invited them to join us. Please welcome them when they arrive, but until then enjoy yourselves and—” He waves his glass toward the door of the private room. “Wonderful timing guys, come join us.”

And in walks Waylon Walker.

Six-feet-two, two hundred pounds of brown-eyed country boy. He’s impossible to miss in his shirt embroidered with his name and his company’s logo. I realize what Todd was trying to tell me back at the bar then again at the dance—Waylon had started a new company, the very one that I’d initiated the contracts with for the complex, and he’d moved to Detroit.

Score one for Todd for trying to fill me in.

If I hadn’t been so caught up in my own crap I would’ve listened.

But I had been caught up in my crap and so here I am—totally blindsided.

Waylon is shaking hands with Mr. Neville and saying hi to everyone from Regional. Everything is going as okay as it possibly can, considering the man I had promised my life to then changed my mind about at the last minute just walked in while I was sitting next to my new boyfriend. While my world is spinning, Ollie brings me into the introductions and says something implying that Waylon and I already know each other.

Needless to say, it’s horrible.

I stand up, and when my gaze connects with Waylon’s I lift my shaky arm and stutter, “Hello.”

Waylon takes my hand and pumps it up and down three times then lets go and steps back. He doesn’t say anything while we stare at each other.

I feel like I’m going to throw up or pass out or start crying. Nick stands and offers his hand to Waylon. “I’m Nick,” as though that means something to Waylon.

“Waylon.” My ex-fiancé takes my boyfriend’s hand and they shake, each kind of wincing from the pressure the other puts into the grip.

Then they both look at me, and I have absolutely no idea what to say.

So I say nothing and continue saying nothing until some of the guys Waylon came in with start goofing around, smacking each other like twelve year olds. I spot Chip Patterson, a guy from back home, and he comes over to say hi. He’s all smiles and silliness until Waylon tells him to sit down. Waylon finishes staring down Nick, backs off then goes to sit in one of the chairs at the other end of the table.

I drop myself down into my chair then Nick does the same.

“Anything you want to tell me?” he asks in my ear.

I shake my head then he leans away from me. I feel the distance between us as intensely as I’d felt our closeness moments ago.

For the first time ever I appreciate Oliver Neville’s social cluelessness. He’s smacking people on the back, laughing and making so much noise about how amazing the new ‘players on our success team’ are that I can get away with not saying anything to anyone. Cheers and laughs float around like a soundtrack.

The server comes by, passes out menus and people start ordering. “I’ll have the Jamison burger and a salad with oil and vinegar,” Nick says. “Hayley?”

It takes me a second to understand he’s prompting me to order. “I’ll have the same,” I say, even though I don’t remember what he ordered.

After the server leaves, all the people around me, except Nick, start talking. I pretend to listen. Eventually my heart stops thundering and I’m able to talk. Occasionally the sound of Waylon’s laugh makes my stomach twist but each time I feel like I’m going to run from the table, I dive into one of the conversations around me. Tigers baseball. City politics. Police brutality horror stories. I don’t care what people are talking about, I jump in only to lose focus within seconds. Nick saves me each time and I find myself gulping for air, trying to remember what I was just talking about. Hearing his voice, feeling him beside me, it’s a constant reminder of what I kept from him and what will now be even harder to admit.

Minute by minute I alternately dread and welcome the end of the meal. When it finally arrives, Nick thanks everyone and shakes Mr. Neville’s hand.

“Thank you, Mr. Neville,” I say, reaching out my hand.

“You really ought to call me Oliver now,” he says.

I force an appreciative smile and call goodbye to everyone from Regional. I wave at Chip. He waves back. I half-heartedly wave at the other guys from Waylon’s company and ignore Waylon completely. He ignores me back.

Outside, Nick sets his hand on the small of my back and says, “You’re going to tell me now, right?” His touch is light, not possessive but reassuring.

“Okay.” Even though he’s right next to me, I can’t feel his body heat because my blood is chilled.

Nick responds to my lame reply. “Okay isn’t the same as yes.”

We walk toward his truck which is parked about two blocks down on Woodward. Light from the bowling alley across the street flickers, casting a lemony glow over the traffic rumbling past.

I’m hoping Nick will take my hand, lace his fingers between mine and make everything okay. He doesn’t. I don’t blame him. I keep wanting it but I know it’s up to me to make things right. I blurt out, “I was engaged to him. Waylon. Back home. I was supposed to marry him last spring.”

The neon glow of the city shadows his face when he looks over at me. “And?”

“We planned the wedding.” It actually feels good to say it aloud so the rest tumbles out. “We sent invitations. I bought a dress.”

Nick and I reach his truck and climb in. I snap on my seatbelt. He snaps on his. But he doesn’t start the engine. He’s waiting for me to say more.

“I had the dress fitted. My mom has pictures of me all covered in pins, wearing flip flops and drinking a Diet Coke.”

He’s not getting the significance of the dress. “I took pictures
with her
while I was wearing the dress. My wedding dress. She posted them on Facebook. And Instagram. Everyone was excited—my family, his family, all our friends. But I— I—” The reflection in the window stares back at me, and I see the face of a girl who everyone said walked away from the best thing she ever had. All these months later, I know they were wrong and I’m proud of myself for doing what I had to do, but I still feel the weight of their judgment and the gravity of my actions. Finally, I get the last words out, “I canceled it the night before. At the rehearsal dinner.”

He sets his hand on my thigh. I look over. No more words come out of my mouth but tears do come out of my eyes.

The corner of his mouth quirks. “Your mom’s on Instagram?”

I sigh. “We had a hashtag. HayleynWaylongethitched.”

He shifts in his seat and lifts an eyebrow. “Seriously?”

My mouth twitches into a smile and the tears slow up. “Kind of stupid, huh?”

He laughs lightly but stops when I turn toward the window. He lifts his hand and I’m alone again.

This time I concentrate on not seeing my reflection and look out at the battered concrete of Woodward, the broken facades of the run-down shops and fast-food bags rolling like tumbleweeds on the sidewalk. This is the place I’d come to mend my spirit. This place of broken down dreams and newfound hope. Only here in this city can those two impossibilities live together and make sense.

I look in the direction of the river, wanting to see the restored parts of the city and remember how great I felt when I first arrived. But I can’t. I keep remembering the expressions on everyone’s faces when I walked out of the rehearsal dinner. Even worse than that was the argument with Waylon the next day when I told him about the bank account I’d opened with his grandfather’s gift. In the end, I’d given in to the weight of my guilt and agreed to Waylon’s demand. I wince, thinking about the still unfinished piece of business and how I have regretted giving in ever since.