On the Way to a Wedding (16 page)

Ryder eased his packages onto the hallway floor and retrieved the keys . . . at the same time as Isabelle was tapping on Mrs. Toony’s door.

The old lady poked her head out. It was most likely Mrs. Toony who had buzzed Isabelle into the building.

Lifting the lid of her cookie tin, Isabelle said, “Would you like one?” She held the tin up for Mrs. Toony to see. “Coconut and chocolate and marshmallow and caramel.”

Mrs. Toony piled three cookies into her hand, mumbled a thanks, and closed her door again.

Ryder moved the packages and Isabelle’s shopping bags inside Toria’s apartment.

A wisp of longing threaded its way into her mind. She’d kept her distance from him while they’d worked in the gym. It had seemed like the sensible thing to do. And they’d been so busy, both of them, that it had been easy. But now, lacking resolve, she wanted to talk to him.

“Would you like to come in for some coffee?” she asked. “And . . .” watching as he took a stack of cookies out of Isabelle’s tin, “. . . and cookies?”

Immediately the longing was replaced with guilt. An old familiar guilt, pressing against her, asking,
Who are you to spend time with him?

And what was she doing anyway? She’d just ended her engagement and she was lusting after this unavailable guy.

No, not lusting, she told herself. It was simply a reaction to the circumstances.

“I can’t,” he said. “I’ve got something I need to do.”

And then he was gone.

· · · · ·

“But, I don’t understand.” Isabelle scooped coffee into the filter. “You
want
them to think you’re still getting married?”

“Not them,” Toria said. “Not the teachers. But . . .” How could she say this?

“Ah, I see. But Ryder.”

“Uh . . .” Could Isabelle see right through her?

“You want Ryder to think you’re getting married.” Isabelle made it sound like a perfectly normal thing to do.

Toria wasn’t ready to talk about it. She would probably never be ready to talk about it. “When he found me, with the wedding dress, I told him I was getting married.”

Isabelle shrugged. “At the time, you really
did
think you were getting married. So when do we plan the un-shower party?” She filled the coffee reservoir, moving on to another topic.

The un-shower party
. The time to give back all the shower gifts for the wedding that was not happening anymore.

“We can plan it,” Toria said. “But they won’t have time to come. Not until school is out.”

“But then they’ll all leave on vacation.”

“No, they won’t. They’ll all collapse first, after the year is finished.”

“How about right after the Grad Dance?”

“Good idea. The Sunday after the Grad Dance. Sunday afternoon. But we won’t tell them. Not yet.”

“You should tell them you’re not getting married. Tell them soon.”

“But Isabelle―”

“And tell Ryder. What would it matter to him? So what if you changed your mind?”

A knock sounded on the door.

Greg? She remembered now, he’d said he was coming. Bracing for the intrusion, she moved toward the entrance, and stumbled as one crutch caught on the little burgundy carpet.

She opened the door and, sure enough, it was Greg.

“I don’t want you here,” she said.

“Well, I’m here and we’re going to talk.” He strode past her, his arm knocking against her shoulder.

She hopped with her crutches, getting her balance. Then, still standing in the entrance, she turned around. “We’ve talked.”

Had Mrs. Toony let him in? Was the old lady listening to this right now? Toria pushed the door shut with the end of one crutch.

“Isabelle?” she heard Greg say. He stood in the middle of the kitchen. “What are you doing here?”

“Cutting out flowers,” Isabelle said. “Would you like to help? There’re some scissors in that box.”

Greg didn’t respond to her question. Instead, he looked at the dining room table where Isabelle was unloading the bolts of material for the leis. “What is this?”

“We’re making leis.”

“Leis?”

“You know,” Isabelle told him. “Those flower wreaths you wear around your neck when you go to Hawaii?”

Greg paused for a beat, as though he was trying to catch up. “And you need these because?”

“They’re for the Grad Dance. The theme is a Tropical―”

He spun around to face Toria.

“―Paradise,” Isabelle finished.

“You’re working at the school?” He stood halfway between Toria and Isabelle. “You’re supposed to be off.” He pulled his shoulders back, standing taller, and possibly trying to intimidate her. “You’re supposed to be helping your mother with the wedding.” His eyebrows pinched and his mouth tightened.

Was this another reality? She blinked. “I’m not marrying you, Greg.”

“So you said.” He seemed to forcibly calm himself.

Behind him, Isabelle continued laying out the bolts of cloth. “Would you like some coffee and cookies, Greg? Then you can help us cut out flowers.”

Greg closed his eyes. Then, “I left an important meeting to talk to Victoria. I don’t have time to cut out flowers.” He leaned forward, his hands on the counters on either side of him. “Did your lawyer friend help you?”

“My lawyer friend?”

“The one with the weird name. Pro Something? Your prenuptial agreement?”

“Oh, that.”

“You don’t need one,” Greg said, and he smiled. The smile he used when he’d found a weak point in the customer’s argument. “You have no assets, darling. And―” he added, letting the pause drag, “―your mother has no assets.”

“My mother?” What did her mother have to do with this?

“In fact, she has less than no assets. Your father left her with quite a substantial debt.”

Debt? No. “He—Certainly not. He didn’t have any debts.”

Greg smirked. “You’d better ask your mother about that.” Then he pushed away from the counters, walked past Toria, and left.

· · · · ·

Ten minutes later, the coffee was ready. “He showed up this morning,” Toria said, “with a courier package in his hand.” She blew out a breath and crutched over to the table.

“Yes, the ring.” Isabelle reached in the cupboard for mugs. “You’ve got to make your announcement. Tell the teachers.”

“Why? What difference does it make?” She pulled out a chair and dropped into it. “I can tell them later.”

“Greg is the only one you’ve told. He thinks you’re just angry.” Isabelle poured coffee into the clear mugs with the shamrocks around the rims.

Toria had never expected Greg to get pushy. He
was
pushy, but not with her. Not usually.

“Are you?”

“Am I what?”

“Angry about something? Are you waiting for him to do something so the engagement can be back on?”

What?
How could Isabelle think that? Toria stared at her friend. “No. The engagement is over. It never should have happened in the first place.” She slumped in her chair and looked at the black coffee. “I knew that, the day after he proposed.”

Isabelle added milk to Toria’s coffee and pushed the cookie tin toward her. “But you didn’t do anything about it.”

“No. I couldn’t. Not then.”

“Your mother?”

Toria let go of a tired breath. “Yes,” she said. “It made my mother happy. I couldn’t tell her.” And it seemed she couldn’t tell her now.

“You’ve got to make your announcement. So somebody starts realizing this wedding is over. Or else Greg will keep showing up here and you’ll have to keep doing this little dance with him.”

“Ryder.” If only she knew what to do about Ryder. She didn’t want him to know the engagement was off.

“Ryder?” Isabelle prompted.

“He’ll be bored with the grad decorating soon. And then he’ll be back at his work. Then I’ll tell the school.”

“Why not tell him now?”

“Because.”

Because she’d known Greg for six months. He’d been friendly, charming, interesting. And safe.

She’d known Ryder for two days. Barely. And from the moment she’d met him, her heart and her mind had been torn apart in a race to keep up with each other. If she got close to Ryder, she knew she could feel something with him that she didn’t want to feel. She didn’t know what it was, but it was scary.

A scary, risky feeling.

He thought she was getting married. And that was a good thing for him to think.

Chapter Ten

He’d started out driving to Catherine’s, and then somehow his route had changed and he’d ended up in his parents’ neighborhood in Valley Ridge.

His father would be home.

They hadn’t talked since the second Sunday in May, when they’d all met at the Keg for the obligatory Mother’s Day feast. And they’d talked as little as possible.

As he parked out front of the house, his cell rang, playing its familiar William Tell Overture tune. It was beginning to grate on him. He reached for the cell and checked the readout.

A bolt of relief hit him. It wasn’t Catherine. It was Jim.

“O’Callaghan.”

“Your fiancée is looking for you.”

“Don’t worry about it.”

“Ryder, I―” Jim hesitated. “She told me not to say anything, but . . .”

“Tell me.”

“She wants me to keep tabs on you. Let her know where you are.”

His brain paused, digesting that. He should have felt distressed, but he didn’t. The astonishing thing was, he was not surprised.

“And will you do that?”

“Hell, no. I mean, I don’t want to upset her, but―”

“Don’t worry about it. I’ll upset her myself.”

He turned off the phone and dropped it on the seat beside him. She was probably phoning his mother too. He glanced at the house again. Lights all on.

He was here for the second time in a week, when he usually avoided dropping by at all. And tonight his father would be home.

He put the truck back in gear and drove away.

· · · · ·

The next morning the sun was gone, and the sky was gray, filled with heavy clouds that rolled along, threatening more rain. Toria plugged the kettle in and reached for the teapot.

Thursday morning already, her first week off work, and she wasn’t any closer to Kalispell than when she’d set out on Monday.

Maybe she should postpone her trip? Maybe she should give her mother time to adjust to the idea of . . . no more wedding. The wedding plans had kept Samantha happy. Visiting Aunt Glenda, and getting Aunt Glenda to come to Calgary, that was going to upset her mother. The two sisters had not spoken to each other since January when they’d argued.

The kettle whistled and Toria unplugged it.

With the old sense of hopelessness weighing her down, she took a deep breath, let it out slowly, and focused on the box of tea. A gold box with a green banner, a calm woman dressed in purple and sitting in a garden near a silver teapot made to look like a fountain.

In January, Samantha and Glenda had had their big argument. And in the end, Greg had smoothed it out. But it wasn’t over.

Toria sighed, feeling stuck between the two sisters.

She opened the box of tea, took out a tea bag, and then dropped it into the Brown Betty pot. At least, she wouldn’t see Ryder this morning. Last night she’d called and left him a message, that she’d meet him at the school at one o’clock.

As she poured the hot water into the teapot, the buzzer sounded.

Good. Isabelle was here. Toria put the lid on the teapot, crutched over to the intercom, pressed the button, and felt relief settle over her. Isabelle was taking her out for breakfast and then they would go to the school.

Counting the flowers they’d made last night, Toria dropped each one into the Hudson’s Bay shopping bag. When she heard the knock, she crutched over to the entrance, silently holding the count at seventy-three flowers, and opened the door.

“Mom?”

“Good morning, Victoria,” her mother said, as she walked inside holding a silver box in her hands. “Are you
still
using those crutches?”

What kind of a greeting was that? And what was her mother doing here anyway? Her mother rarely visited here. “I’m not supposed to put weight on my ankle,” Toria said. “Not until next Tuesday.”

“Oh. Well. As long as you can walk down the aisle.” Her mother closed the door. “You’ve got two full weeks so it should be all right.”

Toria tensed. “Mom―”

“Otherwise, maybe they can make you a cast or something.” Samantha glanced at her watch.

Toria squeezed the handles of her crutches and tried to breathe deeply.

“You can’t use those crutches,” Samantha said, as she walked through the kitchen toward the table. “It wouldn’t look right, and it would spoil the pictures.”

The tension changed to annoyance. “Mom―”

“What are these?” Her mother examined the pretend plumeria.

“They’re for the leis.”

“Leis?”

Now the annoyance was replaced with guilt. Because, as clearly as she knew anything, Toria knew her poor mother would have trouble letting go of her fairy tale wedding.

“You know,” Toria explained. “In Hawaii? They―”

“I know what leis are, for Pete’s sake. But why . . .”

“We’re making them for the Grad Dance decorations.”

“Grad Dance?”

“At Aberton. I’m volunteering—helping them―”

“Volunteering? But why?”

Because I’ve signed off for the year and they already have a replacement for me.
“I can’t go back to my regular―”

“Oh, I see. This will take your mind off the stress of the wedding.”

Stop it!
“Mom, I’m not getting married.”

Samantha scowled at her, holding the silver box close to her chest and tightening her lips in a thin line. “You still want to postpone?”

“No, not postpone. I’m not marrying Greg. The engagement was a mistake.” A huge mistake. A mistake she should have fixed a long time ago.

“Victoria.” Her mother fake smiled. “You haven’t been yourself lately.”

“And Mom?”

Samantha opened her mouth, ready to speak.

“Greg was here,” Toria told her, rushing the words. “Last night.”

“Oh, good.” And now a genuine smile.