Pucker Up (19 page)

Dustin’s
eyes moved from his twin to his tree, sturdy and strong, blossoms peeking out
from between the branches.  Peter laid a hand on his shoulder before
retreating, picking up the axe from the ground as he left.  “You can still have
that happily ever after you tell the girls about.”

Dustin
wiped a hand at his eyes, shaking himself from his black thoughts.  “I don’t
know why we’re still talking about this, Peter.  It doesn’t matter.  She’s gone,
not coming back.” 

Peter
was halfway across the yard before he replied.  “No man, the love of
my
life is gone.
She’s
not coming back.  Yours just got lost along the
way.”

“She
doesn’t want me, Peter.  She fucking left me.  Again.  Pretty damn sure that
says it all,” Dustin yelled after him, kicking the dirt in frustration.

Peter
continued on as if Dustin hadn’t spoken.  “Only a fool wouldn’t try and find
her.  It’s been ten years Dustin – you over being a fool yet?”

Bea
sat at her desk, a large glass of sweet tea next to her computer, and surveyed
the room.  Mementos of a life well-lived stared back at her – photos of her
favorite guests and friends, crafts the kids had given her from time to time,
even a spare bridle or two.  She’d met a lot of people and lived a full life,
both as camp director and then as a successful high-end hotel owner.  The Fruit
Orchard Company had reinvented itself as many times as Beatrice herself had.

She
was feeling particularly nostalgic this morning, so she abandoned the numbers
in front of her and walked to the high bar littered with photographs. Her and
Walter on the day they were married and the other just a few weeks shy of his
funeral.  Twenty had been too few years together.  But she’d persevered, pulled
up and out because her kids needed her.  Even now her business manager would
ask why she would only open their most beautiful resort to at-risk youth for
summer camp.  She’d just shake her head and smile, give him the
Irresistible
Twinkle
as he’d call it.

Another
picture caught her eye, and the corners of her mouth turned down.  Those two
had been crazy about each other from almost the moment they laid eyes on one
another.  Dustin and Faith, two people more perfect together had not been made
since Bea and Walter.  Ah, that’s why she couldn’t concentrate.  Today was the
day she’d watched them wed from her window, so happy they’d found each other. 
It was also ten years since they’d split.  They kept in touch with her, if not
each other, and she could always hear the yearning even if they couldn’t.

Dustin
would just shake his head and call her a crazy old lady for saying so.  But
there would be something else in his eyes even if he didn’t know it.  Peter had
been her co-conspirator for years, but there wasn’t much more they could nudge.

Both
such good people, both such good hearts.  She worried about Faith more, though
everyone thought that was crazy.  Faith was a rich, successful singer with
talent to spare.  She could take care of herself.  Bea wasn’t always so sure
about that.  She put on a good front but her heart was still broken.  First
Dustin then Maya.  Bea always thought she should have cut that poor girl a bit
more slack, but Faith didn’t listen to her any more than Dustin did.  

She’d
been a meddling matchmaker for as long as she could remember and those two had
been her greatest achievement – and her biggest regret.  She wanted to shake
some sense into them but knew those stubborn kids wouldn’t take her seriously
at all.  Then again, they didn’t know her story.  Her eyes tracked to another
set of photos, ones set farther back on the shelf, and she picked them up.  A
teenage bride with a smile a mile wide, standing next to the most handsome soldier
you’d ever see.  She’d only been married to Norman for a month before she was
widowed.  And the other photo of an irrepressible old lady who knew exactly how
to nudge her into a better life.  It’s all she’d ever tried to do.

There
was a knock at her door, and she put the photos down.  Everyone around here
knew to come right on in.  She turned with a smile on her face and stopped
short, wondering how she’d summoned a singer to her side.  “Faith,” she said,
her smile growing as she opened her arms to her.  The girl didn’t say anything,
just crossed the room, her sobs starting before she’d even reached her embrace. 

Dustin
sat on the steps of the gazebo as the sun set, looking out across the field at
the farmhouse and thinking about what Peter had said.  He’d been holding so
much anger and pain about that day a decade ago that he’d never even considered
there was a silver lining to the storm cloud.  If it was fate, it sure had a
tricky way of intervening.

But
he didn’t think he believed in such nonsense.  But then, years ago he’d been
head over heels in love with one of the members of the most popular girl group
since the Spice Girls.  Who’d have ever thought they’d cross paths in the
normal course of events.  Was it fate that brought her to a ranch instead of a
beach or a ski chalet?  Was it fate that brought them a lemon tree?

Harmony
came into view, making her way across the yard, and he took the chance to look
at her, really look.  She walked over to him and his surly mood without
hesitation, confident in the fact that he wasn’t going to rebuke her presence. 
Completely sure of his love for her.  She was always the search party Peter
sent out when his good humor was scarce and needed to be recovered. 

What
would his life have been like if she wasn’t in it?  More worrisome, what would
her life have been like?  Darcy was sick when Peter met her; she would have
been that way even if they hadn’t met.  Who would’ve cared for the girls after she
passed?  One distant relative who didn’t want them as much as he wanted to be
paid off for not fucking up their lives.  He shuddered to think where his
nieces would be without that car crash in the pouring rain.

Harmony
reached the gazebo, dropped down beside him, and handed him a glass without
even looking.  He took a sip and coughed at the unexpected taste of whiskey. 
“What’s in yours?” he asked with a pointed glance.

“Iced
tea.”   She took a sip and let silence sit between them.

“Are
you happy?” Dustin asked her.

“Happier
than you, I think,” she responded with a smile, impish glee in her eyes.

“No,
I’m serious.  Are you happy?  Here.  With us.” 

“Ecstatic,”
she said without a moment’s pause.

Dustin
pulled her in close, placing a kiss against her temple.  “I love you, Harm.”

“I
know,” she said, taking a sip of her drink.  “You could stand to love a few
more people too, you know.”

He
rolled his eyes.  “I already have you, Melody, and Peter.  What is this, a
lovefest?  Am I a hippie now?”

“Only
you would think three is a crowd, Uncle Dust.”

“Better
that way,” he mumbled.

“Dad
says that being kind and spreading love and joy is one of the greatest things
we can do.”

“Hippie.”

“I
think he heard it in a song somewhere,” Harmony said with a sly glance.

“Say
your piece, meddling woman.” Dustin sighed.

Harmony
turned to face him and tucked her feet under her, giving him her undivided
attention.  “I liked Faith.”

“I
liked her, too,” Dustin said, just as surprised as Harmony that he admitted it.

“Did
you tell her that?”  He looked away from her disapproving gaze and shook his
head.  “Girls like to hear it, you know.”

“You
don’t say?”

“I’m
serious, Uncle Dust.”  When he didn’t look at her, she continued on in a different
tone.  “She’s Ally.”

“Harmony,
I know who she is.  It’s my story.”

“It’s
my
story,” she said.  “And it’s Mel’s story.  And we want it to have a
real happy ending.  If Dad couldn’t have one with Mom, then you should get one for
all of us.” 

He
looked up and saw the tears shining in her eyes.  He pulled her into his arms
and hugged her.  “Harm, don’t cry.”

“Is
that what being an adult is like?  Being sad and never getting what you want?”

“Shh,”
he murmured.  “Sometimes it is.  But not for you, honey.  Never for you.  I’ll
make sure you have your happy ending if I have to write it myself.”  And damn
the man that tries to make a liar out of him. 

 “I’m
not worried about me.  I’m worried about you.”

“Don’t
worry about me.  I’ll be fine.”  And he would be.  For her, for Melody – for
all of them.  He’d move past it.  Try and find another way to make his happily
ever after.

The
town car finally pulled into Faith’s driveway, the house dark save for the
light in her study she always left on.  She’d stayed with Bea much longer than
she’d been planning on, tears taking too long to stop.  She’d blubbered into
the old lady’s shoulder for what felt like hours and then didn’t feel like
talking so Bea talked instead.  Told her a story she’d never heard before about
a widow trying to find love again.

She
could see that twinkle in the old woman’s eye, knew she was telling her to try
inspire her in some way.  It hadn’t worked.  If possible, it made Faith feel
even more lonely.  She was tired of hearing love stories whitewashed of all
hardship.  They all implied that love was enough to get you to the happily ever
after.  But Dustin and her had had that; that’d weathered multiple places for
the story to end happily.   Maya had chosen the best one to end hers. 

But
that wasn’t what love was about, was it?  Finding a convenient place to end the
story so it was the most happy and hopeful.  It was about being all in, showing
up and doing the work and choosing to love and continue on every day.  Dustin had
stopped choosing – she couldn’t rewrite that; she couldn’t spin it so it wasn’t
so bad. 

For
a few hours this morning she’d actually believed that they’d get another chance,
thought she’d read it in his eyes.  But he didn’t fight for her.  He let her go
again, just like he did ten years before in a car roaring into the pouring
rain.  He wanted her to go; he just didn’t want to be the one to admit it. 
Nothing had changed. 

Faith
was so tired she could barely keep her eyes open, but the minute she stepped
into her house, she knew what she had to do.  She made a beeline for her study,
grabbed her supplies, and sat down with her guitar.  She’d written the words
already, staring at the clouds where her home should have been, but needed the
strings to find the notes.

The
minute the guitar was in her hands, everything assaulted her.  Dozens of songs
screaming to be written down, dozens more demanding to be finished.  Her
heartache was good for her productivity.  She tried to fend them off as long as
she could, never one for multi-tasking when trying to write, but it was
fruitless.  Her brain was clamoring for closure.

She
got up from the floor and searched for the song she tried to keep buried.  She dug
around in the drawers, pulling out first drafts and scratch paper and letting
them fall around the room, trying to find the one song she’d never been able to
finish.  The one song Andy Peters couldn’t write, only Faith West could.  The
one with the lemon tree.

“Look
who’s back.”

Faith
looked up in surprise at the male voice; she was sitting in the middle of her
floor with the remnants of her secret life scattered around her.

“Trevor,
hi.”  She got up from her knees and swallowed, her throat suddenly dry.  “Yeah,
I’m back.  Sorry if I woke you.” 

He
smiled an easy grin, but his eyes were shrewd, taking in the tornado of her
office.  “You weren’t loud.  I was just coming down to get Mady some water.  I
saw the light on and thought I heard something.  I’m glad it was you and not a
burglar I was going to have to take down.  Though this place does look a bit
ransacked.”

She
tried to laugh.  “No one ever confused me with a neat freak.  I was just trying
to find something and made a pretty big mess looking for it.”

“I
can help,” he said, stepping over the threshold of the study and grabbing a
piece of paper.

“No
really, I…”  But it was too late; he’d already reached for the staff paper at
his feet.  She turned away from him, scrambling to get the rest before he
could.

“You
write songs?” Trevor asked in interest.  “I didn’t know that.”  She’d seen his
eyes take in her guitar and crumbled up paper.  It was a simple conclusion to
reach.  And would stay innocent as long as he didn’t find anything familiar in
her mess. 

“No
one does.  They’re not very good, just something I do to keep my fingers and
voice agile.”

“This
one’s pretty good,” he murmured, his voice far away.  “Wait, I think I’ve heard
this one before…”

Faith
turned to him, the easy smile on her face taking too much effort, and saw
comprehension and awe enter his eyes.  “Fuck, you’re Andy Peters.”  Trevor’s
voice was barely a whisper, his eyes never leaving the chicken scratch in his
hand.

 “You
caught me.”  Her voice sounded tired even to her own ears.  What a can of worms
she’d opened.  She wanted to crack one wall, just a bit, but now the entire
foundation was coming down around her.  She moved across the room, pressed
lightly on the corner of a piece of wood paneling, and the façade popped open.

The
rush of air as Trevor’s breath caught made her smile genuine.  She leaned over
slightly, knowing what he’d see.  Trophies, statutes, all stacked haphazardly
against and on top of one another.  The last time she’d thrown an award in, it
had been a tight squeeze, and she’d been afraid they’d all come tumbling out
the next time she opened the door.  Unfortunately it was truth not trophies
that came spilling out now.

“Only
two people know about this.  Me and my lawyer.  And now you.”  And the girls in
Attitunes apparently.  And maybe Peter.  God, this wasn’t a secret anymore; she
might as well start a clubhouse.

“Why
would you want to keep this a secret?”

“Don’t
ask the easy questions do you?”  She grabbed for a Grammy but landed on an
Oscar instead.  She ran her hand over the small brass man, not wanting to meet Trevor’s
intensely curious eyes.