The Fable of Us (37 page)

“It means I love you all, but please stop interfering in my life and just let me live it the way I want, with who I want to live it with,” I said.

For a long moment following that statement, my family stared at me. At me in The Thing. At me with Boone’s arms twined around me. Every moment that passed, another grain of acceptance sifted into their expressions.

It was my dad who cleared his throat and backed toward the driveway first, just as the line of limos arrived to take everyone to the church. “Clara Belle’s right. We all interfered enough the first time around. Let’s do our best not to this time.” As my dad backed away and looked at me, a rare smile formed. “So if you two make it or not this time, you’ll have no one but yourselves to thank or blame for it.”

I returned his smile. He held out his elbow for my mom, and Charlotte and Avalee followed them, Charlotte’s train billowing behind her as the photographer checked his watch, cursed, and rushed after them. So much for the family photo; I guessed showing up for the actual wedding was more of a priority. Ford’s family and the rest of the wedding party dashed after everyone else. It was a beautiful sight, everyone in their formal wear running across the expansive green lawn toward a line of sparkling white limos. It would have made a perfect picture if the photographer had stayed around long enough to see it.

One figure lingered on the lawn, watching Boone and me with the same grimace I’d grown used to as kids. Ford lumbered forward a few steps, clucking his tongue. “Bad choice, Clara Bella. Such a bad one.” Ford motioned at me in Boone’s hold like I was a chick caught in the talons of a raptor.

“Ford—”

“I tried to help you. I went out of my way to help you.” Ford thrust his arms in my direction. “And look at all the good it did. You’re right back where you started. In the arms of a nobody who knocked you up and waved good-bye. When it happens again, don’t come crying to me. My sympathy’s run its course with you.”

Boone’s arms tightened around me, his jaw going rigid. I was just about to snap something back when Boone let me go and angled toward Ford.

“You know, you bringing that up reminds me that I owe you something,” he said, stopping a couple feet back from Ford.

Ford fired off a disgruntled huff, crossing his arms. “What the hell could you possibly owe me?”

At the same time Boone’s mouth opened, his arm wound back. “This,” he snapped a moment before his fist connected with Ford’s face.

I
was alone again. Sprawled out in a chair at a wide empty table, watching from the sidelines as a bunch of people had a grand time.

Avalee was tearing it up with her fiancé on the gleaming teak dance floor; Charlotte and Ford were in the middle of the floor, swaying together in slow circles to a fast-paced song; and my mom was playing the indelible, tireless hostess.

But me? I was alone.

For the first time in a while, it was out of choice.

After dancing and talking and singing and having what constituted one hell of a time, my feet were throbbing, my skin was sticky with sweat, and my body was spent. I needed a moment alone if for no other reason than to wipe my armpits with a couple of napkins and massage a few knots out of my feet.

Leaning back in my chair, I realized this was the first minute I’d had to myself to relax and attempt to take in everything that had happened throughout the day. Besides my sister marrying my ex-boyfriend, who my present one had given an impressive black eye to an hour before the ceremony, I’d managed to come to some sort of understanding with my family. The Abbotts, not exactly your typical American family on the surface, but beneath all of that, we struggled through the same rivalries, good intentions going off course, resentment, and misunderstanding, and finally—or at least where I’d wound up—understanding and acceptance.

I’d dreaded this week for a dozen different reasons. I’d come up with just as many excuses not to come. This week hadn’t just been a pivotal one in Charlotte’s life, but in mine as well. To miss it would have meant spending the next however-many-years of my life perpetually avoiding my family and my memories of Boone.

To have lived this week made all the difference.

My “plus one” had disappeared after not letting me leave the dance floor for fifteen songs, and yes, I had been counting. When a woman was stuffed into a sausage-casing type dress (alterations and everything, the dress was still tight) and shoes that could only be described as the root of evil, one started counting songs after the first three.

Boone. He was in my life again. Maybe he’d never really left it, but he wouldn’t continue to be a ghost haunting it. Instead, I’d have the real living, breathing, grinning-like-there-was-always-some-secret Boone Cavanaugh. How would it work? I didn’t know. How long would it work? I didn’t know. How often would we see each other, and would that be enough, and where would this journey take us? I came up empty in the answer department there as well.

All I knew was that those were just details. Bullet points in the grand scheme. We’d let enough details muddy the waters between us; I wouldn’t make that mistake again. As Boone had said, the places we’d been broken before reminded us of what we needed to be careful to protect.

I would protect our weak spots. I would protect the strong ones too.

I was just slipping out of my other shoe to massage my other foot, which had grown its own heartbeat and was throbbing in pain, when I noticed someone whisk up to the center of the long bridal party table and crouch down to rustle through her clutch. Charlotte’s train had been gathered so she could dance, and her veil had been removed from the delicate tiara combed into her hair. Her skin was flushed from the heat and what I guessed was happiness, and her eyes gave away just how excited she was, despite her face holding an expression of mild amusement carefully in place.

When she slid a compact out of her clutch, she opened it and took in her reflection, immediately going to work combing a few strands of loose hair back into place and dabbing at the hollows under her eyes. A few cheek pinches followed, along with some more hair fretting.

“You look really beautiful, Charlotte.” I felt my eyebrows come together—I hadn’t known I was going to say anything, yet there I was, reassuring her and telling her she was beautiful.

Her back had been angled my way—I didn’t think she’d even noticed I was there—but it stiffened for one moment before it relaxed. “Really?” She tipped her face from side to side, getting a good view of all angles, sounding as doubtful as she looked.

“Just as beautiful as you looked this morning, and just as beautiful as you have your whole life.” I turned in my seat to face her, wondering if I’d be less surprised if a leprechaun fell out of the sky into my lap than by the fact that I was attempting to make some kind of peace with Charlotte.

“Okay . . .” she said slowly, clicking her compact closed before sliding it back into her clutch. “Thanks, Clara Belle. I mean, thanks,
Clara
.” Charlotte sat on the edge of her chair and angled herself somewhat my direction. There were still four empty chairs between us, but it felt like the closest Charlotte and I had been since when she was seven and sick. Mom had been out of town, so I’d stepped in as the mother hen, pressing cool washcloths to her forehead and reading her stories. “Is that what you prefer? Clara?”

I felt my smile move into place. “That’s what I prefer. Though after years of saying that, Boone and now you are the only ones who’ve seemed to listen.”

“I remembered you correcting us when you still lived at home. But you stopped bringing it up after you left.” Charlotte crossed her ankles and leaned forward. “Why?”

“Because no one would listen.”

Charlotte seemed to mull that over. “No one ever listened to me either.”

“What a terrible childhood you must have endured.” I peered at her, watching her fight her smile. Charlotte had always fought her smiles like they were an enemy. It was nice to finally watch her lose a battle to one.

“Probably about as terrible as yours,” she replied, having to look away when I laughed. Smiling was one thing, but laughing was uncivilized in Charlotte’s book.

“But just look at us now.” I waved my finger between her and me. “Listening to each other.”

“Who would have thought it?”

“Not me.”

Charlotte shook her head. “Me neither.”

Shifting on her seat, she started to stand. She looked as though she was reeling from our truce, and I knew I was, but she didn’t seem in a hurry to get back to her wedding reception.

“Charlotte?” I called before she could move. “I don’t think I’ve gotten a chance to tell you yet . . . but congratulations.” I paused, having to take my time to get this out. Not because the words were feigned, but because I actually meant them. “I’m happy for you, and I hope you and Ford have a wonderful life together.”

Her face went flat, followed by her eyebrows knitting together how I guessed mine just had. Perplexed seem to be the tone of things tonight. “Thank you?”

That made me laugh. “You’re welcome?”

Charlotte came close, but she didn’t quite laugh. Waving at me, she’d just turned to head back to the dance floor when she paused. Her hand went to the back of her chair, and she looked over her shoulder. “I’m sorry about the dress, Clara Be—” She cleared her throat “Clara. I’m sorry. That was a cheap shot.”

I smoothed my hands down it, having gotten used to it twenty hours of continuous wear ago. “I’m sorry Boone hit your husband in the eye right before you said your vows. He should have waited until after at least.”

Charlotte’s and my gazes drifted to Ford. His eye wasn’t swollen shut, but the injury wasn’t exactly subtle. He’d deserved it, but the timing could have been a bit better. At least they’d gotten the majority of their portraits together taken beforehand.

Charlotte stayed where she was, hovering behind her chair. “I’m also sorry for what I did.” She chewed at the corner of her mouth. “What Ford and I did to you—”

I cut her off with a hard shake of my head. I was done revisiting the past. Unless it had to do with fond memories or funny ones, I wasn’t lingering there any longer. “You’ve loved Ford McBride from the time you were seven years old and our families vacationed together that summer in Nantucket. I knew you loved him. I knew you still loved him when Ford asked me out. I guess I just wasn’t thinking about that when I said yes, you know?”

Charlotte stopped gnawing at her lip. She nodded. “I knew you two were together when Ford and I started spending more time together. I knew you were technically still a couple when we . . .” She swallowed, still watching him out on the dance floor. “But I guess I just wasn’t thinking about that when he leaned in, you know?”

I smiled as she walked away, heading for her new husband flagging her out onto the floor. “I know,” I said to no one but myself, because at the core of it all, I needed to be told that the most.

She rushed as quickly as she could to Ford, both of them smiling at each other like there was no one else around. I might not have liked Ford, I might not have wished him on my worst enemy after finding out what he’d done, but it didn’t matter what I thought about him. My sister loved him.

I’d been the victim of people scrutinizing me for who I wanted to give my love to. I wouldn’t do the same to my sister, no matter what asshole she chose to love.

That was when I finally caught sight of Boone. He hadn’t disappeared to escape the stifling air that traveled with my family and their friends. Instead, he was camped out beside my dad, talking to him in a way I’d never before seen them converse. It was a peaceful, bordering on respectful sort of conversation. I wasn’t sure how long they’d been talking, but when Boone shook hands with Dad before walking away, his shoulders relaxed with what I guessed was relief.

He didn’t scan the crowd for me. He didn’t search the tables. He just headed in my direction like he knew exactly where I was without needing sight to guide him. Our connection had always run deep. Beyond attraction. Beyond friendship. It landed somewhere in the realm of the soul’s bearing.

He was still in the same jeans and shirt he’d showed up in, but he didn’t seem to care that he was in casual wear while everyone else had donned their most formal. Kind of like I’d gotten over the fact I was parading around in the most unflattering dress for my body type. We’d had plenty of experience dealing with other people’s disapproval and didn’t seem too concerned about changing that trend now.

“So? Did you win him over?” I called out as he lunged up toward the head of the table.

It was only then that his eyes drifted my way. They were lighter than normal today. As light as I’d ever seen them. “I think it’s safe to say we can be in the same room together without attempting to kill one another now.”

I smashed my lips together and nodded in approval. “Progress.”

“Serious progress.” Boone crashed into the chair beside me, reaching for my seat and pulling me closer. He wound his arms around me and pulled me into his lap. He’d never been stingy with his affection in the past, and that was one thing I was happy had travelled with him to the present.