The Someday Jar (20 page)

“Thanks for your help earlier.”

“I didn’t say anything you wouldn’t have thought yourself. So, this is another slip completed, right?”

“Yep. And we’re going to meet again. I’ve made a new friend.”

“That’s awesome. Hopefully I can meet her, too.”

“Absolutely.”

“Hey, I gotta run, Rob and I are taking Dylan to Chuck E. Cheese tonight.”

“Fun. What time do you leave tomorrow morning?”

“I’m Maui bound at eight-oh-five.”

“Tell Rob’s mom to call me if she needs anything.”

“Already did, thanks.”

“Okay, give Dylan a kiss for me.”

“Will do.”

We hang up and I call Evan, but he doesn’t answer.

I pick up tacos and drive home, recalling the afternoon as all my favorite songs play on the radio (REO Speedwagon and the Lumineers), all the lights stay green, and I swear, even the sun shines brighter.

When I step inside the condo, I find Wes on the couch studying a set of plans spread on the coffee table. Evan is nowhere around.

“Hey, Someday Jar girl, need help with those?” He points at the bags of food.

“Sure, thanks.” We set the food on the counter, and then I call Evan again. Still no answer. He texts me a few minutes later.
Driving. I’ll call in a bit.

I unload the tacos, salsa, beans, and rice, realizing I got enough for a small army. And, really, it’d be rude not to offer Wes dinner.

“Hungry?”

He looks up from his plans. “Starved.” He grabs two beers.

Wes twists off both the caps, then says, “So, you’ve tackled how many of your slips?”

I think for a moment, then count off with my fingers. “Learn something new, break a record, scuba dive.”

He folds his arms across his chest, listening.

I pretend that his interest doesn’t affect me and I continue. “Let’s see, I touched a Cardinals ball, which will crack me up every time I think about it, made a sacrifice, and last but not least, today I had the most amazing day. I volunteered as a Big Sister and met the most remarkable girl.” I explain the zoo and the park, then show him her drawing. “Isn’t it good? Like really good?”

“It is.” His smile is infectious.

“Anyway, I wouldn’t say I’ve excelled at any of the slips, although I’m getting better at kickboxing. Did you know I knocked over a six-foot bag with one punch? One punch!”

“That’s great.”

“I’m proud of myself for the tasks I’ve done. Every single one. Who cares if I haven’t accomplished them with grace or expert skills? Hell, I’ve done them. I’ve set out toward a goal and I’m meeting it. I’m determined to make broker one way or another.”

“Absolutely. There’s no fault in that.”

I pick at a piece of taco shell while the impossible slip I wrote as a teenager comes to mind. I still have no idea how to handle that one. No idea at all. Sooner or later, I need to find a way.

He grabs a lime from my plate and squeezes it over his tacos before returning it. “Ready for the wedding?”

“What? Oh, yeah. Pretty much, I guess. I still need a dress, but everything else is planned. Are you . . .” I stall. “Are you and Julie coming to the wedding?”

“Julie, no.”

“You?”

“I don’t think I’ll make it, either.”

I nod and dip a chip into salsa. There’s an awkward silence between us for a minute and before I realize what I’m asking, I say, “Do you think Evan’s right for me?”

Wes chokes on his chip and reaches for his beer. “Where did that come from?”

I say nothing.

He looks away, then returns his focus to me. “You want the truth?”

“I do.”

“Evan’s a hell of a guy, but I see you with someone lighter.”

“Like an albino?”

“No,” he chuckles. “A lighter personality. Someone who laughs at your jokes and appreciates your quirks.”

“Quirks? I have no quirks.”

“Really? I’ve been living at the house, too, you know?”

“Yes, and for the love of God will you please hang up your towel after you shower?”

“About
your
quirks,” he says. “You fluff and turn over each couch pillow, three times.”

“I like the puff and uniformity.”

“You can’t walk by a penny on the ground without picking it up.”

“I have good financial sense.”

“You tense when palm trees blow in the moonlight.”

I think of the windy night after dinner at The Hill. “They make a frightening sound.”

“You cry during the national anthem and I’ve watched you painstakingly flick off every walnut from a brownie before you eat it.”

“You sound like a stalker.”

“Perhaps,” he says with a definite voice. “Or maybe someone who pays attention.”

“How do I like my coffee?”

“A two-pump mocha.”

“What’s my favorite color?”

“Brown.”

“What color are my eyes?” I close them quickly.

“Green with tiny specks of brown.”

How does he know all this about me?

I open my eyes and swirl a chip in the salsa.

“Look, I’ve nothing against Evan. He’s not necessarily someone I’d hang out with, but I appreciate his drive. Hell, I worked with his parents for a long time, they’ve been a tremendous account for me, but at the end of the day, I see you and Evan wanting different things in life.”

“Different things? Like what?”

“He’s into appearances, the right restaurant, the right car, the right clients. He likes the spotlight, which is fine. But you’re more, I don’t know, behind the scenes.”

“Haven’t you ever heard that opposites attract?” I say, defensively.

“I have.”

“Not every relationship is ideal. I’m not falling for someone just because he fulfills some Cinderella fantasy for me. I don’t want empty charm. I want security and stability.”

“Then marry a concrete pillar.”

“I sense your sarcasm.”

“You should.” He crumples his taco wrapper in his hands and says, “Listen, you asked how I felt and I told you. I just picture Evan with someone more—”

“Classy? Sexy? What?” I cut him off. “Smart? Sophisticated? Say it. Say what you really mean. Someone more—”

“Forgettable.”

Oh.

He looks at me and I open my mouth to say something, but close it again. Speechless.

My phone rings and I nearly jump.

It’s Evan.

I spin away from Wes and answer. “Hello.”

“Sorry, I didn’t get back to you sooner. My meeting with the roofer lasted longer than expected.”

“No problem. I have a busload full of tacos here and I want to tell you what I did today.”

“Picked out a dress?”

Damn.
“Actually, not yet, but I did—”

“Listen, we’ll need to talk later, I’m late already. Whatever it is, can it wait until tomorrow night?”

“Tomorrow night?”

“Yes, remember, I have that early agency class tomorrow morning. I’m leaving for Flagstaff now.”

“Oh, yeah. I totally forgot. Yes, I suppose it can wait.”

“Okay, I’m turning onto I-17, probably gonna lose service in a minute. Have a good night.”

“Yeah, okay. Wait. Before you hang up.” I cup my hand over the mouthpiece and peep at Wes, who thankfully listens to a message on his phone. “How do I like my coffee?”

“What?”

“My coffee. When we go for coffee, how do I order it?” My phone beeps its low battery warning.

“I don’t know? With cream? Why are you asking me this? Do you want some?”

“No, no. That’s okay. I’ll talk to you later.”

“Okay. Bye.”

We hang up and I’m a bit deflated. But then again, who cares about silly coffee? Who cares that he doesn’t know how I order it? That’s a silly detail in the scheme of life.
Right?

“Everything okay?” Wes asks.

“Yes,” I lie. “Totally fine.”

We finish our tacos in silence. He tosses the trash and wipes the counters, then says, “Thanks, that was really good.”

“Sure.”

“Lanie, um . . . I’m sorry for what I said about Evan. I probably overstepped.”

“No, it’s okay. I asked for the truth.”

He finishes his beer, then says, “Got time for me to show you something?”

“What?”

“Just something, it’s not far from here, twenty minutes or so.”

I don’t feel like sitting home all evening alone; I’m still revved up from my day. “All right. Mind if I change first?”

“Sure.”

After a quick shower, I dress and before heading downstairs, I catch my reflection in the full-length mirror. I wear a gray
Puma hoodie, jeans, and tennis shoes. Kit would hate this outfit. She says white tennis shoes and jeans look like people don’t care about their appearance. Like they’ve given up.

She’s right.

I spin on my heel and turn toward the closet, but stop. I don’t want to appear like I’m trying to impress Wes. No. The given-up look is best.

“Ready?” he asks as I step into the kitchen.

“Where are we going?”

“You’ll see.”

Except for a couple of comments about the weather, as the wind has picked up and the threat of a desert storm hovers on the horizon, and recent movies we’ve each seen, we ride in silence. I’m surprised how comfortable I’ve become in the stills between us. We can enjoy the ride without feeling the need to talk. And though the console and gearshift separate Wes and me, maybe this comfort, this ease, is why I feel guilty, like we sit too close? I reach for my phone to call Evan, hear his voice, and let him know where I am, but my phone won’t turn on; the battery has died.

“Mind if I borrow your phone? I thought I’d call Evan.”

“Yeah, sure. It’s right . . . damn.” He pats both front pockets.

“What?”

“I left my phone on the kitchen counter.”

“What? You don’t have a phone?”

“Apparently not.”

“It’s okay. We won’t be long. Believe it or not, people roamed the earth for millions of years without cell phones.”

“Yes, and they’re all dead. Just think how much easier their lives would have been with GPS.”

“Is that why the dinosaurs went extinct, too? No smart phones?”

“Nope, lung cancer. They were chain smokers.” I bite my lip and quell my smile.

He laughs.

I’m about to ask how much longer this drive will be when he flips on the blinker and makes a right-hand turn onto a long cobblestone road canopied with mature trees.

Although the road was seemingly charming at one time, neglect and Mother Nature have taken their toll. Most of the tree branches either droop or have snapped off completely and fallen on the ground. Wind stirs the dried leaves, which litter the pavement, and several landscaping lights that line either side of the drive are either cracked into pieces or missing altogether.

“I haven’t been here for a while,” Wes says, squeezing the steering wheel tighter; his knuckles flex, and he slows his speed. “It’s changed.”

“Where are we?”

Before he answers, a small adobe-style chapel comes into view at the end of the road, with heavy iron doors and vines snaking along the stucco.

This must be where Wes married.

Without any comment, Wes parks the car beside the chapel and we step outside. Swirling dust and the smell of rain tickle my nose as we walk across the gravel toward the three stone stairs, leading to the dark arched front doors encased in matching steel, one of which sags from its hinge. Whoever owns this place must be remodeling, for the two front windows are boarded shut and scaffolding surrounds the four walls. Planks of wood are piled in the corner.

“This place sure needs work.” He squints as he gazes up toward the belfry.

“Yeah. It’s beautiful, though, so quaint and . . .” My voice trails off, not knowing what to say as Wes seems lost in memories.

He shrugs. “I don’t know, I just thought you might like to see it.”

“I do. Thank you for bringing me here.” I peek at the front doors. “I bet it’s lovely inside.”

“There’s a mural of angels painted on the far wall.”

A gust of wind forces me a step back and a tumbleweed skips between us and Wes’s car. My hair blows wild and sand granules pelt me in the cheek.

“Let’s go in,” he says.

With my hand shielding my face, I glance at the small gap between the front doors. “Are you sure we should?”

“C’mon. Just for a second. It’s miserable out here and we won’t hurt anything.”

Large drops of rain ricochet off the ground, and the metal poles that support the planks wobble in the wind, squeaking as they flex. The sky has turned an ominous blue-black. Storms in Arizona are fast and deadly. I shout above the wind, “There’s a storm coming. Maybe we should head back.”

With that said, a wicked grumble of thunder cracks in the sky and a burst of lightning strikes a tree near Wes’s car. Rain pours down in sheets, blows sideways in the wind, and splashes our legs and feet. Water, dirt, and leaves surge snakelike between the cobblestones until they overcome the road, and the path to Wes’s car is now a river of mud. An Arizona flash flood.

We dunk under the plank and at the same time, another blast of wind flings open the sagging front door.

He points at it. “Now, that’s a sign from God.”

We hurry inside.

Only shards of light filter through the stained-glass windows, which span the length of each side wall, near the roof line. Exposed and ornately carved wood beams decorate the ceiling and just as Wes said, an arched mural of three flying angels graces the far wall. Underneath the painting sits a rustic cabinet, reaching the width of the room, with a dusty candelabra and several half-burned candles on top. Pews border both sides of the aisle and an altar has been pushed toward the east wall. The entire chapel couldn’t hold more than thirty people. It’s old. It smells of damp wood and clay. The tile floor is smooth and slippery from a thin layer of dust, which causes me to slip. I grab onto Wes’s forearm. “Oh, sorry.”

His hand covers mine. “Easy there.”

“I’m fine, thanks.” I release my hand.

Wind whistles through the boarded windows and there’s a kidney-shaped water stain on the wall nearest me. But, like Hollis, age and wear have made the chapel rich with love and history. It’s the most romantic place I’ve ever been.

“It’s beautiful.” I wrap my arms around myself, chilled from the dampness.