The Wedding Chapel (37 page)

In stony silence, she retrieved James’s basket from the truck and set it at Peg’s feet. “There’s a fuzzy bunny in here. I put it next to him at night. He has a few clothes and diapers, but you’ll need more, much more. And this is the last bottle of formula. I don’t know how you’ll get through the night. He’ll cry at two and—”

“Drummond’s sister has a two-month-old. I’ll run round to her place and get a few cans until the market opens.”

“Good, he’ll have a cousin to play with.” Really, she must get on or she’d never leave at all.

“You’re doing the right thing, Colette.”

“Then why do I feel so empty?”

Drum appeared at the door, something in his hand. He passed it to Peg with a nod toward Colette.

Peg opened her hand to reveal a wad of bills.

Colette shoved them back. “I can’t. No.”

“For your trip home,” Peg coaxed her. “Stay in a hotel. Have a nice meal. Do something with your hair. What a sight.”

“I won’t take your money, Peg. Not now, when I’m handing over my son. I want no implication now or ever that I
sold
him to you.”

“All right, then.” Peg leaned toward Colette’s ear. “I’ll take good care of Jimmy’s boy. Because you know I love him.”

“You’re married to Drum, Peg. Don’t be a fool.”

Colette jammed her hands in her pockets and walked back to the truck, a blend of fury and sorrow brewing. She slipped behind the wheel and fired up the engine, exhaling one sob after another, her cries raging against the cold windshield.

But when she drove away, she dried her eyes and never looked back. Not once.

Chapter Twenty-Five

TAYLOR

W
hen she opened the front door Friday evening, she found Jack on the other side with Fry Hut bags in hand and a carrier of what appeared to be chocolate shakes.

She shoved the screen door open and stepped out. “Jack, I’m sorry—”

“No, Taylor, forget it.”

“How can I forget it? You heard me say our elopement was stupid.”

“Can we go for a ride in your granny’s car?” He tipped his head toward the Lincoln. “Ford has the rental.”

“Did you find Colette?”

“Sort of. She’s at Coach’s. Ford wanted to go in, but—”

“Oh no, those two needed to talk.”

“That’s what I said. So, what happened at the chapel?”

“I’m not sure. The real estate guy, Keith, was there with some buyers, but Dad showed up all hot about some development plans. Looks like Keith was lying to Coach. Then I brought Colette in, this big brouhaha started, and then Coach ordered everyone out.
About five minutes later, Colette came steaming out of the chapel. She didn’t say a word on the way home.”

“There’s more to this story, then.” Jack offered up the Fry Hut bags. “What do you say? A ride in the Lincoln and a picnic?”

“Yeah, okay.” Taylor went for the car keys. Whatever Jack was doing with his French fry peace offering, she liked it. And now that she knew her queasiness was from pregnancy, not Fry Hut fries, she was ready to go another round.

Fry Hut fries must remain associated with . . . with love. With Jack.

They walked to the car in silence, then Jack handed over the food. “Mind if I drive?”

“Suit yourself.” She tossed him the keys.

“You can choose the radio station.” Jack held the passenger door for her.

“Is that your sense of compromise?”

“For now.” He winked, sending a warm flutter through her.

Okay, Jack Forester,
she thought,
what are you up to?
With one eye on her man, still rocking his dress shirt and slacks, his tie riding at half-mast, she slid into the passenger seat.

Had he forgiven her? One aspect of their lousy communication was that they didn’t fight much, so she didn’t know the drill for arguments and their aftermath. Was this his way of saying sorry?

As he backed down the drive, she tuned the radio to country. After setting the volume on low, she settled back, cradling the food in her lap.

“Jack, I’m sorry you had to hear—”

He flashed his palm. “It can wait. We got to get where we’re going or the fries will be cold. They’re already cooling off since I walked here from the Hut.”

“But I need to tell you something—”

“Taylor.” He peered over at her. “I’m asking. Can it wait?”

“All right.” She nestled against the smooth leather seat, raising her face to the early-evening breeze, the scent of fall and firewood in the current. “Can you at least tell me where we’re going?”

“You’ll see.” Jack drummed his thumbs against the big round steering wheel. His broad smile and sincere,
real
twinkle in his eye stirred Taylor. She wanted to scoot over next to him and ride through town with his arm around her, kissing at the stop signs and red lights. Heart’s Bend only had five, but that had still made for some good kissing.

She wanted to be his oasis. Where he came to rest, to be satisfied.

But she carried within her news that could change everything. For better or worse, she didn’t know.

“I-I’m glad you’re here.” She wanted to start speaking her heart. To quit hiding behind fear.

When he looked at her, she caught the twinkle in his eye and sparked, feeling rewarded for her truth.

At the end of First Avenue, Jack turned left toward the football bleachers, the old car rocking in the ruts of a dusty road. He parked under a citadel of trees and upped the volume of the radio.

“Come on.” He ushered her into the backseat, then settled in next to her, stretching out his legs. “Got to love these big old cars.” He held out his hand, palm up. “Fry me.”

“Fry you?” Taylor handed him a bag of fries and a corresponding milk shake, grateful it was evening and her appetite was strong.

“Thank you, and oh, here . . . salt.” Jack dug the packets from his shirt pocket.

For a long time, they just ate, enjoying the hot fries, sweet shakes, and the shift of the afternoon light toward evening.

Then Jack sat forward. “I have a job offer. In London.”

“Excuse me?”

“One of our clients, WhiteWater Media, started a foundation there and Hops wants me to head it up.”

“As in move to London?”

“As in yes. Look, Tay, I know this is out of the blue. I turned it down initially—”

“Without talking to me first?”

“I didn’t think you’d want to go. So I told Hops no. You were just getting your business off the ground in New York. A move to London would kill your momentum. Starting over in a new city is one thing, but starting over in a new country . . .” He removed the lid from his shake and took a man-sized gulp. “Was I wrong?”

“No, but you don’t get to be the only one who sacrifices. What if I was willing to give up my career for you?”

He grinned. “I’m not giving up my career by saying ‘No.’ Don’t make me sound like a hero.”

“But you are, kind of, by refusing your boss.” Taylor tore open a ketchup packet. “Did I tell you we found dozens of these in the glove box?”

“No . . .” Jack scooted toward her. “Are you saying you want to go to London?”

She dipped a salty fry in the ketchup. “Not if our commitment is only as thick as ‘no fuss, no muss.’ ” Taylor shoved the fry in her mouth. “Jack, why did you tell me, ‘If it doesn’t work out we can walk away,’ right before our wedding?”

“I never said that—you did.”

“Jack, forgive me, but those were your
exact
words. I remember because you took my hand just as we started walking down to the beach.”

“Funny, because I remember the
exact
moment you said it. Just as we started down to the beach.”

“Exactly when
you
said it.”

He swore, laughing to himself. “Why would I say that when I was the one who proposed?”

“Why would
I
say it since I’m the one who said yes?”

“To have a back door. A way out if things didn’t go well.”

“How you figure that?” Taylor folded the top of her French fry bag. This conversation had killed her appetite.

“Doug Voss.”

She slapped her hand over her eyes. “Please, Jack, not Doug Voss again.”

“Taylor, he texted you a dozen times inviting you to sneak off to LA with him. You were just out of a relationship with him when we met. We happened so fast maybe you do have lingering feelings for him. You never really told me what happened between you two.”

Well, he was dealing the cards. She might as well pick up and start playing. “I lived with him for two months when I first moved to New York.”

“I see.”

“I’m not proud of it, but there you go. The whole truth.”

“Why’d you move out?”

She picked at the hem of her shorts. The weather was almost too cool in the evening anymore for shorts. “Because . . .”

“Well, it couldn’t have been me because we hadn’t run into each other yet.”

“No, I moved out long before I met you.”

“What happened?”

“I don’t want to say.”

“Taylor, did he abuse you? Hurt you?”

“No, he’s an egomaniac, but he’s not a monster.” She peeked at her husband. “If I tell you you’ll think I’m crazy.”

“What if I already think you’re crazy?”

She popped his shoulder with the back of her hand. “Fine.”
Taylor adjusted in the seat, turning to Jack, pressing her back against the side of the car. “When I was with Doug I couldn’t hear God’s heartbeat anymore. There. You happy?”

“What?”

“I couldn’t hear God’s heart anymore. I know, weird, right? But ever since I was a kid, when I prayed or just sat and thought about God, I’d hear this faint, distant, maybe-I’m-all-wet-here heartbeat. And I’d feel this whoosh of love.” She stared toward the empty football field. Friday night . . . the team must be playing an away game. “I never wanted to leave those moments. When I moved to LA and got caught up with life there, stopped praying, meditating on God, the heartbeats faded. I didn’t really notice. I met Doug, moved to New York, and one day I realized something was missing from my life. I felt cold and empty, all shriveled and small on the inside. Spiritually anorexic. And I missed my heartbeats.”

“Why didn’t you ever tell me you were spiritual?”

“Why didn’t you ask? Weren’t you the Christian boy in high school?”

“Sometimes.”

“Jack.” Taylor tapped the cold side of her milk shake against her leg. “We can debate if we think marriage is a worthwhile endeavor—Lord knows my family track record is an argument against it—but I’d never cheat on you. I’d leave you first.”

“Going to LA with Voss looked a lot like leaving.”

“You really think so little of me? You think I’d just sneak off? Look, if I wanted to be with Doug, I’d be with him. I don’t have time to play games. I’ve seen that side of marriage, and no thank you.”

“Seen that side from who?”

“My father for one. Emma’s husband for two.”

“Your dad?” Jack’s surprise softened her defenses. “I always thought he was a stand-up guy.”

“He’s not. When I was fifteen I caught him with another woman.”

“Taylor, babe, really? I’m sorry. At least I knew my dad was a jerk from the get-go.”

After that slight opening, she took a chance and recounted her photography class assignment and how she planned to surprise her dad for her candid shot. Instead, he had shocked her and rocked her world.

“I jumped from behind the door to snap a candid shot of him and he was kissing Ardell.”

“Did he see you?”

“No, thank goodness. Dad’s office was long and dark in the corners. I snuck around the door while he was locked with Ardell. He and Mom got divorced the next year. He married Ardell a year later.”

“Don’t take this wrong, but at least you had a dad. He didn’t leave you. Deny you.”

“Jack, I know your growing up was rough, but let’s not play worst-dad Olympics. There’re no winners.”

“Did your dad look you in the eye when you were nine years old, just after your mom died, and say, with the coldest voice you’d ever heard, that you were not his child?”

“No . . . Jack, he actually said that, out loud?”

“To my freckled face.”

“Okay, I was wrong, you win the gold medal. Babe, I’m so sorry . . .”

“Can I give the prize back? I’d have rather had a dad.” Jack ducked his head forward, running his hand along the back of his neck. “When your dad outright rejects you, it’s like scaling Mount Everest to come back. Your dad might have rejected the marriage, but he didn’t reject
you
. He loved you.”

Taylor sat up straight, Jack’s truth twisting in her gut. Daddy didn’t reject her, but she had rejected him. She grappled with the guilt of the realization.

She peeked at Jack. For all his flaws, he was a truth talker. “I guess I’ve let that day impact my view of life more than I imagined.”

“We all do it, Taylor.”

“Have you tried talking to your dad?”

He shook his head. “Not since Sam Gillingham mediated a meeting between us when I was seventeen. Should’ve known it would go bad when he showed up an hour late. Bad men produce bad fruit.” He sat back, running his hands down his pressed slacks. His rolled-up shirtsleeves revealed the strength in his arms. “It’s why I never want kids. I don’t want to be like him. I don’t know what baggage I carry around from being raised in ten foster homes. So I’m not passing it along to another generation.”

Taylor felt all of her light fade. “Never? B-but you turned out, Jack. And it wouldn’t be the same with you . . . you’re not your father.”

“No, true, but I’m a whole heap of what I experience in life because of him. Like it or not, I share his DNA. You know, I get this knot in my gut when I come to Heart’s Bend because I’m nervous I’ll run into him. It’s like you said, I live with a ghost. One that haunts me. I so don’t want to be like him I’m afraid to even think about kids.” He winced. “I guess I never confessed that before.”

“No, no, you haven’t.” She had no words as she glanced into the wind to dry her tears. Poor wee babe inside.

But the moment did something for Taylor. She wanted this baby, and the reality of its growing life inside her spread to the furthest ends of her being.

“Can’t say my mom did a bang-up job before she died either, but she tried,” Jack muttered more to himself than to Taylor. “And she loved me. But I will say the Gillinghams were good to me. They were the closest thing I ever had to a family. But I was fifteen when I moved in with them. I went to college three years later.”