The "What If" Guy (28 page)

“I’m a
teacher
. I don’t make an eighth of what she makes, and her family is loaded. She’s got a trust fund worth more than ten of Layla Deberaux’s houses. Laurel doesn’t need my money. She’s trying to prevent the divorce.”

“She’s hurt,” I said. “She’s losing you, and she’s upset about it. I can understand that.”

“You’re right,” he said. “But I walked away with nothing. She even got the dog.”

“You had a dog?” Somehow, this wasn’t a surprise.

“His name is Sal.” His voice sounded wistful. “Short for Salvador Dali.”

I giggled.

“He’s a beagle, and he sounds like a train whistle when he howls. He’s a great dog.”

“You really broke up with your wife because you were in love with me?” I asked. “I don’t know what to say. That makes me sort of uncomfortable.”

Henry took my hand in his. “I didn’t even know we would wind up together when Laurel and I split. I only knew that I wasn’t in love with her. I shouldn’t have let things get that far. I should have broken things off long before the idea of marriage entered her mind. That’s why I left everything with her. I didn’t deserve any of it. I just want it to be over now.”

Thunder rumbled, shaking the ground beneath us. Rain poured. My gaze shifted from the sky to Henry’s face “We’re getting soaked.”

“We’d better get out of here.” Henry jumped up and pulled me to my feet. He patted his pockets with wide eyes. “Oh, crap.”

“What’s wrong?”

He scrunched his face. “I think I locked my keys in the truck.” He dashed over and tried the doors. No luck.

“We’re getting drenched.” I put my arms up over my head.

“There.” Henry pointed off in the distance.

The Judds’ old, leaning barn stood a couple of hundred yards away, atop the hill at the back of their property. They didn’t use the barn for much other than storage. It was a dry place to wait out the thunderstorm.

We took off toward the barn, breaking free of the willow oasis, leaping over small puddles that were rapidly deepening between the rows of wheat. Rain pelted our faces as we ran, soaking our clothes, and drenched my hair as my braid smacked against my back.

Henry pushed the barn door open. “Think Holly and Cody will mind?”

“I’m Trista’s godmother. I’ve got certain rights and privileges.”

Henry laughed and kissed me, his lips nudging mine apart. He tasted like rain.

I closed my eyes and released a long, blissful sigh. Let the rain pour outside. Let the wind roar. It didn’t matter. The only thing that mattered at that moment was me and
my
Henry, inside the barn, on top of the hay.

Chapter Twenty-Two

“Smile.”

My heart warmed at the sight of Henry and Elliott standing in the bright June sun. Elliott pointed a camera at me.

Flag Day had finally arrived. The entire town was alive with patriotism. The day had started with a Fun Run, all the runners wearing outfits of red, white, and blue. Then had come the parade, filled with Fairfield’s youngest residents dressed in costumes reminiscent of America’s forefathers. We’d spent two hours sitting on lawn chairs outside our old, red house, watching the parade. Local school bands, antique cars, and fair royalty had rolled by, tossing Tootsie Rolls to the kids. I’d forgotten how much I’d enjoyed the parade as a child. The music, the pomp and circumstance, the candy flying. I’d always considered Flag Day to be the best day of the year next to Christmas. And for the first time in years, I remembered why.

Booths selling handmade treats, burgers, and hotdogs filled the park, and the scent of kettle corn and cotton candy floated on the air, clear up to our house on the hill. Ray Charles’ version of “America the Beautiful” sounded from the loud speakers downtown. Everywhere I turned, I saw children wearing balloon hats and waving flags. Once the buzz from the parade died down and the sun set over the fields, there would be an adult dance, complete with a country western band and line dancing lessons.

The air sparked with electricity and buzzed with the camaraderie between people as they gathered in the streets. The atmosphere compelled us to stay outside, to be a part of things, to revel in the celebration.

“Ready for the big reveal?” Henry pulled me close and kissed my forehead.

Butterflies launched in my stomach. Half of the town, plus hundreds of visitors, had gathered at the side of the post office. A podium stood nearby, and a bright red curtain hung over the mural I’d worked on for weeks. “Yes,” I answered nervously, waving at my dad, who stood in the crowd in between Doris and Helen. “There are so many people.”

“Of course,” Elliott crowed with a grin on his face. “You hit the big time.”

I pulled my son in for a kiss. “The big time, eh? Then where’s the paparazzi?”

“Right here,” he snorted, holding up his camera. “Look, there’s Tabitha.”

He dove into the crowd and made a beeline for her.

I’d seen Holly numerous times since baby Trista was born, usually to pick up her kids, or to bring dinner so she could take a nap. Most of my visits brought postpartum tears from Holly, and complaints about obstructed milk ducts, so I hadn’t gotten to talk to her for longer than ten minutes since Trista’s birth.

“Do you see Holly?” I asked Henry, as Mayor Driscoll approached the podium.

He scanned the small sea of faces. “I haven’t seen her yet, no.”

I shrugged. “Maybe she stayed home.”

“Today?” Henry frowned. “It’s a holiday.”

“You’re really into this, aren’t you?” I leaned into him, and noticed the pleased smiles on the faces of people watching us.

“This…” He gestured to the jubilant crowd. “This
is why I moved to a small town. You were just an added bonus.” He nuzzled my neck.

Mayor Driscoll tapped the microphone, then welcomed the crowd. “The committee decided to commission a local artist. An artist whose life took her to the big city for a few years, but brought her back to us this year.” Mayor Driscoll’s voice boomed. “Her talent is impressive, her eye for detail, impeccable. Which is why she was the perfect artist to commemorate our fair city. Autumn Cole is considered a daughter of the Fairfield community, and her love for our town shows clearly in this mural entitled,
My Hometown, My Family.
”

The Mayor pulled open the red curtain, and the crowd cheered. I looked up at the wall, my chest swelling with pride. At the top of the mural, the bright cerulean sky evolved into rolling fields of flourishing wheat, where a family was silhouetted beneath a wind-rustled flag. The lyrics of “America the Beautiful” scrolled around the edge of the wall, along with the names of every Fairfield veteran since World War II—Americana at its best.

Henry put his arm around my waist and pressed his mouth to my ear. “I’m so proud of you.”

“Thanks,” I replied, my face warming. His crooked smile made my knees shake.

“Auto, I can’t thank you enough.” Mayor Driscoll grabbed my hand and shook it fiercely. “The mural is exquisite. The committee is flabbergasted by how wonderful it turned out.”

“Thank you so much.”

His wife came to his side and extended her hand to me. “I’m so impressed, dear. You’ve grown into a wonderfully talented woman.” She looked at Henry. “You’re a very lucky man to have snagged our Autumn.”

Henry squeezed my hip. “Nobody’s more aware of that than I.”

“Thank you so much for your compliments,” I said. “I was honored to be selected.”

“You made Fairfield proud.” Mayor Driscoll said loudly over the crowd’s noise.

“Thank you again,” I said as Cody approached. Holly wasn’t by his side, but instead, a brunette around our age walked with him.

Elliott charged toward us. “Everyone’s talking about how great the mural is.”

I pinched his cheek. “Thanks, babe. Where’s Tabitha?”

“She’s heading to the park to eat. Can I go get a milkshake with her?”

I pulled a couple of dollars out of my pocket. “Sure.”

“Thanks.”

“Hi , Cody.” I smiled brightly as he approached and shook hands with Henry.

“Hey. Just the person I wanted to see. There’s someone I want you to meet.” Cody rested his hand on the brunette’s shoulder.

The woman’s eyes connected with mine, curious and assessing. I suddenly felt self-conscious. She couldn’t be a relative—she looked nothing like Cody’s blond-haired clan. She had lovely, tanned skin, and a well-maintained curtain of dark hair. The woman was neither Momsen nor Judd. That much was clear.

Henry nodded at the two of them. “How’s it going? Where’s Holly?”

Cody scratched his head in his typical “aw, shucks” way. “She had to find a place to change the baby. I don’t do so well with messy diapers.” Cody pointed to the post office. “The mural is fantastic. You did an extraordinary job.”

“Thanks.” I glanced at the brunette.

“I want you to meet my friend,” Cody said. “This is Colleen Delgado, the editor of
Inland Northwest Living
magazine. She wants to speak to you about your murals.”

“There you are,” Holly’s voice rang out.

She walked through the crowd toward us, her troop of blond boys in a wagon, little Trista in a Baby Bjorn on her chest. She smiled, brushing a lock of hair back from her pink face. “Whew. It’s hotter out here than I expected.” She squeezed my arm. “Hi. Did you catch the parade?”

“Yes,” I said. “You?”

She shook her head. “Partly. I had to ask Linda Clayton if I could use her bathroom. Trista and Ty both filled their britches. It took almost a whole box of wipes to clean up that mess.” She winked at the brunette. “Hi, Colleen. I see you’ve met everyone.”

“You know Colleen?” I asked.

“Of course.” She adjusted the baby on her chest. “Then I guess it’s not a secret anymore.”

“I’m confused.”

Cody chuckled. “Auto, Colleen is interested in your art.”

Henry and I spoke at the same time. “What?”

“I got a call from the mayor asking me to come and do an article on Flag Day.” Colleen’s accented voice sounded exotic. “When I arrived this morning, I interviewed Cody at the Fun Run. He said he was an avid reader of our magazine.”

“It’s got some good articles.” Cody’s cheeks went pink, as if being caught reading a magazine about a topic other than hunting or fishing were something to be ashamed of.

“Cody mentioned the biannual article we write on local artists,” Colleen continued. “And said his wife’s best friend was an artist. I asked if you had any work on display that I could see, and he mentioned the mural you’d painted at…” She snapped her fingers a few times and looked quizzically at Cody.

“Layla Deberaux’s house,” Cody said. “I found Layla at the Service Club booth and asked if we could take Colleen up to her house.”

“Layla?” I repeated. “She hates me.”

“I think that’s true, sometimes,” Holly admitted with a chuckle. “But she also really cares about you. She invited Colleen to her house for breakfast.”

Emotion swelled in my throat. Layla had invited Colleen to her house for breakfast because of me? I focused on Colleen. “You saw the mural?”

“I did. And I loved it.” She nodded her head emphatically. “Both of them are exquisite. Did you know that murals are incredibly popular these days?”

“No, I didn’t.” I looked at Henry, his gaze filled with pride.

“I’d love to run an article about you in the magazine, Autumn,” Colleen said. “Your work is amazing. I think you could really make a name for yourself.”

My knees went weak. “Thank you.”

Holly’s eyes were moist. “You see? I told you that you’d be a full-fledged artist someday.”

“You did. I just can’t believe it.” Something caught my eye, and I turned to see that my dad had wandered up the street and stood nearby. He shuffled toward me slowly, Doris at his side, then stopped. He gazed at me with a joyful expression, apparently having heard the conversation. He smiled at me. My father didn’t smile often. Seeing him so happy made my heart leap. My gaze met his.

He winked at me and grunted, “Way to go, kid.”

Colleen handed me her business card. “When the festivities are over, give me a call.”

“I will, for sure. Thanks.” I took the card, numb with shock.

“All of this talk has made me hungry,” Cody said. “How about we take Colleen down to the park for some burgers and show her how Flag Day is done?”

Henry took my hand to lead the way. “We’ve definitely got lots to celebrate.”

Colleen walked with us. “Sounds quaint. I’d love to.”

I fingered the lettering on Colleen’s card. “Is this for real?”

“It’s a trip.” Holly grinned, putting her arm around my shoulders. “She believes in you. And she’s been jump-starting the careers of local artists for years.”

I drew a deep breath, then let it out slowly. “Wow. I mean, wow. I can’t believe I might get the chance to make a living with art.”

“As soon as Cody heard that Colleen was from
Inland Northwest Living
, he started pulling for you.”

I linked my arm through Holly’s. “You two are incredible. I don’t deserve you.”

“Of course you deserve us. Because you’re incredible, too.”

“How can I thank you both for this? For everything?” We strolled past the mural. A group of people took pictures next to their relatives’ names.

Holly smiled, her tiny features bright. “You can come dancing with us tonight.”

My stomach turned. “Dancing?” I croaked.

My entire time in Fairfield had been spent trying to be a better mother, daughter, and artist. Now, I needed to improve my dancing skills?

Right. Piece of cake.

Chapter Twenty-Three

“I don’t dance.”

“I don’t care.”

“I don’t want to go.”

“I don’t care.”

“I look like an idiot in this outfit.”

“I don’t care.”

I opened the bathroom door and glared at my skinny-even-though-she-just-had-a-baby
best friend. “Stop it.”

“Ha. You came out.” Holly smiled proudly. “You look fantastic.”

I looked down at my outfit for the dance—a fitted plaid shirt with pearl buttons and a denim mini skirt that I’d borrowed from the much shorter Holly. The outfit was way sexier than my usual attire. To top off the look, I’d pulled on an old pair of cowboy boots leftover from high school. I felt like a kid playing dress up.