What Not to Were (12 page)

Calla used two fingers to pinch Gus’ lips together before she looked at him, her cheeks bright pink “Yeah. That.”

Ahhh. They’d decided to wait, which only reinforced the notion that if they’d been together three solid months, and he’d agreed to wait, she was something special.

For a long time, he’d been satisfied single. He’d dated and had a great time, but he’d never met the whole package. He wanted it all, and he was willing to patiently wait until it presented itself.

Calla had clearly been his idea of the entire package, and the bitter sting of remorse he felt for not remembering her clawed at his gut like a sharp knife.

But rather than harp on the fact that this was all a blank page to him, he cupped her chin and pressed a kiss to her forehead. “Look, I don’t remember the talk, but I know who I am, and if we had the talk about waiting, we had it because I want the same things you want. Commitment, a family, someone to theorize
The Walking Dead
with. So let’s reenact the talk, okay? I’ll burn every brain cell I have trying to remember it.” He held out his hand, hoping against goddamn hope she’d take it.

Calla let her fingers brush his then intertwine with them, her smaller hand—

“Ryder! Get your hands off her, you son of a bitch!”

Nash whipped around to see Denny Parks stomping across the grass of the park, his face a mask of anger.

“Oooo weeee!” Gus giggled with glee. “It’s on! Greta, get your whistle and let’s get ready to rummmblllllleeeeeeee!”

D
enny stalked toward them, his skin red, sweat framing his long, angular face. “Did you hear me, Ryder? Get the hell away from her!”

He was such an odd contrast to Nash—tall and lean and groomed to within an inch of his life, as opposed to Nash’s rugged, bulky good looks.

To hear him ordering Nash around was like watching Sheldon from
The Big Bang Theory
threatening The Rock. Except she really liked Sheldon. Denny? Not so much.

Putting a hand to Nash’s chest, she pushed him aside and squared off with Denny. “What the hell are you doing, Denny?”

“I said, you get away from her, Ryder!”

Nash lifted his chin, his voice low and threatening. “Or you’ll what? Steal my 401K?”

Calla shot him a pleading look to quiet before confronting Denny. “What is going on? Why are you carrying on and scaring all the kids?”

Clive sloshed up beside them, his plaid shorts thoroughly soaked, his sweet face puffy. “Are you two gonna roll around like two roughnecks for Calla’s favor? Because if so, could we do it at the center where there’s air conditioning? It’s like GD Africa out here.”

“No! They absolutely are not going to do anything of the sort. Clive, please sit under the tree and have some water from the cooler until Kirby can bring you back. Denny? Back. Off!” she bellowed. The heat, her frustration, that amazing do over of her first kiss with Nash, were all getting to her.

“The hell I will,” Denny barked. “It’s all over town what he did to you, and I won’t allow it!”

Nash’s eyes narrowed. “Did to her? Allow it? You’re barkin’ up the wrong Cowboy, friend. Do as the lady asked or I’m going to teach you how to put your listening ears on.”

“Nash, one. City Slicker, zeee-ro!” Gus yelped with delight, dancing around them with a devilish grin.

Blowing her hair out of her face, Calla rubbed her temples. “Gus, can it or the next time you want to scroll the internet, I’m blocking you from Senior Mingle. Clear?”

Denny grabbed her hand, making Nash move in closer. “Let’s go somewhere we can talk, Calla. Just you and me.”

She sniffed the air, her nostrils flaring. She was almost positive he had nothing to do with this. There was no deception in his scent. “Talk about what, Denny?”

“About whatever the hell kind of game Nash is playing here. You don’t really believe he doesn’t remember who you are, do you?”

“Of course I do. What other explanation is there?” If she believed nothing else from this unbelievable situation, she completely believed Nash didn’t remember her after that kiss.

Denny shrugged his lean shoulders. “I don’t know. Maybe he’s faking this memory loss.”

“To what end, Parks?” Nash asked, clenching his stubbled jaw until the tic in it made an appearance.

“The end where you finally got what you wanted and now you’re done with her?”

Nash hissed a breath before he was two inches from Denny’s face. “If I were you, pardner, I’d walk the hell away—now. And fast.”

Calla squeezed between their chests, using both hands to separate them. “That’s ridiculous, Denny, and you know it. It’s a pretty elaborate stunt, don’t you think? To pretend he doesn’t know who I am rather than just break up with me?” Saying it out loud made is sound even more ridiculous than it had sounded in her head.

Nash lifted Calla and set her aside as if she were no heavier than a feather. Then he closed in on Denny, his stance threatening. “I’m not even going to dignify you with an answer, Parks, but I
am
going to tell you to take your sorry ass on out of here before I behave in a very ungentlemanly way and help you leave.”

Denny’s face went tight with anger, but he instantly backed up. Though, as he did, he kept his gaze on her. “When this is all done, and your heart’s in pieces, you know where to find me, Calla,” he said, his words sly with sarcasm.

Greta’s whistle sounded loud and sharp as she blew it in Denny’s face. “Go raid a corporation, and leave the adults to play!”

Denny had stomped back across the green of the park and past the children on the swings when a sudden burst of thunder and lightning cracked directly above his head, dumping fat raindrops all over his silk shirt and perfectly primped hair.

His yelp of surprise made Calla giggle, but then she caught Nash’s gaze and gave him her best matronly look. “That wasn’t nice.”

He shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans and rocked back on his boots. “And it was nice of him to accuse me of faking amnesia so I could get out of our relationship? Only a scumbag would think like that.”

That was certainly fair, but the truth was, she’d had a brief moment where she’d thought the same thing. But Denny didn’t know she only had one breast. For
him
to consider Nash would fake amnesia now that he’d gotten what he wanted was just plain shitty.

Nash gripped her shoulders and sought her eyes. “You didn’t.”

He didn’t have to explain his words. She knew what he meant. Nash had always been good at reading her internal turmoil. “The moment was brief. I promise. I’ve…I’ve had a bad experience or two…one not so long ago that I never had the guts to tell you about, and, well—”

“It left you raw and cautious. Totally understandable, but I’m standing here in front of you right now, telling you
I don’t care
.”

The echo of his words from the night before struck a sharp chord in her heart.

Her eyes began to fill with more tears so she let her chin drop to her chest, but Nash pulled her into his arms, like he would when she’d had a bad day, almost as if he remembered every moment of their relationship.

“Never, Calla,” he murmured against the top of her head. “I promise you, that would
never
happen.”

* * * *

The blessed relief of darkness enveloped them, though it was still hot even minus the glare of the sun.

The words
one day
kept repeating themselves in her head as Calla sat on the blanket they’d used when Nash had asked her to be his girlfriend.

If they only had one day to show Nash whatever she was supposed to show him, their time was swiftly running out. She’d spent a good portion of the ride out here to this part of Nash’s property trying to figure out what hour this mythical timer was set for one day. Did it begin when Fate spoke the words? Did it begin at dawn? What if they’d missed a detail? Something no one had thought of? What would happen if Nash didn’t remember when the mystery time was up?

They’d taken the seniors back to the center to rest up and have a late snack before pickup, then staged yet another unsuccessful reenactment, this one of The Big Talk, wherein she and Nash spent most of the time giggling at all the rules they’d placed on their road to total commitment.

And still nothing.

Kirby came up behind her and tapped her on the shoulder. “You ready for the Be My Girl scene?”

Daphne rasped a sigh, her beautiful face even prettier by the glow of the campfire Nash had built. She dropped her clipboard on her director’s chair—another item that had mysteriously appeared. “It’s not called Be My Girl. It’s called Sex And The Smitten.”

Kirby threw her hands up like two white flags. “Sorry! I’m just trying to help.”

Calla grabbed Kirby’s hand and squeezed it. “Of course you are. You’ve been a total rock through this. Go sit in the bed of Nash’s truck and relax. There wasn’t anyone here but Nash and I at this one anyway.”

Kirby gave her a tired smile. “I think I’ll do that, but save me a hotdog, would you?” she joked, wandering off into the velvety night toward Nash’s truck.

Nash was busy putting hotdogs on skewers while Greta set their places on the blanket, putting a soda can on each plate. One just like the can Nash had pulled the tab from that she now kept on a chain around her neck.

She tried to relax, but the longer the night went on, the more anxious she was beginning to feel. It was as though if they didn’t find the last piece to this puzzle, everything was going to blow up.

“Makeup!” Daphne shouted.

Flora appeared out of thin air in front of her, waving a powder puff. “Lift your chin, toots,” she ordered.

Calla’s heart tightened. “What are you doing, Flora? You’re supposed to be at home with your family, not out here in the middle of nowhere.”

Flora screwed up her face, her eyes warm from beneath the brim of her baseball cap. “Bah. My son’s boring. Have I ever mentioned what he does for a living? He’s an accountant. Most boring job in the entire world. Who wants to talk tax shelters over a pot roast when I could be out here, waitin’ to see you two fall in love all over again?”

“Thank you, Flora,” she barely whispered, overwhelmed by their generosity.

Flora dabbed at her nose with the powder puff and grinned. “Wouldn’t have missed it. Now, lift your chin so I can be sure I get all your angles.”

“Flora?”

“Calico?”

She smiled at Flora’s pet name for her. “Why are you powdering my nose? We’re not making a movie.”

Wait. Were they?

It wouldn’t surprise her to find Daphne had whipped up some cameras and a craft service table at this point.

“Because Miss Flora asked for a job and I gave her one. You should have your pretties just right for when Nash remembers you. It’s going to be a moment
you’ll
always remember, and you’ll look like a goddess,” Daphne offered.

As Flora drifted away, she mouthed a thank you to Daphne, who simply smiled. Some of her seniors felt as if they had nothing left to contribute to society, and often times, when their family members first brought them in to spend the day at the center, they were despondent.

She’d spent many an afternoon helping them rediscover their usefulness by organizing bake sales, and charity marathons, and encouraging them to attend soccer games for the children in town whose parents weren’t able to attend due to work. No one worked a pom-pom for an elementary school soccer player like her seniors.

For them to put as much if not more effort into this project than she’d been willing to attempt in the beginning because of her fear, meant they respected her as much as she respected them. It meant she was making a difference, and nothing made her happier than their success.

Greta’s sigh made her refocus her thoughts. “One more time I tell you to get down from that tree, Gus, and it’ll be the last.”

“Gus? Are you crazy? You’re going to break your leg! What are you doing?” Calla demanded.

“I’m the set grip. Grips set stuff up.”

Now they had a set grip? Next they’d have a sound guy and a set designer.

Standing, she held out her hand. “Come down from there now. You’re supposed to be at home all tucked in with
The Rockford Files
reruns, not out here in a tree.”

As he hopped down, he squeezed her hand, and it wasn’t a suggestive “Come on, baby, light my fire” squeeze. It was one of support. “Just doin’ my part.”

Calla pressed a kiss to his weathered cheek. “Don’t do your part in a tree, okay? Now go grab something cold to drink and put your feet up. I think it’s up to me and Nash now.”

Gus tweaked her cheek and set off to find the cooler someone had brought on this crazy journey.

Gripping Daphne’s arm as she flipped through yet more of her notes, she asked, “Hey, how’s hubby? Is he okay?”

“Oh, he’s fine, honey. This happens all the time. Whatever vision he had took its toll on him, is all. He’ll sleep it off like some drunk and be right as rain tomorrow. Don’t worry about him, worry about you. How are
you
?”

Despite the thick air of the night, she rubbed her bare arms. “I’m worried. Really worried. Nothing’s worked so far, and I still can’t figure out why Nash has to regain his memory
today
. If that’s even what Fate meant at all. What happens to him if he doesn’t get his memory back?”

Daphne’s breathing hitched. “I don’t know, sweetie. Damn, sometimes it’s so hard to be married to this man. I know it’s his job, but it kills me when it affects the people I love. I’ve been racking my brain all day while we act out this crazy look into your lives, and I just don’t know.”

Calla experienced instant regret. Everyone in she and Nash’s lives had gone to bat for them, and she wanted them to know how grateful she was. “I’m sorry. I don’t want it to sound like I’m blaming anyone. I’m grateful this happened or I might be wallowing in a bag of corn chips and watching
The Notebook
instead of at least trying to help him remember. Any news from Winnie?”

No one had had any luck getting in touch with Winnie, and even though Daphne and Greta and all the seniors were the most amazing entity of support, Calla really wished Winnie was with them.