Thirty-One
“Hutch” Hutchinson
Hutch was in love. Everyone around him recognized the signs and didn’t have any qualms about pointing it out. Not that he was trying to hide it.
A little while ago—before Phoebe—his sister had attempted to set him up with a girlfriend of hers... Mia, Myra, something like that. He’d forgotten her name just as he was sure she’d forgotten his.
Meeting Phoebe had changed everything. The first time he’d seen her he’d felt the attraction. She was beautiful, and he wasn’t reacting merely to her appearance. Phoebe was everything he’d ever hoped to find in a woman—and she loved him. He could hardly believe it.
Hutch was, however, somewhat disappointed that it’d taken Phoebe so long to admit that her fiancé wasn’t dead. But although it troubled him, he could understand why she’d lied. In similar circumstances, he might have done the same thing in order to avoid embarrassment and lengthy explanations. It’d been simpler this way, and as she’d said to him, the minute her fiancé agreed to pay for sex with another woman he was dead to her.
Hutch wondered about this other man who’d once been a very important part of Phoebe’s life. In the two months they’d been seeing each other Phoebe had never spoken of her engagement or offered up anything but the sketchiest details. All Hutch knew was that the man Phoebe had planned to marry had lied and cheated on her. When the truth came out—the second time—she’d severed the relationship for good. He realized how deeply hurt she’d been by what her ex-fiancé had done.
“I have your attorney on line one,” Gail Wendell said, breaking into his thoughts.
Now that the trial date was approaching, he heard from John Custer nearly every day.
“Hutch speaking,” he said, picking up the phone.
The conversation with John lasted only a few minutes. As soon as he’d finished, he tried to put the matter out of his mind. It was on days like this that he wanted, no, needed, to talk to Phoebe. As soon as he heard her voice, his blood pressure seemed to decrease.
Checking his watch, he reached for his phone again. Quarter to eleven. Phoebe was between clients. They spoke two and three times a day now, and even that wasn’t enough.
“Hi,” he said when she answered her cell.
“Hi, yourself,” she said. “Did you talk to your attorney?”
“I did.” Hutch closed his eyes. He loved hearing the sound of her voice. It flowed over him, easing his burdens, comforting him.
“And?”
Reality returned and his eyes flickered open. “We’re scheduled to go to court next week. There doesn’t seem to be any way around that.”
“I’m sorry.”
No sorrier than Hutch. “I was hoping, foolishly perhaps, that the other attorney would see reason. But from what I hear, Clark Snowden’s confident he can win—and in the process make a name for himself.”
“Snowden?” she repeated.
“Yes, that’s the plaintiff’s attorney.”
“Oh.”
Hutch looked down at a file on his desk that required his attention. One gratifying consequence of meeting Phoebe was that he’d learned to delegate. This evidence that he trusted his subordinates had improved his relationship with his department heads, as well. “What about dinner tonight?” he asked.
“I can’t,” she said quickly. “In fact, I’m tied up for the rest of the week.”
Her rejection shocked him. Until now, she’d always been as eager to see him as he was her. Not wanting to sound possessive or unduly concerned, he murmured, “All week?”
“Yes...and next week, too.”
Her voice had grown fragile. “I see.” He didn’t know what had changed, but clearly something had.
“Listen, Hutch,” she said in a tight voice, “our relationship’s happened very fast, don’t you think? Maybe we should step back and analyze what’s going on between us before we continue.”
“It’s been almost two months. I know what I feel.”
“But do you know what you want?”
Hutch felt a distinct chill. He had the feeling that she was breaking up with him, but he had no idea why. “Yes,” he countered sharply. “I want you in my life.”
His words seemed to take her aback. After an awkward moment, she said, “I don’t... I need time—to think.”
“About what?” he asked irritably. “Have I done anything to offend you?”
“No, never.” Her voice softened perceptibly.
“Then what’s this needing time all about? Isn’t that rather sudden?”
“I... I need to think, I really do. I’m sorry, but it’s for the best.”
Maybe best for her but definitely not for him. Hutch wanted to argue with her, to figure out what had changed, but restrained himself. After all, it was up to her to accept or reject his love.
Phoebe said nothing, and he was shaken by the loss that tore through him.
If she wanted time, he’d give it to her. Pride wouldn’t allow him to press his point or to plead.
“Tell you what,” he said, his voice devoid of emotion. “When you’re ready, you contact me.”
“Okay.”
“Bye, Phoebe.”
She started to speak again but he couldn’t bear to listen. Gently he replaced the receiver and sat staring into space, wondering what had just happened. In the course of a few minutes she’d ended the most promising relationship of his life.
Hutch stayed at his desk for the rest of the afternoon, attacking the paperwork in front of him.
At four-thirty, Gail stepped into his office. “Is everything all right?” she asked bluntly.
“Yup.” Hutch glanced at her. “Never better. Why do you ask?”
Gail frowned, shaking her head. “For one thing, you’ve been very quiet ever since you got off the phone with John Custer.”
Hutch made a show of studying his watch. “Isn’t it quitting time?” he asked. In other words he had no intention of answering her question.
“Which brings me to something else,” Gail said. “You’re usually on the phone with Ms. Rylander about now.”
“I won’t be seeing Ms. Rylander again,” he said starkly.
She didn’t bother to hide her shock. “Why ever not? You’re crazy about her and I know she feels the same way about you.”
“Apparently you and I are both wrong about that.”
The older woman clucked her tongue several times, sounding like an agitated hen. “And you’re going to sit back and do nothing?”
“Yup.”
“Oh, Hutch, for the love of Mary, don’t be so stubborn.”
“This wasn’t my decision,” he said.
“Did you at least find out why?”
“I tried.”
“Try harder.”
Hutch lifted his shoulders in a shrug. “As far as I’m concerned, the ball’s in her court. If Phoebe wants to call me, fine, but I’m not holding my breath.” He sounded resolute and sure of himself, although he didn’t feel either of those things.
Gail hesitated and then, with a final shake of her head, left his office.
As soon as she shut the door, Hutch exhaled, letting go of the pretense, and his entire body sagged with defeat. For a moment he thought about confronting Phoebe and demanding she tell him what he’d done that was so terrible.
He couldn’t think of a single thing to warrant this reaction and felt sick as he contemplated the new fact of his life—what had seemed so promising only hours earlier was now completely and utterly over.
He stayed at the office until nearly eight. Then, with a heavy heart, he drove home. Dinner was a frozen entrée he shoved in the microwave and ate in front of the television.
His phone rang twice but he didn’t pick up. Whoever had called wasn’t interested in leaving a message, which was fine because he wasn’t interested in listening to one, either.
The late-night news flashed across the screen, and Hutch realized he’d been staring at the television for hours, but couldn’t remember anything he’d seen. No matter how many times he went over his conversation with Phoebe, he couldn’t explain her sudden decision—or was it sudden?—to end their relationship.
Needless to say, Hutch didn’t sleep well that night or the next. He kept busy at work, met with his attorney and made every effort not to think about Phoebe. He didn’t succeed but pretended he had. The lawsuit occupied his mind when he wasn’t dwelling on Phoebe.
To her credit, Gail didn’t mention Phoebe’s name again, and neither did he. Every now and then he caught his assistant watching him, looking for any telltale sign. What she hoped to find, he didn’t know. Perhaps Gail expected to uncover some crack in his resolve, some indication that he was weakening.
But if anything, Hutch grew more convinced that he simply wasn’t cut out for love or marriage. He’d laid his heart on the line and Phoebe had ripped it to shreds without cause or provocation. If this was love, then he wanted no part of it.
He had a good life, albeit a lonely one, but he was used to that. As for children, he had his niece and nephew and God willing, eventually one of them, or both, would take over the family business. Otherwise he’d sell out, which he might have to do anyway, depending on the outcome of the court case.
Friday afternoon, five days after that last conversation with Phoebe, Hutch left the office even later than usual. It was mid-August now, and in his opinion no place on earth was more beautiful than the Pacific Northwest on a hot summer’s day when the sky was blue and Mount Rainier glimmered like an apparition in the distance.
It was almost nine, but there was still plenty of sunshine. He was walking toward his parking space when he saw her.
Phoebe.
She stood next to his car, waiting for him.
Hutch stopped and instantly squelched the surge of joy he felt at seeing her. He wouldn’t allow her to toy with his feelings. Not again. Apparently this was some game to her. A game he wasn’t willing to play.
He strode decisively to his car, each step filled with purpose.
“Hello, Hutch,” she said.
He didn’t respond.
“I can’t do it,” she whispered brokenly. “I tried, but I can’t do it.”
He held his briefcase with both hands and just stared at her. He supposed she expected him to ask her questions or show how grateful he was to see her. He wouldn’t do either.
She frowned. “Say something,” she pleaded.
He shrugged. “What do you want me to say?”
She looked up at him, eyes brimming with tears. “You might tell me you...that you missed me.”
He pressed his lips together, refusing to tell her any of that even if it was true.
She raised her hand as though to touch his face.
Hutch retreated a step.
She covered her mouth with one hand and began to sob.
His resolve finally faltered but he wouldn’t let himself succumb to her tears, although it was impossible to remain stoic and indifferent to her pain.
“The thing is, I’ve discovered I can do it, Phoebe.” He reached for his door handle. “I can live without you.”
“There’s something you don’t know.”
He stiffened, his back to her.
“Clark Snowden...”
At the mention of the plaintiff’s attorney, he turned to face her. “What about him?”
“He was...he was my fiancé.”
The words slammed into him with a force that was actually physical. He couldn’t have spoken had his life depended on it.
“I knew if Clark found out you’re the man I love, he’d do everything in his power to hurt you. I—I thought the only way to protect you was to break off our relationship...but I can’t do it. I tried and I just can’t. I’m too selfish and needy, Hutch, and I love you too much.”
His briefcase fell to the pavement as he hauled her into his arms, holding on as if they’d both perish otherwise.
“You should have told me.” His need for her was an ache that shot through him, that burned within him.
“I couldn’t.... I was afraid.”
Then they were kissing, straining against each other, trying to undo five days apart, five days of agony. Hutch tasted her salty tears and kissed them from her cheeks.
“What are we going to do?” she whispered, clinging to him. “Clark will try to destroy you...to ruin the business and discredit you. I can’t stand by and let him.”
“I know exactly what I’m going to do,” he said. “It’s simple. I’m going to win this lawsuit and then I’m going to marry you, if you’ll agree.”
He’d half lifted her from the pavement and with her arms around his neck, Phoebe sobbed her answer. “Yes, yes! Oh, Hutch, yes! I want to marry you more than anything in the world. I want to spend my life with you.”
That was good to hear, because he wanted her with him for the rest of his, too. Nothing mattered but loving Phoebe. Snowden could do whatever he would; it made no difference to Hutch as long as he had Phoebe.