All I Ever Wanted

“Got a second?” he asked. “I need some help in the shop.”

“Sure,” I called, glancing at the clock. Ian was coming at two, and it was only quarter after twelve, so I went downstairs, Bowie pattering after me, his steps light, looking up at me as if I were the most fascinating person in the world. Or as if I were about to give him some bacon, which was more likely.

Noah was working on a sea kayak, a long, beautiful boat with a razor-sharp bow and thin body. It looked like a suicide machine to me, but to each his own.

“Okay, just slide it down the side here,” Noah instructed, feeding me the piece of mahogany, which was so long it quivered.

“You don’t usually put trim on your kayaks, do you, Noah?” I asked, doing as I was told.

“No. But this flatlander wanted what he wanted, and he was dumb enough to pay me three grand extra, so here we go. Now can we drop the chatter and get this done?”

“Yes, Noah. And don’t forget I’m going to a wedding and I still need to pack.”

Ian had e-mailed me last night with our schedule, a rather matter-of-fact list of information. We’d be staying at the Capitol Hotel, a beautiful old place that was actually a former account of mine. (The grace of yesterday, the convenience of today.) I was glad Ian had chosen it…not that there was a lot to choose from, even in our capital city. Montpelier was only about an hour from Georgebury, but if Ian wanted to put me up in a gorgeous hotel, I wasn’t about to talk him out of it. Just come as my friend. The memory brought a smile to my face. I would. I’d be a great friend.

“So who’s gonna feed me while you’re gone?” Noah asked.

“No one. I expect to come home tomorrow and find your withered little skeleton, sitting all alone at the table, still waiting for dinner. If only you could walk or talk or use the phone or make your own damn dinner…wait a minute! You can!”

Noah growled, but beneath his white beard, a smile lurked. “You’re a smart-ass, anyone ever tell you that?”

“I get ‘saint’ a lot, especially when people find out I’m living with you,” I said. “But no, not smart-ass.”

“Maybe you’re not listenin’,” he grunted. “Now hold that there, sweetheart. Good. This is gonna take a sec.”

I glanced at the clock on the wall…12:30 p.m. I had time.

Noah tapped, swore, hopped (he was going one-legged today), swore. It had been a long while since I’d helped my grandfather in the shop, and it was lovely, the smell of wood smoke and cedar, my grandfather nodding in approval, whistling tunelessly. Time seemed to stop out here, since so little had changed over the years. Ever since we were small, Noah had put us to work out here. He was a good teacher, explaining how wood fit together, why he did things a certain way. I’d always felt so safe when I helped him. Still did.

I checked the time again. 12:47 p.m.

“Go get me a C-clamp, darlin’,” he said, in a rare and fine mood today. I went to his workbench and scavenged around ’til I found it, then returned.

“Okay, hold this again,” Noah instructed. We were on the other side of the kayak now, and after a few minutes, my hands tingled from staying in the same position. Noah then needed another bit of wood sanded, and I obliged. After a while, I glanced at the clock again. 12:51 p.m. But that couldn’t be right.

“Noah? Is that clock broken?” I asked, once more holding a piece of wood in place.

“Oh, yeah. Been broke for a while,” he said.

“What time is it? I have to pack! I haven’t even showered!”

He pulled out his pocket watch. “Five of two.”

“Noah! I have to go! Ian’s coming in five minutes! Can’t you call Freddie and have him come over?”

“You cahn’t just stop, Callie! I’m almost done.”

“I have to—”

“Shush, child! You let go now, I have to start over, and you don’t want that, do you?”

“I don’t want to be late, either…” My voice broke off as Bowie exploded into barking. Sure enough, I heard a knock.

“We’re in the shop!” I yelled.

“Christly, you’re loud,” Noah muttered.

The door to the shop opened. Sure enough, it was Ian, wearing khakis and an oxford. At the sight of my flannel pajamas, his face tightened.

“Ian, I’ll just be two minutes,” I said. “Noah,” I hissed through clenched teeth. “We’re going to a wedding.”

“Fine! One more nail…there. You can go, Princess, for God’s sake.” He looked over at Ian. “Afternoon.”

“Hello, Mr. Grey. Nice to see you. Callie, we need to leave.” His jaw was clenched.

“Yup! I know! Two minutes! Come on, follow me. You can carry my, um…my bag.” Which I hadn’t packed, thanks to my grandfather’s broken clock. And let’s be honest. I wasn’t exactly the “Let me just grab my toothbrush” type. I flew up the stairs, Bowie leaping excitedly next to me, Ian following without so much joie de vivre. “Come on in,” I said, flying into my room. “Or no, just stay…well. I’m sorry. Noah needed…forget it. Two minutes!” Leaving him scowling on the catwalk, I flew into my room, then into the bathroom.

Okay, I needed a shower, that was clear. I threw the faucets on and, while I waited for the water to heat, yanked open the drawer and took out my overnight makeup bag. Foundation, concealer, powder, blush, eye shadow (three shades of course, this was black tie), eyeliner, mascara, not this stuff, the good stuff, where was my eyebrow brush, ah, here it was, tweezers, lip gloss…no, lipstick…no, both…okay, and which shade…

“Callie! We need to leave.”

“Two minutes!” I lied. Razor. Shampoo. Conditioner, voluminizing mousse, styling cream, finishing spray, gloss.

I tore off my jammies, jumped under the spray and soaped up, washed my hair, slapped some conditioner on it. “We’re going to the hotel to change, right?” I called.

“I can’t hear you.”

I winced, knowing he was pissed off. “We’re stopping at the hotel before the ceremony, right?” I bellowed.

“Yes.”

I jumped. His voice was much closer. “Are you in my bedroom?”

“Yes.”

The latch on my bathroom door was broken…a minor inconvenience, unless there was a man in one’s bedroom. All he’d need to see me buck na**d would be a little breeze… Wait a sec. Ian. My bedroom. Of course, I hadn’t made my bed today, and about eight dresses, several bras and panties and…blerk! My Dr. Rey’s Shapewear, in plain sight. Shit! Shit on a shingle, shit on rye.

I slapped off the slower, toweled off and jumped into my robe. Scooped every makeup and hair care product I had into the bag, grabbed a few clean towels and opened the door. “Hi! Sorry, I’m just running a teensy bit late,” I said, throwing the towels over my unmentionables on the bed.

Ian was standing with his arms folded, staring at my Morelock chair. He turned to me with a look that would restore the polar ice caps. “Your two minutes were up eleven minutes ago,” he said.

“Ian, I’m just…I just have to throw these things into a bag—you know what? I’d be a lot faster if you weren’t here. So out! Out you go! You, too, Bowie. I’m going as fast as I can.”

Basically shoving Ian out the door, I once again closed it on his face.

“I’m leaving here in five minutes,” he said.

“Hush, you! I’m coming.”

Nineteen minutes later, I opened the door. He was still there, glaring.

“Thank you for waiting. But we have plenty of time, right? The wedding’s at five—”

“The ceremony starts at five, Callie. It will take us an hour and a half to get to the hotel, where we have to check in, get changed, then go to the church, which is another twenty minutes out of town.” He fixed me with a look that said very clearly I can kill you with my pinkie.

“Well, it takes that long if you drive,” I said. “Let me drive, and we’ll get there in plenty of time.”

“You’re not driving,” he said.

“Well, try not to stress,” I said, glancing at my watch. “We can still make it if we leave now. Don’t be so tense.”

“I wasn’t tense an hour ago,” he said through gritted teeth.

“Oh, wait, I forgot something,” I said, dashing back into my room. He may have growled, but I emerged seconds later with a CD. “I made us a playlist for the ride.”

“Get in the car before I strangle you,” he said.

“Is that a romantic thing to say to your date?” I asked, heading him down the stairs. “It really isn’t.”

“You’re not my date,” he said, completely serious.

“Bye, Noah! Thanks for ruining my day!” I called through the kitchen door.

“You’re welcome. Have fun,” he said.

Ten minutes later, Ian pulled onto the interstate.

“Sorry I was late, Ian,” I said contritely, since he hadn’t spoken since my house. He didn’t answer, so I took it upon myself to fiddle with the CD player. A disk slid out. “Mahler’s Symphony #1? My mother plays this at the funeral home. Yikes, it’s worse than I thought.”

His mouth didn’t even twitch.

“Ian, please don’t be mad at me,” I said. “I’m really sorry I lost track of time.”

“I’m not mad, Callie. I’m preoccupied.” He cut his eyes to me, then back to the road.

“Well, here’s what I picked out for our little ride. I mean how many times do you have to go to your ex’s wedding, right? So we have the classic ‘Love Stinks,’ of course. ‘Nothing Compares to You’ by that crazy Irish woman, ‘Love Lies Bleeding’ by Sir Elton…oh, here’s a personal favorite, ‘Shut Up’ by the Black-Eyed Peas—remind me to tell you about my hip-hop class for senior citizens. ‘Good Riddance’ by Green Day. I haven’t actually heard that one yet, but I liked the title.”

Bingo. Got him to smile. Not much of a smile, but a little one.

“Shall I put it in?” I asked, holding up the CD.

“Sure,” he said, flicking on his signal and changing lanes. I complied, and the rather elementary chords of the J. Geils Band filled the car.

“So tell me about the groom,” I said, settling back and looking at my driver. He looked nice in profile, I thought. Definitely a rugged face, not quite handsome…but awfully interesting. “Have you met him?”

Ian glanced at me for a long moment—longer than I was comfortable with, since he was driving—then looked back at the road. “There is no groom,” he said.

“What do you mean?” I asked. “I thought this was a wedding.”

“There is no groom.”

“But—”

Ian looked over again, his face grim.

I swallowed. “Oh. Oh, holy guacamole, Ian. Are you kidding me?”

“No groom.”

I fumbled in my purse for the wedding invitation he’d given me last week.

The pleasure of your company is warmly requested at the marriage ceremony of Laura Elizabeth Pembers & Devin Mullane Kilpatrick, Saturday, September, etc., etc.

“Devin’s a woman?” I asked.

“Yes.”

“Oh, my God, Ian.”

“Yes.” He cut another glance my way.

For a second, I didn’t say a word. No wonder he looked clenched all the time! No wonder he had issues with women! No wonder he didn’t want a date! “So you never…”

“No.”

“And she didn’t…”

“No.”

“How did you…”

“I found them in bed together, Callie.”

“Oh, Ian.” I reached out and put my hand on his leg. He glanced down, then at me again, eyes icy. Right. I carefully removed my hand—apparently there was a “no touching” rule in effect. Couldn’t blame him. Crikey. Ian’s ex-wife was gay.

Holy. Crap.

There was an exit for a rest stop up ahead, and Ian pulled off the highway. He parked the car carefully between the lines, despite the fact that there was no one else around, shifted into Park, then turned to me, his face expressionless. His hands still gripped the wheel.

“We met at Tufts. She was in law school. My first real love, everything I was looking for and all that. We dated for two years, got married after graduation. Devin was her friend from high school. She was in our wedding, ironically. About three years into the marriage, I came home early one day, and there they were. Any questions?”

A zillion, I thought, but I only asked one. “Do you still love her?”

“Would I be going to her wedding if I hated her?”

“Well, yes, absolutely,” I said. “You could make a scene, have a hissy fit, get drunk, grope your ex-mother-in-law.”

He gave a reluctant grin, and my heart twisted a little. “I don’t hate her.”

“You didn’t answer the question.” I felt my cheeks warming.

He looked down. “Sure. I married her. I’ll always love her a little.”

“And why are you going to the wedding, Ian?” I asked.

He sighed and put the car in reverse, backing out carefully. “Damned if I know. Closure, I guess.”

We pulled back on the highway. Man. Ian McFarland had caught his wife cheating on him, and here he was, going to her wedding.