Chapter 13
This had to be what her little sister meant when she talked about “ghosting.” Dori had never experienced it before, but it was happening right now.
The last time she’d heard from Lucas had been when he dropped her off at the hospital Monday afternoon. It was now Friday. She’d left phone messages. She’d gone over to his office and asked his Aunt Shelly where he was, and she’d gotten nothing but a suspicious glare and the vague answer that he was “out of town for a couple of days.” She’d even called over to the hospital to talk to Lucy, in hopes that as Lucas’ sister-in-law she might know something, but that, too, had been fruitless.
Obviously she had been wrong about him. He didn’t share her feelings. Or, possibly, she’d scared him off on Monday. He hadn’t acted like it at the time, but maybe, on reflection, he’d decided that he was intimidated by her, or something equally ridiculous.
Whatever the reason, he clearly had no interest in her, and didn’t care one bit that she was leaving tomorrow evening.
If that was how things were, than that was how they were. She had her ticket, a direct flight from Portland to LaGuardia, leaving at nine-fifteen PM, arriving around six in the morning. She’d go to the Festival, say her goodbyes to Little Tee, and then get a taxi to drive her the ninety minutes up to the Portland airport.
It wasn’t how she had envisioned her departure. After the way they’d worked so well together on Monday, Dori had imagined a scene right out of the movies. She pictured Lucas following her to the airport, professing his love for her at the very last moment before she stepped across the point of no return at the TSA security checkpoint.
That wasn’t going to happen, and she had to accept it. So she tried to force all thoughts of him from her mind, and instead focus on getting one last thing done for Ash before she left. Izzy Sutton had told her about the fantastic interior decorator she’d used for the Interlude Inn, a woman who lived just south of Romance in the tiny village of Amity.
Dori spent four hours with the woman, going over the floor plans for every room in the house, and showing her photos that Dori had taken from every possible angle. She also shared everything she knew – which wasn’t much, but anything helped – about Ash’s personal taste and preferences. The decorator was all booked up for the next two weeks, but she penciled in Ash for her next opening, and she even agreed to a ten percent discount on the job.
A taxi took her back to the Interlude Inn. Dori considered making a stop by Romance Heating and Plumbing, but decided against it. She didn’t need yet another disappointment bringing her down after her successful visit to the decorator.
When she got to the Inn, Izzy was out, but the house wasn’t empty. There was a young man in the living room, sitting on the sofa and idly flipping through channels on the TV.
“There’s not a lot on at three in the afternoon,” she said by way of greeting. She assumed the man was a new guest; he certainly didn’t look like a burglar. “I’m Dori, by the way. Nice to meet you.”
“Chase,” he answered, standing up to properly greet her. “Chase Lockhart.” He said it as though he expected her to recognize it, but she couldn’t place the name. She sat down, Little Tee at her side and watching the man intently. At least the dog wasn’t barking; that meant Tee had, at worst, a neutral feeling towards him, and she hadn’t been wrong about anybody yet.
Except Lucas. But she wasn’t going to dwell on that. She forced that thought out of her mind and made small talk with her fellow guest, until he finally told her that he was a singer, and then she made the connection.
“I’ve heard you on the radio!” That wasn’t strictly true. She’d heard his name, but she couldn’t recall anything about his music. It was something of a miracle she remembered the name; she only listened to the radio when it was playing in a restaurant or hotel lobby or taxi she happened to be sitting in. At home, she still listened to CDs when all her friends had switched over to streaming music. They all told her how old-fashioned she was; nobody actually owned music or movies anymore. That was fine with her; sometimes old-fashioned was the only way to go.
He gave her a thousand watt smile. “I’m pleased to hear that.”
“I’m impressed, hitting it big like that. Music is a tough business.” Dori had worked with a tour manager once, and it wasn’t an experience she ever wanted to repeat.
“You can say that again.” She felt guilty that she couldn’t recall his song, but he didn’t seem to care. He was happy to tell her all about it, and she listened with interest until Izzy got home an hour later. Her hostess greeted her warmly enough, but she focused most of her attention on Chase, and Dori didn’t need any prompting to see what was happening – or, at least, what Chase seemed to want to happen.
Dori wished them luck. Just because things with Lucas had – God only knew why – fallen apart, she didn’t wish unhappiness on anybody else. She made a hasty goodbye, which Izzy barely noticed, and retreated to the bedroom. It was fitting; she’d spend her last night in Romance with nobody except a dog for company.
~*~
“You could have called me!” If it had been anyone but Aunt Shelly he was talking to, he would have punched them.
Well, probably not; he hadn’t been in a fight since ninth grade, and he hadn’t started that one. But he would most likely be cursing at anyone else, for failing to tell him about Dori’s multiple visits to the office in search of him the past three days.
“You weren’t answering your phone, Lucas.”
“The MacInnises had a phone! You had their number! She probably thinks I was ignoring her on purpose all this time!” She had to think that; he would certainly have thought it in her place. He had thought it, when he’d woken up at four-thirty this morning. His first thought had been about Dori, wondering why she hadn’t tried to reach him all week, and he’d spent the next two hours growing progressively angrier at her. Then he’d spent an entire day catching up on rescheduled jobs, while fighting every minute to keep his mind on his work.
But now he knew better. She had reached out to him, and as far as she knew, he wanted nothing to do with her. “How was I supposed to know you wanted to talk to her? You never said a word about her!”
That was true. But he had never talked about his love life – such as it was – with her. What grown man talked about women with his middle-aged maiden aunt? “You’re right,” he said, trying to force his voice into something close to an apologetic – or at least civil – tone. “You had no way to know. It’s not your fault.”
No, it was all his fault. Regardless of his nerves, regardless of where she lived, regardless of anything, he liked her. More than liked. And unless he was more wrong than he’d ever been about anything in his life, she felt the same way about him. It was up to him to do something about it, and he hadn’t, and now it was too late.
Or was it?
He could go over to the Interlude Inn right now. He could talk to her, explain to her, apologize to her, tell her everything he thought, everything he felt. It might make all the difference in the world, or no difference at all, but at least he would know he’d taken his shot.
That was it; that was what he had to do. He didn’t bother to change clothes or even freshen up. If he didn’t do it right now, he’d lose his nerve. But five minutes later, when he parked his truck in the driveway of the Interlude Inn, he saw that it was already too late. He could see right in through the living room window. Her back was to him; all he could see was her head, bobbing up and down, and another head, a man’s head, bobbing up and down next to her on the sofa.
Obviously he was more wrong than he’d ever been, because she had no feelings for him at all; she’d already found someone she liked better than him.