Texas Wedding. Kathleen O'Brien
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had seen better days—it could definitely use a coat of paint—but the fancy gingerbread Victorian looked its best on this cloudless spring morning, with roses bunched up everywhere, and the trees finally back in leaf.
The minute he opened the door, he heard voices. Susannah was here, but she wasn’t alone. He listened a second, and recognized Chase.
He scanned the large honey-pine foyer. The guest powder room door was open, the frilly area empty. No sign of Josie. So Chase had come alone.
Had Susannah sent out an SOS? Needed, one shoulder to cry on, because my husband is a beast.
“Hey!” Chase stood up from the table as Trent entered the kitchen. He grinned. “You owe me one, buddy. I just barely managed to keep Pastor Wilcox from coming over here. I told him I’d bring his present along, since I was going to stop by anyhow.”
Trent was surprised to discover how much the sight of Chase’s easy smile annoyed him—especially since he’d just been waxing sentimental about honoring the bond of friendship, taking one for your mate, all that band of brothers nonsense.
But he’d just gotten married last night, for God’s sake. Shouldn’t your band of brothers be willing to back off for at least one day? Give you time to…
Time to what? To break promises and fling insults? To call each other names and rip open old wounds? Maybe, when he thought about it, he and Susannah had already had all the togetherness they needed.
Trent glanced at her now, standing at the stove. In her usual outfit of sharp khaki slacks and white oxford-cloth shirt, with her hair in a glossy braid down her back, not a strand out of place, she looked utterly serene.
She turned gracefully and held out a blue mug, smiling. “Cup of coffee, Trent? It’s fresh.”
Her voice was angelic, smooth, as if she’d just this minute set aside her golden harp and stepped down from her cloud. He hesitated a beat before accepting the coffee, sorting the clues.
One thing was clear. She hadn’t invited Chase over. She was improvising, pretending that there was smooth sailing in the newlywed world. They weren’t going to tell Chase about last night’s nosedive into the emotional swamp.
“Okay, thanks,” Trent said, playing along. He turned to Chase. “Yeah, we owe you.”
But he wasn’t sure what to say next. Chase knew them both so well. He wasn’t going to be easily fooled.
Trent took a sip of coffee, though it was technically still too hot. Then he reached across the table for the present, wrapped in its flocked silver paper, and picked it up.
“So what did Pastor Wilcox send? I hope it’s not one of his wife’s samplers. I’ll never forget the one in her living room that said ‘Enquire not what boils in another’s pot.’ I swear the thing gave me nightmares.”
Chase and Susannah both laughed politely, which in itself was stilted, since this was an old joke. The three of them had made fun of that sampler for years, rewriting it into a hundred vulgar variations, like “Enquire not what rots in another’s boils.”
He pulled off the white bow and began to rip away the paper, just as if he gave a damn what was inside. They watched him, pretending to be equally transfixed.
It was a picture frame, arranged facedown, so that all he could see was the velvet backing and little gold clips. He flipped it over and readied himself to make some joke about Jenny Wilcox’s nutty quotations.
The joke died on his lips. It wasn’t a sampler, after all. It was a photograph of Susannah and Trent, standing out in one of the Everly peach orchards. It must have been taken a long time ago. At least eleven years, in fact, because Susannah was laughing, something she hadn’t done in Trent’s presence since the night of the fire.
She wore a flower-sprigged gypsy dress, and her skirt was full of peaches. She held the fabric up in both hands, just high enough to expose her knees.
Trent was staring at her, goofy and love-struck, peaches littered around his feet. He had been juggling them, and when Susannah lifted her dress, they’d all come tumbling down.
For an aching instant, just looking at the picture, he was there again, at the church picnic, with Pastor Wilcox taking snapshots. Trent could feel the summer sun on his cheeks, and he could taste the sweet, sticky peaches on his tongue. He had made love to Susannah that night, lying under the moonlight on the cooling grass, and she had tasted of peaches, too.
He glanced up at her now, to see how she had reacted. The past had been so alive that it shocked him to see how different the real Susannah was. Not much older, amazingly, and not any less beautiful, but somehow muffled. Empty, as if whatever spring had fed the laughter had dried up and turned to dust.
Though she, too, stared at the picture, she hadn’t reacted at all. She still wore that lovely robot smile. The eyes above it were as empty as a doll’s.
He held the picture out. It was cruel, perhaps, but he wanted her to touch it. He wanted her to say something, anything, that proved she was still a real human being.
She took it in her hand. “What a lovely thought,” she said blandly, looking down at it without blinking. “That was nice of them.”
Then she set it on the table gently. “I’m sorry to leave you, boys, but I’ve got to talk to the foreman about some new hires. Several of my best workers had a terrible car accident last weekend, and I’m going to be shorthanded.”
Obediently, Chase stood up and kissed her on the cheek. She smiled, and waited for Trent to do the same. Still part of the charade for Chase’s benefit. Trent kissed her, surprised to find that her cheeks were still soft and warm, not firm plastic like a mannequin’s.
Then she was gone.
The silence in the kitchen held a million unasked questions—and a million unspoken answers. Trent didn’t rush to fill it. Between the two men, words were often unnecessary.
Chase pulled open the cabinet door that hid the trash can. Then he wadded up the wrapping paper and tossed it toward the container. He missed. Trent retrieved it and tried again. He missed, too.
“Pathetic,” Chase said. They both stood staring at the misshapen ball of glittering silver paper on the tiled floor.
“Look, Trent. Maybe I should stay out of this but…don’t give up on Sue, okay? It’s early days, you know. Things could get better, with a little time.”
Trent grunted, then went over and stuffed the paper into the trash can and kicked the cabinet door closed. “Yeah, and you could get drafted by the Mavericks, but I’m not holding my breath.”
Chase shook his head. “What the hell happened? I was hoping I’d find you two still in bed. But I get here, you’re gone, and she’s doing her bookkeeping like it’s just any other day. Damn it. I honestly thought that, once you guys were married, she might—”
“Well, she didn’t. And she’s not going to. I was an idiot to think she ever would. She was always strong, Chase, but it’s different now. She’s changed. Maybe her grandfather did it to her. Hell, maybe I did it. But she’s turned…tough.”
“No, she hasn’t.” Chase chewed the inside of his lip. “Or if she is tough, it’s tough like an avocado. Just on the outside. You’ve got to remember that, you know. She can still be bruised on the inside. Are you sure you didn’t do something, say something that might have made her feel—”
“No.” Trent took his coffee cup to the large stainless steel sink and tossed the dregs down the drain. “I didn’t say a damn thing. And, frankly, I’d prefer not to get lectures from you on this. Why don’t you go home and take care of your own wife?”
Chase smiled. One of his best traits was his easy nature. He rarely took offense at anything.
“Gladly,” he said. “But I think you’re passing up some pretty useful advice. After all, I do have an embarrassingly happy