The Groom Came Back

Just as Jack suspected, in the dining room, the 1970s rosewood-veneered table was laden with so much food, he could scarcely see Brenda’s best lace tablecloth. His ever-considerate relatives each stood back and waited for the others to serve themselves potato salad, assorted roast vegetables, thick slices of beef sirloin and dollops of Parkvale Curried Chicken Salad.

If Jack hadn’t started the ball rolling, they’d have still been there at four o’clock, saying “You first” and “No, after you.”

The dining table only sat six people, so they dispersed back to the living room to eat. Between mouthfuls of superbly tender beef—he did miss his mom’s cooking—Jack chatted with his parents, all the time aware of Callie talking to Uncle Frank over by the window. She laughed at something Frank said, and the sound was musical, with none of the faux friendliness she’d used on Jack.

Sensing his scrutiny, she looked across at him.

He had two abiding memories of their wedding. One was the dumb joke she’d made—out of nerves, he knew, so he’d struggled to hide his irritation. The other was of Callie’s glance sliding away from his. The floor, her bitten fingernails, the air above his head, everything had been easier to look at than Jack.

Now, he felt as if she’d been examining him since the moment he walked into her shop. Her eyes were the brilliant blue found in some Renaissance paintings he’d admired at the Louvre. And like the Mona Lisa’s, they seemed to follow him everywhere. Unlike the Mona Lisa, there was nothing mysterious about Callie’s expression. Jack knew anger when he saw it.

The room suddenly felt stifling, although outside it was only in the mid-seventies.

He glanced away. Callie was like a kid sister. Which meant he wasn’t about to go noticing her eyes or her figure or anything else about her. She probably thought it was her job in life to bug him.

Unfortunately for her, getting riled wasn’t on his agenda. He was here to see his parents and to end his marriage. Simple.

He set his plate down on the sideboard. “Mom, I’ll get my bag out of the car. Am I in my old room?”

His mother’s brow creased. “I guess…if you don’t mind the color.”

It had always been navy blue.

“I moved into your room five years ago,” Callie explained, breaking off her chat with Frank. She was obviously listening in to Jack’s conversations, as well as watching his every move. “I painted it lilac and stenciled a floral border in carmine and magenta.”

What the hell colors were carmine and magenta? Ones Jack wouldn’t like, going by her smirk.

Jack’s sense of grievance swelled. First there’d been her failure to tell him who she was, then her subtle sniping. And now, her unmistakable pleasure in forcing him to sleep in a room whose color scheme would have him talking an octave higher by morning.

Jack wondered if any of Parkvale’s lawyers worked weekends.

Chapter Two

“BEND FORWARD, dear.” Aunt Nancy’s voice was muffled by a mouthful of pins.

Obediently, Callie leaned over. The scooped bodice of the champagne-colored bridesmaid’s dress gaped open.

“Goodness,” Nancy said, “that’s just about indecent.”

“Pretty, though,” Brenda said.

When Callie would have straightened, Nancy tapped her on the arm. “Let me pin it first, dear.”

“Mom, if you think Callie’s dress is indecent, wait till you see mine,” the bride called from the dressing room attached to Nancy’s basement sewing studio. Nancy was semiretired from her dressmaking business, but the studio had seen a lot of action since Sarah announced her engagement.

“I had a neckline up to here when I got married.” Nancy touched her chin, ignoring the fact that her daughter couldn’t see. “I don’t understand why you girls want to flaunt it all in church.”

She finished pinning the seam on one side of the dress, so Callie was now flaunting lopsided. Nancy moved around to her left.

The door to the studio opened. “Sweetie,” Brenda said, “I haven’t seen the bride yet. Do you mind waiting a few minutes?”

“No problem.” Jack’s voice.

Callie straightened up fast, tugging the gaping side of her bodice close to her chest. He strolled into the room, all lean-hipped masculinity, enhanced by jeans that had been worn often enough to fit exactly how they should, and an open-necked shirt that was the perfect blend of tailored and casual.

“Doesn’t Callie look beautiful?” Brenda prompted him.

He nodded at Callie, neither friendly nor hostile. “Seems like you’re doing a great job with the dresses, Aunt Nancy.”

His mouth curved into that smile that should come with a hazard warning. Callie added too handsome to the list of Jack Mitchell’s failings. Even if Brenda got over her scruples about pressuring him to move closer to home, he would melt any objection with that smile.

Nancy beamed. “You’re so sweet, Jack, I feel better just for seeing you.”

Oh, please. As if he didn’t already have a big enough opinion of his doctoring abilities.

“I don’t know if I can take much credit for how good this dress looks on Callie,” Nancy continued. “The color is gorgeous on her. All I need to do is fix this.”

This turned out to be Callie’s left breast; to her mortification, Nancy patted it. Jack followed the movement with interest.

“She means the dress needs adjusting there,” Callie muttered.

“I wish your mom could be here to see how pretty you grew up,” Brenda said, her voice shaky.

Instantly, Callie’s throat clogged. She nodded, blinking hard.

Her mom, Jenny, had been best friends with Brenda in high school right here in Parkvale, until Jenny hitched a ride out of town after graduation. Years later, when leukemia forced her to give up wandering, Brenda had taken her and Callie into their home. There’d been an added bonus—Callie had clicked with Lucy Mitchell from the first minute and they’d become best friends, just like their moms. Peas in a pod, Brenda called them.

“Mom’s right,” Jack said quietly. “Jenny would be proud of you. On all counts.” He touched Callie’s arm, a gesture of understanding she hadn’t expected. Her skin felt warm where his hand had made contact. He smiled again, a more intimate smile this time, that gave her just a glimpse of his perfect teeth.

Callie ran her tongue over her own now-perfect teeth. A couple of days after their wedding her mother had suggested she see an orthodontist. Her mom had liked Jack’s teeth; she’d liked everything about him.

Maybe, on the inside, Jack was still that same decent guy. Callie’s conviction that she’d been justified in lying to him ahead of his return to Parkvale wavered, and not just because he would soon discover her deception.

She shook off the twinge of guilt. Okay, Jack had displayed a moment’s sensitivity. But that was far out-weighed by eight years of his money-is-no-object-just-don’t-ask-for-my-time philosophy. He sent expensive gifts from England at the right times, yet it seemed it was always the wrong time to pick up the phone.

“I’m coming out,” Sarah announced from behind the curtain.

Aunt Nancy flapped her hands to gain the attention of the audience.

The bride emerged, stunning in a low-cut ivory silk dress. “Oooh,” Nancy gasped, and started dabbing at her eyes with a tissue.

“Wow, cuz, you turned out not bad looking,” Jack said.

Sarah stuck out her tongue. Then her eyes widened. “Uh…Aunt Brenda?”

Callie turned, and saw Brenda, white-faced, tears streaming down her cheeks.

“Mom,” Jack said, alarmed.

Brenda waved her hands in front of her eyes. “Sorry…can’t…stop…” The words came out as hiccuping sobs. Then she smiled—a deliberate clamping of the teeth, widening of the lips. “You look…so…beautiful.”

Nancy offered her own damp tissue, patted her sister-in-law’s shoulder. When Brenda didn’t show any signs of drying up, a tangible unease rippled through the room.

At least the women felt it. Jack looked awkward, but not bothered. He probably thought women reacted like this all the time at the sight of a bride.

“Jack,” Callie said sharply, “how about you take your mom home?”

He followed her cue. “Right. Let’s go, Mom.” He led the still-weeping Brenda from the room while Callie raced to get changed. Nancy would have to adjust the left breast another day.

By the time she got out to the street, Brenda was in the Jaguar and had stopped crying. But her pallor was alarming.

Callie leaned in through the window. “Are you okay?”

“Oh, sweetie, you don’t need to tell me I over-reacted in there.” Brenda sounded her normal self. Only her white-knuckled grip on her purse revealed her stress.

“Hey, it was an emotional moment,” Jack said from the driver’s seat.

As if he knew the first thing about it! Brenda’s tears were exactly the kind of change in behavior Callie had warned him about, and he’d chosen to ignore the heads-up. But now wasn’t the time to argue. “Nancy will understand,” she told Brenda.

Jack’s mother bit her lip. “Nancy might,” she said carefully, “but Dan won’t.”

“Huh?” Jack said.

“Dan might not hear,” Callie said. But of course Nancy would tell Frank, and Frank would repeat it to his brother.

Brenda dropped her head back against the seat. “I must look a mess.”

“You look fine,” Jack assured her.

Honestly, the man had no idea! Callie hadn’t wanted him back in town so he could humor his mom.

“I’d like to freshen up before we go home,” Brenda told Callie.

“How about a cup of tea at the Eating Post?”

“Thank you.” Brenda reached awkwardly to squeeze Callie’s hand through the open window.

“So…we’re going to the Eating Post?” Jack asked.

“That’s right,” Callie said. “I’ll follow you in my car.”

The restaurant was on the opposite side of Bicentennial Square from Fresher Flowers. Being Sunday, the place was deserted. Brenda headed straight to the bathroom; Callie led Jack to a table.

He slid into the other side of the booth from her. She drew a breath, and in the confined space, she inhaled him—soap and mint, the fresh-pressed cotton of his shirt, the scent of expensive leather. She sat back.

“Tell me why we’re having tea,” he said. “You and Mom were talking in code back there.”

“To give your mother some time to pull herself together before she sees Dan.”

He half laughed. “Dad’s seen her upset before. I think he can handle it.” He signaled to the waitress that they were ready to order.

“Dan doesn’t like this kind of upset.”

“It’s the time of year,” Jack said. “I’d expect them both to be a little tense.”

“That’s part of it,” Callie admitted. Last week had been the anniversary of the day Lucy had drowned. She’d been swimming in the Tallee River during a school picnic. “There was certainly friction last year, but this year, your parents have been…stressed.”

Jack looked skeptical. “Mom and Dad are rock solid.”

Callie wanted to ask, How would you know? Instead, aware Brenda might return any moment, she forced herself to loosen her grip on the edge of the table.

“I didn’t expect to see you at Nancy’s house,” she said conversationally. “I thought you’d be sleeping off your jet lag.”

“Lying in bed staring at that mauve-and-magenta border was making me nauseous.”

Callie tried hard not to imagine Jack lying in bed. Then she remembered it was her bed, when she was staying with Dan and Brenda. Casually, she ran the back of her hand over one cheek, then the other. Definitely warm. Probably red.

Jack leaned forward, his gaze assessing. “Are you okay? Do you have a fever?”

Good grief, did he have to try to diagnose her every reaction?

“I’m fine,” she practically snapped. The only thing wrong with her was that she needed to spend less time talking to flowers and more time with living, breathing men, because her brain was still hung up on that bed thing.

He leaned in even farther to look at her, as if he could see right into the neural pathways of her mind.

Yikes. She eased away, thankful for the arrival of the waitress, and ordered tea for Brenda and herself. Jack asked for coffee.

When the woman left, he said abruptly, “You’re mad at me.”

“Excuse me?”

Jack had lain awake most of the night, due to a combination of jet lag and racing thoughts rather than lilacpaint-induced nausea. At 3:00 a.m., he’d turned his mind to Callie, and concluded that getting annoyed at her was counterproductive, given he needed her cooperation.

“I’m sorry I didn’t recognize you at the shop,” he said. No woman liked to think she was forgettable. He should have realized that earlier.

“You think I’d get mad about something like that?” She gave a toss of her nut-brown hair, which must have highlights in it, the way it caught the light and glinted gold where it touched her shoulders. “I took it as a compliment. I figured I’m a big improvement over the last time you saw me.”

She was definitely ticked off. Unused to her brand of challenge—though he suspected he’d be getting used to it pretty fast—he drummed his fingers on the table. “If I say yes, I insult you as you were then, and if I say no, I’ll insult you today.”

“Which one’s it going to be?” she asked.

Jack laughed, suddenly relaxing. Okay, so Callie was moody, but she was harmless. And funny. Diana, Jack’s recently departed girlfriend, was a sophisticated, successful pediatrician, but she didn’t have much of a sense of humor. Especially not about Jack’s secret marriage.

Which brought him back to why he’d wanted to pick his mom up from this afternoon’s dress fitting.

He’d completed the first item on his agenda: apologize for not recognizing Callie. He was willing to do number two, if necessary: soothe any feathers he might have ruffled by hogging the limelight with his parents. Jealousy was the other possible explanation for her snarkiness that had occurred to him in the middle of the night.

“How about we call a truce?” he said. Item number three.

Callie looked at him for a long moment, then nodded. “I don’t want us to argue.”

Even better, they were on the same wavelength. “Good,” he said briskly. On to item number four. “We need to meet with a lawyer about the divorce. Can you make time tomorrow? And do you have anyone in mind?”

Her head bobbed at the change of subject. A frown put a little line above the bridge of her nose. “I don’t think it’s wise to see someone local. They’re all members of Rotary and know your dad. I use a firm in Memphis for my loans. We could go there.”

“Are they okay?”

She wrinkled her nose again, which somehow drew Jack’s attention to her lips, full and pinky-red. “They’re good value. And they’re right across the road from my bank.”

He tsked. “Imagine if people chose their doctor that way—cheap and handy to the bank.”

“No one would do that. Doctors are much more important than lawyers.” Her eyes were wide and innocent.

Jack was torn between amusement and exasperation. Callie had a mischievous streak a mile wide. Lucy would be the same, if she were still alive. He put the thought aside.

“I have a buddy in Memphis who had an irregular marriage situation,” he said.

She snickered at his choice of words.

“I’ll call him,” Jack said, ignoring her. He saw his mom emerge from the restroom. “I’ll find out who he used, set up a meeting.”

“I’ll leave it with you,” Callie said.

Mission accomplished.

BY THE TIME THEY GOT Brenda home, there was no trace of tears. She confessed to Dan that she’d had “one of my turns, sweetie, but I’m all right now.”

“Not again,” Dan said. Callie wondered if Jack noticed that his father’s impatience bordered on rudeness. And that Brenda’s repeated apology had a take-it-or-leave-it-edge.

Callie left. Jack called later to say he’d arranged for them to meet his friend’s lawyer in Memphis the next evening. For a guy who paid so little attention to his family, he was taking quite an active interest in their divorce.

The drive to Memphis took nearly three hours, so it would be a late night and Callie would have to close Fresher Flowers early, at four.

Closing early meant hustling her Monday afternoon regulars—a mother whose toddler loved to sniff the flowers; two elderly men; three women who circled the shop together complaining about the prices—out the door before they were ready.

As she tried to shepherd them out without being rude, Jack pulled up in the black Jaguar. He got out of the car, frowning when he saw the Open sign in her window.

Callie frowned back.

He observed the departing shoppers’ empty hands. “Did any of those people buy anything?”

“Not this time.” Callie brushed at the lily pollen on her skirt, even though experience told her she needed to lift it off with sticky tape, then hang the skirt out in the sun. Predictably, the yellow streaks didn’t budge from the white cotton. “I get a few people coming here because they find flowers restful, or the scent brings back memories,” she said. “And those old men…I think they’re lonely.”

“So is bankruptcy. There was no one in here last time I came, either.”

“You were here and you spent a hundred dollars,” she said acerbically. “As far as I’m concerned your money’s as welcome as anyone else’s.”

Jack held up his hands in a butting-out gesture. “What do we need to do to get out of here?” Oh, yeah, we’re having a truce.

Together, they brought in the tubs of flowers from outside. Jack’s clothing was immaculate, his jeans and long-sleeved, bronze-colored polo shirt fitting as if custom-made, but he didn’t seem concerned about the threat of pollen or other dirt. Callie chalked up a small point in his favor. His thick dark hair and chiseled cheekbones, on the other hand, were not pluses. They only encouraged women to fawn over him. When she got married for real, Callie thought, if she got married for real, she’d never find a guy as good-looking—her shallow side felt a pang of regret—but at least she’d find someone unselfish.

Jack waited while she locked up, then held the car door open for her.

The Jaguar was every bit as luxurious as it looked. Virtually no engine noise penetrated the interior; Jack pressed a button on the console and Norah Jones wafted through discreetly located speakers.

As they pulled away from the lights at the intersection of Main and Fifth, Callie waved to a group of men. One of them waved back.

“Who was that?” Jack asked.

She rolled her eyes. “Your cousin Jason.”

“Thought so.”

“With his brother, also your cousin.”

“Excellent guys,” he said.

“So excellent that you don’t remember what they look like from one day to the next.”

“Hey, I didn’t get a more than a glimpse of them just now.”

Callie cautioned herself against launching into Jack with an accusation that he hadn’t recognized his family because he didn’t give a damn about anyone in Parkvale. Truce, she reminded herself again. She’d bet money he liked being criticized even less than most people. So when she said her piece tonight, she’d do it without yelling.

She pressed her lips together as Jack turned right and joined the interstate. She adjusted her seat, tested the smoothness of the leather upholstery with her fingers, then checked the glove compartment. Empty. She fiddled with the climate control for her side of the car. Cool air fanned her face, lifting her hair. She flipped the visor down to check if her hair was mussed. Hmm, not the best…She combed her fingers through it.

“Are you ADHD?” Jack asked.

Callie froze midcomb. “Will you stop doing that?”

“What?”

She dropped her hands into her lap. “Stop suggesting there’s something wrong with me every time I pull a face or scratch my nose.”

“I don’t.” He sounded genuinely surprised.

“Sometimes a squint is just a squint and a scratch is just a scratch.”

“I’m a doctor. I notice these things.” He was using his calming-a-crazy-patient tone again.

“And stop talking in that irritating voice.”

“You mean this one?” he said soothingly.

She reached across and smacked his arm. Encountering solid muscle beneath his polo shirt, she whipped her hand away. Neurosurgery must be a lot more physical than she thought.

He looked down at his arm, where she’d touched him, then glanced sidelong at her. “ADHD might explain—”

“Stop,” she ordered. “You don’t have to be a doctor every minute of the day.”

He frowned. “Of course I do. You can’t tell me you haven’t noticed what those are.” He waved at the variegated-leaved, deep red wildflowers growing alongside the interstate.

“Trilliums, Sweet Betsy variety,” she said automatically. “Common throughout the state.”

“See? If you can be a florist every minute of the day, I can be a doctor.” He paused. “So…no ADHD? Just a bad case of the fidgets?”

“I was keeping myself occupied so I wouldn’t get mad at you.”

He rubbed his chin. “You’re mad about me not recognizing my cousins?” His tone suggested there was no end to her unreasonableness.

“Yes…no…it’s more than that.” Callie chewed her lip, wondering where to start.

“We’re having a truce,” he reminded her.

“The only reason I’m holding back.”

He laughed. “Let’s talk about something that won’t make you mad. How’s the flower business?”

She twisted to face him. “Are you planning on offering more advice?”

“I have a responsibility to make sure you’re financially stable before we divorce.”

“Excuse me?”

“I promised your mother.” He didn’t sound as if he was kidding.

“I’m twenty-five,” Callie said. “Mom wouldn’t expect you to worry about me now.”

That was met with silence.

“I’m the least of your responsibilities.” A tiny dig she didn’t count as breaking their truce.

“Humor me,” he said, “and tell me how you’re doing. As soon as we get this divorce, you’re on your own.”

Callie shivered.

“You can turn the air down if you’re cold.” He adjusted the dial on her side.

He was doing it again. Callie’s fingers curled on her knees.

“I can’t figure out if you suffer from a total lack of sensitivity,” she said, “or if diagnosing a physical cause for every action comes with the high-handed, I-know-best doctor territory.”

With exaggerated care, he turned the temperature dial back up again. “If this is truce talk,” he said, “I’m glad we’re not fighting.”

Callie bared her teeth at him; it couldn’t be called a smile, but stopped short of a snarl.

Jack, on the other hand, did smile. “So, your finances. I assume your mom didn’t leave you much?”

“Her insurance was just enough to cover my orthodontist bills,” Callie said. Sensing his surprise, she added defensively, “At the time, it seemed good use of the money.”

Another of those sideways glances from Jack. She almost covered her mouth with her hand, the way she used to before her teeth were straightened. Talking about the past made her feel like that awkward seventeen-year-old again.

“Then, what, there was no money left for college?” He flipped his turn signal and zipped past a Winnebago.

“I got a one-year business diploma at community college, mostly paid for by your parents,” she said. “Even if there’d been the money for college, I would have chosen to stay in Parkvale.” In the interests of their truce, she kept any comparison with his leave-and-don’t-look-back attitude out of her voice.

“I guess you would, given the lengths we went to so you could stay with my folks,” he said, equally neutrally.

Callie relaxed. If they stayed on their best behavior, she could envisage them having a mature discussion about Dan and Brenda. The kind of discussion they should have had years ago, if only she’d been able to dump the image of Jack as the authoritative figure who’d made all the decisions, starting with their wedding.