Well Matched (Well Met #3)(42)

She shrugged, looking toward the entrance of the building. “He didn’t say?”

My heart sank. I didn’t want to see him, but if he stood her up after all this . . . “Come on. Let’s go inside and see if we can find him.” Would I recognize him after all this time? Would he recognize me?

“No.” She squared her shoulders, and when she turned to me she looked like that young woman again. Not a frightened child. “No, I’ll go. I can do this.”

“You can do this,” I echoed as I watched her disappear into the building. I didn’t care what this night did to me emotionally. I’d stopped caring about Robert Daugherty a very long time ago; seeing him would suck, but he couldn’t hurt me. He could hurt my daughter though, and I wouldn’t stand for that.



* * *



? ? ?

After spending an extra few minutes in the parking lot, gathering both my thoughts and my nerve, I followed Caitlin into the community center. Just inside the door, long tables were set against one wall, their surfaces covered in name tags that had been largely picked over. We’d gotten there late. As I scanned them, looking for my name, I remembered the RSVP I’d sent in. Had Robert RSVP’d too? Or would he have to scrawl his name on a blank name tag with a Sharpie?

The moment I spotted my name, neatly printed on a name tag in the center of one of the tables, a voice to my right jolted me out of my thoughts. “Did you find your name okay?”

“Sure did.” I scooped it up, peeling off the backing and sticking it to the left side of my dress. It wasn’t going to last; I could tell right away that it would start curling on the edges in about a minute and a half. Name tags never lasted, and we wore them anyway.

“Oh, are you Mrs. Parker? Caitlin’s mother?”

“That’s me. Not a Mrs., though.” My voice was snappy with nerves, so I turned with what I hoped was a friendly smile to the woman who’d materialized next to me. She was older than me, and about an inch taller. Early grandma age, she looked like someone who would be absolutely stoked to make cookies for grandchildren. She wore a navy pantsuit, and her gray hair had that style that seemed to be handed out to women of a certain age—the kind achieved by going to a salon once a week to have it “set.” Her name tag read amelia howe, and it was an engraved one, with a pin back and everything. She must be faculty—someone who attended functions like this often enough to warrant the investment in a permanent name tag.

She looked dismayed by her faux pas, and probably by my bitchy tone. “I’m so sorry! I saw Caitlin here with her father, and I thought . . .” She bent to the table, straightening one or two of the already perfectly straight name tags, not noticing how I gripped the edge of the table, relief mixed with dread sweeping through me. Robert hadn’t stood up our daughter, and that was good. But he was here. That was bad.

I didn’t like people who assumed things, like Ms. Howe just had. But embarrassment pinked her cheeks, and that made me want to reassure her. Probably because some of this was my fault. If I’d been more involved with the school all these years, maybe she would have known me better. “It’s okay,” I said. I gave my name tag a reassuring pat since it was already curling at one edge. See? Just like I’d said. “Did you teach Caitlin?”

“Not technically.” She seized on the change in topic, her smile coming back to her face. “I teach music here. But I also advise the organizers of the Renaissance Faire, and I believe Caitlin is going to be a Lily again this year? I’m helping those girls rehearse for this summer.”

“Oh, that’s great.” Did everyone in town do this Renaissance Faire thing? Did Ms. Howe squeeze herself into a corset every summer? Now I pictured her less baking cookies and more belting out bawdy songs in the tavern that Emily had worked in her first summer. I pressed my lips together to hide the smile that mental image prompted. “She’s excited for this summer. She’s excited for every summer since she started volunteering at the Faire, honestly.”

Ms. Howe chuckled. “That’s what happens. A lot of volunteers do it for a summer or two and move on with their lives, but then there’s always a few that get hooked, and they come back every year. I wouldn’t be surprised if your Caitlin kept on volunteering when she’s home for the summers from college.”

“I bet.” But I said it absently, because Caitlin wouldn’t be coming here during the summers, would she? This time next year, the house would be sold and Caitlin would be coming “home” to wherever I’d moved. This was going to be Caitlin’s last summer at the Willow Creek Renaissance Faire. I hadn’t thought of that.

“Well, I won’t keep you.” Ms. Howe patted me on the shoulder, indifferent to the direction my thoughts had taken. “I’m out here doing greeting duty, but you should go on inside and catch up with your daughter.”

“Thanks. That’s the plan.” But was it? Was I supposed to stand next to Robert all night, like we were some kind of pretend family? No. That wasn’t the plan at all. Tonight’s plan was simply to survive.

Inside, I made a beeline for the refreshments. Despite my anxiety, I was starving, and Emily had promised there would be snacks at this thing. I loaded a plate with vegetables and spinach dip, as well as some promising-looking stuffed mushrooms. Then I tried to eat them like a human being and not shove them all in my face at once. While I did so, I scanned the reception hall. It was cavernous, full of people in little groups milling around, mingling like people who were good at social gatherings. Everything and everyone blurred together in a haze of color and sound, and my heart pounded faster. But I willed my mom instinct to kick in, and soon I spotted my daughter. A baby carrot almost stuck in my throat when I saw the man beside her.