My One and Only(67)
“Hey there, Harper and Nick. Didja meet my husband, Al? Al, this is that nice couple who broke down out on Route 2.”
“Hello,” I said.
“How are ya?” Al said.
Nick released my hand to shake Al’s. “We’re great,” he said. “Lovely town you live in.”
They smiled in unison. “Oh, we couldn’t agree with you more, there, Nick,” Margie beamed. “It’s so nice to have you kids join us.”
“That it is,” Al agreed, winking.
They swayed away, and Nick took my hand once more.
“How’s the car?” I asked briskly and not at all as if I was melting from the bones out.
“Well,” he said softly, and we were now so close that I could feel the vibration in his chest as he spoke, and my knees went weak with longing, “Lars said we—and by we, I mean you, of course—ripped out a hose.” His arm tightened a little—my imagination? “But he thinks he can either replace it or patch it enough to get the car running. We should be good to go.”
“Good to go. Good. That’s good. Great,” I breathed. “Excellent.”
Crazy for crying, crazy for trying, crazy for loving you.
You said it, Patsy. Nick + Harper = Disaster. Been there, done that, had significant emotional scarring from said event. But it was easy to ignore in this moment, Nick’s arm around my waist, his clean, spicy smell, the gentle rasp of his unshaven cheek against mine, the slide of muscle under his warm skin. He held my hand the way he always had. With certainty. With commitment. As if I belonged to him.
I swallowed, then gulped in a quick breath of the cool night air. The band had morphed into another sweetly melancholy song. “I’m Not Supposed to Love You Anymore.” If that wasn’t the voice of God, I didn’t know what was.
I stepped back. “That was nice. Thanks, Nick,” I said, my voice a little loud. “I better find Coco.” And without giving myself the chance to do something stupid, I slipped off to reclaim my dog and some peace of mind.
DEACON MCCABE’S HOUSE was a tiny little one-story house in the middle of a lot of land. There were a few trees clustered around the house, and the earlier storm appeared to have stripped them of their leaves. Margie had been right—it had turned quite cold, and the wind gusted around the house, swaying the squat little bushes that crouched outside the door. I picked up Coco and kissed her head. Wondered what she thought of our strange little trip.
Inside the house, the living room was decorated with knotty pine paneling and mounted elk heads, which made Coco growl most adorably. Orange shag carpeting, a woodstove that, judging from the chilly temperature, had gone out some time ago. A pug came trotting in to greet its master, and Deacon bent down. “Lilly, this here is Coco and her mommy and daddy,” he said, scooping up the chubby little package of dog. Lilly made wheezing, snuffling noises at my dog. Coco gave me a quick Chihuahua look…Seriously? I have to let this thing slobber on me?…but then decided to allow Lilly a few ecstatic licks, which delighted the pug no end.
“The wife’ll be in bed already,” Deacon said, scratching his dog’s head, causing Lilly to wriggle madly with joy. “She’ll be sorry to miss you tonight—her rheumatism was acting up, which is why she skipped out on the festival. A shame. But she’ll be eager to meetcha come morning. Now, if you don’t mind, I’ll get you folks settled and hit the hay myself.”
“No, that’s fine,” I said.
“We’re both beat,” Nick said, cutting a glance at me. It was nine-thirty.
“I’ll take you into town in the morning, Lars should have you all set up,” he said, ushering us down a narrow hallway. He stopped, reached into a room and flicked on the light. I jumped back a little. Behind me, Nick made a strangled noise.
The room contained a double bed, a small bureau and…um…well…
“Wife’s kinda devout,” Deacon said by way of explanation. “This room’s her, uh, special place. Sorry if it’s a little chilly in here.”
“No, it’s great,” Nick said in a carefully controlled voice. The room was, in fact, frigid.
“You and your wife are so nice to put us up,” I added. It was true, of course.
“We really appreciate it,” Nick seconded, tearing his eyes off the decor. “Hope it’s not too much trouble.”
“Not at all, not at all. Well now, there are clean towels in the bathroom,” Deacon said. “You need anything, you just let me know, all right?” He took a deep breath, surveying the room as if seeing it for the first time, gave his head a little shake. “Okeydokey then. Good night, you two.”
The door closed, and Nick and I just…well, we just took it in.
Pictures—dozens of them—of a blond-haired, blue-eyed Jesus decorated the walls, and apparently, Jesus had a very strong resemblance to Brad Pitt circa Legends of the Fall. Amen!
“Is it wrong to find the Lord attractive?” I asked, earning a rush of Nick’s warm laughter as reward. I turned in a slow circle…more Jesus. Wow. And not only pictures, but, oh gosh, a small area where unlit candles sat on a long, low table in front of the biggest crosses I’d ever seen outside a church. A big church.
“Think they’re planning to crucify us?” Nick whispered, his eyes bright with laughter. He set our suitcases down. “I mean, what do we really know about these people?”