My One and Only(73)

“Right, right, no need to make excuses. So what are you doing with him?”

I sighed. “Not sure.”

“But you want something from him, or you wouldn’t be washing his shorts.”

“I’m only washing my own stuff, just for the record.”

“God, you’re a master of evasion, Harper! You called me. Spill. Make it quick. The twins are gnawing on each other.”

“I’m just…I have no idea what I’m doing. I’ll bring the boys something sharp as a souvenir. Gotta run.”

“Bye, you coward,” she said amiably.

My next call didn’t go through—Willa was out of range. I had a momentary pang of anxiety, remembering my brush with the grizzly bear. Why people camped was beyond me. But Willa’s last call had been this morning, when Nick and I were out in Harold, so chances were good that she was still alive.

Next on the list of people to call: BeverLee. “Sugar baby, how are you?” she answered.

“Hey, Bev,” I said. “Where are you guys? Still in Salt Lake City?”

There was a pause. “No, sweetheart, we…we came home.” Another pause. “Listen, Harper, darlin’. I’m real sorry to tell you this over the phone, but your daddy and me…looks like we’re partin’ ways.”

Her voice was steady and gentle. Horribly so. “Bever-Lee, I’m so sorry,” I said, my voice surprisingly husky. “You okay?”

“Well, now, of course I am! You know me! Land on my feet, that’s what I do.” But her usual exuberance was muted.

“Sure. Right.” I bit my lip. Where would she go? Would she want to stay on the island, a displaced Texan in the heart of New England? What about money? “If you need anything, just say the word,” I offered, immediately disgusted with the lameness of my words.

“You bet, sugarplum. You wanna talk to your daddy?”

“Um, that’s okay, Bev…oh. Hi, Dad.”

“Harper. Everything okay?”

“Oh, sure. I’m just…taking the circuitous route to the airport, seeing this great country of ours.”

“Nice.”

“So Dad…everything okay there?”

“Yep.”

“BeverLee doing okay?”

“Yep.”

“And how are you, Dad?”

“I’m fine.”

How could he be fine, divorcing his wife of twenty years? And people thought I was emotionally constipated. The apple didn’t fall far from the tree. “Okay. Take care, Dad. Hey, have you heard from Willa?”

“Here. I’ll put you back on with BeverLee.”

There was some whispering on the other end, then BeverLee’s voice once more. “What’s up, sweet knees?”

“Just wondering how Willa’s doing.”

“Oh, she’s fine! She and that handsome hubby of hers, they’re just havin’ the time of their lives!” This may or may not have been true, of course—it was BeverLee’s nature to assume the best until the facts kicked down her metaphoric front door…and even then, it might be hard to get her to change her mind. Case in point: Clifford “Jimmy” James, my dear old dad. “It’s just so beautiful in Montana, don’t you think? Seems so small back here by comparison. Not that I’m complainin’, of course, I just love being a Yankee—” Her voice broke off abruptly, as if remembering her status in the Northeast was now tenuous.

“Well, I’m in North Dakota,” I said to cover the awkward silence.

“Oh, that’s nice. What’s it like?”

“Flat,” I said. “Pretty.” I closed my eyes. “Let’s have lunch when I get back, okay, BeverLee?”

“That’d be real nice,” she said softly.

“Take care.”

“You too, sweetheart.” She hung up, and a wave of absolute panic seemed to wallop me out of nowhere. There was something horribly final about her voice…Damn it! Why did people have to split up?

Asked the divorce attorney.

Right. Right. There were excellent reasons to divorce. And plenty of reasons not to get married in the first place.

I felt a flash of gratitude for Dennis’s reluctance to marry me. Maybe he knew something I didn’t. The memory of my list made me cringe in shame. Once you’ve fulfilled my requirements, Dennis, I’d be happy to let you marry me. Nice, Harper. Dennis, with his big heart and good soul, deserved someone much better. Someone who thought of him as the love of her life. Not someone who handed him a list.

At least he got off the hook.

I called two clients next and rescheduled for the following week, then called the office. My cell battery was low, and I hadn’t been able to find my charger in my suitcase last night, so I had to make it quick.

“Hi, Carol, it’s Harper. Put Tommy on, okay?”

“Well, good flipping morning to you too, Harper!” she said, slapping me on hold before I could apologize for my shortness.

“Harper! Hey! How’s it going?”

Tommy sounded much improved, that was for sure. “Tommy, hi. Things are fine…just, um, I’m just taking a little side trip.”

“Theo’s having kittens,” he said.