Crazy Little Thing Called Love Read online

  Despite being sweaty and covered in a fine coating of sawdust, they ate lunch in the Wrights’ formal dining room. The walls were decorated with more of Mrs. Wright’s oil paintings and pastels and an oval wedding portrait.

  “I’m sorry my husband didn’t recognize you today, Max.” Mrs. Wright passed out starched cloth napkins.

  “It’s okay.”

  “He’ll be better after he wakes up. Being in the shelter unsettled him. Made him a bit of a grouch.”

  “Once I mentioned I wanted to play chess, he perked up.” Max allowed Julie to help him get settled at the table. “And he wasn’t so confused that he couldn’t beat me at chess.”

  “He was the president of the local chess club for years.”

  “And you’re just telling me this now?”

  Caron choked back a laugh. “How old were you when you got married, Mrs. Wright?”

  “It was back in 1946—after the war. He wanted me to marry him before he left, but I said no. I didn’t want to be a widow. After he shipped out, I was sorry I hadn’t accepted his proposal—but it was too late.” The older woman smiled, seemingly lost in reminiscing. “We got married the week he came home from overseas. I was twenty years old. We’ve been married sixty-nine years. All the time that he was gone, I kept thinking about how silly it was. I didn’t want to be a widow, and then I realized I could have ended up never being his wife. I learned an important lesson.”

  “And what was that?” Julie sat beside Max and rested her chin in her hand.

  “You don’t do marriage based on what-ifs. Yes, I could have imagined all sorts of things that would make me sorry I’d married Mr. Wright before we ever said, ‘I do.’ Reasons not to have married him. But if I kept thinking like that, I would have quit before I ever accepted the engagement ring.” Mrs. Wright’s thin laugh deepened the wrinkles around her eyes and mouth.

  “But that’s not a marriage—imagining what it could be like and making decisions based on that. And if I was going to think about what might happen, why not think about all the wonderful things that could happen? The adventures? The romance? Getting through the tough times? Yes, I had five miscarriages—but we had one beautiful daughter. And the tears of happiness I shed when I held Ruth for the first time . . . oh, my. They outweigh all the tears I cried for the babies I lost.”

  Caron reached across the table and clasped the older woman’s hand. “You’re a very wise woman, Mrs. Wright.”

  “Oh, you live as long as I do, you get smart, whether you want to or not. God and me—we talk a lot. I’ve learned to listen more and talk less.”

  “More women need to learn that.” Max ducked when Julie tried to punch his arm.

  “And for that comment, you get to help me clean up after lunch.”

  “Who? Me? I’m injured.”

  “Right.” Jules stood, gathering up paper plates. “Come on. Sometimes I wonder why I hang around you.”

  “Because I’m cute?”

  “You wish. It’s probably because I feel sorry for you.”

  Caron waited until they left the room and then turned to Logan. “How long have those two been dating?”

  “They aren’t ‘dating’ yet.” Logan did air quotes as he spoke. “But something’s going on. They bicker like an old married couple. Pardon me, Mrs. Wright.”

  “Oh, it’s quite all right, Logan. We do bicker, but we know how to make up, too. Mr. Wright will tell you that we never had a fight. He just doesn’t remember them anymore.”

  “Mrs. Wright, you remind me of my grandparents.” Caron leaned her elbow on the table, resting her chin in her upturned palm. “They were married for sixty-two years.”

  Logan pushed his chair back from the table. “She and Mom Mom would have been great friends, don’t you think?”

  “Yes, I do. And now, it’s time to get back to work.”

  “And I need to make sure the Wrights are packed and ready to go before their daughter gets here.” Vanessa drained her glass of tea. “Ruth called about an hour ago to say she’d be here before dinner.”

  Logan couldn’t resist teasing Vanessa. “You just don’t want to haul shrubbery around anymore.”

  Vanessa paused. “You want to pack their stuff?”

  “No. I’ll stick with the outdoor work.”

  As the room cleared out, Logan followed Vanessa to the foot of the stairs. He was about to ask a ridiculous question—and get himself shot down in the process. But for some reason, he couldn’t stop himself.

  “Hey, Vanessa.” He slapped his work gloves against his jeans-clad thigh.

  She paused three steps up. “You need something, Logan?”

  “Just had a crazy thought. After we’re done here . . . you want to meet me later at the Rocky Bayou Bridge? Just for old times’ sake?”

  SEVENTEEN

  A whole stack of memories never equal one little hope.

  —CHARLES M. SCHULZ (1922–2000), CARTOONIST

  Logan still couldn’t believe Vanessa agreed to meet him at the Rocky Bayou Bridge. Of course, she could always change her mind. Leave him sitting here. Waiting. Would serve him right for even asking her such an off-the-wall question.

  She’d covered any hesitation with a smile and a laugh that seemed to say, Why not?

  There’d be no jumping into the water below—the hurricane had deposited enough debris into the bayou to make doing so foolhardy. Sitting on the cement ledge was one thing. Making a trip to the ER because one of them needed stitches from a gash to their foot or leg or arm . . . yeah, that was no way to end the day.

  The slam of a car door, followed by footsteps among the small stones and weeds, signaled Vanessa’s approach.

  “Logan?”

  “Yep—I’m here.”

  “Sorry I’m late.”

  “No problem.” She didn’t need to know he’d arrived early. Had been sitting here for a good half hour, watching the setting sun stretch long fingers out across the water. Hearing the faint echoes of invisible friends’ voices from years past in the breeze that moved among the trees along the shoreline. Closing his eyes and almost being able to feel the weight of a wedding band on his ring finger . . .

  She slow-stepped her way across the cement ledge and then eased down beside him, careful to leave some space between them. Her loose hair lifted off her shoulders, the scent of flowers teasing him.

  Logan knew Vanessa hated it when he asked questions while they were watching a movie. But he was tired of wondering.

  “What perfume are you wearing?”

  “Beautiful.” She whispered the reply without taking her eyes off the small screen of the TV they’d bought and set up in their living room.

  “Yeah, I know.” Logan leaned closer. “But what’s it called?”

  Her gaze moved from the movie to him. And then she laughed. “Logan—”

  “I’m serious, Mrs. Hollister.”

  And then he kissed her, and they missed the end of the movie.

  “I assume kids still like to jump off here into the water?” Vanessa pulled off her sandals, setting them beside her.

  Logan tossed a rock into the water below, breaking the smooth surface, dispersing his thoughts at the same time. “Yes, although no one admits it. And I wouldn’t recommend it today, not with all the junk the hurricane mixed up.” He offered her a can of Coke.

  “Thanks.” She nodded. “I hadn’t planned on jumping.”

  “Oh, I dunno. I used to be able to talk you into things in the past.”

  “That you did.” She stared straight ahead. “But let’s skip crazy tonight.”

  “Deal.” He opened his soda can, chasing away years’ worth of unspoken words with the cool liquid. “We’ve had plenty of that already, yes?”

  “Yes.” She left the soda unopened. Clasped her hands together in her lap, focusing on her feet, which swung back and forth over the water. “So, the Wrights are on their way to Alabama.”

  “That’s good.”

  “Yes, although Mr. W
right couldn’t understand why you didn’t give him that motorcycle ride.”

  “That guy never gives up, does he?”

  “No. No, he doesn’t. Honestly, I think it’s part of that generation.”

  “I think you’re right. My grandfather was the same way.” Logan leaned back on his hands. “So what did the Wrights’ daughter decide about the house?”

  “She approved the company that I called to come in and remove the rest of the tree. She appreciated what we did today. Said to say thank you. And then a friend of hers who is a contractor is going to come down from Alabama and do the house repairs.”

  “Whew! Gonna be pricey. Let’s hope they had a good insurance policy.”

  “Well, Ruth also said they may be putting the house on the market.”

  “What?”

  “Ruth first mentioned it when I talked with her on the phone, and then we talked a bit more when she came down. The reality is, her parents need to live closer to her.” Vanessa chewed her bottom lip, sighed, and then seemed to shrug off whatever was weighing on her mind. “So, she’ll start working on transitioning them to someplace up there while repairs are being done to the house.”

  “For the best, I suppose.”

  “Yes.” She glanced at him from the corner of her eye. “So, Caron’s a blond . . .”

  “My father’s just happy it’s a normal hair color.”

  “How are your parents?”

  “Good. My dad’s on a health kick. He drinks a green, healthy shake every morning.”

  “No!”

  “So my sister says—I haven’t been there to witness it. He’s lost about twenty pounds. My mom’s the same—loves him, loves Caron and me. Wishes I lived closer.”

  “But your life is in Oklahoma. She understands that.”

  “Yeah. Storm chasing requires you go where the storms are—or where you think they’re going to be.”

  “Chasing the dream—literally.”

  “I guess.”

  “Are you happy, Logan?”

  Vanessa’s question floated out onto the air and then drifted back to him.

  “Most days I go to bed . . . content with my choices. I know why I chase storms—what drives me.”

  “And what’s that?”

  “Wanting to help people. Like other storm chasers, it’s all about understanding storms. Or figuring out ways to predict them earlier. Or preventing them from being so destructive.”

  “And on the days you don’t go to bed content? What are you thinking about then?”

  Logan shifted forward, resting his arms on his knees. Turned, so he could see the woman sitting next to him. The last time they’d sat here, an early fall sky above them, the water below serene, he’d been eighteen years old, working hard to impress Vanessa. Hoping she’d like him. Trying to figure out if what he felt for her was love . . . and what did loving her mean, anyway?

  And wondering, if he jumped, would she jump, too?

  And now here they sat, ten years later. Somehow, what they’d had together had gotten twisted and tangled up in expectations and misinterpretations. Torn apart by words spoken in anger . . . and too many things left unsaid. Rather than holding hands and reminiscing, he was trying to navigate all the years of silence.

  “What do I think about?” The rough side of the bridge pressed into his thighs. “You.”

  “Logan, don’t—”

  “You know the saying just as well as I do, Vanessa: don’t ask the question if you don’t want to hear the answer.” He crushed the half-empty aluminum can in his fist. “Sometimes I still lie awake at night and wonder what you’re doing. Where you’re living. If you’re happy. If you’re married. If you have kids.”

  His words hung on the air for a few seconds.

  “I work as a paramedic in Denver. Love my job. I’m a bit of an adrenaline junkie. I live in a one-bedroom apartment in the middle of the city. I’m happy.” She could only hope her smile backed up her words. “I just applied to physician assistant school—waiting to hear if I’ve been accepted. I’m getting married the first week in April. No kids. Yet.”

  This was where he should say he was happy for her. But he couldn’t force the words past all the things he wished he’d said years ago: I’m sorry. What can I do to make this right? Don’t leave. I don’t want a divorce.

  I still love you.

  “What’s your fiancé like?”

  “Ted?”

  “Ted.”

  “He’s an ER doctor. Tall. Very good at what he does. We’ve dated for a couple of years now. And when he proposed, I said yes, because I realized I was ready for marriage again . . . with him.” Her laughter faded almost as soon as it began. “And I love him, of course.”

  “Of course.” Logan forced himself to say the right thing. “Congratulations.”

  “Thank you. So what about you? Married? A family?”

  “No. Julie’s tried to play matchmaker a few times through the years. The team even bought me a membership to one of those dating sites for my birthday—”

  “Please tell me that was a gag gift.”

  “Never asked. And I never used it. Don’t tell Caron. She’d get online and fill out my profile for me.”

  “I bet she would.”

  “So I’m single.” He should add the word “happily,” but there was no sense in lying.

  “I hope you find—”

  He couldn’t let her say it. Didn’t want to hear her say it. “Don’t, Vanessa.” He rested his hand over hers. “Don’t say you hope I find someone else.”

  For a moment she let her hand remain beneath his. Her skin soft beneath his fingers.

  “I’m sorry, Logan.”

  “I’m sorry, too, Vanessa. More than you know. I’ve told God. Now I can tell you. And it’s okay—I’m not asking you to forgive me. I realize it’s enough to tell you that I’m sorry so I know you can hear me—that I’m not just talking to the ceiling.”

  APRIL 2004

  Logan stared at Vanessa’s back, her shoulders rigid beneath her bathrobe. He could only hope she wasn’t crying. He hated it when she cried.

  He picked up the college acceptance letter from where she’d tossed it on the table.

  “Vanessa, I don’t understand why you’re so upset. Can’t you see how great this is—”

  She whirled around, not a trace of tears on her face, her eyes flashing like lightning over the Gulf at night. “No, it’s not great! You’re changing the plan, and you didn’t even talk to me about it!”

  “I forgot I even applied to OU. It was a long shot. And then we got married—”

  “Exactly—we got married.” She stalked a tight circle around the room. “And married people talk about decisions like this.”

  “We are talking about it now. We can still go to school together—we’d just be changing colleges.” He held up the letter. “This is an amazing opportunity! Oklahoma is part of Tornado Alley! I can study meteorology and try to hook up with some real storm chasers—”

  “We’ve already got our plan, Logan. We’re all set for FSU in the fall. That’s why we got married, remember? So I wouldn’t have to move back to Colorado with my mom.”

  Did she even hear what she was saying?

  “We got married because we love each other!”

  “I know that—don’t make it sound like I’m saying something I’m not!” She grabbed the single sheet of paper from his hand. “But this is not what we agreed on. I don’t want to move any more—”

  “You’re not being logical. We have to move to Tallahassee to go to FSU—”

  “A couple of hours down the road. No big deal.” She waved the letter in the air. “OU is ten or twelve hours away—a different state.”

  “I can’t miss this chance, Vanessa.”

  “You can study hurricanes here.”

  “They’re offering me a full ride—”

  “No, Logan.” Vanessa crumpled the letter into a ball and threw it onto the floor. “No. You can’t just cha
nge the plan like that.”

  “Who are you to tell me no?” Logan knew he was yelling, but he didn’t care. “You sound like my dad.”

  She recoiled from his words, as if he’d slapped her. “I can’t believe you just said that to me.”

  Silence, sharp with unspoken words, descended between them. Logan paced the small living space, waiting for Vanessa to say something reasonable. Say she understood. Say she was sorry. That of course she’d go to Oklahoma with him because she knew how important this dream was to him. Say she loved him. Finally . . . finally say the words out loud.

  But instead, she ran from the small living area into their bedroom, slamming the door. And then he heard the metallic click of the door locking.

  Great, just great.

  He’d heard of husbands sleeping on the couch. Seen sitcoms where the poor guy tried to find a comfortable position on a too-short sofa.

  And now he was sentenced to a night alone with the TV and remote—and a locked door separating him from his wife.

  Yeah. Congratulations, Hollister. Aren’t you living the life?

  • • •

  At some point, Vanessa needed to go home.

  Go back to the little house behind Logan’s parents’ home and see if Logan was there, waiting for her. Or if he was gone. Again.

  “Mindy, you’ve been great.” She motioned to the leftovers of the full-blown pity party Mindy had hosted for her in her bedroom. A pile of used tissues next to an empty bag of Hershey’s Kisses. Empty cans of Coke and a bowl of squeezed lemon slices. A half-eaten bag of Doritos.

  “Feel any better?”

  “No.” She sniffed. “Sorry.”

  “You and Logan will figure this out. You love each other. The class even voted you ‘Cutest Couple’ for the yearbook, remember?”

  “Yeah, maybe I should just go home and remind Logan about that, too.”

  Mindy giggled, her face turning red. “I, uh, heard once you’re married, making up is the best part of a fight.”