Paws for Love, A Novel for Dog Lovers Page 13
“I run a chocolate shop.” Bill said it with his chin up. He stood ramrod straight, a good three inches taller than Jack.
Jack’s companion called to him.
“I’d better get back,” Jack said. He took Misty’s hand. “We’re staying over at the Lady Bug.”
“The Lady Bird,” Bill corrected.
He laughed. “I was close.” His hands caressed Misty’s. “Since you’re in town, why don’t we have dinner tonight?”
Misty paled and then flushed hot again. “I’m sure Jill will want to have dinner with you. They have such good food at the Lady Bird, I’ve been told. She’ll love it.”
Jack blew out a breath. “We’re actually taking a break from each other right now.”
Misty’s mouth actually dropped open before she could stop it. “Oh.”
He offered a regretful smile. “These things happen. Nice to meet you, Bill. I’ll come visit your shop if I have time.” He dropped a quick kiss on Misty’s cheek, and she caught his signature musky aftershave. “I’ll call you about dinner. Still have the same cell number?”
She nodded. Both Bill and Jack moved to close the door as Misty got into the passenger seat. Bill got there first, but Misty was already reaching for it herself by that time. His push and her pull combined, and Misty knocked her forehead against the glass with a thunk.
Jack and Bill both bent to peer in concern through the window.
“Are you okay?” they asked in muffled unison.
She offered a cheery smile through the pain pounding in her forehead. It must have been a convincing act, because Jack trotted away toward Bannington and the chocolates.
Bill walked around the van, opened his door, and climbed inside. He jabbed the key in the ignition. “I’ll come back for the platters later.” He stopped when he got a good look at her. “Oh, man. You have a bump on your forehead.”
She clapped a hand there and said, “Typical Misty move.”
He took the road back to town. “We’ll get an ice pack on that back at the shop.”
Happy to stew in embarrassed silence, Misty marked off the distance to the rhythmical throbbing in her head.
Back at Chocolate Heaven, they said hello to Gunther and settled into the rusted patio chairs after Bill provided a plastic bag full of ice. Jellybean gave Misty’s shoes a thorough sniffing before he returned to the halfway-devoured bone she’d given him the day before, which was guaranteed to last three weeks.
Thoughts chased themselves around in her mind. Jack. Here in Albatross. No longer with Jill. It was unbelievable. Jill was perfect, the best companion for a man like Jack. How could they have broken up?
She saw from under the edge of the ice pack that Bill was staring at her.
“I guess he, er, caught you by surprise. Jack, I mean.” He rubbed a palm on the thigh of his jeans.
“For sure. I had no idea he was in town or that he had anything to do with the movie biz.”
Bill drummed his fingers on the table. “And he’s single again.”
“That was the biggest shocker of all.”
Bill folded and then unfolded his arms. “Are you…going to meet him for dinner? You’re right, the Lady Bird does have great food.” He scraped a bit of dirt off the patio table. “Vivian is famous for her biscuits. Gunther orders them regularly, and I suspect he shares them with Lunk.”
Meet Jack? The suddenly single love of her life? Oh, how she’d hoped for the weeks following their breakup that Jack would realize he’d made a mistake with Jill. Misty had it all imagined in her mind right down to the musical score. He would beg her forgiveness, tell her it was the worst mistake of his life, cue the overture. Now here it was, her one-in-a-million chance to reunite with him.
“No,” she said. “I’m not going to meet him for dinner.”
Bill blinked. “Why not?”
She put down the ice pack and walked to the small patch of clematis that was doing its best to smother the leaning split rail fence. Out behind the yard was a grass-filled lot where Fiona liked to watch for bunnies and pick whatever interesting plants she could find to make a weed bouquet. Misty had one Fiona had given her in an empty pickle jar in the trailer. Flowers finer than any florist’s offerings, Misty thought.
Why not? That was the question hanging in the air. She could feel Bill just behind her, patiently waiting for an answer.
She turned toward him. “I won’t go to dinner with Jack because…” The sound of waves carried on the breeze. “Because I don’t want to be a square peg in his round-hole life.” There was a suitably weird reply, she thought ruefully. She was surprised to find that Bill did not look at all perplexed. Instead, his face was peaceful.
“I understand,” he said. Then his hands were on her shoulders, toying with her hair. “I like square pegs. They’re my favorite kind.” His smile was tender.
She waited for the rush of nerves, the thick weight of anxiety to crash down on her at his proximity, but she felt nothing but lightness and warmth at his touch, as she had when they’d embraced at the park. She looked into the bottle-green eyes, the strong profile topped by a ten-dollar haircut, the arms covered in a well-worn T-shirt with a splotch of chocolate just above the pocket. He really did like Misty “Square Peg” Agnelli, not in spite of her oddities, but because of them.
Light seemed to flood her insides. In a dreamlike state, she watched him lean down and press his mouth to hers. How right it felt, how perfectly right. She tentatively rested her hand on the back of his neck, enjoying the prickliness of his hair, the strong solidity of his head.
Gunther called from the back door, causing them to jump apart. She thought there might be a smile on his perpetually scowling mouth, but she couldn’t tell for sure.
“Phone call for you, Bill.”
Bill trotted to grab the phone, which extended in a curled cord from the kitchen. “Hello?” Whatever was said on the other end snuffed out the joy that had shone on his face a moment before like a candle doused by a strong wind.
“What? But I’ve got the invitation right here.” He reached inside and snatched a paper from the bulletin board. “It says two thirty.”
She could not hear what was said to Bill, but he mumbled something, head bowed, and hung up.
Defeat was written in every line of his body.
“What is it, Bill?” she asked.
At first, he did not answer.
“Bill?” she tried again, touching his arm.
Mouth tight, he handed her the paper. “Read it.”
She expected it to be something horrible, but it was nothing more than a sweet invitation to the winter recital at Fiona’s school, complete with a cute font and an adorable snowflake graphic. “I don’t understand.”
“Here,” he said, jabbing a finger. “What does that part say?”
“We’re inviting all of our friends and family to the winter recital to be performed at Happy Days Preschool on January fifteenth at…” Her voice trailed off. “Oh no! It says ten thirty a.m.” The time was now closing in on one o’clock.
“Dina tried to call, but I forgot my cell phone.” Bill’s face was ashen.
“It was a simple mistake,” Misty said.
He started to speak but then clamped his lips together. “I have to go get her.”
“I’ll come.” Twin Pines would have to wait.
She wasn’t sure he heard her, so she scurried to keep up with him as he raced to the van and they drove the three blocks to the preschool. What had gone wrong? She couldn’t figure it out.
The stage was empty, the kids playing in the yard, awaiting parent pickup. Fiona was sitting by herself looking at a book.
Dina looked up from wiping the table, her expression sympathetic. “Don’t worry. I took some great pictures for you,” she said to Bill. “Fiona did a super job on her twirling.”
He didn’t answer. Head bowed, he went to Fiona and knelt down next to her.
“I’m so sorry I didn’t come for your show.”
“Fee, I’m really, really sorry.”
Misty heard the break in Bill’s voice, and it made her breath catch.
Dina approached. “Fiona, remember how we practiced in school the ‘cleanup’? When someone does something wrong, they say, “I’m sorry,” and we say, “That’s okay.” Your Uncle Bill is very sorry. Can you show him it’s okay? If you can’t use your words, can you nod your head?”
Fiona cast a blank look at Bill. Then she returned her attention to her book. Everything in Misty wanted to run to Bill and put her arms around him, but it would add to the mountain of feelings he was experiencing at that moment, so she held herself in place.
Eventually, he got up, and Dina handed Fiona her magic wand and her papers. Fiona would not take Bill’s hand as they went back to the van, but she accepted Misty’s.
They rode back to Chocolate Heaven in silence, Misty still not completely taking it all in. He’d missed a show, gotten caught up in the details of his business, or just misread the time. It would pass. She hated to see him beat himself up over a small mistake.
At the shop, Misty helped Fiona out of the car and took her inside. The child went immediately to her little chair, gathering up a stack of books on her lap.
Bill stood on the porch, staring.
“Kids don’t hold on to these things, Bill. She will forget about it. Probably by tomorrow.”
“I won’t,” he said.
“It was a mistake—anyone could have made it.”
“No, not anyone.”
“You were busy. You scanned the invitation quickly. You have a lot on your mind.”
He rounded on her, something hard and bleak shining in his eyes. “You don’t know, do you?”
“Know what?”
He rubbed a hand over his face. “Gunther knows. And Dina. Heck, probably the whole town knows.”
“Knows what, Bill? What are you talking about?”
He took the crumpled invitation from his pocket. “It wasn’t a mistake. I thought it said two thirty, not ten thirty.”
“Anyone could have…” she started again.
“No. Not anyone. Just me.” His tone was anguished, hands balled into fists. “I thought it said two thirty because I can’t read.”
She stared. He saw the meaning of his pronouncement slowly unrolling across her face. First disbelief and then recognition as she thought back on all the things she’d probably noticed but not quite acknowledged.
“You…you can’t read?”
“No. I’ve been trying to learn all my life.” He could not believe he was talking about his deepest shame with the woman he desperately wanted to respect him, a woman who made him feel whole.
Her mouth opened and closed. “I…I didn’t know.”
“That’s because I’m a master at covering up. I’ve had years, decades of practice. Dina’s been trying to help me learn, giving me worksheets and stuff.” He laughed—a bitter, angry sound he didn’t recognize as his own voice. “Isn’t that rich? Trying to master preschool reading so I can be one step ahead of a three-year-old? ‘Good job, Bill. Here’s a smiley face sticker. I’m so proud of you. Why don’t you sit down and play with the Play-Doh too?’ ”
“Don’t, Bill. You’re trying. That’s the important thing, right?”
Oh, the hopeful tone, how she desperately wanted to see the light shining in the gloom. But there wasn’t any. There never had been. “No,” he said. “It’s not important at all. I’ve been failing since I was Fiona’s age. In grade school, in middle school. Finally, in high school I figured out how to fake it, ask my buddies to write my papers for me and tell me what the books were about, until I dropped out. A couple of them even helped me practice the driving test questions so I could get my license.”
“But surely—”
“But surely what?” he snapped. “Surely a fully grown man couldn’t have gotten through his life without knowing how to read? Surely an adult should be able to go into a restaurant without ordering a hamburger every time rather than trying to read the menu? Surely a fully grown man can write a sign for his own business and not have to have his employee do it?” His voice was nearly a shout, but he couldn’t control himself. All the anger and shame and humiliation came pouring out in a volley of self-loathing.
She was staring at him, lip caught between her teeth.
“And surely the dumb brother didn’t go and wind up being the guardian of a bright little kid when the smart brother went and got himself killed?” His breath came in hot bursts, each one an effort.
“Oh, Bill,” she said, taking a step toward him.
He moved away. Misty did not deserve to be shouted at, but he would rather push her away than have her do an about-face because he was illiterate. He couldn’t survive the excuses she would come up with to leave him when the real reason was he couldn’t do something the average five-year-old could. “I can’t even read a bedtime story to Fiona.” He looked at her lovely eyes, all filled with pity, and the sight crushed his soul. “I don’t know why God made me like this, but He did. I’m dumb, Misty. Always have been, and I always will be.”
“No, you’re not.”
He held up a palm. “Please. I’ve heard that from so many well-meaning people in my life that I’ve lost count. ‘You have other gifts, Bill. God meant for you to shine, Bill. You’re smart in other ways.’ ”
“People say that because it’s true.”
“It’s not true,” he rasped. “I can’t read, and I can hardly write more than my own name. I don’t even know what the Mother’s Day card says that I send to my mom. I just pick out something that has flowers and sparkles.” His own bold plans bewildered him. He’d thought he could run a shop? Be a father? The very worst reality came crashing home, obliterating all his idiotic optimism. “I am illiterate. Why did I think I could somehow hide that from a kid I was going to raise?”
Misty’s mouth opened, but she did not speak.
“That’s why my dad didn’t want me to take her in,” he said, each word of truth serrated, cutting through his gut as he made the admission. “Dad would have preferred she go into foster care than be raised by her dumb uncle.”
“Stop saying that. Fiona doesn’t think that.”
He shook his head. “But she will. A few months more, maybe a few years down the road, and she’ll understand exactly what kind of a dope she’s landed with. How’s it going to go over when I have to ask her to read her report card to dumb old Bill?”
“Bill,” Misty said, stepping close again. “Stop it. Stop saying that about yourself.”
I’m just saying it so you don’t have to. His heart broke a fraction more as he realized what he had to say next to the woman he loved. “Misty, you’re an exceptional lady. I’m sorry. I should have been honest from the beginning. You should not be a party to all of this mess.”
“Your learning problem doesn’t change how I feel about you.”
Oh yes it does, but you’re too kind to say so. Her gentle smile tore his heart to pieces. “It’s not a learning problem. It’s my identity, and it changes everything. I was trying not to admit it, lying to myself really, because I wanted to be with you.”
Her eyes glittered with tears. “I want to be with you too, Bill.”
Why do I have to be this way, God? Why do I have to lose her? “I can’t have a relationship, Misty. I guess I knew it, but I was fooling myself.” He saw her flinch, and it made his tattered heart ache even more. “It’s going to take all I have just to be a dad. I’m crippled, don’t you see? I’m not going to be a partner with someone who has to read my mail and tell me what the medicine bottle says. I can’t do that. Not to you. You are too special to be somebody’s crutch.”
“You’re walking away from me?” Her lips trembled, and he wanted more than anything to fold her in his arms. “From us?”
Throat almost too thick to talk, he swallowed hard. “No,” he
forced out. “I’m setting you free.”
He turned around and trudged back through the shop. Gunther dropped his gaze to the counter he was cleaning, though he had undoubtedly heard every word. It would come as no surprise. Gunther guessed at the truth about Bill when he had helped fill out the preschool forms for Fiona, though Bill had trotted out one of his many “I lost my glasses” excuses. Gunther wasn’t fooled, never had been, but Misty hadn’t known. She’d actually believed he was smart. Maybe you should have been an actor, Bill. Shame nearly choked him, and Bill was grateful he did not have to see pity in Gunther’s eyes as he passed.
It took a supreme effort, but somehow he headed up the stairs, knowing that each step took him further out of Misty’s life.
Sixteen
Misty stood frozen on the threshold. Outside, Jellybean snuffled through the yard, happily oblivious. Inside, Fiona rocked in her chair, looking at the pages of her book. Misty’s emotions assailed her—shock, sadness, fear for Bill, but most of all, hurt.
Bill had abruptly severed the tie between them, the beautiful, rare, unexpected love that she had not thought would ever be hers again. He did not care that she was a square peg, but when she’d seen his raw edges, the real anguished places that he strove to keep hidden, it was too much for him.
Maybe she should be angry. She wasn’t sure.
Jellybean scampered over and gave her an inquisitive look that was probably meant as a question along the lines of What are you doing just standing there?
She didn’t know the answer, so she scooped him up and pressed her face to his silky ears.
Gunther still worked behind the counter, quietly laboring on some luscious round balls.
“So what do I do?” she said to him.
Gunther continued rolling. “Hard thing for a man to admit.”
“If he cares about me, why doesn’t he let me share the burden?”
He blinked at her behind the lenses of his glasses. “Would you?”
Would she? Had she? The woman who hid behind Skype and texts for most of her adult life? The reality of it bit at her. She wasn’t brave enough to peel back the layers and expose her own failings. Her talents, her gifts, her ability to bless others with those attributes she’d kept to herself, firmly hidden, along with the painful insecurities. Why, she wondered, did God dispense such weakness along with His gifts?