One Wish

  “I’m ruined for other men.”

  “Good. I can’t think about you ever being with another man.”

  They were quiet for a few seconds. “You said ever,” she said.

  He rolled her over until she was on top of him, her hair a mussed canopy around their faces. “I did. You bring out some feelings in me that I don’t recognize. I don’t want to think about you ever being with anyone else. I don’t want to be with anyone else.” He brushed back her hair. “I should slow down, right? Because you’re not ready for talk like that. Your other boyfriends never try to hold you down like that.”

  She shook her head. Pretend boyfriends rarely did—they were both all too aware of that. Here was the first flesh-and-blood boyfriend to hold her, love her, possess her. She didn’t want anything to change.

  “We both know what’s missing from this perfect relationship,” he said.

  “Missing?” she asked.

  “What you’ve told me about yourself, about growing up, wouldn’t fill a chapter in one of your romances, Grace. Even your paper boyfriends would have questions.”

  “But you haven’t asked me any questions,” she said.

  He shook his head. “I told you, you can trust me. And when you feel safe you’ll tell me.”

  “You think I’m hiding something.” It wasn’t a question.

  He nodded. “It’s all right. I’m hiding a few things, too. Just things I don’t talk about a lot. Iraq. I hate talking about Iraq, except sometimes with my boys—we laugh about terrible things that aren’t really funny. There were youthful scrapes here and there. Trouble in high school, but nothing worse than the kids I teach now run into. We have years. We have plenty of time to learn everything about each other. I hope we don’t take too long.”

  “But what if I say something that changes everything?” she asked him.

  “See, that’s the other thing missing—you know me, Gracie. You think I’m that kind of guy? That I’d measure you? Judge you by something in your past? You’re an amazing, beautiful, kind, wonderful woman. I dare you to try to change my opinion.”

  She chewed her bottom lip. Do it, she told herself. Do it now.

  But she couldn’t. Not naked!

  “Is that what you wanted to talk to me about? Is that why you came over tonight?”

  He looked startled for a moment, then he started to laugh. He rolled with her again so that she was beneath him. “No, no. Gracie, the second you put your lips on me, you empty my brain! Don’t you understand—I can’t stay away from you? If I’m alone with you, I can’t think of anything but getting busy. Then I want to do it again. Then I want to eat.”

  “Does everyone make love this much?”

  “I don’t know. They should. I think we’re getting better, don’t you?”

  She nodded and smiled.

  “I wanted to come over and tell you—a friend of mine is coming to visit in a couple of weeks, if it works out. And I have to ask a favor—can I stay with you while he’s here? I don’t have an extra room or bed. If it was just Denny, I’d take the couch, but he’s bringing his wife and she’s pregnant. I think they could use a decent place to sleep and a little privacy.”

  “You stay here half the time anyway,” she said.

  “Will you check your calendar, because if you have a wedding or something, we’ll change dates. He’s a farmer, see, and he either comes before the planting gets serious or he has to wait till after harvest.”

  “A farmer?” she asked. “You never mentioned a friend who’s a farmer.”

  “He’s a buddy from the Marines and he stumbled on this organic farm down in California. He was just helping out while he was looking for a better job and it turned out he liked it. His wife is a teacher like me, that means it’s weekends or nothing.”

  “A farmer and a teacher?” she asked. “Wow, that’s so...normal!” With normal childhoods, no medals or stalkers, going to school every day, going to the prom, getting speeding tickets or into fights or falling in love like normal kids...

  “Wait till Denny tells you about his farm—it’s pretty far-out. So—can you check for weddings? Because I know you have to keep the shop open, at least a little bit, but I was hoping we could have some fun with them.”

  “If I don’t have any big events I can post a notice that I’ll close early on that Saturday.”

  “That would be great, Gracie. If you wouldn’t mind too much, if it doesn’t cost too much. Because we could have fun. And with Becca pregnant, it won’t be anything too adventurous.”

  “So, you’re not going to risk your life this time?” she asked.

  He snuggled closer. “Gracie, sweetheart, wiggle up against me...yeah, just like that. Move those perfect little hips, aah. You’re a witch, aren’t you?”

  “Tell me about Denny’s farm,” she said.

  “No, we’re not talking about him anymore. He’s a buzzkill.” He grabbed her legs at the backs of her knees, lifting them, tilting her upward. “God, you’re magic. I’m glad I taught you how to do this.”

  She couldn’t help but laugh at him. “Don’t you think I’d have caught on eventually? Are you really going to take credit?”

  “It makes me feel manly,” he said. Then his breath caught. “God,” he said when he felt her hand on him, gently stroking. “Gracie, Gracie, you’re a witch... You’re going to kill me, that’s what you’re going to do. Please, kill me.”

  She directed him into her, felt him fill her, dug her heels in and pushed against him. Then she wrapped her legs around him and rode with him, stroke for delicious stroke, just like they’d been doing it for years. She came first. When she felt him let go, she held on. He liked it when she did that. And when he was coming down she whispered, so softly he might not have heard, “I love you.”

  He didn’t say I love you, too.

  * * *

  Troy was in a daze when he went into the bathroom in Grace’s loft. He was thinking about her beautiful smile, her perfect laugh, the body that welcomed him so naturally, as if they were experienced lovers when they were really new. His fulfillment was always complete, leaving him weak and grateful. And she’d said she loved him. His heart was so full he was tempted to push the issue then and there, tell her what he knew, force her to come clean with him so they could get on with their lives. But it would be better if she came to him with the truth, trusted him.

  He went back to bed, crawled in beside her and pulled her into his arms. He pulled her hair aside and kissed the back of her neck.

  “Hmm. I thought you were hungry.”

  “Honey, we have to get you on the pill. Soon.”

  She rolled onto her back and looked at him. “Huh?”

  “I think it’s time for us to stop messing around with just a condom. They’re not a hundred percent.”

  “So, what are you getting at?” she asked.

  “We should be better protected. Is there any reason you’re not on the pill?”

  “It never occurred to me before. Before you.”

  “Yeah, of course. You should see the doctor. Or Peyton—Peyton could take care of you if you prefer a woman. We don’t want to have to deal with complications like pregnancy.”

  She gasped. “You mean I could be pregnant?”

  “You shouldn’t be—we’ve been careful. But it’s not worth the gamble. It would be a bummer to get pregnant—that’s not the plan. That could put a serious damper on our fun.”

  “Our fun?” she asked softly. “You can say pregnant and fun in the same sentence?”

  “Well, I’m not in the market for a baby, are you?” he asked. He grabbed her small waist. “At least it would be a few months before your belly got in the way of our good times.” Then he laughed at his own joke.

  “Did you just say that? Really? That it would
get in the way of our good times?”

  “Sorry. I shouldn’t joke about it. Listen, can you do it? Check with the doctor and see if you can take the pill?”

  “Sure,” she said.

  Then she rolled away from him and closed her eyes and her mouth before she screamed.

  * * *

  Grace didn’t stir when Troy got up early. She feigned sleep while he dressed, kissed her cheek and left to go back to his apartment to get ready for work. When her loft was quiet, she rolled over on her back and blinked. She wasn’t sure why she felt so emotional. He was right, after all. This was no time to get caught. But she was a hopeless romantic—she wanted love, marriage, children, happily ever after. Weddings were a big part of her job, after all.

  It was just that when a guy you’d whispered love words to talked about the possibility of an accidental pregnancy, shouldn’t he say something tender? Something like Please don’t worry—I’d never leave you to deal with it alone. Or maybe, You know how much I care about you. Or how about a real stretch? It’ll be okay, Grace, because I love you.

  Then she asked herself, was she expecting him to do it all when she still hadn’t been completely honest with him? After all, the secret of who she was wasn’t shameful. It was just weird and complicated. She had no idea how he’d react. Would he let it out? Would Grace Dillon vanish as she became Izzy Banks all over again?

  She opened the shop a little early, tidied up and made herself a list, and the top of the list was a visit to the clinic. She refreshed the water in the flowers in the cooler. She’d go see Peyton as soon as the clinic opened to get it over with. When she heard the bell to the shop’s front door jingle, she peeked out and almost had a heart attack. There stood Peyton! She had a sudden irrational fear that Troy had called her, told her to go take care of Grace.

  “Are you all right?” Peyton asked. “Did I startle you or something?”

  “I just... I mean, I was just going to walk down to the clinic to see if you were available. What a coincidence!”

  “I’m totally available,” Peyton said, smiling. “Scott’s covering for me. What’s up? You feeling okay?”

  “I’m fine,” Grace said. “But why are you here?” she asked.

  “Well, Scott and I plan to get married on my folks’ farm in late April. Everything will be blooming and there will be a lot of fruit blossoms involved. Is there enough time to talk about some other wedding flowers?”

  “I’ll have to check my book—I have a couple of weddings in April. But there’s plenty of time to order and make up arrangements and bouquets,” she said happily. This was her comfort zone. While she talked flowers, she’d work on her confidence. After an hour of flower talk, she’d be ready. “What have you got there?” she asked, indicating a flat box Peyton held under one arm.

  “Some pictures. I know—usually the florist shows the bride-to-be flowers. But a wedding on the farm is unlike anything you’ve ever seen before. The pear trees will be in full bloom. If it’s a warm winter they’ll start early and if it’s a late spring they’ll just be starting. My mother’s gardens will be blooming and so will my aunts’ and cousins’. When a Basque girl gets married, everyone brings flowers and food.” She laughed a little. “Even when the girl is thirty-five!”

  “It doesn’t sound like you need me,” Grace said.

  “But yes, I do. Let me show you.”

  “Come on back,” Grace invited. The worktable was still clean because it was early. Grace only had a couple of orders to make up later, to be delivered tomorrow.

  They sat at a corner of the large table and Peyton leafed slowly through a lot of loose pictures, describing them as her brother’s wedding, her oldest sister’s wedding, her youngest sister’s wedding. “She got married quickly—no pear blossoms for her. We had to order from the flower growers. I thought my mother would have a stroke over that—her baby, getting married off the farm. To add to the insult, she married a chef and he insisted his restaurant cater. The fact that I’m finally getting married, in late spring, on the farm—it goes a long way to helping her get over it.”

  “These pictures are gorgeous. They should be published,” Grace said. The trellises were adorned with blossoms, and the women wore flowers in their hair. The tables sitting outside for the reception had arrangements on each one. The women carried beautiful bouquets and the buffet table that held enough food for an army also displayed roses, gardenias, cherry and pear blossoms, hydrangea, roses, baby’s breath and rich, dark fern. It was a fortune in flowers, and a great deal of work. More than Grace could possibly manage alone. “You’re right, I’ve never seen anything like it. Who did the flowers?”

  “My family,” she said. “I’d like to do a few things differently.”

  “I can’t imagine why,” Grace said, flipping through picture after picture.

  “Well, I certainly can’t find any fault with it, except for two things—my mother works too hard and every wedding in our family looks the same. Everyone contributes so much. I know they love it, but it becomes almost a competition.” She shook her head. “Not almost. It is a competition—in the kitchen, in the garden, everywhere you look. We’re going to change a few things. For starters, we’re going to get married in a very old church in Mount Angel in an ecumenical service, not outside with the orchard as backdrop. The Catholic Basque relatives will be a little put out, but they won’t boycott. There are too many of them anyway. There are so many of them, we’re thinking of renting actors to play the parts of Scott’s family—his family is so small by comparison. But our friends from Thunder Point will make up the difference. I want to supply some flowers, the bouquets, altar arrangements, boutonnieres and corsages. My mother and aunts can decorate the tent...”

  “Tent?”

  “My father likes the men to dance under the stars. I want to rent a tent, a dance floor and a bandstand. I’m hiring a Basque band from San Francisco. I’m sure they’ll step aside long enough for my father, my brothers and uncles and others to have a turn, but I want my parents to celebrate with me. If it rains, and rain in spring is not at all unusual in north Oregon, we’ll be covered. And I want Scott’s mothers to have a good time. If possible.”

  “Mothers?” Grace asked.

  “His mother and his late wife’s mother. The grandmothers. If you pay attention, you’ll hear him complain about them, but I have a mother, grandmother, a million aunts and cousins all over the place, all the way to Spain and France. The Basque people are the only ethnic group to come from two countries, Spain and France, and the tradition and ritual in the old country, even though there is no old country anymore, is rigid and colorful and often troublesome as they argue over control. His mothers can’t hold a candle to that!”

  “So there will still be pear and cherry blossoms?” Grace asked almost weakly.

  “Thousands,” Peyton said. “I grew up on that farm. I’m committed to a zillion flowers and fruit blossoms and bees!” she said, laughing. “The sheep are not invited!”

  “Oh, God, it sounds amazing! I hate bees,” Grace added.

  “I’m sure Scott will be packing an EpiPen if you have a reaction. Because, of course, the reason I’m asking you for flowers is because I’d like you to attend if you can. I’m kind of hoping you’ll bring some of the flowers. I realize it’s a very long trip for a delivery.”

  “Invited? Me?”

  “Of course! I love the flowers my mother and aunts bring, but I’d like a few different blooms this time. Day lilies, calla lilies, hybrid roses, maybe some more tropical blossoms, an orchid or two. If you don’t count my younger brother who is divorced, I’m officially the last Lacoumette to marry. I’ve already talked to my mother about the flowers and the food...”

  “The food?” Grace asked.

  “She’ll be cooking and freezing for weeks, but I’m holding her back. I wouldn’t celebrate witho
ut her more famous dishes but my brother-in-law, the chef, owns a five-star restaurant! I want him to participate. He’s gifted and he’s honored to be asked. If you want to really compliment a Basque, praise their cooking, dancing, music making or children raising. My mother is being very stoic about this, that Lucas would provide some of the food. At least he’s family.” She laughed and shook her head. “They won’t share recipes with each other, it’s hilarious.”

  “Peyton, this sounds huge. Maybe bigger than I am. I don’t want to buck tradition.”

  “We have to buck tradition,” she said. “I’m Basque but my fiancé isn’t. He’s getting married, too! Although...he can’t get enough of them, of that farm. He’s so happy when he’s there. I can’t take him there too often or he’ll grow big as a bull! No one loves to eat like Scott.”

  That made Grace smile. “Troy could probably give him a run for his money.”

  Peyton’s dark eyes twinkled. She was silent for a moment. “How’s that going? You and Troy?”

  “Nice,” Grace said. “Tell me about your family. About how you met Scott. About the farm and the culture and the traditional Basque wedding.”

  Peyton explained that she was the oldest of eight and, no, she hadn’t been dreaming of a big family! She had been determined to be single for a long while but now that she’d found Scott and his two kids, she was very anxious to have one, maybe two, to add to the pack. She described her parents, her siblings, nieces and nephews, talked about Scott and how he was the last thing she ever expected. She explained the Basque people as best she could, how she worked in a Basque clinic in the south of France for a while after graduating from college, getting to know the old country. Grace couldn’t wait to do a little online research about the culture. Almost two hours had passed before they got around to blooms and stalks, number of guests and colors.

  “It’s spring. I’m dressing my bridesmaids in all the spring colors—lavender, pink, baby blue and yellow. I want a colorful wedding! I want their bouquets to match their dresses and mine to represent all of them. I want spring colors in the altar arrangements, then we’ll take them to the farm for the reception. The groom’s dinner is Scott’s responsibility and he’s chosen a hotel in Portland that can cater in a banquet hall and I offered flowers, which his mother snapped up immediately. There will be at least thirty people at the dinner.