A Husband of Her Own. Brenda Novak

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СКАЧАТЬ That should make everyone happy.”

      “Um…I don’t think so. My family wouldn’t like it.”

      “Your family wouldn’t like it? What about you, Buddy?”

      He immediately picked up on the edge in her voice. “There’s no need to get upset, Beck. Would you please calm down?”

      Calm down? How could she respond any more calmly and still have a pulse? “What do you want me to say?” she asked. “I can’t help that I’m not happy about this.” As a matter of fact, the bubble of her anger was rising inexorably toward the surface, and she feared she’d no longer be able to hold it back. Worse, she could barely remember why it was important to do so. If Buddy didn’t love her, all the soft-spoken words in the world wouldn’t change a thing. And he couldn’t love her if he was putting everyone else’s feelings before hers.

      “Just try to understand,” he said.

      She pinched the bridge of her nose. “I want to know what’s really going on.”

      “There’s nothing going on. I want my aunt to come to the wedding. Reading anything more into this would be blowing it out of proportion.”

      “What about my family? They’ve been making hundreds of scrolls with that silly romantic poem we chose.”

      “Which we’ll use…eventually.”

      “Eventually.” Rebecca felt as if her hold on the rope that was supposed to rescue her from Dundee had just grown a little more tenuous.

      “I’ve got to go,” Buddy said.

      “Wait! I want to talk about this. I admit I’m upset, but I think I have good reason to be.”

      Silence.

      “Buddy? Answer me, dammit. Not every conversation we have has to be pleasant. That isn’t even realistic.”

      Nothing.

      “What if one of my aunts can’t make it in January? Do we put if off again? We can’t possibly accommodate everyone.”

      “Let’s talk about it later, okay?”

      “Why?”

      “Because maybe by then you’ll have cooled off.”

      “And maybe not. Can’t you work with me here? I’m disappointed and frustrated and—”

      “And I’d talk to you now if I thought it would help, but arguing won’t solve anything,” he said. “Come on, Beck. I’m just asking for a few more months. What’s the rush?”

      He didn’t get it, and Rebecca knew she couldn’t explain it to him without dredging up her past. Which she definitely didn’t want to do. She was moving to Nebraska to start over. “I thought we were in love,” she said.

      “We are in love. And we’re going to be just as in love in January, right?”

      How could she answer that without conceding it would be okay to wait? “I guess.”

      “At least, I’m still going to be in love with you,” he added, and Rebecca felt herself soften. She didn’t want to wait any longer to be married, but if it would make Buddy happy, how could she refuse? “Okay,” she said at last.

      “Great.” She could hear the smile in his voice. “I knew you’d understand. You’re the best, babe, you know that? Listen, I’ve got someone at the door, so I’ll have to call you later.”

      Rebecca slouched into a chair at the kitchen table and started peeling off the nicotine patches she’d plastered on herself. “Fine.”

      The phone clicked and a dial tone filled her ear. Hanging up, she sat in a stupor for several seconds, waiting for her emotions to reach some kind of equilibrium. She’d behaved admirably. She’d succeeded in remaining calm and should be proud of herself for that. But it was hard to celebrate when Buddy was still postponing their wedding. She’d have to tell her family and friends. She’d have to make new arrangements at work and with her landlord. She’d have to withstand all the snide remarks she was bound to receive at the Honky Tonk.

      Propping her chin on her palm, she gazed dejectedly out the window at the front drive. Everything will be okay, she told herself. This wouldn’t be the first time the whole town had snickered behind her back. Folks still told and retold the crazy things she’d done over the years, even though some stories went all the way back to her childhood. But she always managed to smile through the telling. And she’d keep on smiling. The trick, of course, was never to let anyone know how much it hurt.

      CHAPTER TWO

      “MARTHA CALLED EARLIER, said you wanted me to come over for dinner so you could talk to me about something,” Rebecca said. Dropping her car keys on the counter, she plopped onto a stool in the middle of her parents’ large white kitchen.

      Her mother, wearing a cherry-print apron over her June Cleaver dress, was busy chopping onions at the center island. A puzzled expression knotted her brows as she glanced up. “Who’s Martha?” She grimaced as understanding dawned. “Oh, you mean Greta.”

      “There’s a little Martha Stewart in all of us. Some of my sisters just have more than their share.”

      “There’s nothing wrong with being a good homemaker,” her mother replied.

      “I would’ve agreed with you—” Rebecca toyed with the fresh fruit that graced the bowl at her elbow “—but Greta lost me when she tried to make roses out of the ends of her toilet paper. Presentation isn’t everything. Some things are meant to be functional. Next thing we know, she’ll be trying to camouflage the commode.” She took a bite out of an apple and was mildly surprised when her mother didn’t insist she wait until after dinner. “So what did you want to say to me?”

      Her mother scooped the onions she’d been chopping onto a plate. “I just wanted to tell you that I found some pretty candles I think will work well for the wedding. They’re vanilla-scented.”

      The way her mother’s eyes settled on her, then shifted quickly to her task again, suggested she had more to say. But mention of the wedding was enough to make Rebecca uncomfortable. She’d called the printer in Boise this morning and managed to talk them into holding her order, but she hadn’t mentioned the latest wrinkle in her love life to anyone closer to home. When her sister called earlier to set up dinner, she’d thought tonight might be a good time to talk to her parents. But her mother was preparing a lot of onions. Probably she wasn’t the only one coming to dinner.

      “Can I help?” she asked.

      “Sure. Grab a bowl and start cutting up vegetables for a salad. Everything’s in the bottom drawer of the refrigerator.”

      “I may be less like Martha Stewart than your other daughters, but even I know where to find the veggies,” Rebecca grumbled, crossing to the fridge and pulling out the romaine lettuce. “Who’s coming tonight?”

      “Greta and the kids.”

      “She told me she had a headache.”

      “She СКАЧАТЬ