Page 46 of Forked (Frenched 2)
It had been so long since I’d driven through a rural area—I lived in the suburbs, worked in the city, and when I traveled, I usually flew somewhere urban and outside of Michigan, like Chicago or New York. I’d forgotten how pretty and restful the Midwestern countryside was on a clear summer day, everything warm and golden. I loved the old red barns, the solid little brick farmhouses, the Victorians with their lacy trim and old-fashioned front porches. The neat green rows of beans and cabbage, thick fields of sweet corn and sugar beets, huge cylinders of hay dotting the flat, still landscape. Horses and cows grazed in paddocks fenced with railroad ties, and occasionally I’d see children on swings hanging from big old trees or jumping on trampolines in their yards.
And of course, there were orchards. Would I ever be able to pass an apple orchard without feeling like my panties might melt? Tipping my head back against the seat, I closed my eyes and let the sun warm my face as memories warmed by body. Beside me, Nick cleared his throat. Was he thinking about it, too?
“I’m hungry,” he announced.
I almost laughed. He was thinking about food, not sex. I picked up my head. “Are you?”
“Yes. Want to have a picnic?”
“Sure. Sounds like fun.”
“OK. There’s a little country store up here. We’ll buy some picnic food, and then I know the perfect spot to go eat.”
Of course he did. He knew the perfect way to do everything. I couldn’t stop thinking about his offer. The way he’d described it, sort of like a business loan, appealed to me, but was I just rationalizing it because I wanted the house so badly? What if repairs ate up all my money and I couldn’t pay him back? Wouldn’t it be easier to say to my parents, Hey I’m a little short this month, than it would be to face Nick—or God forbid, his lawyer—and have to say the same?
I knew he would offer a low interest rate and give me a fair payment schedule, but still…this kept him in my life. I’d be tied to him until I paid off the debt. Could I handle that? Clearly he didn’t have a problem doing business with his ex-wife, and maybe he saw this as a way to make amends for what he’d done. Atonement.
Was I prepared to offer that?
Or maybe he got a kick out of being in the position to lend me money after all the time he spent feeling bad about himself because I grew up wealthy and he hadn’t. Maybe it was an ego boost. That was possible.
I fretted about it as he turned off the road into the dirt parking lot of a store housed in a little old barn. I wanted the money, but I didn’t want to feel icky about it. At least, I didn’t want to feel ickier than if I took my parents’ money.
Ugh, there was no good way to go about this. Bottom line was, I couldn’t afford the house. I should just let it go.
“Want to come in?” Nick turned off the car and opened his door.
“No. I’ll wait here. I have to check my messages anyway. Go on, you can choose lunch. I trust you.”
“Dangerous words, cupcake.”
I returned his smile, but I felt a little like crying.
God, why couldn’t I have fallen in love with something else, something small and reasonable? Something new, perhaps, that didn’t need so much work? Why did I have to want something old and broken down…something I couldn’t have?
#
While Nick was in the store, I checked my text and messages. Erin had texted, wanting to know how things were going, and Mia had sent me a long list of things she was freaking out about. I messaged Erin back that I was fine and told Mia to relax, for the millionth time. Her wedding would be perfect. I said I was out shopping for the day but if she wanted help, I’d be around tomorrow and Monday. Secretly I hoped she wouldn’t, though. One look at me and she’d know something was up.
My mother had left a voicemail, letting me know she and my father had decided to go up to their place in Harbor Springs for the week and could I please remember it was trash day on Thursday and not to leave the air conditioning lower than 73 when I went to work in the morning and Sitty had an eye doctor appointment on Tuesday afternoon, would I be available to take her?
The woman exhausted me without even being in the room. I texted back that I’d follow all instructions and yes, I could take Sitty to the appointment.
I had one more voicemail—fr
om Angelina.
“Coco, could you please call me back right away? Thanks.”
Steeling myself for another conversation with her, I returned her call.
“Hello?”
“Hi Angelina. It’s Coco.”
“Oh, hey. I keep thinking about the whole theme thing.”
“I thought we settled this. It’s going to be beautiful as planned, I promise.”
