Changing Lanes: A Novel (29 page)

“Plus”—Mona stepped out from the pack—“we old folks don’t sleep much.”

A warm gold covered the living room walls, and the radiators had not only been reinstalled, they’d been painted a beautiful antique white.

The baseboards and crown molding had also been painted antique white, as had the wood trim that framed my home’s enormous windows.

I fought the urge to pinch myself, but I also found it nearly impossible to speak.

“How can I ever repay you?” I asked, looking first at Destiny and Rock, then at the Clippers and my family.

“Argh,” Mona Capshaw said. “Consider this a perk of living in Paris.”

Frank Turner stepped forward and shook my hand. “Looks like you’re ready to move in. Destiny did an amazing job.”

Move in.

A month ago that had been my only thought. Now, I couldn’t stop thinking about how long it might take to drive to Seattle.

Ted Miller shook my hand, smiling. “I still say you should think about pharmacy tech if you want to pay your half of the mortgage.”

“Thanks, Ted,” I murmured, laughing as the rest of the Clippers lined up to shake my hand, pat my back, or envelop me in a hug.

“Does anybody have a—”

But there was no need to finish my question. Mom worked the room, snapping pictures on the old Minolta as if she’d been a photographer all her life.

Dad stepped forward and kissed my cheek. “It’s beautiful, honey.”

“Thanks, Dad.”

“Do you think you’ll keep it?” he asked.

I blew out a sigh. “I can’t afford this house on my own.”

Hell, Fred didn’t even know about the changes I’d made. Then I realized, Destiny and I might have found most of the materials at the salvage yard, but the paint and other supplies hadn’t been free.

I pulled Destiny aside and dropped my voice low as everyone else headed to the kitchen for refreshments. “I need to pay you for this.”

“No, you don’t.” She shook her head, shoving a wayward strand of mahogany hair up under her painter’s cap. “Coupons, baby. It’s all about the coupons.”

“You mean to tell me…”

Then I remembered the bigger-than-usual Clipper meetings recently.

“We combined forces to find you the materials you needed for next to nothing,” Destiny continued. “Maybe now you’ll reconsider that booty pack.”

I laughed, wanting to stand inside this room, surrounded by Clippers, savoring this moment forever.

Missy tugged at my sleeve. “There’s something for you in the kitchen.”

“More? I was just in there.”

I followed my little sister back into the kitchen.

Frankie stood in front of the kitchen window, her eyes bright, palpable joy edging out the lines of grief on her young face.

I was about to tell her how happy I was to see her smile when she stepped to one side, providing me with a clear view of the window’s glass panes.

There hung a stained-glass star, its facets and angles an intricate design of blue, amber, lavender, pale green, and yellow. Each
cut was perfect, with the exception of the star’s focal point—a pale-green glass triangle, its beauty flawed by a single crack.

“We heard he took off again,” Frank Turner said.

I held up my hands before anyone could say another word. “He has something he needs to do.”

“I’m amazed he had the nerve to show his face again in the first place after he burned down the Paris Oak.”

I had no idea who’d made the comment, but I had to make it stop.

I had always loved the point in a movie where the heroine had to decide whether or not to fight for what she believed. The time had come for me to fight for Mick.

The time had come for me to tell the truth.

I hoisted my hands higher into the air, waiting for the chatter to die down.

I drew in a deep breath, I concentrated on steadying the beat of my heart, and then I chose my words carefully, speaking them slowly and clearly.

“I burned down the tree.”

The room went silent.

“Mick lied to protect me.”

Mona clucked her tongue. “It’s a little late to defend him now.”

I pushed past the shame that washed through me. “You’re right. I should have defended him thirteen years ago. And if it makes you feel better, you can go engrave my name in that big rock where the tree once stood.”

Destiny stared. Jessica stared. My mother had gone pale. The Clippers stood uncharacteristically silent.

Ted Miller opened his mouth, and I gave him the palm-in-the-air-please-don’t-utter-a-single-syllable sign he was probably getting used to.

Frank shrugged. “This is a first.”

I frowned. “For what?”

Frank laughed. “A secret in Paris. Who’d have thought it possible?”

Nan, who had never said a negative thing to me in my life, stepped forward and hooked her fingers beneath my chin. “Macaroon, you’re an idiot.”

Mona laughed. Jessica laughed. My mother laughed, and before long, the entire group laughed, their tone shifting from one of nervous disbelief to one of love and forgiveness.

I laughed along with them, my joy and relief building from the pit of my belly, lightening my burden as it moved upward and outward after being held inside me for so many years.

“Yes,” I said. “Yes, I am.”

A few moments later, Destiny made her way to my side, hooked my elbow, and dragged me toward the home’s front window.

Fred Newton walked up the sidewalk toward the yellow Victorian, and I stood frozen in place, as if I were watching a movie reel unwind before my eyes.

My stomach flipped and my heart fell to my toes.

I’d been laughing and celebrating as if this house were mine, when the truth was, it was half Fred’s. This house was part of the life we’d planned before everything had changed.

As he drew near, Fred looked nothing like the man I remembered. He looked smaller, a less significant part of my world somehow.

While I knew I should be worried about his reaction to the house and how much renovation I’d approved without his input, his wasn’t the name echoing through my brain. His wasn’t the face playing across my mind. His welfare wasn’t the worry haunting my every waking moment.

I’d let Mick go because he needed to go, but as I watched Fred approach, I wondered if I really needed to stay.

I headed outside and met Fred partway across the home’s front yard.

We stood awkwardly facing each other, without as much as a handshake.

“Fred,” I said.

“I got your messages,” he said.

No hug. No kiss. No apology.

“Sorry I had to cancel on Sunday,” I said.

He smiled, the move stiff. “No problem. I figured today might be a good day to drive down to see you.”

I thought about saying countless things. I thought about yelling at him for leaving me, for walking out two months before our wedding. I thought about saying a lot of things, but instead, I said nothing.

“I had to go, Abby,” he said.

“Did you?” I asked.

Then I realized, maybe he did need to go. Maybe he’d needed to seize the exceptional moments of his life by heading to France, but he could have been a bit more thoughtful in his departure.

Unlike Mick, who had left once to protect me and get away from his father, and once to go after his daughter, Fred had left for purely selfish reasons.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were unhappy?” I asked.

He shrugged. “I think I was afraid.”

“Of me?”

He nodded. “Of messing up your plans.”

I blew out a breath, eerily calm. “You could have returned at least one of my messages.”

Fred shook his head. “I took a vow of silence.”

I blinked.

“What’s with the hat?” He pointed to Dad’s fedora.

“Don’t change the subject.”

“Sorry.”

A vow of silence.

“So what did you do?” I asked. “Become a monk?”

Fred shook his head again; then he placed his palms in the air, building an invisible wall to his front, his left, his right.

My gut tightened. Surely, he didn’t—

“I became a mime.” He beamed as he spoke the words, as if he’d found his true calling.

“Are you fucking kidding me?”

He staggered backward and did an exaggerated finger waggle to chastise me.

“Shut up, Fred.”

He opened his mouth as if shocked, flattening his palms to his cheeks.

I closed the small space between us and grabbed his hands, pulling them down to his sides. His eyes popped wider, much as I hadn’t thought that possible.

“Do you love me, Fred?”

He pursed his lips and tipped his head to one side.

I resisted the urge to smack him. Having never been a violent person, I didn’t think this was a good time to start. Plus, we’d drawn a crowd.

Mom, Dad, Nan, and Frankie stood on the front lawn, surrounded by Clippers. Destiny and Jessica stood a few steps closer to me, poised as if ready to do battle.

Missy, who had obviously overheard, walked beside us, pantomiming as if she were pulling herself down the sidewalk along an invisible rope.

“Do you love me?” I repeated, this time much more softly.

Fred blinked, and in that millisecond I saw the truth.

“I didn’t think so.” My voice grew thick with emotion, even though I knew I didn’t love him either.

For a split second, I thought about the time I’d lost while I’d been with Fred, but then I realized something. Without him, we might never have bought the little Victorian, and I might never have returned to Paris.

Sure, we had the issue of our shared house and mortgage to deal with, but as I glanced over my shoulder and took a mental picture of my family, friends, and Clippers, I realized that without the plans Fred and I had made, I might never have found this moment.

“Why did you come see me?” I asked.

“To say good-bye.”

We stared at each other for what seemed like forever, and then we both smiled.

“Good-bye, Fred.” I pushed to my tiptoes and kissed his cheek.

“Good-bye, Abby.”

I released my grip on his hands and ran, scooping Missy into my arms as I crossed the yard, back toward Bessie.

“Who wants to drive me to the airport?”

I stood at the door between my arrival gate and baggage claim and read the posted sign.

No Reentry.

I flexed my fingers, trying to ease the ache six hours of white-knuckling armrests had left behind. Then I stepped forward.

No Reentry.

No worries. I had no intention of turning back.

Little more than a month ago, I thought I’d do whatever it took to save the life I’d planned, yet here I stood, ready to risk my heart and my future on a life I’d never imagined.

Life was a journey of letting go.

Life was about learning to adjust, learning to accept the disappointments, the unexpected developments, and the out-of-this-world-wonderful surprises.

Life was about appreciating life—with all its flaws and quirks and challenges. Life was about embracing the everyday moments and owning whatever happened next.

I pulled Dad’s hat out of the duffel bag I’d thrown together before my entire family had driven me to the airport. I’d tried to give the fedora back to my father, but he’d insisted I take it for good luck.

In the excitement of catching the next plane to Seattle, I hadn’t had time to do much more than pack and run. I supposed if I’d had more time to think, I might never have boarded the plane. But once the door was shut and the seat belt sign was illuminated, I was committed…and trapped.

It hadn’t been pretty, but I’d distracted myself by thinking about how much I’d miss my family.

Moving back home had given me a chance to see them in an entirely new light, and I wouldn’t trade a single, wonderful moment.

I’d given my house keys to Destiny, suggesting she and Rock use the Victorian as a showroom for the time being.

If I stayed in Seattle, and Fred and I sold the property, maybe Don would decide to buy the little yellow house on Second Avenue. I had it on good authority that it had been recently renovated.

Mom had asked if she could turn my old bedroom into a studio, now that I was moving out again.

About time.

So there I stood, at the perimeter of baggage claim, silently praying Mick wanted to see me as much as I wanted to see him.