But then Siobhan asks behind me, “Oh, hell, did she break something?”
And suddenly, I understand exactly what Kristal is asking me to do.
23
The Right Somebody to Love
KRISTAL
I’ve done something I shouldn’t have, and now I’m trying to figure out how to live with the consequences.
Hayato Nakamura is the exact opposite of “The Right Somebody to Love,” yet the Mamas and Papas cover of that naïve Shirley Temple song plays in my head as we drive back to the inn. Loudly.
He didn’t just lie for me when Siobhan came running up to ask if I was hurt, he also physically committed to the story. After Siobhan pulled up beside me in the truck she’d just conveniently dug out of the snow (as Krista often says, “won’t Santa do it?), he picked me up like I weighed nothing at all and gently set me down inside the cab as if I really did have a sprained ankle.
I suddenly understood the meaning of “swoon.” Both my mind and my heart fluttered uncontrollably, threatening to give out from the thrill of being attended to like this, even if he was just pretending.
Thank you, I mouthed as he settled in beside me and closed the passenger side door.
“You need me to take you all the way to Dr. Foss’s house?” Siobhan asks when we reach the inn.
“The Right Somebody to Love” abruptly cuts off as I do the never-before-attempted math of figuring out how to make this match between Siobhan and Declan happen.
Having Siobhan drop me off at the doctor’s office is a potentially very good idea. If Declan and his mother are still there, then maybe they could meet for lunch there. Meet for lunch is a euphemism for ‘meet cute’ and ‘fall in love’ that my cousin Krista used to employ before her matchmaking powers changed and lunch became dinner.
But it’s a little early for lunch. And how about if Declan’s mom is crying or something? Now that I think of it, pretending to have a sprained ankle was probably a terrible idea. Oh, Santa, why did I think I could be Krista, even for one day? Stay in your lane, Kristal, stay in your lane.
“Here is fine,” Hayato assures her before I can decide what to do. “We will find some ice to put on her ankle.”
Okay, so the doctor’s office plan is a bust. And, oh no, the old shuttle van Declan and Maeve drove off in this morning is nowhere to be seen I notice as Siobhan pulls into the inn’s long driveway.
We stop right before the inn’s portico, which starts a good three meters before the lobby doors, but hangs too low for Siobhan’s truck to fit underneath. “This is as far as I can take you,” she tells us.
I try not to show I’m panicking when Hayato gets out while Siobhan remains in the driver’s seat, her hands gripping the wheel like she plans to speed off as soon as I’m out of her truck.
“The front door’s too far to hop,” I say. The word’s come out sounding weird and strained because I have to string together a technical truth as I speak. “I’m afraid I’ll slip and take you down with me.”
“I can carry you on my back,” he offers.
And I swoon all over again because J-Drama hero much? But then I remember the mission and insist, “No, no, I’m way too heavy. Siobhan, do you mind helping me get inside?”
Siobhan looks at the front lobby door, then back at me. I can almost see the tug of war going on inside her brain. “Dec’s not in there, right?”
“No, he’s still at the doctor’s office with his mother,” I answer, unable to keep the disappointment out of my voice.
“Okay, let’s make it quick,” she says. “Snow’s melting, so I’ll have a lot to do today.”
I inwardly cheer but act cool when she puts the truck in park and comes around to my side of the car.
I also limp as slowly as I possibly can as she and Hayato help me inside. Please, please, please let Declan get back before she leaves, I silently beg Santa.
Rodge comes jogging out to meet us as soon as he sees us approaching through the lobby doors, his face already set to grouchy.
“Too much trouble for you to even put on some decent clothes before leaving the house, I see,” he says, scanning Siobhan up and down.
Then his grumpy eyes land on me. “And what the hell happened to you?”
“She slipped on the road you were supposed to have salted, that’s what happened, old man,” Siobhan answers.
“I salted it alright,” Rodge assures her. Then he frowns at me. “Well, that’s a left coaster for ya. Can’t even walk on salted snow without slipping and sliding. Maybe if your moon boots weren’t so shiny…”
“You best hope she doesn’t up and decide to sue,” Siobhan warns. “That salt job of yours didn’t even hold an hour.”
I look between them like I’m at a tennis match. With their thick Maine accents, it’s like listening to a Stephen King novel come to life, except they’re arguing over salt, not murder. But main point: yay! Another delay. I send up a silent, Thanks, Santa!
“If she does, it serves me right for agreeing to help Maeve with her harebrained scheme to reunite you and Declan.”
“Yeah, that’s one thing we can agree on,” Siobhan says, her face screwing up with disgust.
“I wouldn’t call it harebrained,” I murmur, coming to Maeve’s defense…and looking over my shoulder to see if Declan is anywhere close. Delay, delay, delay….
“Well, I would,” Rodge grouses. “Like a Marine’s going to want to have anything to do with his hag of an ex now that he’s living an international life filled with wealth and glamour.”
He shakes his head at Siobhan. “You should see yourself. What are you using to comb your hair these days, girlie? A bird’s nest? And I can feel the misery coming off of ya. No wonder that husband of yours left.”
As soon as the last word is out of his mouth, silence descends, colder than the snow.
I sense these two are used to crabbing back and forth, that it’s fun for both of them. Maybe she doesn’t even mind him making fun of her looks.
But bringing Declan into it crossed a line, Rodge probably didn’t know she had. Maybe Siobhan hadn’t known it either.
“Okay, Uncle Rodge, here’s your guest back,” Siobhan says, “safe and sound.”
Now my eyes really tennis match. Rodge is her uncle?
“Aw, Shuv, I’m…” Rodge starts but breaks off. “I’m just saying maybe put on some decent clothes and some makeup. Like your mom used to say before she…”
Rodge once again trails off in a way that tells me his good sense is finally catching up with his tongue.
But it’s too late. Siobhan pushes a chunk of hair behind her ear and folds her arms over her fleece pajama top.
“Before she stopped talking to me, just like she did Aunt Kathy before she died, because she married a Jew?” Siobhan finishes for him. “Yeah, Uncle Rodge, you should definitely be taking her side in all of this. Pretty soon you and my dad will be the only relatives attending your perfectly holy sister’s funeral.”
“Oh, Shuv…” Rodge starts again, only to taper out as if apologies weren’t written into his basic human code. “I’m grumpy today. We’ve barely got any guests, and the ones we do have are being a pain in my ass…”