The Best Man (Blue Heron #1)

The Best Man (Blue Heron #1) Page 18

“I’ll be right on the other side of that door,” he said. “Call if you need me.”

Everyone left, slowly, uncertainly, glancing back at Faith. She sank into a metal chair, Jeremy sitting across from her. And Levi, damn him, walked a few feet away and stood with his hands behind his back, staring at the floor, looking like a stone wall.

“Does he have to stay?” Faith whispered.

“I...I’d like him to,” Jeremy whispered back. “If that’s okay.”

She looked into his eyes, which were so dark they were almost black, and which had always seemed so happy—with her, with life. Smiling seemed to be his natural expression, and everyone commented on it, that big, ready grin of his.

No smiling now.

She sensed the world was about to end.

“Faith,” he said, his voice soft and broken, “I want you to know that I do love you, so much.” He took a breath and looked at the floor. “But I can’t marry you.”

“Why?” she asked, her voice squeaking. “Are you sick? I don’t mind, I’d stay with you, that’s the whole point, in sickness and in—”

He looked back up, his gaze slamming into hers. “I’m g*y.”

The two words seemed to float around her for a few seconds, meaningless, before they hooked into her brain. She sucked in a quick breath and jerked back, and started to speak. It took a few tries; her mouth was making odd little noises, her lips trying and failing to form words. Finally, she stopped, gave her head a quick shake, and tried again.

“No, you’re not. You’re not g*y.”

“I’m so sorry.” He looked...old.

“You don’t have to be sorry! You don’t! Because you’re not. You aren’t. You can’t be.”

He hesitated, looking at the floor, folding his hands together loosely, his beautiful doctor hands. There should’ve been a wedding ring on the fourth finger of his left hand by now. There would’ve been if Levi had kept his mouth shut.

Jeremy took a deep breath. “I didn’t...acknowledge it, and I really thought I could... I mean, for a long time, I honestly didn’t know. I didn’t. I just thought those feelings would go away, and with you, it was like proof that I wasn’t—”

“Stop! Shut it, Jeremy. My God.” Okay, she was hyperventilating a little. “You are not g*y.” She took a steadying breath. “You have the worst taste in clothes I’ve ever seen in a man. I had to teach you how to dress. Remember those mom jeans you thought looked good on you? They were horrible! You have no sense of style whatsoever. If it weren’t for me and Banana Republic—”

“Faith, I—”

“No! Plus, you’re a terrible dancer! I mean, we had to take six lessons before you figured out the box step, Jeremy! And—and—and you played football! You were really good at it, too. You played football, Jeremy! You were the quarterback!”

He put his hands on her knees, on her beautiful dress, on all that poufy fabric, and his happy, beautiful face was so old and tragic now, oh, God. “I know,” he said, his voice rough. “And I thought, when I met you, that I’d sort of click into place. I really did love you—”

“You do love me! Don’t put that in the past tense!” she cried, her voice shrill. “You said you wanted to be my husband! You said so on the phone last night, Jeremy!”

“Take it easy,” Levi said.

Faith whirled around. “Shut up, Levi!” she barked. “If you have to be here, at least shut up!” He looked back down at the floor and obeyed.

Faith took a breath, then another, and looked into Jeremy’s eyes. “I know you love me,” she went on more steadily. “I know that more than I know anything. How can you be saying all this?” She lowered her voice. “Did Levi make a pass at you or—”

“No! God, no,” Jeremy said. “Levi has nothing to do with this. You’re the only one I’ve ever been with, Faith. Ever.”

“See? Then you’re not g*y. You’re just not. We’ve been sleeping together since sophomore year of college!”

A horrible thought occurred to her. That maybe dating a guy who said he loved you but waited two years to get into your pants...oh, shit.

“Faith, when we’re...together,” Jeremy said, very, very quietly, “I have to...um...”

At that moment, the door opened and Jeremy’s great-aunt Peg came in. “I just have to use the ladies’ room,” she said. “Don’t worry, I won’t listen to a word. Faith, darling, you look so beautiful. And, Levi, is it? Oh, I love a man in uniform! Thank you for your service, sweetheart.”

“Uh...you’re welcome,” Levi said. “Thanks for your support.”

Good God. This was just bizarre enough to be a nightmare. You know what? It might be. She prayed it was. The great-aunt in the loo, Jeremy being g*y...come on! It had to be a dream. Please, God. Let me wake up in my bed and have this be a dream, and Jeremy and I will still get married. I can tell him about this dream, and we’ll laugh and laugh about it. Please.

The details, though. The smell of chalk, the cold chairs. The gleam on Levi’s shoes, his crew cut.

Jeremy’s bowed head.

Finally, Great-Aunt Peg emerged. “See you upstairs!” she said, waving merrily.

“You were saying?” Faith said. Her voice was sharper now, harder. “When we’re together, you have to what, Jeremy?”

He grimaced. “I have to think of...other things. Even though I think you’re beautiful and—”

“What things?” she said. “I think I deserve to know what things you had to picture!”

“Faith, this probably isn’t—” Levi began.

“Shut up, Levi! What things, Jeremy?”

He looked wretched. Utterly miserable. “I have to picture Justin Timberlake.”

Oh.

Okay, that was a showstopper. The case for Jeremy’s heterosexuality took a serious hit with that one. “Justin Timberlake?”

“‘Rock Your Body.’ The video.”

Her mouth was open, she realized. She closed it. The JT song echoed in her head, taunting. Those damn white hoodies everyone wore.

Oh, no.

Thoughts bounced and zinged through her head, not quite registering. Her makeup must be ruined from crying. The dress was itchy. They wouldn’t have their first dance together. They weren’t getting married.

“You’re really g*y?” she whispered.

He looked up and nodded, his eyes were full of tears, too, and it was idiotic, but she wanted to comfort him. “I thought that I...that I wasn’t,” he said. “I wanted a wife—you—I wanted kids, I wanted a life like my parents have, but...I...yes. I am.”

He covered his eyes with one hand and bowed his head.

From the first time she’d laid eyes on him, Faith had known he was special and gentle and wonderful. From that first second on, she’d loved him. He had never, ever let her down, never found her lacking, never spoke to her in anger or looked at her in contempt.

Jeremy Lyon was, above all things, a good, good man.

Without quite intending to, she reached out and stroked his smooth black hair, cut short for this day.

He looked up, his misery so obvious that it wrenched her heart, the heart he was breaking.

“It’s okay,” she whispered. “It’s all right, sweetheart.”

“I’m so sorry,” he said again. “I’m so, so sorry, Faith.”

He leaned in close, so his head was touching hers, and they sat there another moment or two—or an hour, the uneven sound of Jeremy’s breathing as he cried, the soft pat of tears as they fell from Faith’s eyes to her dress. The reality of the future pressed down on Faith, the weight almost bearable at first. Her beautiful wedding wasn’t going to happen. No honeymoon in Napa, lounging around in bed with this beautiful man. Oh, God, the weight was pressing on her chest harder now. No black-haired children running through the fields of Blue Heron...no life with Jeremy, the only one who’d ever seen in her something that was special and rare and precious.

Jeremy had been proof that she was forgiven. But now there was nothing. There’d be nothing now.

“I guess we should call off the wedding, huh?” she said, and he gave a half laugh, half sob, then stood up and pulled her against him, pressing her face against his hard, muscled shoulder, and she hugged him as hard as she could, her throat aching with the sobs she wouldn’t let out, because it would break Jeremy to hear that, and she loved him too much to do that. He was the love of her life.

“I’ll leave town,” he said, his voice cracking. “I—I can move. I won’t stay here, Faith. I won’t do that to you.”

But he was the town doctor. Elaine and Ted had loaned him the money to buy Dr. Wilkinson’s practice. She’d helped him redecorate the waiting rooms, bought him the iconic Norman Rockwell prints, filled out the online forms so he’d have up-to-date magazines. Six months in business, and he was already thinking about hiring another nurse, because that’s how popular he was.

Already her head was shaking. “No. You’re not going anywhere. Don’t do anything. Just...you know what? Let’s not do anything yet, okay?” Her breath was starting to hitch. “Let’s...we’ll just...talk later.” Panic lapped at her feet, her knees, threatening to pull her under. She was going to lose it if she had to stay here another second. “This is all going to be fine, but I—I think I should get going,” she managed, looking at his chest. She risked one more glance at his face, and, oh, God, it really did feel like her heart was being ripped apart.

“Faith, I wish things were different,” Jeremy whispered. “I’m so—”

“I have to go now,” she said. She took a breath and bit her lip hard, and her voice came out in a whisper. “Bye.” There was a world of heartbreak in that one small word.

Into the bright sunshine that was an affront now, then into the dark cave of the limo. Some kind blankness was settling around her, thank you, God, and then Daddy was there, holding her against him, and her sisters, and Mrs. Johnson, who gripped her hand and said nothing. Jack was taking care of the guests, someone said, and Jeremy was talking to his parents.

She still had her bouquet.

No one said anything as they drove home. Blue, the half-grown Golden retriever she’d adopted from the rescue league a few months ago (because she was going to be married and therefore could have her own dog), greeted her joyfully, jumping up on her dress, and who cared now? Up the stairs—the photographer had taken her picture here just about an hour ago, back in the olden days.

Her bridesmaids—former bridesmaids—were close on her tail.

“Here,” Honor said once they were in Faith’s room. “Let me help you get undressed.”

“I think—I think I’d like to be alone,” Faith said. Wow. Her voice sounded so strange.

The three of them swapped a glance. “You’re not gonna kill yourself or anything, right?” Pru asked.

“Good God, no. Just...just give me a little while.”

Surprisingly, they obeyed, closing the door quietly behind them. Faith sank onto her bed, the tulle skirt puffing around her like dandelion fluff. There was her big red suitcase, all packed for the honeymoon, the tickets to San Francisco peeking out of the side pocket.

Hello Kitty ticked away the minutes from the bureau. She could hear the rumble of her father’s voice through the open window as he talked to someone. Mrs. Johnson was banging around in the kitchen—distress cooking, they called it when she was upset. From down the hall came the sound of Abby’s sobs—poor kid. Jeremy wouldn’t be her uncle, though she’d been calling him that for months now. Bragging about it.