Rebecca’s heart suddenly lurched. “No!” she said sharply. “No, Rachel, I don’t. I just got a divorce, remember?”
“Come on, of course you do. Your divorce was months and months ago. So what, are you going to live alone all your life listening to sad songs on the radio? Listen, ‘Someone very close—”
“I heard you. But there is no one very close to me, and I am not unfulfilled. I’m happy!”
“Being perfect does not necessarily equal happiness.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Rebecca demanded.
“What part did you not get? The perfect part or the happy part?”
Rebecca snorted. “Will someone please explain to me why everyone is so concerned about my life?”
“Well . . . because we love you,” Rachel said, as if that was the most obvious thing in the world. “And Bud was a jerk. You deserve to be happy.”
“I am happy,” Rebecca insisted, feeling, inexplicably, close to tears.
“Whatever,” Rachel said, clearly exasperated. “Listen, I have to go. I’m leaving for England Thursday and I have to finish Robin’s horoscope. She’s going to get a huge windfall in June!”
“She’ll be thrilled,” Rebecca said, and listened to Rachel’s singsong good-bye as she hung up.
Honestly, she wished Rachel would stop calling with her bullshit because Rebecca could never shake it from her thoughts. She certainly tossed and turned her way through that night (thanks, Rach!), staring long and hard at the shadows of leaves dappled in the moonlight on the old limestone wall of her room. By morning, she had reached a few wobbly conclusions: One illicit encounter did not a romance make, and in fact, Matt’s great looks aside, there really wasn’t that much to like about him, except maybe his sense of humor, even though it tended toward the smarty-pants. Oh, and he seemed practical, which she liked. And smart. And there was the fact that he had been unexpectedly kind to her. But that was about it as far as she could see. He didn’t seem that crazy about her, either, and they really had nothing in common and even if they did have something in common, which they did not, she really wasn’t ready for anything like . . . that. Horoscopes notwithstanding.
Frankly, after years of marriage, she was just now beginning to find herself again. She did not want to risk losing herself all over again, and men had a way of making her lose herself. No, no, all that had happened was a sexy little—okay, mind-blowing— thing in the middle of a very bad drunk. It was not the end of the world, and neither was it the start of anything big. It was just . . . nothing.
She wasn’t unhappy.
There was, however, one thing she could privately admit: Robin was right. She really needed to get laid.
Positive Affirmations of My Life:
1.Grayson coming home today!
2.Bingo bash this week, which means, at last, I can get that monkey off my back! Yippee!
3.Survived drunken stupor and bonus, broke the four-year dry spell. Which means I can do a couple more years no sweat until I am ready for a relationship. With sex. Because a person can do anything for a couple of years if they put their mind to it.
When Rebecca arrived to pick up her son at the designated rendezvous point (a Holiday Inn on the interstate), Bud and Grayson and what’s-her-face were already there. Grayson got out of the big Cadillac Escalade and waved, then darted around to the back of the vehicle. Bud met him there, opened up the hatch, lifted out his backpack. And while Grayson struggled to put it on, Bud reached into the back and handed Grayson a fat, wiggling, little black puppy with paws the size of Frisbees.
“Hey!” Rebecca shouted, marching across the parking lot as Bud gathered the leash and water bowl.
“Hi, Mom!” Grayson called cheerfully. “Look what Candace got me!”
Why, how thoughtful of CandyAss! “Gray, honey, did you tell Candace that we already have two dogs?” she asked, leaning down to kiss his face, which was covered with something very sticky and sweet.
“What’s one more?” Bud asked matter-of-factly, thrusting a box with biscuits and a water bowl at her. “And besides, he wanted the dog.”
“Really? He wants a horse, too,” she said over Grayson’s head. “Are you going to pull one of those out of your truck?”
“Come on, Rebecca.”
“Gray wants lots of things he can’t have, Bud,” she said calmly. “You might have at least asked. This means more food and more dog to take care of, and by the look of him, that will not be a cheap proposition, because that guy is not going to grow up to be a dainty little dog!”
“We named him Tater,” Grayson announced. “Candace helped me think of it.” The puppy reacted to his new name by licking the sticky stuff from Grayson’s cheek.
“How helpful of her,” Rebecca said, then glared at Bud.
“Would you please stop acting like a princess? What’s one lousy dog? You got a big enough place, and Lord knows you have enough of my money to feed it.”