“Yes, of course,” he said, though they’d agreed to no specific timing.
And done? Eric would never be done. This was his career. He was in it for the long haul, one deployment tacked onto the next, a long trip with only breaks and no end.
“Okay,” Laurel said and exhaled loudly. She closed her eyes. “Good. Wise move.” After several moments, she opened them back up. “Well, let’s see the ring. There is a ring, yes?”
“Of course there’s a ring!” Annie chirped.
She extended a jittery, unsure hand in her mom’s direction to display the faintest chip of a diamond of a ring. A tenth of a carat? A twentieth? Even the gold band was so delicate it nearly disappeared. Good thing Annie had petite hands.
“It’s beautiful,” Laurel said, sounding genuine and almost comforted by the modest piece of jewelry. Eric Sawyer wasn’t some spoiled kid supported by his parents. The same could not be said for Annie.
“Again, ma’am, I’m sorry I didn’t ask you first. I’m a traditional man. I should’ve followed the appropriate etiquette.”
“In case you haven’t noticed,” Annie said. “We’re not exactly a traditional family.”
There was no father to ask, is what she meant. A traditional path would’ve involved the dad. Who would walk Annie down the aisle anyway? Her mother? A pair of geldings?
“Okay.” Eric flushed, the pink high on his cheeks. “All right.”
“Well, congratulations, you two,” Laurel said as she led the horse out of its stall. “Sorry to dash but I want to get a ride in before dark. Eric, please join us for dinner, if you can.”
“Yes, absolutely,” he said, stumbling over his words. “Thank you. I’d be honored.”
When Laurel was out of the building, on her horse and galloping into meadow, Annie turned to face Eric for the first time since they walked into the barn.
“That went okay?” he said timidly.
“It did,” she answered with a nod. “Maybe even better than expected.”
Yet she felt unsettled.
Even with Laurel’s tacit approval, something wasn’t right. Annie should’ve been filled with love right then, toward her fiancé and her mom who was, if not excited, at least gracious. But despite these things going for her, going for them, there remained a hole, a slow leak of something Annie couldn’t quite explain.
Two
GOOSE CREEK HILL
MIDDLEBURG, VIRGINIA
OCTOBER 2001
Two o’clock in the morning.
Annie’s luggage was packed. She’d double-checked her passport and plane ticket. Not one but two weepy e-mails were flying through the Ethernet toward Eric. Everything was ready to go but her brain refused to rest. If she didn’t get rid of the collywobbles, she’d never get to sleep.
A letter, Annie thought. She should write one last letter to her fiancé, and do it the old-fashioned way, with paper and a pen. Her mom sounded so retro. He’s going off to war. As the soldier’s best girl, she needed to play the part and writing letters seemed romantic anyhow.
When she crept downstairs an hour later, stamped envelope in hand, Annie discovered she was not the only one awake. She paused at the threshold of Laurel’s office, hesitating before she spoke.
There her mom stood, behind her desk, fully dressed with the lights blaring around her. On the desk was a box. On her face, a scowl. Already the scene was disorienting.
“Mom, what’s going on?”
“Oh geez! Annie!” Laurel whopped her chest. “You scared the crap out of me.”
“Sorry! Can I come in?”
“Yes, of course. So you’re having trouble sleeping?”
“Apparently.”
Annie walked cautiously into the room. Everything continued to feel muddled.
“I can’t sleep either,” Laurel said as she hugged a tattered blue book to her chest. She was wide-awake but did not seem altogether in the room. “I never can before a flight. It’s infuriating. So, I assume you’re all packed?”
“I am. Mom? Are you okay?”
“I hope you brought warm clothes,” she said absently. “England can be dreary this time of year.”
Laurel set down the book.
“Any time of year,” she added.
With that same blank look, Laurel started wrapping her hair in a knot at the base of her neck. For twenty years she’d sported a low, tight blond chignon. The tucked-in woman, the ice-queen attorney. Laurel was probably the very paragon of understated law-firm style back in the day, but Annie had to think it’d grown tired after twenty years. She imagined new associates mocking her, placing bets on when she’d finally find a new look.
Then Laurel sold her share of the partnership and the chignon came down. Her hair was surprisingly long and curly and wild. But now, on the other side of the desk, Laurel was trying to wrap it back up again. Old habits died hard, it seemed.
“Mom … are you…”
“I enjoyed having Eric for dinner,” Laurel said, and let her hair go free again. “He’s a nice young man.”