Page 7 of I Do With You

It seems Ben got suckered into one whose theme is Mushroom Chic, but at least it’s cute, with fresh white paint, sage kitchen cabinets, dark-wood-looking floors, and an abundance of vintage mushroom pottery in every nook and cranny. I even spy mushroom-shaped salt and pepper shakers on the kitchen peninsula—at least, I think they’re mushrooms. If they’re penis shakers, I’m in a completely different type of trouble here.

Despite the kitsch factor and possible penile decor, the cottages rarely go unbooked since we have so many tourists coming in at all times of the year. Maple Creek is just that sort of town, a place where people can get away from it all. In the summer, they come for the beautifulgreenery, hiking, and lake fun, though Ben doesn’t seem to be enjoying our scenic seasonal view. In the fall, the maple leaves change color, bringing people in droves, and we have our annual Apple Jamboree. In the winter? Our holiday festival, ice-skating, and minor-league hockey championship are all draws, and our Christmas parade sometimes makes regional news. And in spring, we have the Peachfest Party and wildflower blooms, and our local brewery hosts a beer-a-palooza.

All that to say, summer is high season: high demand and high priced, for any and all lodging, even a decades-old mobile home decorated in fungus.

I look at Ben again. His dark-wash jeans are worn, frayed along the hems and dirty by the pockets. His boots have seen a lot of miles, with creases worn into the leather. And his T-shirt looks straight outta Walmart. The only thing that looks expensive is the ink that winds down his arms in spotty patches, giving the impression that each one’s been done at different times rather than as one complete planned piece. Still, each piece appears very well done, even if I’m no tattoo expert.

So if he’s staying here, there’s more to Ben than meets the eye.

Inside, I scan the living room, not sure what I’m looking for. A sign that says DANGER, given that I’ve followed a stranger back to his place like a too-stupid-to-live idiot who dies in the first five minutes of any horror flick? But all I see is a leather couch facing the television, a chair with a guitar propped against it, and a few stray pillows. When Ben sees me zero in on the guitar, he quickly moves to put it away. Like I care about a little clutter when I’m the conductor on the Hot Mess Express. Choo-choo!

He hands me a phone and I freeze, staring at the screen. Truth is, I’m not sure who to call. I know I said I wanted to call Mom, but she’ll definitely freak; Dad will grunt that I probably know what I’m doing; Shepherd will threaten to kill Roy; and Joy? She’ll have my back no matter what, so she’s the obvious person to call.

“Hello?” she answers uncertainly. “Who’s this?”

“Joy,” I say, sloppy tears instantly falling when I hear her voice.

“Oh my God! Hope! It’s her, guys!” She says it loudly, like she’s telling the people around her, not me. Back to me, she says, “I’m going to murder you with my bare hands. And probably Roy, too, for whatever he did. What the hell is going on? Where are you? Whose phone are you calling from?”

The sobs come harder at her worrying, even with the threat of bodily harm, because I know she’s probably terrified. I don’t do shit like this. I’m rock solid, steady and sure—always. One thing I don’t do? Go off on flights of impulsivity, running from the altar at my own wedding, for fuck’s sake.

Except I did.

And even though I feel like a complete and utter mess, inside and out, I’m not sorry.

“Joy, I couldn’t do it. He ... Roy ... I just ... I don’t know. I need some time,” I tell her, the words stuttered and unsure.

“All right. Time? Yeah, you can do that.” She’s placating me, her voice gentle and soft like she’s scared I’m going to bite her through the phone—or worse, hang up on her. “Take all the time you need. Just tell me where you are and I’ll come get you.”

“No!” The word jumps out of my mouth before I can think it. But I know in my gut that I don’t want to go back. Not yet. When I go back, there’ll be questions and I’ll have to give answers. Answers I don’t have.

I don’t know why I ran. I don’t know what gave me cold feet. I don’t know if I want to marry Roy ... ever.

I glance at Ben, who’s leaning back against the kitchen counter as he blatantly listens to my private conversation. His arms are crossed over his chest, he’s scowling, and the darkness in his gaze makes him look completely unsafe, but I still tell Joy, “I’m safe.” I raise my brows, giving him the puppy dog eyes that’ve worked miracles for me in the past as I ask a silent question of him:Can I stay?

He’s still for a long second, and my brain scatters and my heart races as I wonder where else I might be able to go that Roy won’t find me. But finally, Ben waves his hand as if to sayFine, fineand pushesoff the counter to head down the hallway, presumably to set up a place for me.

I tell Joy, “I have a place to stay tonight. Can you meet me in town in the morning? Maybe bring me some clothes? I’ve got to get out of here for a bit, figure things out.”

“Hope,” she hisses, and I feel like she’s turned away from our parents and Shep so they can’t hear her or me. “Did you leave Roy at the altar to run off with some other guy?” She sounds scandalized, but a little excited at the possibility too. Probably the reporter in her.

“No. Of course not. I would never cheat. I love Roy. Except, I’m not sure I know what love is at the moment,” I confide. It’s a big admission, one I don’t think I’d even made to myself before right now. But it rings true even as it rips open a pit of fear in my gut. “Oh my God, Joy. I don’t know what I’m doing.”

“Okay, calm down. You’re safe; that’s the important thing,” she says, reassuring me. “I have to work tomorrow, so come by the office. I’ll have a bag packed for you.”

“Your office?” I echo. Given her job at the local news station, it doesn’t seem like the place I should go if I’m trying to be low-key. I mean, it’s not like walking onto the set of theTodayshow, but it’s not exactly private either. Not that my wedding—ornon-wedding—to Roy is newsworthy, but logically, people hiding out don’t go where there are cameras and journalists looking for their next scoop.

“Not all of us are scheduled off for the next two weeks for our honeymoon,” she reminds me.

Ouch. Yeah, she’s right. But forgetting about that little factoid amid my own freak-out seems mostly forgivable. Or at least, I hope it is.

“Okay, yeah. Your office,” I agree.

“Yep.” I hear a scuffle on her end like someone’s trying to steal the phone from her hand, and right before the call disconnects, I hear Joy say, “She’s fine. We’ve got a plan.” I hope that’s to Mom and Dad so they don’t worry about me.

I set the phone on the counter, staring at it. I could call Roy, apologize for the whole thing, and say I panicked. He’d be mad, but he’d probably come right out here and pick me up. He’d give me a hard time, rant about how I embarrassed him in front of the whole town and how I’ll have to make this up to him in a dozen different ways, but he’d forgive me.

The thought of listening to him turns my stomach, and I leave the phone where it is.

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