Page 5 of Marriage is a Shore Thing
I force a chuckle. “Something like that.”
Her cane comes down hard on the asphalt. “State your business.”
“I…uh…”
I’m used to curveballs—you have to be when working in the ER—but I don’t think telling a stranger the truth before I get a chance to speak to Geneva is the best idea.
“Just what we need—another floundering mainlander who doesn’t know what he wants,” the woman mutters, rolling her eyes.
Main—what?
“I need to speak to Geneva,” I say.
“Obviously, cowboy, butwhy?”
I’m two seconds from telling her, as politely as I can, that it’s none of her business, when another woman appears in the doorway of the house across the street. She’s holding two glasses of lemonade, her long white braid draping down the front of her yellow sundress.
“I leave you alone for one minute,” she calls into the street with an amused smile.
The woman in front of me makes a buzzing sound with her lips, waving a hand at her friend. “Don’t interrupt me in the middle of an interrogation.”
“Is that what this is?” My eyebrows lift.
“Naturally.”
Her tilted chin and defiant nature remind me of the woman I’m here to meet, and I can’t help the smile blooming over my lips. Maybe wariness is filtered into the drinking water of this small beach town.
“You know,” I begin, “I was here to see Geneva, but now I’m thinking I’d rather get to know you.”
I send her a genuine smile. Usually, when I ask nicely, even the most obstinate patient will agree to a necessary CT scan or to stop throwing medical supplies at the nurses. But the gesture backfires—spectacularly. The woman laughs right in my face, starting with an amused cackle that escalates until she’s leaning hard onto her cane as if needing it to support her weight.
“Ignore her,” the woman in the sundress tells me, coming to her friend’s side. “How can we help you?”
“We? Don’t rope me into this.”
“I’m Wendy, and this ball of sunshine is Carol.” Her hand is warm and soft as we shake. “Geneva is probably in her backyard with her chickens.”
I shouldn’t be delighted by this piece of information, but my cheek quirks even higher. For as much as Geneva projects a tough exterior, she’d been undeniably nurturing when we’d happened upon a woman who’d been crying barefoot in the hall of the casino.
It’d been just after we left the boxing afterparty and were supposed to go our separate ways. I’d offered the woman my shoes and to escort her to her hotel three blocks away, but Geneva marched up to the front desk and demanded a pair of en suite sandals since the woman’s feet were considerably smaller than mine. After we’d safely returned the woman to her room and her friends, Geneva asked if I wanted a drink.
And then, I had to keep the shock out of my smile when Geneva extended that second hour to three, and then four, nearly pushing daylight.
“Earth to Tex.” Carol snaps her fingers at me.
“Van,” I correct.
“Whatever. I can assure you that whatever snake oil you’re selling, Geneva doesn’t want any. She’s even tougher than I am.”
But that’s just it. I’ve seen Geneva soft.
It’d been after hearing the sound of her bright laughter as I grimaced while drinking whiskey neat. Well after we began the game oftruth or darethat ended up being all dares. It’d been after too much whiskey and at the beginning of that very last dare when I heard Geneva’s voice soften.
“I can’t get married.” Geneva’s muscles tense in response to my dare.
“It won’t be real.” I chuckle at the absurdity of marrying a stranger. “We won’t sign the marriage certificate afterward. I just love the idea of Elvis performing a wedding ceremony.”
“But I’m not supposed to get married.”
