Kaye Dacus - Stand-In Groom

“Anne, George here. Please call me back. I desperately need to speak with you. Words cannot express how terrible I feel about what transpired this afternoon. I know you’re angry and have every right to be so. But please, you must let me explain—”

A tone sounded and the connection cut off. He quickly dialed her number again. “Please, Anne, call me. It doesn’t matter what time. We need to talk.”

* * *

Later that evening, although he prepared for bed and turned off the lights, George couldn’t sleep. He stared at the small black phone on his nightstand, praying it would ring and he’d hear Anne’s voice.

He jumped out of bed and paced, chewing on the tip of his thumb. Why didn’t she call? The grandfather clock in the upstairs entry hall chimed twice. They’d parted more than ten hours ago.

The rattle of plastic against wood startled him. His phone vibrated, then started to play “I Can’t Give You Anything but Love.”

Anne!

He leaped for the phone. “Anne? I’m so glad you called.”

“George, it’s Forbes.” The lawyer’s voice was gravelly. “Has Anne contacted you? Do you know where she is?”

George dropped to sit on the edge of the bed. “No, I haven’t heard from her. How are you calling me on her phone?”

“I’m at her apartment. Her cell phone was here. She had your number programmed into it. I’m calling everyone on the list. She didn’t show up for church tonight, which isn’t like her at all.”

“She’s not home?”

“That’s what I just said.” Frustration clipped Forbes’s words.

“Where might she go? Is there a friend she might stay with? Another of your relatives?” Where was it she’d said she liked to go when things got hectic? “Your grandparents?”

“Meredith has already driven out there. No one’s talked to or seen her since this morning. What happened this afternoon?”

George ignored the accusation in Forbes’s voice. “I told her the truth—not all of it, just my role. She didn’t react well.”

“How ‘not well’ did she react?”

“She asked me to leave, wouldn’t look me in the eye, went dead quiet.” He rubbed his forehead. That day they’d driven down to Comeaux to view sites, what was it she’d said about getting away from it all?

“That’s what I was afraid of.”

“Does she have another mobile? One that she uses for personal calls rather than business? Might she have that phone with her?” George stood and resumed pacing.

“I don’t think so. At least, none of us has the number if she does.” Forbes sighed. “I’m so sorry things turned out like this, George. I guess I didn’t realize she’d be so sensitive about it.”

“The fault is not yours to bear alone. Is there anything I can do to help in the search?” He stopped and rested his forehead against the armoire.

“Pray.”

George rolled from his stomach to his back, kicked the duvet off, and shifted onto his right side. The glowing hands of the alarm clock stood straight up and down. Six in the morning, and still no word. Where could she be?

“Please, dear Lord, please let her work through this and forgive me.”

He sat up. Perhaps that prayer had already been answered. He hadn’t prayed for her to be found. Rising, he shrugged into his robe. Pink light edged the blinds. He grabbed his Bible, journal, and phone and went out through the kitchen to the veranda. Sinking into the plush deck lounger, he breathed deeply of the early morning air and soaked in the colors of the sun rising over the duck pond behind the house.

“Heavenly Father, You are all-knowing and all-seeing. I have faith You are protecting Anne. She’s a rational woman. If she needs this time to herself, don’t let us find her before the right moment. When I do see her again, please give me the appropriate words to say to gain her forgiveness.” The stress of the night melted away, and he rested his head against the thick cushions of the chaise.

When he woke, his neck was stiff, and the sun was well risen in the sky. A glance at his watch confirmed he’d been asleep for over an hour.

Comeaux. What was it Anne had said when they were in Comeaux that day? As they’d driven to the restaurant…a large Victorian house…the Plantation Inn Bed and Breakfast.

“I’ve stayed here a couple of times, too, when I just needed to get away,” she’d said.

He picked up his phone and dialed information. He let the computer automatically connect him with the inn. His heart pounded as the proprietress answered.

“Plantation Inn Bed and Breakfast. How may I help you?”

“Good morning. I’m a friend of Anne Hawthorne’s, and I was calling to see if she got checked in all right yesterday.” He held his breath, praying he’d guessed right.

“She did. Would you like me to connect you with her room?”

He pounded his fist against his leg as he tried to control his relief. “No, I don’t want to wake her if she’s still sleeping. Thank you.”

“Would you like to leave a message for her?”

“Oh no, that’s quite all right. Good day.”

“B’bye, now.”

He disconnected and rushed inside to dress. It would take him nearly twenty minutes to get out to Comeaux, and by then, Anne should have had sufficient time to get out of bed. He had to talk to her before her family found her and made more of a mess, but he couldn’t leave them in suspense. He called Forbes.

“Did you find her?” Forbes answered without preamble.

“I know where she is. I’m on my way to go see her.”

“Where? I’ll meet you.”

“No. I need to see her alone.” George grimaced, imagining what Anne’s reaction would be at both of them showing up at her secret getaway. “I’ll have her call you after we have our chat.”

Silence met him from the other end of the connection. George checked the phone just to make sure the call hadn’t disconnected.

“Fine.” The single word betrayed Forbes’s frustration. “I’ll talk to you later.” The line went dead. George hadn’t realized until now just how much Forbes liked to be in control of everything and everyone around him.

He didn’t take time to shave but brushed his teeth, then wet his hands and ran his fingers through his hair. It was probably his imagination, but there appeared to be a few new gray hairs mixed in with the brown this morning.

At a quarter of eight, he drove into Comeaux. The inn sat on the corner two blocks north of the Fishin’ Shack; he turned onto the side street and into the driveway, pulling up behind Anne’s dark green convertible and leaving her no room to pull out.

The aroma of bacon, coffee, and whatever sweets the inn was serving for breakfast made his stomach rumble. Perhaps they could converse over breakfast.

He wasn’t sure whether to knock or enter until he saw the DINING ROOM OPEN, PLEASE COME IN sign. The door swung open into an entryway much like the one at his employer’s house. He heard soft voices to his left and closed the door to reveal the dining room. A few tables were filled with patrons who looked like they’d stopped for breakfast before work. Anne wasn’t among them.

“Good morning, and welcome to Plantation Inn. Just one for breakfast?” A middle-aged woman wearing a pristine white apron over a flowered dress approached him from the other end of the entry hall. She carried a silver coffeepot.

“I’m looking for Anne Hawthorne.”

“Oh, Anne is taking her breakfast on the back porch.” She motioned with her nearly gray head over her shoulder toward the french doors at the end of the hall. “Can I bring you anything?”

“A spot of coffee would be lovely, thank you.” Walking down the hall at a civilized pace was hard, but he eventually made it to the doors. Taking a deep breath, he swung them open and stepped outside.

* * *

Anne drew her gaze away from the blue jays fighting in the birdbath when she heard the doors open. George stepped out onto the porch, and her heart leaped. She shouldn’t be happy to see him. Her hand shook a little as she reached for her coffee cup.

Finally, he turned toward her. She fought to keep from smiling back at him. She returned her gaze to the birds in the yard, his presence too unsettling for her peace of mind.

He strolled over to the table. “May I join you?”

“It’s a free country.” Yeah, that was a mature thing to say.

He walked around the small scrolled-iron table and sat in the only other chair, which happened to be immediately to her left. If she stared straight ahead, he was in her peripheral vision. She wanted to look at him, to memorize the contours of his face, to gaze into his brown eyes. But she was still mad at him.

“Anne, I cannot begin to express to you how utterly sorry I am. I never set out to hurt you—that is the very last thing I would ever want to do.”

She closed her eyes and tried to swallow. His voice was so soft, his accent so endearing. She’d picked up the room phone to call him three times during the night to demand an explanation. She’d wanted to hear his story, to understand what had happened. “George, I—” She stopped when his hand covered hers on the table.

“Please, allow me to say this. I came to Bonneterre expecting to meet a middle-aged woman who wouldn’t question anything I said to her. Instead, I met you, my beautiful Anne. I wanted to tell you the truth from the beginning, but I was bound by the contract my employer made me sign that I wouldn’t reveal to anyone my true role. I was legally bound to pretend to be Courtney’s fiancé. They thought it would be easier, thought there’d be fewer questions that way.” He paused, and she could feel him searching her face for some reaction.

“Who’s ‘they’?”

He cleared his throat. “My employer…and Forbes.”

Her cousin had a lot of explaining to do.

George rushed to continue. “But that was before I’d met you. As I started to get to know you, the deception was already in place. When Forbes realized that I had…come to care for you, he interceded on my behalf with my employer and got that clause removed from the terms of my contract. He told me you would understand.”

“I’m sorry Forbes misled you. He knows how I feel about people lying to me.”

“I’m not here to talk about Forbes.” George made lazy circles on the back of her hand with his thumb, sending shivers up her spine. “I’m here to apologize for not telling you the truth from the beginning and to beg your forgiveness, even though I don’t deserve it.”

Part of her jumped at his words, ready to forgive him and move on to explore what their relationship could be. The other part kept her silent for a long time. Her confidence in him was shattered. She’d always dreamed the man she fell in love with would be as honest with her as she always tried to be with everyone around her. Would George lie to her again if his employer told him to? The whole situation didn’t do much for her opinion of his ethics.

The slight whoosh of the doors opening broke the silence. Cheryl appeared with a coffee service tray, which she set on the low side table behind them. “Y’all doing okay?” she asked. “Hon, are you sure I can’t bring you anything more than coffee?”

“I’m not certain how long I’ll be here,” George answered.

Anne finally turned to look at him. She sighed and shook her head. “Cheryl, go ahead and bring him your breakfast special. We’re going to be here for a while.”

He continued to hold her hand but didn’t say anything while they waited for his food. There were so many things she wanted to say to him, so many questions.

After his food arrived, she gave him a few moments’ peace to start eating while she pushed the remainder of her omelet around the plate. The birds in the centuries-old oak trees that shaded the large yard provided background music, and a light breeze brought the fragrance of roses and honeysuckle.

When he stopped to spread Cheryl’s homemade strawberry jam on his toast, he broke the long silence. “Whatever you’re thinking, whatever questions are on your mind, I can handle it.”

She rested her fork on the edge of the plate and folded her hands atop the white napkin on her lap. “How am I ever supposed to trust you again?” She’d meant to lead up to that question, not just blurt it out. She didn’t take her gaze away from his face, though.

He grimaced, then let out a slight chuckle. “That’s my Anne, always straight to the point.”

She tried to stop her heart from fluttering at being called “my Anne” but wasn’t entirely successful. She was woman enough to admit to herself she was enjoying watching him eat breakfast. He was so fastidious. Not a crumb hit the table as he bit into the toast.