I Do With You (Maple Creek)

Chapter 3 HOPE

Chapter 3

H OPE

Ben’s place is exactly what I knew it’d be when he pointed in this direction. The Cottage Resort is one of the most popular vacation spots in Maple Creek. It’s also a complete misnomer. There’s nothing at all cottage-y or resort-y about them—no pool, no fancy landscaping, and nothing luxurious.

In fact, the 1970s mobile homes housed park rangers once upon a time, but years ago, the rows of manufactured buildings were reincarnated into their current lives as kitschy tourist traps. But lipstick on a pig aside, it’s still a trailer park.

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 beautiful greenery, 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 D ANGER , 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 say Fine, fine and pushes off 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 the Today show, but it’s not exactly private either. Not that my wedding—or non -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.

“Ben?” I call as I walk down the narrow hall, the sway of my dress touching one wall and then the other with every swish.

“In here,” he answers. I follow his voice and find him folding back the covers on a queen-size bed. As he fluffs the pillow, he informs me, “No mint, but I changed the sheets. The beds are comfortable, and you’ve got a private bathroom through that door.” He’s given me the main suite, generously moving his own stuff to the other room for my sake.

“Thank you,” I say quietly. I’d take a cot in a tent out back at this point if it’d buy me some time, but the promise of a comfortable bed sounds like a fantasy. Now that the adrenaline is no longer coursing through my body, exhaustion is setting in. “Sorry for interrupting your hike and ruining your vacation. I’ll stay out of your way and be out of your hair first thing tomorrow. Oh, except—” I cringe. “Sorry to ask another favor, but do you think you could take me into town in the morning? I told my sister I’d meet her to get a bag. I’m not sure where I’m going, but I can’t be in Maple Creek till I figure out what the hell I’m doing.”

That’s a joke and a half. I have no idea what I’m doing, nor do I think I’m going to suddenly get a clue. I’m winging it, on a hope and a prayer, fighting off what’s likely to be a crash landing with guaranteed casualties—me, most likely. Hopefully, the damage from the hemorrhage will be minimal and repairable.

“Sure. On one condition,” he replies, dropping his chin so that he’s looking down his nose at me. Sternly, he continues, “Quit apologizing for shit that’s not your fault. You didn’t interrupt my hike. Maybe I interrupted your whole runaway moment. And you’re not ruining anything. Remember, I’m going to bore you to tears with my life story later, so you’re basically making my vacation. I haven’t talked to a damn soul in days, and it’s driving me crazy. And a drive into town sounds a lot better than my plan for tomorrow, which was more titmouse spotting.” His tone grows lighter as he speaks, and he finishes with a grin, having addressed every one of my sorry s in a way that magically makes me feel slightly less awful.

“Um, okay. Thank you, then.” I stand there, not sure what else to say if I can’t apologize for my train wreck taking over his day, cottage, and life for the next twelve hours.

“Why don’t you take a shower?” he suggests, eyeing my hair. “I’ll grab you a T-shirt or something so you don’t have to wear that all night.”

I look down at my dress. The perfect, beautiful dress of my dreams. It’s ruined, stained along the hem, and torn in places. It should make me want to cry fresh, hot tears. Instead, it feels symbolic of how I feel. Used. Saggy. Lifeless. “Thanks.”

“Another condition: stop thanking me for basic human decency. If I do something amazing, fine. If I pull off a double-flipping-back handspring, feel free to clap. But helping you isn’t some big deal. I’m happy to do it.” He doesn’t look happy. More like, he looks worried I might collapse into a puddle of tears at any moment—which, given the current situation, is probably a valid concern.

If only he knew. Nobody helps me. I’m the helper. Always putting everyone else first, taking care of their needs and ignoring my own. It’s kinda weird to be on the other side. I don’t like it, but I need it.

I bite my lip, on the verge of saying thank you again, but I simply nod instead. Ben smiles at the small success, and the silent praise makes me feel like at least I did one thing right today. “Good. Need anything else?”

“Um, I might need a little help getting my dress undone?” I say it like I’m not sure, but the truth is, I know there’s no amount of contortionist-style stretching that’ll let me reach the long row of tiny buttons at my back. It was supposed to be something sexy that Roy did for me tonight, but now ...

“Turn around.” Ben’s voice is rough, like he knows this isn’t how I was supposed to get out of my wedding dress, and I have to swallow hard to not apologize again as I give him my back and stare at the pillows on the bed.

His deft fingers work their way down the dozens of buttons, and I stand there feeling more vulnerable with every inch of exposed skin, even though Ben isn’t giving creeper vibes. If anything, he’s holding himself at a respectable distance and trying to make this easier by keeping me talking.

“Who was it you called? That you’re meeting tomorrow?”

“My sister, Joy. She’s my best friend, maid of honor, and ride-or-die. Hopefully, she’ll actually meet me tomorrow,” I say thoughtfully.

“Not sure she’s all that ride-or-die if you’re questioning whether she’s gonna meet you.”

I explain, “Oh, she will if she can. There’s also a fair to good chance she’ll be in the city jail instead, if she gets her hands on Roy.”

His chuckle is dark and rough, like he doesn’t do it often. “She is a ride-or-die, then,” he agrees, sounding like he approves of Joy’s potentially violent tactics.

“She’s the best. My brother, Shepherd, too. I don’t know if either of them will survive the night without getting arrested. If they stick to something stupid, like toilet-papering Roy’s car, they might get leniency, given the extenuating circumstances. But Joy’s rougher around the edges and stronger than I am, mentally and physically, and Shepherd knows how to fight from being on the ice, so if they get physical, none of them stand a chance,” I say as if Ben knows them. “Especially since Roy’s dad is the sheriff and likely not feeling too kindly to us Barlowes. Usually, I’m the one who keeps the two of them in line, but I’m veering into uncharted territory this time ...” I trail off, worried about my siblings and what they might do. Maybe I should call Joy again to make sure she understands this isn’t something Roy did but rather something I did?

“That’s where growth happens. In the murky, questionable waters off the shore of certainty.” Ben mumbles the poetic words, and I feel like he’s talking to himself more than to me.

Still, I respond, “What if I can’t swim?”

“But on the other hand, what if you can?” he challenges. “You said your sister’s stronger than you, but I’d say it takes some pretty big balls to get all the way to the altar and then act on doubts. I’d bet most folks would’ve gone through with it, even as their hearts said Don’t do it. Sounds pretty strong to me.”

I inhale sharply in surprise. Is he right? I sure as shit don’t feel strong. Like, at all. In fact, I’m basically 0 percent strong right now. I feel stupid, weak, and crazy.

“Done.” His hands are somewhere around my lower-back area, so with the buttons undone, I know he can see the white thong Joy insisted I wear as good luck for a marriage filled with sexy times.

I turn around, holding the loose fabric of the dress to my breasts, and find him staring at me with dark eyes and a faint lift to his lips. “Thank you,” I say, then quickly add, “and that was well above basic human decency, so let me say it.”

I feel like he’s proud of me again, but he doesn’t say anything as he leaves and closes the door behind him. For the first time, it hits me.

I left Roy at the altar. I’m alone.

Somehow, it feels . . . good?

But that doesn’t make sense. I should definitely feel bad about that, right? So why does it feel like a relief?

When I get a look at myself in the bathroom mirror, my eyes pop open as my hands fly to my hair. Now I know what Ben was smirking at. I’m a mess! Some combination of a deranged raccoon with makeup smears down my cheeks, a fallen angel with frizzy hair sprouting out in a halo around my head, and a zombie bride in a muddy dress.

“Hamburger-fucking-Help-Me, Hope, you’re an actual walking, talking dumpster fire.” The girl in the mirror doesn’t argue, agreeing with my too-accurate assessment.

Even with the buttons undone and a sudden desire to let hot water wash the wildness away, it takes me several minutes to get the dress all the way off, and I leave it puddled on the floor, a dirty reminder of a day gone wrong. Not that running was wrong, but maybe the whole wedding was.

No maybe s about it. I never should have let things get this far.

The doubts and concerns I had didn’t start today. Or even yesterday, last week, or last month. They’ve been slowly growing despite my attempts to ignore them. Today was just the day they refused to be ignored any longer.

I start the water, turning it as hot as it’ll go. I need to burn today off me. All of it.

I make quick work of lathering up, not giving myself time to cry, or think, or wallow in the what-ifs. I focus on getting the sticks and bobby pins out of my hair, the mud off my legs, and the makeup off my face. When I’m scrubbed clean, I dry off. The vanity is well stocked—wouldn’t expect anything less of the resort’s staff—and I find a hairbrush, deodorant, and the bougie toothpaste and toothbrush set Dr. Payne recommends and sells. I use those, feeling more human, and only then do I open the door to the bedroom.

There’s a stack of clothes on the bed, and when I hold them up, I find plain black sweatpants, which thankfully have a drawstring at the waist; a T-shirt from a band I’ve never heard of; and a flannel that’s a good two or three sizes too big for me. I pull them all on, wrapping the shirt around my body like a cozy blanket.

“Now what?” I mutter, not sure what to do. I should be at my reception, cutting the cake and dancing with my new husband, but here I am ... still running.