Janet Evanovich - Thanksgiving

Pat held out Megan’s black coat for her. “Megan Murphy, would you like to go for a walk?”

“Is this a hint? Do I need exercise? Has the pumpkin pie started appearing on my thighs already?”

“You bet it’s a hint. But not about pumpkin pie. It’s about hugs and kisses and privacy for lovers.” He zipped his leather jacket and wrapped a scarf around his neck. “It’s about a romantic moonlight stroll through Colonial Williamsburg.”

They walked east on Nicholson Street. A horse whinnied in the distance. A low haze of smoke from fireplaces hung at roof level. It had been a gray day, and was a black night, with a thick bank of clouds obscuring the moon and the stars. They walked in silence, holding hands, enjoying each other’s company. They strolled past the public jail, and the Coke Garrett House at the corner of Nicholson and Waller. Candles flickered in the windows of Campbell’s Tavern.

“That would be a nice place for a wedding,” Pat said, pointing to the tavern. As soon as he said it, he stopped dead in his tracks. “Oh, damn, now they’ve got me doing it!”

Megan huddled deeper into her coat. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“Do you?”

“No!” she practically shouted. If they talked about it, they’d have to do something about it. The idea of getting married simultaneously pleased her and terrified her. Deep down, she wanted Pat to propose to her, but she didn’t want to give him an answer.

They followed the dirt path that led around the Capitol building. Oxen lowed not far off, and Megan wondered where the oxen and horses were stabled for the night. She liked animals. When she settled down she was going to have a whole passel of them. One of everything.A dog, a cat, a horse, a rhinoceros.

There was a horse on her rented farm, but she didn’t get to see much of it. It kept to itself in the far reaches of the pasture or hid in the barn. Its owner came regularly to feed and groom it, but she never rode it. Megan didn’t know much about horses, but this one looked sluggish and obese, with a big barrel belly and sleepy eyes.

“Do you know anything about horses?” she asked Pat.

“I know one when I see one.”

She linked her arm through his. “There’s this horse living in my barn.”

“I’ve seen it from a distance.”

“There’s something odd about it. I don’t think it feels well, and it looks much too fat. Someday I’m going to have a horse, and I’m going to keep him nice and sleek.”

Pat couldn’t help wondering if she intended to have children riding on this sleek horse. And did she expect those children to be his? She didn’t want to discuss their trumped up wedding, but she wasn’t denying it as a possibility, either. He suspected they were both struggling through the twilight zone of self doubt, coming at the problem from opposite ends. Something in her past had turned her against marriage, and many things in his future gave him cause for concern.

He watched the bobbing lights of a Lanthorn tour making its way down Duke of Gloucester Street and slipped his arm around Megan’s shoulders. He was reluctant to start a conversation that might provoke questions he’d rather not answer just then, but his curiosity was getting the better of him.

“Megan Murphy, why are you against marriage?”

“I thought we weren’t going to talk about this.”

“We’re not going to talk about our marriage. We’re just going to talk about marriage in general.”

“I’m not against marriage,” she said. “I think marriage is great. It’s just not great for me.”

“Is this a recent decision? Do I detect a broken heart hanging in your closet?”

“How do you know about my closet? Have you been snooping?”

Pat stopped in front of the apothecary shop and faced her. “It’s an expression, Megan. Just an expression. What the devil have you got in your closet, anyway?”

“Never mind about my closet.” She tipped her face up into the cold air and walked away from him. “And I don’t have a broken heart,” she said over her shoulder. “I’ve been engaged three times, and I didn’t love any of them enough to get a broken heart. Maybe it got a little cracked and shrunken, but it never broke.”

Pat had to jog to catch her. “Three times?”

“Probably we shouldn’t count the first time. I was five years old, and I got engaged to Jimmy Fee. Two weeks later I caught him carrying Mary Lee Barnard’s lunch box for her. It’s just that it set a precedent.”

Was she serious? he wondered. A precedent at five years old? He was in love with a crazy person.

“My senior year in college,” she went on, “I got engaged to Steve. I didn’t really want to get married, and I especially didn’t want to get married to Steve, but my parents kept pushing.

“There was this philosophy in my house that a girl went to college to catch a husband. If you didn’t get him by the time you graduated, you were destined for spinsterhood and you’d wasted your parents’ hard – earned money on a mere education.

“I can’t even remember how it happened, but suddenly I was engaged. Fortunately, Steve realized his error and skipped town. Took the ring off my finger one day when I fell asleep in the library and left me a note saying he was joining the foreign legion.

“Then there was Dave. My parents thought Dave was the best thing since macaroni. Dave wasn’t really such a bad guy. It’s just that he was in love with my parents, not me. He liked my mom’s cooking and my dad’s choice of television shows.

“We got all the way to the altar. I stood there in my white satin gown with twelve hundred seed pearls embroidered on the bodice, in front of an audience of two hundred friends and relatives, and I turned to Dave and wondered what on earth I was doing there. Dave looked at me, then walked down the aisle and out of the church. Two days later he came over to the house to apologize and watch the ball game with my dad.”

“Are you making this up?” Pat asked.

Her eyes filled with tears. “It was awful.”

He gathered her into his arms and held her close, not knowing what to say. The thought of Megan’s being left at the altar made his stomach contract into painful knots. He stroked her silky red hair and rested his chin against her head. He wanted to ask her to marry him. He wanted to ask her to come live in his little cottage, where he could keep her safe and secure and loved, but he was afraid of committing the very crime he wanted to prevent. He was afraid he’d hurt her. He wasn’t going to make a very good husband for the next two years.

What were the alternatives? Break off with her? He’d sooner chop off an arm or a leg. A prolonged engagement? If things didn’t work out it would be the third time she’d had to give back a ring. He couldn’t do that to her. Live together? Nope. He was a pediatrician in a small town. He had to set an example. They could be friends. They could have a long, old fashioned courtship. He sighed. They were way past courtship. “Oh, hell.”

She snuggled into him. “Don’t worry about Dave. I’m fine now. It all worked out for the best.”

“Damn right. If you’d married Dave, I’d have to eat all those turkey leftovers by myself.”

Megan pulled away. She slid her hand into his and started down Duke of Gloucester Street. He was a slippery one, she thought. He was a master at extricating himself from tender moments. They’d talked about her past, but they hadn’t talked about his. She was beginning to wonder how many women Patrick Hunter had left at the altar.

“You ever been engaged?”

“Nope.”

A horrible possibility flashed through her mind. “You ever been married?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

He shrugged. “No time. No money.” He squeezed her hand. “No Megan.”

“Hmmm.”

“There’s that ‘hmmm’ again. Am I in trouble?”

She smiled. “No. That was a good ‘hmmm.’ You gave all the right answers.”

“You suppose your parents would mind if you spent the night with me?”

“Get serious.”

He motioned to the gate of the Botetourt Street garden. “Want to do some necking in the garden?”

She peeked over the red brick fence at a Doberman. “I don’t think that’s such a good idea.”

“This is tough.”

“What’s the plan for tomorrow? Will you be bringing Timmy over in the morning?”

“Yes. Everyone’s driving to Washington to be tourists.” His eyes lit up. “No one will be here all day! We could have a sexfest.”

“As much as I’d like to, I can’t just leave my parents to have a sexfest. Besides, you work tomorrow.”

“You could bring Timmy back to my house at six. We could have a short sexfest.”

Megan wasn’t sure she wanted a short sexfest. The more Pat dragged his feet and evaded proposing, the more she wanted to get married.

Megan let herself into Pat’s dark house and unbundled Timmy. She set him in the walker, made a fire in the fireplace, and lit every light she could find.

“It’s a drizzly, dreary night,” she told Timmy. “We’ve got to zap a little cozy into it.”

She made a pot of coffee and set it on the kitchen table. She didn’t want to drink it. She just wanted to smell it.

“Better. Much better. I think we’ve succeeded in the cozy department.”

She snitched a piece of turkey from the fridge and started Timmy’s supper heating.

Ten minutes later Pat came home. “This house is so nice. It’s miserable outside, and my house is all warm and-”

“Cozy?”

“Yeah. Cozy.” He pulled Megan to him and kissed her hungrily. This wasn’t such a bad arrangement, he thought. It was like rent – a family. He was getting all the benefits of a warm house and warm bed without paying the price of everlasting responsibility. He was chagrined to find it not entirely satisfactory. Deep down, he wanted everlasting responsibility.