Chapter 20
Ryder hauled the last of the pine to the fire tower as Elizabeth drove out of town. He paused every few boards for a drink of water and to stare over the charred, barren landscape.
Today, the view felt like his life. Not to play the melodramatic card or “poor me”—he’d had enough of that as a kid—but losing Elizabeth hurt.
He’d put himself out there. Told her he loved her. Right in this very spot where he nailed boards. Where future WMA officers would look for fires. Or newly engaged couples would carve their initials.
In this square box, he’d shared the most amazing kiss ever, not involving lip-to-lip contact.
Ryder glanced again toward the burnt area. An early-morning rain made everything look shiny, but the afternoon’s hot August sun drank up all the moisture.
By evening, he’d placed the last board on the tower and stood back, the fresh pine filling his senses.
As he packed up his tools, Dad called. Was Ryder free for dinner? Mom was heading out of town in the morning, and Dad had a golfing weekend set up with Karl and a couple of friends.
“You’re welcome to join us. It’s a course in Wisconsin. Lovely this time of year.”
“Thanks, Dad. I’m not much of a golfer.”
“No, I guess not. I never could get you to see the point of it.”
“But dinner sounds nice.”
“Invite your friend. The Dorsey girl.”
“She left today.” He settled the cordless nail gun into the case, then gathered the rest of the tools. “Headed to Wharton.”
“Good for her.”
“What time for dinner, Dad?”
“Seven. Your mom had an urge to make her beef Wellington.”
Mom’s Christmas dish. It was one of Ryder’s favorite memories of her, in the kitchen, wrapped in a big apron, making a mess with pots and pans, and a mixer, declaring she was never “doing this again.” But the house was always so fragrant.
And the beef Wellington was so good, Ryder wrote a school essay about it.
“Hey, Dad,” Ryder said. “Before you go, I’ve received a job offer from my old boss. In Colorado. Do you think I should take it?”
“Does it help your career? Do you want to live in Colorado? Are there socioeconomic reasons?”
“I have friends. I’d work for my old boss, and the job would be a promotion, but in a completely different park system. I like Colorado. But being in Hearts Bend feels right.”
“Sometimes we have to make the tough decisions to get ahead. Staying home is lovely if you can do it. But do what you think is best.”
“Thanks, Dad,” Ryder said. “I’ll see you at seven.”
“Wait, Ryder,” Dad said. “Let me say I’ve learned over the years that some things are more valuable than a career and money. I know I’m late in saying it, but I’m sorry I wasn’t around more when you were a kid.”
Surprised by his father’s raw honesty, he felt a wave of compassion. “Dad, it’s okay, I understand.”
“Do what you want. What you know will make you happy. Trust that God is big enough to work in your life even with mistakes. Go with your gut.”
Go with his gut? Trust God? Dad never came close to attributing anything to God or saying something like “go with your gut.” Well, Ryder’s gut said stay, work for the WMA. His heart hoped Elizabeth would come home, realize she belonged with him.
At his place, he played with the dogs after dinner and replayed Dad’s advice. Trust God. Go with your gut. Ryder tossed the ball for Fred, then Ginger. As they scurried away, chasing each other more than the ball, he scooped up his phone and called Elizabeth.
When her voicemail picked up, he almost hit End, but after a panicked second and a big gulp of Tennessee air, he said, “Elizabeth, it’s Ryder.
I was just talking to my dad, and he said I should go with my gut—which if you knew him at all, he’d never say that—but here goes.
I know you’re on your way to Wharton, but I love you.
With my whole heart. I want to marry you.
Now, or next year, or when you graduate, or after a year into your career.
You tell me. But I’m asking you to marry me, Elizabeth Dorsey. What do you say? Will you?”
Elizabeth stared at her laptop screen and the horizontal line of her pre-exercise term paper.
It was due at 11:59 p.m. She had five hundred crummy words of a thousand.
At this rate, all one thousand would be crummy.
She used to knock these projects out in her sleep—hyperbole, but you get it—and turn them in early.
But this time, her mind was fuzzy and everything felt hard.
She tapped the face of her phone for the time. 10:15. She went back to staring at the partially blank page.
The assignment—to analyze a previous work situation prior to arriving at Wharton—took all of her time between research, group discussions, watching lectures, and organizing it all into this paper.
Since arriving at Wharton, she’d had a few calls with her parents. One with Granny. Answered texts from Tina. Hopped on a video call with Will and Dan to go over the accounting system she’d recommended. Otherwise, her life was lived between campus and her very cozy Rittenhouse Square apartment.
Grabbing her notepad, where she’d scribbled thoughts and a high-level structure for her assignment, she tried to find the inspiration to finish this project. Time was ticking.
After a minute, she got up, crashed on the loveseat, and opened the voice message she’d listened to a dozen times.
“Elizabeth, it’s Ryder.” She rested the phone on her chest and listened. “I was just talking to my dad…go with my gut…I want to marry you.” Elizabeth closed her eyes, waiting for the question. “…Will you marry me?”
When the message finished, she hit play again and wiped away the single tear sliding down her cheek.
“Will you marry me?” boomed through her every time, shaking what she believed to be her very firm foundation. Why? Why would he ask her this when he knew the answer? Worse, why was she listening to it? Again. She moved to hit Delete, but instead cradled the phone against her chest.
A kind, good, handsome man with the softest lips and the richest kisses had asked her to marry him.
Sitting up, Elizabeth tossed her phone to the other cushion. He deserved an answer. The message was three weeks old. Yes, she’d been ignoring a marriage proposal for three weeks, which was so not like her.
“You have a paper to write.”
Her subject was the TWRA fraud she’d discovered over the summer. Which kept her thinking of Ryder. Ah, she felt so stuck.
Elizabeth jumped up for a bottle of water, then peered out her front window into the street, where couples with takeout headed into the apartment across the road, warm lights glowing from nearly every window.
Gathering herself, she returned to her IKEA desk (thanks, Dad) and typed another two hundred words. They weren’t good words, but words nonetheless.
Then she called Will.
“Elizabeth?” he said. “Is everything all right?” He sounded drowsy…like she’d woken him up.
She glanced at her smartwatch. “Oh, Will, sorry, it’s almost eleven.”
“It’s okay. I was finishing a book. What’s up?”
“I’m working on a paper due in fifty-nine minutes.”
“I remember those days.” Will had his master’s from Vanderbilt. “Can I help?”
“Um, no.” Her voice quivered a little. “Sorry, I’m just tired. I picked the fraud case to analyze for my pre-exercise paper, and I’m not sure it’s worth a thousand words. Anyway, only three hundred to go.”
“Have you added your personal reflection and learning? You paid attention to things we ignored. It’s why you’re a good leader, Beth. Maybe pad your intro with history on Dorsey. Give an example of another fraud case.”
Elizabeth came alive and scrambled for a pen.
“Then give your honest conclusion. Add in how the firm realized we had to jump on a new accounting system. Dan wrote the check for ProfitWise today. We start prepping on the first of September.”
“You’re going to love the system. I was part of an install team during my internship in Boston.”
“I won’t say ‘Wish you were here to help us.’”
Why not? Worse things were said to her. Like “marry me.” “How’s everyone?” she said softly.
“Everyone is good. So is Ryder, in case you want to know.”
“He’s part of everyone, isn’t he?”
“Granny asked him to lunch after church twice, and he turned her down. I think he misses you.”
“Will?” she began. “He asked me to marry him.”
He was silent for a few beats. “I see. When?”
“The day I left. Only, not to my face. He called and left a voice message.”
“What did you tell him?”
“Nothing. I got here and got busy, you know, setting up the apartment, starting pre-exercise courses.”
“No wonder he looks so miserable. Beth, you can’t leave him hanging. Call him.”
“I know, but I don’t know what to say.”
“Come on, Beth. You can’t hit grad school and your career goals with guns blazing while running like a scared kitten from your personal life. From love. It makes you a woman of ambition, but not a leader. A good man asked you to marry him. You owe him the respect and honor of an answer.”
“I know, I know. Argh, I feel so stupid for leaving him hanging.”
“Then call him.”
When she hung up, Elizabeth stared at the words on her laptop screen, wondering where the girl she used to know had gone. She’d not felt like herself since…that night Ryder walked into Ella’s.
“Focus,” she said, looking at her notes, then pounding out the rest of her paper, fueled by Will’s bold, unabashed truth.
Then she was going to call Ryder, leave him a voice message. She’d let the replay of his question live rent-free in her head far too long.
At 11:55, she hit send on her paper. Then called Ryder. She’d leave him a message and be done with it. But he answered.
“Elizabeth.”
She panicked. And did what every normal red-blooded American woman would do.
She hung up.
October rolled into Hearts Bend with crisp mornings and sunny afternoons. It felt good to bid so long to the summer heat. After September’s heavy rains, the burnt area of Cheatham WMA sprouted signs of life.