Chapter Thirteen
J eannie couldn’t calm the butterflies in her stomach as she got ready for the party at the Grey Spruce on New Year’s Eve. All day she’d been nervous, and she’d tried everything. Deep breathing. Reading a P.D. James mystery. She could barely manage two bites of the ham and Swiss sandwich she’d bought from the deli across the street in case the nerves were really just hunger pangs.
Ben was scheduled to pick her up in less than twenty minutes, but she’d been ready to go for over an hour. Dressed and made up, at least. The extra time with nothing to do only gave her the opportunity to worry about committing some kind of social faux pas that she didn’t even know was gauche.
For the tenth time in the past half hour, she got up and inspected herself in the mirror.
Her dress, a colour-block black-and-white halter gown she’d found on a good sale from The Spot at Stephen Avenue Mall two days earlier showed off her figure nicely while also being appropriate for meeting Ben’s parents, who she was sure would be in attendance. Her hair was swept away from her face and secured with a delicate silver comb. With a light make-up application and her mom’s drop pearl earrings dangling above her shoulders, she looked her best and hoped Ben would think the same.
And for the hundredth time that hour, she did her best to push the image of Everett McCarthy, face lit up by the moonlight and eyes sparkling in the moment before he kissed her, right out of her mind.
When the doorbell finally rang, she pulled on her heavy wool coat, slid into her black pumps, praying it wouldn’t snow while they were at the party, and opened the front door to find Ben in a black suit and overcoat, holding a bouquet of pink roses and grinning his thousand-watt grin, a cab idling on the street. Good start , she thought.
He held out the flowers. “You look great, Jeannie,” he said. “All set?”
“I’ll just put those inside,” she said, accepting the flowers. “Feel free to come in.”
“I’ll wait here,” said Ben.
She dropped the roses in a vase, then joined Ben back on the stoop. He extended an elbow for her and then led her to the taxi, where he opened the door in a very gentlemanly manner.
On the drive over to the Grey Spruce, Ben asked about her Christmas with her family. She told him about some of their traditions and a little bit about the party, but she found herself glossing over the details. Would he find it strange that her grandparents ran a boarding house? Would he say something condescending about the hockey tournament? Most of all, she didn’t want him to know she’d spent most of her Christmas getting to know the guitar player from the pub band.
She turned her attention back to Ben, who was telling her about the ski conditions at Fernie and some kind of trick he’d pulled off on the moguls.
It wasn’t long before they were checking in at the gate of the Grey Spruce, the security attendant waving them through as soon as he saw Ben in the back seat of the cab. “Nice to see you, Mr. Kane,” said the man. “Your parents have already arrived.”
So, he was a recognised guest.
“Thanks, George,” said Ben.
“It’s, uh, actually Jerry,” the man said, then appeared embarrassed to have corrected Ben. He gave a wave and lifted the gate, and the cab continued to drive.
Ben was unfazed. “Jerry, George, what’s the difference, right?” he said to Jeannie once they’d passed the gate. “Just let us through!” He laughed.
Jeannie forced a smile. A little snooty , she thought before her focus immediately shifted to the opulence and beauty of the club’s grounds appearing out the taxi’s windows.
The driver guided them along the winding path leading to the stately club, which was lit up with what seemed to be thousands of sparkling white lights and a giant halogen 1979 sign above the main entrance.
“This is stunning,” Jeannie exclaimed. She stepped out of the cab, marvelling at the golden glow that surrounded the estate like a halo.
“Yeah, it’s all right,” Ben said, chuckling.
Jeannie’s cheeks burned, and she chastised herself for being so effusive. She vowed to be more conscious about fitting in, starting with keeping her thoughts to herself.
But the gowns! The music! The buffet! The club was every bit as impressive as Jeannie could have imagined. The room was abuzz with the feeling of power and prestige and luxury. Jeannie tried not to stare when the prime minister walked in with his wife on his arm, but she noticed the other guests gawking, which made her feel like less of an outsider.
She met Ben’s parents—Arthur, a CFO of an oil company, and Madeline, who complimented Jeannie’s gown. Jeannie noticed Ben’s mom shooting him a look of approval, which upped her confidence even further.
They sipped champagne, nibbled on smoked salmon and caviar, and watched the big band. When the band started to play “Fly Me to the Moon,” Jeannie took Ben’s elbow. “I love this song,” she said. “Want to dance?” It wasn’t Donna Summers, but it was classic and upbeat and perfect for the event and surroundings.
Ben grimaced. “I don’t dance,” he said. “Look, it’s all the old people out there anyway.”
Jeannie’s cheeks burned anew. Now that he pointed it out, all of the younger people at the party were at the bar or sitting at tables chatting over drinks. “Okay,” she said.
Ben lifted his chin, searching the crowd. “There’s my friend Hank from high school. Let’s go say hi.”
Jeannie followed Ben and stood behind him while he shook Hank’s hand, then motioned for a member of the waitstaff to bring them some drinks.
“Who’s this?” Hank asked, noticing Jeannie standing behind Ben. He introduced himself politely, but after that it was like she was invisible. Jeannie waited for Ben to include her in the conversation, but after several minutes of standing awkwardly by his side, nodding and smiling, she got bored and decided to walk around a bit. When she wandered away from Ben, he didn’t even seem to register her departure.
Her heels were starting to pinch her feet a bit, so she found a deep armchair in a dim corner and sat in it and spent the next few minutes people watching until she saw Ben weaving his way through the crowd with a couple of other guys. “Ben,” she called, and gave him a quick wave.
At first he looked at her as though he didn’t even recognise her. “Oh, hey,” he said. He’d unbuttoned the top button of his dress shirt, and with his cheeks a bit flushed, there was something boyishly handsome about him. She sat up, waiting for him to ask her to join him, or maybe invite her to the other room to look at the silent auction items. It would be fun to see what bids had been placed so far and guess what the items would end up selling for. “You’re okay here, right? We’re just going to go to the cigar lounge for a few minutes. Paul here has some Montecristos from Cuba.”
Jeannie swallowed. How long would that take? She didn’t know anyone else at the party, and Ben wasn’t making a real effort to introduce her to anyone she might have something in common with. “Sure,” she said weakly, then sat back in her chair as Ben followed his friends out of the room. Boyish indeed.
What was she supposed to do, sit alone all night, watching other people have fun? Why had he even invited her in the first place? Just to check the box of having a date? A lump formed in her throat, and her mind flashed to the dance floor at the Butterfly Lake Lodge on Christmas Eve, Everett’s arms holding her firmly against him, his gaze fixed on her. The firepit on Christmas night when he’d hung on every word she’d had to say as though he thought she was the most special person in the entire world. The look in his eyes when she’d told him she had other plans on New Year’s Eve.
She had to swallow to keep her eyes from brimming with tears. What had she done?
Jeannie spotted a circular balcony overlooking the event space and decided to climb the wide carpeted staircase that led to the second floor of the country club.
She stood alone for a few minutes, heart heavy, observing the party below her. Everything was exactly as she had imagined. The club was impressive. The food was exquisite. The guests all looked as though they’d walked out of a fashion magazine, or at least as though they could afford anything in its pages.
All in all, the evening was perfect.
Perfect on paper.
But suddenly, Jeannie was hit with the recognition that while everything was very nice, it was also very stuffy and very, very boring. And Ben Kane was a god-awful date.
She glanced at the grandfather clock behind her, then waved down a member of the waitstaff passing by with a tray of empty glasses and cocktail plates. “There’s a man in the smoking lounge,” Jeannie said to him. “Tall, blond hair, black suit. Will you tell him Jeannie wasn’t feeling well and is in a taxi on her way home?” Assuming he even cares , she thought. Or that the waiter would be able to pick him out of the sea of other guys who looked exactly like him.
“Certainly, miss,” he said. “Can I help arrange a car for you?”
“I’ll be all right,” Jeannie said, digging in her purse and pulling out a couple of dollars for the waiter. “Happy New Year.” She found another staircase that led her to the foyer without her having to walk through the party.
Five minutes later, Jeannie had collected her jacket from the coat check and had slid into a cab, a rare feat on New Year’s Eve, but the long line of taxis parked in front of the club told her there was a group of drivers counting on big tips from the wealthy club members.
She stared out the window as the cab navigated away from the club toward downtown, then up at the sky, and had to blink when she realized what she was seeing overhead.
Perfectly imperfect. She heard Everett’s voice in her head.
She reached into her purse and applied a fresh coat of Cupid’s Cranberry lipstick.
It had worked once before.
*
The Trumpet and Tartan was packed. If the bylaw officer decided this was the night to make a visit, the pub’s operating license would most definitely be revoked, but when Everett caught a glimpse of the owner across the room, a beer in each hand and a wide grin on his face, it was clear that the man was rolling the life dice that there wouldn’t be a surprise New Year’s Eve inspection. At least this close to midnight, which, Everett noticed when he checked his watch, was only twenty minutes away.
It had been a good show, with a lively crowd, but unlike other performances when the cortisol energised him, Everett couldn’t wait to get home to bed.
He took a moment to duck out to the alleyway to catch a breath of fresh air to wake up before the final set of the night.
The heavy metal door clanked shut behind him, and he was alone in the space between the pub and the men’s clothing store next door. Everett breathed in deeply, the air filled with the scent of cooking hot dogs from the stand across the street and salt staining the sidewalk. He looked up. Sure as he’d predicted, early signs of the Celestial Cascade had started to streak the sky overhead. It would be blazing in a few hours, but he’d be face down and fast asleep in his bed by then.
Ever since he’d bid Jeannie farewell in the lodge’s parking lot on Boxing Day, he’d barely slept. Many times he’d picked up the phone to call her and realised the only number he had for her was for her law firm. He’d found the Butterfly Lake Lodge in the phone book to see if Sue or Duke would give him Jeannie’s number, but the minute he got to the last digit of the number, he paused and remembered that she had his number, and if she had any interest in speaking with him, she’d call.
Jeannie. He pictured her hand in hand with the guy from her law firm, all six foot three of his preppy attention on her, and it felt all wrong. There was no use denying it, even though she’d moved on, that she mattered to him.
And so, in the same way that he did every holiday season, knowing the occasion wasn’t for him but wanting others to enjoy, Everett looked up at the stars above and put a call out to the universe to wish that wherever she was, Jeannie was having a great New Year’s. Then he ducked back into the warm, noisy pub.
*
The pub manager gave them the signal that they were ten minutes away from the countdown. Jeannie would soon be kissing someone else.
The thought of Jeannie’s lips sent a pulse of longing through Everett, and when he missed the cue for the next song, he turned to find Greg with a puzzled, frustrated expression on his face.
“Sorry,” Everett mouthed, and resolved to focus on the rest of the set.
But the universe had other plans.
Because someone waving at the back of the room caught his eye. He had to squint through the bright lights, but after a few seconds there was no mistaking the beautiful woman grinning from ear to ear, more dressed up than anyone else in the pub. She could have been wearing a burlap sack and she’d still have been the most gorgeous person there, and now she was wading through the crowd toward him.
A rush of energy and desire struck him like a bolt of lightning, and after a quick sidebar conversation between songs, he launched into Cheap Trick’s “I Want You to Want Me”—he might as well just be honest at this point—and watched as Jeannie laughed, then waved again, her gaze not once breaking from his.
And then in a swirl of lights and cheers and chanting, they were counting down from ten, and Everett was pulling Jeannie up on stage with the help of a couple of other concertgoers, careful not to rip her dress or have her stumble in her heels, and then she was in his arms, the whole pub chanting the countdown to the stroke of midnight. Jeannie’s lips met his in a kiss that left Everett with no doubt that he would never kiss another woman again. And that the wish he’d made, even though it had made him feel like a crazy fool, was coming true.
“Happy New Year, Jeannie Carmichael,” he said, her cheek warm against his. He held her close, his hand on her lower back, the silky fabric of her dress almost as touchable as the soft hair at the nape of her neck, which he trailed through with his other hand.
“Happy New Year, Everett,” she whispered in his ear. “I’ve been thinking about that date.”
“Uh huh,” he said, waiting for her to say it.
“January 1st seems like a pretty good day for it.”
“I couldn’t think of anything better,” he said, and they both jumped as a partygoer let a confetti tube explode right over the heads of everyone around them, a rain of gold glitter catching the light and falling onto their shoulders.
Jeannie had come to him. And he would do whatever he could to never let her go.