36. Walter
Walter
TWO DAYS BEFORE THE PRESCOTT-SCHAFER WEDDING
TAMNIèS, France—“I’m all ears,” Walter said. Few things were more stimulating than having a front-row seat to one of Hildy’s brain waves. Since he also happened to be cooking up a separate plan that depended on the success of hers, he was doubly intrigued.
“I’ve been talking to Fiona about this wedding for months, right? And yes, she’s freaking out now—which I totally get—but a lot of this stuff was her idea. That girl was pumped about the bagpiper and her crystal shoes and the guys in lace-up shirts serving hors d’oeuvres.”
“And the carriage,” Walter reminded her.
“Exactly. The list goes on. These are things she’s going to be sad to miss—if she misses them.” She arched her brows, inviting him to guess.
“You’re going to talk her out of the secret sunrise wedding?”
Hildy shook her head. “I’m going to gently encourage her to do both.”
“Two weddings?”
“The little one and the big one. Private and public. The first will be for them, and the second will be for the world.”
“Including us?”
“Yes. Assuming we manage to coax the runaway bride and groom back into the fold. Then we can worry about how all of this is going to play out in print.”
“I have faith in you.”
Her eyes narrowed.
“What? It was a compliment.”
“You’re being very chill about this.”
“The weddings, plural?”
“That and how I tabled our other conversation.” She was watching him closely, so Walter lifted a shoulder, affecting unconcern.
“I understand. Work comes first.”
“Really? You’re cool with pushing all that aside, no more fruitless trawling through our past?”
Walter could have pointed out that working together was how everything had started, so if anything was going to help them rediscover the harmony of the early days, it would be a joint project.
But that would have been counterproductive.
Hildy didn’t want to hear it right now, so he wasn’t going to rush her.
If the long game was what it took, that’s what Walter would play.
What was another few days compared to a decade?
“You’ve given me a lot to think about,” he said mildly. “Plenty of new information that I should probably let simmer.”
“Like how I’m not actually the worst?”
He shook his head, not willing to cop to something he’d never really believed. “More like how you were feeling. And why. But we both have a lot riding on this, so I’m ready to lock in. What can I do?”
“You’re going to take orders from me?”
“It wouldn’t be the first time.”
“You’re not worried I’m going to screw you over?”
“I thought you said we don’t have time for that.”
“We don’t,” she said.
“Speaking of collaborations—”
“Here it comes,” she muttered.
“What if we did the story together?”
She looked at him like he’d lost his mind. “Exclusivity is the whole point.”
“Is it?”
“How would that work with your job?” she pressed. “Your editor is never going to let you moonlight for another publication.”
He picked up one of the random decorative objects in the hammered copper bowl on the coffee table, pretending to inspect the surface of what appeared to be a wooden egg. “Then maybe I’d quit.”
“Oh no you don’t,” Hildy said at once. “I’m not messing up your life again.
I don’t want to be your personal wrecking ball.
Not that we’re talking about that!” She glared at him as if he’d tried to trick her into revisiting the subject of their past. “We can help each other by making sure the wedding happens. After that it’s every journalist for herself. ”
“If that’s what you want.”
“Seriously, Walter! What is this?”
“I thought we were making plans?”
She huffed in frustration. “Why are you being so agreeable?”
“I’m showing you we don’t always have to fight.”
“Yeah, except I’m starting to get twitchy, so the clock is ticking. Also, your case is flimsy as hell. Need I remind you that you can’t write a trend piece based on one example?”
“I can think of other times we weren’t mean to each other.” He waited until she glanced at him, not quite able to hide her interest. “Those minutes behind the coatrack come to mind.”
She turned away, but the side view only made the pink of her cheeks more apparent.
“I better go.” He stood, taking a few slow steps across the plush rug until he was standing in front of her. “I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”
Her chin lifted in defiance. “I’m totally relaxed.”
“Glad to hear it.” Walter extended an arm, knowing she’d take it as a dare.
Hildy reluctantly placed her smooth, slender hand in his. He wrapped his fingers around hers, enjoying the sensation of skin against skin for several stuttering heartbeats before shaking her hand.
“Go, team,” he said quietly.
“Yes.” She yanked her hand free, hiding it behind her back as if she feared he might lunge for it. “I’ll talk to Fiona,” she said briskly. “I already have a bunch more arguments lined up.”
“That’s what you’ve been thinking about this whole time?”
“Maybe.” It would have been more convincing if she’d managed to meet his eyes.
“Top secret intel?” he guessed.
Her mouth worked like she was trying to force out the words.
“I’m going to remind her about her sister’s business.
This would be a huge boost for Maude’s retreat center.
Whereas if the wedding doesn’t happen, it’ll have the taint of failure.
” She hesitated. “Does that sound like emotional blackmail?”
Walter pondered for a moment, so Hildy wouldn’t think he was being glib. “Only if you’re getting Fiona to act against her own interests.”
“No, I honestly believe she’ll be much happier in the long run if she goes through with the extra wedding.”
“Then I guess I’ll talk to Robbie.”
“What’s your angle?”
“I was going to mention the fire-eaters and the roasted pig.”
“Everything flame-related,” Hildy translated.
Walter gave a solemn nod. “That and the horses, obviously. Man stuff.”
She’d find out about the rest soon enough.
Walter finally caught up with Robbie at the hotel restaurant midmorning. Fiona’s fiancé was wearing a baseball cap and sunglasses like he was trying to go incognito, but the effort was undermined by the faded letters on the back of his old jersey spelling out his last name.
“Hey, Robbie.”
He jumped, spilling coffee on his plate of melon slices and smoked duck. “Scared me,” Robbie said. “I thought you were Fiona’s dad. Or my dad. Or one of my uncles. Or the pastor.”
Walter was beginning to wonder how long this list would go on when Robbie shook himself, mustering a pale shadow of his usual grin.
“That’s just how it is, right? Everybody means well.”
“Yes,” Walter agreed, though he wasn’t entirely sure what they were talking about. “Do you have a minute? I was hoping we could chat.”
“You too?” Robbie sighed. “I mean, yeah. No problem.” He gestured at the empty place setting across the table. Most of the other guests had been whisked away on a boat cruise, or kayaking if they wanted something more athletic, so they had the place to themselves.
“How are you holding up?” Walter asked, watching Robbie reach for the dish of sugar cubes before changing his mind.
“Good.” Robbie sipped his black coffee, wincing a little. “You can just dive right in, you know. I don’t need the whole warm-up.”
“I’m sorry?” Walter’s best guess was that Hildy must have already spoken to Fiona.
“You want to give me some man-to-man advice, right?” Robbie calmly sliced his melon into bite-size pieces. “Before I get married. And become a man.”
The “disguise” suddenly made sense. “I take it you’ve been getting a lot of that?”
Robbie nodded. “Mostly about investment strategies.”
“I wouldn’t be the one to speak on that.”
“Sometimes it’s about other things.” Robbie speared a piece of melon with his fork. “Holidays. In-laws. Gift-giving. Communication styles. Sex.”
“That’s … very personal.”
“Yeah. I didn’t know Pastor Chris had it in him. But I guess he hears a lot of stuff, from counseling married couples.”
On balance, Walter thought he’d prefer advice about the stock market.
“And then I feel bad,” Robbie continued, dabbing his mouth with a napkin, “because they don’t know about the—” He glanced behind him before mouthing the words “secret wedding.” “It’s like I’m being dishonest even though I’m not saying anything.”
“A lie of omission.”
Robbie looked impressed. “I guess that’s part of your job, knowing the words for everything.”
“That’s actually what I wanted to talk to you about.”
“Improving my vocabulary?” Robbie grimaced at the prospect of adding yet another item to his Becoming a Man checklist.
“Keeping secrets,” Walter corrected. “Maybe there’s a way you don’t have to feel bad.”
“That sounds nice. Between you and me”—he pointed his fork at Walter—“I’ve been a little worried we got caught up in a moment and it snowballed.
Me and Fee tend to get excited about stuff and go all in, like ‘yes, let’s do this!
’ And then later we look at each other like, ‘wait, why did we think we wanted a hydroponic garden?’ It’s a lot of work.
And you have to keep doing it, over and over. ”
Walter nodded. That tracked with what he knew about gardening—and Robbie and Fiona.
“And that’s fine if it’s something we do with our balcony,” Robbie continued. “We can change our minds. There will still be tomatoes in the world. But with the wedding, people came all this way. They’re going to be disappointed.” He looked to Walter for confirmation.
“There could still be tomatoes. Figuratively speaking.” It seemed best not to linger on that moment of brilliance, so Walter hurried on.
“Let’s look at the big picture. As someone who’s been to a lot of these things the last few years, I’ve had some realizations about weddings, and relationships, and priorities.
There are parts that seem important in the moment that don’t matter in the long run.
” He broke off when Robbie raised his hand. “Yes?”
“So you are giving me life lessons?”
“I’m building to something concrete.”
“Oh, good!” Robbie sent a longing look at the breadbasket.