Passages is a collection of short stories loosely based on the theme: When one door closes, another opens. What door opens for which person makes all the difference.
I write the Mackenzie Wilder/Classic Boat mystery series. The protagonist is Dr. Mackenzie Wilder, a widowed small-town physician with a passion for old boats and a knack for fixing both boats and her patients.
The following story (presented in eight installments) is about Mackenzie’s cousin, Lara, who feels she has been unfairly compared to Mackenzie (Mackie) her whole life.
Installment 5
Love’s Door
Lara poured herself a bourbon from the bottle she kept detective-style in the cabinet under her desk, then paced the room, glass in hand.
She needed a big scene to break it off with Rodger. One, to see his reaction, and two, to have a public record of having parted with him permanently on her terms. People had to think she was satisfied with a one-off drama-laden confrontation and exit. She couldn’t have them thinking she was obsessed with revenge the way some ex-girlfriends were. Not if she didn’t want to get caught.
She glanced back at the computer screen with its windows of outlines and timetables and airline schedules. The plans were set, but the first step required some fine-tuning. She tossed back the rest of the bourbon and threw herself down on her bed, and let her mind go to work.
***
They met back at the same pub as a week ago. Rodger and Camille even arrived together, same as last time. Lara gave a little snort and took in her staging. This should do nicely.
Rodger pulled out a chair for Camille, then took a seat on one side of the booth, smiling at Lara expectantly. She stifled a single pang of guilt. Tightening her resolve made her head ache, but she remained standing, even managing a tiny smile. A folder lay atop the rectangular tray the waiter had brought over at her request. The implements she needed were in her purse. She coughed once, and bent her head over the folder.
“Lara, what is it? You’re not still sick, are you?” Rodger had the grace to actually seem concerned. She’d put him off all week with the sick excuse, referring to being her old self again when she’d called the meeting.
“I’m fine. Just a hitch in my throat. Look, I don’t want to keep us too long, but there is something we need to discuss.”
Camille turned her head from side to side, smoothing her hair and checking the effect in her compact as she spoke. “I hope this means you were able to set up an appointment with the church. I’ll never have this wedding ready in time if you don’t hurry up.”
How does she manage to say that like she means it? Lara shook off her amazement, and with deliberate movement pulled a sheaf of papers from the folder. She’d centered the tray on the table and surrounded it with rocks and sea shells, a sort of buffer zone from other objects on the table.
“Camille, you won’t have to worry about the venue for the wedding. I’ve taken care of that -”
“Oh, well, you’ve taken care of that, too, have you? Then what do you need me for? Really, Rodger, this is all getting to be a bit—“
“Camille, the fact is, I don’t need you. You are officially released from your contract as my wedding planner.” She riffled the papers of their contract in Camille’s direction then laid them back on the tray. “Rodger.” Lara laid another piece of paper on the tray, a copy of a poem Rodger wrote for her the night he proposed. “Rodger, you are officially released from our engagement -” As she spoke, she slipped the ring from her finger, placing it atop the papers on the tray.
“What? Lara? What’s gotten into you? Are you saying you’re breaking our engagement?”
Camille sputtered, squirming in her chair.
Lara summoned up a pitiful, dutiful smile, and waved caution. “Please, don’t misunderstand. The thing is, the fact is,—well, I know about you and your affair. I can’t stand in the way of all that. If you two feel as intensely about each other as my investigator reported, why, I simply have to let you go.” She fluttered her hands outward, the words she’d borrowed from her mother echoing in her head.
Camille narrowed her eyes, glancing from Lara to Rodger and back. “What is this?”
Rodger’s face reddened, and he began to stammer. “What—what investigator? What are you talking about? Camille and I—really? We barely know each other. You must have misunderstood –,”
Lara grit her teeth and forced another smile before sliding into a hard tone. “I don’t think anyone can misunderstand a forty-five- minute lunch with underwear on the dessert menu. I have pictures.”
Rodger gulped, and Camille looked away.
“Since you feel so strongly about each other,” Lara’s voice rose; pub patrons turned heads their way. “I’m going to step aside and let you have each other. I do want my money back, however,” she said, reaching into her purse to pull out a plastic vial and rod.
She dumped the contents of the vial over the papers and ring, her lips a tight line across her face. .
Still holding her hands over the papers, she announced. ““I want a complete refund, deposited to my account. By tomorrow, Camille, or warnings will go out all over the Internet about you and your affinity for your clients. Rodger?” Lara’s eyes grew large and soft and a lump crowded the back of her throat. She swallowed it. “I don’t want to see you ever again.”
She flipped her hands over, and Click! A butane lighter shot flame onto the alcohol-dressed papers and ring in the tray. She dropped the flaring lighter onto the pile and swung out of the pub as distressed servers dashed past her with pitchers of water to douse the rising flames.
***
Lara left town for Bev’s favorite spa, borrowing her mother’s membership, saying she needed to get away for a few days. It was a logical thing for her to do after a break-up. But that’s not all it was. Lara wanted time to see exactly how Camille and Rodger reacted to her declaration. It was remotely possible that the results would lead Rodger back to her, and given the right words and proper contrition, she might agree to take him back.
Lara was aware how foolish that sounded, but still she couldn’t help herself. Doubts tend to linger and torment despite decisive action.
He probably won’t ask me to take him back. On the other hand, maybe seeing me let him go despite how hurt I am will impress him. Maybe he’ll see what my love for him means. Her poolside reveries circled the topic, gliding first one way then the other.
Evenings, after swimming and saunas and massages, when she came to the poolside and courtyard get-togethers, she fended off polished young men who frankly admired her trim legs and gentle curves. She had no interest in anyone other than Rodger and no time to contemplate their advances, either. Instead she downed exotic drinks laced with rum and tequila and watched every sunset as she counted the days until she would go back.
The last day came. Lara’s two weeks were up. She snapped her luggage closed with a sigh. No emails. No voicemails. All right.
She taxied home. As she paid for the ride, movement in the building ahead caught her eye. A figure moved through the vestibule and out the door, halting as if to wait at the head of the sidewalk.
Rodger?
Careful now.
She stepped out briskly, wearing what she hoped was an appropriate smile for a woman greeting the man she’d freed from an unwanted engagement.
Don’t be too eager; you don’t know why he’s here.
She tripped slightly, frowning at her shoe and the suitcase she pulled behind her.
“Easy there, Lara. You okay?” Rodger called out, making a few short steps toward her.
“Rodger! What are you doing here?” She kept her voice from rising too high, her smile from widening too far.
“I – uh, wanted to stop in and see how you were.
“I’m fine.” He looked so good! Dammit! “What are you doing here?” she repeated.
Rodger glanced down at his shoes, then immediately away to some invisible point far across the boulevard on the side of a twelve-story art deco building. He looked down at Lara again. “I felt I needed to stop by and see you beforehand. Maybe explain what was up.”
“Up?” Lara twisted her head to one side. “As in….” Her eyes narrowed.
Rodger sighed and scraped a shoe on the walkway, little-boy style. “Look. You were right. We never should have let things get out of hand that way. We’re—I’m sorry we did that. I should have come clean to you about finding her attractive, maybe gotten another wedding planner. But I wanted you to know, it had nothing to do with you. You are a wonderful –,”
“Cut it, Rodger,” barked Lara, pushing past him with her suitcase and heading up the walk. “You don’t mean it, and I don’t want to hear it.”
“Lara! Wait!”
She couldn’t help herself. “What!” she shouted, turning to face him. The forelock he wore that made him look so much like a Kennedy blew away from his face in the breeze. He suddenly looked much shorter than he had when she first spotted him in the vestibule, more vulnerable, wistful even, as if he too were choosing this moment they had to cross as a memory to be savored as well as mourned.
She felt a physical pain in her side piercing her somewhere below the heart. “What do you want to say, Rodger?” she asked.
“Lara, I never meant to hurt you. I was in love with you, I still think you’re a – a wonderful person. I want the best for you, you know. It’s just – not me.”
Lara struggled with the words. “You. You’re not the best for me. I guess we can agree on that. Is that it?” Her voice quavered, then shook, nearly ending in a laugh.
He squinted at her for a second. “I—uh, no. I brought you this. You should keep it.” He extended a hand toward her. He held her engagement ring between two fingers, a little blackened, but otherwise none the worse for its heated experience in the restaurant.
Lara shook her head vehemently. “I don’t want it. It’s beautiful, but it doesn’t mean anything now. Keep it.”
Rodger withdrew his hand, staring across the street again. “Look, one other thing then. We’re both leaving town. Camille has gone on retreat near Sri Jayawardenepura Kotte. That’s the capital of Sri Lanka. She’ll probably be there for a couple years. I’m going over in another few weeks.” He looked back at her briefly, then at the ground, head hung low.
“You’re joining her?” Lara shrieked.
“No, I—yes, well... It turns out my company has an opening in a new office over there. I requested the transfer. I—I’ll be out of your hair, and Camille and I can see where this all goes. It—uh—it seemed the best solution.”
It was Lara’s turn to hang her head, but to address her stomach, which was burning and roiling. She had to swallow to keep down the bile that was rising. “Oh, I get it. You’re doing this for me. The fact that it fits your needs doesn’t mean anything at all, does it?” She closed her eyes in pain. “You know? I agree, Rodger. You’re not the best for me. And I deserve the best, don’t I?” Lara started up the sidewalk, but paused after a few steps. “I’ll bring your things over next week. Will you be there Thursday night?”
Rodger nodded. “It’s my next-to-last-night here. I can add them to my storage unit on my way to the airport.”
“All right. That actually works out well, doesn’t it? Thursday.”
She sped up the sidewalk and into the building.