He Said Apologize, I Said the Wedding Is Off novel · Chapter 2 of 24

Chapter 2: Road Closed

A blizzard shuts the highway and sends Greta back to the apartment, where Rupert waits with open arms and no real apology; she shows him the widow's charges on the wedding card and calls the neighbor, who sees men carrying her grandmother's cedar chest to a truck.

A state trooper in a reflective coat stood in the middle of the highway and waved me to a stop.

I rolled the window down and the snow came in sideways.

"Road's closed, ma'am," he said. "A blizzard took down half the trees between here and the lake."

"I need to get north tonight."

"Nobody's getting north tonight."

I checked my navigation app, and all three of the other routes had turned red.

My thumb found the lake house app and deleted Marcy's code.

The screen said the code was gone.

It did not say anything about Marcy, who was already inside my grandmother's house.

I sat in the car with the engine running and the trooper's flares going orange on the windshield.

Then I opened the bank app, because I wanted to see one more thing before I said it out loud.

The joint account was the one Rupert and I had opened for the wedding.

It had a secondary card on it, the one meant for wedding emergencies only.

I scrolled through the charges slowly.

Restaurant tabs, a winter camp for a seven-year-old, a boutique in Edina, three weekend cabins.

All of it was Marcy's, and it came to a little over eleven thousand dollars since September.

I turned the car around.

There was nowhere else to go, and there was something I wanted to say to him in person.

When I let myself into the apartment, Rupert was standing in the living room with his phone at his ear.

He saw me with my suitcase and went still.

Then he said something quick and low into the phone and hung up.

A small smile touched his mouth.

"I knew you'd come back," he said.

He crossed the room with his arms open.

"Okay. Don't be mad. The code was my fault, and I'm sorry."

He did not sound sorry.

He sounded like a man calming a child who always ended up coming home.

I stepped to one side, and his arms closed on nothing.

"The highway's closed," I said.

His hands stayed in the air a moment.

"I'm leaving as soon as the snow stops."

"It's dangerous out there." He frowned. "Why are you still being like this?"

"Because you gave her my house."

"I said I was sorry. She's borrowing it for three days. It's not like she's walking off with the place."

I took out my phone and held the bank screen up to his face.

"The emergency card," I said. "Eleven thousand dollars since September."

"Restaurants. A winter camp. A boutique in Edina."

"She's a single mother, Greta."

"The card is for wedding emergencies."

"Her son's camp is an emergency?"

"He's a kid who lost his father."

"And I'm a woman who lost her fiancé tonight, and nobody is paying for my camp."

I hadn't meant it to come out as a joke, but his jaw went tight.

"You're counting her pennies at a memorial."

"I'm counting our pennies, and the memorial was two hours ago."

He rubbed his forehead, and when he spoke again his voice was patient and low.

"Listen. You're tired and you're hurt. Let's sleep, and tomorrow we'll sort it out."

"There's nothing to sort out."

"You're making this bigger than it is."

"I apologized tonight for something I never did, in front of her husband's parents."

"And you did it beautifully."

He meant it as a compliment.

I looked at his face and I understood he meant it.

My apology had been the price of a quiet evening, and he thought I had paid it well.

My phone was still in my hand.

I scrolled to a name I had saved at my grandmother's funeral and never called.

"Cal Rasmussen," the screen read, and under it, "Lake Road, boat shop."

Rupert watched me.

"Who's that?"

"The man who has lived next to my grandmother's house his whole life."

I put the phone on speaker and set it on the coffee table between us.

It rang four times before a man answered, his voice rough with sleep.

"Rasmussen."

"Cal, it's Greta Holm, your neighbor's granddaughter. I'm sorry to call this late."

"Greta." His voice changed and woke up. "Where are you?"

"Duluth. The highway's closed. Can you see my grandmother's house from your porch?"

There was a pause, and a door opened on his end.

I heard wind and then boots on boards.

"I can see it," Cal said slowly.

"The lights are on in every window."

"There are four cars in the drive, and a pickup backed up to the porch."

Rupert took a step toward the phone.

"There's two men carrying a big wooden chest down the steps," Cal said. "Cedar, with a brass latch."

I did not breathe.

It was my grandmother's cedar chest, and it held her wedding quilt and her letters.

"Cal," I said, "please don't let that truck leave."

"Give me a minute," he said, and I heard his screen door slam.

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