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CHAPTER ONE
The Invitation
The farmhouse was dark and quiet. No one else was up yet, not even the sun, but still the walls ached and moaned. Brad Connors leaned against the kitchen counter and gazed out the east window, to the thin, pink line that laced the horizon.
Anything to avoid looking at the gold-lined envelope on his right.
Though it was the coldest day of the year so far, steam rose and fell from the fields of his parents’ 200-year-old farm, undulating over the hills like a blanket draped over freshly laundered sheets. Montana sure knew how to do nature right.
There wasn’t a shadow of a doubt that he was a better man because of his childhood spent on these acres born of sweat, muscle, forbearance, and a communion with nature and her husband, the land. Though he no longer had to do the work himself, he reveled in the darkness of early mornings where he could walk the property line, just him and Penske, his folks’ farm mutt. Most days he found himself conversing with his novels’ cast of characters, the open land a catalyst for his best ideas.
Now, though, he sat at his kitchen counter with his latest novel pushed to the far recesses of his mind, the mail from yesterday spread before him in piles—bills in one, junk mail torn into shreds and bound for recycling in another, and some early holiday cards in the last. He tried like hell to ignore the one envelope set apart from the rest, but like a bad penny, it kept rudely announcing its arrival.
It just didn’t fit in.
He wondered what the hell to do with the Christmas cards. So many of them were from their friends, the couples he and Julia had made through their relationship—many with kids and families they’d built over the past decade. And it’s not like he had anywhere to hang them now that he’d moved out of his and Julia’s place.
I didn’t think I’d be alone at Christmas.
Had it already been eight months? Eight long months since he’d been thrown from the path of early Christmas cards and in-laws and kids of his own back into the land of the bachelors.
If he were being honest though, sometimes it felt like it all just happened yesterday, especially as he held the one piece of mail that wouldn’t fit in any of the piles, unable to ignore it any longer.
It was white with perfect gold calligraphy on the front, addressed to him and a guest. He knew the return address by heart since it used to be his. Had his folks seen the envelope? He gave only a slight pause to consider whether they had received one as well.
He sipped tentatively at his hot, black coffee.
The warmth transferred from the cup to his chilled palm, traveling up his arm and warming his core, but still the cold surged in around him, a liability of winter in an outdated farmhouse he’d long grown accustomed to. Knowing better, he took a sip, his tongue scorched for his efforts. Those first few sips—what he was able to get down right after pouring a cup of strong joe from the pot—were what really got him going. Nothing woke him up like burning the crap out of his mouth first thing. Julia used to scold him, tell him to wait till it cooled off, but he liked the heat.
Maybe that’s why they hadn’t worked out—no more flames to singe him.
Brad tore open the envelope, somehow still shocked she’d had the gall to send it. Did Chris know? They must have agreed on the guest list together. As the light in his kitchen glinted off the gold lettering, a strange sensation bubbled up in his throat. He wasn’t sure if he would erupt into laughter or sobs. He felt like doing both.
Truthfully, he’d been subconsciously looking out for the invitation in the mail for the last month. When the gossip train had finally reached him, filling him in on all the gory details of the engagement, he’d known this day would come. To some degree, he couldn’t imagine one of the three of them getting married without them all being there, but he never, not in a million years, figured it would be under these circumstances.
And though he couldn’t imagine missing the wedding, he also, with equal passion, couldn’t imagine circumstances where he would dare go. He was effed either way.
Dammit. He looked at his watch. This would have to wait until after work. He left the invitation opened and unread but it didn’t stay far from his thoughts.
The whole drive into work, Brad made a mental list of the pros and cons of going to the wedding. One of the biggest pros would be putting Julia behind him, finally. That, and seeing all his old college buddies again. His parents would probably go, so he had them to keep him company, and of course, there was the open bar he knew Chris would splurge for.
That led right into the cons of going. An open bar, his ex-girlfriend of fifteen years marrying his former best friend… Yikes. Not to mention every other person there wondering what Brad might do or say with a few beers in him—including the paparazzi that seemed to follow Brad everywhere he went since his latest novel won an Edgar Award and the film rights to his first three books in his series were sold to a prominent Hollywood production company at the same time. Yeah, that probably wasn’t a recipe for a good time. Add to everything that they were getting married on Christmas Eve.
Christmas freaking Eve.
He didn’t need to read the invitation to know that much. His sister, Paige, had called him at their parents’ home a week ago, asked if he was sitting down. When he’d lied and told her yes, he was, she’d filled him in on everything she’d heard from Chris’s sister. Really, he’d been drilling some ⅜” screws into two 2×4 boards to make the frame for a coffee table. Since Paige’s friend Aurelie had taken all her furniture when she’d moved a few months prior, he’d been slowly adding to the sparsely decorated garage apartment with his own creations.
Paige’s wedding date announcement caused his hand to slip, and he’d sliced his thumb with the electric drill.
“Jesus!” he’d shouted. He’d hung up on her without waiting for a reply, and now, a week later, his thumb still not healed, he realized he never called her back.
Truthfully, after he’d hung up with his sister, he hadn’t thought much about Julia, Chris, or their wedding day until that morning’s mail. Typical. Julia always had a way of making things about her. Now his Christmas, whether or not he went to her wedding, would be hijacked by her as well.
Just like in college, she seemed to have a sixth sense he was thinking about her, and his phone rang, silencing his loud music. The screen in his truck showed, “Jules—DO NOT ANSWER!” in the caller ID spot. He ignored his self-imposed warning and hit the green “Answer” button.
“Jules,” he said, sounding much more enthusiastic than he’d meant, “I was just thinking about you.”
“Oh yeah?” Her voice had a higher pitch than her usual whine. That gave him a distinct sense of satisfaction he wasn’t necessarily proud of.
“Yep. Seems I was one of the proud few invited to what Paige told me will be the ‘party of the season.’”
“Shoot. You already got that?” Was that a crack in her veneer?
“Did you mail it by mistake? I didn’t think you knew any other ‘Bradley Connors.’”
“Bradley,” she said, the serious tone and use of his full given name indicating a level of seriousness he just couldn’t commit to.
“Julia,” he countered. He tried not to let his smile percolate into the conversation. He passed Steve’s Garage and waved to the kid Steve had hired to do the opening shift a few months ago. He’d been the most reliable and naturally talented teenager Steve had taken on—clearly the boy had found his calling. He waved back enthusiastically, one of the reasons Brad liked him—no one but him seemed to enjoy early mornings in an open bay during a Montana winter.
“I was calling to tell you congratulations. I just heard about the movie deal and all that. You must be so happy.”
“I am. It’s been a good year. You know, besides the obvious.”
“Yeah. I can see that.” She’d screwed it up just before she got what she wanted—the notoriety of being married to a famous author, the invites to all the red-carpet events he’d been getting and going to alone. Per usual, Jules hadn’t been willing to wait for the payout at the end.
“I also called to tell you that Chris and I would really love to have you at the wedding. It wasn’t just a pity invite.”
This time, Brad didn’t try to hide his laughter. “Wow,” he said. “Just like we all planned, huh?” She sighed on the other end. Years of seeing her make that particular sound in person told him her fingers were pinching the bridge of her nose, her eyes shut.
He knew her so well. Too well.
That was the problem when they’d broken up. It wasn’t just that the future he’d imagined for himself was dashed. It was more that he’d have to start over, tell someone new his favorite foods, the vacation spots he had on his bucket list, what he wanted to do with his career. And that was just the start. It would be years until he would be comfortable enough with someone to pee with the door open, to sit quietly in the passenger seat of the car on a long drive. All those small comforts that he’d built with Julia were gone, and if he wanted them back—which was a conversation he didn’t feel like having with himself just yet—he had to put in the work with the same lack of a guarantee that all that work would pay off.
Out there in the world was a woman he’d already built a life with. He was still picking up the pieces of that destruction. That was the hardest part of the breakup to live with—that she knew Brad before the fame and good fortune had blown his way.
“Brad, I’m sorry. I didn’t plan this,” she started, and he tuned out. She sure didn’t just magically keep showing up at Chris’s house for six months when she was on her way home to Brad. There was, maybe not in the beginning, but definitely after that first meet up, a plan. He tuned back to hear the end of her obviously scripted speech, “…and we just both still absolutely love you and couldn’t imagine getting married without you there. You just have to come.”
That was it. He would have loved to be the bigger person, but he couldn’t hold back anymore.
“Jules, that’s a nice sentiment, but it seems kinda bitchy to say you couldn’t imagine me not being there. I was supposed to be the one on the other end of the altar waiting for you. But I was always waiting for you, wasn’t I? Waiting for you to be ready, for your career to take off, then for a break in your career so you could plan a wedding. Turns out, the whole time you were waiting for me to turn into someone else.”
“That’s not fair,” she said, softly. He pushed the image of her pouty bottom lip from his mind, determined not to be manipulated by it, or her, anymore.
“No, it’s not, is it? This whole thing sucks, but it’s your life, your choices that got us here, so I hate to be the one to break it to you, Jules, but you’ve gotta live with the consequences.”
“Don’t you think I am?” she asked. He almost laughed out loud again when he recognized her fake-crying voice, the one she used when she wasn’t with him, where he could call her on it.
“No, I don’t think you’ve dealt with anything. You still got what you wanted. A wedding, to be the center of everything, and a groom who doesn’t know what he’s gotten himself into.” That was a low blow, hitting her below the belt, but he no longer cared. “Just one question, Jules.” When she didn’t answer, he took that as his cue to continue. “Why Christmas? That was our day.” He was breaking every rule he’d made after their breakup to not let her see how much she’d crushed him, but he couldn’t hide it anymore.
“It still felt right, to honor what you and I had, what led to this,” she said. Brad could feel his heartbeat in his fingers, they were so tightly clamped on the steering wheel.
“That’s a load of bull,” he said. “You moved on like nothing ever happened, except a change in the guy standing at the end of it all. Well, I can’t give you an answer on whether or not I’ll come, but Jules, I hope to God he makes you happy, that he was worth all this.”
Brad pressed the “End Call” button on the screen and the music resumed, filling the extended cab of his truck.
As he drove, he noted how many of the places in Banberry dripped with memories of Julia and him, or his and Chris’s friendship. The diner, Jules and Verne’s, hosted Brad and Julia’s first date freshman year of high school—and had led to his first kiss as well. Mitch Davenport’s hardware store was where Brad and Chris had worked through senior year. Brad had taken a second job at the library, more his speed, but he’d cherished the time with Chris, pulling pranks and practical jokes on each other between customers, waiting for Julia to drop off his favorite mint Oreo milkshake near closing, walk him to his car after his shift, kiss him passionately against his mom’s ’94 Passat.
It was impossible to escape their ghosts, and though they haunted him everywhere he went, Brad was more worried about running into their corporeal forms in town. This town would never not be theirs.
It still didn’t answer the question of whether he should go to the wedding. God, he wanted to so he could see them off, then cut the ties that bound them all from childhood. It was also too small a town for him not to go. The hushed whispers at the bar would be about him, what he’d be doing that night instead, how depressed he must be, questions about whether he’d ever move on like the lead protagonist in his novel series hadn’t. If he surprised the town by showing up, he could stymie the gossip at least for that night, after which, he hoped everyone else would move on as well.
A car slowed in front of him and he slammed on his brakes, barely focused on the road.
I can’t believe I’m considering this.
Before he made any firm decisions, though, he’d do a lot more thinking, probably over a six-pack of beer. But before that, he had a long day at the public library. He figured since that’s where he cranked out the meager beginnings of his stories on their old PCs during slow hours—that he owed them.
The library was a nice environment to give back to his community for a few hours a week. He was still around his other great love, books, and it had the added bonus of avoiding his folks’ questions about him and Julia.
As he pulled into the parking lot, the light on the edge of the horizon just starting to peek through, he called the only person who would be able to shed some light and sprinkle some humor on the situation he was in. His friend, Steve, picked up on the first ring.
“Happy Monday, pal.”
“Is it?” Brad asked.
Steve chuckled. “What’s up, man? Wanna get some breakfast? I’m gonna head into town later, and it sounds like you might wanna talk.”
“I do, but I just got to work.”
“Jesus. It’s still dark out, man. Why’re you even out of bed?”
“It’s eight a.m., Steve, not midnight.”
“Yeah, but the Seahawks took a hit last night, so it might as well be Saturday morning the way my liver feels. And my head. Ooh, that sucker’s mad at me too.”
It was Brad’s turn to laugh. “Some of us have to work no matter how the Seahawks perform,” he chided.
“Nah, you don’t have to. Not like you got to take care of that woman anymore, or that your zero dollars from the library would have helped with that anyway.”
“Ouch,” Brad joked. “Too soon, bud, too soon.”
“Plus, you’re gonna be a big movie star, right?”
“Not quite. My novel will be the star, I’ll just be a byline at the end of the credits.”
“Whatever. Same diff. Congrats, man. You deserve it. Jules must be mad as hell that she blew it just before the good stuff started rollin’ in.”
“One can only hope. But still, I gotta get through today.”
“You don’t ‘gotta.’ Just be like the rest of ’em—throw some money at the library and call it a day. Come ice fishing with me.”
“It sounds enticing,” Brad admitted. Maybe he’d find a way to donate some of the proceeds from the movie deal to a new library wing. It wasn’t a half-bad idea. “Anyway, I do have to talk to you. Some interesting developments that I could use your expertise on. Could you come by the library later, whenever you deign to get out of bed?”
“I think I can manage that. Why don’t I pick up Joe’s for lunch?”
Brad’s mouth watered at the mention of Joe’s subs. They were part of the reason he could never see moving out of Montana, especially Banberry. Joe was a friend of theirs who had quit his job as a manager of a major Northwest supermarket chain to open up his own sandwich shop because, as he put it, “This town eats like shit and has shit for choices on where to eat.” He’d opened five years ago, and at lunch time, there hadn’t been a day when there wasn’t a line around the block. It was successful enough that he could open a bar as well—Cowboy Joe’s, the guys’ favorite watering hole within Banberry town limits.
“Sounds good. See you soon.”
“Later.” Steve hung up first.
Brad reluctantly turned off the truck, less than thrilled about the biting cold that would envelop him when he left the heated comfort of his ’20 Tundra. He’d have to really consider relishing in at least one of the perks of making it big—no need for a job.
Until then, he would just have to slog through the sifting of books and his emotions until Steve could come and relieve him. Man, what a day this had turned out to be, and it was only eight a.m.
End of Excerpt
