"Only my Mom," he said, dissolving into laughter himself. "I always knew I was in trouble when I was a kid 'cause I'd hear her yelling-"
They yelled together-"Hancock!"-then in perfect synchronicity glanced guiltily back toward the yard, where several heads had turned in their direction.
"We're making fools of ourselves," Rachel said, attempting to suppress her laughter.
"That's the story of my life," Neil said. There was hurt behind the remark, despite his offhand manner. "But I'm past caring."
By sheer force of will Rachel wiped the smirk off her face. "I'm sorry things turned out the way they did," she said; then lost her composure completely, and began laughing so hard she was doubled up.
"What's so funny?" Neil wanted to know.
"Hancock," she said again. "It's such a silly name." She wiped the tears away from her eyes. "Oh Lord," she said, "I'm sorry. You were saying…"
"Never mind," Neil said. "It wasn't anything important." He was still grinning; but there was something else in his look.
"What's wrong?" she said.
"Nothing's wrong," he replied. "I was only thinking…"
She suddenly knew what he was going to say, and willed him not to spoil the moment by doing so. But she failed.
"… what an idiot I was…"
"Neil."
"… giving you up…"
"Neil, let's not…"
"… no, please let me. I might never get another chance to tell you what's in my head…"
"Are you sure we shouldn't just have another smoke?"
"I've thought about you such a lot over the years."
"That's nice of you to say."
"It's true," he said. "I've had so many regrets in my life. So many things I wished I'd done differently; wished I'd done right. And you're at the top of the list, Rachel. The number of times I've seen you in a magazine, or on the television, and thought: she could have been with me. I could have made her so happy." He looked directly into her eyes. "You know that, don't you?" he said. "I could have made you so happy."
"We took different paths, Neil," she said.
"Not just different. Wrong."
"I don't think-"
"Not you. I'm not talking about you. God knows, you made a smart move marrying Geary. No. I'm talking about my screwups." He shook his head, and she realized that there were sudden tears in his eyes.
"Oh, Neil-"
"Don't mind me. It's just the fucking pot."
"Do you want to go back to the party?"
"Not particularly."
"I think we should. They'll be wondering where we got to."
"I don't care. I don't even fucking like 'em. Any of 'em."
"I thought you said you were a small-town boy at heart," Rachel countered.
"I don't know what I am," Neil confessed. "I used to know…" His gaze lost its focus; he stared off between the rusted vehicles into the darkness. "I had such dreams, Rachel…"
"You can still have them."
"No," he said. "It's too late. You have to seize the moment. If you don't seize the moment suddenly it's passed, and it doesn't come again. You get one chance. And I missed mine." He returned his gaze to her. "You were that chance," he said.
"That's sweet, but-"
"You don't have to tell me, I know. You never loved me, so it wouldn't have worked anyway. But I still think about you, Rachel. Never stopped thinking about you. And I swear I could have made you love me. And if I had…" He smiled, so sadly. "If I had everything would have been different."
She got a little lecture from Deanne the morning after the barbecue. What was she thinking, going off like that, with Neil Wilkens, of all people, Neil Wilkens? thai kind of thing might be all right in New York, but this was a small community, and you just didn't behave like that. Rachel felt as though she were being chastised like an errant child, and told Deanne to keep her opinions to herself. Besides, what the hell was wrong with Neil Wilkens?
"He's practically an alcoholic," Deanne said. "And he got violent with his wife."
"I don't believe that."
"Well it's true," Deanne said. "So really, Rachel, you'd be better off staying away from him."
"I wasn't intending to-"
"You can't just waltz in here-"
"Wait-"
"-as if you owned the place-"
"What are you talking about?"
Deanne looked up from her cleaning, her face flushed. "Oh you know damn well."
"I'm sorry, I don't."
"Embarrassing me."
"What? When was this?"
"Last night! Leaving me with all these people asking where you'd gone. What was I supposed to say? Oh she's off somewhere flirting with Neil Wilkens like a fifteen-year-old-"
"I was not."
"I saw you! We all saw you, giggling like a schoolgirl. It was very embarrassing."
"Well I'm sorry," Rachel said coolly. "I won't embarrass you any longer."
She went back to her mother's house, and packed. She wept while she packed. A little out of anger at the way Deanne had talked to her; but more out of a strange confusion of feelings. Maybe Neil Wilkens had beaten his wife. But, Lord, she'd liked him, in a way she couldn't entirely explain. Was it that she half-believed she belonged here? That the girl who'd been enamored of Neil all those years ago had not entirely disappeared, but was still inside her, trembling in expectation of a first kiss, her hopes for perfect love still intact? And now she was weeping, that girl, out of sorrow that her Neil and she had taken separate roads?
How perfectly ridiculous all this was; and how predictable. She went to the bathroom, washed her tearstained face, and gave herself a talking to. This whole trip had been a mistake. She should have stayed in New York and faced what was going on between herself and Mitch head-on.
On the other hand, perhaps it was healthy to have been reminded that she was now an exile. She would no longer be able to entertain sentimental thoughts of returning to her roots; she had to be ready to move on down the road she'd chosen. She would go back, she decided, and talk everything out with Mitch. She had nothing to lose from being honest. And if they decided they were mismatched, then she'd explain that she wanted a divorce, and they'd begin proceedings. Maybe she'd get some advice from Margie about what she was worth on the ex-wife market. After that? Well, she'd have to see. The only thing she knew for certain was that she wouldn't be coming back to live in Dansky. Whatever she was at heart (and right now she didn't have a due) she was absolutely certain she was no longer a small-town girl.
She left that day, despite her mother's protests. "Stay another night or two at least," Sherrie said. "You've come all this way."
"I really need to get back."
"It's Neil Wilkens, isn't it?"
"It's nothing to do with Neil Wilkens."
"Did he make a pass at you?"
"No, Mom."
"Because if he did-"
"Mom, he was a perfect gentleman."
"That man doesn't know the meaning of the word gentleman." She stared at Rachel fiercely. "A hundred Neil Wilkens aren't worth one Mitchell Geary."
The observation stayed with her, and on the long drive back to New York she found herself idly musing on the two men, like a princess in a storybook weighing the relative merits of her suitors. One handsome and rich and boring; one balding and beer-bellied but still capable of making her laugh. They were in every way different, except in this: they were both sad men. When she brought their faces to mind they were sad faces, defeated faces. She knew where the source of Neil's defeat lay: he'd told her himself. But why was Mitch, with all the gifts history and genetics had showered upon him, ultimately just as sorrowful? It was a mystery to her; and the more she thought about the mystery the more it seemed there could be no healing the wound between them until she'd solved it.