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“Hello?” came a brusque voice.
“Ryan?” I asked, wiping my wet cheeks. “It’s Avery.”
His tone warmed. “Back from the big city?”
“I am.”
“How was the trip?”
“Even more interesting than I expected,” I said. “Ryan, I need to talk to you privately. Is there any way you could take a break and meet me somewhere? Preferably a place with a bar? I wouldn’t ask unless it was important.”
“Sure, I’ll buy you lunch. Where are you?”
I told him, and he gave me directions to a bar and grill not far from Montrose.
I bought a Diet Dr Pepper, bolstered myself with a cold, crackling swallow, and made one more call before leaving the parking lot.
“Lois? Hi, it’s Avery Crosslin.” I tried to sound regretful. “I’m afraid I’ve had to make a tough decision about Rock the Wedding…”
For the maximum amount of privacy at a bar and grill, the place had to be either completely packed or mostly empty. The restaurant where I met Ryan was so crowded that we were obliged to occupy two seats at the end of the bar and order our lunch from there. I always liked eating at a bar where the full menu was served, and for this particular conversation, it would be ideal. We could sit close without having to maintain eye contact, which was the perfect way to discuss something this difficult.
“Before I start,” I said to Ryan, “I should tell you that it’s bad news. Or maybe it’s good news disguised as bad news. Either way, it’s going to sound bad when I tell you. If you’d rather not know, I apologize for wasting your time, and lunch is on me, but you’re going to know eventually, so —”
“Avery,” Ryan interrupted, “slow down, honey. You’ve been turbocharged.”
I smiled crookedly. “New York,” I offered by way of explanation. I was surprised but pleased by the endearment, which he’d said in a brotherly way, as if I were part of the family.
The bartender brought a glass of wine for me and a beer for Ryan, and we gave him our orders.
“As far as bad news goes,” Ryan told me, “I prefer to have it right away. I don’t like it sugarcoated. And don’t tell me the bright side. If it’s not obvious, it’s not a bright side.”
“Good point.” I considered various ways to break the news, wondering if I should start with Kolby’s appearance on the plane or Bethany’s fallacious due date. “I’m trying to think of how to explain all of this.”
“Try five words or less,” Ryan suggested.
“The baby’s not yours.”
Ryan stared at me blankly.
I repeated it more slowly. “The baby’s not yours.” I wondered if it was bad that it felt so good to tell him.
With extreme care, Ryan closed his hand around his beer glass and drank the contents without stopping. He signaled the bartender for another. “Go on,” he murmured, bracing his forearms on the edge of the bar, looking straight ahead.
For twenty minutes, Ryan listened while I talked. I couldn’t read him at all – he was incredibly good at concealing his emotions. But gradually I sensed that he was relaxing, in the deep and elemental way of someone who had carried a heavy burden for months and was finally being allowed to let it go.
Eventually Ryan said, “What Hollis said about hurting your business… don’t you worry about that. I’ll handle the Warners, so you —”
“Jesus, Ryan, your first concern doesn’t have to be for me. Let’s talk about you. Are you okay? I was afraid maybe you had feelings for Bethany, and —”
“No, I tried. The best I could do was be kind to her. But I never wanted her.” Reaching out, Ryan hugged me while we remained sitting on the bar stools. The embrace was fervent and strong. “Thank you,” he murmured in my hair. “God, thank you.”
I wasn’t certain if he was saying it to me or actually praying.
Drawing back, Ryan looked at me with impossibly blue eyes. “You didn’t have to tell me. You could have gone ahead with the wedding and collected your percentage.”
“And then stand back and watch the Warners take you to the cleaners? I don’t think so.” I gave him a concerned glance. “What are you going to do now?”
“I’m going to talk to Bethany as soon as possible. I’ll do what I should have done in the first place: tell her we’ll wait until after the baby’s born, and do a DNA test. In the meantime, I’ll demand to meet her doctor and find out the accurate due date.”
“So the wedding is off,” I said.
“Pull the plug” came his decisive reply. “I’ll compensate Hollis for the costs that you can’t recoup. And I want to pay you and your people for the hours you’ve put in.”
“That’s not necessary.”
“Yes, it is.”
We talked for a while longer, while the lunch crowd gradually cleared out and the waitstaff was busy running back and forth with credit card folders, cash, and receipts. Ryan paid the check for our lunch and gave the bartender a mammoth tip.
As we left the restaurant, Ryan held the door open for me. “You didn’t mention how your meeting with the TV producers went.”
“It went well,” I said in an offhand tone. “I got the impression they were working up to a nice offer. But I turned them down. They couldn’t make me a deal that would top what I’ve already got here.”