With This Ring

The clothing for the homeless shelter had been carefully arranged in piles on the bed. He picked through the small-sized women’s clothing and chose a pair of jeans that looked as though they should fit her, a pair of faded yellow shorts and a couple of T-shirts. The pink one looked great, actually. In high school she’d had an undetermined number of sweaters in every shade of pink imaginable, and every single one of them had suited her perfectly. He hadn’t thought of it in years but if anyone had a signature color, Leslie did. And it was pink.

He’d never forgotten how beautiful she’d looked the night of his senior prom. Had she been wearing pink that night? Probably. Technically it hadn’t been her prom, since she’d been in her junior year, but she was on the student council, which apparently meant she was on the prom committee, too. He’d asked her to be his date and of course she’d said no, so he’d gone solo in a futile attempt to prove a point. Undaunted, he’d waited and watched until finally, near the end of the night, she’d been sitting alone at her table and the band was playing a slow song. He’d asked her to dance and in a moment of apparent weakness, she’d accepted.

Aside from that stolen adolescent kiss in her friend’s closet, that dance had been the only other time he’d ever touched her, and he’d never forgotten it. That time their kiss had lasted significantly longer and had been a whole lot sweeter. The instant the song ended she’d pulled herself away and marched off the dance floor, but at least that time she hadn’t slugged him.

He gave his head a shake in an attempt to dispel the memories and surveyed the rest of the clothing piled on the bed. There was an assortment of undergarments, which he quickly ruled out as being way too personal, but he added a nightgown to the things he’d already chosen. He unfolded a sleeveless red dress that looked like something a hooker might wear and quickly put it back.

After bundling the clothes under his arm, he took one last look around. A pile of stuffed animals on the desk caught his eye. They must be for the shelter, too, because he didn’t recognize any of them. He picked up a toy dog and put it down, then examined a small brown teddy bear.

Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea. The clothes he’d chosen were the best he could find, but they weren’t good enough for Leslie. Not because she was a millionaire, but because she was special. She deserved the best. Like his mother did.

He closed the door and clattered down the narrow staircase.

“Find what you need?” his mother asked, apparently back to her usual good-natured self.

The mouthwatering aroma of his favorite dinner filled the room. “Yeah, thanks. This should be fine.” He hoped.

His mother gave the pot a stir, then set her wooden spoon on a spoon rest next to the stove. “Let me find a bag for those things.”

She returned from the back porch with a canvas shopping bag and held it open for him. Her eyebrows arched into a silent question when she spied the bear.

He responded with a silent challenge of his own.

“Those toys are for the shelter, too. We do get children from time to time.”

“I thought it might make her feel better.” No, that wasn’t true. He had no idea how she would react to it, but he’d feel better if it distracted her attention from the shabby clothing he’d found for her. He handed the toy to his mother. “Sorry. I wasn’t thinking.”

She set the bear on the kitchen table. “Does she need shoes?”

He dumped the clothes into the bag and tucked it under his arm. Geez, he hadn’t thought about shoes, but of course she needed some. Those crazy high heels she’d been carrying were completely impractical. “What have you got?”

“Not much. Do you know what size?”

He shook his head.

“I bought myself some new sandals the other day and haven’t worn them yet. Take those and see if they fit.”

“Mom, you don’t have to—”

“I have other shoes, and I’m sure she’ll replace them.”

“I’m sure she will. Thanks.”

“What about toiletries?”

“What?”

“Toothbrush, deodorant, moisturizer, makeup.” Mischief glimmered in her eyes. “Feminine hygiene.”

He felt his face go red. “Geez, I don’t know. She never said anything about that kind of stuff.”

She laughed. “If you really want to be a hero, you should make a stop at the drugstore on your way home.”

He stared at her. Was she serious?

“At least buy her a toothbrush.”

FREDERICK’S PHARMACY seemed unusually busy. He wandered up one aisle and down the next, trying to figure out what Leslie might need. In the end he settled on a toothbrush—a bright pink one that would not get confused with his blue one—and headed for the checkout.

The guy in line ahead of him glanced over his shoulder and nodded.

John Fontaine. Allison Fontaine’s husband. Allison would have been a maid of honor today, if there had been a wedding. Judging by John’s boutonniered tuxedo, he’d been in the wedding party, too.

Brent nodded back. “How’s it going?”

“I’ve had better days.”

“Is that right?” It sounded lame, but he couldn’t think of anything else to say.

“You can probably tell I’m supposed to be at a wedding reception right now,” he said, as if trying to explain the monkey suit.

“I kind of figured. Who’s getting married?”

“A friend of mine. Gerald Bedford. Maybe you know him?”

Brent had always known Leslie would never settle for a guy like him, but when he’d heard that she planned to marry Gerald Bedford III, it had been like a knife in the gut. “I know who he is. Who’s he marrying?”

John looked confused. “Leslie Durrance. I assumed you’d know. You still work for her brother, Nick, don’t you?”

“Oh, right,” he said. “I think he mentioned something about a wedding.”

“I might as well tell you, since you’ll hear about it from Nick anyway. There was no wedding because Leslie took off. Literally left the groom standing at the altar.”

“You’re kidding.” Brent opened his eyes wide and hoped that passed for surprise. “You don’t hear about that happening very often, except maybe in the movies.”

“It was quite a scene.”

“I can imagine. What happened? She get cold feet or something?”

John gave an expansive shrug. “She just took off. No one seems to know why, and no one knows where she went.”

“Humph. Go figure.” Did anyone think to ask the groom what he’d done to her? Brent wished he could think of a way to fish for more information without raising suspicion. On the other hand, much as he’d like to know what the hell Gerald Bedford had done to hurt Leslie, he’d rather hear her side of the story first.

“Nick’s out looking for her, and her mother’s not handling it very well.”

The cashier started ringing up John’s purchases—an assortment of things that could only be described as toiletries, right down to the dreaded box of “feminine hygiene.” John folded his list and stuck it in his pocket. “Picking up a few things for my wife. She’s pretty upset, not knowing where Leslie is.”

“Understandable.” He should have had the sense to ask Leslie if she needed anything besides clothes. Still, he was just as happy to not be standing here with a basketful of women’s toiletries. He tossed the pink toothbrush on the counter, then met John’s questioning gaze. “I have to clean the grout in the bathroom,” he said.