“Come to think of it,” she added, half thinking aloud, “I never drank martinis until I met Brice. We met in college and then we ended up deciding to go to law school together. He’s a couple of years ahead of me, so he’s already graduated, passed the California Bar, and taken a job with a firm in Van Nuys.” She paused to take another small sip of her drink. “He practices environmental law, which is why he can’t come join me in Montana until right before the wedding... He was just given a really big case.”
Wanting to bring the conversation back to his point of interest, which was her, he asked, “What kind of law do you want to practice?”
“Oh!” Josephine’s face lit up. “Well, my dream ever since I was in high school has been to work for the Southern Poverty Law Center. Have you ever heard of them?”
Logan shook his head “no.”
“They’ve been fighting for the civil rights of marginalized and poor communities for years. And I know I would love to do that work.”
“But?” He heard a definite but at the end of her sentence.
Josephine sighed and shrugged, thought for a second or two before she answered him. “But I don’t think that it’s practical to think that I’ll work for them one day.”
“Why not?”
“Because, for one thing, they need experienced litigators for the types of cases that they handle, so I’d have to get that experience first.”
“That shouldn’t be a problem for someone like you, and we have plenty of people in our state who need defending.” He smiled at her. “I arrest ’em, you defend ’em.”
That made her laugh, before she said, “But they really only operate out of the South, so...”
“That’s what moving vans are for.”
Josephine finished off her drink, and placed the empty glass carefully on the table. “Brice will never move down South. He grew up in California. He’s never wanted to live anywhere else.”
Logan wanted to ask her the question: Not even for you? But he drank from his glass instead.
“And...” Josephine felt bad for making Brice seem like her dream-killer. “I can certainly practice civil rights law in California...immigration law.”
Josephine looked out the window at the clouds for a minute and then nodded as if she had just convinced herself.
“Why don’t you talk for a while?” She smiled at Logan. “I’ve been just babbling away over here.”
“Well, I think you know by now that I’m a cop,” Logan said with a deadpan expression.
“Yes.” She frowned playfully at him. “That much I do know.”
“Hey.” Logan leaned his forearms on the table between them. “All kidding aside, you aren’t going to hold a grudge against me for giving you those tickets, are you?”
“No, I’ve never been much of a grudge holder.”
“That’s good...because as maid of honor and best man, I think we’re going to be spending a lot of time together.”
“I’m sure we will,” she agreed. The thought of spending time with Logan made her want to turn on her phone and check to see if Brice had called.
No messages, no missed calls.
She couldn’t believe it. He still hadn’t called or so much as sent a text. But she kept her phone turned on this time, just in case he tried.
Logan didn’t want Josephine’s attention to be distracted from him or their conversation. After she checked her phone, the expression on her pretty face changed. The muscles along her jawline tightened; her lips became tense. Perhaps a less casual observer wouldn’t notice these almost imperceptible changes, but he did. He noticed.
“Well, I’m glad you’re a forgiving woman, or this trip could’ve been a real bust.”
Josephine looked up from her phone. “I could really say the same about you.”
“I’m not sure I follow.”
“I was kind of rude to you after you gave me the tickets. You were trying to tell me who you were and probably that you were heading to the same place I was, but I cut you off.”
“Trust me, I’m used to it. Nobody’s happy when I hand them a ticket.”
“I’m still sorry. I was just...”
“Mad at me.”
“Mad at you...mad at me...mad at...” Brice. “...the stupid clock that said I was late!” She laughed at herself, and then asked him, “But did you really have to give me three tickets? I mean, come on! I really think that someone with my driving record deserved a warning.”
“Your driving record is the reason I dropped the charge down from reckless driving.”
Josephine frowned. “Would you have still given me all of those tickets if you knew I was Jordan’s sister right away?”
“Of course.”
“Seriously?”
“Enforcing the law isn’t personal for me. It’s my job. Most people just don’t get that.”
Josephine’s phone rang and interrupted their conversation. “It’s Brice!”
“Hi, honey. Hold on, okay?” Josephine stood up, moved out of Logan’s earshot, and sat down in the last seat at the very back of the jet.
“Okay, are you there?” she asked in a lowered voice. “I’m so glad that you called...”
Head down, Josephine listened carefully to what her boyfriend called to say. After a couple of minutes, she asked in a harsh whisper, “What do you mean you aren’t coming to the wedding?”
Josephine didn’t really think that Brice had deliberately tried to spoil her first homecoming in years. But that’s what it felt like on her end. He had called specifically to tell her that he thought it was best if they took a break from their relationship. He had basically broken up with her, and left her dateless for her own twin’s wedding in the span of five minutes. Brice had said what he called to say and then got off the phone. He had been between appointments when he called.
After they’d hung up, she had stared at the phone for a while, wondering what to do next. Pretty quickly, she decided it would be best if she pretended, for a while at least, that the phone call had never happened. What if this whole thing blew over in the next couple of days and she had been bemoaning their breakup to her family the entire time? Her family didn’t need one extra piece of ammo against Brice. So, pretend she did...
She smiled all the way through their mini family reunion at the Helena airport. She smiled her way through the long ride home to Bent Tree, the family ranch. And she smiled and laughed her way to the end of dinner and clearing the table and loading the dishwasher. And she didn’t stop smiling and pretending until she could retreat to her third-floor bedroom. This was the bedroom of her adolescence, the bedroom that she had shared with Jordan. She switched on the antique Tiffany lamp next to the door and gently pushed the door shut. The room smelled of cedar and cinnamon, and the nostalgia for her uncomplicated youth made her start to tear up.
She wiped the tears out of her eyes and said sternly to herself, “Stop that!”
Josephine worked very hard not to cry while she unpacked her suitcase and carefully hung up her clothing in the small closet. Undergarments