The Wedding Tree by Robin Wells Page B

I opened them and saw a lovely, worried, young face. It took me a moment to remember: I was in the dining room with my granddaughter. “Yes, dear. I just got caught up in some memories.” I smiled at her. “Where were we?”
    â€œYou were telling me about you and Granddad. I thought you two dated all through high school.”
    â€œOh, we did. Although at first, I didn’t even realize we were dating. By the time it dawned on me that everyone thought we were a couple, well, we’d been together so long that no other boy even thought I was available.”
    â€œDid you like someone else?”
    â€œNo. This was a very small town, honey, and as the saying went, the pickin’s were slim and none, and Slim had left town. The senior class at our school had only thirty-five students, and Charlie was the best of the bunch.” I toyed with a silk-covered button on my old dress. “I tried to break up with him after graduation, but he wouldn’t take no for an answer.”
    â€œWhat do you mean?”
    â€œWell, the war was on. Like most boys in my class, Charlie enlisted right after graduation. Before he went off to basic training, I told him we should see other people.”
    â€œAnd?”
    And nothing. “He didn’t want to hear it.” He’d cried, in fact. I’d never felt so bad about anything in my life.
    The whole thing flickered in my mind’s eye like a Technicolor movie, but I kept talking as the mental movie played.
    We’d been sitting in his father’s car—a 1939 Ford, red as a firecracker, with a gray interior—parked out at the lake. We ended every date that way, talking and necking at a place called Lover’s Point.
    Charlie’s breath had been hot on my neck. His fingers moved from my back to my breast, but I shooed his hand away.
    â€œIt’s okay, Addie,” he’d murmured against my skin. “When I come back from the war, we’ll get married.” He reached for my breast again.
    I pushed him away and pulled myself against the door. “I’ve told you over and over, Charlie. I don’t want to get married.” What I really meant was, I don’t want to marry you. I don’t know why he couldn’t take the hint.
    â€œYou want to be an old maid?” he’d demanded.
    How many times had we covered this same ground? “I want to be a photographer. I want to travel the world and make my mark on it.”
    â€œSo work as a photographer while I’m gone. Then when I get back, we’ll get married.”
    â€œNo, Charlie. I’ve got other plans.”
    â€œPlans that don’t include me?”
    I didn’t want to hurt him, but sometimes he was thick as a brick. I pulled at a loose thread on my sweater. “I just don’t feel about you the way you deserve to have a girl feel.”
    â€œThat’s only because you’re such a good Christian. Once we’re married and you know that everything is blessed by God, your conscience won’t bother you, and you’ll enjoy the kissing and touching and all.”
    I was pretty sure that a church ceremony and a ring on my finger wouldn’t suddenly make me feel all quivery and excited to kiss him, the way other girls talked about kissing their boyfriends—or make me want to grope him the way he wanted to grope me. “Neither of us has ever dated anyone else. I think it’s a good idea for us both to see other people.”
    His face had gotten all mottled. He’d been a pale boy, pale and slight. His lips looked kind of mushy when he pressed them hard together. His eyes had teared up, but behind the wateriness I glimpsed a flintlike hardness I’d never seen. “Who is it?” he asked.
    I was too surprised to take him seriously. I laughed.
    â€œThis isn’t funny.” His voice was tight and low. “Is it Ted Riley? I’ve seen the way he looks at you.”
    Ted was a tall,