Her Military Man. Laura Altom Marie
two,” Renee-Marie said with a wink.
A wink?
Shaking her head, Constance hit the feed. “Miss Manners here. How may I assist you in living a more civilized existence?”
“Okay,” the same obnoxious caller said, “I get the hint about toning down my language. But while you’ve been sitting in your no doubt pink satin broadcast booth, I’ve been off serving our country in godforsaken places you couldn’t imagine in your worst nightmares.”
“Sorry…” Constance glared at Renee-Marie who’d held up a note that read, Felix made me do it! Felix was the station owner, her boss and a royal pain in Constance’s derriere. “Truly, I am, but—”
“Look, all I’m trying to say is there’s no such thing as a mannerly breakup. I usually wouldn’t have time for rehashing ancient history on a show about manners, but I’ve been laid up with a busted leg, giving me far too many hours for reflection. Case in point, I once knew this girl—let’s call her Lucky—well…”
Chills ran up Constance’s forearms.
A million years ago back in high school, Garret used to call her Lucky—on account of her being his lucky charm. Long story short, if ever there’d been a textbook example of an unmannerly breakup, theirs was it!
“…Lucky was a looker. In fact, she reminded me a lot of you. Oh, she put on a great self-effacing act. You know, acting all demure and polite about what a closet sex kitten she truly was, but let me tell you, that girl could purr.”
Constance cleared her throat, loosening the collar of her high-necked, long-skirted, prairie-style dress in the process. “Might I remind you this is a family show. Please refrain from the more base details of your story.”
“Yes, ma’am…” Was that a mocking grin behind his words? Garret used to do the same thing—tease her about being too formal. Like she’d been born a century too late. “So, like I was saying, Lucky—” he coughed “—better known as you—pretended to be one thing, but inside…” His sad laugh rang over otherwise dead air. Dead. Out of necessity, the way things had been left between them. “Anyway, without airing dirty laundry, all I’m trying to say is how about not just laying all the guilt for poorly done exits on guys? As in the case of a certain lucky charm I used to know, there are some she devils out there deserving credit.”
Air.
Must.
Breathe.
Now.
Constance? Renee-Marie silently screamed behind the studio’s soundproof window.
No way was the caller Garret.
The man hadn’t stepped foot in Mule Shoe since the day he’d left for the Navy ten years earlier. Since that day, all color and hope and joy had been sucked from Constance’s life. At least until her daughter—their daughter—Lindsay, had been born.
On the flip side, who else could it be? The guy’s wrath felt targeted on her.
Really? Or was that guilt and regret over never having told Garret the truth about their little girl exploding in her head? In her heart, she’d called him a hundred times, written a hundred more letters, but somehow she’d never found the right words. How many times had she told herself fear kept her secret safely locked inside? Fear of her sad childhood playing out again? Only this time, with her daughter?
For the sake of her show—her sole means of financial support—she had to pull it together. Constance cleared her throat off air, then managed somehow to inquire in a blessedly detached voice, as if she hadn’t just joined Garret’s cat-and-mouse game, “Ever considered there may have been a reason behind Lucky’s actions? That maybe she’d actually been trying to help you?”
He laughed sharply. “By making out with another guy? Worse yet, my supposed best friend?”
“Yes, but did you look hard enough to see if the kiss was genuine—or maybe all for show?” Covering her face with her hands, Constance told herself to shut up. The man wasn’t Garret any more than her heart was on the verge of pounding straight up and out of her chest over the notion that maybe he was Garret, come home to haunt her. If he’d had any idea why she’d kissed Nathan that horrible night, maybe he wouldn’t now be so cruel. “Maybe the whole time, this Lucky person to whom you keep referring, was kissing that other guy, she was thinking about you. Wondering if—”
“Give me a break. See? This is what I’m talking about. This show is bogus. Entirely one-sided with the favor always going to the ladies. You’re always talking about how guys are basically snaggle-toothed brutes and women nothing but sweetness and light.”
“That’s not true. Just the other day we did a show on women who curse and how that affects the men who love them.”
He laughed again, filling her mind and heart and soul with a huskier, world-weary vision of her first love. No way. It couldn’t be him. No, no, no. “I’m gone. Peace out.”
“Well…” she eventually said after a four- or five-second dead air lag to regain her composure.
Seriously, the guy couldn’t have been Garret.
Last she’d heard through a friend of a friend, the Navy SEAL was rarely even in the country, let alone backwoods Oklahoma. He didn’t even come home for Christmas—instead always sending his mother a plane ticket to meet him somewhere exotic.
How did she know? Strictly beauty shop gossip. Well, except for that time she’d run into his cousin Hillary at the county fair. And then, Constance had only asked about him to be polite.
Yeah, right.
“Renee-Marie, do you have our next caller?”
“Miss Manners, my name’s Pat, and I just want to tell you how much I adore your program. You don’t pay that obviously ill-bred oaf the slightest bit of attention. Oh, and for the record, though I’m sixty-eight years young, and it’s been fifty years since my last breakup, I still believe kindness is a virtue—most especially with those we no longer want in our daily lives.”
And so the afternoon lagged on…
“Miss Manners, I’m Jim, and I gotta say I agree wholeheartedly with Military Man. All this manners stuff is hoity-toity horse crap. Oh, and just curious, how long were you two an item?”
“Miss Manners, I’m Vicki, and I agree with you in that manners are a beautiful, necessary part of life. That military man you used to date is obviously never going to land another girlfriend, much less a wife, if he persists in being such a barbarian.”
“Thanks to all my callers,” Constance finally said. “That wraps the show for today, so until tomorrow, I’m Miss Manners, wishing you mannerly days and deliciously refined nights.”
Sharply exhaling, Constance disconnected her mic.
“Great show!” Felix burst into the drab, brown-paneled broadcast booth with all the grace and forewarning of a Sooner State twister. “Wowza, where’d you find that guy? Wait—don’t answer. I don’t wanna know if you two never really dated and the whole thing was rigged. But whatever you do, keep him coming. The phone’s going nuts. All twenty of your faithful listeners must’ve called everyone they know to tell them about the show. We’ve had so many calls in the last five minutes, my cousin Wanda said the first time she tried getting through, there was actually a recording saying circuits are busy.”
“That’s all well and good,” Constance said, fishing under the brown laminate counter supporting her announcer turret and mic for her worn leather purse. “But I’m pretty sure I know this guy, and trust me, he’s rough around the edges. It’s best we never hear from him again.”
“Crap on a stick,” Felix said, “you’re going straightaway to sign the guy, right? Because with that much passion between you, the show’s a surefire hit.”
“But,