Bellamy's Redemption

“In that case, shall we get on our way to Woods View Point?” asked Bellamy.

“I’m ready whenever you are,” I said. I hoped it was far, far away so I would have some time to relax before dislocating my shoulder or decapitating someone. Perhaps if it was very far, I could even squeeze in a nap on the way.

“Awesome,” said Bellamy. He leaned close and gave me a quick kiss. “You’re going to be amazing.”

I nodded. “Let’s hope so.”

Chapter 31

“I want you to know,” said Catalina Cartwright, “this has never happened. Never. Throughout the entire history of these shows.”

“You calling a contestant on the phone?” I asked.

“No! I mean you staying for two nights. It’s never happened before. I wanted you to know that.”

“Oh. Thanks for telling me.”

“Bellamy seems really excited about you.”

I twisted the phone cord. I was in Bellamy’s parents’ library, standing on a strategically threadbare Turkish rug. The floors were hand-rubbed barn boards. It was a step up from the toile and slipcovered sofas in the rest of their home. This room, despite looking the oldest, was the newest. This entire wing of their home had only been added a year earlier. I could tell it had been professionally decorated. It bore none of Bellamy’s mother’s faux French touches. Secretly, it was everything the non-city version of me had ever wanted.

Somewhere down the hall, never far away, was a cameraman. But for now, I was alone. In my hand was the receiver of a heavy, black manual-dial telephone. It seemed to weigh ten pounds. I’d never been on a phone that rooted me in one spot and it felt the way I imagined a dog on a leash would feel. The phone was meant to look charming, or to give the room an air of authenticity. I couldn’t imagine a time when people really used such a thing. It was worse than the dial-up internet of my childhood.

“I’m excited about him too,” I said.

“Are you?” asked Catalina. I wondered why she was talking to me instead of having one of the producers do it. Despite how it looked to the people at home, she wasn’t a very big part of the show.

“Of course,” I said.

“Great!” She was being much nicer than usual. “So don’t be afraid to tell him.”

“I think I tell him all the time how I feel,” I said.

“But you aren’t actually saying the words he wants to hear. I’m not trying to steer you in any direction, but I want to be sure he knows how you feel. So if you love him, why hold back?”

“I’m not,” I said.

“Hmm.”

“Really, I’m not meaning to.”

“Okay. Okay, Emma. Well, you are very lucky to have another evening with Bellamy, but this is the last time you’ll have to spend with him before he chooses to meet just three contestants’ families. If you’d like to be among his final three, please be sure to express your feelings so he has all your cards on the table. Okay?”

“Okay,” I said.

“Super talking with you,” she said.

“You too,” I said.

“Okay then. Buh-bye.”

“Bye.” I set the phone in its cradle and picked up the brandy old-fashioned I’d been drinking. It had been a long, exhausting, crazy day. Somehow in the midst of throwing axes and qualifying for the women’s Lumberjill rookie division at Nationals, I’d received an emerald necklace and an invitation to stay another night. It was turning out to be the night that never ended. Bellamy’s family and several of their neighbors were gathered around a campfire outside and spilling over into the kitchen. They were drinking and sharing stories about our day in enthusiastic play-by-play detail. I ate the cherry off my swizzle stick and checked out a wall of photos, stalling.

Just as I was getting to the really good pictures (Bellamy going to prom with a tall, cow-looking girl), I felt someone come up behind me. “Hey,” I said, turning around. I was expecting it to be Bellamy.

“Hi,” said Sherifaye. “How are you doing?”

“Good. Great. How are you?”