Shane's Third Self-Termination
By Felicia Ferguson
Author's Note: Well, this story has expanded, and it'll now be a three-parter. From Paris With Love is simply too meaty, and I love it too much to rush this fic. But Shane also stopped her self-terminations with three, so there's symmetry there, too.
As always, I own none of the characters or conversation you recognize. I have only borrowed both characters and conversation from Martha Williamson, Eric Mabius, and Kristin Booth (as well as another who shall remain unnamed—no spoilers, but I'm sure you can guess given where we are in the movie!). Side note: the added conversations all happen off camera so as to not detract from the marvelousness of Martha's words.
Looking forward to hearing your thoughts, POstables!
Part Two
Shane smashed her lips together and looked at the clock for the third time in ten minutes. Four-twenty-six, and there were still at least two boxes of misdirects to process before the end of the day. Norman sat atop the end barstool, eyes glued to Rita and Ramon and oblivious to time, day, probably even his own name. She glanced at Oliver, who sat equally enthralled but with his own ruminations—although she had a very good idea as to their topic.
Ramon's earlier interpretation of Holly's poem and Oliver's realization that the night they met was the subject threw him for something even more than a loop. Shane couldn't tell if he was embarrassed or honored by the tribute, but given his silence, she'd bet it was actually closer to mortified. She pursed her lips and flicked another quick glance toward him. Although dazed and confused would be an appropriate description too.
She took in a deep breath. Okay, enough is enough. "Well, somebody's got to get back to the DLO." She stood and walked around her stool to grab her coat and purse, hoping to jar Oliver from his contemplations. When he blinked and ran a hand over his chin, she thought she had him back. "Oliver, we need to talk."
But still he stared off into space. "Death whispered to me in the wind. What does that mean?"
It means your wife is a terrible poet, Oliver. Shane bit her lips to keep the words from falling out, then took a deep breath. There would be no reaching him until later. "Okay, you guys have five minutes to be weird, then it's back to work." Her order jolted Norman back to his senses, but Oliver remained unmoved. Well, one out of two wasn't bad, even if it wasn't the one she really wanted. Time to rally Rita. Despite Ramon's thrall, she readily agreed to the five-minute warning and Shane headed back to the DLO.
Done with Holly and her impact on them all, Shane stalked down the sidewalk. But Ramon's adage echoed with each click of her heels. Once we face the things that we fear, they no longer have power over us.
Was fear what she was really feeling? Not irritation? Shane bit her lip and gave the question honest consideration then decided no, she wasn't afraid of Holly. She slowed as she reached a group of sorting employees clogging up the back entrance with their overly full mail carts and idle conversation.
Where's Glynnis Rucker and her PA system when you actually need her? She flashed a pointed smile, and the mail carts parted allowing her just enough room to pass between them.
But that pause also gave her enough time to admit what she did fear: Oliver's choices. Shane slowed her pace as her heart clenched. He had made his marriage vows before God, and they were sacrosanct to him. Despite the depth of her love for him and the longing she'd seen in his eyes for her, he would choose to honor his commitment before God unless and until Holly released him from that vow.
And that's what really scared her. What power did she have against God? What argument could she make to counter the deep faith of the man she loved?
None.
And what did that mean for her own future, her own heart, if he ultimately chose his vows over his freedom?
Shane shook off the dread that fell over her shoulders. Those were questions without answers. Well, at least until Holly replied to Oliver's letter—if she replied at all. Shane swallowed the fear and forced her thoughts back to work. Her own five minutes were up.
Pushing through the DLO doors, she dropped her purse in her chair and pulled off her coat. Something red caught her eye. A scarf? Attached to a purse? Hanging from Oliver's coat rack? Rita didn't carry a purse that large, and Shane knew it wasn't hers—she'd never been one to tie such a silly impracticality to her purse anyway. So, whose was it?
Curious, she walked closer. Oliver's chair turned, stopping in her tracks. Shane's eyes widened as a redhead wearing a red coat, the exact match to the scarf, sat forward, a wide, pleased grin plastered on her face. Then she said the words Shane never thought she'd ever hear in her life.
"Hi. I'm Holly."
Shane's thoughts froze, then stuttered. Then froze again. Ho-Hol-Holly? Holly, Oliver's wife? Not holly the plant?
Appropriating the role of gracious hostess, Holly rose from Oliver's chair and sauntered to his refrigerator. "Would you like a Yoo-Hoo?"
Stunned, bewildered, and once again falling head long down the rabbit hole, Shane's jaw dropped. She tried to assemble a suitable string of words through her dumbstruck brain. "Um…no?"
More words. You need more words to make a sentence.
"Thanks. . .I. . .usually leave those for Ol—" Wait. What would she think if an employee called her husband by his first name? "Mr. O'Toole." Yes, formal is better.
But Holly didn't seem to care one way or the other. "I'm his wife, you know." Her gushing, offhand reply removed all doubt that she could be any other Holly.
Shane, you need to say something. Anything. Forcing a bright tone, she managed,"Uh huh." Then something inside her made her poke the elephant. "We all thought you were in Paris." And why aren't you still in Paris? All you had to do was send a letter, or better yet divorce papers. Yes, divorce papers would have been the perfect response. No need to come all this way.
"Aww." Holly paused beside the refrigerator door and flashed a coy smile, pleased she'd been a topic of discussion. But then, she was off on another subject. "Hey, do Norman and Rita still work here?"
Shane gulped, wary of the waning time before those coworkers returned. Five minutes have to be up, and you really need to leave before Oliv—Mr. O'Toole returns. "Yes. Yes, they do."
Holly sashayed over to Oliver's desk, then leaned against the edge as if settling in for a long conversation. Twisting off the top of the Yoo-Hoo, she tossed the cap away without a care for where it might land. Her kittenish gaze settled on Shane. "And what do you do?"
Shane's mind blanked again. What did she do here? "Um." Love your husband?
No, no, no, no, no, you absolutely cannot say that. What's your job here? "Tech support." Yes, that's right.
Holly set the still full Yoo-Hoo bottle on Oliver's desk with delighted interest and crooned, "Well, good!"
Shane's jaw dropped a bit. Holly was pleased she was part of the team? But if Holly knew what Shane felt for Oliver, maybe she wouldn't be so happy. Or maybe she wouldn't care.
"Oliver could use some help in that department." Holly paused as her eyes filled with consideration. "I mean he really is very smart, but he never quite got the hang of the internet." She blinked and flashed a bright, biting smile. The dig had no target, but left its mark all the same.
Shane forced a half-laugh, half-sigh. Holly was certainly a piece of work. Shane took in a quick breath and brows lifting, offered a kinder alternative explanation. "Well, he's definitely. . . of. . .another . . .time."
"Yeah." Holly's coquettish agreement grated like fingernails down a chalkboard. "He's always got a story or a quote for every occasion."
Shane feigned interest in Holly's assessment, desperate for this train wreck and the whiplash of conversation topics to end. The woman really needed shuffle back off to Paris before Oliver returned. But there seemed to be no putting the cork back in her wine bottle.
"You know, he would be so fun at parties, if he would go, which he won't because that's just not who he is." Her words ran together like bubbles on a river but the flash of another false smile did nothing to soften her second criticism.
What on earth could Shane say to that? Did she disagree and defend the man she loved to his wife? No. Best to go with something more generic."Well, I'm sort of new around here." Yes, that works.
Holly's eyes sparkled with unfettered delight at the opportunity to share a secret. "Let me give you a tip, okay?"
A tip? From you? About Oliver? This'll be good.
Holly's coy teasing sobered to a petulant pout. "If he goes to a restaurant and orders clams and red wine, he's very, very angry."
Shane's lips flickered in what she hoped was shared amusement. "It's hard to imagine Mr. O'Toole ever being angry enough to. . .eat. . .clams."
Holly giggled. "Really?"
Shane's brow flinched. She finds an angry Oliver funny? What's wrong with her?
"I guess I just must have that effect on him, huh? Want to know the funniest thing about him?" She stood and slowly advanced toward Shane, her voice lowering as if readying herself to share a state secret. "That man. . . can. . . kiss."
Oh, God help me. Shane's lungs hitched around a breath. Oliver can kiss. I love kissing. I'd love to kiss Oliver. In fact, Shane dreamed about feeling Oliver's full lower lip and tapered upper lip pressed against hers, clinging to hers, opening under—
She yanked her thoughts away from that dangerous territory and forced herself to pay attention to Holly's jabbering, but revealing, rant.
Oblivious to the bombshell she'd just dropped in Shane's world, Holly's petulant tirade gained strength. "I mean that was the problem."
Pretty sure that's not a problem, Holly. No, kissing ability was definitely a plus.
Holly threw her arms wide in irritation at Oliver's power over her. "He'd kiss me, and I'd forget every promise I ever made to myself."
He could change Holly's mind just by kissing her? Wow. Shane might never win another argument with him again. I could live with that.
"So." Holly's quick word promised a wealth of insight into her side of their marriage.
But would she really spill all the sordid details? And did Shane really want to hear them? Breath sputtering between her lips, Shane realized she didn't have an option. "So," she echoed.
"So, I just stopped kissing him and it worked! I went to Paris." Holly's gloating conclusion to her oversharing ratcheted the awkwardness factor up exponentially—as if it could go any higher.
Am I the only one who sees this as a bad thing? Shane winced then tried for a smile. "And now you're back." Please say it's not forever.
"Yeah."
"Wow." Please, God, Santa, the Tooth Fairy, anyone who's listening up there, make this stop.
"Wow." Holly turned and reached for the envelope Shane could describe with her eyes closed. A hitching sigh passed between Shane's lips as the first tingling of relief eased through her. Maybe it was finally over. Maybe Holly would finally leave. And Oliver would never know.
But no. There was still more disclosure to come. Holly's gaze once again grew serious, almost heartfelt. "I mean when you get a letter like this, what else are you going to do?"
Shane's gaze flicked to the envelope. Send a letter back?
"The things he said in this letter made me realize. . ."
That it's over? That you want him to be free? What?
The DLO doors squeaked open behind them. Holly's gaze landed on the new arrival and held. Recognition flickered in its depths.
No, no, no, no. Shane's eyes widened. Oh, God. Please don't let that be who I know it is. She turned on her heels and, as she dreaded, found Oliver standing stock still, mouth agape. His wife and the woman who loved him were not only in the same room, but barely a foot apart.
Shane had to get out of there. She couldn't be party to Oliver's living nightmare. Making some excuse about papers that she wasn't certain he heard or Holly even cared about, she beat a hasty escape. She pushed through the doors and ran headlong into Norman.
"Norman!" She grabbed his shoulder, righting herself and saving her heels a serious scuffing and her ankles a bad sprain.
He reached for her with tentative, but concerned hands. "Oh, sorry! I'm sorry!" When he was certain she was okay, he turned toward the doors.
Grabbing his arm, Shane pulled him back. "No! You can't go in there!"
Confusion wrinkled Norman's forehead and flickered in his eyes. "But you said five minutes. It's actually been eight, but there was . . ."
"Norman!" Shane tugged him closer and shot a speaking look toward the door. "Holly is in there."
"Holly?" Still confused, he glanced over his shoulder. Then his mouth dropped open, and he pointed to the window in the door. "You mean Holly, Oliver's wife? That Holly?"
"Yes!" Shane said, urgency clipping the word. "That Holly." Her heart clenched as she stared at the doors. As much as she didn't want to be in the room, she still had to know what was happening inside it. How would Oliver welcome back his long-absent wife? Would he hug her? Or worse, kiss her?
She pushed Norman back toward the door. "Tell me what they're doing."
Gaze blank, he shook his head. Then, after peering through the window, he glanced back to her with a shrug. "They're just standing there talking."
Ugh! "How close are they standing?" One day, Norman, we're going to have to talk about nonverbal communication.
"What are you guys doing?" Rita's sweet voice bounced off the cinderblocks, outing Shane and Norman as the spies they were.
Shane jumped then spun around shushing Rita, hoping her earlier pantomime skills hadn't lost their effectiveness. When Rita nodded, Shane heaved a relieved sigh then returned to gleaning what few words and syllables drifted between the doors.
Something about poems and sleep. Oh, no. Would she stay at Oliver's? Of course, she'd stay at Oliver's, dodo—she's his wife.
". . .room at the Brown Palace. . ." Oh, thank you, God. She's staying at the Brown Palace. Her shoulders eased just a bit, but even as Holly's arrangements comforted Shane, they had to be killing Oliver. Shane bit her lip and leaned closer willing her solace into that room and into Oliver.
"Hurry! She's coming!" Norman's frantic words scattered the threesome to the convenient covering of unsorted mail and a wall of mail slots.
A moment later, Holly sashayed through the doors perfectly pleased with herself. Shane flashed a brief, polite smile, but Holly was once again oblivious. Oliver wandered out soon afterward still dazed, but not nearly as confused. Sorrow stooped his shoulders and dulled his eyes. Shane longed to go to him, to put her arms around him, but all she could do was listen as he wrapped himself in the reassurance of their work.
"I have a rare craving for Sardinian clams and an unassuming Brunello."
Shane's eyes widened at his menu choices. She stared at him, opening her mouth to answer then closing it as he walked away.
If he goes to a restaurant and orders clams and red wine, he's very, very angry.
Shane studied Oliver's retreating back. She'd seen an angry Oliver and recently to boot. That was not the man who invited her to dinner then walked away. This Oliver seemed more hurt, more in need of comfort. Was Holly wrong about him again?
Shane turned and trailed Rita and Norman into the DLO for her purse and coat. She needed to find out.
Meals ordered and served, Shane sat watching Oliver as he twisted his wedding band around his finger and stared off into space. As much as she would love for them to have dinner together, this was not the evening she'd pictured. No, dinner and dancing at Montaldo's was what she'd had in mind. He was the perfect dance partner and given their aptitude for sharing, the conversation would be wonderful.
But this was not Montaldo's, and the only dancing they were doing was around the reappearance of his absent wife. Time to take the lead. "Oliver, are we going to talk about this?"
Oliver jerked and his fingers dropped from his ring as his gaze focused on her. His gentlemanly manners revived, he said, "I'm sorry?"
Shane grimaced and eased into the conversation. "Well, it just seems a little odd that your missing wife finally came back from Paris, and you're having dinner with. . .me."
Oliver sat a bit straighter in his chair as his practical explanation landed in the air between them. "Well, I thought I could kill two birds with one stone. Return the letter to Caitlin and—"
Shane lifted her wine glass trying to hide behind it even as she offered, "And get some emergency clams?"
Oliver caught his breath then swallowed at Shane's words. She winced. "Holly told me about the clam thing." She flashed a quick, apologetic smile as pained acceptance rimmed Oliver's eyes.
"Ah, and uh, what else did she tell you?"
"Well, she did mention," Shane forced a chuckle trying to soothe Oliver's obvious discomfort at Holly's intimate disclosures. "You could change her mind with a k—"
Oliver paled as he absorbed her knowledge of his relationship with Holly. Shane's heart turned over. She hadn't meant to hurt him more—only to tease him out of his thoughts. A change of topic was definitely in order.
How about work? That was the safest territory available. "Oliver. This has been a terrible shock. If you need to leave, I can handle Caitlin and the letter."
"To be honest, Ms. McInerney, ah. . .I can't imagine. . .doing anything else right now." Oliver's tentative tone held all the desperation of a man clinging to a life raft. "This is what we do best. We deliver."
Her lips lifted in a small smile at the paraphrase of his earlier words from their fight. Grateful he included her again, her gaze softened. "We are good at this, aren't we?"
Oliver bobbed his head, and Shane glanced away. His reticent agreement reminded her that his forgiveness was still yet to be given. She flinched and welcomed Joey with relief as he returned to top off their wine glasses.
As Joey recounted his love story with Caitlin, Shane watched Oliver, hoping to see an ease in his shoulders or even a light in his eyes. When Joey finished, Oliver seemed overwhelmed by his forgiveness of Caitlin's infidelity. Like Shane, she had broken a promise to the man she loved. Would Oliver follow Joey's example and finally forgive her own indiscretion, so lovingly and yet willfully done?
Delight slipped through Shane at Oliver's offer to give Joey the divorce papers. He was the good, kind, and compassionate man she knew him to be. And as Caitlin and Joey argued then talked through their misunderstanding, Shane's eyes met Oliver's, silently speaking her own apology and contrition. Oliver's lips lifted in a gentle smile as forgiveness flickered in his eyes. Heartened, Shane flashed a quick smile. But as his gaze began to warm, she glanced away, unwilling to allow her heart to read more into the look. Forgiveness and a return of their friendship would have to be enough.
His now-present wife and the wedding band on his finger still stood between anything more.
Norman and Rita headed back to the DLO in Rita's car while Shane and Oliver walked to the Jag. "That was another good delivery, Oliver."
"Mm-hmm." He watched the cars passing on the street, the headlights brightening his features then dimming. He was contemplating again. And again, Shane had a good idea as to the topic.
When they reached the car, he paused and turned to study her.
Concerned and maybe even a bit wary, Shane said, "Oliver?"
"Ah." He sniffed. "Holly invited me to have drinks tonight at the Brown Palace at ten o'clock. Would you like me to drop you at your residence or back at the DLO?"
"Oh." Surprised, Shane's brow lifted as she flashed him a tentative smile. "Um. Back at the DLO is fine. I need to get my car anyway." She wanted to tell him he could call her later, or even stop by her house if he needed to talk. Instead she simply placed her hand on his forearm and searched his face. Hoping her eyes told him everything he needed to know, she climbed into the car then watched as he followed suit with pained intent. Talking with Holly should be a good thing, so why did he look like he was heading to his execution?