The Collision on Hardwood Drive (16 page)

I smiled, remembering how furious I was when I came down the stairs only to find that my date had fled. My dad had just smiled obsequiously, as if he hadn’t just purposely driven him away. “And that’s the story of how I didn’t lose my virginity until college.”

Rob laughed. “Great. We should’ve had this discussion
before
I agreed to meet him. If I have to eat a fly for you, though, I’ll do it.”

“At last, a true romantic,” I said dreamily. “I don’t think you’ll have to, though. He hasn’t been very playful lately. He’s still in mourning, and then, he has the foreclosure to worry about.” I felt my mouth grow tense as I spoke about my dad’s troubles. “He tried to negotiate with the bank, but it didn’t work. I can tell he’s pretty broken up about losing the house he and Mom spent their lives in. So am I. Where’s he going?”

I picked up my glass, but didn’t drink, just swirled the wine. I put it back down. “First, he lost his wife, and now, he’s going to lose where they were happiest. It’s difficult,” I said.

Rob nodded, silent for a moment. “Must be,” he agreed.

“He’s aged so much in the last few months,” I went on. “I couldn’t believe how
old
he looked last time he came to the city.”

I thought back. My dad had always been in great physical condition. He used to ride his bike all the time, and he swam a few times a week at the community center. Then, when my mom got sick, he stopped doing anything but caring for her. He lost all interest in himself. I didn’t really notice how much he’d changed until he came to visit me last month. He looked thin and worn. He’d developed a limp in his left leg, which he said was nothing.

“I think my mom kept him young,” I said to Rob. “Now that she’s gone, it’s like he’s given up a little.” Tears pricked at my eyes. “Which is sad,” I said, attempting to keep the tremor out of my voice.

Rob was quiet for a moment longer, seeming to have fallen deep in thought. “That’s really the opposite of my parents. My dad
made
my mom old. She felt as if she couldn’t leave the house, in case he came home in a stupor and needed a caretaker. She worried all the time. I’ve never known my mother as anyone but an old, exhausted woman.”

“I can’t imagine what that would have been like,” I said. I liked that he shared his troubles with me too. At least we were united in misery.

“It was normal for me,” Rob said. “I guess it didn’t occur to me that other families were any different.”

We sat silently for a few moments, thinking about the people who raised us. “I wish you could have met my mom,” I said wistfully. “She would have liked you.” I smiled wanly, not wanting to betray my sadness.

Rob reached across the table to take my hands in his. He squeezed them gently, letting me know he understood.

*

We arrived at my dad’s house a little after seven. I spent the entire car ride second-guessing my decision to introduce Rob to my father. I didn’t know what I had been thinking. We’d known each other just over a week. It was too soon. Was I moving too fast? What if they hated each other? My dad wasn’t always an easy man to get along with, especially in his current state.

I realized it was too late to back out now, so I braced myself for the worst. I knocked on the door lightly, praying he wouldn’t hear. Within seconds, the door swung open, and my dad swept me into his arms. “Stephanie!” he bellowed, squeezing me as tightly as he could. “How was your show?”

I grinned. I was glad that my dad was
in a jovial mood. “No disasters this time.” I turned toward Rob. “Dad, this is Rob Huntley. Rob, this is my dad Gerard.”

My dad regarded him with wariness. “Hello there, young man. Nice to meet you.”

Rob reached out to shake my dad’s hand firmly. “Mr. Monroe, it’s a pleasure. I’ve heard so much about you from Stephanie.”

He ushered us into the living room. I had always loved my parents’ house. Beautiful pieces of art and family photos covered the walls. To my surprise, the house still smelled a little like my mother. I bit the inside of my cheek to keep from crying a little at all the memories the scent brought to mind.

My dad had cups and saucers set on the table. Soon, the scent of fresh-brewed coffee filled the room, and I breathed more easily. My mother never drank coffee. My dad uncovered two dishes: a coffee cake and a peach cobbler (both he knew I adored.)

He’d always liked to bake, a trait slightly incongruent with the rest of his tough, man’s-man persona. He’d wake every Sunday morning and whip up the best puffed apple pastry, muffins stuffed with fresh berries, or stacks of oatmeal pancakes.

His mother owned a bakery when he was a kid, and he spent countless afternoons after school tucked away in the kitchen, watching her work. He worked for her in high school, getting up at four a.m. to knead the dough with her and roll out piecrusts. My dad wanted to skip college to go into business with my grandma, but she made him a deal—once he had a diploma, she’d give him the bakery.

He kept his end of the deal, but two months after his graduation, she died. Four months after that, he was drafted. I suppose he could have gone back to the bakery when he returned, but he was offered the chance to be the lead mechanical engineer for a prominent defense company and took the job. You could tell he really loved those times in the kitchen, though. He’d sing, laugh, and pour every ounce of himself into whatever he cooked.

“Hungry?” my dad asked. I knew this was a test but kept silent—my dad wanted to see whether Rob would fill his plate with desserts or whether he would just sip on coffee. My dad never trusted a man who turned down fresh-baked
anything
.

Fortunately, Rob had a voracious appetite. “Mr. Monroe, this looks delicious,” he said as he loaded a scoop of cobbler on his plate, next to the generous serving of coffee cake he had just sliced for himself.

Rob bit into the slice of cake and nodded his approval. “Incredible.” He furrowed his brows as if trying to put his finger on something. “Did you use ginger in this?” he asked.

My dad looked surprised, sitting back a little to give Rob a look. “I did,” he answered slowly, a small smile creeping on his lips. “Do you cook?” he asked Rob.

“I do,” Rob said. “I worked in a diner as a teenager. The chef had to chase me out of the kitchen. I was a busser, but I’d beg him to let me help with the food.”

As we enjoyed our desserts, my dad wanted to know more about how the show went. Rob jumped in to rave about my performance. “She’s amazing, Mr. Monroe,” Rob said. “She tried to tell me I might be bored because it was ballet, but I was riveted. I had no idea how athletic the dancers are.”

My dad agreed wholeheartedly with a powerful nod. “This one seems OK,” he said to me, pointing a thumb toward Rob and smiling. Michael had seen one performance during our relationship, which I’m positive he slept through. I had always complained to my parents about how Michael thought of dance as a hobby, never a career. With Rob, both my dad and I could already see things would be different.

“I think she’s the best in that whole damn company,” my dad continued, his voice colored with pride. “You know, she started to dance in diapers.”

Rob laughed. “That doesn’t surprise me. She’s talented and it shows.”

“Oh, shush, you two,” I protested, “You’re going to make me blush.” I loved being complimented by the two men in my life, but I wanted to talk about my dad, not about how great I was. “Dad, how are
you
? Is your ankle feeling any better?”

He grunted in annoyance. “The doctors want me to get surgery on it.” He shook his head. “It’s not that bad. It’s already healing on its own. Can’t get surgery every time an eyelash falls out, can you?” he joked, looking at Rob. He knew I wouldn’t approve.

“Dad!” I reprimanded. “You’re still limping. Let me come with you to an appointment sometime soon. I want to know what’s going on with you. Please?”

“I’m not a child, Stephanie,” he said, reprimanding me now. “Why should I get surgery? To get in peak condition just to move out of my house? No, thanks.”

I shook my head, knowing it was useless to argue with him when he was curt like that. Instead, I steered the conversation into yet a new direction and asked, “Any news on the house, Dad?”

His posture slumped a little at the mention. “Don’t worry about it, pumpkin. It’s all gonna work out.
We just gotta have faith.” I could tell he didn’t want to talk about it, and even though I was worried, I dropped the subject. “OK,” I said. “How’s Roger? You two been working on the bookshelves?”

My father brightened visibly at this question. He was building a set of bookshelves with his friend Roger who’d been a machinist before he retired. They’d known each other since I was a kid. Roger lived down the street, and he and my dad drank beer, told war stories, messed around in the garage, and talked about the good old days and everything that had gone wrong since. I was glad my dad had Roger; it was a stable, healthy thing in his life to distract him from his recent losses.

“Oh, Roger’s fine. We’re just about finished with the shelves! They’re going to look so great up in the office. We’re staining them on Tuesday.”

“That’s great, Dad. How’s Patty?” Roger’s wife.

“She’s great. I’m bringing her a pie when I go over there, in exchange for some of her blackberry jam. But enough about my news and me. Rob, tell me about you.”

Rob sat back against the couch, setting his plate on the coffee table. “Well, besides being an amateur cook, I manage the mergers and acquisitions at General Industries. Been there fifteen years.”

My dad nodded approvingly. “How did you meet my daughter?”

Rob and I exchanged a look. “Stephanie, you want to explain?” Rob asked playfully.

I laughed. “Well, we were involved in a little fender-bender.”  

I explained that I had failed to see a stop sign tucked away in the bushes, pushing down the nagging feeling that there hadn’t
been
a stop sign. I recounted how Rob made sure I wasn’t injured and how quickly my car had been returned to me. I knew my dad would respect that Rob took care of the problem, even if it hadn’t been necessary.

The rest of the night went smoothly. Sweet relief flooded through me as I realized my dad and Rob seemed to enjoy each other. As I watched Rob engage my dad in conversation, I felt grateful to have met him. We finally said good-bye to my dad, stuffed with dessert and coffee. I was exhausted and ridiculously happy.

9

Rob called me from the airport to say good-bye before he boarded his flight. I pouted at the thought of losing him for so long. “Tell me again why you need to go to Boston for two whole nights?”

“Come with me,” he said, instead of answering the question. “Take a red-eye. I have to work during the day, but I’ll come to you at night.” He lowered his voice seductively to convince me, though he didn’t have to try very hard to make me want to chase him. “You can see the city when I’m working. Get a massage, maybe, on me. Then, at night…” He trailed off, letting my imagination run wild.

“
Mmm
, tempting,” I said, punctuating my sentence with a purr. “What
exactly
would we be doing at night? I’m having trouble picturing it.”

But I wasn’t. I could imagine opening the hotel door in a flimsy slip, my nipples peeking through the thin silk. I’d pull him through the door by his tie and let him run his hands over my body, sweet and fresh out of the bath. My breathing quickened as I imagined him growing hard in his pants.

“I wouldn’t let you leave the room,” Rob said in his buttery baritone. “I might even have to handcuff you to the bed.”

The idea of being strapped down and spread f
or Rob—I groaned, growing hot with arousal.  “You’re torturing me,” I said. “You
know
I can’t go. You’re just being mean. Now, when we hang up, I’m just going to have to take care of
myself
.”

His imagination seemed to be going down the same path as mine. He groaned softly into the phone. “Now, who’s being mean? How am I supposed to walk onto an airplane in this condition? They’ll arrest me.”

I laughed. “You shouldn’t have decided to go to Boston. That’s
your
mistake. I bet you’ll be so busy, you won’t even miss me.” As much as the idea of his forgetting me bothered me, I knew it was only work—nothing to be jealous of. Instead of worrying myself out of my mind, I changed the subject. “You really think this trip will help strengthen your chances against Hank?”

“I’m sure of it. If I weren’t, I wouldn’t leave you for a second. I set up   meetings with some key figures, influential people. If I secure even one alliance on this trip, Hank won’t stand a chance.”

I loved it when he talked business. He sounded so sure of himself. That was the man I wanted in my bed, wrapping his arms around me like a safety blanket.

“Well, as I said—
I’d
vote for you. I’m sure Boston will be a success. Just come back soon.”

“I won’t be there a minute longer than I have to be. Steph, I’m sorry. I have to board. See you Tuesday, beautiful.”

I set my phone down gently after he hung up, wishing I could be on that plane with him. If I didn’t have another three days of rigorous rehearsals before this weekend’s performance, I would have been in a heartbeat. The idea of two nights in Boston with Rob was tantalizing.