The Guardian (17 page)

Mike wanted to ask where Richard fit into that equation but decided not to. He didn't want to ruin the mood. Nor did he want to ruin the light, easy feeling he had now that his beer was almost finished.

"Can I ask you a question?" Julie said.

"Sure."

"Whatever happened with Sarah? I thought you two had something special going, and then all of a sudden, you weren't seeing each other anymore."

Mike adjusted himself in the chair. "Oh, you know . . ."

"No, not really. You've never told me why it ended."

"There wasn't much to tell."

"That's what you always say. But what's the real story?"

Mike was quiet for a long moment before shaking his head. "You don't want to know."

"What'd she do? Cheat on you?"

When Mike didn't answer, Julie suddenly knew her guess was correct.

"Oh, Mike. I'm sorry."

"Yeah, me too. Or I was, anyway. It was some guy from work. His car was at her house when I went by one morning."

"What did you do?"

"You mean did I get angry? Of course. But to be honest, it wasn't entirely her fault. I hadn't exactly been the most attentive boyfriend at the end. I guess she felt neglected." He sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. "I don't know-I guess part of me knew it wasn't going to last, so maybe I stopped trying. And then something was bound to happen."

Neither said anything for a moment, and noticing he was almost empty, Julie pointed to his bottle.

"Need another one?"

"Probably," he said.

"You got it."

She rose and Mike scooted the rocker back a little to make room for her, watching as the door slapped shut behind her. He couldn't help but notice how good she looked in jeans.

He shook his head, forcing the thought away. Now was not the time for that. If they were having wine and lobster, maybe, but pizza and beer? No, this was just a casual night. The ways things used to be-before he'd done something as crazy as allowing himself to fall in love with her.

He still wasn't sure exactly when it had happened. After Jim had been gone for a while, he knew that. But he couldn't pin it down any more than that. It wasn't as if a light had suddenly blinked on; it was more like a sunrise, where the sky grows lighter and lighter, almost imperceptibly, before you realized it was morning.

When Julie came back out, she handed him the bottle and took her seat again.

"Jim used to say that, too, you know?"

"What?"

" 'Probably.' When I asked him if he wanted another beer. Did he get that from you?"

"Probably."

She laughed. "Do you still think about him?"

Mike nodded. "All the time."

"I do, too."

"I'm sure. He was a good guy-a great guy. You couldn't have done any better. And he used to tell me that he couldn't have done any better, either."

She leaned back in her seat, thinking how much she liked what he said. "You're a good guy, too."

"Yeah. Me and about a million others. I'm not like Jim was."

"Sure you are. You're from the same small town, you had the same friends, you liked to do the same things. For the most part, you two seemed more like brothers than you and Henry. Except, of course, for the fact that Jim could never have fixed that faucet. He couldn't fix anything."

"Well, Henry couldn't have fixed it, either."

"Really?"

"No. Henry could have fixed it. But he wouldn't have. He hates getting his hands dirty."

"That's funny, considering you two own a garage."

"Tell me about it. But I don't mind. To be honest, I like what I do a whole lot more than his part of the job. I'm not a big fan of paperwork."

"So I guess being a loan officer is out, huh?"

"Like Jim was? No way. Even if I could somehow con my way into getting the job, I wouldn't last more than a week. I'd approve everybody who walked in the door. I'm not real good at saying no when someone really needs something."

She reached over, touching his arm. "Gee, really?"

He smiled, suddenly at a loss for words, wishing with all his heart that the touch would last forever.

The pizza arrived a few minutes later. A pimply teenager wearing glasses with thick black frames examined the ticket for an inordinately long time before stammering out the total.Mike was reaching for his wallet when Julie nudged him out of the way, holding her pocketbook.

"Not a chance. This one's on me."

"But I'll eat more."

"You can eat the whole thing if you want. But I'm still paying."

Before he could object again, Julie handed the delivery boy the money, telling him to keep the change, then carried the box back to the kitchen.

"Paper plates okay?"

"I eat off paper plates all the time."

"I know," she said, winking. "And I can't tell you how sorry I am for you."

For the next hour they ate together, talking quietly in the familiar way they always did. They talked about Jim and things they remembered, and eventually the subject changed to happenings around town and the people they knew. From time to time, Singer would whine, looking as if he felt ignored, and Mike would toss a piece of crust his way without a break in the conversation.As the evening slowly wound down, Julie found herself holding Mike's gaze a little longer than usual. It surprised her. It wasn't as if he'd done or said anything out of the ordinary since he'd come over; it wasn't even that they were sitting alone on the porch and sharing dinner almost as if the evening had been planned in advance.

No, there was no reason for her to feel differently tonight, but she didn't seem able to control it. Nor, she realized, did she really want the feeling to stop, though that didn't make sense, either. In his sneakers and jeans, his legs propped up on the railing, his hair mussed, he was cute in an everyday guy kind of way. But then, she'd always known that, even before she'd started dating Jim.

Spending time with Mike, she reflected, wasn't like the dates she'd recently been on, including the past weekend with Richard. There was no pretension here, no hidden meanings in the phrases they spoke, no elaborate plans designed to impress the other. Though it had always been easy to spend time with Mike, she suddenly realized that in the whirlwind of the past couple of weeks, she'd almost forgotten how much she enjoyed it.

It was what she'd most enjoyed about being married to Jim. It wasn't only the heady flush of emotions when they'd made love that had enthralled her; more than that, it was the lazy mornings they'd spent reading the newspaper in bed while drinking coffee, or the cold December mornings they'd planted bulbs in the garden, or the hours they'd spent traipsing through various stores, picking out bedroom furniture, debating the merits of cherry or maple. Those were the moments she'd felt most content, when she finally allowed herself to believe in the impossible. Those were the moments when all seemed right with the world.

Remembering those things, Julie watched Mike eat, the corners of her mouth upturned slightly. He was fighting long strings of cheese that ran from his mouth back to the slice, making it look more difficult than it was. After taking a bite, he would sometimes sit up suddenly and fumble with the piece, using his fingers to keep the toppings from sliding off or the tomato sauce from dripping. Then, laughing at himself, he would swipe at his face with a napkin, mumbling something along the lines of "Almost ruined my shirt with that one." That he didn't take himself too seriously, or mind when she didn't, either, made her warm toward him in a way that reminded her of how she imagined old couples felt as they sat on park benches, holding hands. It was still on her mind a few minutes later when she followed him into the kitchen, both of them carrying the remains from dinner, and watched him find the cellophane in the drawer by the oven without having to ask where it was. As he took it upon himself to wrap the pizza and place it in the refrigerator, then automatically reach for the garbage when he noticed it was full, there was a moment, just a moment, when the scene seemed as if it weren't happening now, but as if it were taking place sometime in the future, just an ordinary evening in a long procession of evenings together.

"I think we just about got it all," Mike said, looking around the kitchen.The sound of his voice brought Julie back, and she felt her cheeks redden slightly.

"Looks that way," she agreed. "Thanks for helping to pick up around here."

For a long moment neither of them spoke, and Julie suddenly heard the refrain she'd lived with the last couple of years start up, as if a recording had been switched on. A relationship with Mike? No way. Not a chance.

Mike brought his hands together, interrupting the thought before it went any further.

"I should probably get going. I have an early day tomorrow."

She nodded. "I figured. I should probably get to bed soon, too. Singer kept me up last night for hours."

"What was he doing?"

"Whining, growling, barking, pacing . . . pretty much whatever he could do to bug me."

"Singer? What's going on?"

"Oh, Richard came by last night. You know how Singer gets around new people."

It was the first time that Richard's name had come up all evening, and Mike suddenly felt his throat catch, as if someone were pressing a thumb to it.

"Richard was here last night?" he asked.

"No-not that way. We weren't on a date or anything. He just came by to leave a note on my car to let me know he'd be out of town."

"Oh," Mike said.

"It was nothing," Julie added, suddenly feeling the urge to clarify.

"So what time was this?" Mike asked.

Julie turned to the clock on the wall, as if she needed to see the position of the hands to remember.

"I guess around two or so. That's when Singer started, anyway, but like I said, it went on for a while. Why?"

Mike pressed his lips together, thinking, And Singer growled the whole time?

"I guess I was just wondering why he didn't leave the note before he left in the morning," he said.

Julie shrugged. "I have no idea. Maybe he didn't have time."

Mike nodded, wondering whether to say more, then finally decided not to. Instead, he reached for his toolbox and the faucet he'd replaced, not wanting the evening to end with something that might come across the wrong way. He took a small step backward.

"Listen . . ."

Julie ran a hand through her hair, noticing for the first time a small mole on his cheek that looked almost ornamental, as if it had been dotted there by a makeup artist looking for exactly the right effect. Why, she wondered, did she see that now?

"I know-you've got to go," she said, cutting off the thought.

Mike shifted from one foot to the other. Not knowing what else to say, he held up the faucet.

"Well, thanks for calling me about this. Believe it or not, I'm glad you did. I had a great time tonight."

Their eyes met and held for a moment before Mike glanced away. Julie felt herself exhale-she didn't even realize she'd been holding her breath-and despite herself, she found her eyes sweeping over Mike as he walked ahead of her to the door. The jeans fit snugly around his rear, and she felt her cheeks redden again, the blood rushing to the surface like silt stirred from the bottom of a country pond.

Her eyes jerked upward as Mike turned the door handle. For a moment, she felt as if she'd been watching someone at a party from across a crowded room, someone she'd never seen before. In any other situation, at any other time, she would have laughed at the absurdity of it all.

But strangely, she couldn't.

After saying good-bye, she stood in the doorway watching as Mike went to his truck. In the moment before he closed the door, with the dome light above him glowing like a filtered halo, he waved.

Julie returned the wave and then watched as the red taillights of his truck receded into the distance. For almost a minute, she stood on the porch, trying to make sense of her feelings. Mike, she thought again, Mike.

Why was she even bothering to think about it? It wouldn't happen. Crossing her arms, she laughed to herself. Mike? Sure, he was nice; sure, he was easy to talk to; and yes, he was cute. But Mike?

The whole thing, she suddenly decided, was preposterous. A bunch of nonsense.

Julie turned to go in. Wasn't it?

In his office the following morning, Henry set the Styrofoam cup of coffee on his desk. "So that's it?" he asked.Mike scratched the back of his head. "That's it."

"You just left? Like that?"

"Yeah."

Henry's index fingers came together, forming a triangle that he rested under his chin. Though normally he would have ridden Mike about the fact that he hadn't taken the opportunity to ask Julie out, it wasn't the time for that.

"So let me make sure I've got this straight. You hear a bunch of cryptic stuff from this Jake Blansen about Richard which might or might not mean anything but is definitely a little weird sounding, especially since he wouldn't say any more about it. Then you find out that Richard is coming around her place in the middle of the night and hanging around for God knows how long and you decide not to tell her that it sounds a little weird to you? Or even mention the fact that there might be something to be concerned about?"