The Guardian (7 page)

"About a dozen times."

"Do you want me to stop?"

"No. Call me strange, but I sort of like life on the pedestal."

Richard laughed. "I'll do my best to keep you there."

They were at Pagini's, a cozy restaurant in Morehead City that smelled of fresh spice and drawn butter, the kind of place where the servers wore black and white and dinner was often cooked tableside. A bottle of Chardonnay sat in an ice bucket next to the table; the waiter had poured two glasses, and they glowed yellow in the soft light. He'd shown up at the door dressed in a linen jacket, holding a bouquet of roses and smelling faintly of cologne.

"So tell me about your week," he said. "What exciting things happened while I was gone?"

"You mean at work?"

"Work, life, whatever. I want to know it all."

"I should probably be asking you that question."

"Why?"

"Because," she said, "my life's not all that exciting. I work in a beauty salon in a small southern town, remember?" She spoke with good, brisk humor, as if to ward off sympathy. "Besides, I just realized that I don't know much about you."

"Sure you do."

"Not really. You haven't told me much about yourself yet. I don't even know what you do exactly."

"I think I told you I'm a consultant, didn't I?"

"Yeah, but you didn't go into a lot of detail."

"That's because my job is boring."

She pretended to look skeptical, and Richard thought for a moment. "Okay . . . what I do . . ." He paused. "Well, just think of me as the guy who, working behind the scenes, makes sure the bridge doesn't collapse."

"That's not boring."

"That's just a fancy way of saying I work with numbers all day. When it gets right down to it, I'm what most people would consider a nerd."

She ran her eyes over him, thinking, I doubt that. "Is that what the meeting was about?"

"What meeting?"

"The one in Cleveland."

"Oh . . . no," he said, shaking his head. "There's another project the company is getting ready to bid on in Florida, and there's a lot of research to do-cost projections, traffic projections, expected loads, things like that. They have their own people, of course, but they bring in consultants like me to make sure everything will go through the government bidding system without a hitch. You'd be amazed at the amount of work it takes before you can start a project. I'm single-handedly responsible for destroying vast tracts of timber, just for the paperwork required by the government, and right now I'm a little short staffed."

Julie observed him in the dim light of the restaurant. His angular face, at once rugged and boyish, reminded her of men who made their living posing in cigarette advertisements. She tried, and failed, to picture what he might have looked like as a child.

"What do you do in your spare time? Hobbies, I mean."

"Not too much, really. Between work and trying to stay in shape, I don't have much time for anything else. I used to do a little photography, though. I took a few courses in college, and for a short time there, I actually considered making it my career. Even bought some equipment. But it's a tough way to pay the bills, unless you want to open a studio, and I had no desire to spend my weekends photographing weddings and bar mitzvahs, or kids whose parents dragged them in."

"So you became an engineer instead."

He nodded. For a moment the conversation hit a lull, and Julie reached for her wineglass.

"And you're originally from Cleveland?" she asked.

"No. I haven't been in Cleveland all that long. Just a year or so. Actually, I grew up in Denver and spent most of my life there."

"What did your parents do?"

"Dad worked at a chemical plant. And Mom was just a mom. In the beginning, anyway. You know, stay home, cook supper, keep the house clean, Leave It to Beaver kind of stuff. But after my dad died, she had to take a job as a maid. It didn't pay much, but she was somehow able to keep us going. To be honest, I don't know how she did it."

"She sounds remarkable."

"She was."

"Was?"

"Is." He looked down, swirling the wine in his glass. "She had a stroke a few years ago and . . . well, it's not good. She's barely cognizant of what's going on around her, and she doesn't remember me at all. Doesn't remember much of anything, in fact. I had to send her to a place in Salt Lake City that specializes in her condition."

Julie winced. Seeing her expression, Richard shook his head.

"It's okay. You didn't know. But to be honest, it's not something I usually talk about. Kind of brings conversations to an uncomfortable stop, especially when people hear my father died, too. Makes them wonder what it must be like to be without family. But you don't need me to explain that, I suppose."

No, she thought, I don't. I know that territory well.

"So that's why you left Denver? Because of your mom?"

"That was only part of it." He glanced at the table before looking up again. "I guess now's the time to tell you that I was married once. To a woman named Jessica. I left because of her, too."

Though a little surprised he hadn't mentioned it before, Julie said nothing. She could feel him debating whether he should go on, but finally he did, his voice flat.

"I don't know what went wrong. I could spend all night talking about it and trying to make sense of it, but to be honest, I still haven't figured it out. In the end, it just didn't work out."

"How long were you married?"

"Four years." He met her eyes across the table. "Do you really want to hear about this?"

"Not if you don't want to tell me."

"Thank you," he said, exhaling with a laugh. "You have no idea how glad I am that you said that."

She smiled. "So Cleveland, huh? Do you like it there?"

"It's all right, but I'm not there all that much. Usually I'm on-site like I am now. After this project finishes up, I have no idea where I'll go next."

"I'll bet that's hard sometimes."

"Yeah, sometimes it is, especially when I'm stuck in hotels. This project is nice because I'll be here for a while and I was able to find a place to rent. And, of course, I got the chance to meet you."

As he was talking, Julie was struck by how much their lives seemed to have in common, from being only children raised by single mothers to their decisions to start over in someplace new. And though their marriages had ended differently, something in his tone suggested he'd been the one left behind, that he'd struggled with real feelings of loss in the aftermath. In her time in Swansboro, Julie hadn't met anyone who could understand how lonely she sometimes felt, especially around the holidays, when Mike and Henry would mention that they were going to visit their parents or Mabel headed off to Charleston to spend time with her sister.

But Richard knew what it was like, and she felt an emerging kinship with him, the kind visitors to a strange country might feel upon discovering that the people at the next table come from a town in their home state.

The evening wore on and the sky deepened in color, unveiling the stars. Neither Julie nor Richard rushed through dinner. They ordered coffee at the end of the meal and split a piece of key lime pie, eating their way in from opposite sides until only a sliver was left that neither would claim.

It was still warm when they finally left. Expecting him to offer his hand or arm, she was surprised when he did neither. Part of her wondered whether he was holding back because he sensed that she'd been caught off guard by his kiss earlier that week; another part wondered if he had surprised himself with all he'd told her about his past. There was, she thought, a lot to digest there. The little tidbit about being married in the past had come out of the blue, and she wondered why he hadn't mentioned it on the first date, when she'd first told him about Jim.

That was okay, though. She reminded herself that people were different when it came to talking about the past. And anyway, now that they were more comfortable with each other, she realized she was enjoying this date at least as much as the first one. It was nice-not earth-shattering, but definitely nice. When they stopped at the crosswalk, Julie glanced at Richard. I like him, she thought. I'm not crazy about him yet, I'll be ready to say good-bye later, but I like him. And that's enough for me right now.

"Do you like dancing?" she asked.

"Why? Do you want to go?"

"If you're up for it."

"Oh, I don't know. I'm not all that good."

"C'mon," she said, "I know a great place."

"You sure you don't want to stay around here for a while? We could probably find a place to get a drink."

"We've been sitting for hours. I think I'm ready for some fun."

"You don't think the night's been fun so far?" he asked, pretending to be hurt. "And here I was, having a great time."

"You know what I mean. But if it makes you feel any better, I'm not a very good dancer, either, so I promise I won't say a thing if you step on my feet. I'll even try not to wince."

"Suffer and smile?"

"It's the woman's plight, you know."

"Okay," he said, "but I'll hold you to your promise."

She laughed and nodded toward his car. "Come on."

Richard warmed to the sound of her laughter, the first time he'd heard it this evening.

She's a cautious one, he observed. Kiss her once, and she seemed to question it all. But allow her to lead, and the caution seemed to fade. He knew she was trying to figure him out, trying to match his story to the man she saw sitting across from her. But there was no mistaking the sympathy on her face the moment she realized how similar they were.

The Sailing Clipper was a bar typical of small coastal towns: Dimly lit and smelling of mildew, cigarettes, and stale booze, it was popular with blue-collar workers, who crowded around the bar ordering Budweisers in volume. Along the far wall, the stage overlooked a slightly warped dance floor that seldom emptied when bands were playing. A few dozen tables, carved with the initials of most everyone who'd walked through the door, were arranged haphazardly, unmatching chairs circling them.The group on stage, Ocracoke Inlet, was something of a regular at the Clipper. The owner, a one-legged man people called Leaning Joe, liked the group because it played songs that put people in a good mood, which made them want to stay, which in turn was good for business as they ordered booze in quantity. They played nothing original, nothing daring, nothing that couldn't be found in jukeboxes around the country, which was exactly the reason why, Mike thought, everyone liked them so much. Really liked them. When they played people came in droves, which wasn't the case with the bands he played with. Never once, however, had they asked Mike to fill in, even though he was on a first-name basis with most of the group. Second-rate band or not, the thought was depressing.

But then, the whole evening had been depressing. Hell, the whole week had been depressing, for that matter. Ever since Monday, when Julie came by to pick up her keys and casually (casually!) mentioned that she'd be going out with Richard on Saturday instead of spending tonight with them, Mike had been in a funk. He'd been mumbling to himself about the unfairness of it all with such regularity that a couple of customers had even commented on it to Henry. Worse, Mike couldn't summon the courage to talk to Julie the rest of the week, knowing that if he did, she'd press him on what seemed to be bothering him. He wasn't ready to tell her the truth, but seeing her walk by the shop every day reminded him that he had no idea what to do about the whole situation.

Sure, Henry and Emma were great, and he liked spending time with them. But let's be honest here-on a night like this, Mike knew he was a third wheel in this little group. They had each other to go home to. Mike, on the other hand, had zip, unless he counted the occasional mouse that scurried through his kitchen. They had each other to dance with; Mike had to sit at the table alone half the time, reading beer labels as he peeled them off the bottles. And when Emma did ask him to dance, which she'd done regularly tonight, Mike would head to the floor, his head hung low, hoping to God that no one would see him dancing with his sister.

Sister. Sister-in-law. Whatever. Technicalities weren't important at a time like this. When she asked, it still made him feel as if his mother had offered to go with him to the prom because he couldn't get a date.

This was not the way things were supposed to be tonight. Julie was supposed to be here. Julie was supposed to be the fourth wheel. Julie was supposed to be the one dancing with him, smiling over a drink, laughing and flirting. And she would have been if it wasn't for Richard.

Richard.

He hated that guy.

Didn't know him. Didn't want to know him. Didn't matter. Simply thinking the name caused him to scowl, and he'd been scowling a lot, all evening long.

Watching his brother carefully, Henry finished the last of his Coors and set the bottle off to the side.

"I think maybe you ought to cut back on that cheap beer you're drinking," Henry commented. "Looks like it's giving you gas."

Mike looked up. Henry was smirking as he reached for Emma's bottle of beer. She'd gone off to the bathroom, and considering the ever-present lines in a crowd this size, Henry knew she might be a while. He'd already ordered another to replace it.