The silence grew uncomfortable until he glanced at the robe and slippers I’d brought from the house for Mom. “While you were at the house, did you happen to remember to water your mother’s tomatoes?”
“Her tomatoes?”
“Yes, she mentioned she recently canned thirty quarts.”
Mom cherished her garden. It was her pride and joy. Not a day passed that she wasn’t out watering or pulling weeds—it was the distraction she’d needed after she lost my dad.
With Mom in the hospital, it would be up to me to deal with the huge tomato and zucchini harvest. I had no idea what I’d do with all that produce.
“Do you like zucchini?” I blurted out.
“I beg your pardon?” Dr. Lancaster said, disrupting my thoughts.
“Mom’s garden is full of zucchini, and I’m going to need to find a home for them.”
That odd, puzzled look of his was back. “Your mother has homeless zucchini plants?”
“Not the actual plants, the vegetables,” I explained, smiling at his question. “There will be dozens of zucchinis. I can’t possibly deal with all of it. I know Mom would want you to have a few.” That might be stretching the truth, but it was worth an attempt to get rid of some.
“I don’t cook. Can you eat zucchini raw?”
I never had, not that I could remember, but I was confident one could.
“Sure, everyone does.” Another stretch of the truth, but one did what one had to do when it came to hustling excess zucchini.
“In that case, I can give the homeless zucchini a place to hang out.”
“Thank you.”
“Anything else I can do?”
I couldn’t think of a thing. “I don’t think so.” I was frustrated.
“You sound upset.”
“I am,” I admitted, reaching for my purse and snagging my car keys.
“Is it about the zucchini?”
“No,” I told him, “this has to do with the tomatoes.”
“Tomatoes?”
“Yes, you reminded me I hadn’t watered the garden. You might end up with a bushel of tomatoes, too. You can eat those raw, no question.”
I glanced back to see Rowan Lancaster doing his best to squelch a broad smile.
CHAPTER 5
Maureen
Although I’d been quick to dismiss the idea of online dating, I found myself considering it that night. In all actuality, what did I have to lose? Sure, I’d met my share of red-light guys over the years, but there’d been a couple men who nearly made it to a green light. Most men were okay, but I’d found a good majority of those I’d met and dated annoying. I was looking for more: a man who would enhance my life, and I his.
My marriage hadn’t been horrific. Peter wasn’t a terrible person or even a bad husband or father. We simply didn’t mesh. Ultimately, the only thing we had in common was our daughter. In retrospect, we were both too young to know what we were getting ourselves into when we said our vows.
Because I was pregnant with Tori at the time, getting married had seemed like the right thing to do, and so we had. Neither of our parents were especially pleased, but we did it for the sake of our unborn child.
The divorce didn’t devastate me as much as it convinced me of my inability to have a solid relationship with a man. I accepted my part of the responsibility for my failed marriage. I hadn’t opened up to my husband the way I should have. My natural tendency has always been to be an independent and private person. I’d learned early in life that the only person I could completely trust was myself.
What Tori said over lunch resonated with me all night and I didn’t sleep well, tossing and turning, mulling over what was wrong with me. My mind drifted to my childhood. I was a teenager when I’d inadvertently learned that my father was having an affair. My mother knew. She couldn’t help but know, and yet she chose to pretend that her husband wasn’t involved with another woman. I’d wanted to shout at them both, confront them, force them to be honest with each other and to fix whatever was wrong with their marriage. I longed for them to stop putting on their happy, “everything-is-wonderful” front for the world to see, when below the surface their marriage was a disaster.
Perhaps this was what led to my own inability to have a long-term relationship. I didn’t feel that I could trust a man to be honest with me. At the end of all my musings, I decided that I’d let life take me where it would. I wasn’t necessarily looking for a relationship. If I did meet someone and I gelled with them, then great. If not, that was fine, too.
On Tuesday, I left the library at quitting time and intended to walk to the same bus stop I always did, planning to visit Jenna’s mom at the hospital.
Only I took a detour.
Don’t ask me why. I can’t explain it. I’m a woman of habit, of discipline, and I rarely deviate from my pattern. But rather than take the familiar route as I did every working day, I decided to stroll past the restaurant where Tori and I had shared lunch the day before.
Okay, the truth. It wasn’t the restaurant that interested me, it was the construction site. I was looking for Logan, hoping to catch a glimpse of him. The truth is sometimes difficult to admit. I blamed Tori. That was easy enough to do. She’s the one who’d hounded me about Logan, making more out of his Monday library stops than was warranted.
Tori knew me all too well. Although I hadn’t openly admitted it, she sensed I was curious about this plumber. When she mentioned the idea of dating, the first person I thought of was Logan. As difficult as it was to admit, he’d been in the front of my mind the entire night while I internally debated the online dating issue, wondering, if I did sign up, if I’d meet someone like him.
This was silly; I was silly. Logan hadn’t so much as hinted that he was interested in me. He liked to tease me, he sought me out for book suggestions, and he asked my opinion on a variety of titles. That was it. I was forced to ask myself what I hoped to accomplish by walking in front of the construction site. It was a difficult question to answer and one I preferred to avoid.
As I speed-walked past the restaurant I heard someone shout my name.
“Hey, Maureen!”
Not just someone. It was Logan. If an earthquake had split open the sidewalk in that moment, I would have gladly allowed myself to be swallowed up by the crevasse.
“Wait up!” he shouted.
My steps reluctantly slowed. I glanced over at the construction site and watched, with my heart pounding at an unhealthy rate. Logan looked both ways before running across the street.
I bit my tongue to keep from hollering that he was jaywalking. I stood frozen, terrified that he would realize I’d purposely walked this way with the hope of seeing him. This was bad. Very bad. I was a woman in my forties and behaving like an adolescent who didn’t have the good sense that God gave a goose. I straightened my spine, put on my demure librarian façade, and did my best to look surprised.
“Logan,” I said politely and with a fake calmness, my entire body as straight and stiff as a telephone pole.
“I was hoping to see you,” he said.
I waited silently, too embarrassed to encourage conversation. In fact, I pointedly looked at the time so he’d think I was on a tight schedule.
“I started reading that book you recommended.”
“Hillbilly Elegy?”
“Yes. It’s good. I’m enjoying it.”
I nodded again, stiffly but politely. “I assumed you would, which is why I suggested it.” Again, I checked the time. “I need to be somewhere, so if you’ll excuse me.”
“Sure.”
I started walking away, and to my surprise he joined me, matching his much larger stride to my shorter ones.
“I’m headed in that direction,” he explained, as I nervously looked his way. “My truck is parked in the lot a couple blocks from here. You par
ked around there yourself?” he asked, trying to start a conversation.
I could only imagine the picture we made. Logan in his hard hat, holding on to his lunch pail and steel thermos, and me in my pencil skirt and navy-blue cashmere sweater with black pumps. If ever any two people were opposites, it was us.
“I take the bus,” I explained. “It’s convenient.”
“Do you drive?”
“Of course I do.” I didn’t mean to sound defensive, and feared that it came out that way.
“Just asking,” he said, continuing to walk at my side.
We’d gone half a block in silence when he asked, “Do you like beer?”
“Beer?” I repeated, although I’d distinctly heard him the first time. “Not really.”
“What about wine?”
I wasn’t sure what my drinking preferences had to do with anything. “Why do you ask?”
He shrugged and made a small gesture with his hand. “I don’t know. I thought we might have a glass of wine together one night after work. Talk books, that sort of thing.”
The invitation was enough to make my step falter. I paused on the sidewalk as people flowed around us like we were a boulder in the middle of a fast-flowing river. “We, as in you and me? I mean…you want to have a drink with me?”
The minute I asked the question I wanted to groan. Tori would be disgusted if she could hear me. Men had asked me out dozens of times over the years. It shook me how badly this one man unsettled me.
“The truth is, I’m not sure why I’m asking. Well, I like you…I like the books you’ve recommended. Coming into the library that first day was something of a fluke.”
He held my look, waiting for me to respond. “Why’s that?” I asked, while I considered his offer.
He grinned again. “I had time to kill and I thought to myself, Why not? I’ve always enjoyed reading, but I was in a rut. I’d read seafaring historical novels for years and wanted to expand my horizons. That’s when I decided to go to the library…That’s when I met you.”
I vividly remembered the first time he stepped into the library. He looked like Chip Gaines gearing up for demo day. He’d paused, glanced around as if waiting for someone to point the way. Then he’d approached me. I’d asked him a few questions, and steered him toward something I’d recently enjoyed myself. He read it so fast that I was stunned when he returned it two days later and asked for a second suggestion. Since that day he’d been a regular, coming every Monday, and sometimes more often.
“It shouldn’t be a difficult question. If you’d rather not get drinks, it’s fine.” He shrugged, like it made no difference either way.
Although he made it sound as if a refusal was no big deal, I could tell that it was. Men and their fragile egos. I was married long enough to be able to recognize it in his voice. He’d taken a leap of faith by asking me, and I’d left him dangling off the edge of a cliff as he awaited my answer.
Good grief. I didn’t know why I hesitated. It wasn’t like Logan was proposing marriage. We weren’t moving in together. Yet I paused, unsure of how to respond.
“Like I said, no pressure,” he added. “I mean it.”
The heat invaded my cheeks and left me feeling like I’d developed a sudden fever, the kind that comes on quickly and takes over the entire body. My tongue seemed to have swollen to twice its normal size. This shouldn’t be such a difficult decision, but for reasons I had yet to understand, it was. It felt as if my entire future was hanging in the balance with this simple decision.
“Would it be terribly rude of me to give you my answer tomorrow?” I asked.
“Rude, yes, but not terribly so,” he said, and laughed before adding, “I’m teasing. Sure, tomorrow will be soon enough. Should I come into the library or would you rather meet me after work, like you did today?”
“Ah?” I prayed he wouldn’t mention our meeting hadn’t been accidental. I’d been looking for him, hoping to see him. He must have seen through me as easily as reading a road sign.
Logan made the decision for me. “I’ll come into the library tomorrow on my lunch break.”
“Okay, sure. That would work.”
We’d rounded the corner. I pointed out my bus stop down the street.
“I’ll walk the rest of the way with you,” he said.
“Okay.” My heart was pounding. I wanted to tell him that wasn’t necessary, but my tongue had twisted into knots. I felt it was best to say nothing more.
We reached the bus stop and I stood apart from the regulars, who were staring openly at Logan and me. I was sure to get questions once I boarded the bus, as many were people I was friendly with from our daily commute.
Logan grinned. “Good to see you, Marian. I’ll catch up with you tomorrow.”
I offered him a weak smile, which was all I could manage. Logan seemed to notice the attention we were getting, and to make it worse, he winked at me.
“See you soon, Cupcake.”
Cupcake?
Initially, I was upset, until I found myself smiling, as were all those around me. On the short ride to see Jenna’s mom, only one of the regular commuters questioned me about Logan, and for that I was grateful.
Once at Seattle Central, the volunteer at the information desk told me the room number for Jenna’s mom. I took the elevator to the surgical floor and walked down the hallway until I found the right room. Jenna was with her mother, and I had to assume she was on a dinner break, because I knew she was working today.
Jenna turned when I entered and smiled when she saw it was me. The last couple days had drained her emotionally and physically. She looked tired and concerned. It went without saying she had a high-stress job. I couldn’t imagine dealing with life and death the way Jenna did.
“How’s Carol doing?” I whispered, because her mother was sleeping.
My friend briefly closed her eyes, trying, it seemed, to find the best way to explain what was happening. “Physically, Mom’s doing great. Two days postop, and she’s up and walking. In a couple days, she’ll likely be transferred to a rehabilitation facility, one of the best in the city, according to Dr. Lancaster.”
“That’s a good sign, isn’t it?” It shocked me how quickly patients were moved in and out of the hospital. On Sunday, Carol had been working in her garden. Now she’d had major hip surgery and would be headed to rehab.
“Yes, but Mom remains disoriented and unsure.”
“Isn’t that normal following surgery?” I asked.
“It happens. Dr. Lancaster didn’t seem overly concerned. It was only the first day and Mom had been through so much. Then today it was the same thing. Mom didn’t seem to know who I was,” Jenna said, expelling a lengthy sigh. “You know my mom—she’s usually quick-witted and alert. I don’t know anyone else who does the New York Times Sunday crossword puzzle in ink.”
I didn’t, either.
“Enough about Mom,” Jenna said. “How are you doing?”
I should have expected her question. Jenna could read me like a novel. “What makes you ask?”
“Your cheeks are red. Either you’ve hoofed up the four flights of stairs or there’s something you’re hiding from me.” Jenna tilted her head to one side. “Don’t tell me you actually went on one of those dating websites?”
“No, although I toyed with the idea for a bit.” Drawing in a deep breath, I squared my shoulders and plunged ahead. “As it happens, I’ve sort of met someone.”
“How do you ‘sort of’ meet someone?”
“There’s this guy, a construction worker—a plumber—who stops by the library…His name is Logan. He’s a regular.”
“And?”
“And…he asked me to have a drink with him.”
Jenna’s smile was big enough to make her mouth ache. “You are going to accept, aren’t you?”
“I…I don’t know.”
“Maureen, of course you are,” she insisted. “Why would you refuse?”
The list of reasons building in my mind was longer than my arm.
Jenna didn’t wait for an answer before she blurted out, “You should go. What’s holding you back?”
“But…”
“What would it hurt?” she continued. “The door is open. Walk through it. Stop overanalyzing this.”
Jenna was right. I routinely overthought everything.
“You make it sound easy.”
“It is easy. All you need to do is say yes. If Logan asked you out for a drink, he’s telling you he’s interested. He has a library card and he’s gainfully employed. What more do you want?”
“Fine,” I said, growing weary of this discussion. “I’ll accept Logan’s invitation.”
“Good. It’s our time. We can do with it what we want now. We both need to get back in the game.”
Jenna was right.
“Do you have another date lined up?” I asked.
“No, and I won’t for a while. Not with Mom incapacitated. It’ll be a while before I can seriously consider dating again.”
“Your mother isn’t going to need you twenty-four/seven. Didn’t you just get done telling me she’s going to a rehab center?”
“Yes, but…”
“Your nest is as empty as mine. Like you said, this is our time. Get out there, Jenna. Have some fun.”
“Fine,” she grumbled. “And just who do you suggest I date?”
The sound of someone entering the hospital room caught us both unaware. It was a physician, and I had to assume it was the surgeon that had done Carol’s surgery.
“Excuse me, ladies, but I couldn’t help overhearing your conversation.”
Jenna and I stared at him like we’d been caught shoplifting. He looked from Jenna to me, then back to Jenna.
Grinning, he focused on my friend. “Jenna, if you’re in need of a date, I’d be happy to volunteer.”
CHAPTER 6
Jenna
Window on the Bay Page 5