She chewed and glanced away. “I do have plans a couple nights.” I got the feeling she was lying again. Why would she lie to me? “Probably Thursday and Friday nights?”
“I’m free.” Was she exaggerating her relationship with her boyfriend because she knew I was interested and didn’t want me to make a move? Or was she lying so I wouldn’t feel guilty about having Buddy for a couple nights?
We finished eating and chatted easily. I kept trying to ask her personal questions, to find out more about her, and she kept dodging them and changing the subject to the weather or my plans for my next hike or the ages and interests of all my nieces and nephews. It was like she’d put up some sort of wall between us, and I couldn’t get over it no matter how hard I tried.
***
The theater was packed, and Dilly seemed to know just about everyone in the building, except the college students. We ran into our landlord, Mary, as we were about to head in and find our seats.
She grinned and wrapped her arms around us in a tight hug that squished my body against Dilly’s. “It’s so good to see you two out together.” She released us and beamed. “I didn’t want to say anything too soon and jinx it, but I was so hoping the two of you would date. I think you are a perfect match.”
“I have a boyfriend,” Dilly said. She glanced at me and then back at Mary. In every situation, even hiking, Dilly had been confident and sure of herself, but tonight at the restaurant and now with Mary she seemed thoroughly vulnerable and lost.
“Oh, right,” Mary said. “The church man. What church did you say he works at?”
“I didn’t,” Dilly said. “We should probably get in and get our seats.”
“I’m just asking, Dilly, because just about all the church leaders in town are married, except for poor Egbert and he’s pushing ninety, so I doubt you’re dating him.” She patted Dilly’s shoulder. “I just don’t want a repeat of your last relationship, dear.”
Dilly pinched her lips together tight. She should have been angry at Mary’s suggestion that she was dating yet another married man, but she just looked worried. “He works at a church in Carmichael.”
Mary frowned, but her eyes danced with mischief. “Carmichael? That’s a long-distance relationship for sure. I never did like long-distance relationships myself.” She winked at me. “I don’t like to be alone or lonely for long.”
“It’s fine,” Dilly said. “I see him all the time and he’s wonderful. The most amazing guy.”
I barely registered Dilly’s words, because something she’d said didn’t jibe and I couldn’t figure out what. I shook my head. I was just looking for a reason to hate her boyfriend.
Dilly tried to maneuver us past Mary, but she grabbed Dilly’s elbow and held on. “How is your mother feeling, dear? Did she like my chili?”
“She loved it,” Dilly said. “But we really should get our seats, the show is starting any minute.”
Mary tsked. “You young people, always in a hurry.” She stepped aside and let us pass but grabbed my arm as I followed Dilly through the crowd. She leaned in close and whispered something, but it was mostly lost in the noise of the crowd. It sounded like ‘don’t let her push…’ But that’s all I got.
“What was that about?” I asked Dilly, once we’d taken our seats.
She crinkled her nose. “Mary and some of the older ladies in town worry over me.” She forced a smile. “It’s a hazard of running their book club at the library.”
Before I could ask any more questions, she shifted in her seat and faced me.
“Are you ready for this?”
Her question caught me off guard and I wondered for a brief moment of idiocy if she was about to lean in and kiss me. “Ready for what?”
“To see this play?”
I shrugged. “I’m ready to be bored out of my mind for a couple hours.”
She mock-frowned and playfully swatted my shoulder. “You just need to get in the right frame of mind. Close your eyes.”
“What?”
“I closed my eyes on your hike, you can close your eyes for me now. At least here you don’t have to worry about spiders or biting ants or vampire bats.”
“Bats only hunt at night. And vampire bats live much, much farther south.”
She waved a hand. “Whatever. Close your eyes.”
I closed my eyes and her citrusy scent surrounded me. I swear I could feel the heat of her body as she spoke near my ear. “Just breathe,” she said. “And take in the sounds of the orchestra warming up in the pit, of the people around us chatting, of the anticipation for a good show.”
I was feeling anticipation, but not for the show. I shoved my hands into my pockets to keep from pulling her closer.
“Breathe in and smell the scent of clean and gussied up people.” She hesitated and I could sense her looking around. “It’s a matinee, they aren’t really gussied up, but they’re clean. Feel the heat of the lights and prepare to lose yourself in another world, in someone else’s story, in magic.”
I was losing myself, but it had nothing to do with the theater and everything to do with the woman next to me.
“Okay,” she said. “Open your eyes.”
I opened my eyes and all I saw was her. She had flecks of amber and green in her brown eyes and her lips were shiny, like she’d just licked them.
“Are you ready?” she asked. “Can you feel the magic?”
I was certain she didn’t want to know what I was feeling. “I feel it.”
She grinned and clapped. The music began and the lights dimmed overhead. She spun in her seat. “It’s starting,” she said, all her attention focused on the curtains as they slowly rose.
Down on the stage there was music and singing and probably some dancing, but I didn’t see much of it, because I was watching Dilly. She was entirely transfixed by the show, watching with wide eyes. When tears trickled down her cheeks near the end, I got so close to reaching over to wipe them away that she noticed my hand out of the corner of her eye and glanced over at me. She gave me a watery smile and then she reached for my hand, squeezing it tight.
She held my hand for the rest of the show. I tried to get some idea about what the play was about, in case she asked me about it, but all my attention remained on her, on the feel of her small hand in mine, on the pure joy on her face as something good happened and the play ended.
She dropped my hand to clap and rose with the rest of the audience to give the cast a standing ovation. I stood with her and clapped for a show that might as well have been a rock concert for as much attention as I’d paid to it.
After the clapping was done, we moved out of the theater with the crowd and onto the street. The day was getting cooler as the sun drifted toward the mountains, and Dilly shivered next to me as she smiled and waved at people she knew. She didn’t speak until we’d driven back to our house and I’d parked on the street. “Want to watch the sunset?” she asked, still glowing with happiness. “I’ll get Buddy.”
“Sure.” In that moment, there was nothing else in the world I’d rather do than sit on the porch with her and watch the…Okay, fine, I could think of one or two or ten things I’d rather do with her, but if I suggested those, she’d never speak to me again.
She hopped out of the car and hurried to the house. I got out and followed her more slowly, sat on the porch, and waited for several long moments before she stepped outside, Buddy next to her. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I needed to make a quick phone call.”
She sat on the top step, Buddy between us, and sighed. “Okay, I’m ready. Tell me what you thought of the play.”
“It was a much less painful experience than I’d expected.” I kept my gaze on the mountains. I needed a break from looking at her, from wanting her, because it was becoming painful.
She groaned and swatted me on the arm. “That’s it? That’s all you have to say about it?”
I couldn’t help it, painful or not, I couldn’t not look at her. I shifted in my seat and faced h
er. “I’m not a theater guy. You knew that going in. I didn’t hear you gushing over how wonderful the hike was.”
“But I did.” She chewed on her bottom lip, considering. “Okay, fine. I didn’t gush, but I did enjoy it and I said I’d go again.”
I looked into her brown eyes and whatever boundary I’d been clinging to disintegrated and I fell. I just fell completely into that woman. “I enjoyed it and I’d go again.” I spoke in a teasing tone, but I meant it. I would go just about anywhere she asked.
“I’m serious,” she said. “What did you really think?”
“I’m serious, too. I’ll never claim theater is my favorite activity, but I’d go again. When’s the next one? Just go ahead and sign me up now.”
“Really?” she asked, her eyes big. “You’d go again? With me?”
“Of course. It’s not any worse than a root canal.”
She sighed, linked her arm through mine, and laid her head on my shoulder. “That’s the sweetest thing anyone’s ever said to me.”
“If that’s true, you’ve been dating some real losers.”
She snuggled closer and I had to remember to breathe. “You have no idea.”
***
“She still dating the preacher?” Molly asked when I stepped inside. I’d sat with Dilly snuggled against my side until the sun had gone down and, even after she’d said good night and gone inside, I still felt her warmth against my side. Still saw her happy smile, tears shining in her eyes while she watched the play, every time I blinked.
“She is,” I said.
“So, you’re on a crash course to break your own heart?”
“Looks that way.” I sank onto the couch next to her. “How are you doing?”
She smiled. “You know me, the hardest part is making the decision. Now that I’ve decided, I’m in my happy place strategizing and making plans. Henry thinks the baby will boost my popularity among women voters.”
Henry was her best friend and her campaign manager. “That’s a fantastic reason to have a baby.”
She grinned. “I know. If we could just get an idea of how a marriage would play, I’d know what to say to Daniel.”
I spun to face her. “He proposed over the phone? That son of a—”
She held up her hands. “He proposed in person. He’s in my room, catching up on the sleep he lost when I was having my away time.”
“I assume you said yes,” I said.
“I told him I don’t want to get married just because of the baby, but he’d already foreseen and pre-empted that argument by telling me he bought the ring two months ago.”
“Good man.”
She held out her hand and showed me the enormous sparkler on her finger. It was the sort of ostentatious diamond I’d bought my fiancée, before I’d decided I wanted a simpler life and she’d decided she was more in love with my potential future wealth than she was with me. “Do women like that sort of thing?”
She grinned. “Some women do, but some women just want a man who’s there for them when it matters.”
“Don’t try to make me feel better. I’m poor and will never be able to afford a giant ring. I may as well move into the monastery now.”
She rolled her eyes. “You don’t need to move into a monastery. Just keep pining after women who’ve put you in the friend-zone and are dating other people.”
“Ah-ha, you’ve discovered my secret plan.”
“Seriously,” she said, her smile fading. “Haven’t you been hurt enough? After what Charlene did, I—”
“I was in a bad place for a while.” After my fiancée and girlfriend of four years had dumped me, I’d gone on a week-long bender and forgotten to bathe or wash my clothes for a little while. My sisters had banded together and forced me to return to sobriety and good hygiene. At least, that’s what I let them think. I’d already started down that path after a woman I’d flirted with at the local bar mistook me for a homeless man and offered to buy me dinner. “But I know exactly where I stand with Dilly. We’re just friends.”
She shook her head. “I’ve seen the look on your face when you walk in after spending time with her. You need some distance.”
“I’ve tried that. I’ve even tried dating someone else. It doesn’t work.”
“You’re a masochist.”
“Probably. But never seeing her again would be more painful.”
She shook her head. “Or maybe you aren’t ready for a relationship and pining after an unattainable woman is your subconscious way of dealing.”
“Nope.” I pushed to my feet. “You’re a future senator, not a shrink. Leave the psychoanalyzing to Suze.” Suze was our oldest sister and a shrink, though she managed not to psychoanalyze us.
She shook her head. “Daniel brought a ton of take-out from Alistair’s if you want some. He brought your favorite. He thinks you had something to do with my change of heart.”
“Daniel is one in a million,” I said, exaggerating only a little. “Don’t ever let him go.” I didn’t miss much of my former life, but Alistair’s was my favorite restaurant of all time.
“I don’t plan to,” she said.
CHAPTER NINE
Dilly
“How was Disney?” I asked Carrie. I’d found her in the bookstore in the memoir section. We were supposed to meet out front, but I wasn’t surprised not to find her there. I knew how susceptible she was to the siren song of books.
She turned and smiled, then threw her arms around me in a tight hug, the three books in her right arm pressing into my gut. “Ouch.” I pushed her away. “What you got there?”
She showed me two fiction books and a memoir, and of course I had to read the back covers. The memoir looked so good I pulled a copy from the shelf for myself. “Disney was exhausting,” Carrie said. She was talking to me, but her eyes were trailing over the spines on the shelf. I was a book-lover, but Carrie was whatever was more in love with books, a book stalker or a book obsessive.
“Why don’t we get some coffee and come back to the books later?”
She grinned sheepishly. “Good idea.”
The bookstore was one of three in Catalpa Creek, and the only independent. The owner, Willow, had set up a little coffee bar in the front corner, with a few comfy chairs to help her compete with the chain store and the university bookstore. We didn’t need incentives to get us into her bookstore, but the free coffee was definitely a bonus. Liddy, one of the book club members and a close friend of Mary’s, was behind the counter and she made her way over to us as we settled into armchairs with our coffee.
“It’s nice to see you girls. How is your mother doing, Dilly?”
“Great,” I said, blowing on my coffee and avoiding eye contact with either of them. “She’s all healed up and getting back to what she loves, working and being alone.”
I looked up to see both Carrie and Liddy staring at me with wide, saucer-like eyes. What had I said?
“Are you okay?” Carrie asked.
“Of course. Why?”
“Dear,” Liddy said. “You sounded like a chipmunk on cocaine.”
That image made me laugh, but I laughed alone because they were both still staring at me. Okay, so I may have been acting a little crazy, but the past few days, four since I’d gone to the play with Oscar, it seemed like everywhere I went someone was asking about my mother. I was having to lie more and more, and it was stressing me out beyond belief. I’d never been one to hide, I loved to be out and about and amongst people, but I was seriously considering finding a cave in the mountains and moving in. The only time I felt I could relax and not have to feel like a horrible, dirty liar was during my evening sunset-watching with Oscar, something we’d done every night lately. I swallowed the rest of my hysterical laughter and smiled. “I’m just so excited to see Carrie,” I said. “Did you know she’s just back from Disney?”
“I got back Sunday,” Carrie said. “Dilly’s just been so busy she hasn’t had time to see me.” Why was Carrie eying me suspiciously? I ha
d been busy.
“She’s been spending a lot of time with our Oscar,” Liddy said, her smile wicked.
“That’s what I’ve heard,” Carrie said, leaning in. “From other people.”
Oh, crap. Carrie was mad because I hadn’t told her about Oscar, but at least that meant she wasn’t going to ask any questions about my mother. Fingers crossed. Liddy blew me a kiss and returned to her station behind the counter. I shivered. It was never a good sign when the elderly ladies of Catalpa Creek focused their energy on you. Never.
“Oscar and I are just friends. I have a boyfriend.” I may have gotten a bit squeaky with those last words. It never got easier to lie to Carrie. In fact, it had only been getting harder and harder lately. She was my best friend and I wanted to talk to her about what was really going on. I wanted to tell her everything. Then, she’d tell me I was a horrible person and refuse to ever see me again. Which was why I lied.
“Norma Jane tells me your boyfriend is never around. No one’s seen the two of you out at dinner or at a club. But everyone’s seen you out with Oscar. At the play last weekend, at dinner, on your front porch.”
“Jerome lives in Richmond. He can’t make it here often and, when he does…” I waggled my eyebrows. “When he does make it here, we’re not interested in leaving the bedroom.”
Carrie sipped her coffee and narrowed her eyes. “Norma Jane said Jerome lives in Carmichael.”
“Right.” I was starting to sweat. Why was everyone suddenly interested in my life? They’d never paid this much attention before. “His church is in Carmichael, but he lives in Richmond.”
“Wow,” she said, eyes still narrowed. What the hell? “That’s some commute.”
“He likes to drive. But you don’t want to hear about that. Tell me about Disney. What’s it like?”
She paused, her coffee halfway to her lips. “Haven’t you been?”
I rummaged through my memory. In high school, there was a time my mother had kept me home because she was terrified I would be killed at school. I’d thought it was cool at first, getting my mom’s permission to play hooky. It had quickly become very uncool when she wouldn’t let me leave the house. Had I told my friends I’d been to Disney World? Shit. Maybe I should have been writing this stuff down. “Um, yeah,” I said, just in case. “But that was a while ago, I’m sure It’s changed.”
The Good Guy on my Porch (Catalpa Creek #3) Page 13