Sweet on Peggy

by Stella MacLean

  “Seriously?”

  He spotted her smile out of the corner of his eye and was pleased that she seemed impressed. “My mother was a huge fan of Julia Child.”

  He turned the heat off under the dish. “We’re just about ready to eat. All we need is the salad from the fridge and the loaf of French bread I bought today at the market.”

  “Let me help,” she offered.

  He watched as she sliced the bread while he put the finishing touches on the salad.

  “So, when are you going to tell me what the pillows are for?” She looked at him, a flirty smile edging up the corners of her lips.

  He couldn’t tell her he’d wanted to cuddle close to her, to sit leaning against the sofa as they listened to his music collection, letting the evening simply happen, all the while hoping that she’d stay the night.

  Besides, in Haiti his room had no place to sit but on the floor, and he’d grown accustomed to sitting on the floor talking with friends after a meal. Now, as he looked at it through her eyes, he realized it must seem strange to her. “It’s something I got into when I lived in Haiti. At night after we’d finished our day, we often sit around talking.”

  “On the floor?” She looked at the wall next to the sofa. “Is that a real jukebox?”

  Two long strides and he was at her side. “I bought it from a contractor in Bangor. He was demolishing a ’50s diner and was getting rid of this beauty. I couldn’t give up the chance to own something like this,” he said, running his hands over the glossy top and the glass front of the cabinet.

  “Does it really play?”

  “Yes. I had to buy some replacement forty-fives to fit into the slots. It took me a while to get it all organized the way I wanted it. Pick a song,” he said, stepping aside.

  Her fingers played over the keys as she read the music choices from the front of the machine. “I think this one.” She picked Roy Orbison’s “Only the Lonely.” After a short click and whirring sound, the singer’s throbbing voice filled the air.

  “Good choice,” he said as she turned to him. Suddenly the music and the look on her face made every sane thought race from his mind.

  “Would you like to dance? I don’t have to introduce you to my dancing style,” he said, trying for humor to quell his apprehension.

  She smiled. “I would love to dance with you.”

  He took her in his arms, his hand resting on her back as he held her. They moved slowly to the music, at first a little distant and anxious. Then gradually, without thinking, he cupped the back of her head, lowering his lips to hers. He felt her fingers climb his chest as she reached for him, pulling him closer. Breathing in her scent, he deepened the kiss, taking great pleasure in the way her body moved against his, the way she opened her lips to his.

  The music stopped. He eased away from her. “That’s a beautiful song.”

  “It is.” Her words were whispered, her eyes intense.

  “My mother had a huge collection of vinyl records.”

  A buzzer went off in the kitchen, interrupting him. “Sorry, I need to get back to work.”

  “Can I help?” she asked, following him to the kitchen.

  “No, but I’d like your company.” He tucked the towel around his hips. “Wish I had an apron for you to tie around me.”

  She laughed. “You remember?”

  “Of course. It’s not every day a man has a beautiful woman put an apron on him.”

  “I’ll remember to bring you an apron the next time you’re making dinner. Something flowery and pink, what about that?”

  “It would be covered with stains and smudges long before anyone noticed.” He answered her smile with one of his. “Take a stool and then tell me all about your visit with your father.”

  “You mean with Bill Cassidy.”

  She didn’t refer to him as her father. Did she not believe what he had to say, or was she afraid of what it would mean for her? “Yes. But for purposes of this interview, may we refer to him as ‘Dad’?” he asked, giving her a teasing smile.

  She frowned. “That’s part of why this is so weird for me. To be my age and find myself referring to a man I’ve never met before as my father seems so...” She scrubbed her forehead with her hand. “Seems somehow not right.”

  “But after talking to him you came to realize that he didn’t have a choice.”

  She pressed her fingers together on the raised counter in front of her. “Maybe. What I don’t get is why he didn’t go after her. Why didn’t he follow her to Virginia? And then of course there’s my mom, who made sure he had no role in my life.”

  “Speaking of your mother, aren’t you glad that this whole thing is out in the open?”

  “I guess so.” She scowled. “What I’ll never get is why Mom wouldn’t tell me about Bill when I found out that Marcus wasn’t my birth dad.”

  She gave him a quick glance before continuing. “What’s worse is that when she realized I was moving to Eden Harbor, she could have told me about my father and that he lived here. She didn’t. Can you believe that?”

  “People do a lot of strange things, I guess. Maybe your mom’s grief over losing Marcus had an impact on how she dealt with your questions around your birth father.”

  “It’s possible.”

  “But what’s important here is that you can move on with your life. Your worries about who your dad is are now over.”

  Peggy’s eyebrows touched as her eyes met his. “Bill and I have a lot to learn about each other.”

  Rory was careful not to burn his fingers as he took the rice from the microwave. “So are you and...Bill seeing each other?”

  “We are. I have to admit I feel pretty strange when I’m around him. Maybe that’s because he is a stranger to me. Yet each time I see him I feel a stronger connection.”

  Rory turned his attention to the dish he was making. He couldn’t watch the uncertainty on her face, the anxious way she smoothed her hair and touched her neck.

  He wanted to take her in his arms and do what he could to calm her, reassure her. Yet something held him back.

  Being needed and trusted by Peggy would mean he’d feel committed to her. It would expose his need for her, something he wasn’t ready for. In his heart he hadn’t resolved his commitment to Haiti and what the coming months would mean to him and to his life he left behind there.

  He was so preoccupied with his thoughts he forgot what he was doing. “Whoops! Dinner’s ready.” He opened the fridge, took out a bottle of wine and started taking things to the table. “Good food waits for no man. Let’s talk and eat. The table is set, and this is your chair, madam,” he said, pulling out the solid wooden chair and flicking her napkin open before placing it in her lap.

  “A cook and a waiter,” she said, inhaling the sweet scent of lobster and spices. “This smells so delicious.”

  He was pleased by her praise and took his seat opposite her, thankful the moment had passed before he said something he might regret. “You and I have another thing in common.”

  “And that would be?”

  “Neither of us has family in Eden Harbor. I mean none that we knew, or in your case none that you knew of until a few days ago.” He took a bite of the creamy dish and looked at her over his fork.

  “Thanks to my conversations with Bill, it seems I have a cousin and a grandfather. That’s what I miss most in my life. Mom and Dad and I were a real family, but outside of that there was no family connection. Dad had gone against his parents’ wishes by taking jobs all over the world. Not being around for family events made it difficult to be part of what was going on at home. And of course Mom never came back to Eden Harbor after she left. At least not as far as I know.”

  There was a lonesome smile on her face. He wanted to reach out to her but held back. He loved this woman, but he’d made so many missteps in getting to know her. Yet getting to know her would mean that he’d have to share his life in Haiti with her and most of all, the reason why he’d come back home.

&
nbsp; “You know, after my mom died, my sister wanted me to move to Texas, but I couldn’t see the point in it, other than being closer to her and her husband, Patrick. As far as I’m concerned, the people I worked with in Haiti became my family. Grant Williams, my team leader, is like a brother to me. We all worked long hours, but it felt good that we were doing something for people who really needed it, people who without our help would have been in even worse circumstances.”

  “Is Grant Williams back home here?”

  “No. He’s in Haiti with the rest of the team.”

  “Why didn’t you stay with them? What brought you home when you loved what you were doing down there?”

  “I saw some pretty awful things that left me feeling that I couldn’t make any difference whatsoever to those people until I straightened a few things out in my life.”

  “Can I ask what they are?”

  He looked at his hands to prevent her seeing the shame in his eyes. How could he tell her about the worst moments of his life? If he did, would she understand? He hadn’t been able to open up to anyone, not even the psychologist he’d seen for a few weeks when he first got home. Talking about Haiti meant more sleepless nights. More nightmares. Since he’d moved to Eden Harbor he’d been sleeping better. Maybe it was safe to open up, at least a little bit.

  “I left Bangor after my mother died. I finished up her affairs, rented the house, gave the renters Elizabeth’s number in Texas, packed a duffel bag of clothing and a box of tools and joined Grant Williams’s team. He was against me going with him because I was still grieving for my mother, but I convinced him.

  “When we got to Haiti, I worked every day until I literally fell asleep. My group was made up of dedicated professionals, who demanded more from themselves than from me, but I soon proved to them that I could handle anything. Or so I thought. I’d been there a little over two years when one day we got an urgent call to go to a house where the roof had collapsed. I thought I was used to seeing poorly built houses that were a stiff breeze away from falling down. But nothing prepared me for what happened next. There was a young woman, Anna Hilario, trapped in the debris of the destroyed roof, screaming for help. The only help available was her husband, Nene, and me. He was already trying to claw a path into where she lay trapped when I got there. All the while, he talked to her so calmly and lovingly. I’ll never forget his voice and the risk he took in climbing into the debris. I realized we needed a bulldozer or at least people to shovel, someone to help us shore up the structure before the mass of rubble crushed her. People were gathering, but no one had a bulldozer, and there were three garden shovels. We worked frantically, but suddenly the roof part that had been shielding her came crashing down. She and her husband died that day, leaving two small children. They were now orphans in a country overwhelmed by children who’ve lost their parents.”

  Her eyes were dark with shock. She reached out and took his hand, her fingers warm and comforting. “What did you do?”

  He breathed in slowly to ease the memory of that day, the hopelessness and anger he felt. “I lost it. I threw things. I screamed and yelled at no one in particular. The rest of it is a blur. Grant arrived and took me back to where we were staying. I flew home two days later. When I got to Bangor, my grief overwhelmed me, grief for my mother, for the husband and wife who died needlessly in Haiti, for the children, for every sad thing that ever happened to me.”

  “When we first met, you told me you wanted to return to Haiti someday. Why would you go back if that’s what it’s like there?”

  “Because volunteers from Western countries are all Haiti has to rebuild their country. It’s taking longer than anyone expected. Meanwhile, the community where the roof fell is short one teacher, and two little kids will grow up without their parents. If we don’t go there and help out, there will be more tragedy,” he said, feeling the old familiar passion burn through him. “There is something absolutely soul-cleansing to offer hope to those in need. Being a carpenter in Haiti meant I could bring hope and happiness to others.”

  “You really care that much.”

  “Yes. That’s what so strange. I grew up with lots of love and attention. I never really gave a thought to what other people were going through. Then I landed in Haiti and everything changed. So much needed to be done, so many children living in poverty. Grief and pain were part of everyday life. I was overwhelmed.”

  She looked away then back at him. “I’ve never done anything like that. Although Dad’s job meant we lived in a lot of places, we often were in areas where it felt just like home, very American in the schools and shopping areas.”

  “No real risk involved, right?”

  She pulled away, picked up her glass, sipped her wine slowly, her eyes fixed on him. She put the glass down very carefully. “Yes. I can’t imagine going to live in a country that had so few of the things we take for granted.”

  “You’re talking about Starbucks coffee, supermarkets, restaurants,” he said, having heard this response from others he’d talked to since he returned home.

  “That, too. For me it would mean giving up my home and my farm.”

  “And you wouldn’t be willing to do that.” He had to admit he’d been selfish like that before Haiti.

  “I don’t believe I could ever do what you did.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Why would I want to go to Haiti?”

  He couldn’t look at her, not when hearing her words had created such a gap between them. She would not understand his need to return. And talking about it had made him realize how strong his need was to go back. “You wouldn’t even consider visiting the country?”

  “Why all the questions about Haiti and whether I’d go? To tell you the truth, leaving here is the last thing I want to do.”

  He was suddenly faced with nothing to say to Peggy, and it saddened him. What he needed was a little perspective on what had just happened. She wasn’t a bad person, and she hadn’t had his experience, one he was sure would change her if she had.

  “By the way, I’m going to hire you to do a little work on the stone on the front. The mortar is starting to give away.”

  “How did we get from Haiti to your house?” he asked, genuinely surprised that opening up to her seemed to mean so little.

  She fidgeted with her napkin. “See? That’s what I mean. I’m not the kind of person who would be willing to give up the things in my life that give me pleasure.”

  “Not even for the chance to meet charming six-year-olds who are eager to learn anything you can tell them about? Children who are only different because they were born in a different country, a different culture. In every other way they are just like children here—without the advantages of our society.”

  She sighed. “You really love Haiti, don’t you?”

  In the past few minutes he’d come to the conclusion that nothing he said would change her mind about Haiti. “I do. It changed my life in every way that matters.”

  “I took traveling to other countries as a normal event in my life.” She looked at him with a speculative smile. “I never really involved myself in anything other than going to school, taking the occasional trip through the wild areas of Indonesia.”

  “In other words, you can’t relate to what I lived through,” he said.

  “Not really.”

  There seemed to be nothing more to say on the subject, and Rory was too disappointed in her response to come up with a new topic. Peggy talked about her work, about how nice the dinner had been at Neill and Sherri’s house the night before.

  Feeling let down, he picked up the plates and took them to the kitchen counter. What had he expected from her, from this evening? She’d made it clear she couldn’t relate to his experience. Her words created a distance between them, a moment for him to reflect on his feelings. He was suddenly lonesome for his friends in Haiti, the people who had welcomed him as if he were family. In that instant he realized that they were still a very real part of his life. He wan
ted to share that with her but knew it would be pointless, at least for now.

  He brought the peach cobbler he’d purchased to the table, noting that Peggy had suddenly gone very quiet. “Are you okay?” he asked, placing the bowls in front of them and returning to his chair.

  “Rory, I’m sorry. I know that I must seem very insensitive to you. I didn’t mean to. It’s just that I’ve had a rough few weeks.” She glanced at him. “But when I hear you describe how life was in Haiti, I feel guilty. My concerns are nothing compared to theirs. Quite frankly, I don’t know how you did it. I couldn’t have faced what you did.”

  “You’d be surprised what you can do when you have to or feel a need to. Don’t feel guilty about it. Your life is different from theirs, as is mine. When I got back to Bangor I was so glad to be home, and yet I felt guilty, as well. I had everything while they had nothing. I left them to fend for themselves because I couldn’t handle something that for them has been a regular occurrence.”

  “We are the lucky ones, aren’t we?”

  She wasn’t as insensitive as she seemed, but she would probably never understand. “Absolutely.” He placed a smile on his face to force back the memories. “But enough of that. We are going to continue our evening. Eat your dessert and we’ll move onto the floor.”

  “I’ve never dated anyone who wanted to sit on the floor. Are you into something kinky you’re not telling me about? Should I be worried?” she asked with a flirty look in her eyes.

  He knew from that look that Peggy wanted him. But her lack of understanding over Haiti had created a distance between them that he couldn’t deny. Her world was Eden Harbor; his wasn’t. He’d been so sure that they shared so much, but the one thing other than his relationship with her that really mattered to him, she only felt guilt over. He wanted to share his life with her, not just his bed. The way he was feeling right now, making love to her would only be about having sex, nothing more. “You will never have to worry about anything weird or kinky when you’re with me,” he said, kissing her quickly. “Now let’s finish dessert.”

  Once the dessert was finished, they took their coffees to the table near the jukebox. “Okay. So do you want to pick the next three songs?” he asked.