by Mae Wood
“I take it then, that the incumbent is aware he’s being replaced.”
“Gave notice last week. Moving to lead Emory’s system down in Atlanta. He was ready to captain his own ship.”
Whatever the reason for the guy’s departure, I’d be doing my due diligence to find out why he was leaving and what I’d be getting myself into.
Chester continued to speak. “So that moves up our search timeline. How soon can you come up? Two days is what we’d like, so you can get a feel for the place.”
I looked at the dirty mess around me. “I’ll have to check my calendar.”
“Of course. Let us know. Enjoy the rest of your weekend.”
“You, too. Thanks for the call. I’m looking forward to speaking with you in Philly.” Those words came out of my mouth, and a year ago they would have been true. Even a month ago. But now, I didn’t know if there was any truth to them at all.
33
Amy
Grady was buoyant as we’d gone on the campus tour and debriefed at a coffee shop. It was all talk about the class he’d sat in on, how the school even had canoes he could rent, and if he went to school there, how we’d go paddling together. We were back to being us and it was awesome, and then, while I drank too much wine in my hotel room and fretted about what a Friday night in the dorms would be like, I’d gotten a text around eleven o’clock that ratcheted up my anxiety:
Going out with some MUS guys. I’ll be good. See you at noon.
I didn’t bother to text back. I just poured another glass of wine, emptying the bottle, and dove back into the Earl of Bedford and Lady Marigold’s tryst in the scullery. As his fingers worked at the drawstring knot of her chemise, I envisioned Thomas’s hands grazing along my own heated collarbone, as I sat on a well-worn wooden worktable with his other hand in the slit in my drawers. I felt his breath along my neck and his sweet pleas to let him inside. As I imagined pawing at the buttons of his buckskin breeches, I widened my legs and slid my hand beneath my panties, the characters fully transformed in my mind to me and Thomas.
Stroking and rubbing, I dropped my phone with a gasp and focused on the task at hand. My hands busy and knuckles bruising, I worked myself hard as I thought of Thomas working me. His blue eyes on mine, his hands kneading my breasts as he lay face first in my pussy. Unashamed. Unabashed. Relishing my pleasure, lapping it up literally and figuratively. My back not on the soft bed, but against the hard work surface, my feet on the table’s edge and him bent over, my moans and pleas for more and more and more reverberating off of the slate floor and stone walls. The thought of my fingers plowed into his hair, holding his mouth firm to me, and him tweaking my nipples—my body convulsed in a wave and I gasped for air.
I curled into my side in a ball, and pulling my knees to my chest, fell asleep to more happy dreams of him.
I knew it as soon as he met me at my hotel at lunchtime on Saturday morning. My son was going to Duke. A grand adventure in store for him. And I felt marginally better knowing that as he rode off on his bike to the horizon, at least I knew his next stop. I wouldn’t be there with him for it, but that was how this is supposed to be.
“I’ve got a question and you don’t have to answer me right away, but I’m putting it out there,” I said.
His massive hamburger suspended midair, just inches from his mouth, as his green eyes went wide and I saw the panic flood them. Whatever he had done, I really didn’t want to know. As long as it didn’t involve a police report or unprotected sex. Then I wanted to know, not because I wanted to know for my own sake, but because I needed to shut that down. I had grand hopes for Grady, with one seemingly modest goal topping everything else—that I not become a grandmother before I turned forty.
“Christmas break. Thomas has invited us to go skiing with his family. His three kids will be there. They’re a bit older than you, but not by much.” He took a big bite of his burger and washed it down with a huge swig of Gatorade.
“Would we still go to Stowe with Grandpa in January?”
“Sure, if you think you can convince your teachers to let you make up anything you miss.”
“Won’t be a problem,” he said with a wicked smile. Ah, the wonders of private school. He wasn’t the only kid who took a week off in ski season.
“But we wouldn’t be at the beach with your dad.”
His face fell and I cursed myself for pushing too hard.
“So like just me and you for Christmas?”
“And Thomas’s kids. Miller is in medical school, and there are twin daughters who are in their junior year in college.”
“Did you talk to Dad about this?”
“No, Grady, I talked with your aunts about this.”
He looked at me with the same dropped eyebrow and crinkled forehead expression that I’d been butting heads with for eighteen years. He may have my crazy curly hair, but, by nature or nurture, I saw his dad in him. And that wasn’t a bad thing. “Of course I talked with your dad. He says it’s your call. If you want to go skiing, you and I will go skiing. If you want to go to the beach, then the three of us will be at the beach.”
Grady didn’t respond with words, but shoveled more food into his mouth, mopping up ketchup with fries by the handful. “I don’t need to know now. Sometime in the next month or so, just so we know what the plan is,” I said.
Another long drink of Gatorade and he wiped his hands on his napkin. “So, are you going to marry him?”
“Thomas?”
“No, Mom. The Tooth Fairy. Of course Thomas.”
“We haven’t talked about that.”
“You’re not saying no.”
“And I’m not saying yes. Your dad told me that you think I’m going to get married again and the truth is I don’t know.”
“You want to go skiing?”
“This isn’t my decision. This is totally yours. Whatever you want will be what we do.”
“You wouldn’t be asking if you didn’t want to go,” he pointed out.
“I want to spend Christmas with my only child. That’s what I want.” I reached into my purse for a hair tie and wrapped my hair into a messy bun, my skin felt hot, my head ached from the whole bottle of wine I’d stupidly consumed, and I knew we were close to raising our voices in the popular off campus burger joint and I didn’t want to embarrass him. I excused myself to the ladies’ room and when I returned, he was twirling his nearly empty bottle of Gatorade between his fingers.
I sat back down and before I could speak, he did. “Where do they ski?” He was considering it, which kinda surprised me. Considering our almost-argument, I thought we were beach bound for sure.
“Deer Valley. They rent a house. Thomas says that Miller snowboards, so you’d have someone to hang out with if you wanted. And you’d have your own room.”’
“Where would you stay?”
“In the house.”
He rolled his eyes and then looked at me square in the face. “Mom, if you want to have a conversation, let’s have an adult conversation. Ask me what I think about you getting married.”
The heat that had built in my body drained away, replaced with ice. “I’m not getting married,” I stammered and he silenced me with a wave of his hand.
“Ask me,” he challenged, downing the last of his drink.
“Grady, what do you think about me getting married?” I said in a light singsong tone, pretending the question, and his answer, was meaningless, and knowing that it was not. I steadied my aching, hungover head for his answer, his rejection, and an invisible heartbreak. I sipped from my Diet Coke and looked at him, an innocent man awaiting a jury’s verdict and bracing himself to hear the worst.
“I think that’s okay as long as he’s not an asshole to you. Wait. That’s not right. Not being an asshole isn’t good enough, Mom. He’s got to be a good guy. Is he a good guy?”
I nodded my head, weak with relief. With happiness about something that until a few hours ago, I hadn’t dared to wish for. “Yes. He is a ver
y good guy.”
“Then you have your answer.”
Grady drove us home from the airport. Our flight had been delayed by two hours and I felt rougher now than I had when I’d woken up, which was saying something. “Wow,” I said, my eyes taking in the new garden in the front porch lights as we pulled into the driveway.
“Wow what?”
“The flowers.”
“What flowers?” Now there was no doubt in my mind. My son was a man.
“The front garden has been redone.”
“What’s the big deal? Isn’t that what you pay them for?” he said, shutting of the engine.
“Grady,” I said, stepping out of the car and walking to the front of the house. “This isn’t the yard service.”
A white piece of paper fluttered in the fall breeze. Pinned by the doormat, I freed the dirt smudged paper and deciphered the unfamiliar scrawl.
Welcome home. Dinner tonight?
I felt the smile creep up from inside me. “What’s that?” Grady asked.
“A note from Thomas, asking if I want to have dinner with him. He did the flowers.”
“Cool. I’m staying at Peter’s tonight. The other guys are already there.” He brushed past me and into the house, disappearing up the stairs. I didn’t get the angry teenage vibe. It was more like a concession. That he was going to give me some space with Thomas after I’d spent the last three days with him visiting Duke.
Before I could unpack my carry-on, Grady stuck his head in my bedroom. “I’ll call Dad if I need anything,” he said, turning away before he called over his shoulder. “Won’t be home before noon.”
I supposed that was a pretty grown up way to handle it.
I texted Thomas to let him know I was back, thanked him profusely for the amazing flowers, but since it was nearing ten o’clock and, with my persistent hangover banging away at the edges of my brain, I just wanted my bed and that maybe we could have breakfast tomorrow. At my house. Where I’d properly thank him.
Pajamas on. Teeth brushed. Two ibuprofens and absolutely no booze. I was crawling into bed for a few pages of Regency sexy times on my phone, if I could keep my eyes open, when I got another text from Thomas.
Turn up the volume on your phone and click this link.
That woke me up. I followed his instructions and Peter Gabriel’s “In Your Eyes” from Say Anything began playing. I’d told him it was the single best sexy times song from a movie. He’d disagreed and named “Unchained Melody” from Ghost. I didn’t even pick a fight with him about that one. I was right. And I couldn’t believe he remembered.
I didn’t want to wake the neighbors, popped up another message.
And I don’t have a boombox anymore.
I’m standing in your driveway.
My jaw fell open. No. Come on. The fucking ultimate grand gesture of my generation. I clasped my hands over my mouth and squealed. Is this what it feels like? My heart ached and galloped and my eyes filled with tears. Happy and bittersweet. This is what it feels like and I’d never had it before. Soul-consuming and utterly transcendent.
I ran downstairs and flung my front door open. And there he was. His silver hair catching the street light. A plaid flannel shirt with rolled up sleeves and worn jeans. I paused at the threshold, snapping a picture of this moment with my brain, wanting to remember it forever. To pin a picture of it on my soul along with the other memories that made up my life.
Thomas lifted his phone above his head. “I should have worn my trench coat.”
My bare feet slapped at the cool stones of my walkway, as I ran to him. His arms folded around me and his phone clattered to the concrete. Kisses and kisses in the front yard. For all the world to see. And I wanted them to see my happiness with this man. He pulled back from me a few inches, tucked a few loose curls behind my ear and whispered. “I missed you.”
Halloween was my holiday. Some people love Christmas trees and holly and mulled wine. Others love Easter with its pastel flowers and colored eggs and bunnies. But I liked Halloween. It wasn’t heavy with emotion like other holidays. It wasn’t a time to remember or mourn or hope or make amends. It was a time to be silly. And I liked silly.
And I also liked to throw open my house to friends and neighbors on Halloween. Crockpots of chili, “The Monster Mash” and Michael Jackson’s “Thriller” playing on a loop, giant fake spider webs stretched around my front door, pumpkins and hay bales and decorative corn, and more candy than anyone in the dental care industry should ever offer to children. Dentists were supposed to hand out toothbrushes to children. To insert some moral fiber into the fun. I was so glad I was an orthodontist.
I’d strong armed Bert and Grady into coordinating costumes for years. Grady rebelled by age seven, but Bert hung in there for a few more years. Fred and Wilma Flintstone was the last straw on the couple’s costume, but the skimpy cave-people outfits had definitely inspired a very memorable night of fun after Grady had gone to sleep.
The weekend before the big day, I asked Thomas if he’d decided on his costume yet. I’d told him they were required several times before when I’d mentioned the party. When I started hanging up decorations around the house the minute the calendar turned over to October, I thought he’d understood I was serious about Halloween. From his incredulous face that popped around the shower curtain, I could tell he thought I’d been pulling his leg the entire month of October. “I don’t joke about Halloween,” I cautioned him, swiping on some mascara before we hit up the Blue Plate Café for Saturday breakfast. I dotted on a little lip gloss and hopped up to sit on the counter while he finished his shower. “Did you not install the motion sensor spider that drops down out of the tree by the mailbox for me? I’d think that would have been your first clue.”
“Looking back,” he called above the noise of the shower spray, “I suppose my first clue should have been when you told me that you are famous for your Halloween party and threatened me that I’d better be back from Philly in time.”
“What’s the meeting? Some sort of continuing education?”
“No, it’s like a thing,” he said. “Anyway, I’ll be back in time.”
“So, costume?” I prodded him. “And it can’t be lame. You can’t just wear a nametag and claim to be someone else. That’s not going to cut it. And before you ask, wearing a sports jersey is the same thing. I mean, Grady gets away with it because he’s a teenaged boy, but you, Mr. Popov, need greatness.”
“That’s a lot of pressure, considering I’m going to be out of town from tomorrow mid-morning until mid-afternoon before your party.”
“I have faith in you,” I called, twisting around to wipe the fogged mirror clean and enjoy looking at our little vignette—steam billowing from above the shower curtain, me perched on the counter. My cheeks were flushed and I looked happy. I looked like I was in love. Because I was.
34
Thomas
As I sat through a one-on-one welcome dinner with Penn Med’s CEO Chester, my mind was in Memphis. And on a thirty-nine-year-old orthodontist.
“If this moves forward, who am I really going to have to convince to relocate to Philly?” he asked drolly over his glass of Burgundy.
“My kids are out of the house, and as long as deposits keep showing up in their bank accounts, I don’t think they care,” I answered, not wanting to think about Amy and how the idea of moving away from her made my throat constrict with displeasure.
Chester’s head tilted back in a laugh. “I hear you. Finally got my son off my payroll last year. He was twenty-five and in film school.”
“I see your film school, and raise you a med school.”
“That’s a pretty penny.”
“And hopefully worth every one,” I mused. I heard myself carry the conversation, jovial when appropriate, serious when I needed to be, but I wasn’t fully there. Nick served up this dream of an opportunity for me and I wasn’t jumping at it. I was dreading it. Dreading saying goodbye to Amy and the little life we’d built tog
ether.
Back in my hotel room, I scrolled through the agenda of meetings I had tomorrow and the next day. Some were meet and greets. A friendly chat and a firm handshake would cover those. Others would be intense, talking through the hospital system’s funding challenges and strategic alliances. Game time, I told myself and I dialed Nick for a pep talk.
“Coach,” I said, when he answered the phone. “I’m in Philly.” He gave me what I needed. A shot of confidence that I was qualified, and another invitation to move to Houston and work for him, which I again declined. While I would have jumped at the idea of working with Nick when I met him, with Laurie’s death, our friendship became personal. And I didn’t want to see him with his knowledge of my heartbreak every day at the office.
“You’re set for tomorrow. You’re going to knock their socks off.”
“I hope so,” I said, reminding myself that this position was what I wanted and it was mine for the taking.
“Anything fun on the agenda or strictly the interviews?”
“Going to swing by the college’s boathouse for old time’s sake, if I can squeeze it in.”
“Not going to stay a bit longer and relive your glory days? Big things going on at Methodist?”
“No. I mean, the hospital is fine. The re-accreditation process is wrapping, and I’m looking forward to having that behind me. But,” I said, confessing in a whoosh of breath, “I’m seeing a woman and she’s having a party on Tuesday night, so I have to get back.”
“I see.”
“Don’t tell Emily,” I pleaded. “I don’t want her thinking anything.”
“Do your kids know?”
“Yeah, they do.”
“And they’re okay with you seeing this woman?”