“You’re sidetracking me,” Parker said. “Why?”
Amy took a careful sip before answering. “Because I’m scared. If you tell me then I’ll have to tell you. I don’t want you to think less of me because I’m not capable of sustaining a relationship.” She stared out at the dark lake. She listened to the water lap against the dock in even strokes.
“I’m not going to think less of you.”
“Why not?”
“Because if you weren’t single we wouldn’t be here,” Parker said. “How about I put the steaks on, grab us another beer, and we’ll tell the morbid tales of our lost loves?”
“Okay, I’ll gather my thoughts while I wait,” Amy said.
“Better think quick. I won’t be gone long.”
Parker walked away. Amy stared up at the stars. She could see the Milky Way. When was the last time she’d seen it? Camping with her father that weekend when her mother had gone to visit Jean when she was ill and failing. Amy had felt guilty because she was having such a good time while her Aunt Jean was so sick, the cancer ravaging her with each passing day. But the camping trip, the only one of her life, was amazing. They’d fished all day, cooked their catch over a campfire, and stared up at the Milky Way. That night her father taught her the major constellations. She’d forgotten them now, but those stars up there right now, made her father come back to her. She missed him so much. He’d have been a great help with her mother’s illness. He always knew what to do.
“Did you gather your thoughts?” Parker asked, carrying the steaks and beers on a tray.
“Uh, no. I was thinking about the last time I actually saw the Milky Way.”
“Been a while?” Parker slapped the steaks on the grill. She brought over fresh beers.
“Yes, since I was ten. I went camping with my dad—the one and only time. It was so much fun, but then I felt bad because we were having fun and my mom was visiting her sick sister.”
“You feel guilty a lot,” Parker said, sitting down. She seemed to check herself. “I meant no offence.”
“And you always worry about offending people,” Amy said.
“That’s because I offend people a lot. I don’t mean to. I just do.” Parker sipped her beer. “My girlfriends all seem to have a short shelf life. My looks attract women, but my personality turns them off after the initial sheen of infatuation and lust wears off.”
Amy knew Parker was telling the truth. She was hot. But there was a side of Parker that was also very sweet. She was hot and sweet. Amy smiled to herself. She made Parker sound like a rack of ribs at Rib Crib.
“What?” Parker said.
“I can’t tell you,” Amy said embarrassed.
“Come on. I’m about to tell you my deep dark secrets.”
Amy came clean almost without hesitation. Parker elicited a desire in her to tell her thoughts and secrets. “I was thinking about your good looks, like you said, it does make you a chick magnet.”
“Initially.”
“And then I thought that you were hot and sweet and that made me think of my favorite rib dinner at the Rib Crib.”
Parker laughed. “Ribs?”
“Yep. Ribs.”
“Well, now that you don’t think I’m egotistical, I can go on.”
“You’re the least egotistical person I’ve ever met. It’s like you’re totally devoid of the swagger that really good-looking people tend to have.”
“Thank you. But...”
“But what?”
“Come on, you’ve got to see the flaw.”
The timer on the steaks went off. Parker got up to flip them. The aroma made Amy’s tummy rumble.
“I don’t see a flaw,” Amy said.
Parker came back to the chaise lounge. “I have a mild case of Asperger’s. Just enough to make my life a little difficult. That’s why I can’t lie. My mind is very literal. If you ask me if your pants make your ass look too big, I might say yes. Turns out that women don’t like that answer. So then I learned to remain silent. But they don’t like silence either. I was silent when my ex-partners thought I should’ve been talking. So they got fed up because, and I quote, ‘I’m not in touch with my feelings’ and they left. I’ve learned through the years to not fully move in with them. I may stay at their house, but I don’t bring much stuff with me and I certainly don’t sell my house. That way when the time comes, I can exit quickly, and I have a house to go back to.”
Amy smiled and nodded. “I do the same thing. My last girlfriend called me a commit-a-phobe because I wouldn’t give up the lease on my apartment when I spent most of my time at her place. I didn’t see a problem with that.”
“But she did,” Parker said.
“Yes, she did,” Amy said. “It always made me wonder if I really did love them or if I were in love with the idea of being in love. I’m not even sure if I know what love is anymore.”
“All I want is… I want someone who gets me. Someone who doesn’t mind that my albums are in alphabetical order and that my clothes are arranged in my closet by season and subdivided by color. Those things give me structure.”
“Your friends understand you.”
Parker surprised her by asking, “Are you one of those friends?”
“I am.”
The timer for the steaks went off. “You can tell your tummy it’s time to put some food in it. You need to eat more. You’re too skinny.”
“There’s that bluntness you just warned me about,” Amy said, getting up off the chaise lounge. She grabbed their beer bottles.
“Sorry,” Parker said. “I didn’t mean you aren’t attractive. In fact, you’re the most attractive woman I think I’ve ever seen.”
Amy grinned. “I’ll make you a deal. If your bluntness ever hurts my feelings, I’ll tell you about it. Then you can apologize, tell me how attractive I am, and I’ll forgive you. Deal?”
“Deal,” Parker said.
They held out their beer bottles and clinked them together, sealing the pact.
***
Parker brought the steaks in and they sat down at the dining room table. The table was made of burnished wood. Amy ran her hand over its smooth top. “Is this made out of one tree?”
Setting down the salad bowl with tongs, Parker smiled. “Most people don’t notice that.”
Amy refrained from saying “I notice everything about you.” Instead, she said, “It’s so beautiful.”
“It’s actually two sections of a black walnut tree that I interlocked and squared off. Steph helped me cut the tree down. She was a gorgeous old tree, but her time had come. The dining room table is my tribute to her long life.”
“You’re a romantic at heart,” Amy said, as Parker lit two tapers and lowered the lights.
“I don’t know what makes you say that,” Parker replied. She smiled.
Amy was starving. She ate her entire porterhouse steak, two helpings of salad, three pieces of fresh Italian bread, and a glass of merlot. Parker beat her by one extra piece of bread.
Parker got up and began clearing away the dishes. Amy got up to help. “Oh, no you don’t,” Parker said. “You’re the guest. Your job is to pick out a record.”
“But…”
“Nope, no exceptions to the guest rule,” Parker said. She squinted her eyes and stared.
“Is that your stern look?”
“Yes, it is.”
“All right, then. It worked. I’ll pick out music as instructed.”
“Good,” Parker said. She returned to the dishes.
Amy sat, legs crossed, on the thick Persian rug, and thumbed through the albums. She gasped. “You have a Steely Dan.”
“Correction. I have all of Steely Dan,” Parker said, looking over at Amy. She had a dish cloth draped over her shoulder and her hands were sudsy.
This moment of domesticity struck Amy hard. Her heart seemed to swell. Could one fall in love just like that? She loved Parker. She knew it that moment. As much as she had scoffed over stories of people falling in
love too quickly, she knew it had just happened to her. In years to come, she’d look back at this and know that this was when it had happened—this was the exact moment she had fallen in love. Parker would laugh at her when she told her five years from now about the precise moment she knew Parker had captured her heart.
Now the only thing left to do was capture Parker’s heart.
***
It was nearing midnight as they sat in the Porsche in front of Millie’s house in silence. Parker broke it by saying, “I had a great time. You’re invited back.”
Amy laughed. “I had a really good time.”
“I’m glad.”
Staring into each other’s eyes, it seemed neither one of them knew what to do. It was supposed to be the kiss moment, but it didn’t look like that was going to happen. Then Parker surprised her. She reached over and touched Amy’s cheek lightly with her fingertips. “I know this is too soon, but I want you to know…” she got stuck.
“I know,” Amy breathed. She leaned over and kissed Parker on the cheek. “But it won’t always be too soon.”
She hopped out of the car and walked up the path to the front door. She turned around to wave. Parker sat waiting to see her a little longer. She smiled and waved back.
Amy had barely shut the front door when Millie switched on the hallway light. In her bathrobe and slippers, she looked like a little ninja interrogator. “Did you have sex?” Millie asked without preamble.
“Millie!”
“What? We’re all grownups here.” She smiled slyly. “I was yanking your chain. I know you didn’t. You and Parker are taking baby steps and that’s a good thing. I approve. Let’s have a cup of chamomile tea and a quick chat.”
Once in the kitchen, Millie started the kettle to boil. “Sit down and dish. Then I got something else I want to talk to you about.”
Amy’s chest tightened, her brain leapt through hoops of possible disasters. What bad thing had happened that Millie stayed up late to talk about? “Is it a good something or a bad something?”
“A good something. At least I hope it is,” Millie said, twisting her lip and looking pensive like it was the first time she’d considered repercussions.
The kettle’s whistle blew. Millie dunked three teabags into the Brown Betty English teapot and poured in the hot water. She set it and two porcelain teacups on the kitchen table.
Millie sat down. “Okay, the date first. Did you guys click?”
“Yes, we did.”
“Are you in love?”
“Yes, I am,” came out of her mouth without a hitch. Truth is a powerful thing, Amy thought.
“Figured as much. What’d you have for dinner?” Millie asked. She poured the tea, dumped a lot of honey into her cup, and took a sip. “Perfect.” She poured Amy’s cup and passed it to her.
It took Amy a minute to change gears. “We, um, had steak and salad and bread.”
“Was the apple pie good?”
“How’d you know we had apple pie?” Amy asked.
“Molly from the bakery called me. She told me Parker had bought an apple pie. She deduced that Parker was making dinner for someone special.”
“She could’ve been going to a potluck,” Amy argued.
“Then she’d have bought more than one pie,” Millie said.
“Certainly Parker has bought a pie before without having a dinner date.”
“Parker only buys pies for people she considers special,” Millie said.
“Are you telling me that a pie can generate that much speculation? Besides, how did she know it was me?”
“I told her to be on the lookout for Parker and the pie.”
“This is funny, but alarmingly weird at the same time,” Amy said.
“But now you know for certain that she loves you, too.”
“Millie, even a psychic pie can’t tell us that. I hope so, but…”
“But what?”
“What if I mess this up? What if I need more than Parker has to give? We hardly know each other.”
“Soul mates know each other immediately. You won’t mess it up,” Millie said.
“Well, I’ll be sure to consult the pie lady before I set a wedding date,” Amy said facetiously. “Okay, it’s my turn. What gives? What do you have to talk to me about?”
“I’ve got you a job,” Millie announced.
“What?”
“Jeb at the Fenton Sentinel needs a new human interest writer. And you’d be perfect.”
Amy thought that over for a second. “What happened to his last one?” Amy asked.
“She ran off with the paper boy.”
“For real?”
“No, she died. In her defense, she was ninety-four. Sharp as a tack right up to the end. Got to hand it to her, she was reading Trump: The Art of the Deal on her front porch. She just slumped over and was gone.”
“That book had the same effect on me,” Amy deadpanned.
Both women laughed. Then suddenly felt guilty for laughing at a subject so serious. Millie crossed herself before saying, “Back to your new job… Jeb is expecting you in the morning. You’ll like him. He’ll teach you a lot.”
“Teach me?” Amy asked.
“He’s like a walking Wikipedia. He was very excited to hire you.”
“He hasn’t even met me. How can he hire me?”
“I told him about you. He thinks you’ll be perfect for the job. He needs you to cover the Bingo-a-thon on Friday so he can use it in the Sunday edition.”
“But I don’t know anything about bingo,” Amy said. She felt like things were going too fast. Like she was on the teacup ride at Disneyland and everything was spinning around her.
“What’s to know? I’ll answer all your questions.”
“But…”
“There’s no ‘buts’ about it. The way I see it you just sent off those two magazine articles, right?”
“Yes,” Amy said. She sipped her tea, vying for time to see where this was going.
“Now, you’ll have to drum up some more writing gigs, right?”
“Yes. But they’re not called gigs. They’re jobs.”
“Working at the paper is a steady job. Your job will be to find human interest stories. How hard can that be? Humans are always interesting. Even the boring ones.”
Amy rubbed her forehead. She had a distinct feeling she had a new job whether she wanted one or not.
“Look Amy, you know that you’re not leaving anytime soon. Why not take the job and see how things play out?”
“All right, all right. I’ll go see this Jeb person.”
“Good. I told him you visit your mother every morning so he’s expecting you after lunch. It’s all settled.” Millie stood and put her cup in the sink. “Let’s hit the hay. Tomorrow’s a big day.”
It seems like every day is a big day, Amy thought as she shuffled off to bed.
Chapter Thirteen
Amy was signing the visitor sheet at Brookside when Mrs. Branson walked up to her. “Amy, I wonder if I might have a word with you.”
“Of course, what is it?”
“Your mother. She’s been crying all morning. She won’t tell us what’s wrong. It’s most likely a memory that makes her sad,” Mrs. Branson said.
“What can I do?” Amy asked, trying to tamp down the panic coming up her throat.
“I think right now she needs somebody she can trust.”
“Okay… but who will I be? Me?”
“You’ll be whoever she thinks you are. That’s how it goes here,” Mrs. Branson said. Her eyes were warm and sympathetic as if to say, “I know how hard this is and loving someone makes it even harder.”
“Okay,” Amy said.
“Dr. Everett will be by early today. If your mother needs a sedative to calm her, she’ll most likely give her one, but a good listener often does wonders for our patients.”
Amy thanked Mrs. Branson and made her way down the hall to her mother’s room. Halfway down the hallway, she heard her mother so
bs. When she entered the room, she found Jasmine, one of the aides, stroking her mother’s hand and cooing softly. It didn’t seem to help.
When her mother saw her, she immediately stopped crying. It was as abrupt as if somebody had turned off a faucet. “Jean, thank god, you’re here. I need to tell you something.”
Amy dutifully sat on the edge of her mother’s bed. If her mother wanted Jean, then Jean she would be. Amy pulled several tissues from the box on the nightstand and delicately wiped her mother’s face. Jasmine quietly backed away, giving them space.
Mary continued to speak, “I know I should’ve told you a long time ago, Jeannie, but I was a coward. I was too afraid.”
“It’s okay,” Amy soothed. “Here, blow your nose.”
Mary obeyed. Then she balled up the tissue in her shaking hand and said, “It’s poisoning me.”
“You think your food is poisoned?” Amy asked.
“No. Holding it in is poisoning me. I have to tell you why I left.”
Jasmine said quietly, “I’ll leave you two alone so you can talk.”
“Thank you, dear. We can set and curl my hair later.”
“Of course, Mrs. Warner,” Jasmine said. She exited the room.
Amy was amazed at how wonderful the staff was at Brookside. They didn’t correct the patients which Amy thought would have been an exercise in futility anyway. They let them have their realities. It was an act of kindness to let them be.
“I didn’t mean for it to happen, Jeannie,” Mary said to Amy. “I wasn’t paying attention when I put that wonderful quilt you made him in his crib. He got tangled up in it, but it wasn’t your fault. I didn’t blame you. I took the quilt out before the police came but you remember how you hand-tied the quilt?”
Amy nodded.
Mary began crying again. Amy patted her hand. “It’s okay. It’s all okay. No one blames you for what happened,” Amy said.
Her mother’s face went wild. She clawed at her blanket, balling it up in her knobby fists. “But it did. They cut my baby, my sweet, little, baby. They cut him open.”
Mary’s voice became louder, “They shouldn’t have done that. My perfect baby boy all hacked up like that. They found the yarn you used to tie the quilt in his tiny lungs. They thought I suffocated him. I didn’t. I didn’t do it. The police thought I was lying. They said I killed my own baby. They found your quilt with the missing ties when they searched the room. I’d put it away in his dresser. I tried to explain, but they wouldn’t listen. They wouldn’t listen. They wouldn’t listen!” Mary thrashed around in her bed, her feeble legs kicking, like it was she who was suffocating. Her screams became hysterical sobs.
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