ONCE UPON ANOTHER TIME

by McQuestion, Rosary

  “I know. I could just hate them if I didn’t love them so much. I haven’t called Katelyn yet, but I spoke to Laura. She said she won’t be able to make it to my luncheon because David’s taking her on a romantic getaway to Cape Cod.”

  “I know. She’s pretty excited about it. They’re going to stay at the Chatham Bars Inn right on the ocean,” I said wistfully.

  “Beautiful and very romantic,” Cacey said. “Phil and I stayed there a couple of years ago. Between the spa treatments and midnight walks along the ocean, Phil was so relaxed he turned into a regular love machine running on all eight cylinders--ah sorry. Anyway, for the second thing I called about. I know it’s been a long time since you last dated, but by any chance do you have a new boyfriend? Someone tall and very handsome with blue eyes that could melt hearts at fifty yards?”

  I had told Laura not to say anything to anyone about Gavin. Darn her!

  “I don’t know what Laura told you, but he’s really not my boyfriend. We’ve only had one date.”

  “Oh, Laura didn’t say anything to me.”

  “Hmm, you spoke to my mother?”

  “Nope.”

  “Ashley said something to you?”

  “Negative.”

  “You know this because you have a crystal ball?”

  “Kind of.”

  “Cacey, what are you talking about?”

  Suddenly a child’s wailing cries echoed in the background over the phone.

  “Oh gosh, I don’t know what happened, but I have to go, Emily’s crying. I’ll see you in a couple of weeks. Oh, come early so we can talk about your new guy before everyone gets here. Ta! Ta!”

  “No Cacey, don’t hang up! Cacey?”

  As the dial tone hummed in my ear, I quickly figured she must have talked to my father. She was always at the gift shop buying something. She craved shopping for home furnishings and accessories like I craved Krispy Kremes. I came to that realization the day I gasped, while she gave no reaction at seeing a couple having sex in a parked car downtown in broad daylight. However, when her eyes shot up to the “Coming Soon…Pottery Barn” billboard, she nearly fainted.

  A knock on my office door pulled me from my thoughts. Mr. Davis walked into my office like a man who’d just gotten back from a long journey. His scalp glistened through his thinning coarse black hair. “Mind if I pick up the trash a little early?”

  “No, of course not, but are you feeling all right?”

  “I’m fine. Just a little tired is all,” he said in his warm New Orleans accent, while he shook open a large plastic trash bag.

  “Headed home?”

  “Yes,” I said while stuffing a couple file folders into my ever-burgeoning briefcase. “Nicholas and I are going to make pies tonight to help out Mother and her friends. They’re having a bake sale to raise funds for The Nature Conservancy’s ‘Rescue the Reef’ program.”

  “That’s right. Saw the poster in the gift shop window. Told your father I’d stop by and get me one of them homemade pies tomorrow. Ya know,” he said, as he moseyed over to the trashcan, “it’s nice to see you been going home at a decent hour. I have to admit though I miss our little evening chats.”

  “I’ve been thinking that same thing. What do you say we get together for a mid morning coffee klatch? It’d be a nice break from work to spend a little time chatting over coffee.”

  Mr. Davis’ caramel eyes twinkled. “That’s a mighty fine idea, by golly. It’s been a while since we spoke. Last time was when you thanked me for sending some business your way. From that nice fella, Mr. Donnelly.”

  “Hmm, it’s been that long?”

  “Sure has. By the way,” Mr. Davis said, keeping an eye on me as he bent over to pick up the wastepaper basket. “How’s it going with Mr. Donnelly, if you don’t mind me asking?” he said in a voice as sweet as the pralines sold on St. Charles Avenue in the French Quarter.

  “Actually, I’m just starting to work on his father’s case.”

  “Well, that’s not exactly what I was referring to.” He gave me a sheepish look. “I’m asking how it’s going with you and Mr. Donnelly--ya know, seeing each other.”

  What was it about people knowing I had a date with Gavin?

  “Caught you a little off guard with that one didn’t I?”

  “Yes, you did,” I said, feeling a bit like my life was in the spotlight. “How did you know we had a date?”

  “Cause Mr. Burns told me. Then the next thing I knew the poor young fella, Mr. Donnelly, was hounding me wanting to know if I’d seen you around lately. He’d been carrying on like that for the past couple days. Got the impression he thinks you up and left without so much as a goodbye.”

  I was impressed that Gavin had been pining for me after only one date. “Well, I guess I’ve just been a little busy,” I replied, with a bounce in my voice, my ego stroked. “Maybe I’ll call him tomorrow.”

  “Hmm, seems to me a fine young man like that doesn’t come a dime a dozen nowadays,” Mr. Davis declared, as he looked me straight in the eye. “All I gotta say is that I know you put lots of time into your career, while doing a fine job raising your son, but don’t do a whole lot of dating.” He paused and quickly added, “Um, I meant being you’re so dedicated and all.” His eyebrows rose, while he nonchalantly dumped my trash into his big plastic bag.

  I eyed Mr. Davis suspiciously, wondering how he knew I hadn’t dated much. That brought to mind a movie I saw about a super in an apartment building who could hear all the tenants’ voices through an airshaft in the maintenance room.

  “I guess it’s just my opinion, Ms. Aubrey, but when I look into that young man’s eyes when he speaks your name, something--and I don’t know what it is--but something just grabs hold of my heart. He talked to me bout’ you for near an hour. Couldn’t even get on with my work.”

  “Really. Did he happen to go into specifics, you know like what he thought of me--our date?” I suddenly had that giddy I-wonder-if-he’s-going-to-ask-me-to-go-steady feeling like I used to get in high school.

  “Well, he said you were special and that he couldn’t remember when he last had such a great time on a date. Said he couldn’t wait to see you again and thinks you’re mighty pretty, too.” Mr. Davis lowered his eyes; his dark complexion showed a hint of russet red.

  “Oh, and one other thing,” he said looking me in the eye, his brow furrowed. “He told me he’d been looking for you for a very long time. Funny he didn’t say looking for someone like you. Just that he’d been looking for you specifically.”

  Suddenly a spooky euphoric kind of emotional mix washed over me. It was the same feeling I had gotten while watching Bram Stoker’s Dracula. So deeply in love, he put in four centuries of searching until finally he reunited with his soul mate.

  I might have thought it before, but that evening I’d finally believed that Gavin coming into my life was no accident. I just didn’t know which played the bigger role--destiny or Matt.

  * * * *

  A heavy dusting of flour showed across the chestnut hardwood flooring next to the kitchen island. Nicholas straddled the seat of the high-top chair, his gangly legs a Casper white from an overspill of flour. As he finished rolling the pie dough into a ball, he swiped the palm of his a hands across his blue ‘Peace, Love, Save the Whales’ t-shirt, and picked up the photo-filled color brochure for Camp Big Foot.

  “Look Mom,” he said as he opened the brochure that unfolded like an accordion. “They have horseback riding, and they’re going to teach us how to catch butterflies with a net. Oh, look, this is really cool!” he said, pointing to a photo. “We get to sleep in teepees!”

  “Wow, that is cool,” I said, while I rolled out the pie dough. Nicholas was so excited it was hard to keep him from bouncing off the ceiling. Some people would have thought, a full week of overnight camp for a six year old? What kind of heartless, ruthless mother would do that? However, it was his idea. Katelyn was letting Jimmy go and that was all the validation Nicholas needed.
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br />   “Mom, thanks for getting me new swimming trunks, and Harry Potter pajamas, and my cool hiking boots.”

  “You’re welcome,” I said, looking at him pensively. He wasn’t even gone and I’d already missed him. I realized I also missed Gavin. I was stupid for not returning his calls. After Mr. Davis’ talk, I gave Gavin a call on my ride home and left a voicemail apologizing for not getting back with him sooner. I spent the rest of my drive contemplating whether I was subconsciously trying to sabotage my relationship with him because of insecurity issues.

  “Mom, the dough looks pretty thin.”

  “What?” The large disk of dough I had rolled looked as if it was melding into the granite. I floured my hands and dusted them off. Trying to unglue the paper-thin dough, I peeled it up by strips and pieces. Globs of sticky dough stuck to my fingers and worked its way under my nails. Just then, the phone rang.

  “Nicholas, please get the phone. It’s probably Grandma wanting to know how her pies are coming.”

  Nicholas slid down off the chair, brochure still in hand. He leaned over the kitchen desk and picked up the phone. “Hello,” he said while he ogled the brochure. “Oh, hi. Un-huh. She’s making pies. Un-huh. Yep. Oh, I’m just looking at a brochure for Camp Big Foot.”

  Packing the strips and pieces of sticky dough together into a round mass, was like packing a snowball. I dug into the sack of flour and threw a fine dusting across the countertop.

  “You went to a boy’s summer camp, too? Cool! You did what?” Nicholas asked excitedly.

  Mother wouldn’t have qualified for a boy’s summer camp, and I knew for sure the only camp my father ever went to was Woodstock. I waved a flower-covered hand at Nicholas to get his attention and mouthed the words, “Who’s on the phone?” However, he was too engrossed in conversation to pay attention when suddenly I heard, “Okay Gavin, I’ll tell her.”

  I dropped the ball of dough on the counter, dove for the phone like a shortstop running to second base, and pulled it from Nicholas’s hand. “Gavin?” I asked, trying not to sound anxious. As Nicholas rubbed his ear, I mouthed, “I’m sorry honey,” and then heard Gavin say my name.

  “So, what have you been up to?” he asked coolly.

  The timer went off for the two cherry pies baking in the oven. “Just making pies and working, oh, and shopping with Nicholas, he’s excited about camp. How about you?”

  “Nothing much just working. Hey, I’m glad you called this evening and left a message. I was beginning to think you were avoiding me.”

  “Oh, gosh no,” I said, knowing only mortal sins would qualify me for hell not little white lies. I opened the oven door to see the ruby cherry pie filling bubbling up through the slits in the flaky golden crust. Before I knew it, Gavin and I were forty minutes into our conversation, and I was agreeing to have dinner at his house on Friday evening.

  Eighteen

  Built in the late 1800’s like many houses in the Federal Hill area, the windows on the front of Gavin’s Colonial Revival had white accents and a decorative white pediment above the hunter green painted door. As I stood on the porch between white pilasters framing either side of the entrance, my lungs felt tighter than a Victorian corset clamped down on an anorexic.

  I tapped the antique looking brass lion knocker three times, as I glanced down at my kitten-heel sandals, black Capri’s and white halter top that showed off a narrow strip of bare midriff. I was going for a sophisticated Audrey Hepburn sexy look and hoped it didn’t come off looking like “Jersey Shore.”

  The door flung open, taking me by surprise. I looked up to see Gavin, and felt my world tilt. Looks, easy charm, flashing eyes, and then came that smile.

  “Come on in,” he said as he welcomed me into the foyer. From his warning to me that he was renovating the house, I half expected to get a hardhat with dinner. However, it looked more like the house was inhabited by an angry poltergeist. Some of the walls had large holes with wires sticking out, balustrades were missing on the stairway leading to the second floor, large chunks of the ceiling plaster in the foyer was ripped down and a light bulb dangled from open wires overhead.

  “I assume that used to be a light fixture,” I said pointing upward.

  “Don’t worry,” he said, as he closed the door behind me. “I know it looks like a disaster in here, but the kitchen and great room are completely remodeled and the plumbing works.”

  “Oh good,” I said as I looked at the small parlor to the right and dining room on the left, the furniture covered with yards of paint-splattered drop cloths. “So, how long did you say you’ve been renovating?”

  “Oh, I’ve been chipping away at it for the past year and a half. Did the kitchen first.”

  I noticed baseboards missing as we walked down a short hallway. However, straight ahead I caught a glimpse of a beautiful room.

  “This way,” said Gavin, as he guided me to a small arched walkway to the left that opened up to a large kitchen with hardwood floors, sleek stainless steel appliances, and black granite countertops.

  Displayed above traditional cherry wood cabinets was an antique milk bottle, butter churn and other items. The garden window above the sink showed off a collection of brightly colored miniature birdhouses. Everywhere I looked, I saw character and beauty.

  “Did you pick out all the finishes and appliances yourself?”

  “I did. What do you think?” he asked, as he placed his hands on his hips.

  “I’m impressed. It’s beautiful.”

  I wished I could have said the same for the ratty looking dishtowels. Plus the apron he wore with the words “Barbecue King” written across his chest, pictured a male hotdog and female hamburger doing a two-step with twirling spatulas. It was obvious that Gavin had failed to get on the Crate & Barrel mailing list. I made a mental note to sign him up.

  A slight haze hung in the kitchen and something that looked like burned tomato sauce was stuck to the bottom of a pan sitting on top of the stove.

  “Please excuse the mess. I’m not a very neat cook.”

  I smiled and wondered if there was a Chinese take-out close by.

  “Don’t worry about it,” I said, as my eye twitched at the sight of the leaning tower of Pisa-like pots and pans in the sink.

  “Come on, I’ll show you into the great room.” As I followed behind Gavin, I studied his broad shoulders and narrow waist. The short sleeves on his tasteful Hawaiian themed shirt showed off his muscular arms and his blue jeans hugged his body in all the right places.

  “Make yourself at home, while I check on dinner.”

  Like the kitchen, the great room was not typical of most bachelors. It didn’t have the “man cave” look. No oversized black leather sectional sofa, sports memorabilia, or bobble heads on the bookshelves.

  The narrow planked hardwood floors looked original and newly sanded and stained. Seurat and Cézanne hung on moss colored walls as well as a Redon over the mantel above the fieldstone fireplace, straight ahead. I closely examined the beautiful replica paintings, as if they were originals hanging in the Louvre. Grouped perfectly in the middle of the room in front of the fireplace was a camelback damask sofa opposite two leather wingback chairs that sat on a large Persian area rug. I imagined a crackling fire and Gavin wearing a Hugh Heffner smoking jacket with a pipe in his mouth.

  The coffee table in front of the sofa was set with two blue tapered candles placed in silver holders, two place settings of blue toile china, fancy silverware, and blue linen napkins.

  Where on earth did this man come from?

  To my right, an antique Chateau De Ville hutch with charming old world detail of decorative carved accents and glass doors, displayed porcelain pottery, small bronze figurines, and other items. The great room connected to the short hallway leading to the foyer.

  “I hope you like lasagna,” Gavin called from the kitchen.

  Although I was wary of his cooking, the mingling of basil and garlic spices had my senses tingling to create a glorious surge of ap
petite.

  “I love lasagna,” I called back as I strolled toward the hutch, “especially when it’s made with lots of sauce and gooey cheese.”

  The base of the hutch had glass doors as well, filled with books, none looking like antiques. I squatted down to read the titles. “The Reincarnation of Edgar Cayce,” “How to Uncover Your Past Lives,” and “Old Souls: The Scientific Evidence for Past Lives.”

  I stood upright and stared down at the books. What are the chances I’d find two men fascinated with reincarnation?

  “Here you go chaton.”

  It was as if I felt a sudden shift in time. I turned so quickly I practically stumbled while coming face to face with Gavin. “Chaton?” I felt a bit dazed.

  “Yeah, it’s French for ‘kitten,” Gavin said looking proud of himself, as he handed me a long-stemmed glass of merlot.

  I looked at him curiously. “Yes, I know,” I said and looked down into my glass of wine. Matt was fluent in French and chaton was the pet name he’d call me. I looked back up at Gavin. “By any chance do you speak French?”

  “Not at all,” he said shaking his head. “Odd, but I don’t even know where I picked that up from. I hope you don’t mind. By the way, your hair looks great like that, swept up into a ponytail.”

  “Thank you,” I said, while still feeling as if someone had just walked over my grave.

  “Sorry about the coffee table being a substitute dining table. But as you can see,” he said, while glancing toward the empty breakfast nook with its large bay window, “I haven’t found a kitchen table that suits my taste.”

  My heart pounded as I stared into Gavin’s eyes. “The eyes are truly the windows to the soul,” Matt said to me one day. “If I die first, promise you’ll look for me.”

  “No, please don’t apologize. The coffee table is perfect.”

  “I’m glad you’re so accommodating. Would you mind helping me bring in a few things from the kitchen?”

  Stop reading something into nothing.