Definitely, Maybe in Love

by Ophelia London

  “For a date with me.”

  He ran his fist over his smiling mouth. “That’s not exactly what I was thinking,” he said. “But it is nice to see you.”

  Nice to see me. Was it nice to see him? Was nice causing my mouth to go dry and making me wonder what might have happened back in my bedroom the night before vacation if Alex hadn’t shown up?

  Henry stood and strolled to the bay window, staring out the hill covered with pines. “So, how are we going to handle this?”

  “Handle what?”

  “Tonight. It’s our first date.” He turned to me, making my pulse skip.

  “It’s a basketball game, Knightly,” I said after a swallow. “That’s all.”

  Henry blinked at me and slid his hands in his pockets. “Right, Honeycutt.” He nodded, curtly. “That’s all this is.”

  Neither of us spoke for a few minutes until, thankfully, Mel and Tyler came downstairs. Mel stared at Henry like she was seeing a mirage. “Ty just said it was you, but I…”

  “Hey,” Henry said to her. “Good to see you again.”

  She blinked. “Yeah.” She blinked once more then glanced at me. “Weird, huh?”

  Again, Mel and her classic lacking of tact.

  “Why don’t you two drive together?” Tyler suggested, his arm around Mel. “We have a lot more catching up to do.”

  Mel shot me a questioning look as we grabbed our purses from the banister while Henry acquiesced to the proposed travel arrangements. Our foursome headed out the front door.

  “Didn’t you come on a motorcycle?” I asked.

  A little notch sliced into the skin between Henry’s eyebrows and he pointed to a black, ragtop Jeep parked at the far end of the driveway.

  “Yours?” Though I didn’t really have to ask; it was parked crooked.

  He nodded, spinning a silver ring of keys around his index finger, catching them in his hand.

  “Was the Lamborghini store closed?” I teased. “Poor you.”

  “Have you missed making fun of me?”

  “You’re just hard to recognize without a Viper wrapped around you.”

  He lifted a distant smile. “Yeah, I really miss that car.”

  “Where is it?” I asked, climbing in the passenger side. Henry was right behind me, closing my door once I was in. “Aren’t you two connected like twins?”

  He slid in the driver’s seat, twisted the key in the ignition and revved the engine. “The Viper was a loaner,” he said, adjusting the mirror. “You didn’t know that?”

  “No,” I replied, surprised. “I assumed it was yours.”

  “Only for six months.” He shifted into reverse and backed out of the driveway. “One of my father’s companies has a vested interest in sponsoring a racer.” We were tailing Mel’s Jetta out of the subdivision. “The Viper was a sort of lend/trade-out constituent as part of the negotiations, but only for the first two quarters of their fiscal year.”

  “I hope what you just said made sense to you.”

  He chuckled. “The forecast shows no rain tonight, but would you like the top up?” I shook my head, wrangling with my braids as they danced around my face. Henry reached into the backseat and grabbed a blue baseball cap with three gold letters scripted across the front. He handed it to me.

  “Cal?” I screeched, making the word sound like swearing. “Stanford’s sworn enemy? I’m not wearing that.” I tossed the hat at his chest like it was a live grenade. “Do you want us to get struck by lightning?”

  “There’s another back there. The Giants. Very benign.”

  “My hair is fine, Knightly.”

  He flipped up the visor and slid that offensive blue cap on his head, turning to me with a grin. I rolled my eyes, trying not to laugh at his childlike expression. Pushing my buttons…

  “Cardinals killed the Bears last fall,” I said, flicking the bill over his eyes.

  “I know, I was at the game. And, yes, Spring, I was sitting on the Stanford side.”

  “Then why do you have a Berkeley hat?

  “My sister is looking at it as a possibility for next year. She’s much more open-minded than I am.”

  Henry’s sister. I remembered hearing about her from Alex. “Is she here too, on vacation?”

  He turned on the blinker as we idled at a red light. “No, it’s just me. We’ve got family in Scappoose, about thirty miles away. I spend vacations with them when I can.”

  The inside of Henry’s Jeep was a little untidier than I would’ve expected, especially after sharing a bathroom with him for a week back in November. As he drove us at a very conservative sixty-five miles per hour south to Portland, I took the liberty of rummaging around. Assorted road maps, empty water bottles, that Giants cap, two Duke sweatshirts, a polo mallet (I think), and wedged in the small door pocket on the passenger’s side was a paperback.

  “What are you doing with this?” I fanned the pages of the worn book under his nose.

  He glanced at me but said nothing.

  “I thought you only read odes to the sixth amendment, or the memoirs of Lee Iacocca and Rush Limbaugh.”

  “I like stories,” he said. “That particular book is for emergencies only, in case I break down on the freeway and have nothing to do till Triple A comes. But, tell me.” His face warped serious. “What is a pimpernel, exactly?”

  I stared down at the book on my lap. My favorite book in the world. “It’s a flower,” I explained, running my fingers over the cover, “and a metaphor.”

  “After the way you talked about it that night, I wondered what I would think. If I would see what you see.” He cut me a glance. “French bourgeois and all.”

  I flipped to my favorite chapter—Richmond—remembering the first time I’d read it, smiling a little dreamily. “What do you think so far?”

  “Interesting,” he offered, then concentrated on the road.

  “That’s it?” I said over the noise of traffic.

  He lowerd his visor and squinted at me, puzzled.

  “You can’t possibly create a respectable judgment about a story until you’ve finished.” I sandwiched the book between my hands protectively. “When did you start reading it?”

  “January.”

  “You’ve been reading it for three months?” I accused, flabbergasted. “How far have you gotten?”

  Henry tapped his chin. “Let’s see, I just finished Richmond, so I am approximately two-thirds of the way.” He glanced to me. “My third time through.”

  Chapter 21

  Mel’s arm was linked through mine as our foursome, now temporarily divided, strolled toward Platinum Level parking. The overall mood was somber leaving the Rose Quarter, interrupted by thwarted Trail Blazers fans yelling obscene commentary about specific Lakers players.

  “Why does he have to be such a sore winner?” I said, hoping Knightly heard me, even though he and Tyler were still a ways behind us.

  “I thought it was kind of cute the way that one player gave him a high five at the end of the game.”

  “That was Kobe Bryant, Mel.”

  “How does Henry know him?”

  I shook my head. “I have no idea.”

  “So, I was thinking,” Mel said, “do you want to go up to Beacon Rock tomorrow?” We turned down a row. I could see Henry’s Jeep parked next to Mel’s car under the yellow florescent lights. “A little impromptu overnight campout?”

  “I’m seriously so behind in my classes. I’ve got about five hundred pages to read.”

  “You can bring your books,” she said, quick to anticipate my excuse. “Just imagine reading Walden with the leafy forest as your backdrop and the murmuring river your soundtrack.”

  She knew I was a sucker for ambiance. “Sounds heavenly,” I admitted. “I haven’t been up there since we were kids.” I smiled, further imagining the peace and quiet I’d been in search of. The perfect place to chill and reboot. “Okay,” I said. “I’m in, although I doubt your Jetta will make it without four-wheel drive. Does
your grandpa—”

  “Ty!” Mel tipped her chin up. “We’re taking your Durango tomorrow, right?”

  “Hell, yeah,” Tyler called in reply from behind us.

  “Umm, what?”

  “We’re all going,” she said, patting my arm. “Did I forget to mention that?”

  “Melanie.” I lowered my voice. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you knew Henry was going to be here all along.”

  “I didn’t, I swear,” Mel defended. “But man, I so wish I could’ve seen your face when he showed up. Beyond epic.”

  “Yeah, it was a real scream.”

  “I’m surprised at the sarcasm,” she said as we passed by a group of guys watching replays of the game on an iPad. “I thought you’d be happy to see him.”

  Happy? Was I? “He pretty much disappeared on me in December,” I whispered, a little elbow of resentment poking my ribs.

  “But you weren’t dating or”—she cleared her throat dramatically—“anything. Right?”

  “No,” I admitted, though I felt another jab of resentment for some reason.

  “Okay, then, so, camping? It’ll be fun.”

  “It does sound fun,” I admitted. “But I don’t know. It might not be a good idea.”

  “It wasn’t my idea,” she said, casually jerking her head behind us.

  I glanced over my shoulder. The guys were a few yards back. Tyler had his hand on Henry’s shoulder, saying something I couldn’t hear. Henry looked a little stunned, and I wondered if those two were having the exact same conversation Mel and I were.

  …

  “How are your classes?”

  Small talk. Le sigh. The last thing I wanted to discuss with anyone was school.

  I tipped my chin toward Henry, two spaces over in the backseat of Tyler’s SUV. His left elbow was propped on the arm rest of his door. Before answering, I allowed myself a few seconds of thought, deciding how detailed I wanted to be with a guy who might not even care.

  “Fine,” I answered. Yes, limited details were best. My murky academic life at present was not my favorite subject, anyway. I stared out the window at the soft morning scenery flying by as Tyler drove us to the campground.

  “How’s our thesis?” Henry smiled, teasing me by using the pronoun “our.”

  But instead of being amused, more of that repressed bitterness that had resurfaced the night before flicked the back of my neck. How could Henry have just left me high and dry like that? For all he knew, my professor hated the whole thing and I was flunking out.

  “Fine,” I repeated.

  “What did Masen say about the new theory in part five?”

  I gazed out my window. “He hasn’t seen it yet.”

  “Why?”

  “I haven’t turned it in.”

  I heard him shift in his seat, rotating toward me. “Why not?”

  “Because I don’t think it’s ready. In fact, I might want to scrap it and start over.” This wasn’t at all true, but I felt like lashing out.

  “That’s irrational.” His expression was stern, and I could suddenly see the future Henry arguing a case in a courtroom, throwing out objection after objection. How annoying. Today he was dressed in dark jeans, a white crewneck T-shirt, and a dark gray wool sweater that both zipped and buttoned up the front. Kind of overkill.

  He leaned on the cooler separating us. “You do realize that’s going to put you a year behind? Don’t you think you should…”

  The act of folding my arms silenced him, my nonverbal communication screaming at him to butt out.

  “Sorry,” he said, raising one hand to shield his face. “I’ll spare you all unwarranted guidance.”

  “Thank you, Counselor for the Prosecution.”

  “I just don’t want you to waste your time,” he said, choosing not to let the subject drop.

  “Waste my time?” I echoed. “Is that what you think I’m doing?” I sat back, reeling in my frustration. It probably wasn’t fair to erupt like that. After all, he had no idea how badly I was stressing about school.

  “Sorry, that was rude,” I said and leaned my head against the seat. “I’m turning it in to Masen soon. Though it still needs a lot of work.” I exhaled a wistful sigh. “I wish I could take a semester off to get it done. That would be pretty amazing, actually.”

  Henry nodded and turned to the window. “Interesting.”

  “What about you?” I asked. “Are you going to clue me in about why you moved?”

  He seemed confused, as if my question caught him off guard. Did he think I hadn’t noticed that he was suddenly gone?

  “It was short notice,” he said while running a finger along the rubber at the base of the window. “The opportunity had always been there, but it didn’t present itself until the end of the year.”

  I was aware that he was speaking English words, but the cryptic-ness of their meaning was lost on me. “You never told me there was a possibility of you moving.”

  “No.” He dropped his hand and turned to me. “I didn’t.”

  I glanced at the front seat. Mel and Tyler were arguing over control of the stereo. “You took Dart, too,” I said, my voice dropping a notch. “And to Switzerland?” I could hear the accusatory tone in my voice.

  “I didn’t take him,” he argued. “An opportunity presented itself for him, as well.”

  I folded my arms. “That’s quite a coincidence.”

  “And not to Switzerland,” he muttered like it was the most ridiculous thing in the world.

  “Then why is that what Lilah’s telling everybody?”

  “I have no idea,” he said. “I haven’t spoken to her in months. I was there for a few days over the break, but—”

  “In Switzerland,” I confirmed, giving him flat eyes.

  He nodded but did not elaborate. “I’m living across the Bay now. Oakland.”

  “In a castle?” I asked, again with the flat eyes.

  “No, it’s a HUD apartment.” He adjusted his glasses. “Furthest thing from a castle.” Before I could ask what the devil he was doing living in the projects, he explained. “We bought a complex that was about to foreclose. Dart and me. Two hundred families would be displaced if we didn’t take care of some major renovation. It was easier just to move in for a while.”

  “You”—I couldn’t help saying, deadpan—“are living in public housing and doing construction.”

  “Well, Dart did most of it, since he has more time on his hands and needed a project.”

  My mind couldn’t frame the picture, so I rewound, snagging on something he’d said. “Dart’s been at school all this time, too?”

  “No,” Henry said, looking out the window. “He left California a few weeks ago.”

  “Why?”

  “Another project,” he said vaguely.

  “Where?”

  Henry flicked a piece of fuzz off his jeans, then his gaze rolled back out the window. “Uninteresting topic,” he said.

  I groaned loudly, wanting him to hear it. It felt like pre-Thanksgiving all over again. One step forward, two steps back. Still, I couldn’t keep my eyes from drifting over to his side of the car. His face was emotionless. Giving nothing away. Typical Knightly.

  “So,” he said a moment later, “are you seeing anyone?”

  “Ha!” My eyebrows were probably somewhere up in my hairline.

  “What?”

  “You can ask personal questions but I can’t?”

  He raised a tiny smile.

  “No,” I said. “Nothing new or exciting to report there. And yourself?”

  “Much too busy.”

  And that was that.

  Not even my loyalty to Julia or my own morbid curiosity could compel me to keep chipping away at the proverbial man of marble. In front of us, Mel and Tyler were discussing, rather loudly, whether to listen to talk radio or music. I leaned back and shut my eyes. Their conversation was more entertaining than ours.

  We arrived around ten in the morning. Our overni
ght spot was beautiful. To the east lay foothills, the gateway to the Cascades, with the Columbia River cutting a pass through the mountains like a blue-green snake. Beacon Rock, the core of an ancient volcano, was quite a sight, parked on the banks of the river, sporadic pines peppering its otherwise bald head.

  Once outside the car, I took a deep breath and spun in a slow circle. Surrounding us on all sides were green and fragrant Douglas firs, pines, and maples. Spongy ferns filled in the lower landscape, dotted with blood red rhododendrons and a rainbow of spring wild flowers. The wind blew through the tops of the trees, and its accompanying harmony was the chatter of geese, the flutter of hummingbirds and a woodpecker hammering away on a tree above. Somewhere out there, I could hear the rippling of the Columbia ribboning its way between the trees.

  Closing my eyes for a moment, I allowed a tranquil smile to spread across my face. When I stopped my spin and opened my eyes, Henry was watching me, a tent pole in one hand.

  “What are you doing?” he asked.

  “Reminds me of home,” I explained. “I’m from Oregon.”

  “I know that.” He gave me a sideways look and walked off. Jeesh, what was his problem?

  I turned back toward the eastern horizon. Last year, I’d read an article about this very spot of forest. Pictures from several decades earlier depicted an enormous bare patch from clearcutting. I’d been furious at the time, but as I stood there, gazing up at that same spot in person, I would’ve never known any logging had taken place all those years ago. The forest was completely grown in with tall, healthy trees as far as the eye could see. Sure, Henry had preached to me about new growth afforesting, but I’d never seen its results.

  To my personal vexation, it was surprisingly impressive.

  I left the dusty white Durango and wandered toward the campground. The guys were setting up the tent. Henry was down on his knees, jacket off, pounding tent pegs in the ground with a mallet. No directions were used, and in a matter of minutes, the tall orange structure was assembled.

  Staring up at the finished product, something occurred to me. “Uh, Mel?” I muttered, as I handed her a sleeping bag from the back of the Durango. “I realize it’s very roomy, but there’s only one tent.”