“Your daddy needs a few hours to himself now and then, and today is a perfect chance for it.” Jonathan’s mother smiled at him. “Did you have a good lunch?”
He nodded. “Yes.”
“That means he really liked it, Gramma. See how his eyes are shining? When things are just okay, he doesn’t look at you for very long.” Bryson’s observation caused both Jonathan and his mother to glance at the child sharply. How did such a little tyke comprehend so much?
“We get to see her tomorrow. She’s making us dinner, Gramma!”
“As you’ve told me at least fifty times today, Riley,” Mary Lyman agreed, rolling her eyes at her son. “I don’t think I could forget it if I wanted to.”
By three o’clock, the house nearly echoed with emptiness. His father was still at work, his mother and children were with his Aunt Jeannie and some of the cousins, and he had three hours to kill.
His hand curled around the key in his pocket, but before he could even think of it, his cellphone rang. When Cara’s name flashed on the screen, his heart sank. She must want to cancel dinner, his children were gone, and he’d spend the evening wondering what he wasn’t learning about her.
“Hey.” Jonathan fought to keep the dread from his voice.
“I’m calling to find out what you and your children are doing this afternoon.”
“You talked to my mother!” How he knew it, he didn’t know, but Jonathan was certain she’d talked with his mother.
“I called to find out your favorite wine. The Lymans like their wine, if I remember correctly.”
He frowned. “My mother answered her cellphone? And how did you know her number?”
“She called my office yesterday. She asked if she could have it in case of emergency—in case your phone died or something. I got hers and well…”
“That sounds like her, but her answering the phone—that doesn’t.” He remembered the question about wine and added, “As far as wine goes, I rarely drink and never if I’m going to have to drive—”
“That’s what she said,” Cara assured him. “She also said she left you all alone and forlorn looking, while she and the kids went off to have fun. Are you at home or did you drive to my house?”
“They just left!”
Disappointment hovered in her voice. “You’re not going to do it, are you?”
“Why is it so important to you? I can’t believe you wouldn’t find it difficult to go into someone else’s home and rifle through their possessions.”
“I normally wouldn’t, but desperate times call for desperate measures, and well, you’re leaving too soon for me not to feel a little desperate.” The humor she displayed almost covered her anxious tones. “Just go over there. Put your feet up, read a book, watch TV, take a nap. If something interests you, don’t feel like you’re prying. Assume you’ve been a friend for years and have seen it all before.”
“I’ll go, but that’s all I’m promising.”
“See you when I get home. Thanks, Jonathan.”
He changed into jeans, his favorite Atlanta Braves t-shirt, and grabbed a Rockland U sweatshirt. A glance in the mirror reminded him to brush his teeth and hair and then he decided it was time to do the awkward. He’d go get his clutter fix for the next few decades until Cara arrived.
~*~*~*~
Each time he entered her house, Jonathan’s amazement grew. How one person could manage to fill space so thoroughly was beyond his comprehension. Contrary to his intention, he went immediately into the kitchen and stared at the cabinets in wonder. Why had she removed the doors? She wouldn’t need those shelf liner things that draped off the edge of the cabinet shelves if she’d put on the doors again. The pink dishes bothered him almost as much. Who wanted pink dishes?
The refrigerator revealed another side of her—one he had not expected. The entire bottom shelf was packed with cans of Slim-Fast. Lord, please don’t let her be trying to lose weight! The rest of the food seemed to confirm it, but she hadn’t eaten diet type foods during their meals together. The pantry held some normal snack foods, which for some odd reason, reassured him. Cara Laas should not change size or shape.
He ambled down the hall into the first bedroom and glanced around the room. It seemed to be some kind of craft room. Shelves of paper stood near a small desk, and pens and scissors of every kind hung in organized, small, metal pails on the wall. He opened double doors, expecting to see more clothing and found a Murphy bed.
“Who has Murphy beds anymore?” He glanced around the room again and smiled to himself. “With a Murphy bed, she has more room until she actually needs it. Smart.”
The next room he’d already seen. The pile of clothes from the previous evening had vanished, every outfit replaced, and the closet no longer looked disheveled. In the back corner of the closet, in plain view, sat a box with a small corner of purple fabric sticking out between the flaps—the clothes she’d discarded.
Jeans and a “rainbow” t-shirt revived from the popular eighties look lay folded on the edge of a bed that instinctively, Jonathan knew wasn’t hers. The only other door had to lead to the bathroom, leaving Jonathan confused as to where she slept. Surely not the Murphy bed!
As he stepped into the bathroom, ruffles and flowers attacked him. Jonathan winced at the idea of his son attempting to use the be-ruffled toilet. This would not be a pretty sight. Riley, however, would be in heaven. Silver plated brush and mirror lay on the vanity counter, waiting for use. The basin of the porcelain sink had been hand painted, and tulle hung over the mirror and had been festooned it with the most realistic artificial roses he’d ever seen.
Though small, the townhome offered plenty of space for the average single person. If she cut out two-thirds of her possessions, Jonathan knew he’d feel right at home had he been single and didn’t need room for dollhouses, Lego castles, and an extensive children’s video collection. He imagined Riley in the living room and cringed. He’d have to remember to warn her against touching anything. Repeatedly.
French doors at the end of the living room seemed to lead to a patio, but when he opened them, he found a tall window with a view of the association’s mini park and a flight of stairs. He hadn’t realized that the upstairs belonged to her. This, he couldn’t help but explore.
At the top of the stairs, Jonathan leaned against the banister. The staircase opened into a huge master bedroom that covered most of the lower level. The townhome had obviously been designed with a single person in mind. A king sized bed with a filmy canopy and more rose vines sat against one wall. A loveseat and chair sat in a corner with an entertainment center nearby, while another corner housed a French desk.
The bathroom was larger than the bedrooms downstairs. He’d never imagined anything like this master bedroom in such a small dwelling. It was more like a master suite in a much larger home, and yet it fit her. Cara was the kind of woman who enjoyed her little luxuries but wasn’t dependent on them. Irrationally, he wondered if she’d clutter his home with the same kind of bric-a-brac if they got married.
Whoa, boy. You hardly know her. Don’t let your mind wander down that road. Yet.
Downstairs, he flipped on the TV, endured ten minutes of the Paisley Duncan Show, and then snapped it off again. Her Bible lay on the end table, a bookmark sticking out from somewhere in the Old Testament, near Psalms from the location of it. He flipped it open and grinned. Song of Solomon. Now that was an interesting discovery.
Jonathan awoke when he felt the couch sink beside him. “Cara…”
“Have a nice nap?”
“You’re all changed already!”
Cara winked. “Well, I came in, saw you snoring, and decided I’d get dressed before I bothered you. Whatcha reading?”
“Song of Solomon.”
“That boring, huh?”
Her smile was too close for his comfort. He leaned back, his hands behind his head, and studied her. “Eighties child? Aren’t you a bit young?”
“I always wanted my older cou
sin’s rainbow shirt, but by the time I grew into it, it was so outdated even my mom wouldn’t let me wear it. When I saw this in a store last month, I snapped it up. She stood and admired the shirt in the mirror. “I think I look cute.”
“Adorable. Ready for a crazy evening?”
Cara grabbed a sweatshirt and tied it around her waist, making her look chopped in half. “Ready. What are we doing?”
He opened the hall closet where her grand stash of shoes stared back at him and reached for something he’d noticed the night before. Pulling them from beneath the bottom shelf, he waved a pair of inline skates at her. “It’s Wednesday. Unless something has changed, it’s food vendor night at the park.”
Eyes wide, Cara gulped. “We’re skating all the way to the park?”
The temptation presented itself and nearly overtook him. In a fraction of a second, a dozen scenarios ran through his mind as he contemplated telling her that, yes, they were skating the nine miles to Rockland Park. Another dry swallow tugged at his heart. “Well, as tempting as it was to say yes, I’d never make it, and I think it’d be a lousy date if you ask me.”
She sagged visibly. “Thank you. Let’s go. I should warn you, I bought those to learn to skate—one of those, ‘I need to experience the things I missed as a kid’ kicks—and only used them twice. I fall. A lot. I think I need knee pads and elbow pads.”
Before they hit the loop, Jonathan pulled into Westbury’s largest sporting goods store and purchased a helmet and pads for Cara’s knees and elbows, sending her into fits of embarrassed laughter as he explained the benefits of each piece. At the park, he laced up quickly and then helped Cara with her skates. He shook his head as he wiggled the skate and unlaced it. Carefully, he tied the skates, pulled the straps, and then adjusted her kneepads.
“I should have gotten you wrist guards. Don’t break a wrist!”
“I couldn’t eat with those, and you promised me dinner. I should warn you; I get grumpy without adequate food.”
“Appetizers first. Somewhere around here are the biggest juiciest pickles known to man.”
“They also sell the best fried apple pies ever,” Cara nearly salivated as she passed the fried pie cart.
“Pasties?” Jonathan tried to keep the revulsion from his voice.
“I’d rather have kebobs. They have all kinds.” A telltale sweep of her eyes across her midsection gave away her battle with her weight. “Besides, who needs all the carbs?”
Jonathan noticed her adjusting her sweatshirt as she spoke, in a feeble attempt to force it to cover her hips. “So,” he began as he handed her a dripping pickle, “I took your advice and toured your condo.”
“Oh, and what did you think, aside from the décor differences between us?”
“Well, your bedroom shocked me. I had no idea you had another floor up there.”
Cara laughed. “Oh, honestly, surely you noticed that the building has two stories…”
“I didn’t realize you owned both. That bedroom is amazing.”
“I love it. It’s what sold me on the place. The other option had a more traditional layout with a dining room, living room, office, and bathroom downstairs—” She lunged for his arm, trying to avoid falling to the ground. “Upstairs were two small bedrooms and one larger one with a regular sized bath. B-oooor-ring.”
“Did you never wonder what you’d do if you got married? I tried to imagine a family in there and had no idea how it’d work.”
“I figured I’d probably sell and buy a house with my husband. I certainly wasn’t going to wait around though.” She glanced at him curiously. “So, did you feel like grabbing garbage sacks and purging all my clutter?”
“I felt a little smothered here and there… What’s with no cabinet doors in the kitchen? If you sell someday, won’t you have to buy new ones?”
“I wrapped them and put them in the garage. I liked the look of open shelving like a vintage kitchen. It looked cool with my apple green walls and the pink Depression glass. I’ve just started collecting Jadite too.”
Before he could stop himself, the question jumped from his throat. “You need more to collect?” Red crept up Jonathan’s neck and into his ears even before the question had a chance to connect with her consciousness.
Laughing, she grinned. “I like it. It makes me smile to see something that other families used once upon a time sitting in my cupboard just waiting for me to use it.”
“Do you ever get rid of anything?”
“Clothes. When I’m done with them, they go to a clothing closet at the mission.”
“What about your old dishes—the ones you had before the pink stuff. What did you do with them?”
“They’re in a box in the garage,” she admitted. “I didn’t know anyone who needed them, so I just kept them.”
“No thrift store or garage sale?” Why he pushed the matter, Jonathan didn’t know. He did realize, however, that he was not just talking, but he was leading a conversation. It felt strangely exhilarating. “Just curious.”
“I’ve never thought about it much. So, is that all you did, check out my doorless cupboards and my bedroom?”
A couple of teens walking past snickered as they overheard that last snippet of conversation. Jonathan’s ears flamed brighter and Cara laughed even louder. “I love it when you’re embarrassed. Come on, tell me; what did you think of my house—all of it? I want to know what you learned about me today.” She hesitated and lowered her voice, pulling his ear closer as she did. “I have to take advantage of your willingness to talk.”
He began to protest, but her eyes pleaded with him. “Well, the first thing I noticed when I walked in was that you like antiques. I mean, I noticed that the other night, but even more so today. You have antique collections everywhere. Linens, those little egg cups that my grandma used to use, thimbles, old books, clocks— What is with the clocks everywhere?”
“I like clocks—especially ones you wind.”
“I noticed they are all perfectly synchronized. Do you wind them all every day?”
She nodded, grinning. “Or every week for some. I love my little clocks.” Before she could ask another question, she lurched to the side, nearly falling. Jonathan, without missing a beat, grabbed her around the waist and steadied her for a moment before he let his arm fall naturally to his side again.
“You okay?”
One look at her expression and he knew what she couldn’t—or wouldn’t—say. Yes, he had physically saved her from a face full of concrete, but somehow in that moment, she realized—as did he—that she had fallen and she’d fallen hard. “Depends on what you mean,” she muttered under her breath. “So that doesn’t tell me what you learned about me.”
“I keep trying not to fall, too, but I’m not doing any better than you are, Cara mia.” He spoke with a quiet firmness—no embarrassment or hesitation in his voice—choosing each word with deliberate care. They fell from his lips more freely than most words ever did for Jonathan Lyman.
With a nod of understanding, Cara redirected the conversation to safer territory. “What did you learn about me that you hadn’t guessed?”
“Well, your fridge intrigued me.” He still didn’t know what to make of it, but her carbs comment made him curious. “Okay, is this the kebob place?”
Hands full of shrimp, beef, chicken, vegetable, and even grilled fruit kebobs, Jonathan led them to a nearby bench where an elderly couple had begun cleaning up after their own picnic dinner. “Are you staying?”
The gentleman shook his head. “Just leaving, son. Enjoy. We had one of those fruit ones and they were utterly delicious.”
Once settled into place, Cara brought the discussion back to the topic at hand. “So about that fridge? What about it intrigued you?”
“I saw a fridge with a full shelf of Slim-Fast, salad materials, and fruit. Tell me you’re not on a diet?”
Cara’s cheeks darkened into a deep rose. She sipped her water bottle and shrugged. “I’m just so round t
hat I try to keep the calories down, but I like good food too.” With an embarrassed glance and a shrug, she added. “Meal drinks aren’t exactly filling or all that tasty.”
A full mouth gave Jonathan a few seconds to consider if he should be honest or evasive. He chose honest, and as he chewed the tender, marinated beef, he mentally rehearsed what to say. Swallowing, he took a drink of water and then turned his full attention on Cara. She stared at her kebob as though unsure if she should allow herself to take another bite.
“Cara…” Her shoulders drooped a bit as he fumbled for the words that he hoped might free her from what he considered a ridiculous idea. He sighed. “I’m just going to be honest, okay?”
She nodded, refusing to look at him. “I’d prefer it.”
“I think—” That wouldn’t work. “Okay, I don’t want to presume to tell you what to do—” That’s even worse!
“Spit it out.” The defeat in her voice wrenched his heart. Cara dropped the kebob and reached for a napkin as she did.
“I—” he swallowed hard. “I like you just the way you are. There are too many curveless women in this world.”
“You’re joking, right?” Even as she said it, Jonathan saw her expression change as she realized he spoke the absolute truth. “But surely your wife—”
Suddenly, Jonathan didn’t want to talk anymore. He realized that he’d blown it. Cara felt inadequate compared to Lily, and he assumed he’d caused it. Without a word, he disposed of their trash, helped her to her feet, and led her back to the fried pie cart. With an apple for her and a cherry for him, he pointed across the playground to the gazebo on the other side.
Cara nodded. They skated slowly, Jonathan trying to discern where he’d gone wrong and trying to discover how to undo the mess he thought he’d created. From the listless way she nibbled at the pie, he suspected she felt utterly rejected. He just didn’t know why.
At the gazebo, Jonathan knelt beside her and removed her skates as she sat on the steps. He removed his own skates and hung both pairs over the railing. Taking her arm, he led her to the edge of the bench inside and indicated for her to sit before taking his place in front of her. He forced down the lump in his throat and asked, “Do I talk too much?”
Speak Now Page 6