"Like when I stepped up right now."
"I can't tell you how many times I fell down, usually dragging my guide with me, before I learned to watch for that little step."
She was surprised at the way he seemed to take his blindness for granted. Yet he'd just indicated that he hadn't had it from infancy. Just what had happened to him?
She led him to an empty table and guided him to a chair, then sat herself.
A waitress wandered over, wiggled her hips at Mark, then gave Amy a look like "what do you have that I don't have."
"I'd like a café-au-lait," Amy told her.
"Espresso," Mark said.
"I know it's a little late in our relationship for introductions," he told her, "but I'm Mark Barnes."
Of course, she'd heard his name when the bodybuilders had dragged him off to the free weight room. He couldn't know hers.
"Oh. I'm Amy Halprin." She held out her hand.
He stared directly at her but didn't make any move to meet the handshake.
After several uncomfortable seconds, she put her hand back down. Why was she being such an idiot? He was blind. How was he supposed to know she was holding out her hand if she didn't tell him?
"Nice to meet you," she managed.
Mark took the hint. His handshake was warm and strong, not overpowering and lasted just long enough. She'd always been proud of her large hands, one of her strengths as a basketball player. Held in Mark's, her hand felt almost dainty.
So far, Amy decided, this wasn't going too badly. In retrospect, calling him a blind man back at the club hadn't been her brightest move. Still, Mark seemed to be warming up a bit.
"So what do you do--"
"I know I'm prying--"
Both stopped.
Mark held up his hand. "I'll let you go first," he told her.
"I know this is none of my business. I'm just curious how you happened to lose your sight. If you don't want to tell me, I'll understand. I mean--"
Mark broke into her floundering. "I don't mind."
He removed his sunglasses again, and seemed to stare at something far away. Then his empty eyes turned on her.
She resisted the urge to ask him to put his shades back on. Those sightless eyes seemed to see too much.
"It's simple, really. I was in the Air Force during the Bosnian operation. One night I went for a walk outside the camp. I stepped on a land mine. It was one of those that pop up and then explode."
She shuddered. Of all the senses, sight had to be the most important. Everything she did, from teaching, to driving, to basketball, to sitting and reading, all depended on her eyes.
"It must have been horribly painful."
Mark laughed without humor. "It must have been. I can't remember anything about the next month. I remember leaving our cabin, then I remember waking up in a Chicago hospital."
She tried to imagine. For the first time in her life, she found she couldn't empathize. The most terrible things that had happened in her life, even the knee injury that had finally destroyed her chances of making it big in the Woman's league, paled in comparison.
"Were you in the hospital for long?"
He shook his head angrily. "Too long. I needed to get out and on with my life."
"So what do you do?"
She wondered if she'd put her foot in it again. What could a blind man do? Surely the military had some sort of pension program for those disabled in a military operation. Still, the idea of a man as vital as Mark spending the rest of his life surviving on a pension and spending his days at health club didn't sit well with her.
"I'm an attorney."
Her jaw didn't actually hit the table. On the other hand, she was momentarily happy that he couldn't see her face. That would teach her to jump to conclusions.
At her silence, he continued. "I'd started law school while I was in the service. Then in the hospital, I got into one of those remote training programs. I finished my degree and passed the Texas bar."
"Where do you work?" She couldn't imagine how he could survive in an occupation that, as far as she knew, meant spending most of your time reading old law books.
"I work for the Government," he told her. "It's a great place to be a starting lawyer. Of course they pretty much have to hire disabled veterans. That makes it nice."
He didn't bother hiding the bitterness that entered his voice when he spoke of these special privileges.
As far as Amy was concerned, the government owed something to a man who had given his eyesight in a far-off military venture that many people didn't understand or even care about. She couldn't imagine anyone begrudging him a job preference, so long as he was qualified. His expression made it clear he wasn't looking for her sympathy, however well-intentioned it might be.
"What about you?" he asked.
"There isn't much to tell. I went to A&M, got drafted into the Woman's Pro Basketball league, got passed around between half a dozen teams in three years, then blew out my knee and headed back home where I got a job teaching P.E. at Ursuline Academy. It's a private girls school here in Dallas."
"Teaching is supposed to be a tough job. How long have you been doing it?"
"Two years," she told him. "I guess it's fun, if you want to ride herd over a couple of hundred girls whose hormones are totally out of control and who are more worried about messing up their hair than they are about playing the game."
****
Amy was easy to talk to, Mark realized. He hadn't noticed any limp when she had been holding his arm, so her knee injury couldn't be too serious. Still, in some ways her experience paralleled his. One moment he'd been living his dreams flying bombers, the next moment, everything was gone. For each of them, an apparently insignificant misstep had changed their lives.
Sure he liked his job. Just as it sounded like Amy enjoyed her job teaching. But it wasn't the same as flying halfway between earth and space.
He did the arithmetic. College, plus three years in basketball and two years of teaching would make her about twenty-six. He'd be thirty on his next birthday, but he didn't think the years between them would be what kept them apart.
The rattle of plastic cups on a tray told him their coffee had arrived.
Carefully he reached out, feeling for his cup.
Instead of coffee, he found Amy's hand on the table.
To his surprise, she didn't jerk away when he touched her.
Her skin felt smooth and firm. So far, his workout buddies had been straight with him.
Reluctantly, he pulled his hand away and continued his exploration, finally finding the cup.
Amy laughed with a compelling happiness. He didn't remember ever having times when he wanted to laugh with quite so little reserve as she did, and he wasn't sure he could get used to a woman with a laugh like that.
"So what's the joke?" he asked.
"It's just that I was trying to move your cup where you could find it and every time I moved it, you went somewhere else."
"You don't need to do that. They train us to be self- sufficient." He needed Amy's pity like another land mine. Why couldn't people accept the reality that he could manage fine without his eyesight?
"I try to help my friends."
"That's very noble." All the time he'd been telling himself that she was different, that she was treating him like a man rather than a helpless cripple, he'd been suffering under a misapprehension. She'd thought he was just a jerk who sat on people rather than a blind man. Now she was revealing her true colors.
She was like everyone else. People at his office treated him with a combination of caution and aversion. His workout buds treated him like just another guy, but only while they were at the gym. Their relationships never quite extended outside the club's walls. The men and women he'd served with in the Air Force made an effort to include him in some of their gatherings but his injury was a constant reminder of their own mortality, a reminder that left everyone uncomfortable.
The coffee tasted bitter as he swa
llowed a sip.
"I didn't mean to offend you," Amy told him. "I already explained that I don't know the right things to do. Maybe you could help me."
He took another sip then set down the cup.
"All right. I'd like to ask a favor. If you don't feel comfortable with it, tell me."
"Sure. What do you want?" She sounded absolutely trusting.
"I'd like to get an idea of what you look like."
"So you want me to describe myself?" She sounded doubtful. He couldn't blame her.
"Actually, I want to look at your face."
"Oh. You mean touch it?"
"That's how we blind people see things," he said.
"Oh. I guess that would be all right."
He heard the sound of her chair dragging near him.
"I'm ready," she told him, her voice soft.
He put his hands in front of him and waited. If he leaned forward and hit her a little low, he'd never be able to explain it away as yet another accident.
After a second, she got the idea and grasped his wrists, guiding them toward her face.
Smooth, soft. He barely touched her, running his fingertips just over the surface of her face taking in its texture, mapping its shape.
She smelled of soap and something flowery like orange blossoms, maybe. Mixed with the scent of the coffee they were drinking.
Her chin felt strong, her lips maybe a little wider than average.
Kissable lips, he realized. Then he stopped that train of thought. He hadn't kissed anyone since his accident.
Her nose was straight, with maybe just a hint of an upturn at its end. Her eyes wide set.
He had known she was slender from when he had sat on her. He hadn't realized that she was beautiful.
Too beautiful. A woman like this would have guys all over her like fleas on a dog. Why was he setting himself up for disappointment?
"Mark?"
"Hum?" He started to draw away.
"You're not saying anything. Is there something wrong with my face?"
He ran his thumbs over her eyebrows, soft and silky. There sure as hell was something wrong with it. It was as far out of a blind man's reach as having his own face carved in Mount Rushmore. "It's a nice face," he admitted.
"I'm glad."
His watch announced the time out loud. Six o'clock.
"Is it really?" she asked.
"A couple of minutes before. I keep it fast. Why?"
"I've got to go."
She pulled away from him.
"I'll take you back," he said.
"My car is close enough that I can walk," she told him. "I need the exercise. Somehow my workout got cut short."
"I brought you here and I think I should take you back."
"Don't you think you're getting a little pushy?" She had an edge in her voice.
To his surprise, he liked that edge.
"Yeah, that would be me, all right."
"I'll let you walk me back. Come on."
He heard her chair swivel, then the whish of her silky dress or top or whatever she wore drawing near him.
He reached out a hand and this time managed to catch an elbow.
Her arm felt good, naked skin and tight muscle. He stroked it lightly, just for a moment, then grasped it firmly.
Her top felt like real silk, a ‘shell,’ he thought they called them.
"How 'bout I call you?" he asked, steeling himself for a negative answer, telling himself it didn't matter.
"I guess."
"What's your number?"
She rattled it off fast, just once.
Obviously she thought he'd never be able to remember. What she didn’t know was that a blind man learns to remember.
Chapter 2
Amy turned off the vacuum cleaner again. The whine of the machine almost covered the telephone's jingle. Of course every time she turned the vacuum off, the phone wasn't ringing at all.
It had been over four days since she'd met Mark. After all that time, she had to believe he wasn't going to call. During that four-day period, she had checked her answering machine twice a day from school, huddled near the phone in the evening, and tried to make up her mind whether she wanted it to ring or not.
Amy knew she should be relieved that he hadn't called. She was athletic, with interests in camping, tennis, bicycle rides around White Rock Lake, and long talks about the latest books. No matter that Mark could make her skin tingle at his touch unlike anyone she had ever known. No matter that he had a body that any woman would be proud to have near hers. She couldn't have time for a man who couldn't share her interests, wouldn't understand her needs.
So of course she'd rattled off her unlisted number so fast he would have to be some kind of a miracle worker to remember it. He certainly hadn't written it down. Still, she couldn't stop thinking about Mark, wondering what kind of person he was and whether he would be fun to spend more time with.
Wondering if she'd messed up by not taking her time and writing it down for him, for not getting his number and following up.
She reached to switch back on the vacuum cleaner and, for once, the phone really did ring. Forgetting her resolve, she ran to it, beating the answering machine.
"Hello."
"Amy? It's your mother."
As if she didn't recognize her mother's voice. "Mom, what's going on?"
As always, her mother was filled with breathless excitement about her latest ideas. "Listen. I was talking to my friend Laura. You remember Laura? Her son, he's a dentist now. I thought maybe I'd invite them over on Saturday. You know, just to be friendly and all, now that she's moved back to Dallas. It wouldn't hurt you, young lady, to get to know a dentist. Maybe this time--"
"Oh, mother--" she started.
"Let's be serious, Amy," her mother interrupted. You're twenty-six, after all. Don't forget that biological clock. Your sister is only twenty-three but already she's made me a grandmother. I hate to say it, but you're not getting any younger. And she married a doctor. You won't find any dentists working at that girls' school of yours. I think you should be thanking me, not giving me this 'Oh Mother'."
She told herself to keep her mouth shut--and failed. "Mother, you know I'm not looking for a man."
"Well then you should be. You're a pretty girl, but there are lots of pretty girls out there. And they're looking, let me tell you."
"I really don't think this is a competition, Mother." Ever since Monica had married Bern, her mother had lived for her new grandchildren. Amy figured that Monica was doing plenty for both of them. She'd already had one child and had just announced that she was pregnant with the second. Instead of being satisfied that one of her daughters was delivering, Tillie Halprin had decided to make Amy her personal project.
"It's a competition all right," Tillie insisted. "I was reading about it on the Internet," her mother continued. "Biological imperative. You've got to lock and load, latch onto your man now while you're still young and fertile.
"You think you're going to have chances like this dentist forever? Let me tell you, by the time you're thirty, you'll find the good men, the one with prestige jobs, are looking for someone younger. For now you've got leverage. Wait ten years, you'll have to take what you can get."
"Well, I did meet a man," Amy admitted. "A lawyer." Since he hadn't bothered to call after pretty much promising that he would, she didn't feel guilty about taking his name in vain.
"A lawyer?" Her mother's voice perked up. "A lawyer's good. Not as good as a dentist, of course, but good."
"So I don't think it would be a too smart for you to invite this dentist Saturday."
"What, you want to invite the lawyer? Bring the lawyer and then we'll see."
The click sounded in Amy's ear. Her mother was probably already in the kitchen, getting ready for Saturday dinner three days early. So much for her brilliant idea of hinting that she was seeing someone. She hadn't counted on her mother calling her bluff. Now Tillie actually expected Amy to produce a lawyer.<
br />
The crazy thing, was, she was thinking about it. Mark's touch wakened something sensual inside of her, something she hadn't even realized existed before he sat on her. As far as she was concerned, the faster whatever part of her sub-brain was making her feel like this went back to sleep, the better off she'd be.
It just didn't make sense that every time the phone rang, she found herself hurrying to it, concerned that it might be Mark and uncertain about what she would say to him if it was.
The phone rang again.
"Mother?"
"Not quite. It's Mark. The blind guy you had coffee with a couple of days ago."
Four days ago, to be exact. If he was going to call, why did he make her wait around like an idiot? "Hi Mark."
"I haven't seen you at health club lately."
She hadn't noticed how deep his voice was. Even over the telephone it writhed with sensual strength.
"I've, well, I've been busy." Brilliant answer, Amy. Why didn't she just fib and tell him she'd been bicycling outside, taking advantage of Dallas's brief spring before the heat forced everyone back inside?
"You haven't been avoiding it because of me?"
"Not at all," she lied.
"I thought I might have scared you at the end. Not everyone can deal with being with a blind man."
The conversation tailed off. She couldn't tell him he hadn't scared her. Scared was a pretty good description.
Finally Amy broke the silence. "All right, Mark, is that why you called? To razz me about skipping my workout routine?" She was asking for trouble but she couldn't help herself.
"I told you I'd call. I'd like to get together again. Saturday evening. Dinner?"
Her brain paralyzed, she blurted out the first thing that came to mind. "I usually go to my mother's house on Saturday."
"I see. Maybe another time, then." His voice held hints of bitterness.
She didn't need her college degree to know that his ‘another time’ meant never. Besides, what would her mother say if she showed up with Mark? For one thing, it would probably scare her out of the matchmaking business for good. "I've got an idea. Why don't you come with me?"
Blind Date Page 2