“I know, and I appreciate it.” She glanced down at her dress and smiled. “I do look terrific. Let me change.” As Karen started for the bedroom, she motioned at the oven. “The pizza should be ready. You can find tea in the refrigerator.”
“Thanks for inviting me to dinner. I hate going home and eating alone when John is out of town.” Vicky’s voice floated back to the bedroom.
“Ow. That’s hot,” Vicky cried. A pan clattered as it hit the stovetop.
“Are you all right?”
“Burned the tip of my finger taking the pizza out. No big deal. Want me to cut it?”
“Your finger?”
“The pizza,” Vicky said, an exasperated tone in her voice.
Karen chuckled. “Yes, but be careful.”
“You must have a hot date for the gala,” Vicky called. “Anyone I know?”
“I don’t think so. Just a guy.”
“Lot of trouble for just a guy. Pick him up on a street corner?” she teased as Karen returned, dressed in shorts, a t-shirt, and flip-flops, finding Vicky sitting at the bar with the sliced pizza and glasses of iced tea.
“I did not pick him up. Honestly.” She sat on another stool and reached for a slice of pizza.
“So what’s this just a guy’s name?”
Karen bit into her pizza. “That’s good.” She looked up at Vicky. “His name’s Mark Stuart. He’s a math professor at the college. He moved back to town a while back and…”
“I know Mark,” Vicky exclaimed as she reached for her glass of tea. “We went to college together. He went on to graduate school, but he was my then boyfriend’s roommate. You don’t remember him from my wedding last year?”
“No…Should I?”
“My mother kept telling you there was a cute guy she wanted you to meet.”
“Right…but somehow, I never did.”
“That was Mark.”
“Oh.”
“So how did the two of you meet?” Vicky glanced away and sipped her tea. “Was it on that dating site that gives you a personality test and matches you with your soul mate? I mean, you both have a close relationship with math.” She looked back and grinned. “He loves it and you fear it.”
“You’re funny, but no, it was nothing so exotic.” Karen grimaced. “Our mothers decided we’d be perfect together.”
“Your mothers fixed you up on a blind date?” Vicky cackled.
Karen sighed, not surprised Vicky found the idea to be funny. “Well, your mother tried too…Anyway, it’s more than that, I’m afraid. They’re talking marriage.”
“Before the first date?” Vicky’s mouth dropped open.
“Come on. You know how this works. Just before you met John, your mom had started on you. Find a nice young man. One who can take care of you. You can fall in love later. I heard the lecture, too.”
“And that’s what I did.”
Karen shook her head. “No, you’re crazy about John.”
“I am now. Wasn’t then. I swear, I thought I would throw up on our wedding night.” She raised her hand as if taking an oath. “But he was so sweet and he seemed to care about me and, well, about six months later…It was really weird…We were both in bed, awake. It was July and the AC was out and it was sweltering.”
She closed her eyes as she continued. “The streetlight on the corner was shining through those lace curtains hanging in our bedroom window. I was watching all sorts of crazy shadows dancing on the ceiling, reminding me of long skinny hands reaching out to pluck a flower.” She smiled. “Suddenly, at the same time, we both blurted out, ‘I love you.’”
“That’s so sweet.”
Vicky stared out of the window for a moment. “Don’t remember any more about the shadows…Anyway, Mark asked to take you to the gala?”
“Actually, I asked him. Managed to insult him by implying he would know nothing about the exhibit, but he agreed to take me.”
“I’m certain he was insulted.” Vicky reached for a second slice of pizza.
“What do you—” Karen noted the sarcasm in her voice, but Vicky cut her off.
“So if your mothers are calling the shots…”
“Mom’s not calling the shots,” Karen snapped. “I agreed to go out with him. Three dates. That’s all I’ve said I would do. Then we’ll go our separate ways.”
“So, why are you going to so much trouble? The dress, the hair…”
Karen didn’t respond right away. She wasn’t sure why she was doing all of those things either.
“You want him to like you,” Vicky exclaimed. An excited smile spread across her face and her eyes sparkled.
“I met him last weekend at the pool. He’s really good looking…Mom told me the same things yours told you…and I’m afraid she’s right…Oh, I know he’s not my last chance, but realistically, he might be close. I don’t want to be alone for the next half century. I don’t want to spend my life in a four-room apartment…develop a fondness for cats…I don’t want to be the old maid that everyone feels sorry for…Insanely selfish, aren’t I?”
“Definitely, but at least you have your eyes open. You’re not trying to fool yourself.”
Karen bit her bottom lip, a sign of her discomfort with the situation. “I’m being silly.”
“Not at all.” Vicky squeezed her arm. “Look, if it’s any help, Mark is really sweet. He’s thoughtful. He’ll be really nice to you.”
“Wait. Does he know your mother was going to fix us up at your wedding?”
Vicky waved her hand dismissively. “Oh no. That’s just between us girls.”
“That’s a relief,” she said. “But I hear he has no emotions.”
“He has them…Mark had a really bad experience a few years back. Let’s just say he has become rather selective about expressing them.”
“What happened?”
“Not my story to tell. You’ll have to ask him. But don’t bring it up on Friday. Not unless you decide against a second date.”
First Date
Mark spotted Karen’s apartment early in the week as he walked to school. As she had told him, it was on the second floor of an office building on King Street with an attorney’s office downstairs.
He would have overlooked the attorney’s office and missed her apartment had he not spotted the gold-embossed plaque beside the double front door. “The Barringer Law Firm,” he read aloud as he recalled a high school acquaintance who had married into the Barringer family.
Although several unmarked doors opened onto the street, no other signs appeared on the building, indicating the law firm to be the sole occupant, but he finally spotted a plain door at the far end, halfway down the block, with Karen’s address above it. A security camera pointed toward the door with a doorbell and a speaker mounted on the wall beside it. He turned the knob, but found the door locked.
As Mark looked up at the second story, noticing the white sheers fluttering in an open window, an older man stepped out of the law office.
“Can I help you?” The man looked at Mark suspiciously.
“Uh…no thanks…I was looking for Karen Wingate…Is this her apartment?” He pointed at the door.
The man’s eyes narrowed.
“You should ring the bell if you’re here to see Miss Wingate.” He paused, apparently waiting for Mark to push the button.
“No, I was only looking for her apartment…We have a…I was checking…the address…”
Mark felt as if he had been caught doing something he shouldn’t do. Making certain he could find an address on King Street, where street numbers appeared above the entrance to every store, suddenly seemed a lame explanation. He felt his face burning.
“Of course. Sorry. Thank you.” He turned and almost jogged away from the building. When he reached the corner, Mark looked over his shoulder, finding the man speaking into his cellphone, his eyes locked on him.
Mark’s own eyes grew wide. Was the man summoning the police?
Normally, Mark would have continued u
p King Street for another block, but he turned the corner, sighing with relief when he was out of the man’s line of sight. Another two blocks and he reached the college. As he stepped through the gate, he glanced behind, but neither the older man nor the police had followed him.
***
Given the difficulties with parking in Charleston, Mark had contemplated calling for Karen on foot. After all, the museum was only four blocks away from her home and he had no confidence he would be able to find a parking space closer than that to her apartment. He had decided, though, that Karen would prefer to arrive at the gala in an automobile, even if she had to trudge six blocks in the other direction to reach his car.
As it happened, he stumbled on a space directly in front of her door. Maybe luck was in his favor tonight.
He waited in the car for several minutes, reluctant to brave both the shirt-soaking humidity that lay over the city—a second reason not to arrive on foot—and his first date in almost three years…not necessarily in that order.
Finally, he berated himself for agreeing to the entire enterprise—the three dates, the illusion that he was courting the woman, as his mother would say. He gave an exasperated sigh for consenting to accompany Karen to a party at an art museum, and climbed out of the car.
Slipping on his white dinner jacket, he took a deep breath and strolled toward the door. He had learned long ago that the only way to cope with summer in the South is to walk slowly, breathe deeply, and not become agitated about anything. He paused before ringing the bell, rubbing the back of his neck to relax the muscles. His chest felt tight as he took another deep breath, holding it for a moment before slowly exhaling. A sticky patch of perspiration had formed on his lower back.
He shook his head. He had no reason to be anxious.
As he reached out to ring the bell, the man he had encountered the day before stepped out of the law office, suit coat over one arm, brief case in hand. He paused, turning to lock the door behind him. As he retrieved the briefcase he had set on the sidewalk, he noticed Mark and nodded in his direction before walking away without a word.
As Mark reached out a second time to press the doorbell, he glanced up at one of the windows.
Who is she?
He spotted a woman, peering at him through the window. When he turned his head for a better view, she disappeared, allowing the curtain to waft back into place. Mark checked the number over the door. It was the correct address. He rang the bell and the lock popped open.
As he reached the top of the steps, the unfamiliar woman opened the door.
“Hello, Mark.”
He stared at her. “Karen?”
“Yes?” She looked puzzled.
“I…I’m sorry. I didn’t recognize you. You look so…different…You’re beautiful.”
He could feel himself blushing. “I mean…”
Karen laughed. “I clean up well?”
Mark looked away. “I don’t like that phrase, but…I suppose…”
She laughed again. “Come in out of the heat. I’m almost ready.”
Karen disappeared into another room, leaving Mark in a small entrance hall. He glanced around the apartment. A counter divided the space into a kitchen and a living room. A hall led off to the right, to Karen’s bedroom, he supposed. His mother had told him Karen had rejected her mother’s attempt to rent her a larger, more expensive place to live, wanting to be independent and to survive on her own.
“Don’t hold her apartment or her stubbornness against her, Mark,” his mother had begged. “Give her a chance.”
Two paintings hung in the living area, and he strolled across the room for a better view. In the first painting, a white bridge with intricately patterned lattice side rails stretched across a small pond. Water lilies dotted the surface of the pond, both bright red and pure white flowers popping above the flat green leaves. Willow trees lined the banks, their branches curving down, bending almost double, trailing the water, and a bird, a swan, he decided, floated under the trees. A young girl stood at the far end of the bridge, leaning over the rail, her eyes focused on the swan. Mark thought she looked like Karen.
As he turned to the other painting, he found himself on the crest of a small hill, looking down on an ancient village. The steeple of the parish church rose high above the gray, stone houses, and a narrow lane wandered among the buildings. A couple of women strolled across the small square in front of the church, a tiny dog yapping at their heels. The sky was filled with the beautiful reds, yellows, and oranges of sunset.
The village reminded him of one he had seen in Italy during a two-week tour of Europe at the end of his year in England. He and Lucia had stayed in the village…
He shook his head, clearing away thoughts of Lucia.
Looking closely, he found “KW” inscribed in the lower right corner of each painting. Karen Wingate.
“You found my paintings.”
Mark almost jumped and Karen chuckled. She laughed easily, he noted. He liked that.
“They’re beautiful. You painted them both?”
“I did. The bridge is in a village near Cambridge. I studied there one summer.”
The image of Lucia, standing at the door to the chapel of King’s College in Cambridge flashed through his mind, but he dismissed it.
“The other is a small town in France. I spent a year in France, studying the work of the French Impressionists. I wrote my thesis on Monet and his work.”
And he was planning to pass himself off as an authority on the man. He suddenly felt queasy.
“So you will truly enjoy the exhibit,” he managed to say.
“I will. Actually, I curated the exhibit. I obtained most of the paintings, and I wrote most of the catalog, all except the essays.”
Terrific. At least he was not depending solely on the book she had written. He at least had visited the college’s library, reading the article on Monet in World Book Encyclopedia and thumbing through the Encyclopedia of French Impressionism. As a result, he had seen photographs of many of Monet’s paintings, and he understood what impressionism meant.
“We should be going.” Mark held the door for her and led the way, holding her arm to help her down the steps.
“Thank you. It’s not easy to know where to place your foot when your dress covers it completely.”
As Mark reached to open the car’s door, Karen’s mouth dropped.
“You drive a Corvette?” she exclaimed.
Mark stared at her, not understanding her reaction. “Yes. Is that a problem?”
“But you’re a math professor and…and…”
“Mathematicians can’t drive sports cars?” He raised an eyebrow. “Or is it that I’m a professor?”
“Sorry.” Karen blushed. “Surely, they can. Either one…both…It’s just that they…they…don’t…”
Mark’s eyes twinkled. “I’ve had my ’Vette since I was a senior in high school. I was neither a mathematician nor a professor back then.” He halfway smiled as he opened the door and held out his hand to help her in. Karen looked at the seat. It was a long way down. She held on to Mark’s arm for support as she sank toward it.
“I’m almost on the ground,” she exclaimed as she reached the seat.
“Corvettes sit pretty low,” Mark agreed.
He lowered himself into the driver’s seat, turned the key, and the engine roared as it came alive. A woman on the sidewalk jumped away from the curb, plastering herself against the window of the law office, and Mark waved apologetically.
“Wow,” Karen exclaimed. “Sounds powerful.”
“You should see what she can do on the highway. She’s certainly not made for driving through the city.”
“I suppose not.”
There was a pause as Mark waited for traffic to clear, the engine rumbling, the vibrations shaking the entire car, ready to spring across the line when the green starting flag waved. The windows rattled and Karen checked her seatbelt.
“I understand you met Mr. Barringe
r, the attorney whose office is on the first floor of my building.” Karen raised her voice to be heard.
“Was that Mr. Barringer? We were not introduced, but yes, you could say we met.”
“He’s really sweet and rather protective. He caught some guy trying to pick the lock on my door a couple of months back, so he checks out anyone who he sees hanging around. I’d suspected you were the ‘tall, beady-eyed, vagrant skulking around the door and peering through the windows.’”
“Guilty as charged. I was making sure I would be able to find you tonight…Wait…Beady-eyed vagrant? Skulking?”
Karen laughed. “His description, not mine.”
The last car passed and the Corvette jerked forward. Karen braced herself for takeoff, but Mark held the car in check, not fully releasing the clutch, only allowing the car to glide slowly down King Street.
An old Chevrolet carrying a group of teen-aged boys pulled alongside.
One of the boys leaned out through a window.
“Wanna drag?” he yelled.
Mark shook his head, laughing to himself. If they only knew. Had King Street been clear, he could have made the Battery before the Chevy even reached full speed.
He depressed the clutch, and pumped the accelerator, revving the engine. Pedestrians turned to look, and Karen laughed as the boys’ eyes grew large.
Mark turned left at the traffic light, then right a short block later, leaving the Chevrolet behind. “The girl in the painting of the bridge, she looks a bit like you.”
“Really? It must be my red hair. You don’t see redheads too often.”
Lucia’s hair was red. He held back a sigh.
“I spent a year at Cambridge,” Mark told her as he stopped at the traffic light. “A couple of years before you were there, I expect.”
“Did you really? I was in England in twenty-oh-seven, the summer before college.”
Mark swallowed hard. “I arrived that June. Did you ever eat at the Swan and Crown?”
Please say no…
“I walked past it many times, but I don’t believe I ever went in.”
“Good,” Mark whispered.
“What?”
He and Lucia had dated at the Swan and Crown. “Nothing. Nothing.” Then they drove in silence for several moments while Mark struggled to clear his mind.
Just Three Dates Page 6