It’s a small apartment, and both of us had managed to cut ourselves loose from office duties, so we spent a lot of time together in close quarters—a good test. And I’m happy to report that we both passed with flying colors. Have I ever actually mentioned to you that I love Carl? There, surprise, I’ve said it. Here’s another surprise:
Last Friday, Carl suggested that we consider marriage, and I tendered revocable consent (the lawyer in me again). We’ve set a target date of about a year for the i-dotting and t-crossing. That should be plenty of time for planning, for testing the living arrangement—and for me to back out! So I guess we’re “engaged.” Carl wanted to celebrate with a trip to Boston, a city he’s always loved, and here we are, enjoying a prehoneymoon.
We return to Chicago this weekend. I’ll phone, and we can really talk. But I wanted to warn you first by letter, hoping you won’t be too shocked. You’re the first to know, by the way. And here’s something to think about: Would both of you, Neil and Mark, consent to stand as witnesses at our wedding? I promise, no jokes about “bridesmaids”—we need two witnesses, and we’d be honored if they were you.
Carl was married before, of course, and the whole marriage thing makes me a tad uncomfortable anyway, so the wedding itself will be very simple, very civil. In fact, we might even want to have it up there. But I’m getting ahead of myself. Let’s talk. I’ll phone this coming Saturday.
I miss you guys. I think of you often. And believe it or not, I’m one ridiculously happy woman.
Love, Roxanne
PS: How’s everything with Thad? I assume they haven’t locked him up, or you’d have managed to get through to me.
By the time we finished reading, Barb had finished practicing scales and moved on to real music, not the Messiaen solo, but a new piece, lighter in tone, more whimsical in spirit. The sounds of her clarinet drifted softly through the house as Neil and I stared speechless at Roxanne’s missive.
At last, Neil broke the spell, shaking his head in disbelief. “Engaged?”
With a chuckle, I told him, “It happens. It’s a surprise—but I’m happy for her.”
“I know this sounds silly, but I feel as if we’re ‘losing’ her.”
Reaching to hold his hand, I coyly reminded him, “You had your chance. Roxanne was hot for you long before she was hot for me, which was long before she met Carl. You could have been playing house with her all these years.”
He smirked. “Like Frank and Cynthia, huh? Point taken.” He stood, stepped behind my chair, and placed his hands on my shoulders. “I’m much better off right here, with you—and Thad. Still, the thought of Rox getting married gives me an icky feeling that she’s…drifting away from us.”
I lifted one hand to grasp his fingertips. “Speaking of ‘drifting away,’ look at this.” With my other hand, I raised the next envelope for him to see, the one addressed to Thad.
“Oh, God,” Neil moaned, slumping behind me to rest his chin on my shoulder. “He’s getting ready to fly the nest.”
The envelope was from the registrar’s office at Desert Arts College in California. It contained the application materials Thad had phoned for earlier in the week, after talking through his dreams, goals, and intentions with Neil and me. Teen Play had just closed, he’d taken his theatrical achievements to a new level, and he was dead serious about applying to study with the illustrious Claire Gray on a new campus near Palm Springs, a school that wasn’t even built yet. Neil and I had ultimately agreed that if plans for the school passed muster with Claire Gray, it must be reputable, and if Thad could beat the competition to enter her program, he’d be studying with the best. With our blessing, then, he’d phoned to get the application process rolling.
I told Neil, “College is still a year away. But he needs to start applying.”
“That year will go so fast though.”
I stood, faced Neil, and held him in a loose embrace. Laughing at the odd turns our shared life had taken, I asked, “When you met me, did it ever cross your mind that one day we’d find ourselves in the unexpected role of parents, pining over the future of our kid?”
Looking into my eyes, Neil smiled and shook his head. “Never.”
“In the time we have left with Thad, we can make every second count.”
Neil nodded.
“Meanwhile,” I reminded him, “you and I have all the time in the world.”
As Neil kissed me, Barb’s wistful clarinet sang in the distance, upstairs on Prairie Street.
Acknowledgments
THE AUTHOR WISHES TO thank Paul Boyer, Ray Cebula, Richard Hawkins, Judy Rossow, Nancy Simpson, and Rick Smoke for their generous assistance with various plot details. A special note of gratitude is offered to Keith Kahla and Mitchell Waters, whose efforts have advanced this series in print.
About the Author
Michael Craft is the author of more than a dozen novels and three stage plays. He is best known as the author of the popular Mark Manning series, set in the Midwest, as well as the Claire Gray series, which takes place in Palm Springs, California. Three of Craft’s novels have been honored as national finalists for Lambda Literary Awards. His latest mystery novel, The MacGuffin, features a new protagonist, architect Cooper Brant.
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this ebook onscreen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of the publisher.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2001 by Michael Craft
Cover design by Mumtaz Mustafa
978-1-4804-3394-6
This edition published in 2013 by Open Road Integrated Media
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