Hello Love

by McQuestion, Karen

  “Under different circumstances, I’d buy you that drink,” she’d said. “Really, I would. I just think it best to stay anonymous given the circumstances.”

  “Yeah, I get it. Thanks for letting me down easy.”

  “I didn’t just say it to let you down easy. I meant it. Really, under different circumstances . . .” And then she said a hurried good-bye and ended the call. Talking to him had lifted an anvil off her chest. The frat boys wouldn’t come looking for Anni and, in fact, they were afraid they were in trouble with the law. No, they wouldn’t be pursuing this. And maybe they wouldn’t mistreat other animals in the future. It was a sign, she thought, a sign that even though she’d technically broken the law, she had done the right thing. Martina Dearhart was right. When life was going the way it was supposed to, everything fell into alignment.

  Across the table, Jade marveled over what Andrea had done. “I mean, what if those guys call the police and they dust for fingerprints? You weren’t wearing gloves, were you?”

  “First of all, my fingerprints aren’t on file anywhere, so they couldn’t trace them to me.” Andrea had never been in trouble with the law. The one time she’d gotten stopped for speeding, she’d involuntarily begun to cry and the officer had let her off with a warning. “And secondly, they won’t call the police. The stoner guy downstairs told them the police were the ones who took Anni.”

  “And you know this how?”

  “I called him the next day.” To counter the surprised look on Jade’s face, she said, “Don’t worry, I didn’t tell him my name. I just told him I wanted to follow up and see if I’d caused him any trouble. Turns out he had totally covered for me. He told the frat boys the police were there asking questions and then they took Anni. They completely believed him, he said, and they were scared out of their minds.”

  “Your knight in shining armor,” Jade said approvingly. “I guess chivalry is not dead.”

  “He’s a hero,” Andrea agreed.

  By the time the server arrived with the salads, Andrea had already shown Jade multiple photos of Anni on her phone. “Isn’t she cute?” She scrolled to one in particular. “This one kills me. It’s her making her guilty face.” She turned the screen so that Jade could see.

  “Cute.”

  “Oh wait, you have to see this one.” Andrea scrolled through a few photos before thrusting the phone in front of Jade’s face. “Anni in the bathtub, the first night I got her. By the end of it I was as wet as she was. And even after I toweled her off, she rolled around on the carpeting, which was . . .” A look on Jade’s face made her stop. “What?”

  “Obsessive, much?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean you’re a little bit fixated on this dog. If you ask me, the workshop signals got crossed. When you said ‘hello, love’ the universe thought you wanted a dog instead of a man.”

  “Well, at least Anni won’t ever break my heart.”

  Jade smirked. “So are you going to turn into one of those crazy dog people who buys birthday cakes for their dogs and dresses them in sweaters?”

  “Maybe,” Andrea said, spearing a piece of chicken with her fork. “Why not?”

  They sat and ate quietly for a few minutes, until Jade dropped her fork onto her plate. “Oh my God. You are not going to believe this.” Her gaze shot up and locked on a spot somewhere over Andrea’s shoulder, toward the front of the restaurant. Andrea started to turn and look, but Jade hissed, “Do not look. It would be too obvious.”

  “What? What is it?”

  “It’s Desiree.”

  “Desiree? Marco’s Desiree?”

  “Yep, one and the same. She’s sitting with the guy who was waiting.”

  “But . . .” Andrea was at a loss for words. Desiree, the woman who broke up her marriage, was on a blind date? “Are you sure it’s her?”

  “One hundred percent sure.”

  Andrea didn’t care how obvious it looked—she had to see for herself. She turned and stared in disbelief. Without a doubt, it was Desiree. She was, as Jade had said, sitting across from the dark-haired man, talking a mile a minute while simultaneously fluffing her hair. Unbelievable. Desiree’s hair was a brighter blond than the last time she’d seen her and her eyebrows darker and more dramatic. She wore a shiny red top with a deep V neckline. Dangly chandelier earrings dropped down to her shoulders. To Andrea, she looked exactly like the type of person who would steal another woman’s husband.

  The waitress stopped by to ask how the salads were, and Andrea reluctantly turned her attention away from Desiree. “Fine, thank you,” she said.

  “Best salad I ever had,” Jade said. “Give my compliments to the chef.”

  The waitress, a fresh-faced teenager with a thick ponytail said, “I would, but there’s not really a chef. The prep station girl makes the salads.”

  “Very good,” Jade said with a flourish of her fork. “Tell her she deserves a raise. And a promotion. Best salad I ever had. Really.”

  “Okay,” she said, looking unsure. “I’ll tell her.”

  After she’d wandered away, Andrea said, “I can’t believe Desiree is here. I just can’t get over it.” What she really couldn’t believe was that Desiree was there with another man. The last she knew, Desiree had been living with Marco in the house he’d built with Andrea. It had truly been her house, custom built to her specifications. Marco had requirements when it came to the garage and the countertops, but otherwise he’d left it all up to her. She’d selected everything from the light switches to the brick exterior. Her dream house. They’d lived there just a few months when he’d told her he wasn’t in love with her anymore. The man she loved most in the world had treated her like she was nothing to him. As cold as can be. He’d stood there with his arms crossed and said, “I don’t love you anymore.”

  From there he’d gone on to say he wasn’t sure he’d ever been in love with her. That getting married after dating three years just seemed like what everyone assumed they’d do and that he’d gotten swept up in other people’s expectation. She’d looked down at her wedding ring, the one he’d placed on her finger in church, in front of God and everyone, while promising to love, honor, and cherish her forever, and the only thing that made sense to Andrea was that this had to be some kind of a cruel joke. In a second he’d say he was only kidding and she’d tell him it wasn’t funny. But that moment never came and each word out of his mouth had been an assault to her heart. Stunned, she’d barely processed what he was saying before he’d moved on to talking about the logistics of the divorce—a divorce she never saw coming. And that was it. The beginning of the end. The demolition of her happy ending.

  Andrea had tried to reconcile, offering to go to counseling and saying she would give up on the idea of having a baby. When she hadn’t gotten pregnant after a year of trying, she’d wanted to follow up with testing to see which of them was at fault, but he’d refused. It became a sticking point between them, and she had to believe this was the cause of Marco wanting a divorce. She would have done anything to make it work, but he would have none of it. She still had hope right up until the day she came home from work to find he’d packed up her things. He wanted her out. If that weren’t bad enough, around the same time, her grandmother’s engagement ring had disappeared. Gram had given it to her for safekeeping right before moving into a nursing home and it was Andrea’s most prized possession. Marco claimed he had no idea where it was, but with all the lies he’d been spewing, his word meant nothing. They’d had a big screaming match over the ring, and Andrea had said some ugly things she didn’t even want to think about later on.

  Eventually Marco had used the money he inherited from his grandfather to buy out her half of the house and she’d moved out. Right after that, Desiree had moved in. It was such a cliché that her replacement was a perky, big-busted blonde, the type of woman who favored sparkly jewelry and bright-colo
red clothing. She looked like the kind of stereotypical home wrecker one saw in movies and on TV. It was like he’d held an audition and picked the most obvious choice. Marco had no imagination at all.

  So many times since then Andrea had pictured Desiree luxuriating with a glass of wine in her spa tub, surrounded by lit candles (something she’d meant to do but never got around to), or sitting in front of the fireplace with Marco, his arm around her shoulder, sharing the day’s events. He’d done that a few times with Andrea, but it wasn’t as romantic as she’d anticipated. His arm was unbelievably heavy, like having a concrete boa constrictor around her neck; the weight caused her shoulder muscles to cramp. Plus, he barely listened when she talked about her workday; clearly he was just waiting until she was done so that he could talk. And, whoa, could he talk. On and on and on. She tried to be interested, but between her shoulders tensing and the nonstop bragging, she found herself losing interest. Honestly, in retrospect, they weren’t a good fit as a couple. But that didn’t mean she wanted to get booted out of her own house.

  “Maybe it’s not a date. Maybe it’s a job interview or something?” Andrea suggested.

  Jade wrinkled her nose. “If it’s a job interview, she’s being awfully flirtatious. Right now she’s rubbing his arm.”

  “Maybe he’s a relative? A cousin she hasn’t seen in years?”

  “Or, more likely, she’s a slut, sleeping around on Marco.” Jade’s eyes widened. “Oh, that would make me so happy. Proof that there is some justice in the world.”

  “Well, I don’t really care,” Andrea said, and she meant it. As painful as the divorce had been, she was tired of dredging up all the negative emotions. Tired of being sad and angry and regretful. In the early days of the divorce, feeling like a victim had seemed to come with the territory. But she was beyond all that now. Desiree and Marco were going to do what they were going to do. Honestly she didn’t want Marco back. And the house hadn’t been her house in a long time. The condo felt like home now. And the truth of the matter was that Marco was a man who needed a woman. If he weren’t with Desiree, he’d be with someone else. A few weeks ago this scenario would have aroused all kinds of emotions, but not anymore. She was just tired of it all and ready to move on. Besides being a little curious, she just didn’t care.

  “Well, I care,” Jade said. “I’m going to say hi to her when we walk past. I want to see her reaction.”

  “You can if you want.” Andrea pushed her empty salad plate to the edge of the table. “But I’m not going to give her the satisfaction. I don’t even want to acknowledge her existence.”

  SEVENTEEN

  thirty minutes earlier, Dan had pulled into the restaurant parking lot. He looked at his watch and rolled his eyes. A family curse, always getting to places too early. His parents had instilled in him a fear of arriving late. They constantly drilled into him the need to allow extra time for train crossings and heavy traffic. Showing up late was a sign of disrespect, they’d said. Teachers would fail you. Prospective employers would write you off. Dates would think you were irresponsible. Dates. How did his mind wander over to that? He was a forty-year-old widower with a nearly grown daughter. He shouldn’t be dating. Even though he’d told himself this wasn’t a date, it felt like one and it also felt wrong. He should have been done with dating a long time ago. Everything was out of order. His life should not have played out this way.

  He considered his options and decided to go inside instead of sitting out in his car. It was too cold and, who knew, maybe she’d be early and they could get this thing started and then over with. Bodecker’s on Main was welcoming—warm and cozy without being too formal. Dark wood with brass accents. Hanging light fixtures that looked like bulbs inside glass canning jars. The framed Art Nouveau prints gave it the look of an upscale pub. The waitress was a young girl with a bouncy walk and a big smile. About Lindsay’s age, if he had to guess. She asked if he wanted a drink while he waited, and he vacillated. On the one hand, it would be a start. On the other, what if the mystery woman never arrived? Would he feel obligated to order a meal and eat all alone? Finally, after hemming and hawing, he said he’d take a lemonade with very little ice. When the drink arrived, he saw that the waitress had erred on the side of caution with a very full glass and no ice at all. He took the straw out and sipped carefully.

  Focusing on the drink kept him occupied for a bit, but as it got later and later, he became fidgety. Every woman who entered the restaurant was a possibility. A lush redhead who flashed him a smile seemed like a candidate, but she walked right on by. He’d actually hoped that the next woman would be his date because there was something about her that seemed warm and appealing. She was slim and pretty, wearing a camel-colored cloth coat, tied at the waist. The coat was long, coming all the way to the top of her boots. She looked about thirty, so the age matched, but she didn’t acknowledge him at all, and he remembered that she didn’t fit the description. He was looking for a woman wearing a black leather jacket. And a Hermès scarf.

  Each time a potential woman went past, he felt a rising hope and then had to reset his expectations and wait some more. Twenty minutes after the expected time, with no sign of his date and no phone call, Dan decided he’d had enough. He was getting ready to leave when a blond woman arrived in a tizzy, dropping into the seat opposite him. “Dan?” she said, and when he nodded, she began talking a mile a minute about the traffic and something about her car being a mess. She explained that she’d stopped to fill up with gas and then got sidetracked washing her windows and scooping out all the trash that was in the backseat. “You know how that happens,” she said, as if of course he’d know. Dan wasn’t sure if she meant that he’d know about stopping for gas and getting sidetracked, or if somehow he was supposed to know about the trash in her backseat. Why would there be garbage in her backseat anyway? And why didn’t she allow extra time if she knew her car was low on gas? It was all so confusing, and trying to sort it out was too much work, so he nodded and agreed, just letting her talk.

  He allowed himself to look at her when she ordered the meal. She was a bleached blonde with black eyebrows and dark-red lips. Her shiny top hugged her pushed-up rack. The whole effect reminded him of a film star from the fifties. Doreen had said she was chatty, which he now saw as a euphemism for “will not shut up.” She seemed unable to help herself. Even as the waitress was telling them the specials, she made commentary. “Braised beef tips? Oh ho!” she exclaimed, and reached over to squeeze Dan’s forearm. “Do I have a story about beef tips. I will definitely tell you later, don’t worry about that,” she added, as if he’d been begging to hear it right away. Besides the constant talking, it took her forever to order because she had to know the ingredients in several items and then questioned how everything was prepared.

  “Maybe they’ll let you go back and watch the cook make it,” Dan said.

  His suggestion drove her to stunned silence. But not for long. A second later she realized he’d been facetious and a smile stretched across her face. “You’re kidding! Oh, you.” She slapped his arm playfully.

  After the waitress abandoned Dan, and he was left alone with her, he tried to steer the conversation in a way that would enable him to figure out this woman’s name. He hadn’t caught it during the phone call and was embarrassed to ask at this point. He’d Googled her cell number, but didn’t come up with anything. He’d considered calling Aunt Doreen and asking before heading out to the restaurant, but he didn’t want to reopen the whole conversation. She might take it as encouragement and start fixing him up with every woman who came across her path. No, he figured she’d just say her name when she arrived, the way a normal person would, but she hadn’t and now he really couldn’t ask. So very awkward.

  Dan had the feeling someone had once told this woman she was the cutest thing ever and she took it to heart. Maybe when she was a little girl, her cutesy antics and bright smile got her so much attention that every year she
amped it up until she was the human equivalent of a neon billboard. She threw her head back when she laughed and widened her eyes for emphasis like a cartoon character. How could Doreen have thought he’d enjoy her company?

  The woman’s hands fluttered as she talked, and Dan found himself watching the slim manicured fingers rising and falling in a sweeping motion. It was mesmerizing. Not once did she ask him anything about himself, which was a relief, frankly, but still annoying. How could someone be so self-absorbed? She leaned across the table when making points and touched his hand or arm. The motion gave him a good view of her cleavage and the lacy bra beneath her top. He wasn’t interested in her, but he wasn’t dead either. She didn’t come off as overly bright, but she had to know the effect this kind of thing had on men. She was definitely cunning.

  “So,” he finally said after the food was served. “Were you named after someone? A relative maybe?”

  “No.”

  He waited for her to elaborate, but she had run out of verbal momentum for the moment and was concentrating on her club sandwich. He tried again. “I’ve never met anyone else with your name. It’s really . . . interesting.”

  “Thanks,” she said, lifting the bread off the sandwich and checking to make sure her request of no tomatoes had been honored. “But your name, not so unusual. I’ve known a couple of guys named Dan. Mostly older than me. Some go by Danny or Daniel. They’re all over the place. Two guys at the oil change place are named Dan. One of my teachers in high school was a Daniel. Daniel Tuttle was his name. There are lots of you guys.”

  “Yes.” Dan nodded. Before she could ramble on about nothing again, he steered the conversation in another direction. “Doreen said you were having some relationship problems?” He hoped his tone was more kindly uncle than prospective boyfriend. He had a reason for asking this. A plan. Once she finished venting, he’d have an opportunity to work in how little free time he himself had for socializing. He’d apologize for his pushy aunt and explain how he wasn’t ready to get together after this one time. Having a deceased wife was a horrible but handy excuse to get out of meeting up with this woman again. Time to draw a circle around himself and declare the space inside a dating-free zone.