Never Too Late

by Robyn Carr

  “He’s a tough kid,” Pete said. “Don’t worry about him.”

  “Did you know he has a daughter?” she asked.

  “Yeah, I know. He was really young.”

  “He’s still really young,” she said. She looked at Pete’s profile as he drove. It didn’t seem as though he had changed so much in twenty years. Suddenly she could picture him the way he was that night in her college apartment. The details came flooding back—that first tentative touch, the way he cautiously leaned toward her and gently touched her lips, as if anxious to see if she would respond or slap him. That light kiss, barely there. The way his arm slipped around her waist, hesitatingly. How his breath caught when she invited a deeper kiss. Oh, she remembered it now. He had moved so slowly, so carefully. She could even remember the taste of his mouth—Chianti and desire. And yes, his hand trembled slightly as it crept to her breast, giving her every opportunity to stop him, to push him away. But she had put her hand over his and pressed it down harder, and he made a sound of such longing it shook her. Stirred her.

  She should have known then what she knew now—he had adored her. He wanted her fearfully. Had he been making a conquest, even one born of wine and darkness, he would have taken her acquiescence and swooped down on her. He would have taken her quickly before she could change her mind. But he had not. Instead he was gentle, giving her the time to be sure. Time to respond. Until she begged him to be less gentle.

  What she also remembered, it had been good.

  “Hey,” Pete said, stealing a look at her. “You okay?”

  She shook herself. She’d been staring at him open-mouthed. “Oh sorry,” she said. “You haven’t changed that much. Can you believe we’re forty?”

  He laughed and said, “Me first.”

  “Where are we going?” she asked again.

  “We’re almost there. Haven’t you figured it out yet?”

  “Does it have anything to do with football?”

  “There could possibly be some football involved, yes,” he said.

  “Thanks for doing that with Roger and Jason. Brilliant.”

  “They need each other. Jason just doesn’t realize how much yet.”

  “Are we almost there?” she asked.

  “Almost.”

  Suddenly she recognized a street they turned down. She held her breath without meaning to. Pete pulled up in front of his parents’ house and she slowly let out her breath. She looked across at Pete.

  “Is this okay?” he asked. “Are you up to it?”

  The house looked the same as it had twenty years ago—brown with yellow shutters and trim, a long porch. Not a fancy house, and the neighborhood was about forty years old, but kept up nicely. It didn’t look as if it had aged a day. It brought tears to her eyes. “Give me a second,” she said.

  “They want to see you,” he said. “They’ve been begging. Especially my mom.”

  “Sure,” she said, but she said it a little weakly. “Maybe you should have asked me. Or at least told me.”

  “We don’t have to go in, it’s up to you. We’ve spent a lot of time talking about the past. I thought it might be a good idea to move into the present. And I was afraid you’d say no.” He patted her hand. “It’s okay if you cry. I won’t take it personally.”

  “I’m not going to cry. Maybe.”

  “Then come on. They’ll be waiting, trying not to open the door before you get there.”

  Sophie and Fred Rayburn met them at the door; they had aged some but were still young and fit in their sixties. They were small, this couple who had bred up two large boys. There were emotional embraces. The last time she’d seen them was at her mother’s funeral a dozen years ago. Fred had been in the hardware store, but Clare hadn’t worked there until recently and it wasn’t as though they went to the same churches, restaurants or grocery stores.

  The football game was on TV, naturally, but Fred had the volume down and Sophie had put out snacks in the family room. The fire was lit in the hearth and the room cozy and welcoming. The furniture had been updated, but it was almost comforting to note that the smells in the house were familiar—furniture polish, glass cleaner and freshly-baked cookies.

  Sophie took her by the hand and led her to the kitchen where she poured her a cup of coffee. “When Pete told me that he ran into you and you two were back in touch, I just can’t tell you what a lift it gave me! It’s been too long, Clare.”

  “I agree. It’s so good to see you. The last couple of times were not happy ones.”

  “How is your father doing?”

  “He’s great. Strong, feisty, working too hard as usual.”

  They went around the dining and living rooms, coffee mugs in hand, looking at the framed photos. There were Pete’s girls at all ages, a couple of gatherings of extended family, and of course high school photos of Pete and Mike. Ah, she remembered. Pete was very young-looking, even when he graduated. And there on the mantel was a picture of Mike in his Air Force uniform. He seemed to be looking away, as though he was already leaving her. She picked it up and held it. “I put away my pictures of Mike.”

  Sophie touched her arm. “Of course you did, dear. You got on with your life, as you were meant to do.”

  “This brings back such memories.”

  “Embrace the good ones, sweetheart. Let any unpleasant ones go.”

  Sophie and Clare sat at the dining table with their coffee and caught up on family matters. Clare told Sophie about going back to the hardware store to work, now part-time, about the fixer-upper, about her son, about her divorce. Sophie filled Clare in on her granddaughters. “It’s such a joy to have girls, I can’t tell you. Like my reward for raising two boys.”

  “Do you go to the football games?”

  “We used to go all the time, but we miss some now. The cold gets to Fred. And to me, if I’m honest.”

  When Fred told Pete to come outside with him to get firewood, Sophie seized the moment to say something she didn’t want her son to overhear. “After we lost Mike, I had this far-fetched hope that you and Pete would find each other—but you both went in other directions. You know, he had such a crush on you in high school.”

  Clare was momentarily shocked. Did everyone know but her? “He did?” she said.

  Sophie nodded. “The way he looked at you. The way he looked at you and Mike—I could tell he was just in agony. But I knew.” She shook her head almost sadly. “It must have been hard on him. He loved his brother so.”

  “Did Mike know?”

  Sophie laughed in absolute amusement. “Darling, Mike was just a guy. There are a lot of signals that guys are immune to until they’re much older.”

  “I guess that’s probably true.”

  “Promise me something, Clare. Now that you’ve come by for a visit, don’t be a stranger.”

  “Count on it, Sophie. I’ve missed you, too.”

  When Pete was driving Clare home, he pulled over at a crimp in the road beside a farmer’s field. He killed the engine, took her hand and held it and asked, “How are you doing?”

  “A little emotional,” she said honestly. “But good.”

  “Thank you for doing that. It means a lot to my mother.”

  “Means a lot to me, too. Your mother told me she knew you always had a crush. I think I might be the only one who didn’t know that.”

  “My mother,” he laughed. “How she can still surprise me.”

  “Pete—I’ve been remembering that night. I don’t want you to take all the blame. I responded to you. That whole thing…It was very mutual.”

  “I know.” He smiled. “That’s the special part.”

  “You could’ve let it remain in the past.”

  “No, I couldn’t,” he said. “You had to know the truth. I planned it for years. How I was going to seduce you, get you all turned on and go for it. I knew you might think it happened because we were alone, had wine. It was a setup, Clare. I set it up. I want you to be real clear about that.”

  �
��Because…?”

  He lifted her hand to his lips. He pressed a soft kiss into her palm. “Because if I happen to see that opportunity again, if I try again, if I give you wine and darkness and try to seduce you, you’ll know. It’s deliberate. It’s not an accident.” He shrugged. “Maybe then if you respond, you won’t regret it later.”

  She shivered at the thought.

  He started the car and drove her home, leaving her with lots to think about.

  The end of October came with a shock of cold, and the high school Homecoming. Over the years Clare had managed not to pay too much attention to the way the town was charged with excitement during Homecoming, and she realized now that was partly due to the fact she would not allow herself to remember all the joy during that time of her life. But having a son in high school invited her back.

  She hadn’t been to a Homecoming celebration since right after her high school graduation, but this year’s was like a family reunion. With Jason and his cousin Lindsey in their sophomore years, not only did Clare attend the festivities, so did George, Maggie and Bob and Sarah. There were banners all over town, the teenagers in Breckenridge so wired with excitement, it was exhausting just to watch them. And Clare had an added reason to be interested in all of this—a secret no one knew. A secret she had barely admitted to herself. She had a thing for the football coach.

  The festivities started out with the crowning of the king and queen. Then there was a huge bonfire on the school grounds the night before the game. On game day the high school students held a parade featuring their royalty, floats they constructed themselves, a marching band, dance team, pom-pom girls, the riding club, and some representation of virtually every student organization.

  The parade and floats wound up at the football field for a trip around the track. Thousands of people swarmed the grounds and bleachers; buses were lined up in the parking lots, emptied of their fans who accompanied the opposing team from out of town. After the game would come the dance—a glamorous affair reigned over by the king and queen, chaperoned by teachers, parents and the coach.

  When Clare arrived for the game with Sarah and George, she immediately scanned the field for a sign of Pete, but the team wasn’t out yet. Their opponents were from Fallon—a bunch of big farm boys who were reputed to be ruthless killers. But the Centennial boys had been winning all season and there wasn’t anything small or timid about them.

  Clare stopped her dad before they went into the bleachers. “Why don’t Sarah and I wait here to see if Maggie and Bob are coming—you can go ahead and see if they’re already here, or save room.”

  “Perfect,” he said, going on without her.

  “I’ll get us something from the concession stand,” Sarah said. “Want anything?”

  “Coke, please,” Clare asked.

  Clare watched Sarah as she walked away, her blond hair bouncing on her shoulders. She must be going broke on the new clothes, but she looked so darling in her fitted slacks, sweater, scarf and boots. She kept her makeup light and tasteful and admitted that she had been shocking her customers with her new look. Whatever this was about, Clare and Maggie were very grateful.

  The opposing team ran onto the field and the bleachers opposite where Clare stood exploded into cheers while behind her she heard boos and hisses.

  “Clare?” a voice asked.

  She turned around to find herself face-to-face with Sam. He held a cardboard carton holding three Cokes and a bag of popcorn. He smiled at her. She looked for that sadness in his eyes, but to her relief saw none. Instead he seemed cheery, all dimples and teeth. Maybe Pete was right—he’d bounce back without a problem. “How are you, Sam?” she asked.

  “Good. You?”

  “Good. I’ve thought about calling to see how you’re doing, but I didn’t want to…you know…”

  “It’s okay, Clare. Really, I’m fine. You shouldn’t worry.”

  “I’m glad. Have you been…have you been going out?”

  He shrugged. “Not really. Hey, there’s someone I’d like you to meet. Got a minute?”

  “I have to wait here for my sister. She just went to get drinks.”

  “I’ll wait with you. If it’s okay.”

  “It’s okay.”

  “So. How’s it going at the store?”

  “Good. You haven’t been tearing up the sprinklers lately.”

  “We’re about done mowing for the winter,” he said. “Have you been…you know…going out?”

  “I…No. My divorce is final now. But you know what they say. You should go it alone for at least six months.”

  He grinned at her. “Is that what they say? What’s that about?”

  “That old rebound thing, I guess.”

  “Is that how long it takes to heal?” he asked. And there it was, a hint of sadness in those typically bright, dancing eyes.

  “I guess so. Approximately.”

  “I’ll have to remember that.”

  The home team ran onto the field with a roar and Clare was grateful for the interruption—the conversation with Sam stopped for the cheers and the band blasting out the school song. There he was, the coach and his assistants. She raised up on her toes, but all she could have of him was his back. He would be focused on the field the rest of the night.

  “Here you go,” Sarah said, handing Clare a cola. “Hi, Sam. How’ve you been?”

  “Good. Good to see you. Come with us—I want Clare to meet my daughter.”

  Sam led the way, Clare and Sarah following. They exchanged furtive glances behind him, Sarah with a question in her eyes and Clare answering with a shrug.

  Not very far into the stands sat a woman and little girl. The little girl was a darling, freckle-faced sprite with long reddish-blond pigtails flowing over her shoulders. She was holding a tiny dog wrapped in a plaid throw. Just his little head with spiky, out-of-control hair and a little black button of a nose stuck out. “Clare and Sarah, this is Molly, my daughter, and Joan, my mom. This is Clare and Sarah, friends of mine.”

  While Clare just said hello, Sarah bent closer to the little girl and said, “I know Molly. I gave an art class at your school, remember?”

  “Miss McCarthy?” she asked. “You look beautiful.”

  Sarah laughed and straightened. “I usually tie my hair back when I work or teach,” she said to Sam’s mother. “Nice to meet you.”

  “And you.”

  To Molly, she said, “I remember you really liked art. I give little classes at my studio, if you’re ever interested.”

  “This is Spoof,” Molly said, holding up the dog.

  “You should paint him,” Sarah said. “He’d make a great model.”

  “I bet he wouldn’t,” Sam laughed.

  “We’d better get going,” Clare said. “We have to look for Dad.” When they walked away, Clare said, “That was weird.”

  “How so?”

  “Meeting his family? After breaking it off?”

  “Well, he appears to be doing just fine. You’re not disappointed, are you?”

  “Absolutely not. I just think it’s weird, introducing us like that.”

  “He was just being polite,” Sarah said. She strained to look up into the stands. “There they are. Up there.”

  The game had been a huge victory for Centennial. The kids were all charged up. Jason went to the dance with his buddies and was spending the night at Stan’s. Lindsey was going to the dance with Christopher, in a car, an event that did not fill Maggie and Bob with comfort. The adults left the kids to the rest of their celebration and went out for pizza and beer.

  It was only eleven when Clare got home. She didn’t turn on many lights, but settled back on the sofa in the semidark and put her feet up. Her insides were still vibrating from the noise at the game and pizza parlor and the quiet was welcome.

  She wondered if Pete had any idea how often she thought about him. Ever since going with him to his parents’ house, ever since that memory of the past had come back to her so sweetly and h
e’d confessed his reasons for making sure she knew how deliberate his seduction had been, he had hardly left her thoughts for a second. Yet in the week preceding the homecoming, she hadn’t heard from him.

  She had started thinking about Pete in the way she had described to Sarah one should think about a man one loved—constantly, with a little patter of the heart, a lift, a feeling of euphoria and elation. Expectation. And not just at that moment of his touch—but at the mere thought of it.

  She decided to leave him a message, telling him that the game was great and congratulate him. But he answered the phone, startling her and putting her off guard.

  “Pete! You’re home!”

  “Just barely walked in the door. I got a reprieve from the dance since I put in such a long damn day.”

  “I was just going to leave you a message, congratulating you.”

  “Would you like me to hang up and you can leave a message? I’ll hear it right away.”

  “No,” she laughed. “Good game. Congratulations.”

  “I saw you there. I was glad you came.”

  “I haven’t been to a Homecoming in years. But with Jason in high school…”

  “Most important, it was a fun game,” he said. “Football season is almost over. When it is, how would you like to go out? Dinner or something?”

  “I’d love that.”

  “I’d take you out this weekend, but I have the girls. What are you doing?”

  “I’m going to work on my old house. It’s going to be more than a renovation. It’s going to be a huge remodel. I’m going to start by cleaning up. I’ll have the heating and plumbing repaired first—so I can work in the house this winter, but I already had a chimney sweep pronounce the fireplace safe, so I can use that right away. Then in spring, I’ll work on the outside.”

  “You’re amazing, Clare. Wish I could do that kind of stuff.”

  “You do other stuff,” she said. “You do wonderful football stuff.” You do something to me, she thought.

  George would have loved to help Clare in the old house on Saturday, but he had to run the store as usual. She was just as happy about that; she didn’t want her dad to overdo it. He wasn’t a young guy anymore, after all.