"He must be very proud of you."
Erika shrugged. Her father was very proud, period. He was proud of his daughters, but also proud of how far he'd come in the world, from his working-class childhood in the Bronx to a successful career as a stockbroker on Wall Street. And he was proud of how much he did for his daughters-sending them to prestigious private colleges, paying for the riding lessons and coaching that had turned Erika into a champion. The Wagoneer was actually pretty old, dinged, and mud-spattered, with unfashionable wood siding. But it got her where she wanted to go, and she wasn't about to complain.
Where Ted wanted to go was the Black Horse Tavern, which was one of the fanciest restaurants in town. It was the kind of place one's parents went to on their anniversary or took the family to when grandparents were visiting. When Ted had phoned and she'd told him that she was indeed free for dinner, she'd assumed they would go someplace normal, one of the chain restaurants, like Olive Garden or TGI Friday's, or a local place. Country Coffee Shop or Village Pizza would have suited her fine.
She wasn't even wearing a dress. Just some nice cotton slacks and an airy linen blouse.
"You really want to have dinner at the Black Horse Tavern?" she asked him.
"It's a nice place," he said.
"I know it's nice. What I asked was if that was really where you want to eat."
"I can afford it."
She refused to twist the ignition key until they'd worked this out. "I didn't think you'd want to go someplace you couldn't afford," she said. "I just ..."
"What?"
She struggled to come up with a tactful phrasing, then gave up. "I don't want you to think you have to go out of your way to impress me, Ted. I mean, you impress me just by being yourself."
He gazed across the console at her. In the lavender twilight, she was acutely aware of the shadows playing across his angular face. Her gaze dropped to his neck and the vee of chest exposed where his shirt collar was unbuttoned, and she realized she wanted to kiss him there, right in the hollow at the base of his throat.
She'd never felt drawn to a boy the way she was drawn to Ted. Never felt that shimmering warmth with anyone else. It scared her a little and excited her a lot.
Yet there she was, challenging him. Arguing with him not only about where they should go for dinner but why they should go wherever they went. They'd barely gotten together, and they were already having a real fight.
Only it wasn't a fight. Ted's face relaxed into a smile. "I don't think I'm that impressive," he said. "But if you're impressed, we can go wherever you want."
They wound up at a pub on Route 510, ordering thick, juicy burgers and lemonade. The front of the tavern was the bar, which was crowded with adults who talked too loudly and laughed even more loudly. But in the back, where the tables were located and food rather than booze was the focus, the place was actually pretty pleasant. Old rock music spilled softly through the ceiling speakers and the lighting was dim, augmented by glass-enclosed candles on the scarred wooden tables. It was the kind of eatery that featured paper placemats and salt shakers with rice inside them to keep the salt from caking. The order of fries she and Ted decided to share came in a plastic basket lined with a paper napkin, and the portion was so big, fries kept spilling out of the basket and leaving greasy spots on the placemats.
It wasn't the Black Horse Tavern, for which Erika was grateful.
"So what should we do about Laura?" Ted asked after taking a lusty bite of his burger.
"Do we have to do anything about her?"
"She set us up. She manipulated us into this."
"Ah." Erika saw the laughter in his eyes and grinned.
"All year, she's been calling me and nagging me to go to this party and that party," he said. "You were at all those parties. I'm thinking maybe she was trying to play matchmaker."
"Maybe." Erika set down her burger. She'd eaten a little over half of it and was full. "Maybe it was just coincidence. I mean, you were dating Kate and all."
"That didn't keep Laura from plotting to get us together. Why would she care about whether I went to this or that party? She only twisted my arm about parties you were going to be at."
"Twisted your arm," Erika scoffed. "Like you had to be forced to go to all those parties." She ran a quick survey of her own memories and laughed. "She had to twist my arm, though. I'm not that into parties."
"You're kind of shy," Ted said. That he would describe her so bluntly intrigued her, especially since he was right. People who saw her-particularly at parties-wouldn't guess that she was reserved. But Ted had figured that out about her.
"The thing is, I would never have even thought of you, well, this way-" she motioned with her hand across the table to indicate that by this way she meant a couple, dating "-because you were with Kate."
"I'm not with Kate anymore."
She recalled him telling her last night that he'd had a crush on her from the first time he'd seen her. That meant he'd had a crush on her before he started dating Kate, and during his time with her. "Why didn't you ask me out?"
"I did." It was his turn to gesture toward their surroundings. "Hello? I asked you out."
"I mean before. If you had a crush on me for all that time."
"You were busy," he said, as if that explained everything. "You were into your horses. And you were kind of exotic. Maybe it's your Central American blood."
"South American," she corrected him. "There's a difference."
"Yeah. I didn't do so well in world history."
"I don't know why they called that class world history. We studied Europe, Asia, and a little bit of Africa. We hardly spent any time on South America at all." She sipped her lemonade and sighed. "You can't really learn about places by reading about them in textbooks. I want to visit all those places we read about. Europe, Asia, Africa. I want to travel around the world."
"I wouldn't mind seeing the world," Ted said. "But I'd kind of like to see America, too. I've hardly traveled at all."
Erika flashed on a fantasy of the two of them traveling together. Driving across the continent in the trusty old Wagoneer. Sailing across the ocean to Europe. Riding a mysterious train to the Middle East and roaming through northern Africa. Galloping on horses across the Sahara, kicking up sand beneath a relentless sun. Then moving on to Asia, hopping from India to China to Japan to Australia. Winding up on a South Sea island, lying on a white beach, surrounded by turquoise water and swaying palm trees.
It was a lovely fantasy, and a silly one. First she had to go to college. Then she had to figure out a way to pay for this around-the world adventure. And if Ted started college next year, he'd be a year behind her and it would take a couple of years for him to earn enough money to help pay for their trip ... and why was she thinking about him years into the future? This was their first date, for God's sake.
"Here," she said, pushing her plate with her half-consumed burger around the fries basket to his placemat. "I'm full. You can finish this."
"Thanks," he said. Obviously he wasn't full. And obviously he saw nothing wrong with eating her leftovers, as if they were already a steady couple. As if they'd been together long enough and knew each other well enough to share their entrees. As if he understood that finishing her burger was an intimate thing to do, and he was okay with that intimacy.
Maybe they would take that trip around the world someday. Today, her burger. Tomorrow, Europe.
For the first time in her life, Erika's dream of the future wasn't about winning another event at a horse show and bringing home another trophy. It was about Ted.
YOU KNOW THAT EXPRESSION, "poetry in motion," but you never really understood what it meant until you watched Erika ride.
Ted stood by a painted white fence, resting his arms on the top rail, one sneakered foot propped on a lower rail and his eyes squinting in the late-afternoon sunlight. On the other side of the fence was a long oval track of sand and sawdust framing a grass field interspersed with wooden structures that loo
ked like highjumper's bars at a track meet. They were painted white and red, and he could tell from the structure that if Erika's horse caught one of its hooves on the bar, the entire barrier would simply fall over and not tangle the horse up or endanger the beast or the rider.
Erika's horse didn't catch its hooves on any of the horizontal bars. She spurred it to gather speed as it approached each fence, and then, with ballet-like grace, the horse sprang into the air, leaping over the fence and landing on the other side without a thump or a jerk or a missed step.
The horse was beautiful, but Erika was even more beautiful. Despite the speed and power of the animal, her upper body seemed perfectly still, posture straight, arms bent symmetrically at her elbows, eyes and chin pointing forward. A form-fitting black helmet with a little visor covered her skull, but her hair, pulled back into a pony-tail, streamed behind her like a rippling gold-brown flag.
He wanted to draw her.
He had already drawn plenty of pictures for her. He'd drawn some before they'd become a couple, when he'd been secretly nursing his crush. But now that they'd been together for a few weeks, he'd started giving her his drawings. Not drawings of her; they came nowhere close to capturing everything he loved about her. But drawings of Greta and Garfield, the geese who shared the barn with Ba Ba and Bunky. And the ducks, Donald and Donna. He'd drawn a great caricature of Spot, his randy golden retriever, with his tongue drooling out the side of his mouth and his eyes glazed with lust. Ted had been a bit leery about introducing Erika to Spot, afraid the dog would try to hump her leg or something. But Spot had behaved well, nuzzling her knees and using his snout to direct her hand wherever he wanted scratching. Spot could be bossy, but Erika hadn't seemed to mind.
Today it was Ted's turn to meet her animal, Five Star. "He isn't actually my horse, but his owner loves to let me ride him," she had explained when she'd escorted Ted into the stable and over to Five Star's stall. "It's good for the horse-he's a jumper, he needs the exercise. And good for the owner, because every time I win a ribbon it increase's Five Star's value."
"So you don't own your own horse?"
"I wish I did," she'd admitted, "but it makes more sense this way. Owning a horse is so expensive. You have to pay to board him, pay for feed and grooming services and shoes ... and the vet bills can be staggering. Anyway, I don't have to own Five Star to feel like he's mine. I depend on him, and he depends on me. We love each other, don't we?" she'd cooed to the horse, stroking the creature's nose and the flat expanse of his cheek before she'd fitted a bit between his teeth.
She'd let Ted hold Five Star's reins as she'd strapped a saddle onto him. The horse was huge. Not huge huge like those Clydesdales pulling the beer wagon in the Budweiser commercials, but when Ted thought of Erika seated on Five Star's back, so many feet above the ground, he felt queasy. He knew she was a champion rider, but if something went wrong, she'd be falling a long way before she finally hit the ground.
He was still wearing his caddying clothes from a gig earlier that day. He'd untucked his shirt as soon as Erika had picked him up in her Wagoneer, but he'd kept on his Sommerset Country Club cap because the brim cut the glare of the sloping late-day sun. Even with the hat, he had to shield his eyes as Erika galloped to the far end of the fenced-in enclosure. She had on tight-fitting gray pants and a tank top, the velvety black helmet, and a pair of knee-high black leather boots that he found incredibly sexy, even though they were styled for business, not pleasure.
Everything about her was sexy when she rode: the speed, the inherent risk, the fluidity of her body. The way she leaned forward with each jump, her torso parallel with the horse's neck and her sweet little behind rising out of the saddle. He was unable to see her face when she'd ridden to the far end of the enclosure, but when she rode back toward him he couldn't miss her expression, which was a complicated blend of intense concentration and otherworldly bliss.
That was what he wanted to draw: her face when she rode.
She cantered toward the fence where he stood watching her. The horse's hooves thundered against the track and he found himself thinking again of how high off the ground she was, and how big those hooves were, how much the horse weighed, and what would happen if she slid out of the saddle and got trampled. But of course she didn't. She was perfectly balanced and secure. Confidencethat was another element in her expression. Confidence, concentration, and sheer joy.
She'd told him she loved Five Star and depended on him. Ted wanted her to love and depend on him. As much as she loved and depended on her horse. More.
"I hope that didn't bore you," Erika said once they were back in the Wagoneer, coasting out of the stable's dirt lot and onto the road.
"Bore me? Are you kidding?"
She was driving, so she couldn't look at Ted. But she could feel his gaze on her. He didn't seem bored now-in fact he seemed more wired than usual, one leg jiggling and his voice bright with energy. But that was now. Watching her do some jumping runs couldn't have been that exciting. The excitement was in the riding. She herself got restless when she watched other people ride. She'd evaluate their form, rate them in her mind-but all the while, she'd be wishing she was on the horse, not standing on the side, watching.
"You were awesome," he said. "At first I thought, shit, what if you fall? But then I watched you and realized you weren't going to fall."
"I've fallen a few times," she told him. She could feel him start beside her, and she laughed. "Nothing serious. I'm still here. But sometimes, you get an ornery horse and he just doesn't want someone on his back, so he throws you. Five Star would never do that," she added. "He's my sweetheart."
"I thought I was your sweetheart," Ted grumbled, although she could hear laughter in his voice.
"You're my other sweetheart," she assured him, then taunted him by adding, "Don't forget, I've been with Five Star a lot longer than I've been with you." She cruised down the road in the waning light. The Wagoneer's windows were open, letting in a hot, dry breeze that carried the scent of pine and fresh-cut grass and summer. "I'm going to miss him so much when I leave for college."
Again she sensed Ted shifting next to her. She glanced his way and saw him staring out the side window.
"I'll miss you, too," she said, realizing that maybe she shouldn't have teased him. Maybe she should have told him that once they'd started dating, she'd reapplied to Colorado College with the request that she forego the Summer Start program and begin college in the fall, so she could spend the summer with him. If she told him that, however, he'd probably hear only the part about her beginning college in the fall, not the part about her asking the school to reprocess her application because she wanted to be with him all summer.
The subject of her leaving for college rarely came up, but when it did Ted grew quiet, melancholy. She would miss him. They'd been together nearly every day since the graduation party at Jennifer's house, and they'd talked on the phone when they couldn't see each other. She'd grown so comfortable around Ted, as comfortable as she was with Five Star. She could sense his moves, his moods. She could trust him.
Yet they'd been together for only a few weeks. And she'd known that even if the college agreed to accept her into the freshman class that would matriculate in the fall-which, thank goodness, the school did-she would eventually be leaving Mendham. She regularly reminded herself of that fact. She would be leaving Ted. If they were meant to last, they'd manage to keep things going while she was away. But her idea of a college experience didn't include sitting alone on Saturday nights, pining for her boyfriend back in New Jersey.
"Let's not think about it," she said.
Ted knew what it was. "Yeah, right."
"You could go to college, too," she suggested.
Not the best thing to say. She felt him bristling. "The only reason I'd go to college would be if it was Colorado College and I could be with you. And I don't think that would play real well on my application. `Dear Colorado College, Please accept me despite my lousy transcript because I w
ant to be with Erika Fredell. Oh, and make sure you toss in a full scholarship. Thanks."'
Even though the subject was touchy and kind of depressing, she found herself laughing. Ted laughed, too.
She didn't love him. She kept telling herself that. She enjoyed his company, enjoyed his wit, enjoyed gazing at his beautiful face, his mesmerizing eyes. She enjoyed kissing him, steaming up the windows of the Wagoneer with him. She liked him more than any other guy she'd ever known, and then some. And when they were both descending into a funk about something-in general, the only thing that sent them both into a funk was discussions about her impending departure for college-she loved the way he could make them both laugh.
But she didn't love him. She couldn't. If she loved him, she would never be able to leave him at the end of the summer.
And she was determined to leave.
"I still don't believe your house is haunted," she said.
They were parked outside his house. It was after midnight, and the windows were all dark. His parents had left the porch light on for him, but they'd probably gone to bed hours ago.
Erika had driven back to her house after they'd left the stable, and she'd changed from her riding pants and boots into a pair of cut-offs and a sexy little sleeveless top that let her bra straps peek through. Her black bra straps. A guy couldn't help noticing.
From there, she'd driven to his house so he could change out of his caddying outfit into regular clothes. They'd tossed swimsuits and towels into the backseat and driven to Will's house, where they and a few other friends had swum in his pool and sent out for pizza. Things had finally wound down there, and Erika had driven Ted back to his house.
"How can a house not be haunted if it was built where a cemetery used to be?"
"Assuming you're right about that-"
"I'm right," he argued.
"Your house was built, what, two hundred years ago?"
"Not quite."
"And yet you're positive it was built on a cemetery."
Meet Me in Manhattan (True Vows) Page 8