Waking Amy (Amy #1)
Page 15
“I wish you'd have called last night. I stayed home, bored out of my mind. I binge-watched some show on HBO. I could've used the night out.”
“Who are you picking up at the airport?”
“Oh, Rick. He's the insurance adjuster who worked on my case last month. We hooked up right before he moved down the coast. This is his first visit back. He's going to crash at my place tonight. I hope I'm not late to work tomorrow.” She winked at me, her purple eye-shadow shimmered in the lights.
I began folding the edge of my napkin, wondering why I was there, when I felt a hand on my shoulder. It was unexpected and I turned quickly to see who it was.
His eyes were familiar, but it was someone unexpected to be there. “Hello.”
“I can't believe fate.” His smile calmed my slight anxiety attack.
“Mr. McTavish, what a surprise. It's good to see you.” He was evidently among the weekend-squeezers.
The bartender sat my drink down. “It's nice to see you. I felt so bad for last night. I mean…”
“Please call me Tom, and don't say any more about it. Is your chauffeur with you tonight?” He looked beside me at Sonja.
“No, he's not. This is my friend Sonja.”
“This was her friend Sonja.” She pushed away her empty glass and stood up. “It's nice to meet you, but I have to get going if I'm going to be on time for Rick’s flight.”
Tom smiled. I tried to figure out what was behind it. “I hope I didn't chase you away.”
Sonja kissed my cheek. “Not at all. You two have fun.”
“Be careful,” I said, as she trailed off.
“Well, isn't it my lucky night. Do you mind if I join you?” The deep-woods cologne he wore seemed to place me in a trance to agree to anything he requested. His endearing smile put me at ease and the Brooks Brothers suit didn't hurt any, either.
I looked around. Being rude two nights in a row to this nice guy would hurt me more than him. What was the harm to a drink? I did buy the dress. Let it earn its price tag. Oh, why didn't I pick another bar? Why hadn't he?
“Sure.” I slunk down in my chair, hoping if Ashley dragged Mark here they wouldn't see me. I was pretty sure Tom was among Mark’s top most-hated men.
“I'm just going to go and tell my friends to eat without me.” He turned to leave. I grabbed his arm.
“Don't stay on account of me. Join your friends. I'm just going to finish my drink and then leave. Really.”
“I think not. I'd much rather have a drink with you than to talk shop with those guys.”
He walked to his group of people. There was a mixture of females and males. One of the women looked at me with a poisonous stare. Could I have interfered with her plans for the evening? Tom came back and joined me on the next barstool.
“I'll have a whisky sour, please.” He told the bartender.
I looked at him, amazed that fate had such a sense of humor. I laughed.
“What's funny?” He sipped the drink the prompt bartender had sat down in front of him.
“It's just that we've already danced together, had a heated discussion in a bathroom hallway, and here we are again. I didn't think I'd ever see you again.”
He moved closer to me, situating his entire body to mirror mine. He couldn't seem to get close enough. My eyes fell on the stitching of the inside seam on his pants. “Fate is funny like that.”
“My thoughts exactly.” I tried on a look that would best soften the blow of what I was about to say. “I don't mean to be a buzz kill, Tom, but have you missed the fact that I'm wearing a diamond on my left ring finger? I don't want to give you the wrong impression of me.”
“I did see it. I see it now. But when it didn't bother you, I thought, why should it bother me? When I didn't see one on your friend's finger, I figured there was a story behind you, and a ring wasn't the main component.”
I laughed as though I had just seen the wolf's tail hanging out from my grandma's nightgown. “It's not that it bothers me or not. I'm married and I'm not out looking for anything. The guy I was with last night is just a friend.”
He tilted the glass back and finished off his drink. Was he playing a dial tone in his head during my speech about not being interested in bed sheets and notches?
“So, you're here to just have a drink?” His tone questioned my honesty.
“Sadly, yes. I lack alcoholic beverages at my house.”
“And last night? Were you there because your home doesn't have a dance floor and a bride and groom? Who was the guy? By his tone and sense of ownership toward you, he was obviously someone who also didn't care about your ring finger.”
My story suddenly had more holes than a hooker's stockings. Or so I imagined. “He is a friend. And we were just out.”
“I see.” He signaled for the bartender to refill his glass.
“I know it looks and sounds like I'm some type of confused, married call-girl, but I assure you, last week I didn't even know that guy or own this dress.”
“Have you eaten dinner?” Again, am I invisible here? Are you missing a hearing aid?
“I haven't. I'll probably eat later. Did you hear me?” I leaned over to him, waiting for recognition. I could smell his aftershave and it trapped me momentarily.
“Would you like to grab a table and we get something to eat?”
Suddenly, I remembered where I was, or rather who was likely to be dining there. Talking to Tom and inhaling his manly smell had taken my eye off the door. For all I knew, Mark and Ashley could be here already. I tried to see through the fuzzy partition to the other side. The smell of food from the kitchen taunted my appetite. I was starving, but to have dinner with this guy would give him the impression I didn't mean that gibberish I had just said. And it would jeopardize my plan of not seeing my sister in the main dining room. “I think I'm going to pay my tab and go.”
“Please don't.” He put his hand on top of mine. Sincerity somehow found its home on his face.
“I don't think it's a good idea to have dinner.”
“Because you don't eat, or you don't think it's a good idea to eat with me? I'm harmless, I assure you. Just ask that table full of people over there. They're my friends, and they can vouch for my reputation. I'm nothing but a gentleman. Now, what do you say? Sit across the table from me and eat. I promise not to cross the center line.”
He was too charming for his own good…or mine. I found myself basking in the attention of this fascinating, older gentleman. Enjoying his infectious smile and wondering why he seemed to be enamored with my company. It wasn't as though I wasn't supposed to be out. So what if I picked the same restaurant as my whore sister and her choice in hand-me-down men. Served both of them right to see me having a little fun.
“Well, if you put it like that, I'd be ridiculous if I didn't. I guess I could share a table.”
He got up, tossed forty dollars down and held out his arm to escort me to the hostess stand. I folded my arm inside his and felt like I was walking in someone else's shoes. Tom was no one I could have seen myself having dinner with. He was so unlike Wesley and Mark. With them, I felt like I was on their playing field. In the same league. But Tom didn't even play in the same park as those guys. He owned the field.
The hostess showed us to our table. There was very little overhead lighting in the restaurant. Most of the illumination came from wall sconces and private table lighting. I caught myself shaking my head, wondering how I had gotten here. It was no wonder I froze when I heard my name being called. I looked around, while thinking of alibis and lies in my head.
“Ashley?” Lord, you are making this more complicated than it has to be. I wasn't prepared for this confrontation. Slip me some superpowers, or give them limited memory. Tomorrow they won't remember seeing me here.
My sister was seated at one of the private tables we had just passed, on our way to the back. Tom stopped with me.
“So this is your friend from work?” Ashley held out her hand for Tom to molest it.
Where was Mark? I aimed myself and Tom in the direction of the waiting hostess, who sat us only five tables away from my sister. “Do you have anything more private?” Totally something a married woman asks.
“There is a ten-minute wait for another table.”
“This is fine.” Tom pulled out my chair.
I sat and looked down the row of tables, just as Mark got back to his. The look he gave was unforgettable. Something I'd see all night when I was able to close my eyes and reflect on what a mistake everything was. From the red dress to accepting a meal opposite Tom McTavish.
I pulled myself from the lock of his eyes and took my menu. The words could have been in Japanese for all I knew. The only thing going through my mind was how Mark probably thought I was as much a slut as my dinner partner did. Mom warned me that trashy lingerie only led to trashy behavior. Look at me now.
“Are you and your sister...”
“Twins? Yes. She's the bad one. I'll have to introduce you after she's done with that one.”
Tom leaned forward to get a better view. “Hey, isn't that the guy you were with last night?”
“Yes.” I bit down and squeezed out a smile.
I tried not to look back at Mark's table. I couldn't bear any more telepathic waves of disappointment aimed in my direction.
The waitress came and took our drink orders. She was perky with her ponytail and round, laughing cheeks. Her black ensemble made it seem like she only had a head, for her hands stayed hidden behind her back.
My martini had already found its way to my bladder. “Can you just order me the grilled chicken with the vegetable of the day when she comes back? I have to go to the restroom.”
“Sure. Do you want a salad?”
“No, thank you.” I stood up to leave. Tom rose from his seat. Wasn't that only done in the movies?
I stood at the sink. Its brown-flecked granite counter tops matched the tile on the walls. One of the faucets was still running water. I used the back of my hand to turn it off. It wasn't much brighter in here than the main dining room. I was unable to see if I had bloodshot eyes. They felt like they were. All I could tell is that they were glassy.
All the other ladies had left in the restroom. I continued to stare at myself in the mirror and pulled out my lipstick. Why wasn't I home watching Nick-at-Nite and heating up a frozen dinner? Completely covered in my pajamas and waiting patiently for the call that my husband was awake? Who was this girl in red?
I pressed my lips together and spread the color evenly between my two lips. I took one last look in the full-length mirror before leaving. My bangle bracelet was driving me crazy. The way it rolled down my arm, forcing me to jiggle it back up. It was the little things I was trying to focus on. In order to forget the big things. Tom, Mark, Ashley, Wesley. They were at the top of the list. Images I was trying to jiggle out of my mind completely.
Mark was waiting for me on the other side of the door. “Amy, what are you doing?”
Somehow I figured he might be waiting. Maybe it was the way his eyes told me his lips needed to have the final say. I flipped my hair back off my shoulder and mustered up some girl power. “I'm not sure what you mean.”
He stared me down, his eyes peeling off my layer of false bravado. He was able to. He was able to do a lot more than that if I allowed him. My heels made us eye level. I could feel myself caving as I stood face-to-face with the man who made me question my own fidelity. His open shirt revealed a peek of chest hair. His five o'clock shadow carpeted his cheeks, making his appearance rugged and dangerous, yet his face seemed uneasy and concerned. Not someone who was enjoying the company of my captivating sister. Maybe we could switch dinner dates.
“Did you call that guy from last night? Is that why he's here with you now?”
“No, he just showed up at the bar.” I moved out of the way for a woman to get through to the restroom.
He stepped closer to me. I would fail this mission of maintaining an air pocket if he didn't stop intruding on my already made-up mind. “I thought you said you were going out with a friend.”
“They got called away unexpectedly. Tom asked me to eat with him, and that’s what I’m doing. That's all.” Squeaky innocent.
Mark stepped back and fully scanned me with his eyes. He looked both pleased and wary. “Be careful, Amy.”
“I always am, Mark.” I walked back to my table.
I found Tom waiting, sipping his iced tea. He stood slightly until I was seated. “You managed to get more alluring. I ordered your food, by the way. Now, sit and tell me about yourself. More importantly, tell me about how you're here tonight, alone, and your husband isn't seated beside you, basking in the privilege of having you all to himself.”
Good thing my face matched my dress. I'd hate for it to clash with another color. “He's away on business.”
“Ah, well here's to his misfortune.” He raised his glass to toast his luck.
I put my glass down, aware I was being watched by two men. “What type of work do you do?”
“I'm an attorney.”
The occupation hit my soft spot. “Oh my goodness. My dad was an attorney.”
“Is he not practicing anymore?”
I felt my shoulders fall. “He died, along with my mother, five years ago.”
Tom placed his hand on top of mine. “I'm sorry to hear that. Was it a car accident?”
“No, they died in a plane crash. Well, Mom died a few days later in the hospital. Tom?” I looked into his easy eyes. He had the ability to draw the truth out of me as easily as God could have. “I have a confession.”
“What is it?”
“My husband isn't traveling.”
Tom pulled his hand off the table and made room for the basket of bread that the waiter was waiting to set down before us. He didn't take his eyes off me. The waiter left and Tom continued our discussion. “I figured he wasn't.”
“What does that mean?” What did he think?
“Sometimes women, and not that I blame you, wear wedding rings to dissuade men. It's perfectly acceptable. I have a colleague that does that very trick. She says it allows her to do more things without having to beat men off her.” He handed me a piece of bread he'd buttered. I was taken off-guard. I was usually the one who buttered.
I held it without taking a bite. He really thought I was single. I may have lied, but I wasn't a liar. “I am married. He's just in a coma.”
Tom stopped chewing. I waited for the newsflash to sink in.
“Wow, that did not sound good, did it?” The bread felt heavy in my hand.
He shook his head, still chewing the food trapped inside his mouth. “What I mean is that he was in a car accident last week, and now he's in a coma.”
Tom wiped his mouth with his napkin. “That's even worse. Why is it that you're not in the hospital with him?”
“Well, it's complicated. You see, I'm not sure where I stand with him. Before he wrecked, he was actually on his way to leaving me.” Whew, glad that cat is out. I feel lighter already. Or did that possibly make me seem like the most pathetic person in the room?
“And how do you know this?” He set his bread down on the saucer and hung on every word I was saying.
I felt like I had been cleansed with holy water and finished chewing my bite of bread. I was getting used to the fact that my life with Wesley was in limbo. Honesty was never overrated. “He left a letter on our refrigerator. I guess I saw it coming. I'm not sure, I figured we were certainly headed down the road to a therapist, at the very least.”
My eyes rolled in the back of my head. Suddenly, I felt Wesley was the lucky one who got to lie in bed and sleep this whole problem off.
&
nbsp; “I've got a confession, too.”
“Lay it on me.” I swigged my drink, resting from the load I had dumped off my back.
“I haven't been out with a woman in fourteen months. You see those people over there, that I came with?” He pointed to the gang that he left at the hostess stand earlier. I nodded. “They dragged me here tonight. Besides last night at the wedding, I haven't been out later than five o'clock. Since my divorce.”
“Wow.” I felt like part of a group now. The ones that were coming from under rocks and meeting the world after dark. How liberating to not be the only socially challenged one. “What happened?”
“She said I never went out.” He covered his mouth and laughed, possibly realizing something for the first time. “I guess she was right. I was so tired though. I work all day. All I wanted to do after work was to go home, eat dinner, and relax with my feet up on the couch.” He looked in the air, pondering that image. “That does sound bad, huh?”
Never one to throw rocks into glass houses, I shrugged.
“She wanted to attend parties and symphonies and operas. Things that are like nails on a chalkboard to me. Then, before I knew it, I came home and she was gone.” He paused. “Perhaps I could now find her at the parties, symphonies, and operas.”
I moved my bread plate and waited for the waiter to sit down our food. I watched this strange man confess to a crime he and I shared in common. “Home is our sanctuary. Why are we persecuted for it?”
“Is that your problem too? Did you want to stay home, and he wanted to go out?”
“I suppose I'm guilty of wanting to avoid the weekend frat parties at his co-workers’ houses. Most of them are single—probably because they can't find women who share their zeal for hosting keggers during the Super Bowl and making chili dip. What's so wrong with dinner and a movie on the couch?”
He raised his glass to toast me. “Why can't there be support groups for people like us?”
“Because we'd have to go to the meetings and we don't like to go places, remember?”
He winked at me. “I think this will be the beginning of a wonderful friendship, Amy Whitfield.”