Ben pushed his plate away as if his food were no longer appetizing. “Yeah. You’re right.” He rose and signaled the waitress. She met him at the cash register.
Sydney drew her wallet from her handbag.
“Put that away,” he said. “I’ll get it.”
Their arguments flew like stray bullets.
“No, I don’t want you –” he snapped.
“I said I will –”
“I’m paying.”
“Don’t bother,” she countered.
“You’ll owe me,” he said slowly, and handed a twenty to the wide-eyed cashier.
The rumble of the truck engine filled the otherwise quiet truck cab. When he pulled into a parking spot, he turned off the ignition and sat there. “Sydney…”
Not this time. She didn’t want to hear whatever he had to say. Not right now.
“I have a lot of work to do.” She climbed out and slammed the door.
Ugh, how awkward. She should never have gone to lunch with him, never have revealed so much. She’d gotten used to hiding inside her shell, a beautiful pearlescent shell she’d constructed around herself. Her dreams were about all that was left, and now he’d tainted those, too.
****
Sydney plopped into the chair in front of Claudia’s desk. “I have never been so confused.”
Red pen in hand, Claudia scribbled across a printed page and looked over her reading glasses. “I need a little more info.”
She summed it up in one word. “Ben.”
Claudia rocked back in her chair. “What’s the problem?”
She sighed. She tried to avoid having this conversation with Claudia, but she needed her friend now, not her editor.
“I have tried to forget that night. And yes, don’t remind me it was more than a year ago. What kind of loser hangs on to one night so long ago?”
“You’re not a loser. You have Paul Jackson as a backup.”
“And Randon Byers. I forgot to mention him.” The beginnings of a headache took root. She rubbed her temple.
A look of delight filled Claudia’s face. “Well. You’ve been busy.”
Sydney slapped a hand against the chair’s arm. “Feast or famine, the story of my life.”
Claudia studied her like a scientist studying a specimen. “But?”
“Ben.” She could probably have let it go at that, but the flow had begun now and was not easy to turn off. “I can’t get him out of my head. It tends to put a damper on other guys.”
“He’s cute. Take him home. Undress him. Have a little fun.” Married for twenty-two years, maybe it was Claudia’s lost sense of adventure speaking.
Sydney pushed herself up from the chair and paced. “You’re not helping.” She paused at the door. He wasn’t in sight.
“I call ‘em as I see ‘em.” Her editor’s no-nonsense approach is what led Sydney to ask for advice.
She folded her arms across her chest. “You’re always trying to edit me, even in life.”
“Do what’s best for you.” The consummate multitasker, Claudia’s fingers pecked at the keyboard. “But honey, if he makes you feel good, go for it.”
“Sometimes he makes me feel good – better than I’ve ever felt with anyone. Other times, I want to…” She clutched her hands before her, strangling an invisible Ben.
Claudia gave a throaty chuckle. “Uh-oh. You’re in big trouble.”
Sydney hadn’t wanted to admit that. Hearing Claudia confirm her fear worried her more. ”I have some work to finish.” She opened the door. “Thanks.”
Claudia leaned forward with a look combining sympathy and amusement. “For what?”
“Not having me committed.” With a sigh, Sydney walked to her desk.
The afternoon was over before she knew it. She’d immersed herself in pulling together two articles. She had an idea for the second, and the graphics department might be able to do a visually stunning image. She carried her work to Claudia’s office like an offering to the gods, a sacrificial piece of herself. Maybe it would redeem her in her editor’s eyes.
****
As Ben hammered the last nail into the shutter, his cell vibrated. Retrieving it, he glanced at the display. Jeannie.
“Hey, what’s up.”
“Checking in,” she said.” Wondering if you’re still alive in the sticks.”
Alive, not kicking. “Yeah, of course.”
An Amish buggy rode by, the horse’s hooves clopping on the road. He’d learned a long time ago not to train his lens on them, but it made such a nice picture.
“You sure? You’ve been awfully quiet.”
“Nah. Busy, that’s all.” Good thing Grandpop left all these repairs for him. “How’re things with you?”
“Husband-less. Mike’s giving workshops for the next few weeks. So I thought I’d help you plan your housewarming party.”
“I’m not planning one.” Unlike his sister, who made a successful business out of it, he had no gift for throwing elaborate parties.
“Of course not. That’s why I’m going to help you.” Her smile came through the phone. “Come on Ben. It’s not like you to be by yourself so much. I want to do this for you.”
Leave it to his sister to read him, even at a distance. He exhaled in surrender. “Yeah. Sounds good. When?”
“Next weekend. I had an anniversary party all set, and the couple cancelled.”
“They’re splitting up instead?” he ventured.
“Oh shush. The point is, I have the makings for an amazing barbecue. All you have to do is gather a crowd.”
He tried to imagine it: people filling the large space around the old farmhouse. Among them, Sydney stood out like a vision. “Okay.”
“Really?” Delight lent her voice a lilt. “Excellent.”
Possibly. Or quite possibly, it would end up the opposite of excellent.
****
Sydney avoided Ben the rest of the week. He disappeared from the office often, or busied himself with his computer or editing while at his desk. During the staff meeting, he sat catty-cornered Sydney, avoiding her line of sight.
On Friday, he stopped by her desk on the way out. “I filed today’s shots, if you want to check them out. I think they’re effective, but I’d be interested in hearing your take.”
She concentrated on the computer screen, tapped her pen on the desktop. “Thanks. I’ll take a look.”
He adjusted the shoulder strap of the camera bag. “Great. You could let me know tomorrow.”
She glanced up long enough to acknowledge his presence. “Tomorrow’s Saturday.”
“I know. I invited a bunch of people, including newsroom people, over to my place – Jon, Dave, Sadie… Claudia may even come.”
She paused her pen-tapping. “Claudia?” The traitor! How could she accept such an invitation and not even tell her?
He picked up her paperweight, held it to the light. “It’s very casual, just a cookout type of thing. Beer, chips, I might even spring for some wine.”
She took the paperweight from his hands, set it atop the papers it had been holding. “How very Martha Stewart of you.”
The teasing left his voice. “Seriously. Come.”
She resumed her pen tapping, turned her attention to her computer, and forced a light tone. “Maybe.”
He pressed against her desk. “Please.”
His seriousness made her uncomfortable. She tilted her head. “Do you need to meet a quota for the keg or something?”
“I’d like you to be there.” His tone was placating.
She leaned back in her chair, trying to assess him and all his sincerity. “Some sort of bet riding on it?” she prompted.
His eyes shone, but his mouth twitched with the effort of repressing a smile. “I’m not at liberty to say.”
She bit her pen and assessed him. He was always a difficult read, hiding behind that teasing smile.
He touched his fingertips to her desk. “The fun starts at three.”
“I’ll mark that on my planner.” It was a flip remark, one she wished she could flip back where it came from.
His face lit up. “Good.” He dug in his camera bag and dropped a paper on her desk. “Here’s the address and directions.”
She gave him a polite smile and turned back to her work. In her peripheral vision, he walked toward the door. His cell phone rang, and he answered it, his free hand gesturing as he spoke. Pausing at the door, he turned to her and held up three fingers.
She brought her forefinger and thumb together in the OK sign. His smile filled his face.
As soon as he was in his truck, she pulled out her cell phone and dialed Claudia. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
After a pause, Claudia asked, “Syd? Tell you what?”
She stood and rubbed her temple. “The cookout or party or whatever it is tomorrow.”
“I thought you knew.” A pan clattered in the background; she must be in her kitchen already.
She paced around her desk. “Not until two minutes ago. He said you’re going. And I had no excuse, so now I’m going.” She kept her voice low so the reporters still working wouldn’t overhear.
A crunch, then chewing. Claudia was definitely cooking. “Oh, Syd, what’s the big deal?”
Wincing, she held her forehead. “You’re supposed to give me a heads up. Play on my team.”
Something sizzled; Sydney pictured her at the stove, concocting some delicious dish. It was so unfair that a great editor should be blessed with culinary talents, too.
“Maybe I am.” Claudia’s smile came through the phone and taunted her.
“Are you bringing anything?” She interrupted, not wanting to hear how Claudia was usually right. She was. That wasn’t the point.
A lid clanged atop a pan. “Bruschetta.”
“Great. Now I have to cook, too.” She couldn’t compete with her gourmet skills, and didn’t even try.
“Bring a bottle of wine.” Her voice was firm, but soothing.
It had no effect on Sydney’s nerves. “But what will I bring for everyone else?” She squeezed shut her eyes. This was a disaster in the making.
Claudia’s voice stuttered with laugher. “Don’t be so dramatic.”
“You’re always editing me.” She held her stomach, where the verbal spike had lodged.
Claudia’s voice sing-songed, “If only that were possible.”
Suppressing a pout, Sydney said, “Guess I’ll see you tomorrow.” She snapped her cell shut and reached to power down her computer.
An email from Randon waited in her mailbox with the subject line: R U busy tomorrow?
Typical of a TV reporter – abbreviating everything. He couldn’t even spell out the words, let alone call her in person.
She rocked back in her chair. Maybe he could go with her, act as a buffer between her and Ben. Try as she might, she couldn't imagine herself spending time with the guy. What would they possibly talk about? What teeth whitener he used? What brand of makeup?
Best to ignore the email for now. It came so late in the day, maybe he wanted to use her as a back-up for something else that fell through. A filler date.
She clicked her email shut, and then remembered: the photos.
Scrolling through the list of folders on the network, she found Ben’s photo folder dated for today and opened it.
The shots were gorgeous. He had a gift for shooting at angles to produce interesting shadows on faces, and capturing the most expressive moment. She opened them one by one, each more compelling than the last. The final shot that popped on her screen startled her: of herself, looking back at Ben. Though she smiled, her eyes conveyed sadness and longing, as if he’d reached into her soul. Cracked through her pearlescent shell to reveal her true self.
When did he take this? Why didn’t he delete it?
She’d told him she hated photos of herself, but this one felt like a true likeness.
Her hand landed on the sheet he’d dropped on her desk with his address. The street was unfamiliar. She mapped it online. The drive would be forty minutes.
She frowned and let out a silent ugh. “That makes it even more wonderful.” Plenty of time to worry on the way there about how to make a graceful exit, and plenty of time to bash herself on the way home about all the things she shouldn’t have said or done this time. Ben was becoming a liability; she couldn’t stop herself from acting like a fool around him.
****
“Claudia, pick up, pick up.” A click, then her voice: Sorry I missed you. Leave a message. Beep.
It was ten forty on Saturday morning. She couldn’t be grocery shopping already.
“Where are you when I need you? Call me, please?”
Sydney flipped shut her cell phone, then reopened it and dialed Sadie.
A click sounded. “Whoever this is, I hate you,” she groaned.
“It’s me.” She must have had a late night, though she hadn’t mentioned anything special happening on Friday. “I’m going crazy, I need your advice.” Her need for sleep rivaled her friend’s; she’d spent the night wrestling with thoughts of Ben. The need to vent outweighed it all.
Sadie heaved an agonized sigh. “Call me back this afternoon.”
“This afternoon?” She heard herself whine. It was irrational. “By that time, I’ll be insane.”
“Too late. You already are.” Her breathy voice cut her with its sharp truth. The comments of sleep-deprived women couldn’t be held against them.
“Are you going today?” Her voice had a kind of metallic edge, as if she were speaking through a drain pipe.
“Going where?”
“To Ben’s. He said you were going. Are you?”
“For awhile.” Sadie’s voice softened. “Then I have a date.”
She sighed. “As long as I know you’re going, too, I’ll go.”
“Right. See you there.” The cell clicked, and she was gone.
Sydney tried on four shirts and three pairs of jeans before settling on the right combination. A cute pair of strappy sandals would look perfect, but she hesitated. If he lived forty minutes away, there could be mud. And rock. She abandoned the argument and wore them.
To waste time, she flipped through the newspaper, then the latest Oprah magazine. It might be chilly tonight, she realized, and tried on three jackets. This is ridiculous. She grabbed her keys.
A liquor store along the way caught her eye. The rows of bottles presented a challenge; she wanted to bring something nice. The Rieslings appealed to her; she selected one a few years old.
She took her time driving there. The house-crowded streets became roads where homes were separated by yards, then became sparser. At the last turn, she passed a herd of cows.
Numbers on the mailboxes approached his address, so she slowed down. A balloon decorated his mailbox, and cars angled along either side of the driveway. She hadn’t expected such a crowd.
She pulled onto the grass between a wide tree with sweeping branches and an SUV. When she walked up the dirt driveway, a chocolate lab jogged toward her, barking, tail wagging.
“It’s okay, I’m a friendly,” she called. It barked as it jumped up, its front paws sliding down her shirt and jeans. It sniffed at the bottle.
“You like wine? I’ll give you some if you go away.” The dog’s hot breath smelled of something stale.
Down the driveway, Ben clapped his hands. “Tootsie, get down.”
The lab gave one last bark in his direction, then trotted back toward the house.
The sun glinted off his long hair, his dark sunglasses hid his eyes. “Sorry about that.”
“No, that’s fine.” She brushed at the muddy paw prints on her jeans. “I love dogs.” Not especially big, jumping dogs, but…
He glanced back at the house. “I’ll ask Jeannie to tie him up.”
“No don’t, he’ll be miserable. I don’t want to make a fuss.” She stopped brushing. Jeannie?
He held up his hands, then clasped them together. “So, you made it
.”
“Without the aid of a GPS.” She held up the wine. “This is for you. I’m not a gourmet cook like Claudia, but I had to contribute something.”
They stood there in awkward silence.
She put on her sunglasses and looked toward the house. “So. This is your place?”
“Yes, come on. Watch the pothole.” He led her up the driveway.
She cursed her strappy heeled sandals as she wobbled across the uneven gravel.
“Nice house.” The old farmhouse appeared in need of paint, but the view of the surrounding hills was gorgeous.
He shot her a wide smile. “I’ve been fixing it up. It has great potential.”
She wanted to ask if that’s what the realtor had told him, but held her tongue. He looked so enthusiastic about it. “It sure does.”
Two young girls swung from a wooden swing suspended from the wide wraparound porch. A woman about Sydney’s age came out the screen door and handed them glasses of lemonade. She sat between them, and they leaned their cheeks against her arm. Something inside her twinged, and it echoed in the emptiness.
Ben smiled at the woman as he walked through the side yard to the back, where people were scattered to every corner. Smoke rose from the grill, and two boys waited with open hot dog buns next to a man wielding a spatula.
“Wow, quite a crowd,” she said.
He pointed to coolers next to the picnic table. “Drinks are in there.”
A pony-tailed woman in short shorts and a tank top grabbed his arm. “Should we bring out more ribs?” She looked up at him with wide brown eyes.
Sydney felt like an intruder, standing there. An intruder who’d just been hit in the gut.
“Sure, they’re in the fridge. Oh, hey – this is Jeannie. Jeannie, this is Sydney.”
“Ah, Jeannie of the chocolate lab.” She brushed at her jeans.
Jeannie mock-winced as she looked at the paw prints. “Oh, I see you met Tootsie. Sorry. She’s still a pup with too much energy.”
“No problem. I’m sure she’ll grow out of it.” She scanned through the crowd and caught sight of Claudia.
“Oh, there’s Claude. Excuse me.” She walked toward the oak tree where her editor stood with Jon, Sadie and Edward in the shade.
Picture This Page 10