“Oh man,” Frederick said. “I’ve been afraid of this.”
Allie nodded. “I told him all this poetry might be dangerous. He needs to read a funny novel or something to get his mind off his problems. The poetry’s just magnifying them.”
“Yes, but who’d have thought Robert Frost would—”
“There’s more to him than meets the eye.”
“Cause of death: Robert Frost,” Frederick quipped.
Allie snickered and covered her mouth with her hand. “Sorry,” she said through her fingers. “I shouldn’t be laughing, but that just struck me funny.”
“I guess I shouldn’t be so flippant,” Frederick replied and tried to remain serious, but a smile shoved its way through anyway.
That’s when Frederick realized he was still holding her arm and looking at her eye to eye. A new tune drifted on the night, a saxophonist’s rendition of a classic number from the late ’70s, “I Honestly Love You.” All humor vanished as a haunting memory flashed between them.
When their relationship was new, Frederick had taken Allie to the lake one evening. They’d walked hand-in-hand along the shore until they stopped near a campsite. Somebody had a radio turned to an oldies station, and Olivia Newton-John’s fluid voice had serenaded them at sunset. Frederick took Allie in his arms as they swayed to “I Honestly Love You” and relished their budding love. Even now Frederick could smell the water, hear it lapping against the bank, and see the birds’ silhouettes against a blazing sun half immersed in the horizon. He could also taste Allie’s lips.
Her gaze faltered at the same time Frederick’s did. He released her arm and stepped away. “Allie . . .” he hedged and looked toward the house where Jim stood just inside the patio doorway. “I’ve got to go tonight, but could we talk tomorrow night . . . maybe after the flight? Just you and me?”
“I’d love to . . . talk.” Allie’s voice broke with a delightfully nervous squeak as she toyed with her sweater’s button.
“Good. Make sure you come in your car alone. Don’t ride with the family. That way you can stay behind when everyone else leaves, okay?” He raised his brows in a silent invitation he desperately hoped she’d accept.
“Okay,” she rasped as his own expectancy bloomed upon her face.
Frederick smiled into her eyes and recalled the soft warmth of their embrace. In that moment, he wasn’t worried about Jim—or that Brent character, either, for that matter. All he saw was the reflection of what he and Allie once shared, all sweet and powerful and everlasting.
Deciding to take his chances, Frederick reached for her hand. When she didn’t resist, he lifted her fingers to his lips and brushed her knuckles. He caught a faint whiff of lilacs, a refreshing reprieve from Louise’s blast-you-batty perfumes. The kiss, intended to be a chaste promise, left Frederick’s pulses pounding. His gaze never left hers. “Here’s to tomorrow then.” He lowered her hand and stroked her palm with his thumb.
Her eyes wide, Allie mutely nodded. When her fingers trembled, Frederick was tempted to live dangerously and take her into his arms for a real kiss.
“Frederick?” Louise’s voice accompanied the patio door’s opening again. “I’m worried about Jim. Oh!”
He pivoted toward Louise and released Allie’s hand. The blonde looked from him to Allie and back. Deciding not to allow the awkward moment to stretch another second, Frederick hurried forward.
“Yes, I’m worried about Jim, too,” he awkwardly stated, sure his voice couldn’t be more artificial or strained. “I’m taking him back to the hotel now. Hopefully he’s just overtired. I’ve dragged him all over the place this weekend.” Frederick stepped into the house and thought Louise followed.
Twenty
Allie turned toward the backyard, lifted her face to the bejeweled heavens, and silently thanked God that He was answering her prayers. The promise in Frederick’s eyes was everything it had been ten years ago. Everything and more. Frederick offered the maturity of a well-traveled man, weathered by war, seasoned by life. And Allie began to think their union would be sweeter because of their long absence from each other.
She rubbed her thumb across the hand he’d kissed and rested her knuckles against her lips. Allie closed her eyes and swayed with the memory of the tingles that had threatened to knock her flat when his lips touched her skin.
“What’s the deal with you and Frederick?” Louise’s strained question pierced Allie’s thoughts.
Startled, she turned toward the young woman. Arms crossed, she peered down at Allie. The blonde’s height coupled with her exasperated expression sent Allie back several steps.
“Excuse me?” she queried and considered shrinking from sight. But unexpected strength bolstered Allie and insisted she square her shoulders instead of hunching them.
“Don’t think I haven’t noticed.” Louise narrowed her eyes. “He’s always watching you. Then today at church he chased you out of the sanctuary. Now he’s out here holding your hand.” She placed her fists on her hips.
“Um . . .” Allie hedged and gripped the handrail.
“I’m going to tell you just like I told Helena. He’s mine!” Louise pointed her finger at Allie’s nose.
Speechless, Allie grappled for the best recourse. Finally she decided the truth was her only option. “Louise, I don’t think Frederick sees you like that. You’re so much younger than he is. Don’t you think you’d be better with someone your own age?”
“No!” Louise stomped her foot. “He’s the one I want. And I’m going to marry him!” she stormed like a five-year-old who’s warring for her favorite doll.
“Well, okay,” Allie said over an unexpected chuckle. “But does Frederick have a choice in this? Because if he does . . .” Amazed at her own confidence, Allie lifted her hands and shrugged.
Louise’s face darkened; her eyes sharpened. She glared at Allie like a she-devil declaring war. “Don’t think you’ll ever outdo me, you little pale-faced pipsqueak,” she bellowed, then stomped toward the house. When she slammed the French door, she purposefully locked it while directing a final glare toward Allie.
But nothing could dampen the thrill of Frederick’s kiss—not even Louise’s angry threats. Heaven help the man she does marry, Allie thought. Even though she had never been the object of Louise’s ire before now, Macy had shared a story or two that exposed Louise’s temper in all its glory.
Shaking her head, Allie fished in her gauzy pants pocket for her house key. She had driven home after lunch, changed into the wide-legged pants and a light sweater, and walked back to the Groveses’ mansion. Thankfully, Allie had opted not to carry a purse. Instead, she’d slipped her house key and a lip gloss into her deep pocket. Now she didn’t need to reenter the mansion in order to retrieve her purse.
With a carefree wave at Louise, she walked down the deck’s steps and strolled toward the shortcut between the guesthouse and the mansion. In minutes she’d crossed the narrow bridge that spanned the creek and skipped up her porch’s steps.
By the time Allie traipsed inside and entered the bathroom to remove her makeup, she was humming “I Honestly Love You.” Allie relived that night she and Frederick had danced at sunset and then shared a kiss that sealed their awakening attraction. It had been their very first kiss, and Allie had been certain she would drown in the delicious waves of pleasure the closeness unfurled.
She opened the storage cabinet, retrieved her skin-care regime, and pushed her hair back with a terry cloth headband. Armed with her eye makeup remover in one hand and a saturated cotton ball in the other, Allie eyed her reflection and contemplated Louise’s comments.
“I don’t care what she says,” Allie told her complexion. “I’m not a pale-faced pipsqueak.” She giggled. “Frederick doesn’t think so anyway.”
Allie closed her eyes and shivered. I can’t wait until tomorrow, she dreamed and scoffed at the very idea of Louise Grove posing a threat to her and Frederick. “Sorry, Louise,” Allie piped and opened her eyes. “Frederick
wants someone closer to his age.” She winked at her reflection and reveled in the sassy confidence that overtook her. Allie hadn’t felt this way in ten years—not since the last time she and Frederick were in love.
Once she finished removing her makeup, Allie planned to retrieve her Frederick Wently scrapbook from her nightstand. And this time she would pore over it like a lovesick teenager, not a mourning widow. The whole prospect sent a delightful rush of goose bumps along her arms.
She lifted the cotton ball to her eye and prepared to swiftly remove all traces of Mary Kay, but a rattling noise in the kitchen stopped her. Allie held her breath and listened. This time the rattling noise was accompanied by scratching. Allie’s eyes grew bigger as her heart pattered. After spending her life in Atlanta, Allie never left her doors unlocked—not even in this remote locale. She distinctly remembered double checking the front and back door locks when she got home.
A kitchen cabinet door banged. Allie jumped and squealed.
She dropped the cotton ball into the sink and plopped the eye makeup remover on the cabinet. Her knees quivering, Allie cracked the bathroom door and peered up the hallway toward the kitchen. She’d heard of kitchen thieves before—people who broke into homes and stole food only—and her mind raced with the possibility that the guesthouse had been invaded.
The noise stopped just as quickly as it began, and Allie dared open the bathroom door all the way. She placed one foot into the hallway and stopped when she realized she had no means of self-defense. Allie whirled back into the bathroom and grabbed the hair dryer from the wall shelf. She raised the dryer over her head and edged down the hall. Only when she was halfway to the kitchen did she realize the hair dryer was about as much defense as a water gun. Her palms sweating, she lowered the dryer but still held it with a death grip.
It might not be a baseball bat, but it’s better than nothing, she thought as a new attack of rustling stopped her in her tracks. At closer vantage, Allie recognized the noise’s odd rhythm and began to suspect the perpetrator might not be human. She darted her attention to the back door at the end of the hallway. The deadbolt was still firmly turned. From there, Allie’s gaze slid to the pet flap in the door’s bottom half. This special entry would allow a small animal to come and go at will. Normally the pet flap was securely latched. But the latch had somehow come undone.
Allie’s mind raced with possibilities, one of which included a skunk. Her lip curled as she imagined being sprayed by her invader. She looked at the hair dryer and knew it was no defense against a skunk. Allie laid the appliance on the hall bench and tiptoed toward the kitchen. Holding her breath, she peered around the doorway to see a raccoon invading her new box of cornflakes.
The phone’s shrill ring sent Allie into a jump. The raccoon jerked up from his culinary pursuits, took one look at Allie, and darted toward the doorway. In a blur of gray and white fur, the creature dashed through the pet door with the clap of wood, and the guy was history.
Allie covered her heart with her hand, wilted against the wall, and laughed out loud while the telephone persisted in its demand. Finally she trotted past the spilled cornflakes, grabbed the phone off the counter, and tapped the green button on the phone screen.
“Hello, this is Allie,” she chirped through a spontaneous giggle.
“Well, hello!” a familiar male voice responded. “I’m hoping you have caller ID and you’re just overjoyed to know I’m calling.”
“Uh . . .” Allie tugged her earlobe and tried to place the voice.
“This is Brent,” he said. “Brent Everson. Ex-cousin? Just saw you today.”
“Oh, yes!” Allie replied through a smile.
“So I take it the joy has nothing to do with me, then,” Brent said in a pouty voice.
“This—this raccoon was just in my kitchen,” Allie explained and eyed the array of cornflakes on the Italian tile. “At first I thought he was a person, so I got the hair dryer—”
“Oh yeah, now that’s a tried-and-true weapon,” Brent teased.
Allie chortled. “I know. I know.” She leaned against the counter and nudged at the box of cornflakes with the toe of her shoe. “Anyway, I figured it had to be some kind of an animal and was just glad it turned out to be a raccoon and not a skunk.”
“Whoa! Now that would have made for a fragrant evening,” Brent said.
“No joke,” Allie replied as a series of questions nibbled at her, like why Brent was calling her and how he’d gotten her phone number.
After a meaningful pause, Brent said, “Listen, Allie, sorry to be calling so late, but I just wanted to let you know how much I enjoyed seeing you today. It’s been a long time since I, well . . . er . . . enjoyed a lady’s company as much as I did yours.”
“Oh!” Allie straightened and touched the headband as if he could see her.
“I actually called your dad to get your number,” he admitted.
“You did?”
“Uh-huh. He seemed thrilled to hear from me. You know, I haven’t talked to him in a while. I still had his cell number from a few years ago and wasn’t sure the number was right or what kind of a reception I might get even if the number was right, if you know what I mean.”
Allie strained for his meaning as the implications of his call sank in. She had thought Brent was a grieving widower, much like Jim Bennington. Now she wasn’t so sure. Nevertheless, Allie couldn’t fathom that Brent Everson was really interested in her, especially not when she considered his former wife’s beauty or even that of Evelyn, whom he’d once dated.
“I guess the last time I talked with your dad was when Evelyn and I were dating—if that’s what you want to call it—before I married Chrissy.”
“Oh, yes!” Allie replied and finally understood the undercurrents of Brent’s words. Evelyn had been certain she and Brent would marry until she threw that birthday party for him and invited their fair-haired cousin, Chrissy Elton. That night Brent had ignored Evelyn in preference for her guest. Within weeks they received news that Brent and Chrissy had eloped. Allie doubted Evelyn was over the whole ordeal even now. Like Louise, she’d not been denied a thing and had assumed she would marry her husband of choice. Never did she contemplate that her husband of choice would choose someone else.
Finally the purpose of Brent’s call became clear. He was interested in a reconciliation with Evelyn and probably wanted to know Allie’s opinion. He’s just being nice to me to find out more about Evelyn, Allie decided. “Did you get a chance to talk with Evelyn when you called Dad?” she questioned.
“No. Why would I want to do that?” Brent replied and destroyed her assumption.
“Well, I just thought . . .”
“Ooooohhhhh, I see! You always were the modest one, weren’t you?” Brent teased. “No, I got the phone number for the sister I wanted to talk to—and she isn’t Evelyn,” he flirted.
Allie moved toward one of the high-backed bar stools and plopped therein. She covered her face with her hand and swallowed a groan. The last thing she needed was for Frederick to think she had a relationship with Brent or any other man for that matter. She brainstormed about a way to tell Brent she wasn’t interested without blurting something like “Get lost!”
When the hinges on the pet door creaked, Allie looked toward her back door. A black nose nudged past the door and two ringed eyes soon appeared. The call of cornflakes must have been too much for the coon. He scouted out the kitchen and was halfway through the door when Allie suddenly spoke, “Brent, I’ve got to go. The coon is back!”
Before he had the chance to reply, Allie disconnected the call. She stood, clapped her hands, and bellowed, “Get outta here!”
The startled raccoon fell to the floor on his face. He then proceeded to scramble back out the pet flap with the grace of a pig on ice skates. The trap door clapped shut behind him, and Allie scurried forward to fasten the latch. With the door secure, she straightened, looked at the phone in her hand, and hoped Brent might be as easy to discourage.
The next day Frederick placed the last bottled drink in his plane’s cooler and closed the door. He picked up a scrap of paper lying beside one of the seats and crumpled it. Jim was using the portable vacuum, which hummed from the back of the plane. The guy had accidentally spilled half a box of carpet deodorizer, and the smell was strong enough to choke a Tyrannosaurus Rex. At least the mini cleanup endeavor had given Jim something to do.
He’d been nothing but a listless piece of humanity last night. Frederick had even stayed awake until he was certain Jim was asleep. After his bout with Robert Frost, Frederick hadn’t trusted Jim not to try something desperate. Thankfully he hadn’t.
Frederick yawned and stretched and planned another dose of caffeine via Coca-Cola. After waiting on Jim to go to sleep, Frederick had awakened periodically through the night to check on the guy. Then he had to get up by six to catch the shuttle flight to Charlotte to fly the Beechcraft to Atlanta. Frederick’s body was now reminding him he needed a nap.
The afternoon sunshine splashed through the open passenger door, which ushered in the inviting spring breeze. Frederick walked toward the doorway, gripped both sides, leaned out, and looked toward the cloudless sky. He gulped the clean air. The day couldn’t be more perfect. Neither could Frederick’s expectations. Despite the sleep deprivation, his restless anticipation brought new meaning to spring fever. He had it and had it bad. Either that or he was lovesick.
Maybe both, he thought and strained against the sunbeams for any sign of Allie’s Mercedes or the Groves’ Lincoln. Jim had driven to Atlanta this morning and taken their luggage back to his townhouse. The rest of the group was supposed to meet them here at this small county airport.
Possibilities: A Contemporary Retelling of Persuasion Page 15