by Terri DuLong
“He’s sweet and he’s fun to be with. We saw Cactus Flower with Goldie Hawn and it was good. We went out for a burger after the movie, and we were still laughing. So yes, I do like him. Plus, Earle is a very skilled kisser.”
I knew Cynthia had more experience than I did when it came to dating. Way more. As I’d discovered the year before, when she had confided to me that she had lost her virginity to Jack, the fellow she had dated through high school and broke up with the day before we graduated.
She wasn’t what we referred to as loose or immoral. Cynthia just had a more relaxed attitude toward sex than I did.
“But you . . . didn’t . . .”
She waved a hand in the air and interrupted me. “No, I didn’t have sex with him on the first date, Rhonda. Geez, I’m not a slut.”
I wasn’t aware there was an appropriate time frame for when a man and woman had sex for the first time. Sometimes I felt much younger than Cynthia, and this was one of those times.
“So you’re going to see him again?”
She nodded. “Yes, he asked me to another movie Sunday evening.” She took a drag off her cigarette. “Hey, aren’t you the lucky one.”
“What do you mean?”
“You got assigned to the Maxwell table for the weekends. With that dreamy son who all of us are drooling over. I got Mr. and Mrs. Webb—a stodgy couple in their eighties.”
I laughed. “Yeah, he is pretty good looking, but not to worry. I don’t even know his name.”
“Oh, it’s Peter.”
“How do you know that?”
“The local servers who have worked here for a while know him. Let’s see”—she held up her hand and began extending a finger at a time—“he’s single, graduated college and works with his father at the manufacturing company they own. His mother passed away a couple of years ago. Oh, and in case you didn’t notice, he couldn’t keep his eyes off you all last weekend.”
“Yeah, right,” I said, jabbing Cynthia in the arm before I went inside the cabin.
* * *
I would be lying if I said I didn’t take extra time with my hair and makeup before work later that evening.
By the time the Maxwell family arrived just before seven, my other three tables were having dessert and coffee, which would allow me to spend extra time catering to them. I headed to the bar immediately, and within a few minutes of their being seated I placed a Chivas Regal on the rocks in front of Mr. Maxwell, white wine for the older sister, Pepsi for the younger one, and Wild Turkey and water for the son.
All four nodded their thanks, but I noticed Peter’s smile seemed to linger on my face a bit longer than necessary. I told them to enjoy their drinks while they looked over the menu.
By the time they had finished their dinner and I had completed my cleaning up chores, it was after ten and Cynthia had already returned to our cabin. On my way out, I noticed that Peter Maxwell was sitting at the bar alone, nursing a drink.
I had just gotten outside when I heard somebody call, “Rhonda?”
Turning around, I saw Peter walking toward me, smiling.
“Hi,” I said, pretty sure that he had purposely lingered at the bar until I left. “Something wrong?”
“No. Not at all. I just wanted a chance to talk to you. Alone.”
“Oh. Okay.” Now I was confused. Why would he want to talk to me? “About what?”
He laughed. “I’d like to get to know you better.” He pointed toward the parking lot. “It’s a beautiful evening. Feel like going for a drive?”
I was off duty, so my time was my own. But I didn’t really know him. I debated his offer for a few moments before realizing that was the purpose of the ride—to get to know each other better. I also briefly wondered what we could possibly have in common, but I ended up saying, “Sure. Just for a little while.”
“Great,” he said, placing his hand at the small of my back and leading me to a late-model convertible.
I slid onto the leather upholstery and smiled. I certainly hadn’t expected this when I began my shift hours earlier.
He got in, shot me a smile, started the ignition, and said, “We’ll drive to the beach and park there so we can talk.”
I nodded as I luxuriated in the comfort of his car.
“So where are you from?” he asked and turned the car toward A1A.
“Pennsylvania. A small mining town in the west.”
“I bet you’re enjoying the winter here. Gets pretty cold in Pennsylvania this time of year.”
“It does. And yes, I love the Florida winter.”
A few minutes later he pulled into a parking lot overlooking the beach and ocean.
“Have you gotten to the beach very much since you arrived?” he asked, shutting off the ignition and shifting to face me.
“No, I’m afraid not. My only day off is Monday, and I’ve only been here a couple of weeks.”
“Well, we’ll have to do something about that,” he said, giving me his killer smile. “Do you like working at Broadglen’s?”
“I do. I came here with my best friend, Cynthia. We both worked in a small restaurant back home but the money is much better here. I’m hoping to save up to attend secretarial school.”
“Good for you. My older sister attended accounting school and she works at my father’s company with me. I majored in business in college.”
“Did you go to college in Florida?” I asked.
He shook his head. “No. Harvard Business School. I suffered through four brutally cold winters in the Boston area.”
I laughed. “But I’m sure it was worth it for the education you got.”
“It was. Tell me more about yourself. What kind of music do you like? What do you like to read?”
This was the first time a fellow had asked what I was interested in, which made me wonder how old he was. He was definitely much more mature than the guys I’d dated in high school. He has spent four years in college and was now a successful businessman who displayed a sophisticated demeanor.
After I finished sharing my music and book preferences with him, I said, “Can I ask you something?”
He smiled and nodded. “Sure.”
“How old are you?”
He threw his head back, laughing. “Why? How old do you think I am?”
“Twenty-five?”
“Close. I’m twenty-six. How old are you?”
“Nineteen.”
“Hmm. Too much of an age difference?”
“That depends.”
“On what?”
“If you think I’m too young.”
He edged closer and placed an arm over the back of the seat. “No, I don’t think you’re too young at all. Actually, I think you’re much more mature than many girls my age.”
I felt a smile forming on my face just as he leaned closer and brushed my lips with his. Reaching for my hand, he said, “Is there any chance you’d like to go for a boat ride with me on Monday?”
“You mean like a sightseeing boat?”
He paused a moment before answering. “Um, no. My family has a boat and I thought we could go up the coast toward Jacksonville. I’ll bring a picnic lunch. It’ll be fun.”
Could this really be happening? This super good looking, wealthy guy was asking me for a date? I could tell by the serious expression on his face that he wasn’t joking with me.
I nodded and smiled. “I’d love to,” I said. “I’d really love to.”
“Good. I was hoping you’d say yes.”
He leaned toward me, pulled me closer and kissed me—making me very sure that I wasn’t with a high school boy any longer.
Chapter 8
I told Lotte to be a good girl before I headed out the door the following morning to staff the front desk at the shelter. Thoughts of Jonah had occupied my mind since I’d seen him at Panera’s the day before, so being busy answering a phone and greeting potential adoptive doggie parents would be good for me.
Just before I was due to leave the shelt
er, I glanced up from the counter to see the object of my thoughts walk in carrying a small bouquet of flowers. He was followed by his nanny, who remained near the door as Jonah extended his hand to give me the flowers.
“Hi,” he said. “These are from my dad.”
“Your dad?” I was confused.
He shifted from one foot to the other and nodded. “Yeah. He felt bad about the way he spoke to you on Saturday at Petco.” He adjusted his eyeglasses and nodded again. “So he wanted to say he was sorry.”
I looked at the flowers wrapped in cellophane and smiled. These weren’t florist shop quality, more likely from Publix, but the message was touching.
“Thank you so much,” I said. “This is very nice of him. Be sure to thank him for me.”
“I will,” he replied as he looked around the room. “Are Lucy and Ethel still here?”
“They are. They’re in their crate in the back. Did you want to say hi to them?”
He hesitated for a second and then shook his head. “No. I can’t today. I have to get to my piano lesson. But would it be okay if I come back?”
I smiled. “Sure. That would be fine,” I said, but wondered if the dogs would still be at the shelter.
“Good,” he said, reaching into his pocket. “Here’s my phone number. You know . . . just in case you wanted to call me.”
I took the scrap of paper and saw his hand-printed name and phone number. “Okay. Thanks.”
“Do you think . . . um . . . maybe I could have your number? You know, just in case I wanted to call first to make sure the dogs are still here before I come by?”
I smiled again and reached into my handbag for my business card. “Sure. Here you go.”
“Great. Thanks, Petra. I’ll talk to you soon.”
Miss Betsy sent me a smile and a wave, then put her hand on Jonah’s shoulder and they were gone.
I was still pondering what had just happened when Suzanne came into the room from the kennel area.
“A secret admirer?” she asked, pointing at the flowers.
I laughed. “Oh. No, I don’t think so. Just a small gesture of apology.”
* * *
When I got home, I let Lotte out in the garden area before making myself a cup of herbal tea. I filled a crystal vase and arranged the flowers Jonah had given me before placing them on the breakfast nook table. This was when I realized I longed for some contact with Isabelle. I wanted to discuss the flower episode with her. But I knew that she was normally out showing houses with Chadwick in the afternoon. She had mentioned he was training her while she studied for the real estate exam and, hopefully, once she passed the test she would be able to show a few houses on her own.
Lotte wandered back inside from the garden and I said, “Come on, girl. We need some female company.”
I went to get my knitting tote and we headed across the garden to the yarn shop.
“Hey, Petra. We were just talking about you,” Chloe said.
“Yes.” Mavis Anne put the pullover sweater she was working on in her lap. “How did it go volunteering at the shelter?”
I sat down and smiled before removing the baby blanket from my tote. “It went very well. I saw a few dogs go to their forever homes and that’s always heartwarming. Suzanne is very pleasant to work with. And I even got a surprise bouquet of flowers.”
Iris laughed. “Really? How nice. From a grateful adoptive parent?”
I shook my head. “Actually, no. Do you remember I told you that I’d met that boy, Jonah, on Saturday at Petco? And his father was upset when I mentioned maybe the mother would allow the boy to have a dog?”
Mavis Anne, Iris, and Yarrow had stopped knitting and all three stared at me.
“Right,” Yarrow said. “Keep going.”
“Well, I guess he felt bad for speaking harshly to me, because Jonah showed up today at the shelter with his nanny. And he presented me with the flowers. He said they were from his dad and his dad wanted to say he was sorry.”
“Well, now that’s what I call a true gentleman,” Mavis Anne said. “That was a very kind gesture.”
“It was,” Iris agreed.
“What’s this dad look like? I wonder how long his wife has been gone,” Yarrow asked, making me laugh.
I shrugged and realized I had given barely any thought to the father. It was the boy who had stirred emotion in me. However, when I recalled the father I had to admit he was rather sexy in that nerdy sort of way.
“The dad is good looking,” I told her. “But I have no idea how long his wife has been gone. Jonah hasn’t said anything. The only things I really know are that this boy takes piano lessons, loves dogs, and has a nanny.”
“Hmm,” Mavis Anne said. “Well, you never know what can develop.”
“Yeah, right,” I retorted. “The father thinks I’m a busybody. Not much chance of a romantic involvement there. Besides which, I’m definitely not looking for a relationship.”
Iris laughed. “Famous last words.”
“Have you made any further attempt to get information on your father?” Mavis Anne asked.
I shook my head. “No. I keep saying I will . . . but . . . I did have a dream the other night. A rather crazy dream.”
Chloe’s head popped up from her knitting. “A dream?”
I nodded and we locked eyes.
“Emmalyn?” she asked in a soft voice and I nodded again.
Mavis Anne clapped her hands together, and an expression of pure joy crossed her face.
“My sister is back,” she said.
“What was the dream about?” Chloe questioned.
“Not very much, actually. She looked exactly as you and Isabelle have described her from your dreams. She was sitting on the sofa in my room, and she said something about the past could be my future.”
Everyone remained silent for a few moments.
“Do you think she was referring to your father?” Yarrow asked.
“I have no idea. I’m not even sure I believe this silly stuff about dreams having to do with Emmalyn.”
I saw the knowing look that passed between Mavis Anne and Chloe.
Iris let out a deep sigh. “Well, maybe it’s time you begin to do some research about your father.”
And I knew Iris was right.
* * *
Later that evening after I did my supper clean-up, I got out my laptop and sat at the kitchen counter. I stared at the blank screen for a few minutes and then got up to pour myself a glass of wine.
Lotte followed my movements around the kitchen with her eyes.
Fortified with Pinot Grigio, I settled myself back on the stool and clicked Google. After a moment, I typed in “Peter Maxwell.” A few seconds later, a page appeared. I did a quick scan and saw that the only item that seemed relevant was a website for a manufacturing company, so I clicked the link.
The page told me that the company was owned by somebody named Peter Maxwell. It seemed the business was no longer in existence, and it didn’t look as if the site had been updated in quite a while. I scanned the page and saw that the headquarters was located in Jacksonville, Florida, and the company specialized in diesel backup pumps, which replaced generators. The unit continued pumping despite power loss or primary pump failure.
It sounded like a good business to have in Florida, especially during hurricanes, but beyond this, there was no personal information about the owner.
I scanned to the bottom of the page, where there was a black-and-white photo of the outside of the company building but no picture of the owner.
Was the man in the photo with my mother on the beach the same Peter Maxwell who owned this company? I had no way of knowing.
And from the lack of any further Internet information, it didn’t seem likely that I would find out.
Rhonda February 1969
The boat trip and picnic with Peter were like something out of my romance novels. He was good looking, fun to be with, and a perfect gentleman. He was also very intelligent, and I l
oved hearing him speak and learning new things from him.
He had picked me up at eight on Monday morning at the hotel. We drove to the local marina, where his boat was waiting for us. As we pulled away from the dock and he expertly steered the boat north, I had to pinch myself to make sure I wasn’t dreaming.
And now two weeks later, I was certain none of it had been a dream—the laughter, the picnic on the beach, or the kisses we’d exchanged. I had seen Peter twice since then, and each time was more fun than the last. We had gone to a movie one evening, and the night before we had driven to Jacksonville for dinner at a restaurant I knew cost a fortune.
On the drive back to Amelia Island, he had pulled the car into the parking lot overlooking the ocean.
I felt super sensitive since I had met him. Soaking up sounds and smells and colors and everything that surrounded me. Experiences that at one time had seemed ordinary now seemed enhanced. I found myself paying more attention to the small things while I discovered that Peter Maxwell consumed my thoughts.
“Wake up, daydreamer,” I heard Sally say as she jabbed me playfully in the ribs. “Your party at table seven would like their check.”
“Right. Okay, thanks,” I said, going to retrieve the bill.
My lunch shift was almost over, and I spent the remaining time doing the required tasks as I contemplated again the fact that tonight would be the first time I would be seeing Peter two nights in a row.
* * *
“Has he invited you to his house yet?” Cynthia asked as I removed rollers from my hair.
I shook my head and picked up my brush. “No. Why?”
She was stretched out on her bed, leafing through her current issue of Photoplay.
“Well, you have had a few dates. And this week two nights in a row. I just thought he might suggest you meet his dad.”
I laughed. “I have met his dad. And his two sisters. Every weekend at the restaurant.”
“Right. I know that. I mean in a casual atmosphere. Not while you’re working.”
I hadn’t really given this any thought. I shrugged. “He hasn’t said anything.”
“Have you met any of his friends yet?”
I stopped brushing my hair to look at her. “No. Am I supposed to?”