Kiss Me, Tate (Love in Rustic Woods)

by Karen Cantwell

  She turned. “Yeah. She’s psyched.”

  In the kitchen, Tate poured himself a glass of water and practically chugged it. A trick he’d learned for pushing emotion away when it threatened to overtake him. When the danger of losing control had passed, he texted May. Join us for dinr if u can. Fiorenza’s. 6pm.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  IT HAD BEEN SEVERAL DAYS since Bunny’s firing and subsequent disastrous job interview. The Nature Center had not called, and since that Abigail woman had told her no news was bad news, Bunny was feeling lower than low.

  And Demon had broken her promise. She had never called to let Bunny know how Daddy was doing. Bunny had finally reached him on her own. He was back in his apartment, although his voice sounded weak. He said he’d love to see her, so Bunny prettied up for a visit.

  Some days, she liked to take him out for a walk and fresh air. He especially liked the Larkspur Gardens, but the weather had turned cold, and such a trek would be out of the question. She decided instead to fix him a pot of chicken and dumplings and take it over along with a DVD. They always enjoyed watching movies together.

  When she hit the lobby at Whispering Pines, hands burdened by the pot of chicken, Bunny found it difficult to push the button for the elevator. From the main desk, Nice Nancy saw her struggling and ran over to help out. “Hi, Mrs. Bergen,” Nice Nancy said, pressing her thumb to the button. “How are you today?”

  “Fine, Nancy, thanks. And it’s Ms. now. Not married anymore.”

  Nice Nancy nodded. “That’s right. I keep forgetting. Hey,” she paused and Bunny feared an admonishment was coming for some new transgression. “I’m so sorry about the other day, Ms. Bergen. You shouldn’t have been treated so badly.”

  Bunny shook her head. At the same time, the elevator bell chimed, alerting her that the doors would open momentarily. She shifted the pot a bit. “Don’t worry, Nancy. I know you’re just following orders.”

  Nice Nancy nodded again, more vigorously this time, and lowered her voice to a whisper. “She puts her nose into everything around here.” The doors began to open. “But you didn’t hear that from me.” With that, Nice Nancy gave a quick squeeze to Bunny’s arm and scooted back to her station. Bunny stepped into the elevator after allowing the elderly couple inside to exit.

  On her ascent to the fifth floor, Bunny shifted the uncomfortable pot again, and worried about Nice Nancy’s comment. What the heck was Demon up to?

  Finally, with aching arms, Bunny arrived in front of Daddy’s apartment. She managed to balance the pot briefly with one hand in order to punch the doorbell with the other. When he didn’t arrive in a reasonable time, she tried the knob.

  It was locked. Afraid the chicken and dumplings would spill if she attempted another balancing act, she placed the pot on the floor and knocked loudly.

  Nothing.

  She knocked louder. “Daddy!” Knock, knock, knock. “Daddy!” Her pitch rose several octaves. A door behind her opened.

  “I just texted him, honey. It takes him a minute to get to the doah.”

  Bunny didn’t need to turn around to know the voice was Yetta Lipman, a widow who had dated Daddy once. The date hadn’t gone so well, but they had learned to be friends.

  “You texted him?” Bunny asked, noting that Yetta must have just woken from a mid-morning nap. Her shocking orange hair was oddly flat on one side. “He doesn’t have a cell phone. He hates them.”

  Yetta shook her head. “Deena got ‘im one.”

  “And he can use it?”

  Yetta shrugged. “Some days yes, some days, no.” Then she frowned. “But he can annihilate aliens with the best of ‘em.”

  Daddy’s door flew open, startling Bunny, who was still in shock that her father owned a device he once condemned as the future downfall of America. As for the alien comment, the woman must have still been groggy from her nap.

  “Today must be a yes day,” Yetta coughed, then closed her door.

  Bunny picked up her pot, a little frazzled. “You had me worried, Daddy.”

  “Why are you here?” grumbled Douglas Hobbs. “I’m not up for visitors right now.” His face was drawn and white, and he stood hunched far more than usual. He rested the weight of his thin frame on a cane. He’d been nearly bald for several years, but she noticed that he had shaved his head entirely now.

  “Daddy,” she said, “we talked on the phone this morning. You said to come over. I brought you chicken and dumplings.” She held up the pot to show him.

  He shook his head. “Can’t after all. I got plans.”

  “Plans? You didn’t mention any—”

  Douglas Hobbs threw his arm in the air and nearly toppled himself in the process. His face pinched in anger. “I got plans! Don’t you listen to anything I say?”

  “You’re right, Daddy. I’m sorry. Can I at least bring this in for you?”

  “What is it?”

  “Chicken and dumplings.”

  “Fine, fine. Do what you want.” He shuffled backwards, allowing Bunny enough room to squeeze past. The apartment was small, just a tiny entrance with a small kitchen right off, a two-person dining area, a living room a mouse might find comfortable, a bedroom and handicapped bathroom. Daddy wasn’t handicapped, but all of the bathrooms at Whispering Pines were handicap-ready. This annoyed him, and he let Bunny know repeatedly how much it annoyed him.

  It annoyed her how much it annoyed him. She placed the pot on the counter in the dimly lit Cracker Jack box of a kitchen. She reached to the cupboard to find two bowls.

  “Jeez-a-Louey, girl. What are you doing now?”

  “Getting bowls for our lunch.”

  “Lunch? I’m taking a nap. Put it in the fridge and make sure the door is locked on your way out.” He pointed an arthritic finger at the door as he shuffled toward the bedroom. “Nobody around here listens to anything I say. A person deserves to be treated better.”

  Bunny closed the cupboard door and watched him retreat. He had “plans,” but he was going to take a nap. He’d had his grumpy moments before, but this was the worst she’d ever seen.

  She placed the pot in the refrigerator as instructed, then took a moment to look around before leaving. The curtains to the only window—a sliding glass door that opened onto a balcony—were drawn. The television was off.

  She picked up a bowl that was half-full of hours-old oatmeal. The infamous cell phone rested on the side table near the loveseat.

  Bunny tiptoed over, bowl still in her hands, and lifted the phone for a look-see. It was an old Blackberry with a keypad, which was probably easier for him to use than a smartphone. Yetta’s text was still on the display: open your door dh!

  Bunny smiled at Yetta’s nickname—one day she started calling him DH and never quit. Daddy pretended he hated it, but Bunny thought he secretly enjoyed the personal touch.

  She punched and scrolled through menus until she found the phone’s number, but with a bowl in one hand and the phone in the other, she was forced to commit it to memory. She’d write it down as soon as she got out of the apartment.

  Placing the phone back on the side table as quietly as possible, she took another scan of the apartment for other dirty dishes, then tiptoed back to the kitchen where she emptied the bowl of crusty oatmeal. She left the bowl in the sink to soak. Let Demon come and clean it, she thought.

  On her way out, she checked the doorknob to make sure it was locked.

  When the elevators opened on the first floor, Bunny spotted Nice Nancy still at the desk. She was alone. Good. Maybe if Bunny sweet talked her, she’d give up a little information.

  She readjusted the purse on her shoulder, smiled , and walked to the front desk as if she just wanted to stop and say hello.

  Nice Nancy returned the smile. “Did you have a nice visit?” she asked Bunny.

  “It’s always nice to see Daddy,” Bunny said, leaning on the tall desk in front of her. “He and I were talking about how much he enjoys it here. Especially you and the other staff. Y
ou really do make things very comfortable for the seniors here, Nancy. I’m not sure I show my appreciation nearly enough.”

  “I’m glad he’s happy.”

  Bunny tilted her head and tapped a finger on the desk. “I’m worried, though.” She waited to see if Nice Nancy would invite further discussion. The woman, however, let the smile drop from her face and began sorting the envelopes in her hands.

  Bunny forged on. “He seemed agitated.”

  Nice Nancy snapped her eyes back up from the envelopes and locked onto Bunny’s gaze. “I’ll get fired, Ms. Bergen,” she whispered. “I can’t.”

  “You can’t what?” asked a man, who rounded the corner from a hallway behind the desk. He gave Bunny a courteous but short tip of the head. “Ms. Bergen.”

  Bunny resisted the urge to curse under her breath at the sight of Dan Baker. “Mr. Baker,” she responded.

  “What can’t you do, Nancy?” the man asked.

  Bunny thought she might faint. Lying and deceit weren’t her forte. She’d once worried for weeks over telling the school that Charlie was sick when she was really taking him and his brother to see the Cherry Blossoms near the Jefferson Memorial.

  Nancy, however, barely blinked an eye before offering a piece of fiction worth publishing. “The Rustic Woods Winter Wine and Cheese Fest this weekend. Ms. Bergen was wondering if I was going, but I can’t.”

  Wow, Bunny wanted to take lessons from Nice Nancy. She was good.

  “You like wine?”

  It took Bunny a minute to realize that Dan Baker was addressing her. “Me?” She pointed to herself. “Sure.” She nodded. Love it. Wish I had a glass right now. Or a bottle. “Sure.”

  The air filled with awkward silence. Bunny tried to hide the fact that her hands were shaking, but then her cell phone rang in her purse.

  She pulled it out, wanting to look nonchalant and in control, but nearly dropped the thing from trembling so badly. She managed to make out the number on the display. “I, uh...don’t recognize this number,” she apologized to Nice Nancy and Mr. Baker. “I’ll take this outside.” She gave a wave and scooted out as fast as she could, clicking answer once she was through the automatic doors. “Hello?”

  The female voice on the other end sounded familiar, but Bunny couldn’t immediately place it. “Is this Robin Bergen?”

  That was odd. Bunny never used her real name...except on the application for the job at the Rustic Woods Nature Center. Could it be? “Yes.” Bunny’s voice went shaky. “This is Ms. Bergen.”

  “This is Abigail from the Nature Center. We would like to offer you the receptionist position. If you are still interested, that is.”

  Bunny celebrated by picking up a sandwich and chips from Garcia’s Deli. Lonzo made the best roast beef and cheddar around, and it came with a dill pickle spear to die for. Lonzo’s sister-in-law, Ria Sanchez, was the nicest little lady—she worked at Tulip Tree Elementary where both of her boys had gone. She had always been wonderfully kind to Bunny, whom she called, “Mees Boony.”

  At home, Bunny placed the sandwich, chips, and pickle on a nice plate and poured herself a half-glass of wine. She ate alone, but content, at her large dining room table.

  She had another job. She’d do this one right. She’d dress the part and show everyone what a valuable asset she could be. The pay wasn’t great—only fourteen dollars an hour. She’d never be able to keep her house with that kind of salary, but then again, she’d already resigned herself to putting it on the market.

  She’d been thinking of asking Daddy for more money, but in the last few days, even before seeing him in his poor state today, she’d decided the time had come for her to take better control of her financial affairs. She couldn’t rely on men her entire life.

  She had her fingers crossed that there was enough equity in her house to make a hefty down payment on a smaller townhouse or maybe a condo. Once Charlie left for college, it would only be her and Michael. They could manage in a three bedroom condo if necessary.

  She chewed some more, kind of excited to be thinking of making big changes in her life. And she’d be working with Tate Kilbourn. Her life problems caused her an awful lot of worry, but the thought of working with Tate was worrisome and exhilarating all at the same time.

  As Bunny cleared crumbs from her plate into the kitchen sink, the front door opened. She looked at the clock, surprised by the time. “Charlie?” she called out.

  “Yeah.” Charlie wasn’t big on words, but most moms of teen boys told her that was par for the course. His footsteps moved toward the stairs rather than the kitchen.

  “Charlie, come here. I have good news.”

  The footsteps changed direction, and in due time, her son was leaning in the kitchen doorway, his backpack slung over one shoulder. He was a really good looking kid; slim but muscular build, dark hair, green eyes. “I have good news, too,” he said with a slight smile.

  “Really? What’s yours? You go first.” She had no idea what his good news could be. He’d taken the SATs, but she knew those scores wouldn’t be released for another week.

  “I got a part in the school musical.”

  “Did you audition?”

  “Yeah, Mom, I auditioned.”

  “You didn’t tell me about it.”

  He shrugged. “It was kind of last minute. You know, just to see.”

  “That’s very exciting, then!” She clapped her hands. “What’s the play? What part?”

  “Kiss Me, Kate. I’m playing Bill Calhoun. I’ll be honest, I don’t know anything about the play. Have you seen it?”

  She shook her head. “Sorry. Can’t help you there. Guess you’ll have to read it. Since, you know, you’re in it and all.” She gave him a hug. “I’m so proud of you!”

  Charlie shrugged again. “We’ll see. What’s your good news?”

  “Your mother has another job. I start Monday.”

  His smile was genuine. “Cool. Where?”

  “The Nature Center.”

  He gave her a sideways look. “Nature Center? You’re hardly a nature girl.”

  “Receptionist, silly. I’ll be answering phones, not...catching beavers. Or whatever they do. Anyway, it’s a job. I’m excited.”

  He nodded. “So am I. About your job I mean.”

  “Shall I make you a snack?”

  “Nah.” He turned to leave. “There’s a Facebook page set up for the cast. I’m going to go check it out.”

  “Hey, Charlie,” Bunny called to stop him, “who’s in charge of the play?”

  “In charge? What do you mean?”

  “The director, I guess? Who’s running the show at the school?”

  He shrugged again. Always with the shrugging, this boy. “The theater teacher, I guess.”

  “What’s her name?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “You don’t know her name?”

  “Can’t remember. It’s not like I’m a theater geek or something, you know.”

  “Okay...”

  He started up the stairs. “Hey, Charlie,” she said again.

  “What, Mom?”

  “Let’s celebrate tonight after Michael’s soccer practice. Dinner at Fiorenza’s.”

  Charlie smiled. Thank goodness he didn’t shrug again. “Yeah. That’d be great.”

  CHAPTER SIX

  TATE NEVER HEARD BACK FROM May. He didn’t know if she’d make it for dinner, but he and Willow got a table for three anyway. You never quite knew what May was going to do, so it was better to be prepared.

  Tate ordered a draft beer, and Willow asked for a soda. Seated at a square table near the rear of the long and narrow family restaurant, they looked over the menu while waiting for their drinks to arrive.

  “I don’t know why you even pretend to look,” Willow teased as they both scanned the large, laminated menus in their hands. “You know you’ll get the lasagna.”

  One corner of his mouth lifted as he eyed her in playful reprimand. “You never know. I just might
surprise you.”

  “Do it,” she said, her smile widening. She lowered the menu and leaned over the table. “I dare you.”

  “See, now I love a dare.”

  “Be wild.”

  “In case you haven’t noticed, wild is what I do for a living.”

  “I’m talking about moving outside of your comfort zone, old man.”

  About to make some sort of fun retort to the attack on his age, Tate stopped when he saw May breezing their way. Breezy and flowy—that’s how Tate described May. As if she floated on the wind. Her dark wavy hair, streaked liberally with silver highlights, fell below her shoulders and never seemed quite tamed, yet always looked stunning. She was twelve years his senior, yet, despite the many gray strands, barely looked five years older than Tate. Today she was dressed in a typical May ensemble—long, vibrant peasant skirt, silky blouse, a deep purple sweater that seemed to cascade from her shoulders like a waterfall, dangly earrings with every color of the spectrum represented.

  Tate smiled, glad she’d come. They were very different, but she meant an awful lot to him and to Willow. She’d helped him through the very roughest years; years when he wasn’t sure he’d make another day. He waved a hand to catch her attention, but she’d already seen them.

  “My daughter just called me an old man,” Tate said when she was almost to the table. He stood and pulled a chair our for his sister.

  May’s blue eyes twinkled. She kissed Willow on the cheek and squeezed her shoulder before sitting in the offered chair. “She can do or say anything she wants. She’s a star now, and stars can say whatever they bloody want to.”

  Tate sat back down and May grabbed his hand for a loving squeeze. “This is about the lasagna, isn’t it?” She looked at Willow. “Did he order the lasagna again?”

  Willow giggled. “He says he’ll surprise me.”

  Tate shrugged. “I believe my exact words were, ‘I might surprise you.’”

  “Well,” said May, picking up the menu in front of her, “you know what they say...”

  Their waitress appeared with the beer and soda on a tray, so Tate didn’t bother to figure out if May intended to eventually finish that thought.