The Forgiving Hour

by Robin Lee Hatcher

  “Hey, Mom. Sorry I’m late.” He removed his shoes. “I was helping Mrs. Applegate put in her garden and lost track of the time.”

  Claire smiled. It was just like Mike to help their elderly neighbor.

  She gave him a hug, thinking how lucky she was. She had a husband she adored and a son she wouldn’t trade for all the gold in Fort Knox. What more could any woman want?

  He stepped out of her embrace, looking up at her with excited blue eyes, a paler version of his father’s. “Mrs. Applegate says she’ll pay me three dollars a week if I’ll help her weed her garden this summer. I told her she didn’t have to give me nothin’, that I’d be glad to help her. But she insisted. So is it okay if I let her pay me? I only need another thirty dollars in my savings account to get that new bike I’ve been wanting.”

  “You bet it’s okay,” Dave answered as he reappeared from the hallway.

  “Hey, Dad. You heard?”

  “Our son’s a real entrepreneur.” Dave grinned at Claire. “Next thing you know, I’ll be going to the boy for my business loans instead of the bank. Isn’t that right, Mikey?”

  “Ah, Dad. I wish you wouldn’t call me that. I’m not a baby anymore.”

  Contentment flowed over Claire. Dave worked long hours, and sometimes he could be short-tempered with both his wife and his son. But not this evening.

  Again she thought how lucky she was. She and Dave had weathered more than their share of rough times — both financially and emotionally — in the almost thirteen years of their marriage. They were so young at the start, just kids really, with a baby already on the way. There was the disappointment that had come when they’d learned Claire couldn’t have any more children after Mike was born. There was the year when they’d nearly lost the house after construction work in the Boise area dried up. And there was a period, a few years back, when Claire had wondered if Dave still loved her, had even wondered if he’d been unfaithful to her, although she’d never had anything but her gut feelings upon which to base her suspicions.

  But those times were behind them now. They had come through with flying colors. They were happy. They were a whole family.

  No other woman alive was as lucky as Claire.

  TWO

  Sara didn’t hear a single word her professor was saying. Her thoughts were too full of Dave Porter and the way he’d looked, standing in the efficiency kitchen of her apartment. She kept trying to figure out why he’d affected her the way he had. It wasn’t as if she’d never met a handsome member of the opposite sex. She’d met plenty of them. She’d dated her share of them. Of course, they’d all been boys, not men.

  Thirty-two years old. Her brothers would have a cow if they knew she was interested in a man that age. They still considered her the baby of the family — the little princess — and probably always would.

  She smiled to herself. The three Jennings brothers had picked on and protected Sara throughout her life. They’d scared more than a couple of would-be suitors off their parents’ farm when they hadn’t thought the guy worthy of their sister’s affections. Oh, how she’d hated their meddling. All three of them—Tim, Josh, and Eli — had been royal pains in the neck throughout her high school years. But if she was honest, she’d have to admit she missed being around them since she’d started attending the university.

  But I don’t miss them right now.

  The last thing she would have wanted or needed was to suffer her brothers’ interference in regard to Dave Porter.

  She glanced at her watch.

  The butterflies started fluttering in her stomach again. Three hours. Just three more hours and he would return to her apartment. Was it only to finish the cabinets? Or was he coming to see her?

  She answered her own question: He’s coming to see me. He could have finished yesterday, but he wanted to see me again.

  Sara knew she was right. There’d been some sort of connection between them. Something special, something unique. Could this be what was called “love at first sight”?

  She scrawled his name across a sheet of lined notebook paper. Dave Porter. It had a nice sound. Dave Porter. Simple. Strong. Straightforward.

  She looked at her watch again. If it weren’t for the sweep of the second hand, she’d have thought it wasn’t working. Time seemed to stand still. She wanted it to be two o’clock.

  When class was over, she bolted from the room like a kid on the last day of school before summer vacation. She didn’t hang around to visit with any of her friends. She didn’t look for her roommate or walk to the student union building for lunch as she often did. Instead, she slipped her backpack over her arms and started jogging toward her apartment building, about six blocks away from the university.

  She hoped against hope that Patti wouldn’t decide to cut her Thursday afternoon class. It wouldn’t be unprecedented if she did. Patti Cooper hated her math class — and the professor who taught it.

  Once home, Sara bustled around the apartment, picking up dirty clothes and straightening magazines and books. She applied the broom to the scruffy hardwood floor, sweeping up the collection of dust bunnies from beneath chairs and tables. There wasn’t a lot of furniture in the tiny living room, and what there was looked old and ratty. The typical college-kids-on-a-shoestring style of decorating. Parents’ castoffs and Salvation Army purchases. She hadn’t given much thought to how the apartment looked before now. It was just a place to crash between classes and parties and college ball games. Most of her friends’ off-campus apartments looked much the same — or worse.

  But Dave wasn’t a college student, and she didn’t want him to think of her as one.

  By one forty-five, Sara had taken a shower, reapplied her eye shadow and mascara —the only makeup she wore — and was dressed in her favorite wine-colored jeans and a mauve blouse. As she stared at herself in the full-length bathroom mirror, she wondered if she ought to change again. The outfit made her look too young, too unsophisticated. Which she probably was.

  A dress might be a better choice. She had a nice green number with a super-short skirt that showed off her long legs and —

  There was no time to finish the thought, let alone follow through, before the doorbell rang. Sara’s pulse quickened in direct proportion with her now rapid breathing. She tried to hide how nervous and uncertain she felt.

  “Too early?” Dave asked the moment the door opened before him.

  “No,” she answered, “you’re right on time.”

  He grinned, as if he understood she’d been watching the clock in anticipation of his arrival.

  Sara held the door open a little wider. “Come on in.”

  “That’s why I’m here.” He grabbed his toolbox and stepped inside.

  He was dressed much as he’d been the day before, only this time his plaid shirt was red and white. The sleeves were rolled to above his elbows again. The hair on his arms, she noticed, was gold instead of light brown like the hair on his head.

  She followed him as far as the kitchen doorway, wondering what excuse she could use to stay right there.

  He fastened his leather tool belt around his waist, placed a level, a hammer, and some nails on the countertop, then glanced behind him, meeting her gaze. He smiled at her in that special way of his. “So tell me about yourself, Miss Jennings. Like I said yesterday, I enjoy company while I work.”

  “There’s nothing very interesting to tell,” she answered, pleased that he’d asked, that he’d given her a reason to stay.

  “I bet that’s not true. Start with your family. Are they from around here?”

  Sara had never been the type to say much about herself to new acquaintances, but with Dave, for some reason, she didn’t feel her usual reticence. Maybe it was the way his blue eyes met hers without wavering. Or maybe it was his slightly crooked smile that made warm feelings curl in her stomach. Whatever the reason, she wanted him to know all about her, just as she wanted to know all about him.

  “My folks have a farm outside of Caldwell.
Dad grows corn and sugar beets.”

  “Brothers and sisters?”

  “Brothers. Three of them. All older.”

  Dave whistled through his teeth. “Bet you were one spoiled little baby doll.”

  If someone else had said that to her, she’d have been insulted. “I suppose so,” she admitted. “But I was pestered plenty too. Their favorite game when I was five or six was ‘let’s ditch Sara.’ I was left behind in the strangest places.”

  He laughed.

  “It wasn’t funny at the time.”

  “Bet not.” As he spoke, he started to work on the cabinets. “What got you interested in the theater?”

  “I don’t know.” Sara settled onto one of the two barstools at the counter that separated the kitchen from the living area. “I just always loved to act.”

  Dave had a way of drawing out more and more information. Over the course of the next hour, she told him the names of her three brothers as well as the names of her parents, disclosed her passion for horses and barrel racing, announced she had the lead role in Boise State’s production of Cat on a Hot Tin Roof, and confessed her fondness for Chinese food and chocolate cake with dark-fudge frosting.

  It was only when he started packing up his tools that she realized she hadn’t asked him a single question about himself, and now he was getting ready to leave. A wave of panic struck her in the midsection.

  “Well, that should do it. Now you can put your dishes away.” He picked up his toolbox.

  “Dave …” She let his name drift into silence, afraid to continue. What if she’d misread him? What if he wasn’t interested in her?

  “Yeah?”

  “I, ah, I have a couple of tickets for the play. For Cat on a Hot Tin Roof. It starts next Friday. A week from tomorrow. If you’d like to use them …” Again she failed to finish her sentence.

  He smiled. “I’d love to come.”

  She couldn’t remember when she’d felt this nervous or excited. If he would just —

  His voice lowered a notch as he continued, “But I’ll only need one of those tickets. I’ll be coming alone.” He set his toolbox on the floor, then took a step toward her. “Although I hope I won’t end the evening alone. Will you be my dinner date after the play?”

  She swallowed hard. “Your date?”

  “They do still call it that, don’t they?” His eyes twinkled with amusement. “A date. You know? When a guy asks a pretty girl out.”

  She nodded.

  “So will you? Go out with me?”

  “Yes.” She sounded as breathless as she felt.

  “Great. Friday night it is. Give me your phone number, and I’ll call you. Okay?”

  “Okay.” She thought he might try to kiss her.

  Instead, he pulled a small spiral notebook and a pencil from his shirt pocket. “Sara Jennings,” he said as he wrote on one of the pages. Then he looked at her expectantly. “Your number?”

  Just as she finished answering him, the apartment door opened, and Patti entered. She stopped and stared at Dave. Her expression changed quickly from surprise to frank appreciation. Sara felt a rush of relief that her roommate hadn’t returned sooner.

  Dave grinned at the newcomer. “You must be Patti.”

  “Yes.” She glanced at Sara, one eyebrow cocked in question.

  “I’m Dave,” he answered before Sara could. “Your friendly neighborhood carpenter.” He picked up his toolbox again. “And I’d better go. I’m already behind schedule on my next job.”

  Patti stepped aside so he could walk past her. Sara followed him out to the open-air landing, purposefully closing the door behind her.

  He paused at the top of the stairs. Glancing over his shoulder, he said, “I’ll call you on Monday.”

  “I’ll be waiting.” She immediately regretted the words. She sounded too anxious, too much like a teenager.

  His smile made her forget everything else. “Talk to you then.”

  THREE

  Claire dipped the tops of the éclairs in the chocolate ganache glaze, then put the dozen rich desserts into the refrigerator to chill.

  Not for the first time, she glanced at the clock on the kitchen wall. Dave should have been home by now.

  “Please don’t forget we’ve got company coming for dinner,” she muttered.

  If he did forget, it wouldn’t be the first time. Dave was notorious for losing track of the time or forgetting an obligation. And he hated it when Claire reminded him. He detested being nagged, and that’s exactly what he accused her of doing, no matter how carefully she selected her words. They used to fight about it all the time until she’d made the decision it wasn’t worth the grief. Her husband was a hard worker and a good provider. He labored six days a week and occasionally on Sundays too.

  So Dave had a slight character flaw. Wasn’t love about accepting a man as he was?

  “I’m done setting the table, Mom.”

  She turned. Mike stood in the archway between the kitchen and the dining room.

  “Can I go over to John’s now?” he asked, referring to his best friend.

  “You’re sure Mrs. Kreizenbeck won’t mind you coming so early?”

  He laughed. “You know what it’s like over there. John’s mom probably doesn’t even know when there’s an extra kid around.”

  Claire couldn’t disagree. There were ten children in the Kreizenbeck household, and she’d never been inside their home when it wasn’t in total chaos. Maybe there was peace in the middle of the night, when everyone was asleep, but certainly never in the light of day.

  She lifted a paper plate covered with aluminum foil from the counter and held it out to her son. “I made some frosted sugar cookies to take with you. They are not just for you and John. Understood? You be sure to share them with his folks and brothers and sisters. There’s plenty for all.”

  “I will.”

  “And you give Mrs. Kreizenbeck a hand with whatever she asks.”

  “I will. I always do.” He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, trying to hide his impatience.

  “Have you got your dress clothes packed so you can go with them to church in the morning?”

  “Ah, Mom, you know I do.”

  Claire grasped his shoulders and dropped a kiss on his forehead. “Okay, get going. Have a good time and behave yourself. Be home by one o’clock. And be sure you’re careful crossing Orchard Avenue on your bike. You know how busy —”

  He was off and running before she could finish her words of caution.

  She smiled. Some of her friends had to worry about their children all the time, but Mike rarely gave her any concern. He did his homework, usually without being told, and brought home good grades with every report card. He was active in the Boy Scouts. He was considerate to old people, like their neighbor Mrs. Applegate. He always helped around the house, washing dishes, running thevacuum, making his bed. She’d never once suspected him of smoking or drinking, although she knew some children his age were already into such things. And he never sassed her.

  Suddenly she chuckled. If someone could read her mind, they’d think her son was a candidate for sainthood, which wasn’t the case either. Despite all his good points, Michael Dakota Porter was still just a normal boy who could get into more than a little mischief when he was so inclined.

  With a shake of her head, Claire returned her attention to the dinner preparations.

  The Italian stuffed veal breast, along with carrots and new potatoes, was roasting in the oven, filling the air with the delicious scents of onion, garlic, and sage. A salad of mixed greens was prepared, as were two homemade dressings. The last thing she had to do was put the rolls into a serving basket and warm them, but that could wait until after her guests arrived.

  She glanced at the clock again. “Oh, Dave, please don’t be late tonight. Please don’t forget about dinner. Not with all these guests coming.”

  Maybe she should have reminded him, even if he would have gotten angry and called her a na
g. He’d been so preoccupied the last couple of days. Like his thoughts were in a far-off place. Sometimes when he looked at her, she didn’t think he saw her. Instead, he seemed to look right through her.

  She frowned. Last night, she’d worn the nightgown he’d given her for their last anniversary, and he hadn’t even noticed. He’d just given her a perfunctory kiss good-night, rolled over, and gone to sleep. If that black satin negligee couldn’t get his attention, he was sure to forget a dinner party, especially one given in honor of her best friend, Alana Moncur, and her husband, Jack.

  “Couple of stuffed shirts,” Dave had said when she’d told him she wanted to give this party for the Moncurs’ tenth weddinganniversary. “Haven’t you ever noticed how he lords it over the rest of us common folk? He’s always bragging about how much money he makes and what a success he is.”

  “He does no such thing,” she’d protested, despite knowing it wouldn’t change Dave’s mind. Her husband rarely changed his mind about anything.

  Claire yanked off her apron and left the kitchen. Unless she wanted to greet her guests in her faded Levi’s and oversized cotton blouse, she’d better get changed. Worrying about whether Dave would arrive before everyone else wasn’t going to get him there any faster.

  Waiting for Monday—and that anticipated phone call from Dave— was going to drive Sara crazy.

  It was only Saturday, and she’d already spent far too much time staring at the telephone, waiting for it to ring. She’d tried watching television, but she couldn’t find a single program that interested her. She’d tried reading a new novel by her favorite author, but even a great love story couldn’t hold her attention. Patti was off playing tennis with a group of friends, so she couldn’t while away the day exchanging mindless gossip with her roommate. She found no enjoyment, as she usually did, in rehearsing her lines for the upcoming production. If she didn’t do something to take her mind off Dave, she would be a basket case by Monday.