He picked up the handset of his phone resting in its cradle on top of his desk, and pulled the restaurant’s menu from the top right-hand desk drawer.
“Apple’s,” the voice said on the other end.
“Hey, this is Clay Whitefield.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Ah … yeah. I’d like to place a take-out order if I may.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Chicken marinara,” he said, scanning the menu.
“Anything else with that?”
He dropped the menu and picked up the paper containing the list of foods he could eat, which he’d made from the Internet. “Do you have steamed green beans?”
“We can steam them, yes, sir.”
“I’d like a side order of those too.”
“Anything else?”
Yeah, he thought. A large slice of your New York—style cheesecake. A picture of Donna flashed across his mind, and he let the dessert idea drop. “That’s it,” he said. “That’s it for now.”
“It’ll be ready for you in about forty-five minutes, Mr. Whitefield.”
“I’ll be there,” he said, then wet his lips in anticipation of what was to come.
18
Tossed Together
For the second time in no more than a few days, Chris had given me the afternoon off. But once I took Donna and Vonnie to the airport, there was little for me to do. The most important thing, of course, was for me to lie low. If Clay Whitefield saw me, he’d know what was up, and Vonnie’s cover might be blown. I could go back home, but I already felt I was more in the way than a help these days and, well, I just didn’t want to spend the rest of my Friday sitting at home with Olivia, no matter how much I might love her.
So, I did what any self-respecting workingwoman who’d been given the day off would do … I went back to the office to get “caught up” on a few things.
I walked through the card shop leading to the upstairs office door and noticed a display of Christmas figurines. One in particular caught my eye, so I stopped and picked it up.
“That’s the kneeling Santa,” I heard a voice behind me say.
I turned to see one of the young sales associates standing there, dressed in jeans and a long-sleeved turtleneck, all of which was covered by her big red bib apron with the store’s logo stitched at one top corner. “It’s fascinating,” I commented, looking back at Tossed Together the figurine in my hand. “I don’t believe I’ve ever seen anything like this.”
“They came out … oh, goodness, maybe twenty years ago? I dunno. I remember my mother buying one, though, at least that long ago. Anyway, as you can see, Santa has taken off his cap and has kneeled before the baby Jesus lying in the manger. Says a lot without saying a word, don’t you think?” She smiled a perfect dimpled smile. “My name is Britney, and I’m new in town,” she said, extending her hand for a shake.
I obliged by taking it. “I didn’t think I recognized you,” I said. “Around here, you pretty much know everyone.”
Britney smiled again. I guesstimated her to be in her midtwenties, maybe a tad older. She was one of these “right off the cover of a magazine” girls. Perfect little figure, lightly applied makeup, wavy blond hair that seemed to dance on her shoulders as she spoke. “We moved here about two weeks ago. I just started working here yesterday.” She crossed her arms and raised her shoulders momentarily in one of the cutest motions.
Youth, I thought as my eyes wandered ever so briefly to her left hand. It was ringless, so apparently she wasn’t speaking of her husband and herself. “We?” I asked.
“My parents and me. Oh, and my brother. He’s working at one of those resorts in Breckenridge.”
I nodded. “I have a friend whose daughter works over that way. At Ridge Pointe.”
“Hey! That’s where Adam works too.” She smiled at me again. “Maybe they know each other.”
“Small world,” I said, then smiled. “And how nice that you and your brother moved with your parents. Most young adults your age would have stayed behind, I’d think.”
Britney shook her head. “My mom and I are very close, and my brother wanted the opportunity of working at one of the resorts.”
“I see.” I took a deep breath, looked back at the figurine, and tilted it so I could check out the price. It wasn’t too bad. In fact, I thought it might look right nice on my desk upstairs. “You know, I think I’ll get this.” I extended it to her.
Britney took the figurine from my hand. “Great. I’ll ring it up for you.” She turned toward the front of the store, and I followed on her heels. Before we reached the counter, she turned her head and spoke over her shoulder. “So, how long have you been here?”
“Since I was probably about your age,” I answered. She stepped around the counter, which was loaded down with a computer cash register and every conceivable sales display, including a stack of cinnamon candles in the shape of a Christmas tree. “A long time ago … when I married my husband.”
She began keying in the kneeling Santa as I began digging around in my purse, my fingertips blindly seeking my wallet. Finding it, I pulled it out, opened the flap, and reached for a twenty when my eye caught the silver glint of the credit card Jack had given me a couple of years ago in case of an emergency. I’d used it just once, not being one for relying on credit.
“Will that be cash or credit?” Britney asked.
I paused. Jack would really be miffed if I used a credit card to buy some novelty for my desk, which was in itself a clear representation of my newfound freedom. Well, then. All the more reason. “Credit,” I answered, whipping out the card. “And I’ll take one of those candles too,” I added, nodding my head at them.
The kneeling Santa was settled in his new home atop my desk as I plugged away at some menial tasks I’d pushed to the side but that now demanded my attention. I had made a fresh pot of coffee, lit the cinnamon candle, and turned the overhead stereo system to a radio station already playing twenty-four-hour Christmas music. I was completely immersed in my work when the office door opened.
I jumped, startled to see Chris sauntering into the office. Van Lauer was directly behind him. They were both wearing ski gear.
“Goldie,” Chris said, peeling off his gloves and opening his parka.
“Oh. Hello,” I said, darting my eyes from Chris to Van and back to Chris again. Van was, like Chris, stripping out of his outer gear.
“What are you doing here? Didn’t I give you the day off?”
“Loyalty,” Van commented. “Now, why can’t I ever find a loyal employee?” He handed Chris his parka, his eyes never leaving mine.
Chris took the coat, all the while giving his old friend a faux look of threat. “Don’t even think about trying to steal her away from me,” he said.
Van winked at me. I felt a chill run over my body as my armpits broke out in a sweat. It was bad enough my mind was at war with itself, now my body was at odds too. “Any woman who would come in to work on her day off couldn’t possibly be persuaded to leave,” he said. He tossed his gloves onto the nearby sofa.
I attempted to confirm his logic, but nothing would come out of my mouth. I could only focus on the cut of his body, made more apparent by the asphalt gray ski pants and the black tek tee. It seemed to me that the black and gray had been specially coordinated to the color of his hair and the steel gray of his eyes. I finally forced a smile and then looked back to Chris, who was hanging the coats on the brass coatrack.
“Do I smell coffee?” Van asked.
“Hmm?” I asked, returning my gaze to him.
“Coffee. Do I smell coffee?”
“Goldie, are you okay?” Chris asked.
“You want coffee?” I asked, standing so fast my thighs bumped against the middle drawer of my desk, causing a thunderous stir. I plopped back into my chair, which in turn slipped on the slick chair mat. The next thing I knew the chair was sailing toward the wall behind me, and my fanny was making a hard bounce on the floor below.
&
nbsp; “Goldie!” Chris darted across the room, but not before Van was able to reach me, grabbing for my arms, which were still—somehow—dangling over the edge of my desk.
“I’ve got her,” he said.
I wanted to die. If I could have, I would have. But I couldn’t and I didn’t. I could only manage to stutter and stammer, “I’m okay. Really. I’m okay.”
Not that I truly was. My backside was throbbing, the intensity of which was second only to my throbbing pride.
“Are you sure?” Chris asked.
“Positive.” I even giggled for good measure, looking directly at him. I didn’t dare look at Van, who continued to stand over me, smelling deliciously of cologne and fresh air. “I was going to get you two a cup of coffee,” I said and attempted to stand again.
Van’s hand came down on my shoulder. Again, I felt the chills and a popping of sweat. “For heaven’s sake,” he said. “We can get our own coffee. You take it easy and make sure you’re not hurt.” He looked over at my employer and said, “I’ll take mine with cream and sugar.”
Chris turned toward the break room as Van came around to the nearby sofa and took a seat.
I scrambled for something to say … or do … anything to relieve the embarrassment of a few moments ago. “So, how was your day?”
“Good. We headed back up to Loveland Pass.” He smiled.
“Oh. How nice.”
Van shrugged. “This time of year … you know how it is.”
I understood. Loveland Pass was a favorite place for the locals to get in some early skiing before the rest of the world swooped down after Thanksgiving. But Loveland oftentimes blended man-made snow with the real thing. You could ski, sure, but it wasn’t like a nice long run of powder, at least not this early. I picked up a pen and began fiddling with it. “Are the two of you going out to dinner tonight?” I asked.
“No. Carrie and Jenna will be back.”
I mouthed an “Oh” just as the phone rang. “Excuse me.” I turned to the phone. “Chris Lowe’s office,” I answered. It was Carrie. “Hello; we were just talking about you.”
“You and Chris?”
I looked over at Van. “No. Van Lauer is here. They just came back from Loveland Pass.”
“Wonderful. So, then Chris is there? I’m calling from the road and wanted to let him know about what time we’d be home.”
Even as she asked, Chris stepped into the room, carrying two mugs of steaming coffee. “He’s just walking back in. I’ll let him know you’re on the line.” I placed the call on hold, looked over at Chris, and said, “Carrie.”
“Ah. I’ll take it in my office,” he said. “Excuse me.”
Once again, just Van and me in the room. Endless minutes to fill with conversation about … something. But what?
“So,” Van began. “It’s a Friday. Will you and your husband be dining out tonight?” He took a sip of his coffee and swallowed loudly.
“Oh, no. I’m not … I mean … we’re not …” I sat straight in my chair. “We’re separated. Jack and me. Jack’s my husband. We’re separated.” Oh, Lord! Do I sound as much like an idiot as I think I do?
“Really? I’m sorry to hear that.”
I waved a hand at him. “Don’t be. Please. It was a long time coming. I mean, we may still work it out, but I don’t think so. You never know what—”
“God will do,” we both finished.
Another smile broke across his face. He’s a Christian! My heart soared.
“Goldie?” he said, clutching the mug of coffee by lacing his fingers around it. “How about I take you to dinner tonight?”
My heart stopped beating as I took in a deep breath. “I don’t think … I mean, I don’t know …”
“As friends, I mean. I don’t have anything going on … and I’m assuming you don’t either.”
“Well, I was going to make stuffed peppers for my daughter and son-in-law.”
“I see.” The look on his face was—I believe it was!—genuine disappointment.
“But,” I began, watching his face for a hint of hope, and what do you know, there it was, “I suppose I can still prepare the peppers for them and go to dinner with you.” I cleared my throat discreetly. “As friends.”
Van stood. “Seven o’clock?”
I stood too, but don’t ask me why. “Sounds good.”
“How about we go to Apple’s? Chris and I went there last night … excellent food.”
“I love Apple’s.”
“Then Apple’s it is.” Again he reached for my hand, and I happily offered it to him. “Seven o’clock.”
Oh, Lord. What have I done, what have I done, what have I done? And explain to me, if you will, how I will ever tell Olivia?
My warring mind sent up anxious and disjointed prayers to God as I headed home that afternoon, driving way below the speed limit. The sooner I arrived home, the sooner I’d have to face the glare and accusations of my daughter. Olivia would never understand why I’d accepted the invitation from Van. Heavens, I hardly understood it myself. Yes, yes, the man is nice looking. Okay, let me be honest. I mean, if I can’t be honest with God, who can I be honest with?
Lord, you know the man is nothing short of gorgeous. You ought to know it; you created him. And I can’t help but wonder what in the world he would see in a woman like me; if in fact he sees anything at all. Maybe he just felt sorry for me, having fallen and making such a showof myself in the office. Or maybe he’s just lonely … or desperate.
That’s it, isn’t it, Lord? He’s desperate. Desperate, and he feels sorry for me. He thinks I’m lonely. Well, I’ll certainly straighten that misconception out first thing. Oh, Lord, help me tell Olivia. Help her to understand this isn’t a date. No, it’s not a date at all … it’s just two friends having dinner.
What’s wrong with two friends having dinner, Lord?
I could delay no longer. I pulled into the driveway of Olivia and Tony’s small ranch-style home, shut off the car’s engine, and made my way to the front door, all the while fiddling with the wide strap of my purse. The door swung open just as I reached the bottom step of the porch. I looked up to see Olivia framed by the doorway. “Oh, good, you’re home. I’ve been worried.”
I stopped with one foot on the first step and my hand on the wrought-iron railing. “Why were you worried?” I asked.
“I thought you were going somewhere with the girls of the Potluck and then coming straight home.”
I shook my head no as I continued up the steps. “I ended up going to the office. Just for something to do, really.”
Olivia nodded as she moved back into the house, holding the door open for me and stepping to one side. As I passed her I rubbed her tummy only slightly round with child. “How were you today?” I asked. “Feeling okay?”
“I’m fine, Mom.” She closed the door behind us and headed into the kitchen. “Hey, listen. I know you said you were going to make stuffed peppers for dinner, but Tony called and was craving chicken parmesan, so I thought I’d indulge him. Oh, and Dad called.”
“Jack?” I stopped briefly, then continued following her, stopping at the dining room side of the countertop separating the two rooms. I set my purse to the right of the half-opened mail.
Olivia opened a cabinet, reached for a jar of Italian sauce, then set it on the countertop in front of her, all the while talking. “Yeah. He called about Thanksgiving. He wants us to be together for the day, and I told him—”
“What did you tell him?” I asked, gripping the edge of the counter.
Olivia gave me one of her “looks.” “Well, I told him I’d have to talk to you first, of course. But, I have to tell you, he seemed pretty sure you’d balk.”
I opened my mouth in protest as Olivia raised a hand to stop me. “I told him,” she continued, “that you are not unreasonable and you’d surely be happy to have Thanksgiving dinner as a family. Mom, please say you’ll think about it. We’re still a family, you know.”
I reached for my
purse and then turned to walk away, heading toward my bedroom. This was not going as I expected. How was I supposed to tell Olivia that I had a date—though not a real date, just dinner between two friends—when all she could do was babble on about next Thursday’s holiday meal?
“Mom,” Olivia called. I realized she was coming up behind me, so I turned.
“Olivia, we’ll talk about it later, okay? I’ll call your father and discuss this whole thing with him. I will, I promise.”
My daughter crossed her arms over her middle and cocked out a hip as though she found my words very difficult to believe. “Fine,” she said. “When? When will you call him?” Apparently our conversation wasn’t going as she’d planned either.
“Olivia, I don’t know …”
“Tonight? Will you call him tonight?”
“Not tonight, no.”
She looked at me with wide eyes as her lips formed a circle of disbelief. “Why not? Why can’t you call him tonight?”
I stood straight. “Because I have a … because I have other plans.”
“What other plans?”
“I’m going out to dinner with a friend.”
“Who? One of the Potluckers? How long will that take? You can’t take five minutes out of your evening to call Dad?”
“Olivia, stop it!” I raised my hand to my forehead and attempted to rub away the tension forming there. “I’m going out to dinner with a gentleman—”
“Excuse me?”
“A gentleman, Olivia. And before you have a heart attack, just let me say this is not a date. He’s just a friend.”
Olivia began to flail about. “Ohmigosh. Oh … my … gosh. Mom, you can’t be serious. You’re a married woman.” She ran her fingers through the short mop of red curls atop her head. “You cannot be serious.” Her voice squealed on the last word.
I took a step toward her. “What does my being married have to do with this? Besides, I’m not married. Not really. I don’t care what you say.”
“Mom, you are not going to honestly look at me and tell me you’re not married.”
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