Summer on Main Street

by Crista McHugh

  Lolly laughed. Harry smiled and bowed out gracefully.

  “Okay, then.” Brooks turned to Lolly. “Let me see if I can clarify where it is Vance could use your expertise.”

  “My expertise?”

  “We’d like a female’s point of view. Vance said you might be willing to share yours since you were willing to talk a little about your ex-boyfriend. Why he became your ex-boyfriend.”

  Lolly blushed and turned her attention to her salad.

  “Vance.” Brooks indicated with his hand. “Doesn’t like women.”

  “I love women,” he protested around a mouthful of salad.

  “Vance has zero female friends,” Brooks continued as if Vance hadn’t spoken. “He doesn’t talk to them. He doesn’t listen to them. He doesn’t like them playing pool with us, or shooting darts, or playing cards, anything. He simply does not enjoy a woman’s company unless the bar is getting ready to close.”

  Lolly watched as Vance’s eyes shifted between the attack he was putting on his salad and the attack Brooks was putting on his character. She noticed his eyes narrowing and his jaw tensing, but she also noticed he didn’t deny anything being said.

  She cocked her head. “Is this true, Vance?”

  Vance looked at her, dropped his fork, and leaned back from his plate, chewing his food. He wiped his mouth with his cloth napkin and settled it back in his lap before he spoke.

  “Two days ago, I would have denied it.” He took up his wine glass and sipped. “But since Brooks delivered this news to me yesterday, I’ve been thinking about it.” He folded his fingers together over the table, shook his head, and then eyed her directly. “There is a lot of evidence to support what he says.” He took a deep breath. “I want you to help me with this.” He eyed Brooks before coming back to her. “I need you to help me figure this out.”

  He was serious. So serious that Lolly’s heart ached for the darkly handsome man in front of her. Ached so sharply she didn’t trust her voice. So she nodded her head quickly, silently swearing to do what she could. There was a long, awkward silence as the three of them ate their salad.

  “We’re turning thirty soon, Brooks and I.” Vance’s voice was making the statement matter of fact.

  “Thirty?” Lolly smiled, glancing between the two. “You are old,” she teased.

  “How old are you, Lolly?” Brooks asked.

  “Twenty-three. Same as Darcy.” It hit her then…Darcy was marrying a man seven years older. They seemed like a perfect couple, yet…seven years?

  “Age is just a number,” Vance insisted. “Obviously, my emotional IQ would register closer to that of a twenty-year-old. It’s all relative.”

  Lolly agreed with him to an extent. But from the body language Brooks was throwing off, he was not agreeing at all. She touched his leg just as she had done when they first sat down. But that seemed to cause him to pay even more attention to his salad. She pulled her hand away.

  Lolly spoke nonchalantly. “I suppose seven years might be a big difference when we’re talking about a three-way.”

  Vance choked on his wine and Brooks steered every ounce of his attention her way, just as she’d hoped. “No one is talking about a three-way,” he growled.

  “I know.” She smiled brilliantly into his scowl. “I just wanted to get your attention,” she said patting his leg. He rubbed his hand over hers in reward.

  Vance sat grinning across the table. “Clearly she has what it takes,” he said. He pushed his salad plate aside and leaned his forearms onto the table, addressing her directly. “My turn,” he said, his expression full of mischief.

  “My buddy here,” he said, pointing to Brooks, “good cop. In all things, he’s the good cop. Which is going to work out well for him when he runs for mayor. But I’m afraid, after our conversation on the training table yesterday––you’re cute when you blush, by the way––I’m afraid that when it comes to women, Brooks regularly falls into the milquetoast category.”

  Lolly’s mouth worked, but nothing came out. She was indeed blushing. How the hell was she supposed to respond to that?

  “He needs your help. Desperately. And I realize this may be a bit awkward since the two of you had a big date last night, but trust me, without your honest input and a few of my secrets to success, you are headed toward a dead end with this one.”

  “Trust me,” Lolly piped up. “Nothing about our date last night was milquetoast.”

  Vance spread his hands out and lifted his brows in a proving-my-point gesture.

  Brooks dropped his knife and fork and glared at his longtime friend and teammate.

  “Just keeping it real, man,” Vance said in apology.

  Brooks rubbed his forehead and muttered something like ‘kill me now’ as Harry arrived, just in time to save the evening from utter disaster. Unsure of what was really going on around her, Lolly’s nerves were strung out and fraying at the ends. As she watched Harry clear the salad plates, her eyes pleaded with him to bring another round of tequila. Like magic, within mere seconds Harry the Gifted was back granting her wish––laying down artistically prepared shots as if he’d had them on the ready, awaiting just the right time for delivery.

  Lolly didn’t hesitate. She took the shaker, licked her hand, doctored it up, sucked the salt, slung the shot, and bit the lime. When she noticed Vance and Brooks staring at her she shrugged. “Don’t judge. I was starting to feel more comfortable with the idea of a three-way.”

  They both chuckled and lifted their shots. “To Lolly,” they said in unison.

  The porterhouse arrived on a sizzling iron pan, sliced and set in the center of the table. Harry expertly used two spoons as tongs to place slices of both the tenderloin and the strip steak on their plates, scooping up the essence and pouring it over their meat. Next he doled out portions of creamed spinach, hash brown potatoes, and sautéed mushrooms. No matter what the topic of conversation, mouths couldn’t help but water. Lolly dug in with uncharacteristic gusto.

  While they ate, commenting only on the delicious food, Lolly reviewed what she had heard. “I’m not a psychology major,” she said, out of the blue. “I’d like to help you, Vance, but I’m not really qualified to figure out why you don’t like women.”

  Vance finished chewing, but held his knife and fork at the sides of his plate. After a brief glance toward Brooks, he looked across the table at her, his eyes darkening, his expression earnest. “My mother walked out on my father and me when I was ten. Left us for another man and his daughter. My father and I were both so devastated we couldn’t find the words we needed to discuss it. We grieved in silence. Sitting together on the front porch every night, wishing she’d come back. Eventually, my grandmother moved here from Barcelona to care for us, but she spoke only Spanish. She had plenty to say about it, but I couldn’t understand a word.”

  “Vance, I’m so sorry,” Lolly said on a breath.

  “Oh, it gets better,” he said, pointing his knife. “While all this was going down, I went to school every day. I mean, I was there, but I wasn’t there because I was so numb and dazed. No one was talking about it there either. My entire world had picked up and moved out. And no one was acknowledging it. Not the teacher or the school nurse or the principal. I felt fucking invisible. But there was this one girl in my class who, out of the blue one day, comes up and takes my hand. And holds it.

  “To this day, I remember exactly what that felt like. That human touch. I simply turned to her and told her everything. I told her my mother had left. That I wanted her back. That I couldn’t understand my grandmother but knew she hated my mother. On and on and on. And she listened to me. And then…then she told me that she would be very sad if her mother left her, so she was going to share it with me. The sadness. That while she was being sad, I could play and feel better for a while. And then while she played, I could be sad again. That we would take turns being sad, together.

  “So we did. I don’t know why it worked—I was probably so tired of being sad that I
needed to feel better now and then. And she made it possible. I remember her sitting by herself one recess. Somebody asked her to play and she said ‘no,’ that it was her turn to be sad. I was playing catch or something and I remember smiling because I was free to smile while she held vigil for my mother.

  “And every morning she’d meet me first thing and let me tell her what was on my mind. About how I hurt. About how I didn’t like the food my grandmother fixed. About how much I missed my dad when he was away on business.” He shook his head in bewilderment. “She became my lifeline. My support system. Which is a lot to ask of a fellow fourth grader,” he said as he smiled.

  “And then….” Vance’s eyes closed briefly and he shrugged. Putting knife and fork to work, he went back to his steak.

  “And then what?” Lolly asked.

  Vance spoke directly to his plate. “Then her father got transferred or something and her family moved away.”

  “Jesus,” Brooks said.

  Lolly touched his arm. “You didn’t know this?”

  Brooks shook his head while Vance explained that he hadn’t ever talked to anyone about any of it. “Not Brooks, not Duncan, not Lewis. Guys don’t discuss this shit. I mean, they all obviously know that my mother hasn’t been around, and they probably figured out that my issues with women stem from that, but….” He shrugged and took a sip of wine. “What are you gonna do?”

  Lolly couldn’t find words to speak, and apparently Brooks was just as tongue-tied because the silence stretched on and on until Vance’s cutlery clattered to his plate and he exclaimed, “Come on, y’all. This is ancient history. Do not let this ruin our evening. I just figured I’d spell it out so that you know you don’t need a degree in psychology to figure me out. And I’m not going to any freaking counselor so don’t bother going there. I need to learn how to be friends with a woman. You’re a woman. And until you kick this one to the curb, we can be friends and nothing more. So, will you do it? Will you be my friend?” he said mockingly. “Will you teach me what there is to like about women so I can stop abusing them and myself at the same time?”

  Lolly’s eyes widened. “Wow, you really are self-aware.”

  Vance smirked. “And it only took a good thirty years.”

  Harry materialized at the side of their table. “Gentlemen, I hope you brought your wallets because I have another bottle of wine to finish off your meal,” he said, starting to pour. “It also goes brilliantly with the chocolate soufflé I’ve ordered for the table. Goce.”

  “What?” Lolly asked as he left the table.

  “He said enjoy. In Spanish,” Vance offered. “Was he standing there listening to every word I said?”

  “I just think he’s a mind reader,” answered Brooks, “because I was definitely thinking about more wine.”

  “And the chocolate soufflé sounds amazing,” Lolly agreed. “So you two finish off the rest of that steak because I’m going to sip my wine and save room for dessert.” She pushed her plate to the side.

  Lolly leaned back and watched the Heroes of Henderson refill their plates. She was relieved when the two of them started discussing some faulty ESPN commentary on a random Major League baseball game. Random to her, but clearly a life or death situation for these men.

  These men. Her mind trailed back to middle school and the year she and Darcy had become inseparable. It was that spring that Brooks and Vance were seniors and co-captains of the Henderson High baseball team. Lolly went to every game to keep Darcy company. She learned a lot about baseball since the team was undefeated and the town did nothing but buzz about them winning their league and moving on to the state championship.

  She’d paid attention to Brooks only because he was Darcy’s brother, and she liked sharing Darcy’s pride of his baseball prowess. She remembered Vance being at the Bennetts’ house so much that she’d asked Darcy if she had another brother.

  Back then she and Darcy were nothing more to Brooks and Vance than impediments to be maneuvered around on their way to the refrigerator or back out to their cars. She never imagined she’d be sitting here with the two of them now. And what? Become Vance’s friend? Make sure Brooks wasn't milquetoast?

  She was in way, way over her head with these two.

  Since the day Brooks called and asked her to the engagement party, she’d done nothing but fantasize about a summer fling. And now—now she had the perfect opportunity and a chance to alleviate her pent-up sexual frustration after a year of nice, safe, boring Davis. Because Vance was wrong. Brooks might be the good cop, but he was no milquetoast. The reality was that he’d be the one doing the educating.

  It was all so surreal. She needed to digest it.

  Not only digest it, she thought, but figure out what it would look like to be Vance Evan’s friend. The man practically seduced her in the first ten minutes of their meeting. And she’d allowed it! Could she and Vance really become friends?

  Friends had common interests, spent time together, shared confidences. She didn’t play baseball; she wasn’t a coach or a cop. She…could run. He said he ran every day. Maybe she could run with him. They could talk while they ran. Train for some sort of race at the end of the summer. Friends did that. They could do that.

  And he was working with her on the athletic cup research, so they’d be interacting there. He was helping her. Friends did that for each other.

  What else?

  “Excuse me,” she said when there was a lull in the conversation. “Vance, do you play tennis?”

  He had finished his meal and was swirling his wine. “I have, in the past, played some tennis. Yes.”

  “How ’bout golf? Have you ever played golf?”

  “I’m a baseball player. How hard could golf be?”

  Brooks chuckled while Lolly rolled her eyes. “Perfect,” she said. “Listen. What time do you run in the mornings?”

  “Six o’clock.”

  “Would you mind if I ran with you?”

  “Not as long as the first place we run to is Tenderfoot to get you new shoes.”

  Lolly laughed. “Deal.”

  “I don’t work until the afternoon tomorrow. Meet me at Tenderfoot at nine when they open and we’ll run out from there. We’ll take the old railroad trail and keep in the shade.”

  “And with a short detour, we can run to the Club and sign up for the Mixed-up Mixed Doubles Tennis Tournament and the King and Queen Golf Tournament. Maybe a little coed sports competition will show you there is more to appreciate about women.”

  “Done.” Vance swallowed the last of his wine. “I’ll let the two of you enjoy the soufflé while I head to the library and pick up a book on tennis.”

  “A book on tennis?” Lolly asked bewildered.

  “I’m assuming you want to win these tournaments.”

  She nodded and smiled. “Go forth and conquer.”

  “Indeed.” Vance stood, pulled out his wallet, and tossed his credit card to Brooks. “Split it down the middle and make sure you take care of Harry.”

  Brooks nodded. “Will do. Be safe.”

  “You too,” he nodded. “Lolly. Nine sharp. Tenderfoot.”

  “I’ll be there, and thank you for dinner. Tell your dad I like his Corvette.”

  “He’ll be pleased to hear it.” He smiled, nodded, and turned to go, leaving Brooks and Lolly alone.

  Chapter Eight

  Like magic, Vance disappeared and in his place stood Harry taking a small silver scraper from his pocket and running it over the table cloth gathering crumbs. That’s when Brooks noticed an odd tattoo on the waiter’s wrist. A quiver with four arrows.

  “And how did the first part of the evening turn out?” Harry asked.

  Brooks knew the question was directed at Lolly even though Harry hadn’t looked in her direction. So he turned his head, curious for her answer.

  “I think the first part of the evening went well,” she said. “Considering….”

  “Considering you’re with two complete morons who believe you
’re the answer to their waning youth?”

  Lolly’s mouth hung open, but the comment made Brooks burst out laughing.

  “Harry! What the hell? Is this table bugged?” Brooks started running his hands underneath the edges of the table. “Who are you? CIA?”

  Harry shook his head. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you. Now, if you’ll bring your wine glasses and follow me please.”

  Brooks and Lolly looked at one another with raised eyebrows and then followed Harry out the back of the restaurant to a small deck where a lone, cloth-draped table for two glistened with votive candles. A full moon and smattering of stars shone bright in the night sky above a weeping willow planted just off the deck. The deck itself was a miniature Garden of Eden with ceramic pots of all shapes and sizes planted with everything from bamboo to gardenias. The surrounding scent lent even more enchantment.

  Brooks held out a chair for Lolly while Harry nodded his approval and filled their wine glasses with what was left in the bottle. The soufflé, fresh from the oven, arrived as the last drop was poured, and Harry scooped it onto their awaiting plates with a flourish, adding a dollop of fresh whipped cream. He bowed and turned, disappearing without a word.

  Brooks and Lolly stared at one another, wide-eyed.

  “How do you know him?” Lolly asked, picking up her spoon to delve into the molten chocolate.

  “I don’t,” Brooks insisted. “I met him one time at the Country Club. New Year’s Eve.”

  “Then what is all…this?” Lolly circled her spoon, indicating their surroundings, the entire evening.

  “I wish I knew,” Brooks said. “Annabelle Devine told us he was magical. I don’t get it, but he’ll definitely be getting a darn good tip.”

  “This is delicious,” Lolly moaned, licking her lips and sighing at the experience of pure chocolate bliss.

  Brooks grinned, enjoying having Lolly seated across from him so he could study her expressions and still be close enough to touch. He reached out at the thought and rubbed a finger over her cheek.