The Late Bloomer's Road to Love

by Marie Ferrarella

  He wondered what she had told her father about their late night. “Should we be getting our stories straight?” he asked her.

  Rachel shook her head. “No, no stories. Just the truth,” she told him. She had always found that it was much simpler that way. Sticking to the truth whenever it was possible.

  “Wow,” he said in admiration, “you really are one admirable lady.”

  “I just don’t believe in lying if I can avoid it,” she told him. “Keeping a story straight is far easier when it’s the truth.”

  His smile widened. “Like I said, one really admirable lady,” he told her. And then he turned on his heel, watching her as she began to leave the house. “Hey, listen,” Wyatt called after her.

  She turned to look at him. She really didn’t want to interact with her father this morning. Not until her face stopped looking like thirty miles of bad road.

  “Yes?”

  “Would you be up for a date this weekend?” Wyatt asked, catching her totally by surprise. She turned back and took a few steps toward him. “One of my friends is having a barbecue and I thought that since we’ve broken the ‘dating ice,’ so to speak, maybe you’d like to go with me. They’re really nice people. And it won’t be nearly as crowded as my sister’s anniversary celebration was.”

  When she didn’t answer right away he wondered if she thought he was attempting to pressure her, or moving too fast.

  “It’s not mandatory, but I’d really like you to come,” he told her. His eyes met hers, coaxing her. “How about it?”

  “I’d love to,” she finally replied. “And it’ll give you and my father something to talk about during your exercise session with him.”

  Wyatt didn’t quite follow her reasoning. “Come again?”

  “I get the distinct impression that my father is worried that I’m about to become an old maid—his idea of an old maid,” she clarified. She had no idea what the modern version of that was these days. Did people even think in those terms anymore?

  Wyatt shook his head. “You’re not anyone’s idea of an old maid.”

  That made her smile for a second.

  And then, the next moment Rachel heard her father coming down the stairs. He’d gotten a late start, she thought.

  “Looks like it’s time for me to beat a hasty retreat,” she told him “before I have to submit to another version of the Spanish Inquisition.”

  “That bad?” Wyatt asked her.

  “That bad,” she responded. Well, maybe not quite, she mentally amended, but she hated having to answer questions and account for herself. She always had. “Good luck today.”

  “Why would I need luck?” he asked, his eyes following her.

  “Do you think I’m the only one he’s going to subject to a huge question-and-answer period?” she asked Wyatt. The expression on her face negated any doubts he might have about that.

  “Rachel?” she heard her father call out. “Are you down here?”

  She looked undecided as she glanced over her shoulder. “So much for my hasty retreat,” she lamented.

  “Your father’s not about to quiz you in front of me,” he told her.

  “I didn’t think of you as being naive. My father would quiz me in front of everyone, and anyone,” she told Wyatt. She started to go, but he suddenly caught her arm. When she looked at him with an unspoken question in her eyes, he said, “I’m looking forward to going to the barbecue with you.”

  I’m looking forward to just being with you, she thought. But out loud she gave him a nonchalant “Yes, that’ll be fun.”

  His eyes met hers. “I’ll give you the details later this week.”

  “And the drama continues,” she murmured under her breath.

  “Rachel,” he called after her a second time.

  This time, feeling slightly impatient because she wanted to leave before her father came down, she turned to look at him. “Yes?”

  In response, Wyatt kissed her, quickly and with feeling, then told her, “Go, before your father gets down here.”

  Rachel didn’t have to be told twice.

  Smiling broadly, she was gone by the time her father entered the hallway.

  Chapter Sixteen

  As she sailed in through Vesuvius’s front door, Rachel braced herself for an interrogation from Johanna.

  But there was none.

  To Rachel’s surprise and relief, Johanna had broken an age-old tradition. She hadn’t come in early.

  Or at all.

  With any luck, Rachel could sequester herself in the supply closet and do whatever needed to be done without having to put up with a barrage of questions about what happened at the anniversary celebration yesterday.

  However, before very long, the quiet began to get to her.

  Quickly.

  Rachel kept looking at her watch. And that kept interfering with her getting anything done.

  After an hour had dragged by, she went out into the main dining area, which, at this hour, was exceedingly quiet.

  “Has anyone heard from Johanna?” she asked the staff members who were busy setting up for the first shift.

  The five people there met her question with bewildered shakes of their heads.

  “We thought she would have called you,” Janice, one of the older servers, told Rachel. “She didn’t?”

  Just to be certain—maybe her phone had somehow reverted to silent mode—Rachel took out her cell phone and checked. But there had been no missed call.

  Rachel shook her head. “Nope, she didn’t call.” Now she was really concerned.

  She quickly began to input the woman’s number. The only answer she got was Johanna’s voice mail, which cheerfully told her to “please leave a message.”

  This was not like Johanna, Rachel thought, growing more and more worried. At a loss as to what to do, she was about to try again when she heard her father’s voice as he walked in. It was obvious that he was talking to someone.

  She hurried toward the sound of her father’s voice.

  “Dad,” she began before she had a chance to even reach him, “have you heard from—Johanna?” Her voice trailed off as she realized that her father had actually come in with Johanna and was speaking to her right at this moment.

  “As a matter of fact,” he told his daughter with a smile that was directed at the woman who was with him, “I have.”

  Since Johanna had made it a practice of always being early and had never come in late or even missed a day in all the years she had been working at Vesuvius, Rachel was torn between relief and annoyance at having been put through this in the first place. She settled for asking the woman, “Is everything all right, Johanna?” quickly followed by “Where have you been?” which came out a little more sharply than she had intended.

  “Well, for the first half hour, I was sitting in my car, trying to start a dead battery,” the assistant manager told Rachel. She slanted a smile toward George. Rachel could see that the man was nothing short of her hero. “And then your father picked me up.”

  Rachel realized that her father was beaming. “It’s been a long time since I’ve ridden to the rescue,” he told his daughter with pride.

  She glanced at her watch again to confirm what she was about to ask. “Aren’t you supposed to be home, doing your exercises with Wyatt right now?”

  “When Johanna called, Wyatt gave me a pass,” he informed her. “He thinks that since I’ve made so much progress lately, it was all right if I cut one session short. He told me it was okay with him, seeing as how I had a really good reason.”

  More points for the golden boy, Rachel thought, knowing that Wyatt had managed to raise his stock even more in her father’s eyes with this latest move.

  Rachel looked more closely at Johanna. “Are you sure that you’re all right?”

  “Other than wantin
g to take a sledgehammer to my car, I’m fine,” the older woman replied.

  “Why didn’t you call me?” Rachel asked. “I would have been more than happy to come to get you, Johanna.”

  But Johanna waved her hand at the mere suggestion. “You have more than enough to handle. Besides, it all turned out all right. Your dad had my car towed to his mechanic.” She took a deep breath, trying to put the whole experience behind her for now. “Well, I’d better get to work. Too much time has gone by.”

  With that, she turned toward the locker room and began heading in that general direction.

  Rachel turned toward her father, who for once had been silently listening to this exchange.

  “I guess maybe I should stop worrying about you,” she told him.

  “Oh, honey,” George chided her, “a daughter should never have to worry about her father. It’s the other way around.” Worry, in his opinion, was strictly a one-way road.

  “Where is that written?” Rachel challenged.

  He shrugged carelessly, a smile playing on his lips. “I dunno. But I’m sure that it is written somewhere,” he told her. “You know, it felt really good being useful again.”

  She realized what he meant and shook her head. “Dad, you’re always useful.”

  “Yeah, yeah,” he said, waving his hand at her comment. “I mean really.”

  “So do I,” she told him. And then her tone softened. “I’ll make you a deal, Dad. You stop worrying about me and I’ll stop worrying about you. How’s that?”

  George laughed. “Sounds good to me,” he said. “Well, my kitchen awaits.” Turning to look at Rachel, he asked, “It is still my kitchen, right?”

  “It always has been, Dad,” Rachel told him. Her words coaxed a smile from her father.

  She watched as he disappeared into the kitchen, then went toward the locker room to make sure that Johanna was none the worse for her experience. She knew the woman wasn’t one to complain, especially to her father.

  Rachel all but walked into the assistant manager as she was in the process of coming out.

  Seeing her, the first words out of Johanna’s mouth were “So, how was last night? Did he light up your life?” A smile curved her lips as she asked the questions.

  Rachel sighed, shaking her head. “And to think I was worried about you.”

  “Don’t try to play innocent,” Johanna told her. “I want to hear details, lots of details.”

  The latter fixed the older woman with a look. “There’s nothing to tell, Johanna.”

  “Don’t give me that, I’ve known you ever since you were a little bitty thing. And let’s not forget, I have eyes, Rachel. I’ve seen the way you two look at each other. There was nothing indifferent about the looks you two exchanged. So be honest with me. How was it?”

  Rachel blew out a breath. She couldn’t seem to get Johanna to back off, but then, she really hadn’t expected to.

  “I had a nice time,” Rachel said. “From all indications, so did he.”

  That was obviously not enough to satisfy Johanna. “And?”

  “And when it was over,” Rachel continued stubbornly, “Wyatt took me home.”

  “His home?” Johanna asked, her face lighting up.

  “No, my home,” Rachel emphasized. “You and I both know that if I was late coming home, my father would have called out the National Guard and had them all out looking for me.” Her father did not do things in a half-hearted manner.

  “I’m not too sure about that,” Johanna told her as she began to walk away.

  Rachel quickly caught up to the older woman. “You know something I don’t?” she asked, trying to get a handle on all of this.

  Johanna eyed her innocently. “I’m just an observer of human nature, dear,” the older woman replied. “Now if you’ll excuse me, since you’re not coming forth with details—”

  “There aren’t any details to come ‘forth’ with,” Rachel insisted, shooting a meaningful look in Johanna’s direction.

  “As I said, I have work to catch up on.” The woman paused one last time and asked, “Did he at least ask you out again?”

  In self-defense, Rachel almost said, “No.” But she had never believed in lying, and she had a feeling that Johanna would somehow find out anyway. She really didn’t want to be caught in a lie.

  “Yes,” Rachel answered, gritting her teeth together, knowing that this laid the groundwork for round two. “Satisfied?”

  The assistant manager surprised her by saying “No, but I’m getting there.” A smile filtered into her eyes. “We’ll talk later.”

  “Oh, goody, something to look forward to,” Rachel quipped sarcastically.

  And then she added, “I’m really glad you’re all right, Johanna.”

  “Don’t worry about me. I’m invincible,” Johanna said, proceeding to wave the younger woman away. “Now, shoo. I’ve got work to do.”

  * * *

  The rest of the week went by in more or less of a blur. Because she had gone out with Wyatt on Saturday, Rachel felt as if she had a great deal to catch up on both at work and in her studies.

  She did her best, but even so, she found that something had to be sacrificed. It was either catching up, or sleeping. She wasn’t able to do both—but she did really try hard.

  She would have felt a lot better mentally if she had managed to catch up with her work and her classes, but despite the fact that it would have made her feel a great deal better about the situation, it just wasn’t something that she was able to do.

  She still interacted with Wyatt. It occurred to her that he came to the house early—early enough for them to at least say a few words to each other before she went on to work at the restaurant and Wyatt began to work with her father.

  After the sessions were over, of course, Wyatt would drop off her father at the restaurant. This way, her father wouldn’t feel as if he was exerting himself, and just as important, Wyatt and Rachel could see one another before they went on to work for the rest of their day.

  And then, before she knew it, it was Saturday again. As much as she was looking forward to spending more time with Wyatt than just small snatches here and there, Rachel didn’t feel as if she really had the luxury of being able to do that.

  Every moment of her day felt as if it was jam-packed with things to do.

  On her way to do something, Johanna stopped and doubled back to look at Rachel. “Why do you look as if you’re about to start sucking on a lemon?” she asked, taking Rachel’s expression into account. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but aren’t you going out this afternoon with Wyatt?”

  “Well, I was supposed to,” Rachel told Johanna, measuring out her words slowly.

  “But...?” the woman said, attempting to coax an explanation out of her.

  “But now I’m thinking that maybe I should use the time to try to catch up on my studies. I’ve really fallen behind,” Rachel told her.

  Out of the corner of her eye, she saw her father approaching them. Suddenly, she felt herself being ambushed.

  “Honey, the studies will always be there,” George told his daughter.

  “Dad, I’ve got to catch up sometime,” Rachel argued. And the longer she took, the further behind she would fall.

  Rather than continue arguing, her father tried another tactic, “Did I ever tell you that your mother took off six months before she went on to complete her nursing degree?”

  This was news to Rachel and she wondered if her father was making the whole thing up.

  “She did? She never said anything to me about that. Why would she have taken the time off?” Rachel asked. She noticed that Johanna had grown quiet, letting her father do all the talking.

  A nostalgic smile flitted across her father’s lips. “Well, for the first two months,” he remembered, “it was because she was at the end of her pregnan
cy with you. The last four months after that, she felt it was more important for her to be your mother than for her to be there for other people, attending to them.

  “There’s no arguing that your mother was a damn fine nurse, but she always knew her priorities.” He looked at Rachel over the large pan of baked ziti he had just prepared. “Am I making myself clear?” Then, when Rachel didn’t respond, he told her, “Sometimes knowing how to focus on what’s more important and ignoring what are just details that might get in the way will help make you a better nurse.”

  Rachel had trouble hiding her amusement. She could see what her father was trying to do. “Are you saying that going out with Wyatt is going to help me be a better nurse?”

  “I’m saying that all work and no play make Rachel not only a dull girl, but an exhausted one,” her father emphasized. “Prioritize, Rachel. Prioritize.”

  She understood what he was trying to do and she appreciated his concern, but he didn’t understand what it was going to cost her.

  “If I keep going at this rate, Dad, I’m never going to graduate.”

  “Oh, sure you are,” George said, waving away her concern. “I have great faith in you. You always finish what you start—just like your mother did.” His eyes crinkled as he smiled at his daughter. “She would have liked Wyatt. Now go home, kid, and get ready.”

  “It’s not like I have to dress up,” she protested. “It’s a barbecue.”

  “All right, go home and get dressed down,” her father told her, humor curving his mouth. “Just make yourself scarce and go.”

  She laughed, surrendering. It wasn’t much of a battle anyway since she really did want to attend this with Wyatt. Part of her had been looking forward to it all week.

  But she couldn’t just let her father win without some sort of a comment. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were trying to get rid of me.”

  His eyes met hers. “Good guess,” her father told her. “Now go,” he urged. “And bring me home a spare rib.”