Rain Delay
Jeffrey Caminsky
Glancing nervously at the door of Stacy’s Bar and Grill, Steve Sellars was relieved to see a family of four enter and walk to the hostess to get a table. Sighing deeply, he looked up at the oversized television over the bar. The ball game was supposed to be on by now, but the local sports channel was still airing a special on the history of the American League. He avoided looking at his friend, Frank, seated next to him.
“Well?” asked Frank.
“No, I don’t know what she looks like,” Steve hissed. “And keep your voice down. She may be here already, for all I know.”
Frank shrugged and returned his attention to his beer. If already here, she was hardly making her presence known. But Steve was nervous enough; the poor slob didn’t need a reminder that his first date in months was standing him up.
“What happened to the ball game?” asked Steve.
“You really aren’t paying attention, are you?” Frank laughed.
“Right…the rain.”
The day had gone from raw to blustery. Through the window, Steve watched the April rain pour down in sheets. Tree branches were rattling in the wind, and gray clouds screamed across the sky. But inside, the bar was nearly empty. It would have been a perfect day to curl up on the couch with a book, he thought, if he hadn’t agreed to go on this damn date.
Ordinarily, Steve hated blind dates. He thought them acts of desperation, suitable for priggish women, and men whose idea of dressing up for a date was changing their pocket protectors. But in the two years since his divorce, Steve had come to a sad realization: the world was filled with lonely people, himself included. Curiously, he found the word “lonely” less deflating than “desperate.” It left him just as dubious about dining with a stranger, but made him feel like less of a loser.
Still, this particular blind date seemed more like a trap than a date. A trap set by Cathy, the office matchmaker. He always tried to avoid her, but when on a mission she could be very persistent. Obsessed was probably a better word, thought Steve, but her description of Jennifer, his increasingly tardy date, at least sounded intriguing: smart, funny, full of adventure. Her last vacation was to India, and she had a passion for photography, as well as a zest for life. To Steve, she sounded like a possible end to his long drought; and even if he didn’t get lucky, he could still have some fun. Frank was highly suspicious of the fact that the women couldn’t scrounge up a photo to close the deal.
“Okay, Romeo,” said Frank, draining the last of his beer, “I’m out of here. You would be too, if you weren’t so pathetic.”
“I’ll give her a few more minutes.”
“Desperation doesn’t impress them, you know.”
“A few more minutes.”
“Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
Frank squeezed his friend’s shoulder and smiled. Steve was too nice for his own good: that probably doomed his marriage in the first place. He was too willing to bend, and rarely stood up for himself. Seeing Steve like this was painful, and Frank had better things to do than hang around for the disaster to unfold. He put on his jacket and punched Steve in the arm, then tossed a ten-dollar bill onto the table to cover his tab.
“Call me if you need me.”
“I will.”
As Frank headed out the door, Steve glanced around the bar. The soft music from the jazz trio in the dining area gave the place an air of romance, but he felt as depressed as when he’d arrived.
Near the fireplace, an old couple was managing to avoid looking at one another, except to pass the salt or ketchup. The man looked depressed, and any spark of romance in his heart seemed to be gone. It reappeared briefly, when he smiled weakly at the pretty young waitress who came to take their order, but was quickly doused by a torrent of scowls from his wife.
At a table near the musicians, Steve saw a young couple chatting over appetizers while waiting for dinner to come, nervous but eager to talk. A first date, most likely, and from the looks of things probably not their last. The girl was pretty, with kind eyes and a delightful smile; the boy, gangly and unsure of himself, seemed to be winning points for not being an ass.
Steve sighed wistfully. Perhaps real joy came from the thrill of discovery, not the routines of everyday life. Maybe romance was best left to the young, too naive to be terrified and unable to see the demons hidden in the shadows of the people they loved. Better for them to revel a moment in ignorant bliss, before being stripped of their illusions.
He remembered that first date with his ex-wife. He’d taken her to the Zoo, but a thunderstorm trapped them in the monkey house for nearly an hour. Making up stories about the chimps and other primates in the exhibit did more to light a spark between them than anything he could have planned. Their romance was, in many ways, a fairy tale spun with each new shared adventure. But all those early sparks just hid what became a fatal mismatch. His ex-wife was sweet and adorable in so many ways—to everyone in the world, it seemed, but him. Her barbed tongue and emotional baggage probably doomed their relationship from the start, and he was no angel, himself. But he didn’t realize any of it until it was too late. Ten years too late.
Of course, Stacy’s Bar and Grill wasn’t the Zoo, and he probably wouldn’t have a date to worry about. But it was a shame: the chef had even studied in France. Steve hoped it didn’t mean the place was crawling with snails.
The door opened with a blast of cold air, and two new arrivals walked through the door. One woman was folding her umbrella, while her cuter friend stepped toward the hostess to ask for a table. Cathy had described his date as a blonde, and the pretty one had blonde highlights in her hair—so the friend could be her escape plan in case things turned out badly. As he tried to recall what Jennifer was supposed to be wearing, the pretty one unbuttoned her coat, revealing a bulging and very pregnant belly. As the women checked their coats, he noticed each was wearing a wedding ring, and Steve returned to his beer.
Before long another woman entered, carrying an oversized purse and loudly chatting on a cell phone. Her blonde, frizzy hair was partly covered by a knit cap that didn’t quite fit, and she moved with an aggressive self-assurance that made him cringe. Snapping her fingers at the hostess, she interrupted her call only long enough to bark a few commands in a sharp voice, before being led to a far corner of the dining area where another woman was already waving from a table. Steve breathed a sigh of relief.
A crack of thunder echoed outside, and rain fell heavy against the roof. Through the window Steve saw the wind whipping through the trees, and the downpour turned the parking lot into a shallow lake. As the deluge intensified, a plaid umbrella went skipping over the pavement, chased by a lady’s hat; a minute later, the door opened and a woman rushed inside. Dripping wet, she plopped onto the bench in the lobby, looking as miserable as a kitten taking a bath, and stared at the ceiling, taking long, deep breaths. The hostess was too busy chatting with the bartender to notice the newcomer. On a hunch, Steve rose from his seat and sat down beside her.
“Are you all right?” he whispered.
“As right as I ever am,” she replied tearfully. “I had to change a flat in the rain. My clothes are ruined. I look like hell, I lost my cell phone, and I think I ran over a cat. I should lock myself in my room—forever—and never inflict myself on the world again.”
“It’s a God-awful day. Why not just stay home?”
“Other people shouldn’t suffer for my screw-ups. And I’m supposed to be meeting someone. On the off-chance he’s too big a loser not to have left after being stood up, I thought I’d ride this disaster train until it reached the station. So much for trying to start dating again.”
“Are you Jennifer, by any chance?”
Painfully, she looked Steve in the eye. “I’m going home,” she sniffed.
“No…I insist on buying you dinner.” Steve stood up and offered her his hand. “Come on—at least have something warm before venturing back out into that monsoon.”
As s
he started crying in earnest, a confused Steve helped her to her feet and led her to his table. He could feel the waitresses and other customers looking at him with suspicion. He was thinking of a few choice things to tell Cathy at the office on Monday morning when Jennifer took a deep, trembling breath and started calming herself.
“I’m sorry,” she said softly. “India was a trip my husband wanted to take.”
“I didn’t mean to—”
“I actually spent part of last summer over there,” she continued. “After Bob died, I thought I’d spread some of his ashes…well, I wanted to take him on the trip he’d always dreamed of, and leave his ashes near the Himalayas.”
“That’s very sweet.”
“But I didn’t even get to the foothills. There are reasons why plane fares are cheaper at certain times of the year. If you ever go to India, check to see when monsoon season rolls around.”
“What about the ashes?”
“They’re back in the urn with the rest of him. The trip was really what he wanted.”
“I didn’t know Customs allowed human remains back into the country.”
“I’m not sure India does, either.”
“Then how…?”
“I put some in an empty baby powder container. The kind you get from the drug store. Then I packed it away in my luggage.”
“You smuggled it across two borders?”
“Unless you count the layovers in Tokyo. But I forgot about him until I used the Jacuzzi my last night at the hotel and wanted to dry off with the baby powder.”
“What would have happened if you’d gotten caught?”
“Sometimes it’s better to ask forgiveness than permission.”
Even over sad eyes, her smile seemed the most radiant he’d seen in years.
“I feel terrible, not leaving part of him in India.”
“Well,” chuckled Steve, “there are those bushes next to Newman’s Deli. He’d probably never know the difference.”
He winced at saying something so thoughtless to a woman grieving over the loss of a husband. To his relief, she broke into a full-bodied laugh. Her eyes lost their gloom, and he wondered whether it wasn’t the first time she’d had a good laugh all year.
“Ready to order?” asked the waitress, pausing at their table.
“To start, I’d suggest some hot soup,” said Steve, reaching for the menu. “On a day like today, I think the chicken noodle would do quite nicely.”
“Sounds like a plan,” Jennifer smiled.
“Make it two,” Steve said with a sweep of his hand. “Oh—and from the looks of things, we’ll probably need a lot more napkins.”
The two women laughed, and the waitress left to tend to the next table. Settling into his seat, Steve looked over the menu and began to relax. It was a start; maybe just the kind of start both of them needed.
And he had to admit that Cathy was right: Jennifer was smart, and funny. And pretty, besides. She’d be even prettier, once she dried her hair.
The wet clothes, he thought, were just an added bonus.
Whispered Beginnings Page 19