He hadn’t bought my ticket! Wasn’t this a date? But, I quickly rationalized, why should he? There was no reason I couldn’t buy my own ticket. Right?
“Want anything?” he asked me as the concession-stand person filled up a box with popcorn.
“Oh, no, I don’t think so,” I answered, relief washing over me. He’d offered to buy me something. It was still a date.
We found seats in the theater. Again, I wracked my brain for a way to start a conversation. Joe waved to someone and began to shovel popcorn into his mouth. God, the way men ate. “If you choke, I’ll Heimlich you,” I said, pleased with my cleverness.
“You’re a good person to have around, Millie,” he answered, checking me out just a wee bit. He put his arm around the back of my chair and balanced the popcorn on his lap. “Very good.”
Even with a fistful of popcorn in his mouth, Joe Carpenter was gorgeous. Oh, Joe, I thought. You won’t be sorry you picked me.
The previews started, and for the next two hours, I was in heaven. We held hands. In the movie theater. How romantic was that? His work-roughened fingers twined with mine, his thumb occasionally rasping gently over my skin, and nothing had ever felt so good in my life. He smelled wonderful. Soap (Ivory), wood, popcorn, butter. Iwasina perpetual state of horniness. James Bond, nothing. Joe was all I needed.
We drove home, chatting about the movie. I wondered if I should invite him in. Hmm. Probably not. No, definitely not! I wanted to be different from those easy types, after all. Show Joe that I had some moral fortitude. Make him work for me a little. Make him wait.
We pulled up to my house. I could hear Digger’s insane barking.
“Great watchdog you’ve got there,” Joe said, turning to me. He looked in my eyes, then down at my…mouth. Back to my eyes.
“He is great, actually,” I answered. “And so is Tripod. What kind of dog is he?” (Three-legged, eight-year-old Golden Retriever/German shepherd mix.)
“He’s some kind of mutt. Good dog, though.” Joe smiled slowly at me. “So, Millie, are you gonna ask me to come in?” His white teeth gleamed in the dimness of the truck. He reached over and tucked some hair behind my ear.
I was on him faster than a seagull on a potato chip, kissing him with all the pent-up desire of the last half of my life. We kissed like there was no tomorrow, like we’d been separated by war, like we were the only two people left on earth and had to repopulate the world. His hands were warm on my back, and I clutched his shirt with both fists. I could dimly hear those little humming noises that kissing people make, shifting, pulling closer, sliding our hands around each other, into each other’s hair, down arms, under shirts.
The sound of the truck horn blasted us apart like guilty teenagers. I was half sitting on Joe’s lap, and apparently I’d hit the steering wheel the wrong way as I squirmed to get closer. It was just what I needed.
“Sorry!” I said, laughing a little and scootching off his lap. He smiled back.
“Can I come in?” he asked.
Yes. Come in. Come in and stay and kiss me and touch me and bang me silly. Oh, God, that was exactly what I wanted.
But I couldn’t. Not yet. My years of stalking Joe had shown that this was what happened with everyone. Who could resist this man, after all? Why make the most beautiful of God’s creations wait? It was a joy just to be near him, let alone have his hands on you, his mouth on yours.
But I was determined to be better than the rest of them. I had to stick with what I knew would work and make something better than one or two glorious nights of sex with the golden boy.
“Millie?” Joe asked. He leaned forward and kissed me again, softly. “Can I come in?”
“Um, no, Joe,” I managed to say. “Sorry. I, uh, I can’t have you come in.”
He looked surprised. “Oh. Why not?”
“Well, you know. Not that kind of girl.” Oh, please, I begged silently. Let this work.
He looked at me for a long minute, then tilted his head a little. “Not that kind of a girl, huh?” He smiled. “Well, Millie…” He ran his hand up my leg. “When do you think you will be that kind of a girl?”
I smiled and bit my lip. “I don’t know, Joe. But definitely not on the first date,” I answered, stopping the slide of his hand.
“This is our second date,” he replied in a whisper. Oh, God. My insides leaped, then knotted in a warm tug.
“Is it?” I answered, as if I didn’t know. “Well, not on the second date, either.”
He laughed. “Okay, Millie. I get the message.” He straightened up and opened his door. “I’ll walk you in, then.”
I scrambled across the truck seat and climbed down. We walked to the door, Digger’s barking becoming more hysterical by the second.
“It’s me, Digger,” I called. The barking stopped. I turned and faced Joe. “I guess I’ll see you,” I said, suddenly nervous. After all, this was taking a big chance, playing hard to get.
“Okay,” he answered. He leaned in and kissed me again, sweet, warm, slow. God, the man could kiss! I tried not to sag against the door when it was done, but it was hard.
“You busy tomorrow?” he asked.
Ha! It was working! “Um, tomorrow, well, I have to work tomorrow night…” Again, I pretended to think about when I might be free to see him again. “Maybe I could call you on Wednesday or something?”
He straightened up. “Millie, if you don’t want to see me again, just tell me, okay?”
“Oh! No, I mean, no, I don’t not want to see you—” Calm, calm, Millie. “I’d love to see you again, Joe. My schedule is just a little tricky. But I’ll call you on Wednesday and, um, see when we can get together. Is that okay?”
He smiled. “That would be great, Millie.” He kissed me quickly once more and headed off down the walk. “You got my number?” he called.
508 555 9914. “No…are you in the book?” I answered.
“Yeah. Carpenter on Thistleberry Way.”
He opened the door to his truck. “Night, Millie.”
“Good night, Joe.”
Closing the door behind me, I finally allowed my weakened knees to give out, sliding down to the floor in a happy lump of lust and triumph, hugging myself and squeaking with glee. After a few minutes, I was roused by Digger’s pathetic cries. I let him out of the cellar, assured him that I still loved him best and gave him a piece of salami as proof. Then I floated over to the phone. Katie wasn’t working tonight, and she’d told me to call her when I got home.
“Hello?” Katie answered.
“It’s working,” I sang.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
EVEN THE WEATHER SEEMED HAPPY that I was with Joe. For the next few days, the tourists got their money’s worth. The sun shone warm and the sky shimmered with pure, clear blue. The wind sang gently through the pines and the birds answered cheerfully, red-winged blackbirds chuckling and mourning doves cooing. On Tuesday, I had to work the later shift, so I had the whole morning to myself. I liked these days, since I had time to grocery shop, clean, drop by the senior center and visit my patients, whatever. Sometimes I’d pop in on my mom or bring doughnuts and coffee to Katie and my godsons, but today I chose to stay home.
Digger and I had gone for a run, and my dog was now panting contentedly on the deck. I was cooling down a little before showering, watering the flower boxes that I had planted on the recommendation of Sam, my part-time landscaper. He’d advised me well, and the plants were in full flower, trailing purple petunias tumbling out amid dark green ivy and brilliant pink dianthus. Good old Sam. Always knew what he was doing.
Digger leaped up from his slumber, growling, as a sleek convertible pulled into my driveway. I gaped, water dribbling from my watering can onto my sneakers, as my sister got out of the car.
Trish! I hadn’t seen her since April. As was her custom, she looked…rich. Wearing a calf-length, silky white skirt and matching sleeveless top that showed her well-toned arms and a discreet stripe of her lean, tanned tummy, she stood for a moment, looking around as if she had just arrived on an alien planet.
“Millie?” she called, sliding her expensive-looking, narrow sunglasses onto her head.
“Hi, Trish!” I called, grabbing Digger’s collar. “It’s okay, buddy,” I soothed. Taking another look at Trish’s outfit, which probably cost about a week’s worth of my salary, I pictured it covered with dog hair and saliva. “Come on in,” I said. “I’ll just put Digger in the bedroom.”
Hurriedly and apologetically, I imprisoned Digger, though I thought perhaps I should have kept him around for moral support. Glancing around my kitchen, I saw that it was, well, immaculate, thanks to my morning bout of scouring. A coffee cup in the sink. Not bad at all. “Come on in, Trish.”
She deigned to enter, unspeaking, posture perfect, hair falling in rich waves to her shoulders.
“How have you been?” I asked, self-consciously running a hand through my own sweat-stiffened hair.
“Great,” she replied absently. Her gaze flicked up and down my frame, quickly assessing my appearance and then apparently moving onto other, more pleasant things. “It’s really…different in here.”
“Do you like it?” I asked, then practically bit off my tongue. I knew better than to fish for compliments from this one.
“Well…” my sister answered stoically. “It’s very…cute.”
“Have a look around,” I said resignedly. She was already in the living room, surveying the family photos I had placed on the wall.
“Who are these kids?” she asked, pointing to a picture.
“They’re Katie’s boys! My godsons?”
“Right.”
No praise issued from Trish’s perfectly glossed lips as she walked through my small domicile. But she wasn’t really hostile either, so that was a plus. Part of me wanted to show off to Trish, because even if she wouldn’t say it, I thought she might be impressed. I watched her as her size-four frame walked from room to room. Digger’s tail thumped hopefully against the bedroom door, and I silently promised him a long tummy scratch after Trish had left.
“Want some tea?” I offered, more for something to say than anything else.
“Sure,” she called. I almost had to grab the counter to keep from falling down in shock. This was a first. Me, playing hostess to Trish. Very weird.
“Well,” she said, coming back into the kitchen, “It’s better than what Gran had, I guess.”
“Gosh, thanks,” I replied, putting the kettle on to boil.
“You’re welcome,” Trish said, brushing off the seat before sitting.
Trying not to grind my teeth, I got the last two cups left from Gran’s wedding china, set them on their translucent saucers and dropped in a couple of tea bags. Not to impress, Trish, of course, because that was impossible. No, just to show her that we Cape Codders had a little class. I got out the sugar bowl. Of course, Trish didn’t take sugar—empty calories!—but I did, and I defiantly shoveled a healthy teaspoon of it into my cup.
“You could do a lot with this place,” she commented, tapping a perfectly manicured nail on the table.
“I already have,” I said sharply, taking a seat across from her. Trish looked startled.
“Oh, sure,” she placated. “Um…did you do it all yourself?”
“Well, Katie helped a bit, and Curtis and Mitch gave me some suggestions. But mostly, I guess I did. I sanded the floors and painted and all that stuff.”
“Mmm hmm,” Trish commented. “Well, I hope you know how much it’s worth.”
“Yes, Trish, I know,” I sighed.
“We wouldn’t have to worry about Danny’s college tuition if Gran had divided her house between us,” Trish said, adjusting a gold bracelet on her slender wrist.
Ah, the trump card. Danny. There was nothing for me to say. Yes, I felt a bit guilty that I had inherited this house and Trish had gotten only a few thousand dollars, but I wasn’t the one who’d made that decision. Gran had given me her sweet little home, and I loved and cared for it as she knew I would. At the time our grandmother had made the will, Trish had had her own home. I’m sure Gran had assumed that my sister and Sam had done just fine. Of course, it would never cross Trish’s mind to actually get a job to help pay for Danny’s tuition…. I took a deep breath and tried to quell my irritation.
We sat awkwardly for a minute. Digger whined from the bedroom. I’d rather be with you, puppy.
“How’s New Jersey?” I asked.
“Wonderful,” she answered immediately. “Avery is fantastic, and there’s so much to do in the city. And his place down there…well, there’s nothing like it on the Cape.”
It was my turn to murmur “Mmm hmm.” Avery. What a dopey name.
“Does your, uh, does Avery get along with Danny?”
“Of course!” She looked annoyed that I’d even ask. “He loves him like a son.”
Well, then maybe he could kick in a little tuition money, I thought. Avery was richer than God, wasn’t he? “How nice,” I managed to say. Fortunately, the kettle was boiling so I could get up and make a face behind Trish’s back. Pouring the water into our cups, I set our tea on the table.
“So, Trish, tell me. What exactly do you do all day?” I asked. “I mean, Avery must put in long hours on Wall Street…what do you do when he’s gone?”
Trish daintily bobbed her tea bag up and down in her cup. Satisfied that her brew was the right strength, she dangled the dripping tea bag over the cup and raised her eyebrows questioningly at me. Rats. I’d forgotten spoons. Irritated, I snatched the hot tea bag in my bare hand and tossed it into the sink, not getting up from my seat.