“Thanks again,” he said. He opened the door, started to leave and then turned back.
“Millie?” he said.
“Yes?”
“You look beautiful, by the way.” With a half grin, he bounded off the deck. Digger and I watched him go, the fresh, damp air blowing into the kitchen.
I put the dessert dishes into the sink, shut off the lights and said good-night to my doggy. As I got into bed, my thoughts bounced between Sam and Joe. As always, I was completely dumbfounded that my sister could have left Sam Nickerson. He was so…whatever. He was, and she blew it, and someday she would be sorry.
In the meantime, I had my own problems. What had happened with Joe? What about my plan? What possible reason could there be for him not showing up? I hugged my pillow, swallowed and ordered myself to sleep. I’d think about it tomorrow. Me and Scarlett O’Hara.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
I CALLED DR. BALA EARLY the next day and offered to take the daytime shift. He accepted, warned me that the EKG machine had a malfunctioning lead and hung up.
The clinic was hopping. Sunburn with blistering on a middle-aged man’s bald head; jellyfish sting on a ten-year-old boy; the old favorite, poison ivy, resulting from a boisterous bachelor party; and a mom who had slammed her finger in a car door. It was good to be busy. I x-rayed the lady’s finger, splinted it, admired her well-behaved seven-year-old daughter. The jellyfish sting was no problem, just a little itchy, so I gave the kid’s mom some cortisone cream. A prednisone prescription for the hungover bachelor, and some lidocaine cream for the sunburned baldy, with advice on wearing a hat.
Things slowed down in the afternoon, and I called a few patients to check on them, filled out some paperwork, dictated my cases and closed up. On Saturdays, the clinic closed at five. It was a beautiful day, clear and dry after last night’s rain, and Route 6 was packed with tourists. I got home and changed into my running clothes, Digger staring fixedly at my sneakers and wagging maniacally. He knew what sneakers meant. I pulled a T-shirt over my head (Free Your Inner Lance) and headed out for a leisurely run.
I was now a proficient runner in that I didn’t have to stop every thirty yards to vomit, wheeze or collapse. Granted, I would never be a natural athlete, and my stride was short and slow, but I had actually come to enjoy running, the fresh, salty air, the time with my dog, and, best of all, the smugness I felt when I was done. Today, the breeze rushed overhead, the sun beat down in bright, cheerful beams. I could hear the song of the beach as I ran down Ocean View, the cries of the gulls and shrieks of children mixing with the roar of the waves, waxing and waning with the breeze.
Now that I had no distractions, my thoughts of Joe, kept energetically at bay for the past twelve hours, returned with a sodden thump. Now what was I going to do the next time we saw each other? Pretend nothing had happened? That would be tough. I loved him, for God’s sake. I had sunk a lot of time, money and effort into getting him to notice me. And he had! So what the hell had gone wrong?
I finished my run and went inside, sweaty and irritable. I sat grumpily in my living room, not even feeling motivated to shower. Katie would be working. Curtis had put up with me enough last night. Maybe I would drop in on my parents…but then my mom would want to know how dinner had gone, and I’d have to tell her that I’d been stood up. Perhaps a drive into Boston to see Janette? Nah. Traffic was too heavy, and I lacked the energy. Clearly, I needed more friends. Maybe Sam would want to catch a movie.
Digger leaped up as if shot, barking maniacally as he jumped against the back door. I heaved myself out of my chair, running a hand through my sweaty hair. It was probably my dad, dropping by to see if I needed any man-things done around the house.
Joe Carpenter stood on my back porch.
All coherent thought drained from my head. I opened the door mechanically, and Digger launched himself at Joe, still barking. Joe bent and patted his head, grinning at me, and Digger quieted.
“Hi, Millie,” he said with a chuckle.
“Joe,” I breathed.
“You forgot, didn’t you? Wow, I can’t believe it.” He straightened up and shook his head. “Millie, Millie, Millie. You invited me for dinner, remember?” He wagged a finger at me. “Bad girl.”
“But…but…” I stammered. My brain refused to accept the horror that was dawning: Joe here. Me, sweaty and flushed. Joe here. Wrong day. Of course, he had gotten the day wrong…but he was here. And oh, God, I looked…
“Can I come in?” Joe asked, his dimples flashing again.
“Oh! Of course, sure.” I backed up and let him in. Digger followed, his nose glued to Joe’s work boots, sniffing with religious fervor.
“Joe, it was—you actually—” I said. A light flared in my brain. “God, I did forget. I’m so sorry.”
“That’s okay,” he replied amiably. “Can I stay?”
“Yes! Sure! Uh, just let me, you know, I just got back from a run…” I cringed mentally, knowing how I looked—and smelled.
“Sure. Take your time.” He looked around the kitchen. “So nothing’s cooking, huh?”
“Um, no. But I can whip us up something after I jump in the shower.” Again I winced, knowing that the most elaborate thing I’d ever whipped up was toast. Thanks to Sam last night, there were no leftovers, either.
“Sure, whatever. Got any beer?” I nodded and Joe opened the fridge and helped himself to a Corona.
“Make yourself at home. I’ll be quick,” I said, trying to back out of the kitchen in a dignified manner. I bumped into the door frame, then turned and fled to the bathroom.
In a frenzied manner, I peeled off my T-shirt, sports bra, shorts, shoes and socks. I avoided the mirror. Shit! But thank God! He hadn’t blown me off; he’d just had the wrong night. All that money and time, down the drain—or, more accurately, down Sam’s esophagus. Don’t worry about it, Millie. He’s here.
I leaped into the shower without waiting for the water to heat up and doused my damp head. Furiously lathering shampoo into my hair, I mentally went over what to wear, what to do with my hair, how much makeup I could put on without taking forever. Joe had turned on the stereo and had one of the Cape’s classic rock stations tuned in—Black Sabbath blared over the speakers, a far cry from last night’s carefully chosen CDs. Frantically, I toweled off my hair. Blowing it dry would not work…didn’t want to give Joe the impression that I was a high-maintenance kind of woman.
I slapped on some moisturizer, mascara and lipstick, yanked on my robe and leaped across the hall to my bedroom. From the closet, I pulled on some cropped jeans and a sleeveless button-down shirt, brushed my hair out and slapped on a hair band. Thank God for hair bands. Was I ready? No. Shoes. I grabbed some sandals and stuffed my feet into them. Looking in the mirror on the back of my door, I took a few fortifying breaths.
Your man is here, Millie, I told myself. Nothing has changed. Calm down. This is a big night. Not what you had planned, but still. Joe Carpenter is out there waiting for you.
At least my house was clean. And there were still flowers on the table, making it seem like I always had flowers on the table. Joe smiled as I came into the kitchen. He was standing at the stove, stirring. His jeans looked soft with age, slightly torn at each knee, and he wore a blue T-shirt. I had never seen a more beautiful male in my entire life.
“Better?” he asked.
“Yup,” I said, getting a beer out of the fridge.
“I found this in the cupboard. I love this stuff,” Joe said. He was stirring a pot of macaroni and cheese, the really orange kind that comes in a box, which I kept on hand for Katie’s boys.
“Oh,” I said, the grocery bill from last night flashing through my mind. “That’s great.” Fattening, salty, pasty…pretty much Cheetos in a less crunchy form. Joe stopped stirring. Taking me by the shoulders, he gave me a quick, soft kiss. My stomach flip-flopped most pleasantly.
“I missed you,” he said with a little smile.
Oooh. “I—I’m just so sorry I forgot about this,” I stammered.
He looked at me sideways. “It is kind of a first,” he acknowledged, just sheepishly enough to be adorable. “I’m usually the forgetful one.”
Score another point for Dr. Barnes, ladies and gentlemen!
Dinner with a shelf life of three years wasn’t exactly the romantic meal I’d planned, but nevertheless, Joe Carpenter and I were together.
“How’s work going?” I asked as Joe shoveled in heaping spoonfuls of the glow-in-the-dark food.
“Great,” he answered. “Almost done on the new wing at the senior center.”
“That’s wonderful,” I answered, taking a swig of beer.
“How’s your work?” he asked.
“It’s good, too. Pretty busy these days.”
“What is it again that you do?”
I blinked. How could he not know that? Not to toot my own horn or anything, but a small-town girl who becomes a doctor and returns to her place of birth…Everyone knew me. “I’m a doctor, Joe.”
“Oh, that’s right. Hey, you want some more mac ’n’ cheese?” He smiled so winningly at me that I forgave him his lapse, though my befuddlement remained.
We took our beers out onto the deck. It was getting dark. God had obligingly sent us a beautiful sunset; fuchsia and lavender suffused the entire western half of the sky, and the stars were beginning to wink in the deepening blue of the east. I lit the citronella candles that dotted the railing and put one on the table between us.
“This is a really nice house,” Joe said, gazing skyward.
“Watch this.” In another minute, Nauset Light’s beam flashed across the tops of the trees.
“Wicked cool,” Joe said. He reached over and took my hand, moving a candle so our flesh wouldn’t singe.
Was there ever a more perfect moment? Joe and Millie. Millie and Joe. Mr. and Mrs. Howard Barnes request the pleasure of your company at the wedding of their daughter, Millicent Evelyn Barnes, M.D., to Joseph Stephen Carpenter the Carpenter…I squelched a giggle.
“What’s your house like, Joe?” I asked to distract myself from my silliness.
“Oh, it’s kind of a work in progress,” he answered, turning to look at me. “I’ll show you sometime.”
“That would be nice.”
“Have you watched that movie yet? The one you rented?” Joe asked. “That looked good.”
“No, I haven’t watched it yet,” I lied. “Want to put it on?”
“Sure. And can I have some pie? I saw it in the cupboard.”
Ten minutes later I was watching The Bourne Identity for the second time in twenty-four hours. But this time, Joe Carpenter was sitting next to me, his big work boots on my glass coffee table, his strong, tanned arm around me. My heart pumped furiously, sending the blood flow straight to my nether regions. His hand brushed the back of my neck, his fingers played in my hair. I turned my head away from the TV and looked at Joe. He looked back. We looked and looked, and this time I couldn’t squelch the giggle that rose up.
“Millie Barnes,” Joe murmured, a slow smile lighting his perfect face. “Why didn’t I ever notice you before?”
And then he was kissing me, warm and soft and just right, nice and slow. My hand went to his neck, and I could feel his pulse thumping against my palm. Slowly, smoothly, he eased me back so I was half lying on the couch, Joe on top of me. Matt Damon screeched out of Paris. Joe slid his hand under my shirt, along my ribs and I sighed against his mouth. His hair was so soft, like a baby’s, and I ran my fingers through it. Then his hand cupped my breast, his thumb scraping over the lace of my bra, and my hands clenched into fists.
“Is this okay?” Joe whispered.
It was hard to think with him lying on top of me, his hand where it was, the clean, sunshiny smell of him.
“Millie, I really, really want to go to bed with you,” he whispered, kissing my neck.
“Okay,” I croaked.
SEVENTY-FOUR MINUTES LATER, Joe Carpenter was sleeping next to me in my bed. And guess what? We were na**d, that’s what! We lay spooned against each other, Joe’s breath tickling my neck, his arm around my ribs. He was sound asleep.
I, on the other hand…I wanted to jump up and create a Web site that told the world I had just shagged Joe Carpenter. Joe Carpenter and I had had sexual relations. We had known each other biblically. We had done it. I had done it, too—I got my man, just as I had dreamed.
On the other hand…oh, damn. There was no getting around it. It hadn’t been perfect.
Of course, the first time can be awkward. I had felt pretty self-conscious…being na**d with someone as magnificent as Joe made me feel rather imperfect myself. At least the lights had been off and we could barely see. Not that I didn’t want to see him, of course.
That wasn’t the only thing, though. I mean, the kissing on the couch had been glorious. But as soon as I had flashed the green light, my body had tensed up. We’d gone into the bedroom, and everything had been fine, but I couldn’t seem to get out of my head and enjoy what Joe was doing to my body and what I was doing to his. I had been just too nervous to really be present. Instead, my brain had narrated the whole thing. “Joe is taking off his shirt. Joe’s neck is very smooth. Joe is a boxers man.”
Well, it was only the first time. If I had just sort of gone through the motions, that was to be expected, perhaps. And Joe hadn’t seemed to notice.
I turned so I could see Joe’s face. Awake, he was the most beautiful man on earth. Asleep, he was an angel. The moon had risen and now cast a white light that turned his skin marble. His eyelashes were so long, his lips full and generous, his cheekbones…everything about him was beautiful. His hair fell across his forehead, and I smoothed it away.