A Chance of a Lifetime, page 8
And she wore her wedding rings, of course. He’d never seen her without them and really never expected to, though he couldn’t deny a faint hope…a hopeless wish…
Stopping a few feet in front of him, she raised both brows in a well?! sort of way.
He didn’t have anything smart or funny or brash to say. When was the last time that had happened? So instead he swallowed hard and simply, honestly said, “You’re beautiful, Luce.”
Her cheeks turned pink, and she raised one hand like she was going to pat, fix, or adjust something. He caught her fingers instead and tugged her toward the door. Her coat was already lying with his on the back of the love seat. He held it for her, catching the gold and black silk scarf lying with it before it could slither to the floor.
In all the years they’d known each other, this was the first time he’d helped her with her coat. Not because his mother hadn’t done her best to imbue him with a touch of chivalry, but he hadn’t wanted to let touching Lucy become too easy. At first, she hadn’t been ready to consider any man other than Mike in her life, and in case she never was ready, or found some other guy when she was—like Dr. Jerk Ben—he hadn’t wanted her to break his heart.
“Where are we going?” she asked, lifting her hair from under the coat collar, then snagging the scarf from his fingers. She pulled it this way and that, then looped it around her neck. It looked more put together than the scarves he threw around his neck.
“We have reservations at Sage.”
Lucy’s eyes widened. “We can’t afford Sage.”
He gave her a level look. The place was Tallgrass’s fanciest restaurant. Given a choice, he would be a lot more comfortable at Holy Cow for steaks, or Luca’s for Italian, or Serena’s for fried chicken and mashed potatoes, but tonight was special. “Don’t worry about what ‘we’ can afford, because I made the reservations, and I’m picking up the check. Besides, high school head football coaches make more money than you think.”
“I know. Better to put all the school’s extra money into coaches than English, calculus, or science teachers.”
He made a face at her before opening the front door. The streetlights appeared like haloes in the light rain, but that wasn’t keeping the kids in their houses. They trailed along the sidewalks in groups, some accompanied by parents, some with big brothers and sisters. A half-dozen voices called, “Hey, Coach!” before they made it to Lucy’s car.
She dangled the keys. “You want to drive?”
“For the safety of everyone on the streets tonight, yes.” He snatched the keys from her, then steered her to the passenger side of the car.
“I’m not a bad driver,” she retorted as she slid into the passenger seat.
“You won’t win any prizes. Besides, guys drive on dates.” The words echoed in his head, too late to retrieve. Sure, he’d asked her to go to dinner tonight, like a million times before, but he didn’t want this to be like all those other times. He wanted to be a man taking a special woman to dinner at the nicest place in town, talking about…well, man-woman things. Seeing if she might be interested in other man-woman things.
He probably should have mentioned that to her. She probably thought this was just another of their Saturday evenings: two friends sharing a meal, picking up their own tabs, then going home to watch football or old comedy reruns on TV.
“Is this a date?” Lucy asked as soon as he slid into the driver’s seat.
He was glad the night hid his face because his cheeks were getting hot. But he couldn’t hide the hoarseness in his voice as he started the engine. “A beautiful woman and a gorgeous man, all dressed up, going out to the best restaurant in town to celebrate…if it looks like a duck and it sounds like a duck…”
“Did I say you were gorgeous?”
“Not tonight.” He looked at her, and automatically his grin formed. Looking at her made him happy. Talking to her. Arguing with her. Just plain being with her. “But you have plenty of times before.”
She pffted. “Everyone tells you that.” Then, “Celebration?”
“You’ve got kitchen space. Prairie Harts is one step closer to opening its doors.”
“I may be one step closer to losing my shirt,” she mumbled. “Joe, what do I know about running a business?”
“You’ve been learning. You’ll keep learning. You know what I tell my boys. Whether you think you can or you think you can’t, you’re right.”
“Yeah, I believe Henry Ford said that.” Her tone was dry, but it didn’t hide her nerves. “You know how many small businesses fail in the first year?”
“You’re not going to be one of them.” As he stopped at a red light, Joe reached across the console to claim her hand. “Luce, what happens if you do fail?”
Her blue eyes jerked his way. “Do you think I’m going to? Was that other stuff just talk?”
“No. I’m just asking you a question. What happens if the business doesn’t make it? What do you do?”
“Well…I don’t plan on giving up my regular job right away. Even if I did, I’ve got Mike’s life insurance and some savings of my own. So I guess I’d eat my inventory, then go back to life as usual.”
“Will you be heartbroken?” He’d seen her heartbroken on a few occasions, and God help him, it had just about broken him. “Will you crawl into bed and never come out? Will the earth stop spinning and the stars burn out and the sun turn to ice?”
“Of course not,” she said grudgingly. “All that happened when Mike died.”
Not for the first time, Joe envied Mike Hart. He’d never met the man, but Mike had had everything. He’d loved his job, his family, his country, and God, how he’d loved his wife. And on top of that, Joe was pretty sure that if they had ever met, they would have been best buds.
But Mike was gone, and Lucy needed someone who was here, and Joe needed her.
The light changed, and he released her hand to return his to the steering wheel. “If the business fails, you’re not going to be broke or homeless or destitute. You’ll just be disappointed. But life will go on, and at least you’ll know you tried. You won’t look back in twenty or forty years and wonder what could have happened.”
Just like he didn’t want to look back and wonder what could have happened between them if only he’d tried. Asked her out. Kissed her. Let her know that he wanted to upgrade their relationship from friends to more.
So damn much more.
* * *
It seemed Bennie wished away half of her week. Thursday had become Friday’s Almost Here. Friday, of course, was Thank God It’s Friday. Then Sunday was Dear God, It’s Almost Monday.
This week’s Friday’s Almost Here was almost over. She’d worked her regular shift at St. Anthony’s, put in nearly three hours for another employee, then sat through Dr. Perkins’s class, physically present but her mind wandering. She’d thought too much about everything except microbiology, so now that class was over, she was sitting at a tiny table for two in the back of Java Dave’s, a rich, creamy, full-fat coffee drink in front of her, hoping the caffeine would give her enough of a jolt to keep her thoughts under control.
Java Dave’s, like the Starbucks on the east end of town, was popular with high schoolers who should be home studying or getting ready for bed, in Bennie’s opinion. A coffee shop should be a nice place to relax and enjoy good coffee, not listen while a roomful of hyperactive teenagers drank too much caffeine and made too much noise.
Feeling your age tonight, Bennie?
She grimaced, then lifted her cup and took a steamy long, sweet breath, followed by a longer, sweeter drink.
As a particularly loud burst of laughter echoed through the room, a voice cut into her thoughts. “You remember being that young?”
Despite the warm air and the hot drink, a chill ran through Bennie. Her fingers tightened enough around the cup to raise the level of the liquid inside, and for just an instant, an ache zigzagged through her body like a wayward lightning strike, burning, searing, and catching her breath.
She forced her fingers to loosen on the cup, and slowly she raised her gaze to the man standing beside the table. So much for her theories that (a) they weren’t likely to run into each other around town, and (b) she would be prepared if they did.
“I’m still young,” she said, wincing at how prim she sounded, then followed it with a shrug that did little to ease the tension in her shoulders. “But even when I was that young, I wasn’t loud and raucous.”
He snorted, and something inside her clenched. Lord, how she’d missed that sound, that attitude, that—that Calvin-ness. “I believe I recall you being thrown out of the movie theater one night, and Pastor Howell had to give you the evil eye more than once during the Sunday morning service.”
“You and J’Myel were thrown out of the theater, too, and you both got the evil eye in church far more often than I did.” She breathed and found the tightness in her chest had eased. Her heart was thudding, and the lightning-strike burn was still sizzling, but breathing was good. She was happy with breathing.
He stood there, a sense of restlessness about him, as if he might bolt at any moment. His expression was stony, defensive and protective, a little angry and a little bit lonely, with more emotions she couldn’t read. This was hard for him, coming back to his and J’Myel’s stomping grounds, seeing the Ford house, seeing Bennie and Mama and old acquaintances, and not seeing J’Myel. She knew because it had been hard for her the first year after J’Myel died. She hadn’t known whether to run away to get a new start or stay where she could wallow in the memories. Calvin looked like he was wondering the same thing.
He stood still enough to blend into the wallpaper…if he weren’t handsome enough to draw interested looks from the women at the nearest table. His jeans fit snugly, like his gray T-shirt, and his black hoodie made him look ten years younger. He’d had a passion for dark hoodies that drove Gran crazy—and a passion now for giant-sized cups of coffee, cradled in his long fingers with the care he once might have used for a football or a basketball. Black, it looked like. No cream, no sugar, no whipped cream, cinnamon, or caramel. He needed to learn how to properly indulge when it came to caffeine.
She glanced past him, at the tables packed with kids, then made a gesture toward the chair opposite her. He hesitated—that wasn’t the Calvin she’d known—then slowly slid into the seat. Immediately he turned it so that his back was to the wall, so that he looked at her peripherally. Like seeing her face-on was unappealing.
She didn’t know what to say. He didn’t appear to, either. Lord, had they ever found themselves in this situation before? Even the very first time they’d met, when she’d still been red-eyed and teary over her father’s death, it was like they’d known each other forever. J’Myel had been a smart-ass, but Calvin’s friendship had been the first hope she’d found since the funeral. He’d let her feel like a normal kid, talking when she needed to be distracted, listening when she needed to talk, and doing nothing at all when that was what she needed.
The silence continued, tension mounting, crawling along her skin until she blurted out the safest thing to come to mind. “Where were you stationed before you came here?”
Some emotion flashed across his face. Relief that she hadn’t jumped right into the issue of him and J’Myel with both feet?
“Joint Base Lewis-McChord. In Washington State.”
A long way off. Practically as far as he could get while staying in the contiguous States. “I hear it’s beautiful up there.”
“If you don’t mind the rain.”
“Which you don’t.” He must be part fish, as much as he likes being wet, Elizabeth Sweet had once remarked. More likely part fungus, J’Myel had snickered.
How could a memory be so sweet at the same time it hurt her heart? All the good times they had shared…The three of them had been inseparable, but they’d each had their roles. J’Myel was the joker, the clown who never took anything seriously. Bennie was the bossy one who tried to keep them in line but failed—exasperatedly and happily—as often as she succeeded, and Calvin…He’d been the rock, the one she’d shared laughs with while J’Myel was being goofy, the one she’d discussed serious subjects with, the one she’d turned to in times of need: her first birthday without her daddy, her first boyfriend breaking up with her for another girl, her worries about Mama and school and life. He’d gotten her through all of them.
And now she couldn’t think of anything to say to him.
“Mama says you’re going to nursing school.”
She grasped on to the question quickly. “Getting my associate’s degree. OSU has a program through the community college here. After this semester, I have one more year, and then I figure I’ll work for a while before I finish my bachelor’s.”
“She says you want to work with babies.”
“Or the elderly. They both like me.” She shrugged, hoping the immodesty she was aiming for came across. “Believe it or not, everyone likes me.”
“I believe it.” He wasn’t looking at her when he said it. Instead, his gaze shifted over the dining room, landing briefly at each table. When he’d finished the visual survey, he started again.
Was it so hard for him to look at her? Was it guilt? Discomfort? Sadness? Regret? Lord knows, she felt all those things with regard to him. And anger and betrayal and…something small, isolated: something better, happier. Gratitude? Was she grateful he’d returned home? To see him again, to hear his voice, and to remember happier times? No. Maybe someday, but she wasn’t ready for it yet.
But she was grateful for his parents that he was back. They had missed their only child. They needed some time where they could look at him and touch him, reassure themselves that he was okay. She imagined Elizabeth Sweet had awakened every morning for the past two weeks, thanking God, “My son is home.”
“You keep in touch with many people from school?” he asked, his voice steady, cautious.
A slow breath lessened the tightness in her chest. Everyday conversation—she could handle this. “Trinity Adams is in my class at school and works my floor at the hospital. She’s been married and divorced twice but not to the fathers of either of her kids.” Bennie loved Trinity, but she didn’t envy her friend’s situation. She’d been raised that there was an order to things—love and marriage came before babies, and commitment came before any of it—and no matter how old-fashioned it seemed to some, Bennie still believed it.
“Hence, the divorces.”
“Ooh, a man who uses hence correctly.” The teasing came automatically, Bennie’s brain forgetting that her heart wasn’t anywhere near forgiving him yet.
His automatic response to her teasing in years past—a smile that spread ear to ear and scrunched up his eyes—didn’t put in an appearance. Instead, his mouth thinned, and his eyes went flat as a muscle in his jaw twitched a few times.
And a man who’s lost his sense of humor. What else? she wondered. What other parts of himself had he sacrificed in his years of service? “Rickey Duncan is senior pastor at the big Baptist church in town. Whoever would have guessed that drugs, alcohol, and sex would lead him straight to God?”
Calvin’s stiffness slowly faded. “Wasn’t he the one we thought most likely to spend the rest of his life in prison?”
“Yup. He reminds people of that in his sermons sometimes.” She thought for a moment. “Bethany Green is our U.S. senator. Shay Barefoot is a doctor. Marc Harjo is spending the rest of his life in prison. The Holloway twins were killed five or six years ago when they tried to beat the train across the railroad tracks.”
“Kind of hard to feel sorry for someone who messes with a train.”
She nodded. “Most of our class are living normal, everyday lives: going to work, getting married, having kids. Some of them drink too much or smoke too much weed. Some run around on their spouses or mooch off their parents. Some ran far away, and some are trying real hard to get back.”
A muscle twitched at the corner of his left eye. “You didn’t run away.”
She could have. College would have been an easy out for her. Get a degree, get a job outside the state, settle someplace where she’d be no one’s friend, no one’s family, where she could find out what she was made of.
“Why would I want to leave?” she asked. “I love Tallgrass. The happiest years of my life have been here.”
He took a long drink, and when he lowered the cup, bold, dark wisps of steam perfumed the air. “J’Myel wanted to leave.”
She caught her breath that he’d brought up J’Myel, and without anger or resentment in his voice. Granted, there’d been no other emotion in it, either. “He intended to come back here when his Army time was done.”
Calvin shook his head. “That wasn’t his plan in the desert. He talked about settling in Chicago, New Orleans, Los Angeles, Seattle.”
If the two of them had been on speaking terms then, those conversations must have taken place well before she and J’Myel got married. Maybe being with her had changed his mind, because there had been no way on earth she would have moved to Chicago, New Orleans, Los Angeles, or Seattle, and he’d known it.
Insecurity sparked inside her. He had known that, hadn’t he? Had understood that much about her? Naturally, his years in combat had changed him. He’d had to grow up, grow tough. Instead of planning their future ten years down the road, he’d had to concentrate on surviving each day. But with all the changes, he was still the boy she’d grown up with, the man she’d fallen in love with. And he’d loved her.
But she hadn’t known his plans, beyond coming back to her; he’d never wanted to discuss them. She hadn’t known any of the new friends who had replaced Calvin; he hadn’t wanted to talk about them, either, not when time was precious. She hadn’t known anything about his life but what he chose to share in e-mails and phone chats.
