“The ballet?” he repeated, blinking in a futile effort to disguise his disbelief, and possibly his disappointment.
“Yes, the ballet.” These tickets were premier seats, and expensive; I certainly hoped he’d appreciate this gesture on my part.
He stared at me blankly, as if he needed a translator. “Have you been before?” I asked, guessing he hadn’t.
“Never.” He made it sound as though I’d asked him if he’d ever been stung by a thousand wasps. Or swum in crocodile-infested waters.
I refused to let his lack of enthusiasm discourage me; I decided to make the best of it by showing him my own passion for the art form.
“You’re in for an amazing experience.” The last time I’d attended, the sheer beauty of what I’d seen on the stage had brought tears to my eyes. I wasn’t the only one affected, either. At the end of the performance I’d noticed other audience members dabbing their cheeks, the same as me.
“Do they serve popcorn or hot dogs?” Logan asked hopefully. “What about beer?”
Surely, he was kidding. “No, silly. There’s wine available during intermission.”
“Wine,” he repeated, obviously disappointed.
“You like wine.” He wouldn’t have served it with dinner if he didn’t enjoy it.
“I prefer beer.”
“Give it a chance, Logan, please? It’s something new and different for us to experience together.” Tori’s concerns started ringing in my ears.
Beaming him my brightest smile, I reached for my evening bag and coat.
Logan continued to look skeptical.
Looping my arm around his elbow, I eased him toward the front door. “This evening is all about new adventures. These performers are going to blow your mind.” I hoped he would soon remember our conversation about football athletes and ballet performers. It surprised me that he hadn’t made the connection yet. I’d remind him later, once he’d had the chance to see the dancers in action.
Logan drove, as he was more familiar with parking downtown. We walked a couple blocks to McCaw Hall and went inside. I gave the attendant our tickets and we were escorted to our seats.
After settling in, I looked at Logan. “Aren’t these great seats?”
He didn’t answer.
He must not have heard me. He appeared to be checking out the exit doors. I had to admit he didn’t look anywhere close to excited. I hoped that once the ballet started, he’d feel differently. Reaching for his hand, I entwined our fingers.
Logan took several minutes to read through the program. I had the impression he wasn’t looking to educate himself on the performance. I was inclined to think he was avoiding conversation. Perhaps I’d overdone the enthusiasm part.
I hoped by explaining a bit about what was about to happen would help. Leaning my head close to his, I said, “Ballet dancers study and practice for years to be skilled enough to become part of a company.”
No response again, so I continued: “The reason I mention this is because of something you mentioned about the football players. You said several of them had been involved in the game since they were in their teens or even younger.”
He turned toward me, his eyes rounding as he remembered the comment I’d made at the end of the football game we’d attended together.
“So that’s why we’re here. You wanted to prove your point.”
I held my breath. “Not at all. I wanted to show you that these performers are every bit as athletic as those involved in other sports.”
“You honestly believe these dancers are in the same category physically as football players?”
“I do,” I said. “You’ll recognize the truth soon enough.”
He appeared to relax, his hand holding mine. It wasn’t long before the lights dimmed and the music from the orchestra filled the theater. Soon the dancers were on the stage. The beauty was everything that I’d remembered. Leaning forward, I let the sheer wonder of the experience surround me.
Logan leaned forward beside me. “What’s happening?” he whispered loudly.
I shook my head, trying to explain nonverbally that it would be rude to the people around us to speak during the performance. This was different from a football game, where he was free to explain each play. Because he was intelligent, I didn’t think it would take long for Logan to pick up on the storyline. What I hoped, more than anything, was that he would give himself over to the beauty and to the wonder of the performance itself.
* * *
—
At the intermission, I breathed in a deep sigh, caught up in the splendor of it all. I held on to the feelings, wanting to linger in the moment. Before I could ask Logan his thoughts, he leaped to his feet.
“I’ll get us wine.”
“We can’t bring it back here.”
“We can’t drink at our seats?”
“No food or drink is allowed in the theater,” I explained.
His disappointment was evident. He waved his hand, as if the audacity of that was beyond understanding.
Knowing that the crush at the bar would steal away my enjoyment of the evening, I said, “I’ll stay here. I’d rather do without wine.”
“I need a glass,” he said, and started to exit the row, excusing himself as he passed each seated person.
Perhaps getting seats in the very center hadn’t been such a great idea after all. From his reaction and his sudden need for wine, I got the impression that he wasn’t enjoying the performance. I wanted to talk to him, sound him out.
As much as I would have hated to leave early, I decided to make the offer. However, when Logan returned it was just half a minute before the ballet continued and there wasn’t time to leave without making an unwanted statement and without upsetting everyone in our row who had already taken their seats.
Logan sank down in the seat, acting like he was ready to be strapped into an electric chair.
As best I could, I sent him a look of apology, hoping he could read the message in my eyes.
The second half was even more compelling that the first had been. I was mesmerized. Tears flooded my eyes at the emotion being portrayed through dance. I clenched my hands against my chest, swallowed up by the moment. I quickly glanced over at Logan, hoping this half of the performance had given him a change of heart.
To my absolute horror, I found he was asleep. His neck was braced against the back of the seat so that his head was tilted upward toward the ceiling. A soft snore escaped his partially opened mouth. Horrified, I elbowed him in the ribs.
Logan jerked awake and looked around as if trying to remember where he was. His expression seemed to suggest that he’d been kidnapped by aliens and dropped nude into the middle of the theater. He straightened and rubbed a hand down his face.
At the end of the program, the audience rose to its feet in a standing ovation. My applause was louder and more enthusiastic than most. Ignoring Logan, I reached for my handbag.
He buried his hands in his pant pockets and mumbled, “I’m sorry, Maureen.”
“And I’m sorry you didn’t enjoy it,” I said, stating the obvious.
“I tried,” he returned, sounding terribly guilty. “The ballet isn’t for everyone. In the same way, football isn’t, either. You understand, don’t you?”
It took me a while to accept what he said as fair. “I do.”
Logan’s face relaxed as the tension eased from his eyes.
It’d do no good for me to be upset with him. He’d given it a try. I couldn’t ask for anything more than that. Next time I’d ask Jenna to accompany me instead of Logan.
“I didn’t mean to fall asleep; I was more tired than I realized,” he said as we exited the row and joined the throng leaving the theater.
“It’s okay,” I said, willing to overlook his lack of appreciation.
“It must’ve been the wine,” he added.
“One glass shouldn’t have done that.”
He looked away and slowly cleared his throat. “I had more than one glass.”
“More than one?” Knowing how crowded the bar got, I couldn’t imagine him waiting in line again for a second glass.
“I talked them into letting me buy the entire bottle,” he confessed.
That did it. I couldn’t help but burst out laughing.
Logan placed his arm around my shoulders and brought me close to his side. He kissed the top of my head and I wrapped my arm around his waist.
“Thanks, Marian.”
My smile widened, and it was understood that it wasn’t the ballet tickets he was thanking me for.
CHAPTER 28
Jenna
It’d been a long, hectic day with a construction accident on the I-5 overpass that brought in five workers, three of whom landed in the ICU. At the end of my shift, I was more than ready for a soak in the bathtub. I’d done my best to put Rowan out of my mind and heart, with little success. He’d made himself scarce, I’d noticed. We were at an impasse. I refused to get involved with a man who would turn his back on his daughter, especially if all he had to offer me were excuses, laying the blame elsewhere.
Letting myself into the house, I was frightened out of my wits when I saw a man making himself at home in my living room. It was an even bigger shock to realize that the man was my son, Paul.
The last time I’d seen him had been late summer, when he’d spent a weekend at home before returning to school. He’d been around for only a handful of days over the summer break because of his job. When I last saw him, his dirty-blond hair had been long, and he’d sported a neatly trimmed beard. He’d worn tattered jeans and a T-shirt of some band I’d never heard of. Today was a stark contrast. He was clean-shaven, and his hair was neatly trimmed. He had on tan pants and a crisp button-down shirt with a tie. He looked more like a college professor than a student. He bounded up from the sofa to give me a big hug.
“Paul,” I cried, overjoyed to see him. “Wow, you look great.” The changes were impressive. Somewhere in the last three months he’d turned into a mature adult. I’d always been proud of my son, but I was astonished by the outward changes I saw in him now. Proud and pleased.
“You approve?” he asked.
“Very much. You look like a responsible adult.”
“I am a responsible adult.”
And that he was. Even as a teenager, he’d never caused me any worry. Young as he’d been when Kyle and I split, Paul seemed to understand that he had a new role in the household.
That he would arrive home unannounced was an immediate cause for concern. There could be only one reason. He’d come to tell me something and wanted to do it face-to-face.
My heart was pounding as I rid myself of my coat and dropped my purse in the hallway, where I kept it. Evidently, I didn’t need to worry. Dressed as he was, it told me he hadn’t dropped out of school and turned into a drug dealer. To even think such a thing was ridiculous, I know, but my thoughts naturally went to the worst-case scenario.
Following me into the kitchen, he said, “I stopped off and saw Grams earlier. She looks great.”
“I suppose she fed you?” My mother’s joy was finding an excuse to feed someone, especially if it was one of her grandchildren.
“Of course. My favorite.” Whatever was left over in her refrigerator instantly became Paul and Allie’s latest favorite. It’d become a big joke in the family that Grams considered the grandchildren her private garbage disposal.
“What was it this time?” I couldn’t help but ask. “It wasn’t broccoli with macaroni and cheese, was it?” Paul detested broccoli.
“She had a leftover pork chop and pan-fried potatoes with corn.”
I smiled. “You were lucky.”
“Don’t I know it.” He scooted onto the stool at the counter while I brewed us coffee. “She told me you’re throwing her a big birthday party.”
I glanced over my shoulder as I pulled down two mugs. “You didn’t get the invite?”
“When did you email it?”
“A few days ago.”
“Guess not. I haven’t checked my inbox in the last couple days.”
That didn’t sound like Paul, but it also confirmed to me that he’d been working too many hours.
I handed him the mug, filled with steaming hot coffee. Standing on the other side of the counter across from him, I leaned forward and braced my elbows against the edge, my hands cupping my own mug.
“I’ve suspected for some time now that you’ve been keeping something from me,” I said, choosing to confront the problem rather than ignore it. “Whatever it is, I appreciate that you want to tell me personally rather than over the phone.”
“Yes. I thought it’d be better if I did.”
Right away I noticed that he had trouble making eye contact. He expelled his breath and squared his shoulders. “I guess I should start off by telling you that I’ve moved off campus.”
In the past, this would’ve been something he would have discussed with me. Because he’d chosen not to, it told me that there was more to this than changing residences.
“It was a good move for me.”
“Okay. Is there a girl involved?” He hadn’t mentioned that he was dating, but he tended to keep his dating life to himself. Allie probably knew about her, but not me.
“No, Mom,” he said with a laugh. “I’m too busy to get involved in a relationship.”
I knew it. All the hours he was working were ruining his academic and social life. “Paul, it isn’t necessary for you to continue working. What’s the use of having spending money if you can’t enjoy life? When was the last time you were out on a date?”
He grinned like I’d told him a joke. “It’s been a while.”
“See what I mean? Now please, give the restaurant your two-weeks’ notice.”
“I can’t,” he said.
I refused to believe that. “You mean you won’t.”
“Okay, I won’t.”
This conversation was frustrating me at a time when I already had enough frustration in my life to drown a whale. “What is it about this restaurant that you love so much?”
“I like the work, Mom. I’m good at what I do.”
Recently I’d bragged to Rowan that my son would be excellent at whatever he did, but this wasn’t the point. “Do you want to wait tables for the rest of your life?” I asked him pointedly.
“No. I’m hoping for more responsibility at the restaurant in the future. A lot more.”
“What?” It sounded as if he was trading his engineering degree to work in a restaurant.
“The owner likes me,” Paul explained. “He’s taken me under his wing.”
I was quickly losing my composure. “Oh please,” I cried sarcastically. “Don’t tell me you’re being swayed away from school because some restaurant owner wants to take advantage of you and your hard work ethic.”
Paul’s eyes flashed with irritation and his mouth tightened. “I came home to tell you I’ve dropped out of college.”
“You did what?” I burst out. “Paul, tell me you didn’t.”
He stiffened, his stubbornness on full display now. “It’s a done deal. I realized that I chose to go into engineering because of Gramps. I made an emotional decision after he died, and I’ve regretted it. I wasn’t enjoying my classes, and I could see that a career in that field was going to bore me. I know you had big aspirations for me, Mom, and I’m sorry to disappoint you, but this is what I want.”
“Paul, think about what you’re saying,” I pleaded, doing my best to keep my voice level. “Are you seriously telling me you want to make a career of working in the restaurant industry?”
His eyes narrowed, and
he waited several moments before he calmly said, “You make it sound as if the work is beneath me.”
“It is beneath your intelligence. You’re so much better than that.”
His mouth dropped open, my response appearing to shock him. Stepping away from the counter, he placed both hands on top of his head as he paced. I could almost hear him counting to ten before he responded.
“Are you hearing yourself?” he challenged. “Do you sincerely believe people choose to work in the restaurant industry, or any service industry, for that matter, because they aren’t intelligent?”
“I…I didn’t mean for it to sound like that.” And I didn’t. “I wasn’t talking about anyone else. I was talking about you. Paul, please. Think about what you’re doing. If you don’t want to be an engineer, chose another major.”
“I have chosen a different career path, one that gives me real-life, on-the-job training.” He looked at me straight on and added emphatically, “And I’m not changing my mind.”
I could see he was getting ready to leave and I didn’t want us to part like this. “Don’t go, Paul. Let’s talk this out. I apologize if I overreacted.”
He hesitated and shook his head. “It’s better that I leave now before we both say anything else we’ll regret. I wanted to tell you before, and I didn’t because I was afraid of your reaction. I have to say you didn’t disappoint me. I’d hoped that of all people you would encourage me to do what makes me happy. Working in the restaurant does that. I’m good with people, with seeing the bigger picture of the business, and Mr. Owen is a great mentor. He’s been more of a father to me than my own father ever was.”
I felt dreadful. “Paul, please, don’t leave in a rush.”
He shook his head. “It’ll be better this way. You need time to accept what I’m telling you. If I stayed, you’ll just try to convince me to go back to college. That’s not happening, Mom. I’m sorry if you’re unhappy with my decision. I truly am. Talking any more will only create a greater rift between us, and I don’t want that. We’ve always had a great relationship, and I’d prefer to keep it that way.”
Window on the Bay Page 22
