“How can I when I’m crazy about someone else?”
Naked! Naked girl, here! I’d never felt so vulnerable. Not only half-dressed, but he’d just single-handedly peeled away my shield. You know, the one that deflected Tom’s-a-hunk kind of things. Telling me he was into someone else, possibly implying me, and then accusing me of the same thing. I became a weakened vessel of mush. Keep it together.
“Tom…”
He put his hand on my shoulder…my very un-clothed shoulder. My heart was in freak mode—persistent drumrolls blared out inside me. I stepped back. At least I thought I did. He stepped closer. I put my hand to his chest.
“I need you to be happy for me, Tom. I need you to support me in what I’m going to do. I’d die if I didn’t have your support.”
“Amy, you always have my support. It’s just that I know he cheated on you, and you deserve better.”
I tried to control my eye roll and heavy sigh. “I know. But everyone deserves a second chance, and it’s not just Wesley and my relationship at stake here. It’s my father’s law firm. I can’t let his legacy go down in flames. This is my time to see it prosper.” I playfully pushed his arm and smiled, trying to disarm the look of lust from his eyes. “I want to be able to continue like we have been. You know, I do something stupid and then come to you, and you take me to get an empowering tattoo. Or something like that. By the way, my powers aren’t really kicking in yet—yours?” Keeping it light and airy. To match my outfit.
He retreated. “Amy, it’s very difficult to continue being around you and pretending that I don’t feel more for you than just friendship.”
I looked down. A shroud of despair cloaked my soul. I couldn’t go through life without Tom. Why did that line have to be crossed? Why was I caught here in his kitchen, half-dressed, with him in his sexy pajamas, confessing he wanted more than friendship from me? Where did you go, denial? Blissful stupidity, are you somewhere around here? Or did Marcella take and hide you, too?
He closed his eyes as he continued. “I’ve been trying to keep my distance, Amy.”
“Maybe I shouldn’t go with you tomorrow night.”
“I want you to go. I promise I’ll be all right by then. I’m merely having a moment right now. I’m sure it will pass.”
Who just pooped on the party? I did; I did. Poor Tom. Suffering in silence. Well, if it helped, I was suffering, too. I just couldn’t tell him. He’d make me do something about it. And Lord knows, that was an impossibility.
“I better get to bed. I…” I looked down; I didn’t know what to say. I what? Had to get up early? Had to get some clothes on? The sad truth was that I just had to leave the room. Leave before I’d admit to something that I couldn’t take back.
“Sleep well, Amy.” His voice was low and sure.
I clutched my water that I suddenly no longer wanted and walked out. It would be a long night, indeed.
Chapter Nineteen
I left the house before Tom came down for breakfast. I couldn’t talk anymore to him about us. It was what it was—nothing. And if I intended to keep him, that’s what it had to be.
“Tom,” I yelled as I entered his house later that afternoon.
I’d spent the day Christmas shopping. Retail therapy was the best. I’d picked up something for Sonja, a little collector wrestling figurine for Wesley, and a new tie for Tom. The one thing I neglected to buy was a dress for tonight. I’d hoped Tom found the key to the moving and storage van so I could go out and get it.
“Tom,” I yelled one more time.
The house was quiet. I couldn’t remember whether I’d seen his car or not in the driveway. I hustled up the stairs with my purchases and on my bed was a large box. On top of it was a red ribbon. The card attached had my name beautifully written. I placed everything I had on the floor and pulled the card open.
For you. No strings attached. Pick you up at 6. –Tom
I felt like a princess. What was in the box? I tore into it and neatly packaged, lying on a bed of white tissue paper, was a gorgeous red dress. Nothing fancy, just the most elegant thing I’d ever seen. Like in People magazine—one of the ones a famous person wears and then spins around for the camera to take a picture. I pulled it out and hugged it tight. How sweet. How completely sweet and gentleman-like. I’d go and shower and be ready for him. No strings attached—I had it in writing. Just a good, old like-it-was-before time. Amy and Tom: friends forever.
I was finishing up with my hair when I heard the doorbell ring. I’d checked a few minutes ago and still no Tom. Who was at the door now? I slipped on the absolutely gorgeous dress I’d laid out on the bed, and ran downstairs. I peeked through the sidelight on the door before opening it. A blurry black-and-white figure is all I could make out. I pulled the door opened and stood there, speechless.
“Amy, you look…you look…like a vision,” he said.
I still had a stop sign lodged both in my brain and in the middle of my throat. Nothing was processing at the moment except the most honest thoughts. They twinkled inside me like Chinese lanterns, with all the heat of the sun melting my core. This man looked like a delectable thing to behold. His hair was combed in a neat part on the side, his cheeks shimmered with fresh aftershave cologne, and the tuxedo he wore strummed my sensory nerves. All fitting and starched, looking like a groom you’d love to be the one to say “I do” to. Lest we fail to mention the smells of this Adonis wafting in with the afternoon breeze. The cleanest, manliest smell—why, it almost had me thinking naughty thoughts, with the way it cast a drunken spell on my cognitive thinking skills. I had to clear my throat to help bring me out of the Tom-induced coma.
“Um, you look…fabulous. I mean debonair. No, handsome.”
He laughed, therefore letting me off the hook of shooting out more words for freaking awesome.
“Where have you been?” I looked outside and saw his car parked by the door in the circle driveway.
“I had a racquetball match a little earlier and just took my tux there to get ready. I was kind of hoping for this effect of picking you up at the door and seeing you all dressed and ready.” He put his hands in his pockets and swayed like a nervous teenager. “You know, not hang around your bedroom door and see your hair in curlers. I wanted a porch greeting.”
“Well, it certainly worked. I was almost speechless.” And still tingly.
“Shall we?” He held out his bent arm to have me interlace mine with it.
I grabbed my clutch by the foyer table and proceeded out with him.
By the time we arrived at the party, I’d had time to control the knocking of my knees. I don’t remember ever being out with someone who had this much charisma. It was from a different era. Tom was a man. Not a guy who was playing dress up. Not a boy who fussed because his bowtie was strangling his neck. This was a bona fide gentleman. Even his stature made me pinch myself to think I was really the one on the other side of his arm.
“Have you eaten dinner?” he asked as we walked into the building.
“No. Have you?”
“No. Let’s grab some food before we get wrestled into all the social mumbo jumbo.”
“Who did you play racquetball with today?”
I’d known Tom to go to the gym, but to play with someone else? And the last time he’d gone to the gym was over the summer when I was with Mark.
“Just a potential client. I tried not to beat him too bad.” His side grin lifted his mustache a little.
“Hmm…well then, I know you’re starving.”
We had the doors opened to the ballroom by two finely dressed men. They looked like toy soldiers. This was the Chamber of Commerce holiday event. Every year they spared no expense in the catering and decorating for the party. Each business affiliated with the association tried to outdo whoever was involved with it the previous year. As I looked around the room, a smile spread across my face. Three decorated trees almost reached the ceiling. White lights twinkled and red Christmas balls hung from the branches. The refl
ection in the floor-to-ceiling windows made my heart happy. Festive music played softly in the background by an orchestra out of Portland, and everyone sparkled like ornaments out on the dancefloor. Daddy had brought me and Ashley one year, and I remember just staring at the men twirling their dates around, wishing one day that would be me. I was overcome with joy and the full circle my life had come. Even if sorrow from the absence of my parents shadowed the corners of it.
Tom escorted me to the table of food. It seemed to stretch for a half mile. There were roasted ducks, roasted turkeys, jewel-colored fruit salads, cheeses, dips…everything you could imagine. And a few people with watchful eyes ready to replace whatever needed replenishing. Tom handed me a plate with a painted tree on it and waited for me to begin.
I could’ve sworn my mouth salivated just looking at the dishes. Had I been alone, I’d have taken a heaping spoonful of everything, just to try it. But trying to be a lady in my form-fitting red dress, I took tiny mounds of samples. I grabbed a fluted glass of champagne at the end and waited for my date to finish piling his plate.
On the way to our table nestled in the back where we wouldn’t be bothered, we stopped and said our hellos to friends we mutually knew through other charity events of the year. I tried not to seem rushed, but the truth was I envisioned diving into my plate with my mouth before we sat down.
“Finally,” I said as we parked our bottoms on the chairs. “I’m starving.”
“I hear ya. I purposely avoided Hipkins’s table. I knew they’d ask us to join them. And then we’d have to hear about investing our money in stocks for the rest of our meal.”
“Thank you,” I said, beginning to devour the caramelized turkey. Its aroma began my digestion process even before it made it to my lips.
“I see you didn’t get any caviar. Here, want some of mine?” Tom handed me a cracker with the little black dots invading it.
My stomach churned. “No thanks. I couldn’t bring myself to eating fish eggs.”
“Are you serious? You don’t know what you’re missing.” He held it closer to my face, looking at me with raised eyebrows—his puppy-dog face. “Try it.”
“Tom—”
When I opened my mouth, that rascal shoved it in. I half-bit into his finger on accident. He recoiled his hand and shook out the hurt. I nearly choked as the dry cracker inhaled down my throat. Then I broke out into laughter. Pure, pee-my-pants laughter. His face was mortified. Big eyes, gaping mouth—I couldn’t help but laugh. That’s what you get. I swallowed the eggs whole and tried not to become sick. I tasted the salty aftertaste.
I grabbed his finger and pulled it close to me. And when I did, he came attached with it. His head bumped into mine and I couldn’t help but burst out with more laughter. We’d become a mess. A caviar-stuffing-mouth, finger-biting mess. I stopped snorting long enough to see his eyes inches from mine. I sat up and released his hand. I quickly glanced past our table and saw a few eyes had settled on the spectacle of us. I smoothed out the napkin on my lap and grabbed for my glass of champagne and gulped it down—whole.
“I’m sorry. It’s just that you made me try a pretzel with all that—”
“Cinnamon sugar? Are you serious? This is raw fish eggs, Tom!” I tried to keep my voice low.
“Well…”
He resumed eating his tiny feast on the plate and I as well. A sadness seeped over me like a slow burn as a few thoughts fought their way through my mind. This would be our last party to attend as friends. We’d crossed some type of line, anyway, in our friendship that made moments like that one feel sticky, and I was going to be moving out.
“What’s going on inside that pretty head of yours?”
I tried to fake a smile. “Nothing.”
“Amy, I know you. Talk to me.”
“It’s nothing, Tom. I’m going to go up for dessert. Do you want anything?”
“No.” His head lowered to his plate.
I got up and carried my almost-emptied plate. I know etiquette was to leave it on the table, but I thought I’d make it easier on the wait staff and carry it to them. I was stopped by a familiar face.
“Amy?”
It was Claire. What was she doing here? I thought she and Nick were recluses.
“Claire?”
“I told Nick that was you. What are you doing here with Tom McTavish?”
I looked back at the table I’d just left. My handsome date was sitting there, still stumped by my quick departure.
“Tom and I are friends. We go way back.” Not really all that way, but it sounded less espionage-like than: We just hooked up. By the way, we have semi-matching tattoos.
“Oh.” She grabbed at her chest. It was a naked chest. The front of her dress plunged almost down to her belly button. Jennifer Lopez had nothing over Claire tonight. Whoa, that took some bravado to wear that out of the house. Blue sparkly things sewn to her gown kept your vision blurry so you wouldn’t stare at her missing cleavage.
“You look amazing, Claire.”
She blushed out a smile and grabbed her mouth. “I bought this the very minute Nick called and told me we were coming tonight. It seems there’s no one else here to represent the law firm. You know, with poor Jeff and Margaret gone, and Wesley on his trip.”
Just about then, Nick strolled up to us. He looked uncomfortable in his monkey suit, pulling at his collar and fidgeting with his tight cummerbund. He looked like one of those dolls you could squeeze the stomach and his eyes would pop. I thought I saw a bead of sweat on his brow.
“Amy, what are you doing here with Tom McTavish?”
I let out a sigh as a passerby hostess took my empty plate. I smiled and thanked her before I went into my spill about who Tom was to me.
“We’re just here as friends. There’s no stake in it for him, I assure you.”
“Oh, yeah? Just look over there now. He’s hobnobbing with Frank Cabrella.” He nodded toward the table I just left.
I looked to see a large Santa-like man looking up at Tom and smiling with his two cherry-colored cheeks. A slender lady in the shape of a bean pole towered over the stranger and smiled like a blooming sunflower.
“You’ve got to go back over there, Amy.”
“Who’s Frank Cabrella?” I asked.
“He’s the owner of the building over off Merchant Street and Ivy. He’s going to be manufacturing some type of dental equipment. Jeff reached out to him and it’s still a possibility he hasn’t found a law firm to represent his company.” He pulled at his shirt collar. “Unless Tom McTavish has offered his firm as a possibility.”
I looked at Claire. She gulped down her tumbler of whatever. Her eyes glazed over as the seconds ticked by.
“Okay, okay.”
Nick was ready to blow a button if I didn’t promise to go talk to the guy. As if I knew what to say.
Just as I began to walk off, Nick pulled my arm and whispered in my ear. “Amy, if we get Cabrella’s account, we might have a chance to stay in business. Otherwise…”
Good Lord. Why did he have to say it like that? Certainly Nick was more like Chicken Little when it came to business affairs. I knew the company needed clients, especially with Jeff gone, but the demise of it? I took a deep breath and began my way back to Tom. Who was laughing and patting Frank Cabrella’s arm like an old school chum.
“Hello,” I interjected.
The shorter gentleman turned his body toward mine, a smile growing large on his face. “Well hello.” He looked at Tom. “This must be your lovely wife, Tom. I know we didn’t get to talk much today, with all that ball pounding, but I recognize compatibility when I see it.”
“That and we saw you five minutes ago sitting here together,” Frank’s wife added. She touched my arm. “Hello, I’m Susan Cabrella. This man who has your hand is my husband, Frank.”
The heat rose off my face like rain on hot asphalt. “It’s a pleasure to meet you both. But, I’m not Tom’s wife. I’m his friend.”
After Frank’s eyes set
tled back into their sockets, he took his hand back and apologized. “I’m so sorry, I just assumed.”
“No need to apologize.” I looked at Tom and fought to smile. What a pleasant thought to imagine I was his compatible mate. The truth was that I wasn’t. I tried to play it off. “I’m Tom’s honorary guest at these functions. I keep him from being the wallflower.”
“This is Amy Whitfield.” Tom spoke up.
“Whitfield…Whitfield. Any relation to Whitfield, Martin, and Tillion?” Frank asked.
“That would be my father-in-law. He and my father, Henry Martin, opened the firm thirty years ago. Jeff Tillion is the third partner.”
Susan touched her husband’s shoulder. “Don’t we have a dinner date this coming Wednesday with a Mr. Whitfield?”
Frank half-turned toward his wife. “I think we do.” He scratched his chin. “Wesley, I believe his name is. We’re meeting at the restaurant down by the waterside.”
“That would be my husband.”
Frank’s mouth dropped a little. “I see. Well, he did say his wife would be joining him, kind of make it less business and more personal, I suppose.”
“I’ll be there, too,” Susan piped in with a pleasant smile. “I can’t wait to try it. I read where they specialize in crab cakes. You don’t get seafood in Iowa. Just a hundred ways to make potatoes.”
We all laughed, but I noticed Tom wasn’t. That smile he wears without emotion just sat tightly on his lips.
“Well, speaking of crab, I was on my way up to get some of that dip. It was a pleasure meeting you both. I look forward to Wednesday.” Not really, but this was my lot in life. Go back to my husband, save the company from financial ruin, and live happily ever after.
I smiled and snuck off to the bar. I needed a little infusion of whatever Claire had in her glass. She seemed unresponsive to the things going on around her. And if she could wear that dress without humiliation, I needed what was in her cup. I needed that feeling, too. On my way there, I saw Nick escorting Claire out the main entrance. I supposed it was time for them to leave. Claire had had her drink, Nick had made his appearance, and they were assured I’d made an impression on the Cabrellas. Now for a hot toddy for me.
Leaving Amy (Amy #2) Page 18
