by Dara Girard
"Vance," he corrected.
"Sorry," she said, surprised by his curt tone. "I thought since you call me Tera I could give you a nickname too."
Vance sat down in front of her. "I prefer you call me Vance."
She furrowed her brows. "Something about your name sounds familiar."
He gripped his mug with two hands. "It's a pretty common name."
"Not that common."
An awkward silence fell. So he didn't like nicknames and seemed uneasy. He was not as carefree as he'd been in the car. Had he said yes out of pity? Did he just need the coffee to keep him awake for a long drive home? Maybe she'd read too much into him saying yes--he'd said yes to the coffee, not her. She stood. "Well, let me call that taxi for you."
Vance looked at her stunned. "I just sat down and you want to get rid of me already?"
Greta slowly sat down, confused. "No, it's not that," she said stumbling over her words. "I just thought you may have somewhere else you need to be." She wasn't handling this well. What was she doing wrong? "Would you like something to eat?" Again, she expected him to say no, but instead he said, "That would be great."
"Do you mind leftovers? I have some curried lamb with garlic potatoes."
"Sounds delicious."
"But it may take a while to heat up."
"That's fine."
He seemed in no hurry to leave so she wouldn't force him. Greta went to the fridge and took out the dishes and gave them to Vance. He popped them in the microwave, while Greta excused herself to go change. She raced into her bedroom and found a pair of jeans and top she could wear. She looked at herself in the mirror. "Relax. He obviously wants to stay. Don't drive him away." She returned to the kitchen and found Vance eating with gusto. She tried not to stare. She had made more of the dish than she needed, because she planned on taking some with her for lunch, but at the rate he was eating, she knew there would be nothing left. He was a big man with evidently an appetite to match. "This is delicious," he said.
"Thank you."
“How did you learn to cook like this?”
“My grandmother.”
"So, why were you all dressed up?"
She took a seat. "I just attended a high school reunion."
"Have fun?"
Greta sniffed and lifted a brow.
Vance grinned. "I'll take that as a ‘No’."
"It was a silly, fanciful and dumb idea."
"Why dumb?"
"Dumb, for me anyway."
"Why?"
"Because, I remember the building with fondness and the people with pain."
"What does that mean?"
"My home life at the time was miserable so I loved going to school. In many ways, it was my escape, but the kids didn't like me. I didn't care too much then, but going back tonight brought back some of those hard times and memories. What about you?"
He paused, wary. "What about me?"
"How was high school for you?"
Vance stared down at his plate. "Let's talk about something else."
Greta pushed up her glasses, it was obviously a painful subject for him too. She could understand. Maybe he'd been small growing up and bullied or something. She reached out and touched his hand. "It's okay. You're not in high school anymore, thank goodness. You're a successful contractor and drive a great car. I bet you were just a late bloomer." And boy had he bloomed, Greta thought appreciating his handsome features.
"Hmm."
The more she talked the more he seemed to withdraw into himself. Greta wished she knew how to read him. He acted as if he didn't want to be there, yet made no attempt to leave. One moment he wanted to talk, then he closed up. She began to pull her hand away.
He grabbed it then kissed the back of it. "You're sweet."
Greta felt heat rush to her face, and her skin tingled from where his lips had touched her. Thankfully, his cell phone rang, giving her a reprieve from having to respond.
Vance looked at the number and scowled then put it back in his pocket. It stopped, then rang again.
"Maybe you should get that," she said.
"I'll get it later, it's just Sylvie."
"Sylvie?"
"Yes, my girlfriend."
He had a girlfriend. Of course. She'd struck out again. He'd only come for the coffee and the food. "Oh well," Greta said fighting to keep her voice light and cheery, two things she didn't feel. "She's probably worried about you." Greta stood. "Let me get that taxi." Her stomach grumbled.
Vance looked at her surprised. "You're hungry? Why didn't you say something instead of just watching me eat all your food?"
"You're a guest."
"A host can eat too. Go sit in the living room and I'll fix you something."
"But you--"
"I told you to stop worrying about me."
"Okay, but if you need any help--"
"Tera, shut up and go sit down." He softened his words with a smile and a wink.
Greta left the kitchen and sat in the living room, not knowing how to feel. She couldn't like him too much, because he had a girlfriend, but she could like him as a friend. She turned on the TV not caring what was on. Minutes later Vance came in carrying a tray of food. Greta couldn’t believe what he had made. This guy was full of surprises. He had found several other items in her fridge and made a hearty stew. He had taken a can of tomato soup, mixed in the remaining curried lamb, added some diced potatoes, frozen vegetables, several seasonings and garnished with sliced onions.
"Wow! This looks great."
"Careful it's hot." He turned to the TV and noticed the soccer match she'd been ignoring. "Is that Brazil against Argentina? Do you mind?" he asked, sliding into the seat next to her. He even smelled nice.
"No, I don't mind."
"My Dad and I used to love watching soccer together."
"Did you play in school?"
"No, we didn't have a team."
"That's true, it's not very popular here in the States as it is in other parts of the world. I'm surprised your father was interested. In the Caribbean it's a big deal. My grandmother likes to brag that she dated a footballer once."
"Yes, that's what my father calls soccer players too."
"Where's your father from?"
"Ghana."
"With the last name, Minton?"
"Hmm." His cell phone rang again and this time when he looked at the number he seemed like he was happy for the escape. "Excuse me." He left the room.
Greta didn't blame his girlfriend for being worried about him. She suppressed a sigh of longing and ate her food, trying not to think of Vance and what words he was saying to ease his girlfriend's fears. Would he be matter-of-fact, or tender? What side did he show to her that no one else saw?
"Anybody score?"
Greta looked up at him surprised by his quick return. She'd expected the phone call to last longer. "No," she said as he sat. "How is she?"
"Fine," he said with little interest. "I told her I'm okay. " He looked at her tray and furrowed his brows. "You haven't eaten much. Are you feeling okay?"
Greta was feeling much better now that he was back. "Sorry, I eat slowly sometimes."
He leaned back and rested an arm the length of the couch, as if he were settling for the evening. "As long as you're okay, I don't care." He turned his attention to the TV.
Greta ate and watched him. His profile was perfect. Or perhaps, she just saw it that way because she liked him so much. He was so considerate. She finished her food with reluctance. This was as close to dinner and a movie as she was ever going to get.
"Are you finished?" he asked.
Greta blinked again, amazed at how attuned he seemed to be to her. She'd thought all his attention had been focused on the match. "Yes, thanks."
He took the tray and headed for the kitchen. "I'm going to wash up. Call out the plays for me."
"The plays?"
"Yes, tell me what they're doing."
"I can wash up and you can--"
"Just t
ell me what you see."
Greta shrugged. "Number nine, Brazil is making his way down the middle and he just passed the ball to number thirty-four. Oh, wait, a turnover. Number twenty of Argentina steals the ball. They're scrambling to stop him, but he kicks it over their heads to number fourteen and then he tries to score but the goalie stops him."
"Ooo."
Greta relayed more plays and found herself enjoying it. Finally, Vance finished the dishes and joined her on the couch. They both shouted in unison when one of the teams made a tough score. "Goal!"
They hugged, and then settled into watching more of the game. She liked having him there. Strange, she'd never invited a man inside her home before. Never had a chance or a reason too. What made him feel so familiar to her? Everything felt so right. Greta felt her eyes getting heavy, her stomach was full, her body felt relaxed and all was well…
***
Vance felt Greta rest her head on his chest. He had his arm stretched out the length of the couch and made no move to pull away. She was exhausted and he didn't want to do anything to wake her. He felt responsible for and a little protective of her. He'd clammed up when she'd ask him about high school. He'd been king of the hill. It had been fun. Learning had been an extracurricular activity for him. Vance kept telling himself, he should be leaving, but came up with a reason to stay. She had a nice comfortable home and he'd meant it when he 'd called her ‘sweet’.
Thank God she still didn't know who he was. He knew he had to leave, but he'd just stay a few minutes more. He couldn't remember the last time he'd enjoyed watching a soccer match. Soccer had been one of the few things that had brought him and his dad together. His dad had taught him a lot of moves, but then he learned that soccer wasn't as popular as basketball and when he made the varsity basketball team, although it hadn't been a favorite sport of his, he pretended it was, because what others thought of him back then really mattered. By the time he was ready to graduate from high school, the distance between him and his father had grown deep.
But being with Greta, enjoying the soccer game, just for a moment, took him back to happier times. To a time when he was just himself and didn't care about playing a role.
***
Greta slowly opened her eyes, feeling as if someone was staring at her. She looked up and saw a blurry figure standing in front of her. She reached for her glasses, which sat on her lap. Funny, she didn't remember taking them off. She shoved them on then looked at her mother, who stood with her arms folded.
"So you can break the rules and I can't?"
"What are you talking about?" Greta rubbed her eyes and groaned. Her body felt as if it had been squashed by a bus.
"Him." Rita nodded to Vance. Greta turned realizing she had been resting her head on his chest. She also felt his arm around her shoulders. How had that happened? She sprang up. And what was he still doing there?
Her quick motion woke him. Vance opened his eyes and looked at her. "Are you feeling okay?"
"I'm fine."
"Good." He stretched, paused and looked around. Daylight flooded through the windows. "What time is it?"
"One thirty," Rita said.
Vance sat up, instantly awake. "In the afternoon?"
"Do you think it'd be this bright in the morning?"
"That has to be wrong."
"It’s not wrong."
Vance glanced at his watch, then jumped up and swore. "She's going to skin me alive."
Rita sneered. "Your wife?"
"No, his girlfriend," Greta said.
"No, my mother," he said. "I was supposed to meet her for some function." He swore.
"Just tell her you were helping me."
"Helping you do what?" Rita asked.
"Nothing," Greta said in no mood to explain. "Let me call you a cab. You can go freshen up in the bathroom down the hall. There's a package in the medicine cabinet for visitors." She didn't mention that the visitors were usually her mother's and that's why she always had a freezer bag with a travel size toothbrush, tooth paste, mouth wash, bar of soap, a washcloth and deodorant.
"Thanks." He left.
Greta placed a call for a taxi then headed into the kitchen to make some coffee.
Rita followed her. "He's gorgeous. Who is he?"
Greta waved her away. "Just a good Samaritan."
"What's up with your face? Did you two get in a fight or something?"
"Or something," Vance said in a cool dismissive way as he reached for a cup.
"The cab is on its way," Greta said, wishing her mother would leave so they could be alone.
"Good." He took a sip of his coffee, his eyes assessing Greta as if there was no one else in the room. "How's your head?"
"How's your lip?"
He flashed a crooked smile. "Sore."
"Me too. If your girlfriend or mother gives you too much grief, have them call me."
Vance took out his wallet and handed her a card. "Call me if you need anything else."
"Did you two meet at the reunion?" Rita asked, a little louder than necessary, jealous that she wasn't the center of attention.
"Yes," Greta said.
"No," Vance said.
Rita frowned. "You don't know?"
"It was after I left the reunion," Greta said.
Vance gestured to the door. "I'll wait for the taxi outside. You should go back and rest."
Her mother sniffed. "What for?"
"She was attacked last night."
"Really? Someone got the better of you? That's incredible. My Greta can take on the world." She squinted at him. "Why do you look familiar? What's your name?"
"Vance Minton." He left.
Greta grabbed her mother's arm before she could follow him. "Leave him alone."
Rita yanked her arm away. "I know I've seen that face before."
Greta wished the taxi would hurry up. Her mother was being more obnoxious than usual, probably because Vance was good looking. She wouldn't have bothered otherwise.
He probably got that a lot. Women throwing themselves at him. No wonder he was so eager to leave. Greta walked outside and found Vance resting against the wall. Something had shifted from last night, his profile seemed more stoic and distant. Was he regretting helping her? "It's chilly out here," she said seeing his jaw tense. "Do you need a sweater or something?"
He turned to her and his mouth softened into a smile. "I'm fine." He pinched her nose. "How am I going to get you to stop worrying about me?"
Never. Greta hugged herself, wishing she could hug him goodbye instead.
Rita came through the door and pointed at him. "Now I remember." She snapped her fingers. "I keep trying to think, because I never forget a pretty face, and then I thought basketball and you're name came to mind.”
Vance stiffened. "Look don't--"
"'Van the Man’. Yes, that's who you are. That's what everybody called you because you were hot property. You were even written up in the papers a couple of times."
Greta stared at Vance stunned. For the second time in twenty-four hours, Greta wanted the floor to open up and disappear. All of the wonderful memories of that night came crashing down. She was staring at ‘Van the Man’. One of the high school boys who'd made her life back then a living hell.
Chapter Five
"I go by Vance now," he said, his gaze not leaving Greta's face.
Rita just grinned. "Sure you do, honey."
Greta shook her head, feeling stupid as everything clicked into place. "You were there to attend the reunion. You were heading in the right direction, until you got a flat tire."
"Yes."
"Sorry you missed it." She turned and went to the door. What foolish feelings she'd felt didn't matter now. He was leaving soon and she'd never see him again. There would be no friendship between them; he’d just needed a place to crash. He had a fine, hot, girlfriend at home. She remembered he'd juggled a few while in high school. "Brenda was there, looking great as always and--"
"I don't feel like I mi
ssed anything." Vance took a step forward, but halted when Greta took a step back. "Listen, I don't regret--"
Greta could no longer hold his gaze and glanced out at the street. "Taxis don't usually take this long." She turned to the house. "I'll give them another call."
"Tera--"
She spun around and blinked back tears, saddened that even the nickname he'd given her now felt like a mockery. "My name is Greta." She went inside and closed the door, wanting to slam it, but knowing that a petty action like that would only please Rita.
Greta went into her bedroom and sat on the bed. She was an idiot. How did her mother remember him and she didn't? ‘Van the Man’. The hotshot basketball star. How could she have not recognized or remembered him? Back then he went by Van Lamine. She'd spent the evening with one of her worse tormentors. No, he didn't torment her directly, his friends did. He just stood by and watched with enjoyment.
She wondered if he'd secretly been laughing at her the whole night, as she invited him in for coffee, then later when she held his hand and tried to comfort him about the terrible time, she imagined, he'd had in high school. What a laugh! She heard the taxi drive up and gripped her hands into fists. "Goodbye you bastard," she muttered. She'd let her grandmother's silly dream lead her astray, again. But now she was back to her senses.
Greta gathered herself and went into the kitchen to make herself something to eat. Her mother was finishing off a slice of toast, leaving a trail of crumbs on the counter.
"So you really didn't know who he was?" she asked, with a superior smirk.
Greta wiped the crumbs away with a wet dish towel, then reached up and took a box of cereal out of one of the cabinets. She poured the cereal into a bowl, ignoring the question. "Who are you seeing?"
"Why?"
"Because there's word on the street he's bad news."
"Word from who? People been talking trash in your ivory tower?"
Greta poured some milk on her cereal then grabbed a spoon and sat down. Her mother liked to make fun of her job, although it was the very thing that kept them fed and a roof over their head. "I heard it from somewhere."
"You think I'd take advice about men from a woman like you? You wouldn't know what to do with one if you had a chance. You don't know anything about men."
