Speak Now

by Chautona Havig

  “Clothing is your hobby?”

  “No, actually, I like shopping, antiquing, which is not the same as regular shopping, of course, and scrapbooking, but clothes really aren’t my ‘thing,’ despite evidence to the contrary.”

  “Then…”

  “Mom. She loves to design and create clothes for me. I never buy anything but jeans and underwear…” she blushed. “But you didn’t need to know that. Anyway, I make up for it with shoes. I do like cute shoes.”

  “How about dinner? Do you like dinner? Because we have just over an hour before the curtain rises.”

  She started to grab his arm and dropped her hand to her side. With a sheepish, apologetic expression she said, “Well, what are we waiting for, then?”

  ~*~*~*~

  The car rolled to a gentle stop in the parking space nearest Cara’s townhome. She shifted awkwardly in her seat. “Coffee?”

  “I can’t come in, Cara.”

  She glanced at his face, illuminated by a nearby streetlight. “No, you’re right. You can’t.”

  His hand gripped the gearshift as though to steady him. He knew he should step out of the car and walk her to the door. Instead, he flicked the key on and rolled down their windows. The tension that had slowly built dissipated immediately.

  A new tension grew as Cara turned and rearranged herself in order to see him better. “I didn’t want you to go either.”

  “It’d be more comfortable inside, but—”

  “But you’re right. Don’t worry about it. I can go grab some water bottles if—”

  Jonathan’s arm reached toward her. Cara’s eyes widened before she erupted in hysterical giggles as he slipped it behind her seat and withdrew water from a pocket. “A father never leaves home without water.”

  “You’re good at fatherhood. I’ve watched you.” Her assessment of his parenting skills and obvious love for his children hung between them. Finally, she added, “You get weary though, don’t you?”

  He nodded. The words he would have spoken had he been inclined to talk seemed to emanate from him. It was a strange feeling to be so comfortable being himself. He almost felt like talking just because he didn’t feel pressured to.

  “You never get a break, do you?”

  “Birthday parties.” The way he said the words sounded more like a caress than a simple answer.

  “Birthday parties?”

  “When the kids get invited to parties, all the moms suggest that I drop the kids off and pick them up just before bedtime. It gives me a few hours of quiet.”

  “Why,” Cara began laughing, “do I get the feeling that you also provide dinner.”

  “Guilty.”

  “You are so transparent… and I love it.” Cara leaned her head against the back of the seat and watched the light creating odd shadows on Jonathan’s face. “I’m glad you get a break, though.”

  “I shouldn’t want one.” The guilt in his voice cut through the air.

  “That’s ridiculous. Everyone needs a break from their job. If you still had Lily, you’d take turns running errands alone, she’d go out with her friends once in a while, you’d go play racquet ball or something now and then. It’s what people do. Even a nap could happen because you don’t have to worry about what they’re doing while you’re asleep.”

  Her words soothed more than she could imagine. Jonathan had harbored unnecessary guilt over his absolute joy of an afternoon off now and then. “Thanks.”

  “Will you do me a favor?” she urged.

  “What?”

  Cara, ignoring their unspoken agreement to avoid physical contact, laid her hand on his arm and waited for him to meet her gaze. “Find a good sitter and make a standing arrangement. Every other Saturday for two to three hours—either in the morning to wear them out for their own naptime, or in the afternoon while they nap. You go out, stay in if she takes them somewhere—whatever. Just set up some refueling time. I think working hard forty to fifty hours a week—”

  “Sixty sometimes,” he corrected without thinking.

  “And then being a full-time dad while you’re off is going to burn you out.” Her hand dropped to the console between them. “If it hasn’t already.”

  Unnerved by the extreme lack of touching, Jonathan wondered if perhaps it created an even bigger emotional charge than if he would just hold her hand. That thought disappeared with the instant realization that the idea was a recipe for disaster. Did she feel it? Did she understand? Should he say something—assure her that it wasn’t her, even though it was? The moment he thought it, Jonathan knew she understood. He knew she felt it too.

  “Weird,” she whispered.

  “Tell me about it.”

  They “talked” for some time; occasionally they used words. The hour grew later and later until eventually, Cara sighed. “I don’t want to go in.”

  “But you should.”

  “But I should,” she agreed. Her hesitation told him that she wanted to ask if she’d see him the next day. It buoyed his courage. “Is it too much to ask…” Jonathan’s words trailed into the night air. What a coward’s way of inviting himself into her day. He was disgusted. “I mean, if you don’t have plans for lunch tomorrow, I’d like—” Her nervous giggle both annoyed and relieved him. Despite his usual distaste for giggles, he couldn’t help be glad to hear confirmation that she too felt uncertain.

  “I was just sitting here thinking, ‘I wonder if I’ll see him tomorrow,’ but I felt like a selfish twit for even thinking it. I know you have family and friends here. Don’t feel obligated.”

  “Oh, Cara mia…”

  Wide-eyed, she glanced up at him again. “Oh!”

  “That was so inappropriate—”

  “Don’t ruin it for me,” she growled. “I’ve waited all my life for someone to say that to me. Ever since I was really little and in love with the Addams Family, I wanted someone to call me Cara mia just like Gomez did.”

  “I could call you Morticia instead, if you like…”

  Making no move to exit the car, Cara smiled lazily and winked. “Not if you want me to answer.”

  “So about tomorrow…”

  “I’d love to see you,” she said simply. “But I think you knew that.”

  He nodded. “Well, I hoped…”

  “Lunch or dinner?”

  “Both?” The eagerness in his voice sounded pathetic, even to his own ears.

  “Excellent. What about dinner? What do I wear?”

  His index finger traced the piping on her little short sleeve absently. “Something comfortable with comfortable walking shoes. As much as I love the heels…” his eye traveled to the dark abyss of the passenger floorboard. He frowned. Her feet and legs were hidden by the darkness.

  “I’ll remember that. Okay, so comfy shoes, and will I need a jacket?”

  “Possibly. I’ll probably carry a jacket just in case.” He hated the realization that she was about to go.

  Cara opened her door, shaking her head as he started to open his. She was right, but he didn’t have to like it. Her eyes met his, even in the darkness. “Night, Jonafan.”

  “Night, Cara mia.”

  Chapter Five

  Cara rode down the elevator, staring at the mirrored tiles and feeling silly. She’d dressed up a little more than usual and it showed. Her summer dress and jacket was a copy of an outfit she and her mother had seen on Alexa Hartfield at a Fairbury event a few weeks earlier. Diane Laas had gone shopping for fabric the next day.

  Of course, after Diane clipped the last thread on the dress, both women realized that it would be too dressy for most occasions and too casual for formal ones. Today, Cara didn’t care. She’d be in jeans and a t-shirt tonight, so she wanted to look her best for lunch. As she stepped from the elevator, the look on the maintenance guy’s face told her she’d made the right decision.

  “See you in an hour, Dale.”

  “Not if I can help it. This stupid phone jack keeps going on the fritz, and if I can’t fix it th
is time, the phone company can come do it. You look good, Cara. Knock ‘im dead.”

  “Him who?”

  “The guy who has been waiting for you every day this week.” Dale winked, shook his head, and went back to work whistling “Pretty Woman” as Cara strode to the door.

  “Good one, Dale. Thanks.”

  “You tell me if he doesn’t whistle, and I’ll beat him up for you.”

  Cara’s laughter reached Jonathan as she exited the building waving at someone inside. She looked incredible. All she needed was a big white Alice in Wonderland bow and she’d be a walking Tiffany’s box. He took a step toward her and paused. With a grin, he stepped back, leaned against the car again, and enjoyed the sight of her eager approach. She stopped with their toes nearly touching.

  “You approve?”

  “I wanted to look around for Roy Orbison.”

  She leaned closer and whispered in his ear, “You should have listened harder. Dale the maintenance guy was whistling that as I left the building.”

  His head whipped toward the building before Jonathan could stop himself. Cara laughed. “Better be careful, he threatened to pound you if you didn’t whistle, and we both know you did not whistle.”

  Slack-jawed, Jonathan had to recover before he could respond adequately. He opened the door, and as she sank into the seat, he whispered. “How can I whistle when you took my breath away?”

  Before Cara found her voice, he gave a low, deep wolf whistle—something he’d never tried before. Her quiet, “Thanks,” told him all he needed to know. It was the right thing to do.

  Jonathan hurried to his door and slid into his seat. He stared at her, waiting for her to meet his gaze. When she did, he murmured, “No way. Thank you.”

  “Where are we going?”

  “Well, to be honest—” Jonathan choked back the rest of his reply, unsure if he should admit it. A sidelong glance told him he’d have to risk it. “I had planned to take you back to Mom’s house. I thought it’d be a way to share you a little without having to share too much, but…”

  Cara laughed. “Oh, no. You started, now finish it. What were you going to say, Mr. Lyman?”

  He surrendered after a failed attempt to find any honest excuse other than the real one. “I don’t want to. So instead, we’re just going to hope the Olive Garden or whatever place I find first—” A sign caught his attention. “Make that Red Lobster—has room for us.” As he spoke, he zipped across a lane and into the turn lane, earning him a few indignant honks. He started to pull into the front parking space, but an elderly woman pulled up behind him, sending Jonathan down the closest row.

  “Melt my heart, why don’t you?”

  As he helped her from her seat, Jonathan trapped her against the open car door for a moment. “I try.”

  Once inside, he waited to help seat her and then excused himself. “If they come to take our order before I get back, just pick something. I need to call Mom.”

  As he spoke to his mother and the children, Jonathan felt her eyes on him, watching the entire interchange. A glance her direction showed her amused. Why, he couldn’t be sure, but he intended to find out. When he finally returned to the table and sat down, she teased him. “If you would just text…”

  “If Mom would just use her cellphone…” At her silent question, he shrugged. “She has one. She carries it. She keeps it turned off. Mom says, ‘Cellphones are for emergency calls, not so that I can be at someone else’s beck and call.’”

  “May I take your order?”

  Once again, they didn’t speak throughout their meal. And once again, Jonathan marveled at her ability to adapt to any situation and make it as comfortable as favorite slippers on a cold, rainy day. “You are amazing,” he thought to himself, not realizing he’d spoken until she smiled.

  “Thank you.” His ears reddened and she smiled at him, amused. “Your ears get red when you’re embarrassed.”

  Jonathan attacked his sole as though it was the only thing on his mind. As he chewed, he noticed a slight dent in her skin near her ear. It took a moment for him to remember what was so familiar about the indention and when he did, he chuckled, choking slightly on his fish.

  “You were wearing a headband before you came out to meet me.”

  She didn’t answer. Instead, Cara opened her purse, pulled a wide leather headband from inside, waved it slightly, and put it back again. “How did you know?”

  “You have a dent by your ear where it cut into your head. Lily liked hers really tight so they wouldn’t slip off, but it meant that dent.”

  “Not me. I hate them tight, but I needed to keep my hair out of my face and everything else leaves a dent in my hair. If I hadn’t tucked it out of the way so my hair didn’t mop up my food, you wouldn’t have seen it.”

  He chewed in thought. Had she really removed a headband because she knew he liked her hair hanging free? The idea was inconceivable, but the answer in her eyes was irrefutable.

  Cara saw his question and answered before he spent the next twenty minutes pondering it. “Yes. I’m a terrible flirt. Sue me.”

  Though he wasn’t naïve, the idea that she’d worn something uncomfortable in order to look her best for their lunch astounded him. The dress—it seemed a little more than an office position required, but he was just unfamiliar enough with women’s clothing not to be certain. His desire to know overrode his desire to enjoy their arranged solitude and he finally asked.

  “So, tell me about that dress. Another of your mother’s?”

  “It’s a knock off.”

  He misunderstood her completely. “Well, I agree with you there.”

  “Not knock out, you silly, knock off. Mom copied it.” She hesitated, why he couldn’t decide, but before he could ask, she continued. “We were in Fairbury a few weeks ago—two or three—and Alexa Hartfield was wearing almost the exact same dress. Mom and I drooled, Mom decided to make it, and by the end of the week, I had this dress.”

  “She’s fast.”

  “Actually, she’s not. They ate pizza, cold cereal, and frozen burritos for four days straight.” Cara winked at him. “I’m just amazed and happy to have a chance to wear it, even if it is a little much.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Oh come on, even a guy should see that it’s really only appropriate for afternoon weddings and formal garden teas. When would I go to a formal garden tea?”

  Jonathan shrugged. “You said almost. What did your mom change?”

  “The waist. I’m short-waisted, so Mom put this white strip in the middle and bound the underlayers instead of hemming them to tie it in better. Miss Hartfield’s dress had a two inch leather belt, but I can’t get away with that.”

  “I’d say it’s an incredible dress,” he began, “but I don’t really know if it’s a great dress or if it just happens to be perfect for you.”

  “Well, I had to make up for being stuck with jeans tonight. They’re not the most flattering clothes, and I only have a few more days—” As she spoke, Cara blushed. “Speaking of which, I should give you my key.”

  Cara dug through her purse for the spare key she’d brought him. “I thought you might want to be able to get in and not have to wait for me.”

  “Do I get to explore?”

  She laid her napkin down, pushed her plate away from her, and held her head in her hand with her elbow resting on the table. “Jonathan, I have nothing to hide from you. You can go straight there after you drop me off and dig through every file and drawer in the place.” What had started as a joking challenge, germinated into a new idea—one he could see grow as if tangible. “Actually, I think you should come early. You might get to know me better if you looked through my books, my music, my scrapbooks, and my cupboards.”

  Horror filled him. What kind of person did she think he was? “I couldn’t—”

  “Seriously, if you want to get to know someone, check out where they live and how they spend their time.” She hesitated. “Jonathan, we only ha
ve a few days. If you gave me the opportunity to do this, I’d jump at it. I want to know you, and I have so little time to get to do that. I have the opportunity to give you what I’d love to do.” She pushed the key closer. “Do it.”

  “And if I find your seventh grade diary where you declared your undying love for Christian Bale, I can read it?”

  “I’ll know you didn’t if you think I cared a hoot for the spit swapping twerp from Little Women. I was in love forever with Keanu Reeves.”

  “You’re joking.” Jonathan stood as the server returned with his credit card.

  “Nope. The scene where he kisses Wynona Ryder—you hardly have to look for it. There’s a long trail of spit between them. It’s revolting.”

  “I meant,” he said chuckling, “that I was surprised you preferred Keanu Reeves. Wasn’t he too old for you?”

  “I like older men; what can I say?” She waited for him to open the car door. “I saw Speed and, oh man, I wanted to be Annie.”

  As Jonathan put his car in gear, he remembered the only quotable line he knew from the movie and turned to her. “‘But I’m not available to drive tomorrow. Busy.’”

  ~*~*~*~

  Despite the key that felt like a brick in his pocket, Jonathan did not intend to spend the afternoon in Cara’s home. He enjoyed their lunches and evenings, satisfied with the time he spent with his children while she was at work and couldn’t stand knowing he’d left them with his mother again so that he could flip through tax folders and pictures of her and the ex-boyfriend. No, he’d just have to get to know her the old-fashioned way, even if the idea of a seventh grade diary sounded like an amusing way to pass the time.

  His afternoon plans dissolved the moment he arrived home. Riley and Bryson raced to his arms as soon as he entered the door, asking about Cara and telling how Grandma and Aunt Jeannie were taking them to build bears, have pizza, and see the latest Pixar movie. Riley’s concerned voice nearly melted his heart. “Won’t you be sad all by youself? Gramma might let you come too…”