“You drink your tea cold?” Mason asked.
“Sure!” Amanda nodded.
“How enchanting,” Mason replied. He crossed his arms and included Haley in his endearment.
His glowing approval prompted Haley to explain. “We learned how to make it during a trip to the southern United States last year. We both brought home a huge supply, and we’ve been drinking it ever since.”
“Would you like some, too?” Amanda questioned and put her brush on the easel.
“Sure!” Mason agreed.
“I’ll get it,” Haley said and started to stand.
“No!” Amanda and Mason said in unison.
“You’ll mess up your pose,” Mason continued and slipped off his jacket. “You couldn’t be closer to perfect right now.” He dropped the jacket on the back of a wicker chair, positioned his hands as if holding a camera, and focused solely upon Haley.
She lowered her gaze to the golden sandals.
“I’ll be only a minute,” Amanda promised as she walked toward the door to the kitchen. “You two entertain each other until I get back.” She wrinkled her nose, wiggled her fingers, and directed another discreet wink toward Haley.
“I’ll come help you,” Mason said and hurried toward Amanda.
“No, no, no!” She placed a restraining hand upon Mason’s shoulder and shifted her index finger from side to side. “You stay here and make sure Haley doesn’t move a muscle.”
The rhinestones on her earrings shimmered in the diminishing sunlight, as did the shimmery lip gloss. Haley was certain the whole effect had nearly given Nate a heart attack . . . along with several other men on their short trek from Knighton’s to O’Brien’s Restaurant.
“Well, if you insist,” Mason hedged.
“Absolutely!” Amanda enthused. “Believe me, talking to Haley is ten times more exciting than pouring tea.”
She hustled from the sunroom before Mason had a chance to protest again.
“Well!” he said and sat on the wicker love seat nearest Haley. “I guess it’s just you and me.”
“Yes.” Haley averted her gaze to the mountains, now dark against an indigo sky streaked with pink and gold and azure.
Mason shifted. The wicker creaked. Haley detected a faint whiff of his masculine cologne. The sporty scent reminded her of the ocean and sand and sun and brought back memories of her trip to the Bahamas last year.
Haley hadn’t been seeing Roger then. A faint worry trickled through her soul. She pressed her thumb against her fingers and held her breath.
Mason cleared his throat. “So you and Amanda have known each other three years.”
“Yes, three.” Haley lowered her head and cast him a sideways glance. His stylish blond hair, square jaw, and straight nose chased away thoughts of Roger.
“She seems to have some promise as an artist, don’t you think?” He observed Haley with that steady-eyed gaze that suggested she was the only woman in the world.
“Absolutely,” Haley agreed. “But she’s such a perfectionist.” She waved toward the four unfinished portraits propped against the far wall. “In the past, she’s only gotten so far. She’ll be doing fine, then she decides she doesn’t like something. So she scratches the whole thing and starts over.”
“Maybe this time will be different,” Mason asserted. “She probably just needs a little encouragement. I’ll be that for her.” He laid his hand on the love seat’s armrest. “I’ve got a good friend who owns an art gallery in Melbourne. I was thinking it might encourage her—and you, as well, of course—if I send the portrait off to be professionally framed once it’s finished.”
“Wow! You’d do that?” Haley leaned forward.
“Of course.” Mason shrugged and blasted her with another white-toothed grin. “That’s what friends are for.”
Four
With a pitcher of cold tea in hand, Amanda hovered near the refrigerator and peered over the beverage bar that served both the sunroom and kitchen. She couldn’t decipher what Mason just said, but Haley’s ready smile suggested he was charming her into a purring fit. Amanda giggled and hurried toward the cabinet holding the tall tumblers.
Roger doesn’t have a chance, she thought before setting the pitcher on the counter. She nearly broke into merry whistling as she took three glasses from the cabinet. Another giggle gurgled up her throat.
This couldn’t be more perfect! she thought and decided the wedding must happen by fall. That’s just six months away. Amanda imagined a modest wedding with herself marching down the aisle as maid of honor. She was wearing a tea-length dress in rich apricot, a perfect accent for her hair.
When she stepped back to the refrigerator for the ice, memories of Nate-the-grouch blotted out the wedding plans. Amanda glared at the refrigerator, whipped open the freezer, and yanked out the ice bucket. The cool plastic chilling her palms was nothing compared to the icy knot in her heart.
After suppressing a good cry in the restaurant’s ladies’ room, Amanda had walked back to the table and said nothing of the barbed exchange between her and Nate. He’d been coldly polite to everyone. Once he swallowed the last bite of his strawberry cheesecake, Nate mumbled something about needing to go home, and left. Amanda had been so embarrassed by his curt behavior, she’d stammered for something to say until she suggested they all go to Haley’s place. Thankfully Haley agreed with her usual ease.
“Too bad other people can’t be that easy to get along with,” Amanda complained as she plopped the ice bucket on the counter. She dropped several pieces of ice in each tumbler. With each clink of ice on glass, she struggled to make sense of Nate’s odd behavior. She could understand his wanting to look out for his cousin’s best interest—just as she wanted to look out for Haley’s.
“What I simply cannot understand,” she whispered and focused on the eyelet curtains above the sink, “is his bizarre interest in whether or not I get married and his dreadful remark about my driving him mad.”
He’s never been so rude to me. Never!
Her eyes stung anew. Her lips trembled. Amanda grabbed the ice bucket, stomped toward the refrigerator, yanked open the freezer door, and slung the bucket inside. It crashed against a tub of ice cream with a clunk and jiggle of ice. Amanda shoved the door closed, rested her forehead against the refrigerator, and closed her eyes.
Mason’s rich laugh reminded her she had an important project underway. She squeezed her eyes tight until twin drops of moisture oozed from the corners. Amanda swiped at the tears with unsteady fingers, lifted her head, released the freezer handle, and straightened her shoulders.
There’ll be time for crying later, she decided. I’ve got Haley’s future to think about now.
“Heeeellllllo! Heeeellllllo! G’day, mate!”
The parrot’s shrill voice drifted from the living room and pierced Nate’s fitful sleep. He moaned and covered his head. The smell of fresh linens attested that today was Saturday. His cleaning lady, Betty Cates, came every Friday. She changed the sheets, dusted everything in and out of sight, swept, mopped, and did all sorts of other things Nate didn’t even want to think about.
“Here kitty, kitty, kitty, kitty! Heeeeeeeeeere kitty! Meow! Meow! Meow!”
Gary’s morning calls normally made Nate smile. But today he was in no mood to be awakened by a parrot with a wild vocabulary fueled by Amanda’s twisted American humor.
“Cock-a-doodle-do!” Gary bellowed. “I said, cock-a-doodle-do, man!”
Nate grabbed the pillow and crammed it against his ear. Seven o’clock was no time to be waking up when a person had barely slept all night. Nate didn’t have to look at the clock to see what time it was. Gary was better than any alarm clock and as predictable as the sun.
“Amanda! Amaaaaaaaaaannnda! Where’s Amanda?” Gary slid into a laugh that duplicated Amanda’s carefree giggle.
“That’s it!” Nate growled. He slung back the covers, swung his feet out of bed, and stood. Frowning, he stomped across the polished wooden floor toward
the door that opened into the living room. In dawn’s shadows, he slammed the door.
Gary shrieked but soon recovered. “Cock-a-doodle-dooooo!” he squawked.
Nate stepped to the room’s corner and fumbled with the knob on a portable fan. He twisted the knob, and the fan hummed into the highest rotation. Gary’s routine was drowned out by the drone.
“Thank goodness,” Nate grumbled, then grimaced at the pasty taste in his mouth. He languidly scratched his chest, stretched, and tugged at his pajama bottoms while walking back toward the bed. Nate glowered at the open drapes, which were allowing the weak morning sun to seep into the room. As usual, the Tasman Sea rolled toward the white beach, the sunlight hitting the waves that sparkled with droplets of gold.
A new day. A new sun. A new ocean. Nate’s normal morning chant spun through his mind and was as welcomed as Gary’s annoying mantra.
“I need sleep,” he groused and yanked on the curtain cord. The drapes swished forward and blotted out the maddening light. Only a faint remnant bled around the edges.
He rolled onto the bed, covered his head, and squeezed his eyes shut. But his ragged mind began repeating part of Gary’s routine: “Amanda! Amaaaaaaaaaannnda! Where’s Amanda?”
Soon the clean sheets took on an imagined aroma of whatever that fragrance was Amanda wore last night. Nate uncovered his head. “The sheets smell like laundry soap, not Amanda,” he said through gritted teeth. Nate flopped onto his stomach, punched the pillow, and buried his face into the soft folds.
His mind churned with the events of the past twenty-four hours. He’d gone from being charmed by Amanda’s usual eavesdropping in the office to being duped into believing she was some flirting Cleopatra with inviting, bronze lips. From there, the evening grew worse while his temperature increased.
Before it was over, Nate had argued with Amanda, not only about her interfering in Haley and Roger’s relationship, but also about her decision not to marry. Nate couldn’t determine which issue aggravated him more. He rolled over, opened his eyes, and stared at the ceiling.
Through the years, Amanda had repeatedly proven herself to be nosy, strong-willed, and beyond reason when she made up her mind, but never had she been more exasperating. And last night she had the audacity to show up looking like . . . like . . . Nate flopped his arm across his forehead.
“Like some twenty-five-year-old woman!” he complained aloud and admitted that he could have cheerfully smacked that waiter for ogling her. Nate rubbed his gritty eyes, scrubbed his face with his palms, and finally admitted the truth he’d fought all night.
I was attracted to her and jealous of that waiter!
He propped himself up on his elbow and stared at the closed curtains. Gradually he understood the problem. Until last night he’d viewed Amanda as the Princeton-bound teenager he’d dropped off at the airport seven years ago. From that vantage, Nate had made a career of teasing her senseless, indulging her like he was an elder brother, and . . .
“And flirting with her,” he confessed and considered their daily lunch meetings. Yesterday he’d called them dates. “Are they dates?” He attempted to analyze the situation. When all logic failed, he thought, Whatever they are, they’ve got to stop!
Nate’s attention slowly slid to the charcoal drawing hanging on the wall near the foot of his bed. Amanda had drawn the ocean from the deck that stretched half the length of his home.
His focus shifted to the pile of clothing lying where he’d dropped them last night—a pair of khaki pants and a gold shirt that Amanda had picked out.
He touched the elastic waistband of his pajama pants that featured the Warner Bros.’ Tasmanian Devil character. Amanda had given them to him three birthdays ago. She laughed like a schoolgirl when he opened them. He’d worn them ever since.
“Oh boy . . . oh boy, oh boy, oh boy,” Nate mumbled and scrambled out of the bed.
“I am not!” he argued with himself.
“I will not!” he added.
“I cannot! I refuse to let this happen! It’s . . . it’s . . . insane!” Nate nodded. “It’s worse than insane!” he yelled at himself. “She said she’s not getting married!” He rubbed his face again and tried to recall any romantic attachment in Amanda’s life since she’d arrived home from college. The list was a short one. As in there were no names.
She’s serious about not getting married!
“I’ve got to stop this, and stop it now!”
He walked toward Amanda’s drawing, removed it from the wall, and brainstormed for a place to put the thing so it would be out of sight. He marched to the hallway that connected his bedroom to the guest room. The closet was the perfect place for the drawing. Betty Cates was a cleaning machine who organized every inch of Nate’s home. That meant this closet actually had spare space.
He opened the door, flipped on the light, and eyed the empty top shelf. “Perfect!” he proclaimed and prepared to put the framed art out of sight.
But he made the mistake of glancing at it one last time. Nate touched the glass. She put hours into this, he thought and recalled sitting on his deck while she stroked the paper with charcoal. They’d shared lemonade, some laughs, and a beggar seagull that wouldn’t quit until they threw him bread.
Nate’s fingers tightened upon the frame. The longer he held the drawing, the closer he felt to Amanda. The closer he felt, the more he knew he needed to make a clean break before he got more ensnared than he already was.
Tightening his jaw, Nate slid the drawing onto the top shelf and hurried back into his room. His next stop was the pile of clothes. He swept it off the wooden floor, wadded it into a ball, and walked to the closet. The shirt was his favorite because Amanda perfectly understood his taste.
He looked at the ball of cloth and remembered her saying she’d gone to four shops trying to find the right golf shirt. As a result, Nate had worn it more than any other. Amanda teasingly referred to it as his uniform. Nate deliberated over releasing his uniform as much as he had the drawing. Finally he opened the door, tossed the shirt and pants inside, then shut the door before his resolve weakened. Knowing his mind was too shocked to sleep for hours, he flipped off the fan.
“Amanda! Amaaaaaaaaaannnda! Where’s Amanda?” Gary’s raspy voice made Nate consider placing the parrot in the closet as well.
“Can’t do that,” he told himself and eyed the Tasmanian Devil pajama bottoms clinging to his hips. “These have got to go,” he decided.
Soon he was dressed in a pair of sweats, a T-shirt, and running shoes, all of which Amanda had nothing to do with. His mouth was minty fresh. His stomach was pleasingly full of cool water.
And the pajamas were on the closet’s top shelf with the drawing.
The only thing left to do before his morning jog was feed Gary. Once he had his fresh bird food along with a few carrot and apple slices, the parrot usually stopped the spiel and settled for a while.
Even though Nate’s eyes felt like they were full of sand, he had never been more alert. As he hurried from his bedroom into the beach home’s expansive living area, he began developing his plan. Nate’s father had taught both his sons that the best way to stay on track in business was to develop a solid strategy and stick with it. Using that method, Knighton Sr. had expanded one Hobart department store into a national chain with offices in Brisbane and Sydney and new stores opening in Europe.
Nate figured if that method worked in business, it would work in his personal life, as well. His plan would be simple. He would avoid Amanda and remove anything connected with her from his life.
Unfortunately, Amanda isn’t business, he told himself. And avoiding her will be like avoiding myself. How simple is that?
“But what else am I going to do?” He lifted both hands and imagined himself dissolving into a big glob of jelly the next time he saw her. That was exactly the way she made him feel last night.
Rubbing his forehead, Nate stepped passed the leather sofa and approached his parrot, who had the best vantage in
the whole room. The cage sat in the middle of the large window that offered a full view of Nate’s private stretch of the Tasmanian coast.
“Good morning, Gary!” he proclaimed and detected the faint odor of feathers and seeds. “You old buzzard, you woke me up, didn’t you?”
“Here kitty, kitty, kitty, kitty!” Gary replied. The bright-blue bird jumped from the side of the cage to the swing in the middle. “Amanda! Amaaaaaaaaaannnda! Where’s Amanda?” Gary bobbed his head up and down and mimicked Amanda’s laugh.
Nate flinched. The bird was one thing he could not give up. The parrot had been with him for ten years. Many birds like Gary lived to be forty or fifty. Nate had made the commitment to Gary. He could not abandon him because of his vocabulary.
But he’s the only exception to the plan, Nate thought. I’ve got to at least try to avoid her. That’s the only way to get her out of my blood.
He checked the brass clock sitting on the mantel. The pendulum forever swung with ease and grace, and the clock declared the time to be seven thirty.
The timepiece also had the unfortunate fate of being given to Nate by none other than Amanda—last Christmas, to be exact. Nate recalled the way she’d plopped the box in his lap and said, “Here. Open this. You desperately need it.” Then, when he struggled to remove the ribbon, Amanda wound up unwrapping the gift for him. The whole time she pulled the brass clock from the box, she was explaining that he should put the piece on his mantel.
Nate smiled. At times Amanda could be as cute as an impulsive child. But that childlike quality, coupled with this new awareness of her womanhood, sent Nate into a fresh panic.
Nate pointed at the clock. “It’s in the closet for you,” he said as the phone belted out a ring.
While he strode toward his cell phone sitting on the corner computer desk, he deduced that the caller was probably his elder brother, Gordon. The guy always had a way of phoning at odd times. A week ago, he woke Nate out of a deep sleep at one o’clock in the morning because he was wide awake with his six-month-old baby and in the mood to talk. It never occurred to Gordon that Nate wouldn’t be awake then.
Amanda_A Contemporary Retelling of Emma Page 4
