Amanda_A Contemporary Retelling of Emma

by Debra White Smith

  “Uh, sure,” Amanda said and strode toward the hallway. Thinking the night couldn’t get any odder, she opened the door to discover Nate Knighton standing in the twilight.

  “Hello, Amanda,” he said with a hesitant grin.

  Twenty-Two

  While Nate had expected Amanda to be somewhat surprised by his visit, he hadn’t anticipated her shock. She stood in the doorway staring at him like he was a talking kangaroo.

  Once he realized she wasn’t even close to inviting him in, Nate decided to take the initiative. “Mind if I come in?” he questioned.

  “N-no.” Amanda shook her head, opened the door wider, and stepped aside. “Not in the least.”

  “I saw Angie’s car in the driveway,” he said. “I guess she’s here?” Nate asked as Franklyn stepped into the entryway.

  “Hello,” Franklyn said.

  “Oh, it’s you!” Nate replied. As his eyes adjusted from the shadows to the chandelier brightness, his designs for the evening spiraled to a crashing death. Simultaneously, Nate wished the floor would open and swallow him alive. He felt like a youth arriving to pick up his date, only to find she was leaving with someone else.

  “So good to see you.” Franklyn stepped forward, vigorously shook Nate’s hand, and smiled a warm welcome. By the time Franklyn stopped the hand-pumping, Nate realized the young doctor possessed no clue that he was viewed as a rival.

  In the middle of Franklyn’s friendliness, Nate noted he was just as tall and blond and broad-shouldered as ever. Like I thought he would change, he scorned.

  Nate’s mission had seemed unavoidable upon Betty Cates’s departure this afternoon. After several hours of walking and thinking along the beach, Nate had decided the time had come for him to at least hint of his feelings to Amanda—especially if he saw any kind of admiration in her eyes.

  But now, again, all he saw in Amanda were shades of Franklyn West.

  So much for that plan, he thought.

  “Looks like you already have company then.” Nate shot a glance just past Amanda and prepared to facilitate a swift and humiliating exit.

  “No.” Franklyn raised his hands, palms outward. “I was just leaving, actually.”

  “You were?” Amanda questioned, her brows arching.

  “Absolutely.” Franklyn nodded. “I mainly wanted to tell you I’m going back to London. Now that that’s done . . .” He rubbed his hands together. “I’ll be off.”

  Franklyn gripped Nate’s shoulder as if they were the best of friends. “Amanda says there’s a pot full of decaf that needs to be drank. I’m no good at that. I’m sure you’ll do a good job of it, though.”

  Nate’s smile felt much less stiff than he would have imagined. He could have really liked Franklyn if he weren’t the good-looking, charming, Amanda-focused sort. No wonder Amanda is so taken with him, Nate thought and had never felt so inadequate in his whole life.

  By the time the door shut on Franklyn’s departure, Nate was trying to remember what had possessed him to believe he should hint of his love to Amanda. Then he recalled Betty’s babbling about how she was so glad he’d decided to clean out his closet and how she’d told Amanda all about the things falling out on her and how she’d assumed he must be turning into a slob and how she now took it all back.

  At that point, Amanda’s comment at Janet’s party made perfect sense. With an accusatory edge to her voice, she’d told Nate she still had all his gifts. At the time, he’d grappled for her meaning. When Betty told him she’d informed Amanda about the closet contents, he then fully understood Amanda’s innuendo. So Nate had wanted to explain the closet problem . . . and so much more.

  An uncomfortable silence settled upon them, and Nate tried to smile.

  “Would you like some decaf?” Amanda finally asked.

  “Sure.” Nate shrugged and decided to make the most of his visit. “Why not?” As he followed Amanda through the hallway that led to the living and dining rooms, Nate wondered if he’d been using all the wrong strategies in dealing with Amanda. He’d thought staying away from her might help him control his wild heart. But in reality, Nate was experiencing the opposite affect. The less he saw of Amanda, the more desperate his love.

  He thought of the old clichés “Absence makes the heart grow fonder” and “Familiarity breeds contempt.” When he stepped into the living room, Amanda turned for the dining room. She looked great, even if she was dressed in faded shorts and a casual T-shirt. Several weeks had lapsed since he’d seen her, and Nate couldn’t look at her enough. He wondered if he should go back to the old pattern of seeing Amanda nearly every day. Even if familiarity did not breed contempt in this case, maybe it would at least help cool his fervent feelings.

  Nate felt anything but cool. He tugged at the collar of his polo shirt and wondered why he’d asked for coffee. The last thing he needed was something to make him warmer.

  He’d barely settled on the sofa’s edge when Amanda arrived with the decaf. “Two sugars, no creamer,” she said with a smile. “Just the way you like it—unless you’ve changed.”

  “Still the way I like it.” Nate accepted the mug, took an obligatory sip of the hot, sweet liquid, and set it on the coffee table. “Did I hear Franklyn say he’s going back to London?” he asked and tried not to sound as thrilled as he was.

  “Yes.” Amanda settled in the wing-backed chair near the sofa. “His aunt is sick—Wayne’s sister. She’s the one who raised him, so she’s like his mom.”

  “Aah.” Nate nodded.

  “Angie thinks she’s a hypochondriac and that she’s trying to manipulate Franklyn to come back home.” Amanda picked at the seam on the chair’s arm. “But Franklyn believes she’s really ill.” She shrugged and glanced at Nate. The green eyes that had always been clear and candid now observed him through a veil of uncertainty . . . almost distrust.

  Nate had never felt such a wall between them, and he struggled to breathe as well as to form something coherent to say. The whole idea that he should explain about the closet . . . about his love . . . seemed beyond ridiculous at this point. Even if Amanda did know about the closet, she probably deduced he was just cleaning house or something. He must have imagined the accusation in her voice when she told him she still had all his Christmas presents. Nate grabbed the mug of coffee and downed a large swallow. The liquid scalded his throat and trickled into his stomach with a burn that made him wince.

  “Yow, that’s hot!” Nate complained.

  “That’s what you get for drinking it like a crazy person,” Amanda sparred with a bit of the old spunk that used to characterize their relationship.

  Nate lifted his brows and smiled. “Thanks for the sympathy,” he retorted.

  “Anytime,” she said with a smile that nearly made him dizzy.

  “Nate, m’boy!” Harold Priebe’s voice boomed across the living room.

  “Mr. Priebe.” Nate nodded and stood. “Good to see you.”

  “Likewise! Likewise!” Harold rushed into the living room, his cup and saucer rattling with his every step. He plunked them onto the coffee table next to Nate’s mug, reached across the table, and pulled Nate into a fatherly hug. After thoroughly slapping his back a few times, the older gentleman released him.

  “I thought you were another fellow when you rang the doorbell. What’s his name?”

  “Franklyn,” Amanda drawled.

  “Oh yes, Franklyn. How could I have ever forgotten?” he said with a forced British accent and an extreme grimace.

  “He was here,” Amanda informed.

  “What happened to him then?” Harold glanced around the room.

  “He left already.” Amanda pointed toward Nate. “When this guy showed up, Franklyn left.”

  “Ah! I see!” Harold nodded. “I guess I went upstairs with one man after my daughter, and I’ve come back down to another one!”

  Nate nearly swallowed his tongue.

  “Like I told Amanda, if I have to choose one of you for a son-in-law, my first choice is
you. I don’t know why she persists on wasting her time with—”

  “Daddy!” Amanda laughed and stood. “Please!” She playfully slapped at his arm. “The last thing Nate and I need is to have you proposing for us. I’m sure Nate would come closer to marrying a sister than he would me—and I’d feel like I was married to my brother.” She laughed again and looped her arm through her father’s. “You’re just too ridiculous for words.”

  Nate had no choice but to laugh with Amanda, but his heart wilted and wept.

  “Well, maybe so,” Harold acquiesced, “but you can’t blame an old man for trying.” He hit Nate’s upper arm with the side of his fist. “The way things are going, the two of you have me worried. Franklyn’s on the verge of camping here, and Amanda says you’ve got some other interest these days.”

  “Daddy!” This time Amanda was not smiling.

  Nate slipped his hands into his slacks pockets and didn’t know whether to laugh outright or run. Harold Priebe certainly could get to the point when he wanted to.

  “You know I’ve never been one to beat around the bush, Amanda,” Harold said, and Nate felt the older gentleman examining him again. “I just want you to know that if this other . . . attachment doesn’t work out, you’re always welcome here, m’boy.”

  Looking up, Nate struggled for a way out of the awkward moment—until he glimpsed Amanda’s face. The poor woman looked like someone was choking her. He couldn’t stop the laugh.

  “See!” Amanda exclaimed. “He thinks it’s as ridiculous as I do. Now, stop all this.” She wagged her index finger from side to side.

  “Well, you can’t blame an old man for trying.” Harold repeated. He picked up his coffee cup and turned for the dining room, all the while mumbling something about hardheaded redheads.

  Amanda rolled her eyes, flopped into her chair, pulled the throw pillow onto her midsection, and said, “I’m sorry, Nate.” She glanced over her shoulder toward her retreating father. “I’m beginning to think he’s worried I’m going to marry Franklyn and move to London or something.”

  Well, are you? Nate thought, but wasn’t sure he wanted an answer any more than Harold did.

  “I can see why he might think that,” Nate said and purposefully kept his voice light, “especially if Franklyn’s been here quite a bit lately.”

  “He hasn’t proposed by any means,” Amanda replied and sat straighter in the chair. “We haven’t known each other long enough.”

  “How long will he be in London? Do you know?”

  Her focus on the coffee table, Amanda said, “I have no idea. He just told me he was going.”

  “Is he even planning on coming back, then?” Nate resumed his seat.

  “Yes.” She nodded. “He definitely said he’d be back. I just don’t know when.”

  The closed curtains prohibited the fading evening light from penetrating the room. The soft lamplight bathed the room in a golden aura that did wonderful things to Amanda’s hair. Nate wondered what she might do if he moved closer and kissed her pouty lips. On a whim, he toyed with the possibility that winning Amanda just might require such a drastic measure.

  But what would I do if she slapped me silly? he thought, and a chuckle leaked out before he could stop it.

  “What’s so funny now?” Amanda asked and smoothed at her hair. “Do I have problems? Half the time Betty Cates has lipstick smeared by her nose.” Amanda began rubbing at her nose.

  “No, no.” Nate shook his head. “Nothing like that.”

  “I promise,” Amanda held up her hand, “yesterday, her cleaning smock was buttoned crooked. And at Janet’s party, she still had a curler in her hair.”

  “I know. I see her all the time,” Nate said and tried not to recall how captivating Amanda looked that night. He eyed the steam swirling off the coffee and was tempted toward another sip. His irritated throat protested the very idea. Nate decided to down another swallow anyway. This time it wasn’t as hot.

  After his third gulp, Nate heard himself say, “Do you think Franklyn would mind if I took his lady out to lunch Monday?”

  “Who, me?” Amanda asked while Nate wondered where that proposition had come from. It certainly hadn’t been on his to-do list when he walked in.

  “Who else? We haven’t done lunch together in ages. I miss it.” That’s an understatement, he thought. “Don’t you?”

  “Maybe,” Amanda admitted and crossed her legs. “I have to admit that nobody else harasses me quite like you.” Her impish smile both charmed and invited.

  If this was anybody but Amanda, Nate would assume she was flirting with him. But he knew better. Amanda had made her thoughts clear. She could never view him as a husband prospect. Nevertheless, Nate was so desperate at this point, he was willing to even take Franklyn’s leftovers.

  “So do I pick you up or do you want to meet somewhere?” he asked and didn’t even bother to convince himself this wasn’t a date. Whatever Amanda might or might not think, it was a date to Nate.

  “Wait a minute!” She scooted to the edge of her seat and sat stiffly straight. “What about your . . . your . . . uh, your friend?”

  Nate propped his elbows on his knees, gazed at the carpet, and laughed.

  “What’s so funny now? I promise, you’ve got the weirdest sense of humor on the planet.”

  “Thanks,” Nate said and chuckled. “At least I’ve got something. Just let me worry about my friend, okay? She already knows we’ve been friends a long, long time.” He didn’t look up.

  “I guess there won’t be a problem then—especially if she understands there never could be anything, you know, romantic between us,” Amanda said.

  “Yeah,” Nate replied and didn’t even try to read her expression. He was too frustrated and couldn’t remember a time when he’d ever been more so.

  “Well, then, why don’t we just meet at the new café by my office? It’s called Arlene’s. Have you seen it?”

  “Yes. I’ve seen it.” Nate didn’t bother to tell Amanda he’d eaten there three days last week in hopes of bumping into her. Never had he felt like such a wretched beggar.

  Twenty-Three

  Three weeks later, Haley stared at the email that had just popped into her in-box. She blinked and leaned forward to make certain her contacts weren’t playing tricks on her. Sure enough, the name “Roger Miller” claimed the message line. Haley’s pulse leaped. She hadn’t heard from or seen Roger since the day he gave her a lift from the shopping center, despite the fact that she’d looked for him on nearly every corner. While she had been tempted to revisit the church the two of them attended together, Haley had refrained. She didn’t want to give Roger the idea she was chasing him.

  She also hadn’t wanted to attend Amanda’s church, given Mason’s presence with his new wife. Amanda felt the same. So the two friends had avoided seeing Mason at all and had chosen another congregation with which to worship. The church was small and sweet and welcomed them with open arms. Nate Knighton had even attended with them last week. Amanda said she’d confidentially explained a few things to Angie West and that Angie understood why they wouldn’t be attending her Bible study for a while.

  Never taking her gaze from Roger’s name, Haley moved her cordless mouse. The cursor jumped to the command and landed on his email. Haley clicked the message and devoured the text.

  Hi, Haley! It was good to see you the other day. Do you shop during lunch often? I’ll be picking up a pair of boots I ordered today. RJM

  Haley stared at the email a full thirty seconds and tried to determine some meaning. About the time she decided she’d gotten excited over nothing, she gasped.

  “I get it,” Haley whispered, and checked her watch. Her lunch break wasn’t for another two hours, but Roger was hinting that he’d like to see her again if she so chose. He was going to be at the shoe store where they bumped into each other. Haley drummed her fingers along the tidy desktop and debated how best to answer Roger.

  The last few weeks had been a time o
f intense soul-searching. She’d taken Amanda’s advice and tried to determine if what she felt for Roger was the beginning of true love or just a heavy dose of gratefulness because he had noticed her. Even though she often turned heads these days, Haley found herself looking back at the men—not because she was responding to them, but because she was searching for Roger. Still, she wasn’t certain if he was “the one.”

  After that chance meeting several weeks ago, Haley had been tempted to email Roger. But she’d talked herself out of even thinking about writing him. The last thing she wanted was Roger thinking she was chasing him. When days spanned into weeks, Haley finally decided she wouldn’t hear from Roger ever again. She’d even come close to resigning herself to this fate as of last night. Then the message popped into her box.

  I could just arrive at the shoe shop at noon, she thought, and never considered not meeting him.

  Then she imagined Roger sitting in front of his computer at the farm. He lived in a modest one-bedroom house five acres from his parents’ homestead. The computer was in his tiny living room that also held a couch, a TV, and nothing else. Haley pictured him staring at the screen, awaiting her response. She placed her fingers on the keyboard and typed the first words that came to mind.

  Hello, Roger. Good to hear from you. I often shop for bargains during lunch. Nice to know you ordered new boots. Haley.

  She snickered as she pressed Send. If he could communicate in code, then so could she.

  A wave of caution swelled from the aftermath of glee. Haley decided this was one meeting Amanda didn’t need to know about. Amanda would not be happy—not in the least. Not adept at being sneaky, Haley squirmed with the realization that she’d have to think of a way to keep Amanda from wanting to go to lunch with her today.

  Amanda had already mentioned that Nate Knighton was involved in a business meeting and wouldn’t be joining her for lunch. That statement had been accompanied by a silent understanding that the two friends would enjoy their noon meal together. Haley’s mind churned for a means to discourage Amanda from a girlfriend lunch session.