Flirting With Pete: A Novel

by Barbara Delinsky

  Bathed in soft light, the room was less imposing. It smelled of leather and dark wood, and was actually quite homey. She looked first for Angus, checked on and under every possible perch, even gave the bathroom a quick look inside, but other than a bowl of water, a half-eaten bowl of food, and the litterbox, there was no sign of the cat. So she explored. She opened one armoire and found it filled with the kinds of slacks, sweaters, and blazers that Connie most frequently wore, along with several more formal suits and a tux. She opened the second armoire and found the opposite extreme— a collection of Gore-Tex jackets and pants, fleece pullovers, turtleneck jerseys, and wicking tees of the type that a hiker would wear. Casey would never have pictured Connie in these. Most looked new. Some still had tags from the store.

  She thought of the brochures she had found with his canceled checks, applications for trips that had been filled out but never sent. It struck her that Connie might well have had dreams, too, at least some of which had never been realized. She wondered if he had ever had dreams of a relationship with her. Since there were no brochures for that, no applications to fill out and leave unmailed, she might never know.

  Closing the left armoire door on the sadness of that thought, she opened the right door. There were drawers here. She hesitated for just a minute with her hand at the ready, aware that this was perhaps the most personal space and not sure she wanted to violate it. But if not now, when? she wondered. Besides, she wasn’t looking for intimate items. She was looking for a large manila envelope with journal pages inside. If it was here, even hidden under socks, she would see it.

  She began opening drawers. They contained socks and boxer shorts, undershirts and handkerchiefs. She found pajamas in one drawer, wool scarves and flannel shirts, neatly folded, in another. She found a drawer filled with loose change, collar stays, and cuff links. She found nothing resembling a large manila envelope.

  Closing the armoire door, she went to the table where the lamp stood. Beside the lamp was a stack of professional journals and books. She glanced through, recognized most, picked up two to thumb through later. A lower, smaller shelf was built under the first, but there was no large manila envelope there, either. She went into the bathroom and searched the stack of reading matter on a corner of the tub. Here was vicarious living at its best—People magazine, along with Field and Stream, Outdoors, and Adventure. That was it.

  The only thing left to search was the nightstand. Intent on looking there, she emerged from the bathroom— and Angus was there. He’d come out of nowhere to sit straight by the bed and stare at her. She wondered if he had been wandering through the dark house and just returned, or whether he had been here in the room all along, watching her search. He seemed as elusive as Connie’s affection.

  Whispering his name, she went up to him. She crouched down within arm’s reach and held out a hand. Though his nose twitched, his eyes never left hers.

  “Is that your bed?” she asked with a glance at the Sherpa ball tucked snugly beside one of the armoires. Its middle was indented. “I’ll bet that’s comfy and warm.”

  Angus didn’t reply.

  “I saw your things in the bathroom. Meg does a good job with the litter. And it looks like there’s plenty of food in your bowl. And water beside it.”

  Angus continued to stare.

  She sighed. “Okay. Movin’ on. Maybe you know where I might find the next part of Flirting with Pete.”

  The cat actually blinked. It was a slow blink. Casey recalled her mother’s cats blinking as a sign of trust. She found that encouraging.

  She raised her hand to touch Angus’s head, but he drew back. There was no mistaking that message.

  She spoke very, very softly. “I want us to be friends, Angus. I can understand that you’re missing Connie, and that I don’t fit in here. And I don’t know what’s going to be next week or the week after that. But you won’t be left alone. I promise you that. Connie loved you. So can I.”

  Angus gave her another blink. It was a while in coming, but was ample reward for her sitting there with him. Slowly, she stood. The cat sat directly in front of the nightstand. Not wanting to scare him off, she ever so slowly reached above him and opened the nightstand drawer. Inside was a treasure trove of miscellanea— a pair of glasses, Bic pens with various colors of ink, tiny Post-it pads, and small, thin spiral-bound notebooks. There was a pocket pack of Kleenex and a tube of lip balm. There was a crossword puzzle, torn from a small magazine and half completed. And a microcassette recorder.

  She took out the recorder and held it in her hand for a minute, acutely aware that the last person to touch it had been Connie. She had found one like it in his desk. That one had been blank. Trying not to get her hopes up, she pressed PLAY and heard nothing. Pressing STOP, she rewound the tape for several seconds, then let it roll. This time, she heard his voice. It was a familiar sound, one she had heard countless times. As always, it was low; Connie Unger had a way of making his point without raising his voice. But it was even more quiet now. More private. Introspective.

  She had known not to expect a personal message. After all, he hadn’t left one anywhere else. Still, something touched her when he began to speak. He talked in bits and snatches, about the changing world and the need for psychologists to keep pace. After every few phrases, he began with, “Tell them…” She realized that he was composing a speech.

  She listened until she reached blank tape. This time, she rewound all the way. The first thing she heard when she pressed PLAY was, “Call Ruth.” The phone number followed, as did, quickly, introductory words for his speech, starting with a thank-you to his host. Casey listened through the rest, stopped the tape where Connie had stopped, and returned it to the drawer.

  Angus meowed.

  “Oh my,” she whispered and knelt. “You recognized his voice, too.”

  Angus meowed more plaintively.

  “I know,” she cooed. He didn’t pull back this time when she raised her hand. She touched the top of his head tentatively at first, then with more conviction, stroking the silky fur there, scratching his ears. All the while, he looked at her, seeming confused.

  Seizing the moment, she ran her fingertips down his spine and, when he raised his rump, all the way up his tail. It was a bushy tail, quite long. Raised as it was, its tip was nearly even with the nightstand drawer. When it started to lower, though, it pointed straight at the iron knob that opened the cabinet beneath the drawer.

  Casey stroked the cat a minute longer. Then, reaching around him, she opened the cabinet. It held copies of National Geographic, all standing, spines out. The only thing breaking the pattern of yellow was a large manila envelope that had been slipped into their midst.

  She pulled it out. On the front was a familiar scrawled “C.” Pulse racing, she unfolded the clasp and looked in at the wad of typed papers. The briefest glance at the cover page told her what she needed to know.

  Sitting on the floor with Angus nearby, she read the pages in the envelope. When she was done, she stayed there and thought about what she had read. Finally, reclasping the envelope, she tucked it to her chest along with the journals she had taken. On impulse, needing comfort of her own, she leaned forward and tried to kiss Angus’s head, but apparently that was going one step too far. He drew back, looking on the verge of a hiss.

  So she just smiled and whispered, “See you soon, big guy,” and went quietly to the door. With a glance back at the cat, she flipped off the light, slipped quickly out, and ran smack into a large human shape.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Little Falls

  Jenny screamed.

  Pete held her by the elbows, steadying her. “Just me, just me.”

  “I thought you’d left,” she cried. She was breathing hard, half afraid to believe because the cold had been so real, so icy that it shook her still. But his hands were warm and his eyes warmer. He smelled of the no-nonsense soap she had bought in bulk on her last trip to the mall. And then there were his arms. They drew her in an
d held her with a conviction that said, “I told you I’d stay, so here I am.” But it was the way his face moved against her hair, her temple, her cheek that finally convinced her. He had shaved. The stubble that branded him a traveler was gone, leaving the smoothness of having arrived.

  She sank against him, whispering, “Oh God, oh God, oh God,” over and over.

  “Nope,” he hummed, “just me.”

  She raised her eyes to his, about to tell him what a horrendous time she’d had, when her thoughts started breaking apart. Panic, chill, fear— all dissolving. Desperation gone, surrendering with a sigh.

  “Better?” he asked.

  She nodded.

  He kissed her, so quickly that she didn’t have a chance to stiffen.

  “Okay?” he asked.

  She nodded and he kissed her again, only now she was remembering his earlier kiss, and the yearning she had felt then surged back. It filled her so completely there was no room for fear.

  “Kiss me,” he whispered, and she did. It was the most natural thing to open her mouth against his, to move it and taste him, and when he said in a moan against her lips, “You do that so good,” she believed him. She could feel his response, the rising, the angling to get closer. When his fingers slid down her spine and put pressure on the small of her back, she felt his erection pressed against her. It should have disgusted her. But disgust wasn’t what she felt. No, it was curiosity. And a belly-deep ache.

  He raised his head. Slowly he released her. She saw his eyes, a deep, deep blue. “It’s heart’s-desire time again,” he said.

  “Yours or mine?”

  “Yours.”

  “What would yours be?”

  “You know. But I’m trying to learn about priorities. So. Tell me what you’d like.”

  Same thing you want, Jenny surprised herself by thinking. When the thought embarrassed her, she dropped her gaze. It fell on his belt buckle. She hooked her fingers there and felt his heat.

  He grunted. “Think. Your heart’s desire. All you’ve wanted to do in Little Falls but never had the chance.”

  She didn’t have to think for long. “Go out riding.” Other couples did that all the time, and they didn’t have motorcycles.

  “That’s it?”

  She thought for another minute. “Maybe stop for something to eat.” Other couples did that, too. Jenny heard Miriam talking about it with AnneMarie and Tyler all the time. The hot place was Giro’s, an all-night diner twenty minutes out of town.

  “Easy enough,” Pete said. “But you’ll need to dress warm. It’ll be cold on the bike.”

  “That rules out the quarry, I guess.”

  He remembered her wish. She could see it in his eyes. “Swimming? Too cool. But we can ride out there and park.”

  Jenny liked that idea. She carried it with her up to her bedroom, where she scrambled out of her Neat Eats outfit, stripped right down to the skin, and went stark naked down the hall to the bathroom, half hoping Pete would see. The anticipation did things to her body. She was weak-kneed turning on the shower, and while she waited for the water to warm, she touched herself. None of her fantasies— and there had been hundreds, no thousands— none had gone as far as this. They had focused on the love, gentleness, and normalcy that she had decided should come before sex, and she had never had enough of the first to move on to the last— until now.

  She felt feminine. For the very first time, she felt justified dusting her body with perfumed powder and slipping into the low-cut panties and bra in her drawer. She brushed out her hair, brushing it hard until the curls were less tight. She felt light-headed.

  She supposed that was why she went to her mother’s dresser and dug through the middle drawer for the small tissue package that was tucked in the pocket of what had been her mother’s favorite blouse. Inside were a pair of drop earrings, two large pearls apiece. She fastened them on and measured their length against the length of her hair. When her hair came out longer, she tucked one side behind her ear. That felt just right.

  She pulled on jeans and a large sweater, and went looking for boots. The closest she could come to Pete’s leather ones were the tall rubber things that she wore during mud season. Like everything else in the house right now, they were spotless. She put them on.

  She took out the anorak Miriam had given her several years back. She was going to miss Miriam. Maybe they would bump into each other out west. Seattle wasn’t all that far from Wyoming.

  Pete was waiting by the side door with a hip to the wall and his ankles crossed. He straightened, looked her up and down, and grinned. “You look cool.”

  She grinned back. “You, too.”

  “Neat earrings.”

  She touched the pearls. “They were my grandmother’s. She was the first woman in the county to go to medical school. She came back here afterward, even when people said she was crazy to do it, but she was dedicated. She wanted to help the sick. So she opened an office. Mostly she made house calls.”

  “The townsfolk must have loved her.”

  “No. They didn’t appreciate her. She was too different.”

  “Was she your mother’s mother or your father’s mother?”

  Jenny tried to decide which would be more believable. In the end, because she had taken the earrings from her mother’s drawer, she said, “She was actually my mother’s sister, but much older and different from my mother. I always thought of her as my grandmother. She loved me that way. I was ten when she died.”

  “I’m sorry she wasn’t here to help you when things got bad.”

  So was Jenny, or so the fantasy went. But it wasn’t all fantasy. There had been an older sister. Jenny had met her once, then built a story around her. Everyone needed a relative like that.

  “But if she’d been here,” Pete went on, “she would have taken you away, so we would never have met, you and I.” He raised the hand that had been tucked by his side. It held two helmets. “You have a choice this time.”

  Jenny was barely grasping the meaning of his having bought a second one, when he nudged them her way. “Which one?”

  No contest. She took the one she had worn before, the one that smelled of him.

  Within minutes they were riding down the road, past the houses of neighbors who had watched Jenny in scorn all those years. They thought I wasn’t worth a dime. They thought I wouldn’t go far. They thought I didn’t have a prayer in hell of meeting a man who was more worldly and better looking than any of them. Her head rose a bit with each charge until she wore Pete’s helmet proudly and thought with satisfaction, They should see me now.

  They couldn’t, of course. They might hear the motorcycle, but it was whipping by too fast for them to see who was on it even if she hadn’t been hidden in a helmet, and, besides, it was foggy and dark. One part of her knew it was chilly, too, but she didn’t feel any of that. Excitement kept her warm.

  She hugged his middle on the ride through the center of town. At the far end of Main Street, he reversed direction and wove back along side streets, up one and down the next until no street in the three-block-by-three-block grid had been missed. If Jenny didn’t know better, she would have thought he wanted to wake anyone sleeping in the apartments over the shops or in the houses between, just as punishment for their unkindness toward her.

  But Pete wasn’t spiteful, as that tiny part of her wanted to be. He was curious, that was all. She imagined he wanted to see everything about her past one last time before they left, and so did she.

  They passed the elementary school, a rectangular structure with peeling paint on all sides and a worn playground in back. Jenny had loved kindergarten there. She had even liked first and second grade. By third grade, though, she had begun to feel odd. She couldn’t invite friends over, what with her parents’ arguing, and, besides, her father gave them the willies, the way he dropped her off and picked her up, glaring at anyone who came close. So she was left out of after-school and weekend things, and because those things were what everyone tal
ked about during school, she was left out of that, too. Because she was left out, she was a perfect target for the boys, who played the kind of tricks on her that Darden would have whipped them for had he known, which would have only made things worse, which was why she never told him. Silent suffering was safer.

  “See that open field?” she called to Pete a bit farther on. “That’s Town Field. We celebrate holidays there. Cookouts on the Fourth of July. Parades on Memorial Day. Races for the volunteer firemen in the fall and ice sculpture contests in winter.”

  “Sounds quaint.”

  Didn’t it just, Jenny thought, but she didn’t want to sound bitter, didn’t want to be bitter, not with her time in Little Falls growing short. So she showed Pete where Miriam lived, where her kindergarten teacher lived, even where Chief O’Keefe and his wife lived, though it made her feel uncomfortable. She would have shown him the house where Deputy Dan lived— its garage housed the police office, and it was a real pretty place— but he had a different road map in his mind. Following it, they rode to the VFW hall, parked under the chestnut tree where Jenny had first set eyes on Pete, and sat while the bike idled, gathering strength. Then they roared along Nebanonic Trail once more, up the mountain and down, and out toward the interstate.

  Pete took the curve of the up ramp at a heart-pounding angle and, reading Jenny’s excitement well, sped ever faster along the highway and through the night. She imagined it would be like this when they left for good. Astride Pete’s bike, she could go anywhere, do anything, be anyone.

  Too soon he pulled off the highway, but the sense of power stayed. It grew even stronger when, knowing just which roads to take, Pete turned in at Giro’s. He parked the bike, fastened their helmets to the handlebars, took her by the hand, and led her inside.

  It was Jenny’s dream come true. For once, she was one of the gals with one of the guys, sliding into a booth, ordering the same thick, oozy burger they did, munching the same greasy fries, drinking the beer on tap. When Pete fed the jukebox and dragged her to the small dance floor at the end of the bar, she was in seventh heaven. She danced like she had alone in front of her television, danced like others did. When he held her close and started moving in a way that was smooth and sexy, in a way she had never seen, read, or even dreamed about, she was in a heaven way beyond seventh.