I'm just sitting down to my boxed meal when the phone rings. I'm tempted to let it go, except that I've been secretly hoping Eric will find out I've left town and get concerned enough to look for me. Maybe he's tired of Jessica and has realized what he lost. I just wish Mom had caller ID.
On the third ring, I pick up.
“Audra?” says a sexy male voice.
“No,” I answer flatly.
“Oh, is this her daughter, uh, Cammie?”
“Cassie,” I snap.
“Oh, it's easy to confuse all those names.”
“Yeah, our parents thought it was cute at the time, but they've been sorry ever since. Who is this?”
“Sorry, this is Todd. Remember? From last night?”
Like I needed a reminder. “Oh yeah, Todd, the guy who went to school with me but doesn't remember—”
“I do remember you now,” he says quickly. “I looked you up in the annual.”
“Oh, wow, I'm impressed.” I'm staring at my dinner, which had looked somewhat tasty but is quickly getting cold.
“Sorry,” he says. “I probably offended you last night.”
“Yeah, whatever. Look, my mom's not here. She's out with Ross Goldberg. Do you know who he is?”
“Of course.”
“Oh, well, did you know they were dating?”
“Sure. Audra told me she's been dating several guys.”
“Several guys?” I drop my fork.
“Yeah. I know she's not serious about me, Cassie” He pronounces my name like that's supposed to mean something.
“Yeah, that's what I heard too.”
“She told you that?” Now he sounds slightly hurt, and I feel a tiny bit guilty.
“Sort of. I guess she just thinks you're too young.”
“But that's where people are wrong,” he says. “I mean, it's okay for an old guy, like your dad, to take out a young girl.”
“Okay by whom?”
“You know what! mean.’ Our culture accepts it when old guys and young women hook up. You see it in the movies all the time. But when the roles are reversed, everyone gets all bent out of shape. They start calling the women cougars.”
“Cougars?” I pick up my fork and actually get some food on it. “I've never heard of that. What does it mean?”
“They see older women as predatory, like they're prowling around for young guys. Then they'll devour them and spit out the bones and go hunt for more. Cougars.”
“That's creepy.”
“Not to mention unfair. You don't hear people picking on older men like that.”
“Or younger ones,” I point out. “I mean, they can do the same thing: go out on the hunt, have their fun, dump the girl, and go find someone new.”
“Sounds like you've been hurt, Cassie.”
“Sounds like none of your business,” I shoot back at him, then take another bite. This stuff is really pretty good, at least while it's still warm, which it won't be for long if I don't get off the phone.
“Ouch.”
“Sorry,” I say. “But why are you keeping me on the phone when you obviously called to talk to my mom, the cougar?”
“Don't call her that, Cassie. Your mom is a sweet woman.”
“And old enough to be your mom.”
“That doesn't make her a cougar. I'm the one who pursued her, remember?”
“Are you still pursuing her?”
“Maybe.”
“Well, like I said, she's not home. She's out with Ross Goldberg.” Okay, I know I already said this, but I'm trying to make a point. Like get a clue. Give up already.
“At the chamber meeting, right?”
“Yeah.” I take another bite.
“That's not exacdy a date, is it?”
“I don't know. I guess it depends on what they do afterward. She took time to dress nicely.”
“Your mom always looks nice.”
I consider telling him about the days when she wore the same cardigan sweater until it looked like it was falling apart but think better of it. Instead I use this pause to eat a couple more bites.
“You could take a lesson from her, you know.”
I quickly swallow a lump of chicken. “Thanks a lot.”
“Sorry. But I was looking at your pictures in the annual, and you were a cute girl. I actually remember you from a creative-writing class. I had one last English requirement to take, and you were in the class that Mrs. Hornby taught. Do you remember?”
I feel my cheeks flushing slightly as I swallow the rest of that bite. “Yeah, I sort of remember.” The truth is, I totally remember. Todd sat right in front of me, and I would sit there and daydream about him.
“Mrs. Hornby was always saying you were such a good writer, and one day she read one of your stories, and I was pretty stunned that a junior girl wrote it. I remember turning around to look at you and kind of scratching my head.”
“That's probably the only time you looked at me,” I say and suddenly wish I hadn't.
“Well, the school year was almost over, and then I graduated. But I remember thinking that this girl has something going on, and if I had been around another year, who knows? I might've asked you out.”
“Well, isn't that nice.” Even so I'm sitting up straight now, I've pushed the food away, and I'm listening as if my life depended on it.
“I probably would've.”
“You're just being nice to me because I'm Audra's daughter,” I tell him, thinking I've probably nailed this one on the head.
“No, that's not it. I just looked up your photo, and I remembered you and how you caught my eye. You know I can't make up something like that.”
Okay, my memory is that Todd turned around and looked at me, and we locked eyes. I felt certain that he was falling in love, that he'd ask me out, that we'd be married by now with three children playing in the backyard. But I always figured it was just me.
“I'm sorry,” he says. “I'm sure I've offended you again. Look, Cassie, all I wanted to say was that I think you've gone through some hard stuff. Your mom told me a little about it at dinner last night. And I think it's taken a toll on you. And I really hope you can get it together. You're a cool girl with a lot going on, and I know that Audra's worried about you. That's all I wanted to say.”
I barely nod, still unable to speak. “Well, thanks,” I finally mutter. “I appreciate it.” Sure.
“Do you want me to tell my mom that you called?”
“No, that's okay.”
“Okay.” Now I really dorft want him to hang up, but I have absolutely nothing to say. In fact, I feel as if I've been rendered nearly speechless. Todd Michaels actually noticed me in high school. He thinks I have a lot going on. He actually knows my name. Well, go figure.
“I should let you go,” he says.
“Yeah. Thanks for calling…I mean, for saying those things.” I pause to compose myself. “That was nice. Really.”
“Okay, you take care.”
Then we hang up, and I'm suddenly not hungry I try another bite just to see. Nope. I throw the rest of it away.
‘m in something of a daze for the next few days. Mom bustles about in her busy life and jam-packed schedule, and I don't do much besides hang out at the house and take long, long walks. At first Mom bugs me about not coming back to the fitness center, but I explain I need to get to a place where I have more endurance, which I plan to do through walking for at least a week. To my surprise, she thinks this sounds like a good idea. I'm sure she's also relieved that I won't embarrass both of us by passing out at any of her classes.
But I'm finding that walking is therapeutic in many ways. Not only is the fall weather perfectly delightful, with things like autumn leaves and honking geese and pumpkins on porches, but it's also slightly inspirational. I remember other autumns when I had just started school and had great hopes for the year ahead, imagining how I would do something significant that year, how I'd learn what I was good at and then really excel at it—the way I saw my sist
ers doing. Autumn always felt like a second chance, a time of renewal and rebirth, of hope and expectation. That's how I feel as I walk now. I think about the things Todd said about me Monday night, about my potential and how I have “a lot going on.” I feel optimistic again. I realize I am only thirty-one, and if my mother can reinvent herself at fifty-five, I should be able to do equally well. I can do this, I tell myself. I'm a can-do kind of girl. Really, I am!
By the end of the week, I have something of a can-do plan. One: I will pay off my stupid credit-card debt and contact the police or proper authority with information about Monica. Its just plain wrong that she does things like that and gets away with it. Two: I will look for a job that suits me and has real potential. Three: I will join Mom's fitness club, if she is still willing to foot the bill, but on my own terms, which will not include spinning class. Four: I'll look into buying an inexpensive car. This walking thing is okay for now, but winter is coming.
By Friday, I'm actually starting to feel stronger, both physically and emotionally. After walking from ten until almost one (okay, I did stop for coffee), I decide to take Penny up on her invitation to come to happy hour at the new brewery this afternoon. I have a nap, then take a nice, long shower, and even shave my legs—something I hadn't done since I lost my job. Then I actually curl my hair and put on some makeup. Not too much, because I don't want to look desperate, but enough that I think I look presentable. Then I sit on my bed in my bathrobe and try to think of something cool to wear. Of course, the coolest things I own are my Valentino boots. But maybe that's a bit much. I don't want to look like I'm trying too hard. And the last time I wore those boots, things didn't go too well for me.
Even so, I try on several outfits with the boots and finally settle on a denim skirt, which actually looks pretty good. But it still looks like I'm trying to impress someone, which I am not—well, unless I thought Todd would be there, which I doubt. Consequently, I decide to go more casual. I mean, it's not like this is a class reunion or something.
I kick off the boots, which are already hurting my feet, and try several more combinations until I finally settle on my best jeans, which although just washed seem to fit better than they did last week. I top this with an olive green cashmere sweater that Eric once told me looked classy. Leaving the boots for another day, I go for my old-faithful Dansko clogs. They might not be chic, but they're comfortable, which reminds me that I'll be walking to the brewery. Another good reason to pass on the boots.
I try several pairs of earrings, but nothing seems quite right. Then I remember the pair of mossy green stone earrings that Cal-lie gave Mom for Christmas last year, and I know they'd be perfect. I doubt Mom would mind my borrowing them, especially since she's been worried about my lack of a social life.
So I peruse her jewelry box the way my sisters and I used to do when we were kids, and I try on several old things that I remember Mom wearing as we were growing up. She might not have been a fashion diva back then, but she always had good taste in jewelry. Finally I find the dangly green earrings, and they are absolutely perfect. Feeling only a litde guilty, I write a quick note explaining what I did and that I'm going out with friends. “And feel free to borrow anything of mine too—ha-ha!” I write with a smile face. Then I leave this on her jewelry box and head toward town.
I get to the brewery just a little before five and am not sure I want to go in just yet. Something about making an entrance when you don't know who will be there is unnerving. I wish I'd thought to call Penny and arrange to arrive with her. But standing out here on the street feels a little conspicuous too. I can't lean against the lamppost like I'm some kind of hooker. So I brace myself, give the big wooden door a push, and walk in as if I own the joint.
Okay, I feel a little weird going into a place like this without a date, but it's not like I'm going in a bar to pick up men. This is simply the hometown brewery, where I'll be meeting old friends. No biggie.
I glance around and don't see anyone I know. In fact, the place is pretty quiet. I wonder if I made a mistake, if I misunderstood Penny. I wish I knew her phone number. I'm about to walk out when I hear a guy call my name. And for no explainable reason (well, other than the fact I've been obsessing over him), I think it might be Todd Michaels. But when I turn, all I see is a middle-aged, bald dude wearing a Seahawks T-shirt that's stretched over his beer belly, waving at me. I have no idea who he—
“Gary Frye,” he calls out, motioning me over to his table. “Bet you don't remember me.”
I sort of smile as I approach him, deciding to play coy. “Not exactly,” I say. True, I remember the name, but as Penny warned me, this guy has really gone to the dogs.
“We graduated together. I played some sports in high school,” he says modestly. He chuckles as he pats his head and then slaps his belly. “But I guess I've changed some.”
I nod. “Yeah, we all have.”
“I missed our last class reunion,” he says, pointing to the bar-stool across from him like he wants me to sit down.
“Oh.”
“But I ran into Penny, and she told me that you'd moved back to town and that you might come to our little gathering sometime.” He grins. “And here you are.”
I sit down but feel like running. “Here I am.”
“What'U you have?” He hands me a list of the beers. “They have some great little microbrews here, and everything is two fifty until six o'clock. My buddy Brian Stuart—he was a little older than us—started this place up a couple of years ago. He asked me to go in with hifn, but I thought he was crazy to try to make this work in our little one-horse town.” Gary holds up his hands and makes a goofy face. “Guess I was wrong.”
“It's a nice place,” I say as I browse the list and try to think of an excuse to leave.
“Don't know where everyone is tonight,” he says, glancing around as if he expects someone to pop out of the pinewood paneling.
“I thought Penny would be here.”
“Me too. She usually is.”
Suddenly I feel bad about being rude. It doesn't really fit with my new can-do attitude. “Hey, I do remember you,” I say as if I've just had a revelation. “You were a real sports jock, weren't you?”
He grins and raises his mug like a toast. “That was me.”
“I'm surprised you know who I am.” I look curiously at him.
“No, I remember you,” he says and actually sounds sincere. “You were that quiet, brown-haired girl in geometry. Kind of kept to yourself.”
I force a smile. “Sounds about right.”
“Looks like you've come out of your shell.” He waves to the waiter. “Bring the little lady a beer, will ya, Tony?” Then he studies me. “You look like a pale ale sort of gal. My treat.” And before I can protest, he hollers at Tony to bring me a Black Bear Pale Ale. When Tony drops off my drink, Gary orders some wings to go with it. “Happy hour special,” he reminds me.
“So what do you do now, Gary?” I ask, thinking I can at least be nice.
“I've got a small landscaping business.”
“Uh-huh?” I take a tiny sip of my beer and try not to wrinkle my nose. I'm not much of a beer drinker.
“Gets a little slow in the winter, so then I do some snowplowing. I also sell firewood.”
I'm trying not to judge this guy, but it sounds like he's probably barely making ends meet. Must've been a comedown after being the big guy around town in high school.
“Did you ever marry?”
He nods. “Yep, you probably don't remember Mollie Peterson.”
I laugh. “Maybe if I'd lived under a stone back then. Mollie Peterson was homecoming queen, cheerleading queen, prom queen—she must have a whole trophy case of crowns. Did you really marry her?”
“Yeah, right out of high school.”
“So, are you guys still together?”
He looks down at his nearly empty mug and sadly shakes his head. “Mollie took the kids and left me about five years ago.”
“Kids?”<
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“Yeah, Jennifer and Jackson.”
“You have two kids?” I don't know why, but this astounds me. I mean, this guy seems a little like a kid himself.
“Want to see their pictures?” And before I know it, he's pulling out his wallet and showing me photos of two half-grown kids.
“How old are they?”
He chuckles. “Well, we had Jenny right out of high school. It was one of those shotgun weddings, if ya know what I mean. She'll be thirteen in December. Jackson came along right after, and he'll be twelve in April.”
“Wow, where are they living?”
“Seattle. We all moved up there for a while. Then our marriage hit some bumps, and Mollie hooked up with a guy from her work. My dad was having health problems, and I decided to come home and help out. He passed away last year.”
“I'm sorry.”
He nods and downs the rest of his beer. “Yeah, my dad was a good guy. But I live with my mom now and try to keep things up for her.”
The idea of this grown man still living at home doesn't really help his image much. Then I remember I'm in the same position myself.
“Do you see your kids often?”
“Oh yeah. I get them for most of the summer and some holidays. They'll be here for Christmas. I promised to teach Jackson how to snowboard.”
“So you snowboard?”
“Oh yeah. I love it.”
“That's cool.”
He orders another beer and talks about snowboarding and his kids and his mom and his business, and I manage to drink a litde beer without talking too much about my own life, which is nothing to brag about. But his easy manner helps me relax. I'm feeling like there's more to Gary than meets the eye. I wouldn't want to go out with him, but he'd make a good friend. Plus, he sounds like he's handy when it comes to fixing things.
“So how about you?” he finally says. “What've you been doing since high school?”
I start out with my normal answers, designed to impress. How I got my MBA and a great job in marketing, blah, blah, blah. Then I decide to drop the mask, and I tell him that I recently lost my job, broke up with my boyfriend, and moved back home to figure out my life.
These Boots Weren't Made for Walking Page 9
