Love Online (Truly Yours Digital Editions)

by Nancy Toback

  “I know.” Linda smiled. “Brittany and Frank made the arrangements.”

  “Did I hear my name mentioned?” A grinning Frank waved his hand as if he couldn’t care less and picked up his chat with Brittany.

  Linda placed her hand on his. “Do you want to go for a walk after dinner? Just the two of us?”

  Tom shrugged. Even now his heart was dragging him toward the exit, out the door, to comfort Jess. “Frank’s right. I’m not very good company lately.”

  “Let me be the judge of that.” Linda’s blue-green gaze captured his in an expression that told him she held no animosity. “Brittany has to go home early anyway. How about that walk?”

  Tom nodded. “Sounds good.” And it did. He caught Dora’s attention and signaled for the check. Instead of coming to their table, Dora summoned him with a crook of her finger.

  He and Frank split the tab, walked to the door together, and divided into twosomes outside. “Good. It stopped raining.” Frank winked before departing with Brittany, their arms looped.

  As Linda walked beside him, Tom dipped his hand into the pocket of his suit jacket. The note Dora slipped him was still there. He wadded it up in his hand. He would read Jess’s letter—eventually. But now. Now belonged to Linda, and he intended to be the gentleman his father had taught him to be.

  Tom cleared his throat. “I’d like to apologize again. I don’t make a habit of being rude, but I—”

  “No apology necessary. I was in love once.”

  Linda’s hand brushed his, but he made no attempt to hold her hand. He’d been a cad all night.

  “By the way”—Linda smiled—“I think Jessica and I look a lot alike.”

  Tom couldn’t help grinning. “Believe me—I noticed.” Keeping Jess out of his thoughts when he was with Linda would be an uphill battle.

  “Why did you guys break up?” Linda stopped midstep, looked up at him, and grimaced. “Sorry—it’s none of my business.”

  “No, that’s all right.” They strolled one long city block after the other, mostly in comfortable silence, and ended up sitting at a wrought iron table at an outdoor café on Second Avenue.

  Maybe it was the warm May night or sipping cappuccino as a light breeze ruffled her shiny, dark hair, but talking to Linda came easy. He hadn’t bared his soul, but he’d answered all her questions honestly. “Do I get an award for world’s worst blind date?”

  Linda smiled. “I will say”—her smile faded, and she met his gaze—“Jessica’s blessed to have a friend like you.” She rested her chin on her fist. “May I humbly suggest you tell her you’re in love with her?”

  “Thanks, but it’s too late.” Tom nodded his certainty. “If anything, this online dating thing has caused us to drift apart.” Besides, he wouldn’t mind getting to know Linda Anne Baker better. He’d been so busy filling her in on the gaps in his life, he’d discovered little more than her full name and that she worked as a registered nurse in a hospital somewhere in Manhattan.

  Linda glanced at her watch and frowned. “Sorry, but I’ve got to be on my way. What if we get together again sometime?”

  Nodding, Tom smiled. “Sounds like a plan.”

  They wound up the evening promising to pray for one another, for God’s perfect will to prevail in their lives, then took separate cabs home in opposite directions.

  Tom stared out the taxi window. He knew less than nothing about Linda’s circumstances, but the Lord did. He could only pray generally until they met again. Next time he’d let Linda do all the talking. This dating thing would take some getting used to.

  The cabbie pulled in front of his building. Tom reached into his pocket for the fare and remembered Jess’s note. He stashed some bills into the metal receptacle.

  “Have a great night.” The driver gave him a mock salute.

  “You too.” Tom exited the cab.

  Tonight’s events proved one thing. He had a long way to go till the sparks of hope for Jess were completely extinguished.

  Eight

  Sitting at the table, Jess gazed unseeing at her open Bible. The sound of the gurgling coffeepot, the aroma of fresh-ground beans filling her kitchen, hinted at an ordinary Thursday morning.

  Nothing indicated she had grappled all night to bat away tormenting questions. Drenched in sweat, she’d leaped out of bed twice, paced, prayed, and searched her Bible and her heart.

  Why had she written Tom the note?

  One haunting truth emerged—the sight of Tom, openly falling for another woman, left her with a lingering sense of dread. The ensuing panic at the initial sight of them together had sent her running from the table in Flavors, then drove her pen across the paper to compose a note, which upon reflection she might have written while in a trance.

  Jess pulled in a jerky breath and glanced at the digital clock on the coffeemaker. The minutes rolled around to eight A.M. exactly. She stood, lifted the cordless, and pressed SPEED DIAL. Please, Marilyn, pick up.

  “Praise the Lord, Keith speaking.”

  “Keith?” Jess winced. “Sorry to disturb you so early.” The background music at the Johnsons’ included a crying baby, clanging utensils, and Marilyn warning, “You’d better eat those pancakes!”

  “Another crisis, Jessica?” Mercifully, the humor in Keith’s voice came through. She could almost see the blond, broad-shouldered minister grinning at the other end of the line. He looked like a beachcomber, but he lived passionately for God.

  “Keith.” Jess twisted the belt on her robe, mentally paring her long list of troubles. “I wanted to ask—” A child’s high-pitched squeal stopped her cold. “It’s not important really. It’ll keep till Marilyn has some free time.”

  A burst of laughter reached her ear. “My honey-bun hasn’t had free time since Nathan was born. But not a problem—she’s right here.”

  Jess opened her mouth to protest—

  “Morning, Jessica.”

  Too late. “Marilyn. I shouldn’t have called.”

  “Of course you should have.”

  Jess combed her fingers through her tangled hair, a rat’s nest testifying to the angst-filled hours of darkness. “I–I saw Tom last night.”

  “Tom? Didn’t you go out with—what’s his name?”

  “Jim.” Goose bumps skittered over her arms. She pulled her robe tighter. “Please. Don’t remind me.”

  “That bad?” Marilyn offered a moan of condolence. “Well, if it’s any comfort, I’ve been there.”

  “Yes, I know.” Jess took her large clay mug from the cabinet. “I guess I wasn’t prepared for how depressing it would be. Everything was forced. Artificial. You know?” She poured coffee and set down the glass pot. “After last evening I’m truly convinced I’ll end up alone.” She swaggered to the table, hot liquid splashing over the rim of her cup onto her bare toes. “Do you think the Lord meant for us to meet our mates online?”

  “I don’t know, Jess. All I can say is, I can’t complain.” The warmth in her voice conveyed her deep affection for Keith.

  Jess smiled. “Your husband is one in a million, Marilyn.” She sighed. “But I’m afraid this Internet dating thing isn’t for me.”

  “Come on—you said you’d give it five tries. One down, four to go.”

  “I know what I said, but that was before Jim.” Jess floated a paper towel to the tile floor, pressed her foot to it, and began mopping up the coffee spill. “You’re a lot more adventurous than I am. I risked something new and look what happened. I spent the evening dodging the boasts of a narcissist.”

  “Nothing awful happened, Jess. This guy may not be a match, but—”

  “Isn’t a match, Marilyn. He definitely is not.”

  “Fine, but there are hundreds of Christian men on Love Online. There must be a few diamonds in the lot. Just a sec, okay?”

  The sound of muffled voices told her Marilyn had covered the mouthpiece. Jess closed her eyes. She had to find a way to reclaim her self-respect in Tom’s eyes. If only she could turn back ti
me, tear up the note, flush it—

  “Hi, I’m back.”

  Jess grasped the wooden chair for support. “I’m still here.”

  “Keith said he’d watch the kids so I can shop. Maternity stuff. But would you like to come along?”

  “Yes, definitely.” Jess slumped into the chair. “I need to talk to you.” She massaged the dull ache at her temple. “I did something very stupid.”

  “Um. . .is this the part about Tom?” Marilyn giggled.

  Jess’s stomach clenched. “I’ll tell you when I see you.”

  ❧

  Sitting in a big armchair in the dressing room, Jess remained a silent observer—except for “oohing” and “aahing” along with the elderly saleswoman as Marilyn modeled maternity gowns.

  Marilyn, pregnant with her third child, was hunting for a fancy dress for Corinne’s wedding. The invitation from her only remaining single friend had arrived in her mailbox back in February, virtually sucking the breath out of her. Everyone in her group had predicted Corinne, a.k.a. The Brain, would be the last to don a gold band. The feisty redhead had been preoccupied with accumulating one degree or another.

  Tilting back her head, Jess closed her eyes. Tom had restored her hope on that particularly cold, gray day. “We still have each other,” he’d said, instantly dissolving her panic. But Tom didn’t phone last night—or this morning.

  “Jess? What do you think?”

  Her eyes snapped open to see Marilyn pirouetting in front of the three-way mirror. The satiny blue gown puffed, then settled against her bulging tummy.

  Motioning with a thumbs-up, Jess nodded. “It’ll do the trick, for sure.”

  “Okay, then—sold.” Smiling, Marilyn disappeared behind the dressing room curtain, the saleswoman at her heels.

  Jess instinctively crossed her arm over her own barren womb and steered her thoughts to the words the Lord had dropped into her heart in the wee hours. Fear not, for I am with you always.

  Her eyes burned. Let Your presence be all I need for peace and contentment, Lord. But fear—the opposite of faith—had been her constant companion lately.

  Jess sighed. Huffing, puffing, and unzipping noises drifted to her ears. Chances were, she’d never try on maternity clothes. She’d been the dutiful daughter, practically scaling mountains to please Daddy. She’d put on hold her deep-down dream of having a husband and children—a storybook family—so she could make him proud of her career achievements.

  Jess held tight to the cushioned chair arms. Guilt sliced through her. Instead of being grateful for all her father had done, she was blaming him for shoveling the pit in which she found herself now—the last single woman in her crew of friends.

  The saleslady emerged from behind the heavy, green curtains, looked down at her, and smiled. “Do you have children?”

  Already fighting tears, Jess swallowed past the knot in her throat and read the gold name tag pinned to the woman’s navy blue dress. Thelma.

  “She doesn’t have any yet.” Marilyn’s muted voice rallied as if in her defense. “But someday soon.”

  Thelma pretzeled her thin, wrinkled arms over her midsection, her blue eyes dancing. “You’re certainly young enough. Never had children myself.” She sighed. “And at seventy, I’m not expecting one anytime soon.” She twittered a laugh.

  Jess chewed her bottom lip, eyeing Thelma as she labored over the haphazard pile of clothing. Bending slowly, the frail woman picked up a blouse and slipped it onto a hangar with shaky hands.

  Before she knew it, she’d be Thelma. Only she’d be breaking her back over a steamy grill in a greasy-spoon diner to support herself.

  “I lost my husband about a year ago.” Thelma extracted another plastic hanger from the snarled jumble on the metal rod. “Harry.”

  “I’m so sorry.” Jess stood to her feet and grabbed a dress from the mountain. “I’ll help. I’m getting bored sitting here.”

  “Oh, aren’t you a dear.” Thelma sat on the battered folding chair and continued sorting. “Harry used to take me everywhere.” Looking off, she smiled as if her paramour stood in the distance. “Silly me—never learned to drive. He’d wait in the beauty parlor a whole hour till my hair was done. My sister takes me now.” She patted her gray, sprayed hairstyle and sighed. “But she doesn’t wait for me.”

  “I can’t drive either, but—” No, she couldn’t say she had a friend who’d whisk her away anytime, wait for her with a patient smile. Her heart told her those days were gone forever. “How long were you married?”

  Thelma stopped fastening the snaps on a silky black dress. “Ten years and a month.”

  Jess pulled her gaze from the woman’s gnarled hands. She felt a sweat break out on her brow. “You must’ve met late in life.” She clamped her teeth over her bottom lip. She had no right prying into the woman’s business, searching for answers to her own pathetic situation.

  “No, no, Harry and I grew up in the same neighborhood. Bensonhurst.” Thelma rested her hands in her lap. “If you want to know the truth, I was too fussy. Turned him down again and again till he got tired of asking.” She stood and heaved a sigh. “Eventually he married. I didn’t. I realized too late—Harry was the only one for me. Never did meet anyone like him after that. Oh, well, we all make mistakes.”

  Mistakes? Pressing her hands to her cheeks, Jess shook her head, mentally rewriting Thelma and Harry’s story. “But then you did get together in the end.” Her voice rang frantic in her own ears.

  “Yes, I heard through the grapevine that Harry’s wife had passed away.” Thelma lifted her bony shoulders in a shrug. “A little investigating and I found his phone number.”

  Jess searched for breath. Was this how she would end up? Stalking Tom at seventy after he’d lived a life with another woman? And usually women outlived their husbands. What if she never had the opportunity?

  Marilyn suddenly appeared at her side, her dress slung over one arm. “Are you ready?”

  Jess nodded. “Nice meeting you, Thelma.”

  “Same here, Dear. Come back when you’re pregnant.”

  “I–I will.” Jess floated toward the register, her heart skipping beats. A doomsday feeling washed over her once, then again.

  “I’m so thankful I found something for the wedding.” Marilyn tapped her charge card against the countertop. “Three weeks away and I—”

  “Do you think I’m fussy?” Jess licked her dry lips. “Be honest.”

  “You mean picky? About clothes?”

  Tamping down the irritation of talking quickly, Jess shook her head. “No. About men.”

  “Fussy about men?” Marilyn muttered under her breath. She signed the credit card receipt, snatched the garment bag, and tilted her head. “Which men?”

  “Marilyn?” Jess huffed a breath. “You’re being evasive.”

  They rode down the escalator, then walked across the store and out the door in silence. “Don’t mind me.” Marilyn wore a repentant smile. “You know I like to think before I speak.”

  “And what do you think?” Jess kept her gaze glued to Marilyn’s face as they merged into the lunch crowd on Fifth Avenue. “You can be honest.”

  “Fussy may not be the right word here.” Marilyn’s thoughtful frown relaxed. “You’re very accepting of your friends’ choices in men.”

  “Yes, I love Keith. And, well, you’re right.” Jess felt a relieved smile tug at her lips. “I can’t think of any of my friends’ husbands whom I dislike.”

  “By the way.” Marilyn hesitated midstep on the sidewalk. “You mentioned that you saw Tom last night.” She pointed to a diner. “Mind if we go in here for a bite?”

  Jess nodded, though an upside-down stomach replaced her appetite at the mere mention of Tom’s name. Pressing her hand to her purse, she felt for the cell phone. Still there. Still silent.

  “Good—we got a table.” Marilyn tagged behind the hostess.

  Jess gathered her wits and followed. The scene in Flavors flashed in her mind all o
ver again. Unless she imagined it, the smile Tom’s date had given her conveyed a mixture of pity and condolence.

  Finally seated and looking across at Marilyn, Jess folded her hands on the tabletop. “While I was with Jim in Flavors, Tom showed up with his Love Online date. Can you believe that?”

  Marilyn’s brows pulled together. “So what?”

  Slumping against the chair, Jess stared. “You don’t think it’s a little conspicuous—just a tad crass? Maybe awkward for him to have brought his date into my restaurant?”

  “Honestly?” Marilyn snapped the menu closed. “No, I don’t, Jess. You said yourself you two are only friends. Maybe he likes the food, Chef.”

  Jess’s shoulders sagged. Would no one understand? “He didn’t do it on purpose.”

  Marilyn squinted. “Who didn’t do what on purpose?”

  “Tom. He stopped by our table to say hello.” The memory gave her heart an unwelcome jolt. “I introduced him to Jim, and Tom, standing next to him, looked so—” She shuddered. “I can’t handle another flashback. Anyway, Tom happened to mention that Frank made the reservations. Frank was there with a date too.”

  Marilyn nodded slowly. If she was getting the picture, her blank expression showed no signs of it.

  “In any case I couldn’t bear another moment in Jim’s company, and with Tom there—” Jess slid to the edge of her seat. “I went to the rest room, wrote Jim a note of apology for having to leave, and gave it to Dora to pass on to him.”

  “You walked out on your date?” Marilyn’s mouth hung open in a circle of awe.

  “I took care of the bill. I was nervous, okay?” The better part of judgment told her not to go on with the worst of it. “And then I gave Dora a note—to give to Tom.” The confession tumbled out of her mouth as if of its own volition.

  A mild gasp escaped Marilyn’s lips. “Jess! He was on a date!” She shook her head. “What kind of note?”