by Roslyn Woods
The tow truck wasn’t going to get there for forty-five minutes. It was actually just about the right amount of time for Margie to stay in the LBJ Library while the reception was going on. She found an unoccupied chair in a distant corner of the huge room and sat making her calls while her eyes followed Donald Carter around the crowd.
He seemed to know several people at the reception, including the woman who had introduced Maxine Kumin. He was laughing, visiting, and shaking hands with this person and then that one. Tilda was wrong. He does participate with the people he likes. At one moment, Margie even heard Dr. Sorenson introducing him to someone as “a psychologist with a genuine interest in poetry.” A psychologist? That was a surprise.
When she finally saw the tow truck pulling up on the pavement near the entrance, Margie hurried out into the cold to speak with the driver. It took a few minutes, and when she was at last signing the form on his clipboard, she felt she must have turned into an ice cube. She resisted allowing her teeth to chatter as she turned to go back into the lobby.
“Hello,” she said, surprised by Donald Carter approaching.
“I thought I’d check on you,” he said.
“That’s kind of you, but it’s really unnecessary—”
“Is your friend on the way?” he interrupted.
“Well, if you must know, I couldn’t reach her, but a cab should be here in a half hour or so.”
“If you don’t mind canceling the cab, I can give you a ride. The library’s about to close up.”
Margie looked through the glass into the lobby and saw they were cleaning up inside. Most everyone must have been leaving during the twenty minutes she was dealing with the towing service. She didn’t relish waiting outside in the drizzly cold for another half hour.
“I’m really perfectly okay waiting for a cab—”
“You’re going to be alone in the dark, and I’d feel guilty if I didn’t stand in the cold and wait with you,” he argued. “It’d be a lot easier on both of us if you let me drive you home.”
This is much better behavior. “Are you sure?” she asked.
“Absolutely,” he answered with a slight smile. “My car’s this way.”
In a couple of minutes Margie was buckled up in Donald Carter’s pickup truck and calling the taxi service to cancel.
“So I’m headed south,” he said as he pulled onto Red River and Margie admired the lights of the city through the mist.
“I live on Second Street east of Chicon,” she said.
“Are you kidding?”
“Why?”
“I have a place on Ninth. We’re practically neighbors.”
“It’s a small world,” said Margie, still shivering from standing in the cold.
“Are you chilled? We could stop at Russell’s for a cup of coffee,” he said.
There it is. She had just known he was going to ask her out for coffee.
Chapter 11
Russell’s was small and lit up with candles when they went in. It was really just a coffee and dessert place, but Margie had heard they carried a really good coconut cake, and on any other evening she would definitely have wanted to try it.
Donald Carter pulled a chair for Margie before seating himself opposite her at one of the bistro tables near a large window. “I’m going to have something with my coffee. For some reason I’m starving,” he said.
“I’ve heard the coconut cake is good,” she said, looking out the window at the heavy mist, thinking she could almost watch it freeze as it landed on the cars in the parking lot.
“Well, I’ll try it, then,” he answered. “What about you?”
“I don’t know. Those slices look pretty big,” she answered, glancing at the glass case by the counter.
“Ah, live a little!” he said.
The young woman who came up to their table had short blond hair and was smiling coyly at Donald Carter. Margie wondered if women always reacted this way to him.
“What can I do for you?” she asked, smiling and batting her eyes ever so slightly. It was all Margie could do to keep from rolling her own.
“Two hot coffees and a two pieces of coconut cake,” he answered directly.
“Oh,” said Margie, “I can get mine.”
“No, this is quicker,” said Donald.
“Well, thank you,” Margie responded, not particularly happily as the server walked away with their order. This was starting to feel like a date, and she realized she wasn’t ready for anything like that to happen. Right now she was struggling with her own anger at Jeremy Bird, and anyone in her presence was in danger of getting some outrage overflow. She just wanted to drink a cup of hot coffee and warm up before going home and trying to reach Shell again.
“Oh, have I misstepped?” Donald Carter asked, detecting the tone of her thank you. “You don’t need to fear that I’m making a pass at you. That’s the last thing I want to do. I just thought you looked cold. Paying for this is just expedient, and truthfully, I wanted to eat something.”
That’s the last thing you want to do? “You haven’t misstepped,” she answered while thinking the exact opposite. “I’m just dealing with my own outrage at the presumptuousness of men right now. Don’t take it personally.”
“All men aren’t presumptuous.”
“Really? I’ve yet to meet one who isn’t.”
“Every single man you’ve met is presumptuous? How would you know?” he answered, and Margie could hear something in his voice she couldn’t interpret. It was either annoyance or amusement. Then he continued, “Well, we’re not getting off to a very friendly start, are we?”
It had been a bad couple of days, a terrible discovery in the parking lot, and Margie suddenly realized her eyes were aching with pent up sadness. Oh no, please don’t get emotional, she thought, gritting her teeth and trying to will her unshed tears away.
“You’re right,” she answered, looking out the window again and hoping he was looking somewhere else. She disliked weepy, emotional women. She had always prided herself on how well she had managed being alone in the world. She wasn’t one of those women who needed to be taken care of, and she tried to sound matter-of-fact when she said, “I’ve had a bad couple of days and I’m not myself. It’s kind of you to get me coffee and take me home.”
And then something awful happened. Donald Carter leaned forward and said something kind. “I don’t blame you if you’re mad right now. I’m actually kinda mad at your ex right now, too.”
Now the tears filled her eyes and were threatening to spill onto her face. “I’m feeling like an idiot,” she said, not daring to look at Donald Carter. What must he think of her? “Three months ago he seemed like such a nice guy. But, you know,” she said glancing up at Donald Carter again, “I knew deep down that he wasn’t genuine. I don’t know why I allowed myself to become involved with someone like that.”
“People never really know what they’re getting into,” he answered. Margie had heard the same thing just yesterday when Shell had been telling her about Dr. Leone.
“I guess that’s true, but everyone doesn’t turn out to be a psychopath.”
“True. If you live alone you should probably stay with a friend for a while. This guy seems to be fairly out of control.”
“How is it you’re so wise?”
“Me? I’m old.”
“No,” she said, wanting to know but not wanting to ask. “I’m feeling pretty old today myself.”
“You’re just barely out of college.”
“I’m twenty-four.”
“Like I said,” he answered, as if she had just made his point. Then he added, “I’m thirty-four.”
“Wow, that’s old!” she said. “Exactly my brother’s age. Did they have pencils when you were a kid?”
Donald Carter had the grace to chuckle before he said, “So we’re the same generation, even if I am getting long in the tooth and you’re still wet behind the ears.”
“Who are you, anyway?” she asked, her eyes
narrowing as she leaned forward. She was certainly curious about him.
“I moved here from New Hampshire a couple of years ago. I’m a clinical psychologist.”
“Why is it people always tell you what they do when you ask them who they are?”
“It’s part of who we are. What do you want to know?”
“Let’s see,” she said, pausing and thinking. “What’s important to you?”
“Poetry. Literature. Psychology. Nature.”
“Nature?”
“I’ve started birding lately.”
“No family on your list?”
“I have divorced parents. I don’t get along with either of them very well. No siblings. Your turn.”
“Both parents are dead. I have a half-brother in California. We’re not close.”
Donald Carter didn’t speak for a moment, and the blond girl arrived with steaming cups of coffee and a tiny pitcher of cream.
“And what’s important to you?” he continued as the server walked away.
“Friendship. My best friend is like family to me. And let’s see, yeah, I like poetry too. A lot. And I love to cook.”
“Your degree?”
“BA in Sociology. Headed for culinary school soon.”
“Ever been married?”
“Once. Another mistake. He was actually a pretty nice guy, just not the right guy for me. Became a dentist. We were married less than a year. You?”
“Yes. Not a mistake, but she died in a car accident two years ago.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Thanks. It’s just the way it is,” he said. It was his turn to look out the window.
“So now you’re—” Margie began.
“Trying to get my life in order. Avoiding relationships for as long as possible. Years, I hope. Just trying to establish my career in Austin and pursuing my interests.”
So is that why making a pass at me is the last thing you want to do? “That’s exactly where I am. I told Shell today—that’s my best friend—that I’m going to stay away from relationships for a very long time. All I want to do is finish culinary school and get myself set up in a career I really want.”
“Was it a hard decision?”
“Going solo?” she asked. Donald Carter nodded before she responded. “Easiest decision I ever made. Kind of a relief, really. There aren’t that many guys who like redheads, and I don’t seem to like the ones who do. I divorced one of them, and the other one turned out to be a psychopath.”
“You think there are only two?” Donald Carter asked, raising his eyebrows before he started laughing. Margie noticed he had very nice teeth.
The girl with the blond bob was delivering the cake. “Enjoy!” she said, with an extra smile for Donald Carter, and turned to walk away.
There was a silence, and Margie looked at the cake. The crumb looked just right, and the tiny bits of coconut that fell onto the plate from the exterior were toasted to a perfect caramel color. She stared at it and sipped the coffee, just thinking.
“Are you going to try it?” asked Donald Carter.
“I’m contemplating it.”
“I suppose you make cakes?”
“Yeah. I actually do a lot of baking at home, but I also work at Pete’s Perfect Pastries. Why don’t you try it and give me your verdict?”
Donald Carter didn’t pause. He took up his fork pushed it neatly through the point of the perfect wedge before lifting a large bite to his lips, his eyes on Margie. She watched his face as she took another sip of coffee.
“What do you think?” she asked.
“Moist, but not too moist. Sweet, but not overly so. The coconut flavor is coming through nicely. I think the frosting is—let’s see—something like marshmallow.”
Margie took a bite while he watched and waited.
“How’d I do?” he asked.
“Very well. There’s probably coconut milk—or maybe coconut cream—in the cake itself, and the frosting is definitely a marshmallow cream with a dash of coconut extract, but that’s asking a lot of a layperson. I’d give you an A.”
“Why cooking?” he asked as he cut another bite of cake.
“I always enjoyed cooking. Baking, too. My mom didn’t cook, so I think I got a lot of credit when I started improving things in the kitchen at our house, and I identified with it. Then in college, everyone wanted to come over to my place to eat. You know how college students are always poor, so everyone would bring part of the fixings, and I’d create a meal that seemed to them like a feast. It made me feel like a rock star.”
“I imagine you were very popular.”
“I had friends. I needed friends, so it was good.”
“Everyone needs friends.”
“What about you?”
“I was a nerdy loner.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. I was figuring myself out. When I finished grad school I worked with kids for a while. Then I got married and the accident happened. So I decided to move to Austin and start over.”
“Why Austin?”
“I think it was really far away from my parents and my tragedy. I wanted to get away from it. I knew a guy from grad school who lived here, and he and his wife are sort of friends of mine. They kept reminding me what a great town Austin was.”
“How do you like it here?” she asked.
“I like it fine.”
“You’ve even adopted our habit of wearing cowboy boots,” she said, with a smile and pushed her fork through the cake again. It was amazing that she was starting to enjoy herself. “You joined a practice? What kind of counseling?”
“Yes. It’s fairly general. Helping people get over traumas, some marriage and family stuff, some depression.”
“Sounds like heavy lifting to me.”
“It is. Sometimes I need to escape.”
“I bet. So you go to a lecture.”
“Not your idea of fun?”
“Actually, it is my idea of fun. I just can’t find many people who agree with me about that.”
“What about your best friend?”
“Oh, she does. She was just busy solving a mystery tonight.”
“Hmm.”
Margie had eaten about a third of her cake slice and had put her fork down. She was sipping the coffee again, looking out the window.
“You gonna finish that?” Donald asked, eyeing the cake.
“It’s all yours. I try not to consume too much dessert at this hour.” Who am I kidding? I’m playing feminine. What’s wrong with me?
Back in Donald Carter’s pickup truck, Margie was still wondering what had come over her. Sure he was handsome, but why was she so out of control?
It only took a few minutes to get to 2nd Street at this hour, almost ten o’clock, and there was very sparse traffic.
“You can just pull-up to the curb here to drop me off,” she said. She was definitely not asking him to come in for a nightcap, even if he did live close by.
Margie saw the windows before Donald did. Of course, he wasn’t yet sure which house was hers, but when he heard her sudden intake of breath, he knew something was wrong. His eyes followed hers up to the neat little porch with the blue entry door, but he didn’t take those things in. He took in the broken panes of what he would later learn were her kitchen and living room windows.
Donald parked the truck and got out with her, but neither of them spoke while Margie took in the scene before her. She didn’t realize she was trembling when he came to stand beside her.
“You don’t need to be afraid,” he said. “He’s gone.”
“This is more anger than fear,” she answered, taking a step toward the house.
“Let me go with you. I can check to make sure it’s okay, but I’m sure he’s gone.”
“Okay,” she agreed, a strange feeling of calm coming over her. Donald wouldn’t let Jeremy hurt her even if he didn’t think she was attractive.
She climbed the steps, took out her new key, and turned it in the lock. Donald w
ent in first and Margie followed him. He went through the living room, the kitchen, the small bedrooms, and the bath.
“It’s clear,” he said, returning to the living room, “but you need to pack a few things and get out of here. Seems your ex is just plain crazy, and you shouldn’t be alone in this house.”
“Right. I’ll call Shell to come get me.”
“I think waiting here might be a bad idea. I can drive you to her place,” he said. “But you also need to contact the police. That guy probably did this before he destroyed your windshield. And don’t forget he tried to run us down in a parking lot. We’ll have to tell them about that.”
He was right. It was time to call the police. There needed to be a restraining order at the very least, and Jeremy needed to know that law enforcement was aware of him.
“Okay. This feels so strange,” she said as she pulled her phone from her purse.
“It’s the right thing to do. I’m going to walk around outside and check your back windows.”
“Okay,” she said again as she dialed 9-1-1.
Donald Carter was pretty much taking over, telling her how to manage things, but Margie didn’t mind. She was glad he was taking over. She wanted him to take over. She would think through the implications of this when she wasn’t so upset.
Chapter 12
Margie had just ended the call with the police dispatcher when her phone rang. It was Shell, and she answered just as Donald returned to her living room shaking his head to indicate that there was nothing new to be seen in the backyard.
“Hello?” she said, pulling her attention away from Donald and back to her phone call.
“Oh, Margie! I’m so sorry!” Shell was saying. “Patrick had me turn off my ringer for dinner and I didn’t hear my phone buzzing because of the music in the restaurant! Are you okay?”
“I’m fine. I’m at my house, but Jeremy smashed my windshield while I was at the lecture, and when my new friend drove me home we found my front windows broken, too.”
Margie cringed when she heard herself calling Donald Carter her “new friend,” but she didn’t know what else to call him. “The handsome man I met at the poetry lecture?”
