Deirdre Martin

by Deirdre Martin

  “Why did you change?” Katie gasped.

  “I wanted to make a good impression,” her mother replied.

  “It’s Paul van Dorn, Ma, not Prince Charles.”

  Her mother shrugged diffidently and with a flounce, started toward the living room, Katie trailing behind.

  “Paul.” Her mother gracefully extended a hand. “So honored to meet you.”

  Please God, Katie prayed, don’t let her drop down into a curtsey.

  Paul smiled politely. “Nice to meet you, too, Mrs. Fisher.”

  Katie couldn’t meet his eye; she was too busy staring down at the brown shag carpet, hoping it would open up and swallow her.

  “How’s your head injury?” Katie’s mother continued chattily. “I hear medical science is doing simply wonderful things for brain damage these days.”

  Katie lightly cupped Paul’s elbow, steering him back toward the door. “We’d really love to stay and chat, Mom, but we have to run. See you later.”

  “Sorry about that,” she said once they were outside.

  “What?” Paul asked, getting the car door for her.

  “My mother’s transformation into a curtseying neurologist. I don’t think I’ve ever heard her use the phrase ‘so honored to meet you’ in my life.”

  “There’s a first time for everything. Ready?” he asked as he slid into the driver’s seat.

  “Where are we going?”

  “I thought we’d go down to Nesmith’s Creek.”

  “O-okay.”

  “Not okay?”

  “Isn’t that where high school kids go to make out?”

  “Not anymore. At least, I don’t think so.” He winked at her mischievously. “Guess we’ll find out.”

  Engine roaring, he backed out of the driveway with a screech of the tires and began racing up the street. Katie had been so preoccupied with getting him out of her mother’s house she’d failed to notice what kind of car he had. All she knew was that it seemed to go very fast, very quickly and the seats were low to the ground.

  “What kind of car is this?”

  “A 1969 Shelby Cobra,” Paul said proudly, revving the engine again. “Just bought it.”

  Katie smiled indulgently. She knew nothing about cars. As long as it had four wheels and got her where she wanted to go, that was all that mattered. Speed and status meant nothing to her.

  “So this picnic,” she began tentatively. “What have we got in the basket?”

  . “Wine, of course. Some pate. Caviar. Fresh mozzarella and roasted peppers. Crackers. Brie. Granny Smith apples. And last but not least, chocolate truffles.”

  Katie barely heard the specifics, her mind translating the picnic menu into “Fat, fat, and more fat.” She tried not to panic. Going off Fat Fighters for one night wasn’t going to wreck years of careful dieting, right? Besides, she was starving. She’d been so nervous about tonight she’d barely been able to choke down any food all day.

  “How’s the book coming?” Paul asked. He was driving so fast Katie swore she could feel the G forces beginning to pin back her flesh.

  “Fine. Um, Paul, could you slow down? You’re driving a little fast.”

  He flashed her a confident smile. “Don’t worry. I know what I’m doing.” He continued, “What did you think of that parent going after at me at tryouts? Nuts, huh?”

  “What a lunatic that guy was!”

  “You didn’t recognize him?”

  “No. Should I have?”

  “That was Cheech Mahoney’s little brother, Des. Used to turn his eyelids inside out for fun?”

  Katie sighed. “Now I remember. This town is too small.”

  “Nothing wrong with that,” said Paul, negotiating an extremely sharp curve that had Katie swearing the car had just gone up on two wheels. “These sports parents are nuts.”

  “Weren’t they always?” Katie asked, gripping the door handle, hard.

  “Not the way they are now.”

  “I meant to ask you something about practice.” If we don’t die in a fiery wreck first.

  “Mmm?”

  Dusk was falling outside, the sky a muted gray streaked with soft bands of pink. Perhaps it was the way the light hit the planes of Paul’s face, but all Katie could think as she looked at him was: This guy is breathtakingly perfect. It was a disconcerting thought.

  “Would you mind if I occasionally attended practice? To observe for the book?”

  “No problem,” Paul said easily, “but I’d check with Tuck if I were you. He might feel a bit self-conscious with you there.”

  “Ah. Hadn’t thought of that.”

  “I saw you signed up to be home game penalty box official.”

  “What?”

  Paul chuckled. “Let me rephrase that: I see Tuck signed you up to be home game penalty box official.”

  “That little—! I know nothing about hockey!”

  Paul leaned over, patting her knee. “You’ll learn.”

  Katie had never been to Nesmith’s Creek, but she’d always wondered about it, having heard from Mina it was lovely. In high school, it was known as a big make-out spot. She’d often contemplated taking a walk there on a weekend afternoon, but the threat of people sniggering, “There goes Orca” or “Beached whale” as she strolled along the mossy embankment had always kept her away. Now, sitting with her feet tucked up beneath her on a plaid blanket beside Paul van Dorn, she knew it was a place she’d return to, especially the gorgeous weeping willow he’d chosen for their picnic spot. It seemed the perfect place to just relax and let her thoughts drift by.

  “What can I get you?” Paul asked, looking pleased with himself as he surveyed the array of foods he’d set out.

  “Some Brie on a cracker with a slice of apple would be nice,” said Katie, coughing loudly to cover her rumbling stomach.

  “You okay?” Paul looked concerned as he sliced into the Brie.

  “Bug flew down my throat,” Katie fibbed. She was so hungry her ribs ached. And yet, taking the hors d’oeuvre Paul made for her, she could feel her throat closing up from anxiety. Awful, what nerves could do to the body. She forced herself to take a nibble of the cracker, washing it down with a hearty gulp of wine. The wine seemed to help. Tipping her head back, she drank more.

  “You know, this reminds me of one time when the Blades were playing down in Florida…” Paul began.

  An hour later, Katie realized two things: One, that Paul had spoken almost entirely about the past, and, two, that she was drunk, having downed three glasses of wine very quickly on an empty stomach.

  “You haven’t eaten very much,” Paul pointed out.

  “No.” Looking at the food now, the last thing Katie felt was ravenous hunger. Instead it brought bile to her throat.

  “Are you afraid of getting fat again?” Paul asked bluntly.

  Katie turned her head so sharply to look at him the world went reeling. Oh, this was not good. She put down her wineglass, placing both palms on the blanket for support.

  “No,” she said faintly. “Well, maybe. A little.”

  “You can always run it off tomorrow.” He held out some red peppers and mozzarella to her. “C’mon, I want you to eat a little more.”

  Katie waved it away, the smell seeping into her nostrils, making her stomach tumble against her will. “I’m fine, Paul, really.”

  “I bet you know the calorie count of everything.”

  “Pretty much.”

  “How many calories is this?” Taking her right hand, he delicately kissed each of her fingertips.

  “Zero.” Katie breathed, beginning to feel light-headed.

  “And this?” Gently cradling her forearm, he placed his lips to the soft underside of her wrist.

  “Zero again,” Katie answered as mellow heat began whispering its way through her system. She closed her eyes, pummeled by dizziness. Was it him or the wine that made her head swim so? Did it matter?

  “How ‘bout this?”

  Eyes still closed, Katie fel
t Paul’s hand slide around to cup the back of her neck. Then it happened just the way she’d always dreamed it: his mouth on hers, soft, sweet, beguiling. The mellowness in her body seemed to burn off in a rose haze, making way for giddiness as his mouth pressed on, expertly parting her lips. Katie allowed herself to be steered into his embrace. How safe it felt here, sheltered in his warm, strong arms beneath the canopy of the willow tree. How right.

  Mouths still enjoined, Paul gently lowered her to the ground, stretching out beside her. Katie felt the world tilt, and tilt again, as nausea shot up the back of her throat. She abruptly opened her eyes.

  “You okay?” Paul whispered. The way he was smiling at her, so sweetly and full of concern, sent another volley of desire somersaulting through her.

  Katie nodded weakly. She didn’t want this to end. She wanted to be taken up in his arms again, where she felt cherished and protected. Perhaps the wooziness would pass if she simply ignored it and focused on him instead. Returning his smile, Katie let her fingers feather down his right cheek, delighted when he snatched her hand from his face and pressed his lips, hard, to her open palm.

  “You are so, so lovely,” he declared.

  I am so, so nauseous. Katie’s heart held still as he leaned in to kiss her again, his eyes wickedly blue. She closed her eyes, trying to feel it all at once—the desire, the heat, the longing—but couldn’t get past the galloping dizziness that seemed to intensify with each passing second. Snuggling closer to her, Paul wrapped her in his arms. His mouth was making demands now that she struggled to meet. There was danger here, darkness. She knew it. She felt it. She wanted it.

  And she would have succumbed to it, were it not for the mad tumbling of her stomach.

  “Oh, God.” Tearing her mouth from his, Katie rolled away from him and proceeded to throw up on the grass as quietly and daintily as she could. Her head was roaring now, voices of humiliation and shame drowning out the angelic chorus that had heralded desire just moments before. When she was done, she rolled onto her back, covering her face with her hands. “Please take me home.”

  “Katie, are you all right?” Paul asked anxiously.

  “No, I’m not all right!” She peered at him through the screen of her hands. “I just threw up on a first date. Pass me a piece of apple, please. I’m sure my breath is disgusting.”

  “Only if you take your hands away from your face.”

  “Fine.” She tore her hands from her face but turned her head away, the mere motion sending another round of queasiness juddering through her. If I throw up again, she vowed, I’m going to pull a Virginia Woolf right here in the creek.

  “Here.” Paul had come around to where she was facing, putting the apple slice in her hand. Katie’s fingers closed around it and she popped it into her mouth. “Better?”

  Katie nodded.

  “It would be nice if you’d open your eyes,” Paul coaxed.

  “Too embarrassed.”

  “Don’t be silly, Katie. C’mon.”

  Katie reluctantly opened her eyes. Paul was sitting Indian-style on the grass, looking worried. “Are you okay? What just happened?”

  Katie averted her gaze. “I didn’t eat all day because I was so nervous about tonight, and then I sucked down three glasses of wine on an empty stomach, and voila! I turned into the fabulous new Tipsy Tillie doll! Just kiss her and she throws up on the grass! Batteries not included!”

  “Oh, Katie.” He put his hand out but Katie rolled out of reach. “It’s okay. Really. But why were you nervous?”

  “Because I was seeing you,” she muttered.

  “I’m flattered,” Paul replied softly.

  “And I’m mortified.” She whipped off the scarf around her neck and handed it to him. “Do me a favor, will you? Strangle me.”

  “Quit hiding behind jokes and talk to me.”

  “I’m not hiding,” Katie insisted, acute embarrassment burning through her at being so transparent. When he didn’t take the scarf, she retied it around her neck and rose unsteadily on her feet “I really need to go home.”

  “Why don’t we try this again?”

  “What, a date?” Just shaking her head made her eyeballs feel like loose marbles rolling around in her head. “I don’t think so.”

  “Why the hell not?” The edge of anger in his voice as he hurriedly gathered up their picnic foods and threw them into the basket got her attention. “So you drank on an empty stomach. So you threw up. So big deal.”

  “I don’t know, Paul.” She took a few unsteady steps. “I have to think about it.”

  “What’s to think about?” he demanded, slamming the picnic basket shut. “Katie?”

  “Paul, I really need you to get me home.” The wine was making her temples pound and her stomach was still doing the samba. All she wanted was to crawl between the clean, crisp sheets of her childhood bed.

  “Not until you tell me what you’re thinking.”

  “I’m not thinking, Paul. I’m drunk. And humiliated. And ashamed. And—”

  “I’ve got the picture.” Taking her arm, he slowly walked with her to the car, opening the door for her. “We’ll talk about this when you’re feeling better.” He leaned down, face close to hers. “I’m not letting you off the hook, Fisher. Don’t forget it.”

  Katie just groaned and looked away.

  “Aunt Katie? Why do you keep popping aspirin?”

  Katie looked over at Tuck, anxiously bouncing along the brick path beside her. They were on their way to visit Mina at Windy Gables, the rehab facility. Katie loved the way these places always seemed to have names conjuring up images of serenity: Windy Gables, Seven Oaks. As if all the residents were peaceful, contented folks. She supposed it made sense, though. What else could you call it? Detox Acres? Cold Turkey Meadows?

  “Aunt Katie has a headache. It’s no big deal.” The last thing she’d wanted to do when she got up that morning with the hangover from hell was drag her ass out of bed, but she’d promised to take Tuck to see Mina, and there was no way she was going to let him down. Besides, she wanted to see Mina, too. It was the first time since her sister had been admitted that she was allowed to have visitors. So here she was, sunglasses keeping the glare out of her eyes, aspirin not working nearly as well as she would have liked. It didn’t help her mood when she’d come down to breakfast to find her mother pacing the kitchen floor like an expectant father.

  “Well?” she demanded eagerly, following so close behind Katie as she went to get coffee that Katie could feel her breath on her neck. “How was your date?”

  “It was great!” Katie chirped. “He kissed me and then I threw up in the grass. I was every boy’s dream date.” When her mother pressed for details, Katie refused to talk about it. She took her coffee back upstairs to her room and hid there until it was time to bring Tuck to see Mina.

  “You nervous?” she asked Tuck as they drew closer to the large, ivy covered brick building that once had been the private home of Didsbury’s first banker. The setting was beautiful: gently sloping lawns, plenty of trees. It was peaceful here.

  Tuck barely shook his head.

  “It’s okay to be nervous, you know,” Katie assured him. “I’m nervous, too.”

  Tuck just shrugged.

  Entering the building, they were directed to a large glass conservatory at the back of the mansion called “the lounge,” filled with plants and patio furniture. Katie was relieved to see there were already other people there. It made what she and Tuck were about to do feel less awkward somehow.

  A minute later, Mina came through the door. She was tinier than Katie had ever seen her, the jeans and T-shirt hanging off her small wiry frame making her look more like an adolescent boy than a grown woman. Her hair was cut pixie short, making her big, long lashed eyes seem even more vulnerable than usual. There was an awkward split second where they all looked at each other. Then Mina broke into a broad smile and ran toward them, arms outstretched.

  Katie watched as she gathered Tuck into
her arms, covering him with kisses. Tuck stood rigid, arms at his side, his expression unreadable as he endured his mother’s loving on-slaught. Katie desperately wished he’d hug Mina back, and almost came right out and said so, but she didn’t want to push him to do anything he didn’t want to do. Finally, Mina released Tuck from her crushing embrace, riffling his hair.

  “I can’t believe how big you got, buddy.”

  Tuck rolled eyes, absently kicking the toe of his sneaker against the glossy teak floor.

  “Katie.” Mina’s eyes teared up as she drew Katie into an embrace, which Katie returned. Katie couldn’t believe how fragile her sister felt, the sharp bones of her shoulder blades poking through her T-shirt like a little bird’s wings.

  “Are they feeding you enough?” Katie asked.

  “Figures you’d ask about food,” said Mina. It was said with affection, so Katie tried not to take it personally, even though it did smart a little.

  Mina glanced around the conservatory. “It’s so stuffy in here,” she murmured to Tuck and Katie. “Why don’t we take a walk outside instead?”

  They started out the conservatory door, Tuck running ahead.

  “He hates me,” Mina lamented as soon as Tuck was far away enough not to hear, pulling a pack of cigarettes and some matches out of her T-shirt pocket.

  “He doesn’t hate you,” Katie soothed. “He’s angry at you. And he has every right to be.”

  “I know, I know,” said Mina, lighting up.

  “You’re allowed to smoke here?”

  Mina’s laugh rang with disbelief. “Are you kidding me? Everyone smokes here. And drinks tons of coffee! It’s insane.” She inhaled, blowing out a puff of smoke. “Transferring our addictions to something legal, that’s what it boils down to.”

  “How are you doing?” Katie asked tentatively as they veered off the winding brick path, choosing instead to fol-low Tuck down a large sloping lawn that led to some benches beneath a cluster of magnificent oaks.

  “Okay. Not to sound like a cliche, but I’m taking it one step at a time.”