He gave her a slight smile. “My father would disagree. He had very strict rules for how men treated women. Holding a chair, opening a door, walking on the street side of the sidewalk…” His long fingers gestured toward his position on the sidewalk.
“So if a reckless driver comes along and swerves onto the sidewalk, you can push me out of the way?” She laughed. “I had to ask GrandMir about that one. I never could figure it out myself.” She hesitated. “Is your father still living?”
“No.” Ben’s mouth tightened, then relaxed again. “But his influence lives on.”
“One of the best things you can say about a parent.” She hoped one day her children or grandchildren would be paying the same compliment to her.
“My dad was a good guy. He was better suited to being a father than anyone I’ve ever known.”
Avi pulled the elastic band from her hair, gathered the hair again, then tugged it back into a neater, higher ponytail. “Is that why you haven’t had kids yet? You don’t want to face such high standards?”
“Nah. He taught me well. But surgery takes a lot of hours. Clinic days, OR days, call. I wanted to get established before I considered marriage or having kids, and by the time I realized that I was established, I was booked solid for months ahead. I don’t have time to date, fall in love, be a father.”
Is that enough? she’d asked, and he’d replied, Until recently. “You’d better make some changes then.” She thought about Lucy, wondering if she was the catalyst that made him realize work wasn’t enough anymore. Avi would guess they weren’t still seeing each other, or surely he would have spent this evening with her instead. Had their relationship failed, and why, and when?
It was none of her business. After all, she wasn’t looking for a relationship. Fun, a boyfriend to share dinners and dances and beds, a man to help ease her back into normal life…She could do full justice to a sexy, good-for-now kind of fling in the next thirty days, with no strings and no regrets.
And for a woman who had way too many regrets, that sounded pretty damn good.
* * *
After a few more blocks, they turned right. Ben had learned in the short time that Avi was a career soldier, that she didn’t like the blues or jazz—his favorite kinds of music—and that her tastes in food ran to good old home-style cooking. No fusion, saffron-scented air, tiny portions artistically arranged on huge plates and kissed with multiple sauces.
“Oh, and no trendy, cool-vibe places whose names are misspelled on purpose,” she added.
He laughed. “You’ve just described half the places I eat at.”
“I am not surprised. You strike me as a trendy, cool-vibe sort of person.”
“I think I’ve been insulted.”
This time she laughed. “Oh, no, Doc. When I’ve insulted you, you’ll know.” She slid her hands into pockets that Ben hadn’t realized the dress had. He found himself wishing that she slid her hand into his, so he could feel its heat and warmth and strength, so he could imagine how a real touch from her would feel. Wanting wasn’t a new thing, but it had felt like it back in the early summer with Lucy. It felt like it again now, new and filled with potential. Pretty women and potential were one of his favorite combinations.
After a moment’s silence, Avi gave him a sidelong look. “How is Patricia doing, really?”
He shoved his hands in his own pockets and shrugged. He got that question from people he worked with, from friends, and he gave them a stock answer: She’s coping. But Avi wasn’t the sort to settle for stock answers, he didn’t think, and she knew Patricia probably as well as he did, if not better.
“She’s dealing with it. She makes an effort to put on a good face for everybody, but…” Guilt, a feeling Ben knew all too well, seeped through him. They’d come a long way in healing things between them, but there were restrictions. She rarely mentioned George because she knew she didn’t have a sympathetic audience in Ben. When she slipped, all he could think about was where was this grief when his father died. Where was this love? She’d been married to Rick almost as long as George; she’d promised to love him until his death; she’d had three kids with him.
But at Rick’s funeral, there had been few tears from her. She’d come out of a sense of obligation, more for the kids she’d left behind than for the man she’d once loved.
Which was something, but Ben hadn’t appreciated it at the time. Wasn’t sure he appreciated it yet.
“Does she see a grief counselor?”
Ben smiled faintly. “The margarita club is her grief counselor. They’re good for her. They’ve all been where she is. They understand in ways we don’t.” Though he wasn’t sure he should be including Avi in that we. She probably knew. She hadn’t lost a husband, but she’d known guys like George, Lucy’s husband, all the margarita sisters’ husbands. She’d worked with them, joked with them, shared meals with them, gone into combat with them, and seen them every day until, suddenly, they were gone.
The thought made him look at her in a way that went beyond the beautiful-woman-great-body-pink-toenails way, even beyond the damn-she’s-a-soldier. She was a soldier who’d been assigned to a war zone, who’d lived under primitive conditions with the knowledge that the enemy wanted to kill her, seeing the results of combat firsthand: the physical, the mental, the spiritual wounds. She’d lost people she loved—not just one, not just a spouse, but one after another. How hard was that on a woman’s heart?
“They were together so long. It’s hard to imagine that they never will be again.”
Ben couldn’t stop the muscles tightening in his jaw. “You met them through the Army?”
“No.” Then she smiled, her face softening, her eyes brightening. “Actually, I guess I did. My father went to West Point. That’s where he and George met. Dad did his obligated service, then got out, but they stayed friends. He visited us when he had a chance—spent an entire month’s leave with us one time. He’s the reason I joined the Army.”
Ben had known George was visiting friends in Tulsa when Patricia met him. She’d told him and his sisters that much the night she’d gathered them around the kitchen table and told them she was leaving them behind and moving to another country. So those friends had been Avi’s parents. George had come to Oklahoma, charmed Patricia right out of her marriage and Avi right into his career path.
A visit Avi remembered with great affection and love, while for Ben, it had been the worst time of his life. But it was twenty years past. He was twenty years older. He could put aside the past to enjoy the present, couldn’t he? Or was he as stodgy as his sisters teased?
“Why did your father get out?”
“Dad believes everyone should do at least four years of service in the military. He felt it was his duty—and his honor—but he didn’t intend to make a career of it. He got selected for the academy, got an education, did his service, then came back to Oklahoma. I thought it was pretty cool that Dad had been in, and so had Popi, and when I met the colonel…”
The look on her face was nothing less than remarkable for a woman who’d experienced everything she had: pure, childhood innocence. It wasn’t a girlish-crush look, but admiration. Awe.
“He was ten feet tall and could leap skyscrapers while fending off enemy hordes. I wanted to be just like him when I grew up. I wanted to wear that uniform, do all the cool-guy stuff, and inspire little kids along the way.”
She had fallen under his spell as much as, maybe even more than, Patricia. Ben could honestly say he hadn’t been nearly as impressed when he’d met the man. How could he have been, after three years of watching his father disappear into grief, of rebuilding the family George and his mother had devastated, of giving up most of his hopes and dreams so he could be there for the family.
It hadn’t occurred to him until much later—this past summer, in fact—that the man he’d scorned might have been worth knowing.
“This is it.” Avi stopped in front of a great old house built of sandstone and wood siding painte
d pale yellow. Big stone columns anchored the porch, where four rockers stood in a straight line on one side of the door and a glider sat on the other. The grass was lush and green, and flowers bloomed everywhere. Lights shone through the windows to the left of the door, and barking sounded there.
“That’s Sundance,” Avi said. “All my life I wanted a dog, but Mom was against it. So what’d she do when I’m grown and gone? Went out and bought an Irish setter puppy for Dad for Father’s Day.”
Looking closer, Ben spotted a blur of mahogany-colored hair and long floppy ears. As they walked up the sidewalk to the porch, the dog disappeared, its barks coming from the area of the door, then reappeared at the window in an excited wiggle. “Don’t you usually kennel puppies when you’re gone for a few hours?”
“Do you.” She said it as a statement, like that’s interesting when it really wasn’t, and pulled a key from her pocket as they climbed the steps. “Are you a dog person?”
He thought of Lucy’s mutt, who bared his teeth every time he saw Ben, and his sister’s little ball of fur that thought his own reflection was an intruder. “Not so you’d notice.”
“They left Sundance with their neighbors, who must not have known what they were getting into. I hadn’t even gotten my suitcase into the house when the lady marched over with the dog and a bag of food. ‘Welcome home,’ she said, and ‘Here’s your dog.’ Then she practically ran back to her own house.” She paused, key in the lock. “You want to meet her?”
As opposed to retracing his steps and going home to Patricia’s alone, where she would spend the rest of the evening reminiscing and worrying over Avi? “Sure.”
She opened the door just wide enough to reach in and grab the puppy’s collar, then backed her into the hallway so Ben could follow. As soon as Ben closed the door, Avi flipped a light switch with one hand and let go of the dog with the other.
She’d said puppy, Father’s Day, eight or ten weeks ago. Little and cuddly and sweet. Sundance was a puppy who looked as if she’d eaten three or four of the size Ben had envisioned. Her coloring and floppy ears and expressive eyes were beautiful. A full-grown dog who looked just like her but could actually sit still could pass as an art object in some of the pricey homes he found himself in.
The dog ran from Avi to Ben and back again, circling their feet, trying to climb their legs, barking excitedly. Her paws were as big as saucers, and her tail beat relentlessly, swiping furniture legs, people legs, and her own. When Avi scooped her into her arms, Sundance licked every part of her she could reach, though Avi avoided face kisses by tilting her head away.
“You can pet her. She won’t pee on you by accident since I’m holding her.”
“None of the dogs I know have accidents in the house. Every single time is on purpose.” He took the few steps necessary to rest his hand on Sundance’s head. Instantly her long pink tongue reached out to swipe his fingers, and she pressed her silken fur against his hand until her face was compressed like one of those wrinkled dogs he’d seen on TV.
“She lives up to her name.” With hair the color of the intense molten-fire surface of the sun and her wiggly, jiggly dancing about, she was a perfect Sundance.
“My dream dog was a beagle. I loved their baying. Second choice would have been a black Lab, because who could possibly not love a black Lab? But really, I would have taken anything, even a Chihuahua. But you’re a sweetie, aren’t you, girl?”
Ben watched her nuzzle the dog and found himself actually contemplating jealousy for a moment. With a wry smile, he shifted his attention to the house. A yellow sticky note was stuck to the wall a few feet from him with loopy handwriting: Don’t forget to set the alarm. (Code’s on the back.) Another clung to the closet door nearby: Sundance’s toys inside. Try to teach her to pick them up, would you? (I taught you.)
He chuckled, drawing Avi’s attention. She looked at the note and rolled her eyes. “My mom is a great believer in list-making—one item at a time. I’ve been gathering them since I got here, and they’re still everywhere. Buy milk; you need it for your bones. Extra toilet paper in upstairs linen closet. Where she’s kept it my entire life. Water this plant on Tuesday. Water that plant on Thursday. Run the dishwasher when it’s full. No more than three treats a day.” A rueful look came across her face. “I hope that one’s meant for Sundance and not me.”
Hearing her name, Sundance started wiggling even more, with purpose this time. Avi glanced down at her. “You need to go out, baby?” She put her on the floor, and the pup’s nails skittered on the wood as she raced down the hall, anxious little yips echoing back to them.
Avi followed, and Ben followed her, reading more notes on the way. How to program the thermostat was helpfully stuck on top of said thermostat. Best coffee: Java Dave’s. Real coffee: Keurig on counter hung between family portraits. Clean the dryer lint trap was stuck to a lopsided ashtray that looked handmade, circa fourth grade.
“How old does your mother think you are?” he asked as they reached the kitchen, where an entire rainbow of notes rustled in the air from the central air conditioning.
“Thirty going on thirteen and first time ever spending the night alone in the house. It’s not just me. She leaves Dad notes, too, and plasters them around work. Dad told me that when she had surgery a while back, she taped a note to her breast: Not this one. That one. Over there.”
Ben laughed. “I’ve had patients who’ve written notes or drawn arrows on their own knees before. A friend of mine was scrubbed in to do a cesarian, and the mom had written on her abdomen, Remember, I want to wear a bikini again.”
“I’ve never had surgery”—Avi rapped her knuckles against the wood door jamb as she stepped out the back door—“but if I did, I think I’d want to make sure everything went the way it should.”
“In the OR, that’s the doctor’s job.”
“But you hear cases about doctors amputating the wrong leg or doing a hysterectomy but forgetting to take out the uterus.”
Ben shuddered for her benefit. “That means you’ve got a bad doctor.”
“Good doctors don’t ever get careless?”
“Good ones aren’t careless, and careless ones aren’t good.” He stopped at the edge of the back porch steps. Sundance was tearing around the yard with more energy than Ben possessed in his entire body.
Avi sat on the steps, her skirt gathered close to her legs, to wait for the pup to answer the call of nature. Sundance showed no such inclination. She sniffed flowers, darted off to carefully inspect the smells around a tree, stopped to give a longing look at the hammock a foot or two above her head, then ran to sample other scents elsewhere.
After a moment, Ben sat beside Avi. The steps were wide enough that he didn’t crowd her, narrow enough that her cologne scented his every breath. It was hard to be certain, given the night’s heat, but he was pretty sure he felt warmth radiating from her bare arms and legs. Sweet-scented warmth with just a slight undercurrent of energy that made the air between them smell…expectant.
If she felt it, she didn’t show it, and he didn’t take any action. Instead, they watched the dog for a while, checking her surroundings as if she’d never seen them before, then Avi sighed quietly. Contentedly. “Your mom said you’re going back to Tulsa tomorrow.”
He obliquely gazed at her. “Yeah, I’ve got clinic Monday and surgery Tuesday and Wednesday.”
“Does Patricia still go to church?”
A few months ago the question would have surprised him. Church was something she’d discovered on George’s watch. But he’d learned since the funeral that God, the Bible, and church had been an important part of her and George’s lives. “Every Sunday.”
“Do you?”
He shook his head.
“Want to have breakfast? I have a Post-it note attesting to the incredible breakfast fare at Serena’s Sweets.” She flashed a grin. “Mom also drew a map so tiny that I can’t read it, but I can find my way back to Patricia’s and you can give me directions.”
He needed to relax, Lucy was always telling him. Not everything was important or life-changing. Some things were just pure fun, and he should enjoy them when he could. How pleased would she be when he told her the next time they talked that he’d taken her advice? “Sounds good. I’ll see you at nine?”
Chapter 3
Calvin Sweet stopped in front of the twenty-four-hour diner and gave the area a slow, steady once-over. The diner was located in the middle of a block of businesses that kept weekly hours and weren’t very prosperous. The big windows on the dry cleaners next door were too grimy to see through, and the used bookstore across the street looked like home to the world’s worst book hoarder. He imagined the smells of must, dust, and yellowed paper, and his chest tightened as if to avoid breathing them in.
On the corner, a gas station advertised unleaded for $1.89 a gallon. All the glass had been broken out of its windows, and everything of value had been taken, along with everything without value. Only a lonely squeegee remained, lying on its side where a gas pump used to be.
The diner didn’t look much better. He walked in the door, swamped by the aromas of coffee, fried meat, grease, and despair. Booths with vinyl benches held together by duct tape lined the wall. A row of tables that seated four each separated the booths from the counter, stability provided by wads of napkins stuffed under rickety legs.
The people looked pretty rickety, too. The waitress could have been anywhere from twenty-five to fifty-five, everything about her sad and worn down. Two men sat in the first booth, sharing coffee without conversation, giving Calvin a glance of disinterest. The homeless man, or the nearest thing to, at the counter took a quick look, then guarded his dinner a little more closely. A cook, fat and bald, chewed on a toothpick and paid Calvin no attention at all.
That was just what he wanted.
He went to the booth in the back corner, took the bench where he could see the door, and scanned the menu. When the waitress approached, he asked for a ham and egg sandwich and coffee. She didn’t say a word, not to him or the cook.
A Promise of Forever Page 4
