“It’s no joke. Really. I’m up for this.”
“So will it be in that park again?” Susan asked. “Because I don’t have the time to go all the way up there. I have a dinner date with Duane.”
“Then you’ll drive here in the city,” Robby said.
“I’ll kill you for sure.”
“I’m not worried.”
Susan thought about it. I can do this. I can do this! she repeated, hoping it would give her confidence. Driving was a great privilege, and she did want to learn. It really wasn’t that hard. It likely was mind over matter. After all, she could drive horses from on top of a wagon-load of hay and live to tell about it. Why was an Englisha automobile such a fearful thing?
Robby unlocked the door and motioned her inside. “Behind the wheel you go.”
Susan climbed in, now muttering softly, “I can do this. I can do this. Think horses. Think horses. Think horses.”
“Saying your prayers?” Robby asked as he climbed into the passenger side.
“Very funny,” she said.
“Actually, we might need prayer,” he said.
“Your seat belt,” she said, taking charge and snapping on her own. She would show him!
“Done,” he said. “Remember, it’s brake left. Gas right.”
“Shhh…” She put the vehicle into drive, her foot on the brake. “I’m thinking buggies and hay wagons right now. Leather reins and wind blowing across the fields with the hay-loaded wagon swaying under me.”
With that, Susan saw a space in the traffic and eased out, her fingers tight around the wheel. “Here we go!” she said hopefully. Think farm. Think farm and pulling left and pulling right. No backward jerks, just stomping the brakes, gently, and gas for forward. Think lines out and lines in. Feet not hands.
“There’s a light coming up,” Robby warned. “And it’s red.”
“I know…and I’m stopping.” Susan pressed the brake, seeing past the red light to the glare of the advancing sun toward the west.
How many times had she squinted into the sun to steer the horses at home, pulling into the exact position for the grain elevators? She had stopped many times with only inches separating the sides of the wagons.
“That was a nice, smooth stop,” Robby said. “You’re doing okay.”
“Thank you!”
“The light has turned green,” Robby said.
“I know.” Susan kept her eyes on the car in front of her and eased on the gas. It was a little like letting out the lines, only with a car you pushed them.
“Keep going straight,” Robby said. “Thankfully, the traffic isn’t too bad today.”
“Like that helps. It only takes one other car for me to have an accident.”
“Now turn left at the next light. You need the practice.”
Susan pushed the turn signal down as she slowed down.
“The light’s green,” she said, making the turn in one smooth motion.
There was a pothole ahead—like a groundhog hole the horses could get their hooves caught in, which wasn’t gut. She steered slightly to the left, missing the bump. She glanced at Robby. He was looking in the side mirror.
“You should have gone through the hole,” he said. “If we’d been on a four lane, swerving might throw you into the car beside you.”
“The horses could have caught their hooves,” she said, slowing for another light.
“Horses? What has that got to do with driving a car?”
“Tires. Horse hooves. Aren’t they about the same?”
“No, Susan! No.”
“Horse hooves break and car tires blow,” Susan continued, pressing her point.
“Just drive!” he commanded. “And you can fix tires. You can’t fix horse hooves. Remember that. Turn again.”
“Yah,” she agreed. “Horses have to be put down if they break a leg.”
“Enough with the horses already, okay? This is a car. Remember that.”
“It helps me drive,” Susan said, as a car horn blew behind her. She jumped.
“Slow down,” Robby said. “There’s another light ahead. And don’t worry, the honking horn wasn’t about you.”
“It’s green now,” she said, rattled. “What if it turns red?”
“The light turns yellow before it turns red.”
“It’s yellow now.”
“I know that, but you have time. Keep going.”
Susan saw the light disappearing over the top of the windshield glass, the color still yellow.
“You’re doing okay,” Robby said. “But that was cutting things a little close.”
From a distance behind them they heard the squeal of brakes followed by a dull thud of metal crashing.
“Oh no! Did I do that? Did I cause a wreck?” Susan gasped, stomping on the brakes, thrusting Robby forward as his body strained against the shoulder harness. “What did I do? I was driving carefully!” Susan asked, the words coming out in a rush.
“You didn’t do anything,” Robby said. “It wasn’t us. It was the guy behind us. He must have tried to make it through the light and got hit.”
Susan glanced in the rearview mirror and saw a car behind them, steam rolling out from under its hood. It had been knocked in the side by another vehicle coming from the cross street. An angry man was getting out the driver’s side of the car, his muffled shouting filling the street.
“It wasn’t us, and we didn’t see the accident,” Robby said. “You don’t really want to be involved in city accidents.”
“But we saw it happen. Perhaps the police will want to hear our story?”
“We saw it after it happened,” Robby said. “Even I wasn’t looking in the side-view mirror when they hit.”
“The light was still yellow when we went underneath,” she said. “I remember that much.”
“So you want to tell the officer that? Who says it was or wasn’t yellow for the other guy? See, you’d better leave those things to the people who can figure them out. You didn’t see him drive under the yellow light, so you really didn’t see anything. Besides, both drivers are out of their cars. No one was hurt.”
“Well, okay…I guess,” Susan said, removing her foot from the brake, preparing to move on.
“Wait! I’ll drive back,” Robby said. “This has been enough practicing for one day.”
“But we hardly started,” Susan complained.
“Even so, we’re finished for today,” Robby said.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Susan let out a short gasp, but Duane didn’t seem to notice. The restaurant was breathtaking. Never had she seen anything like it. The walls were a pale cream, the carpet a matching flowery spread. From where she stood, the tables looked huge—even the ones set for just two people. The tall, brown plush chairs with their high backs looked elegant. What am I doing here? she wondered. And is my purple blouse and skirt gut enough for a place like this? Is it gut enough to be seen with Duane, who is looking so handsome in his sharp black suit?
“Seating for two for the Moran party,” Duane said to the nodding maître d’, who was dressed in a black suit, a little black matching bow tie up by his throat, accented against his white shirt.
“Yes, sir,” the man said, pulling a little book from his pocket and flipping through it. Apparently he found what he was looking for. He smiled. “We are rather full tonight. This way, please.”
Duane turned and motioned Susan forward.
Are people staring at me? Susan wondered. She tried to walk straight as she followed the man’s bobbing back. Duane kept close to her, walking right at her elbow. The maître d’ stopped at a table in a cozy corner of the room near the back, a huge painting with an Italian theme hanging next to it.
“Please be seated, ma’am,” the maître d’ said, pulling out a chair for Susan. As she sat down and he gently pushed the chair toward the table, he said, “Your server will be with you shortly.”
“Thank you,” Duane said.
The man disappeared, h
eading back to where he came from. The soft hum of conversation rose around them as Duane pulled out a chair and sat across from Susan.
“You shouldn’t have brought me here,” Susan whispered. “I’m not dressed right.”
“Your outfit is lovely,” he said. “I just hadn’t gotten around to saying so.”
“You’re teasing me.”
“No, I’m not. It’s perfect for you. It brings out the country color in your face. Quite proper, I say. Did Laura help you choose?”
“Laura? Yes, she did.”
He smiled knowingly.
“Laura has far better taste about these things than I do,” Susan said.
“Oh, I imagine you could have made the choice yourself,” Duane said. “You’d be good at such things. I know you would.”
Susan felt a warm glow at his praise. Thomas never talked about her dress selections or how she made them. But this was a different world, and she would enjoy getting used to this.
As the server approached, Susan tried not to stare. She was dressed in a sharp-looking, dark-gray pants suit that was trimmed in white. She wore long, dangling earrings that sparkled in the light.
“Good evening,” she said. “My name is Tanya, and I’ll be serving you this evening.” She placed two fancy menus in front of them.
Susan couldn’t take her eyes off the woman. Young, beautiful, exquisitely dressed, and so perfect and confident. So unlike she was.
“Would you like to begin with an appetizer?” the waitress asked. “Perhaps drinks?”
“Sure. Let’s have the anchovy appetizer. Just one,” Duane said. “As for drinks, sparkling water for me.”
“And for you, ma’am?” The server turned to Susan.
“Water…water will be fine,” she said, hoping her voice hadn’t squeaked.
The woman smiled, nodded to Duane, and then disappeared. Susan thought they seemed to know each other. Duane likely comes in here often, she decided.
“I’m sorry for not asking you about the appetizer,” he said quietly. “I wanted you to sample the anchovies. You can order whatever you want for your entree.”
“You do think I’m a country hick, don’t you?”
He smiled. “No, but you are country, which I like. I’m guessing you’ve never had anchovies. Am I right?”
“What are they?” she asked.
Duane smiled. “There! Just like I thought. Take it from me, they’re very good.”
“You haven’t told me what they are.”
“They’ll be here before long. Then you’ll see.”
“What if I don’t like them?”
He laughed now, obviously enjoying himself.
“You’re tormenting me for your own pleasure,” she accused.
“Perhaps,” he said. “But it’s in fun.”
“You know that’s not nice. Taking people places they don’t belong so you can enjoy yourself at their expense.”
“You judge me too harshly,” he said.
“Do I?”
He shrugged. “I’ll leave you to determine that, but you have nothing to be ashamed of. You are smart, poised, possessed of common sense, and...beautiful.”
She couldn’t look at him, especially if he was going to say things like that. Perhaps she was judging him too harshly. He had brought her here for a nice dinner, after all. “I forgive you then!” she said.
He laughed, and the sound seemed to wrap around the table. Duane had an infectious laugh, and she liked it.
“Your appetizer,” the server said from behind her. A platter of anchovies arranged beautifully with colorful garnishes was set on the table. “Enjoy!”
“Those are anchovies?” Susan asked. “They look like little fish.”
He laughed again. “They are little fish.”
He would have to stop laughing soon, she hoped. She was enjoying the sound way too much.
“You eat them with the skin on, just as they are. They’re served with roasted peppers and mozzarella cheese.” He placed some on his appetizer plate and then demonstrated how to eat them, a look of sheer ecstasy on his face.
“Try one,” he encouraged. “Find out what food in our world tastes like.”
“The Englisha world,” she said, her fork poised. “Do I dare? What if I don’t like it?”
“Just try one.”
Susan lifted a bite of one of the shimmering little fish to her mouth, sliding it onto her tongue, expecting the worst. The fish had looked almost raw. Are they raw? She chewed. To her surprise the taste was actually pleasant.
“Now the peppers and cheese,” he said, watching her face.
She added them, and the taste became even better. A broad smile spread over her face.
Duane looked like he wanted to jump out of his chair with pride.
“Half and half.” He divided the appetizer down the middle. “I should have ordered two servings, I guess. But I didn’t want to spoil our dinner.”
Susan slid her share onto her appetizer plate and ate, taking her time, enjoying each bite. “Each bite seems better than the last,” she said. “Not quite the same as meat and potatoes.”
“I’m glad you like it. Our server is coming back, and we haven’t looked at the menu yet.”
Susan quickly picked up her menu.
Tanya arrived. “Are you ready to order or do you need more time?”
“If you could give us a moment,” Duane requested.
He likely knew what he wanted, but is asking so I can have more time, Susan figured. “Please go ahead and order,” Susan said. “I’ll decide quickly.”
“Well then,” he said, “I’ll take the boneless chicken breast.”
So he did know what he wanted without looking, Susan noted.
“And on your salad?”
“Honey mustard on the side,” he said. “And I’ll have it with my meal, please.”
Now they were waiting for her.
Susan’s eyes had already caught a word on the menu she knew she liked. At least she knew what it was—and it wasn’t chicken or steak. Those were too common back home. But once in a blue moon, her sister Betsy made this and Susan always loved it.
“The cheese ravioli, please.” Susan rolled it off her tongue with a confident smile. There! She knew how to say the word—an Italian word, at that.
“That’s a great choice,” the waitress said. “Would you like a salad with that?”
“I think I’ll pass, thank you,” Susan said.
When the server left, Duane leaned forward on his elbows. “So what have you been doing with yourself?” he asked.
Susan sat straighter. “That’s a long story. Are you sure you want to hear it?”
“You can start,” he said. “I’m sure it’s interesting.”
“I’m studying for my GED on Laura’s computer, practicing driving so I can take the driving test, and today an unwed young pregnant woman came into the bakery looking for help. Laura is going to take her to see a doctor, and we’ll help her from there.”
“Wow!” he said with a low whistle. “You have been busy! It doesn’t sound like there’s a moment left to catch your breath.”
“It does seem that way, but it helps the days go by faster. I’m trying hard to fit into the Englisha world.”
“Still lonesome for home?” he asked.
“More than I want to admit sometimes,” Susan confessed. She was surprised at the admission. She hadn’t even told Laura that.
“It’s to be expected,” he said. “But you’re doing really well adjusting. Some women would be scared to attempt all the things you’re doing and to make all the changes you’re making.”
There he went, saying the nice words she liked hearing. He was much better at it than Thomas had been.
“By the way,” he said, “how are your knees?”
Oh, he had to go and remember that. She’d almost forgotten about it. She dared a glance at his face as she felt blood rushing to her head.
“That’s an embarrassing subj
ect,” she whispered.
“It’s nothing to be embarrassed about,” he said. “I’ve taken many a spill myself.”
Apparently he hadn’t remembered seeing her legs, which was gut.
“I don’t wear the shoes you women do. I imagine I’d trip a lot more in women’s shoes.”
“That does make a difference.”
“By the way, what happened to the shoe that came off? You said you left it in the middle of the street. Did you retrieve it?”
Susan shrugged. “It was gone by the time I walked back after lunch. I limped back to the bakery the best I could and threw away the survivor. Thankfully I had another pair.”
A plate appeared silently next to her head and Susan jumped.
“Excuse me,” their server said. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”
Duane leaned back and the server placed his plate in front of him. She placed the other plate in front of Susan then disappeared again.
“We can pray before she gets back,” Duane said, bowing his head.
Susan followed him, startled by the suddenness.
Just as he finished his short prayer, the server returned with his salad.
Susan watched out of the corner of her eye to see every move Duane made so she could do likewise. She noticed how he held his fork. When he cut his chicken, she cut her ravioli. She moved slowly lest with a simple slip of the knife ravioli would be down the front of her blouse and skirt and all over her lap.
“Do you like the ravioli?” Duane asked.
Susan nodded.
“This is the best Italian restaurant around,” he said. “That’s what they say in their advertisement, anyway.”
“Is it true? It sounds a little prideful,” Susan said, thinking it felt good to talk about a fault that wasn’t her own for a moment.
“It has nothing to with pride. It’s just a little slogan used to attract customers.”
“‘The best Italian restaurant around’? That’s their slogan?”
“Yes.”
“Well, this place sure seems nice—and fancy too. Even this picture on the wall must have cost a fortune.”
Duane turned to look at the picture.
“I think that’s actually a Mexican scene,” he said. “And I don’t think it’s very expensive. They try to create a certain mood here. It’s not really about being rich. Asbury Park doesn’t have that many rich people.”
Missing Your Smile Page 19
