“It’s a special occasion,” said Luke, totally dismissing my suggestion.
I followed him out on the deck. The sun was setting, taking with it the heat of the day. Leaning against the deck railing I watched Luke at the grill. He was wearing a dark blue polo shirt tucked neatly into jeans that had obviously been through the wash a few times. On his feet were gray Nikes. He wasn’t dressed for a special occasion, I thought to myself, but I liked that he considered tonight to be one, and regardless he did look good. The loose fit of his jeans camouflaged the thinness of his legs, and besides his pecs and delts were outstanding. The fit of the polo shirt was tight enough to show the muscle definition in his back. His embrace was as strong as it had ever been, and if it weren’t so awkward bending down to be in his arms I’d cling to him every time he hugged me. As it was I had to consciously forbid myself from crawling into his lap.
“You want me to put candles on the table too?” I asked sardonically, carefully disguising what I was really thinking about.
“Next time,” replied Luke, concentrating on the fish. “Now get a move on. The salmon won’t take long.”
Dinner was delicious, and not just because Luke had cooked it, and he was sitting at the head of the table, and the jazz was mellow. The fish was just good. I was eating it without a single squirt of lemon juice. Pine nuts and cranberries made the spinach a crunchy, sweet, and savory delight, and the herb-roasted potatoes were a wonderful way to get your starch.
“Mommy would love this,” I went on about the salmon as I eagerly took another forkful of the flaky pink fish.
“I’d be happy to make it for her,” said Luke. “We should plan to have her over. Maybe for one of your Sunday dinners. I think I can beat Red Lobster.”
I pictured Mommy in Luke’s house. Perhaps she’d even be comfortable in this Sterling home. There was less antique furniture and crystal glass to tip-toe around. Luke’s house was mostly all manly furniture and hard surfaces. But how would Mommy handle the wheelchair? I wouldn’t let her be surprised—shocked—by it the way I had been. I would prepare her. But no matter what, it did take more than thirty minutes to get used to it.
“What do you think?” Luke followed up when I took too long to respond.
“I think that would be nice,” I said. “She’d love to see you. Maybe your parents would want to come too.”
Luke wrinkled his nose.
“Maybe it’s best to do one parental unit at a time,” he recommended.
I sighed.
“You’re probably right,” I agreed. “Our mothers never got along very well.”
“There were challenges,” Luke said.
Mrs. Sterling hadn’t thought too much of me either as I recalled. Before anyway. What if Mommy was right? What if she did think that I was only good enough now because Luke wasn’t as good as he had been? What an ugly thought, I fumed at myself silently and drank my wine.
“My mother was never comfortable around your mother,” I said. “Me neither. We’re not exactly from the same set.”
Luke eyed me quizzically.
“Class warfare, Rachel?” he asked.
Well certainly not Romeo and Juliette, I thought.
“Don’t make fun, Luke,” I said. “You don’t know what it’s like to have people looking down…on…”
My voice faded as my brain caught up with my words. Luke’s expression was blank.
“Literally or figuratively?” he asked.
“I’m sorry,” I said.
“You know, Rachel,” he said with a new smile. “My mother intimidates a lot of people, but mostly she’s just not good company.”
“I can’t believe you’d say that about your own mother!” I exclaimed shaking my head, even as I was thanking God that he had moved passed my stupid comment.
“Just the facts,” Luke chuckled easily.
After dinner we cleared the dining room table together, putting away the leftovers and loading the dishwasher. In college Luke had been your typical kind of frat-boy slob, although he had eventually grown weary of life in a fraternity house and had moved into an apartment with a roommate. Maybe it had been better, but I had still rated his residence to be a bit below code, what with clothes scattered around in various states of cleanliness, a bathroom that was as dubious as any public one, and a general household aroma that seemed to be a composite of everything from pizza boxes to running shoes. The grown-up Luke was a much improved housekeeper, I thought, watching him wipe down the countertops, rinse the stainless steel sink, and then zap the sponge in the microwave for sixty-seconds. Yes, he had a maid who came once a week, but I was still impressed.
Luke turned on the coffeemaker, and the pinot gris bottle he re-corked and returned to the refrigerator. I didn’t protest. I had had two glasses. It was time to stop. Mothers Against Drunk Driving would have been proud.
While the coffee brewed we moved into the great room. The jazz on Luke’s iPod playlist had been joined by intermittent easy ballads. I smiled wistfully when I heard Jeffery Osborne’s voice crooning about wooing. I took a seat on the black leather sofa. The fabric was excellent, downy soft to the touch. “Probably not your best poetry,” observed Luke. “But I like it.”
“I’m surprised such a sappy love song would even make your collection,” I ribbed him.
Luke rolled his chair next to the sofa.
“Guess I mellowed with age,” he replied as he set his feet on the floor and scooted to the edge of the chair.
Placing his left hand on the sofa cushion, Luke lifted himself out of the chair and onto the couch in one move. It was my first time to see him out of his wheelchair when he wasn’t driving his car and I realized I was staring.
“I guess we all do,” I said as he positioned his feet to face forward.
He had made the transfer look easy, routine, and after seven years I supposed it was. Once he had pushed the wheelchair aside, it almost seemed like he didn’t need it. Suddenly I wanted to kiss him, badly, and not like a sister either. I wanted to cuddle in close and feel his muscular arms around me. I wanted our mouths sealed together, our tongues entangled. I wanted to be beneath him, to feel the weight of his body bearing down on me. Squeezing my legs together tightly I tried to contain the feeling, as if I could hope to cap it with the cotton crotch of my panties.
“If you’re tired of music, we can watch a movie,” Luke offered. “My kids are always sending me DVDs. I think they just want to be sure I’m stocked-up with the latest when they visit.”
“Oh no,” I quickly replied. “The music’s lovely. It’s really cool the way it comes down out of the ceiling almost. I’m thinking about getting a Bose radio myself. They say it’s the best.”
Did I sound nervous? Was I talking fast?
“Will the kids come for Thanksgiving?” I continued. “How does that work? If you get Thanksgiving, does that mean you won’t see them at Christmas?”
“We usually switch off,” answered Luke.
“In the store that day, your mother was saying that she doesn’t get to see them enough.”
The coffee pot beeped, letting us know that the brewing was complete.
“Do you mind getting the coffee?” asked Luke.
“Oh sure!” I said springing up off the couch, grateful for the little reprieve.
By the time he was telling me there was half-n-half in the fridge, I was back in the kitchen. Being behind his back I worked to collect myself. I didn’t have much time. Luke had already set out two mugs, a spoon, and a couple of Splenda packets on a tray. Where were my old reserves, the resilient controls that I had employed for most of the time I had known him? Was this why he had never invited me over before, because I might do something unwanted and inappropriate? Flattening my palms against the cool granite counter, I took a deep breath. Luke and I were friends again. I was not going to mess this up. I placed the little pitcher of cream and the thermal carafe on the tray and carried it back to the great room.
Setting the tray on
the coffee table, I knelt down beside it on the hardwood floor to pour our coffee.
“Black, right?” I said passing him his mug.
The aroma of the coffee was rich. It seemed a shame to add cream and sweetener, and I wondered why he even had Splenda in the first place. But maybe it was for his kids—his daughters anyway. Or Stephanie-the-teacher’s sleepovers.
“Thanks,” replied Luke taking his coffee.
I poured myself a cup and proceeded to do damage to it, making it the way I liked it: one-half packet of Splenda and enough cream to take it from black to ivory. Then I sat cross-legged on the floor in front of the coffee table.
“You really do have a wonderful house, Luke,” I said smiling up at him before sipping my coffee.
He smiled crookedly and returned his cup to the tray.
“Here,” he said offering me a throw pillow from the sofa. “You better give your butt a break.”
I took the pillow but didn’t sit on it.
“I’m okay,” I said putting the pillow to the side.
“Are you sure?” he asked.
Something about the way he asked the question made me anxious again, like it had another meaning, like he knew that my panties were totally damp now, and butterflies were darting around the food and wine and coffee in my belly.
“Yes,” I nodded, smiling again. “Really. I sit on the floor all the time. I really like all the pictures of the kids especially. You must be so proud.”
“Thanks,” he said taking up his coffee again.
“Who knew that hardcore mind of yours for numbers had room for frivolous concepts like light and shadow.”
“You did.”
My cheeks warmed a little as we exchanged smiles over our coffee.
“Well you did take that English Lit class because your mother wanted you to,” I said after a time. “So she must have suspected it too.”
“Okay,” he agreed. “So the two women who know me best.”
Didn’t he count Christina anymore? And Mrs. Sterling and I had nothing else in common. Only Luke, and our love for him. Was that what Mrs. Sterling had been reaching out for that day in the mall, someone who loved her son like she did? It had been more than twenty years. Doubtful of her own daughter-in-law, how could she have been so sure of me? She had no way of knowing about the cassette tape and the Sony Walkman, and the picture of Luke’s wedding party that I could not throw away. Well however it was she knew, she knew, and thank God she had trusted her judgment.
“There’s a new photography exhibit at the art museum next month,” Luke said. “Wanna go with me?”
“Sure!” I eagerly answered. “But you realize I’m no photographer connoisseur/aficionado person. I just know what I like, I won’t know why.”
“Good,” he replied. “We’ll just have fun.”
Yeah well-well-well-yeah-hey
Yeah hey-hey ooo!
Driftin’ on a memory,
Ain’t no place I’d rather be than with you, yeah.
The Isley Brothers’ For the Love of You had begun cascading down from the corner speakers. It was the first song that Robert and I had danced to at our wedding. However the first time I had really listened to the song was when it had played in Luke’s car, as one of Rachel’s Favorites. Unconsciously I began to sway to the rhythm slightly, remembering. Loving you well-well-well…
“You like that one,” Luke said.
Day will make a way for night. All we’ll need is candle lights and a song, yeah, soft and long…
I had made the song the first dance selection in an attempt to break its secret spell over me, hoping to disassociate it from the four-hour drives between Dallas and Austin that had always seemed too short. I had held tightly to Robert and told myself how lucky I was to be a bride. Robert was supposed to make the words real and wake me up from their enduring dream. Luke wouldn’t know about that. He had not come to my wedding. Glad to be here alone with a lover unlike no other…
“You must like it too,” I replied now, quietly, so that I didn’t compete with the music or the original memory.
Sad to see a new horizon, slowly comin’ into view, yeah, I wanna be living for the love of you ah yes I am. All that I’m giving is for the love of you, all right now…
“It grew on me,” Luke said.
I smiled at him.
“Because I used to play it over and over in your car?” I asked.
“Yeah,” he replied. “That’s why.”
Lovely as a ray of sun that touches me when the mornin’ comes, feels good to me yeah, my love and me, well…
“Well it’s your own fault,” I reminded him. “You’re the one who put it on my tape.”
“You used to make me listen to it so much I thought my ears would bleed,” Luke remembered.
“You chose your own punishment.”
“I’m surprised I didn’t sing that song in my sleep.”
I wondered if I ever did. Robert had never mentioned it and I had never slept with anybody else.
Smoother than a gentle breeze, flowin’ through my mind with ease, soft as can be, well, when you’re lovin’ me, when you’re lovin’ me Ooo!
“In any case,” I said. “I must have converted you.”
Luke looked at me.
“I guess you did,” he conceded.
I laughed lightly and closed my eyes letting the music carry me away.
Love to be right in the waves of your love enchanted with a touch, and, it seems to me we could sail together in and out of mystery. Well I wanna be living for the love of you, alright now, all that I’m giving is for the love of you.
I had loved Luke’s Trans Am probably as much as he had. I wondered what had happened to it.
I wanna be living for the love of you, alright now, all that I’m giving-giving is for the love of you, Oh yes I am…
I had wanted so badly for Luke to see me dancing with Robert on a day when I had been beautiful. I had wanted to show him that he had been replaced, so that maybe he would have felt a little of the recrimination too.
THIRTEEN
It was early November. The Halloween decorations had just come down and the mall Christmas decorations were beginning to go up. At least the Santa Clause songs hadn’t started yet. Maybe they’d let us get through Thanksgiving first.
It was a Saturday afternoon, and contrary to my usual shopping habits, here I was spending it in the Galleria Mall with Corrine on a fashion mission-critical. As it turned out, the photography exhibit that Luke had invited me to was the headline event of a private museum showing reserved for the high-roller patrons of the Museum of Art. It wasn’t just some outing in the afternoon, but an evening affair, involving his parents no less, so I must have the right outfit. Corrine said that I should go for business chic.
“Corporate sector,” she had emphasized. “Not civil service.”
The problem was that I was on a civil service budget, and Christmas was coming, sooner than later. In addition to figuring out what I was going to buy for Mommy, and a bunch of family and friends, I now also had Luke to think about. Despite the fact that my Christmas Club account could only go so far before I would be breaking some Suze Orman rule, Corrine had convinced me that I needed the right clothes to wear, which meant buying something new.
“It should look like you just came from the office,” Corrine advised as we prowled through yet another rack of dresses with price tags that started well over a hundred dollars.
“We’re meeting at seven,” I replied. “I was going to go home first and change.”
“Even if you do, you need to look like you didn’t,” she told me, holding up a blue dress with dolman sleeves against me. “I bet he won’t go home first. You can’t look like you’re trying too hard. The only way to impress a snob is with confident indifference.”
Shaking her head she returned the blue dress to the rack. Nordstrom’s had to be the tenth store that we had been in today, however I had lost count, and all I had to show for it so far w
as a pair of Spanx-enhanced pantyhose. Ruefully I remembered why it was that I preferred shopping by myself, and better yet online. However, memories of a miserable Mommy in her candy-red dress at the Sterlings Christmas party kept me compliant with Corrine’s instructions. She was smarter about these kinds of things than I was, and I listened to her.
“How do you know he won’t go home?” I asked, following Corrine like a peevish lamb to another rack.
“He won’t,” she answered. “Trust me. Unless he’s got to take care of some medical complication.”
“He doesn’t have medical complications.”
“Okay then. He probably works late all the time. Except when he goes out with you.”
“Or Stephanie.”
“Yeah, right. Stephanie.”
“He does see other people,” I reminded Corrine as I went towards a little black dress that had caught my eye.
“No,” she called me away from it. “You wouldn’t wear it to the office. Not if you had any decorum anyway.”
I came back to stand beside her.
“I don’t know why you keep bringing up Stephanie,” she went on. “He’s taking you to the fancy art exhibit.”
“Because I liked the pictures of his kids.”
“Is that why?” asked Corrine dryly.
“Yes,” I insisted.
“And not because he likes you.”
She had moved on to a rack of colorful silk blouses. Luke liked me. He had always liked me. But that didn’t mean that he liked me. We were friends, I constantly told Corrine, sounding like a broken record even to me, and this was the digital age.
“At least it’s Thursday night,” said Corrine. “Maybe Stephanie and Brian can get some weekend play.” She selected an emerald green blouse with a soft ruffle trim around the neckline and held it up against me. “This might work. You could pair it with a black skirt and add a wide belt, patent leather, and boom—you’re pretty and practical. Like you just took off your jacket. Not overdressed at all. That’s how they know, you know, when we don’t belong. Because we overdo it. It’s like with makeup. You don’t make up. You don’t dress up. The trick is to make it look easy. Old money’s doesn’t shine.”
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