Central Park Rendezvous

by Kim Vogel Sawyer

  She blinked, feeling slapped. “Excuse me?”

  “You gave up a scholarship with The Juilliard to save your uncle.”

  Jamie sucked in a breath. “How do you know that?”

  “I don’t want to be some pet project, Jamie.”

  “There is nothing wrong with making sacrifices for those you love.” She wanted to snatch back that word. Would he think she meant that she loved him? She didn’t. At least… she didn’t think she did. They’d only known each other a month. It wasn’t possible to happen that fast.

  “It is when you give up on your own dreams, when you stop living.”

  The back of her eyes burned.

  “I want you to be happy, Jamie. I don’t want you stuck with a man who passes out when he gets stressed. And I don’t want to get left because you can’t take it.”

  “Good grief, Sean! We barely know each other. How dare you accuse me of not living. How dare you impugn me by saying I’d leave you—that is, if this relationship even goes that far.”

  “I won’t have you giving up dreams for me.”

  “And what about your dreams, Sean?”

  The lamppost light danced across his jaw muscle, which popped angrily.

  “You don’t even know what your dreams are, do you? What kind of person doesn’t have dreams?”

  He sliced a glare in her direction.

  “I’ll tell you what kind of man doesn’t have dreams…” Jamie swallowed, chiding herself for letting her anger over his oh-too-accurate words vault to the surface. “A man too afraid to dream.” Stop. Stop pushing him! “What are you afraid of, Sean?”

  Steel replaced the rugged look of Sean’s face. “A woman who would berate a man for what he is.” Sean pivoted and strode into the night.

  It felt like an ambush along the Iraqi border all over again. Except this time, he wasn’t peppered with bullets, but words. Piercing, taunting words. The fight he’d had with Jamie last week haunted him. Reeked of the same arguments his parents had over and over. Eerily similar to the last fight his mom and dad ever had.

  No, he wasn’t going there. Since she’d entered his life, he’d battled nothing but heartache and bad memories. No more. He wasn’t going to live like that, no matter how much good she stirred up in him. No matter how much she made him want to be a better man. Setting himself up for failure wasn’t his idea of a good marriage.

  Sean froze. Marriage? Who was talking marriage?

  Life. He meant life.

  Hands on the grips of the rebuilt Harley, he aimed it toward Harry’s garage. Inside, he flicked the kickstand and cut the engine. Straddling it, he grinned as Harry jogged from the back. “What do you think?”

  Removing his Yankee ball cap, Harry smiled. “That’s amazing—beautiful! Gary Meade is going to be ecstatic.”

  “Good, just make sure he pays up the rest.” Sean handed over the keys. “I need the money. Ready to find my own place and get back on my feet.”

  Harry replaced his cap. “Don’t worry. Meade’s good for it. I’ll call you as soon as he comes in, which I can just about guarantee will be first thing—he’s heading up some committee with the parade, so I reckon he’s down there right now.”

  Sean nodded. “Sounds good. Catch you later, Harry.” He strode out and into the brisk November morning. With the parade in a couple of days, a lot of prep went into it. Armed with more letters, he fought the urge to return to the bridge to read them. No sense risking seeing her. They were over, as far as he was concerned. He didn’t need someone pushing him and shoving things in his face.

  Okay, so she hadn’t been mean. Not the way his mom had, but it was close. Too close. He couldn’t sort out what was different, but he didn’t want to go there either.

  Sitting at an outdoor coffee shop, armed with a hot latte, Sean tugged the letters from his pocket. Though there were only twenty or so letters, it’d taken time to work through them, especially those from his grandfather that tore into the painful past of his father’s suicide. One left, then he’d be on to the older letters, the yellowed ones that bore 1940-era dates and even older.

  Sean opened the envelope. Short and sweet, his grandfather had written:

  Sean, I found this about a year ago. I think it’s time for you to read it. Affectionately, Grandpa.

  Unfolding the other pages, Sean stilled at the penmanship. He frowned. This wasn’t the handwriting of Henry Wolfe. His gaze skipped to the signature. Your son, Patrick.

  Heart pounding like a .50 caliber gun, Sean realized his own father had penned this one:

  Dear Dad,

  Got your letter dated 19 April. Thanks for writing. It’s nice to hear something from home. Glad to know Marcia and the kids are doing well. Wish I could have seen little William “Sean” Henry born. That just tears at me to have missed the birth of my own son. Thanks for tending to Marcia’s and the kids’ needs. I know you and Marcia haven’t been on best terms, so I really appreciate you stepping in to help while I’m away.

  It’s hotter than you-know-what here, so everything and everyone stinks. In fact, this whole war stinks, but we are soldiers. It’s what we do. You know that, don’t you, having sneaked off to war at 16 with forged papers.

  We’re heading into a hot spot, so I need to make this quick. I know I’ve disappointed you in a lot of ways. Back home, high on myself, I couldn’t see it. But here, a man starts to realize how valuable life is and how much people really mean.

  I’m sorry, Pop. I know I made a mess of things. Anyway, if I don’t make it home, that coin you tried to give me at the station… did you give it to Alan like I said you should? You always had a soft spot for him, and I think if anyone could protect the Wolfe legacy, it’d be him. Maybe… maybe someday it could find its way back to one of my sons, but I’d be glad to know it was in the hands of a good friend.

  A LOVE MEANT TO BE

  by Dineen Miller

  Dedication

  For Dad,

  for your courage in faith and in life

  [Love] always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres.

  1 CORINTHIANS 13:7 NIV

  Chapter 1

  New York City, 1973

  From the street, the Wolfe brownstone stood in its usual imposing regality, the domain of Henry Wolfe. The tall glass doors reflected the regal homes on the opposite side of the street, topped with a glimmer of the distant skyscrapers in downtown Manhattan. At the top of the steps, large ceramic urns poured out a green profusion on both sides of the double doors.

  Alan James checked the pocket of his new sports coat again to make sure the ring box still lay snug and secure. Grit on the stairs crunched under his shoes. He paused at the door, brushed the hair off his forehead, then adjusted his shoulders. An invitation to a Wolfe party was definitely a step up the social chain, even if he was only there to deliver a ring.

  He pressed the doorbell and took a deep breath, rehearsing in his mind again how he would explain things to Henry. Shadows of inner movement broke the reflective sheen of the windows. The knob turned and one door swung open.

  “Well, hello there.” The lilt of Marcia Wolfe’s voice dragged in drunken flirtation. “What brings you my way?” She stood with one hand on her hip. Her low-slung and too-tight blouse bled wild colors onto snug, dark blue bell-bottom jeans.

  “Here to see Patrick and his father, Mrs. Wolfe.” Alan touched the ring box through his pocket again.

  “Oh yes, Patrick said you were coming.” She touched her finger to his chest just above his shirt button. Her nail poked into his skin. “To this day you still won’t call me Marcia. Why is that, Alan?” She drawled out his name as if to make a point.

  “Just being polite, ma’am.”

  Her eyes scoured over him much like the animal matching her last name. If Patrick’s idea that a glitzy ring would bring his wife back to the “sweet little thing she used to be” worked, then Alan would buy more jewels for his antique store and sell them as magic talismans. He felt a twin
ge of sympathy for his best friend, who hadn’t embraced the “free love” attitude that had sneaked its way into the seventies. Unlike his wife.

  She snatched her finger back with a huff. “Right this way.”

  Alan followed her past the entryway into an expansive living room with wide glass doors leading to the first-floor patio. A minibar the size of his VW Bug nestled in one corner of the room. People milled about, cups and food plates in hand. He squelched his sudden discomfort and weaved his way through the crowd to where Henry stood with his son, Patrick.

  He shook Henry’s hand. “Sir.”

  “Welcome to the party, son.” Henry’s broad grin didn’t distract Alan from noticing the wince that flicked across Patrick’s face. They’d been friends for years, but the past still stung.

  Alan patted his pocket and looked to Patrick. Better to deflect the moment and get to business. “I think you’ll like what I found.”

  Patrick’s brows perked up and the corners of his mouth twitched in a slight grin. “Let’s take a look.” He scanned the room. “Marcia must be in the kitchen. We’re cool.”

  The velvet stubble pressed into Alan’s thumbs as he opened the box. A large square diamond set against a frame of white gold and diamond chips sat in red velvet. He handed the box to Patrick.

  Small bursts of reflected light glimmered across the icy surface of the diamond. “Marcia will love this. It’s exactly her style. Loud and flashy.”

  Clearing his throat, Henry patted Alan on the shoulder. “Well done, Alan. Patrick’s been searching for the right ring to replace the one he gave her when he proposed.”

  Patrick continued to stare into the box, a blank expression on his face as if he were past feeling anything real except weariness. “Maybe this will keep her happy until I get back.”

  “When do you ship out?” Alan would soon follow his friend into battle.

  “Back to the jungle in two weeks.” Eyes dark with nightmares and hidden horrors reflected what Alan feared would be his own demise. Patrick never talked about what happened while he was there, but his troubled stare spoke of images too real to be imagined.

  Patrick smiled and snapped the box shut. “Excuse me. I need to find Marcia.”

  Alan nodded then stepped back to let his friend pass. A moment of silence rested between Alan and Henry Wolfe. “I hope she likes it.”

  Henry blew out a breathy sigh. “We’ll find out one way or another. Marcia can be quite… vocal.”

  To prove his point, a squeal broke through the soft classical music serving as background ambiance. Marcia dashed into the room, hand held out high and proud to a woman standing on the opposite side of the minibar.

  Alan’s gaze slid from Marcia’s outstretched arm to the redhead now holding Marcia’s ring-adorned hand. Red shiny bangs streamed out from under a wide white headband and swept across her forehead. The back of her short hairdo puffed delicately out in a classic Jacqueline Kennedy style. Creamy smooth skin surrounded the smokiest eyes he’d ever seen. The girl’s beauty put the diamond to shame.

  He felt a bump on his shoulder and glanced at Henry, who chuckled then nodded toward the scene. “See what I mean?”

  Those smoky eyes stared right at him now. Alan forced a swallow down the brittle dryness of his throat. “Yes, sir. I believe I do.”

  Marcia had dared her, and Gail Gibson never turned down a dare. Her one obvious flaw and probably why her sister had goaded her to check out Mr. Wolfe’s apprentice. But the way he returned her gaze gave her mind pause and her heart a jolt. Maybe she was the first redhead he’d ever seen. Or maybe the guy needed to learn it wasn’t polite to stare.

  Heat rushed to her cheeks, no doubt making her look like a tomato. The bane of her existence. Here she was chastising the poor fellow for staring and she was doing the very same thing. Gail reverted her gaze back to the safety of her sister’s ring. “It is gorgeous, Marcia. I hope you told Patrick you love it.”

  Her sister shrugged. “I told him it was nice.”

  “Nice? Don’t you think he deserves more than that?”

  Marcia’s smile turned into a glare. “He’s just trying to appease me because he knows I’m still angry about him signing up for another tour. I’m tired, Gail. I’m tired of raising our kids by myself while the man traipses around jungles, getting drunk with his buddies.”

  Gail inhaled deeply through her nose. Her sister’s moods changed as rapidly as the fashions did these days. She couldn’t keep up anymore. Thankfully she’d be back home at the end of the summer and back to her beloved classes. Books made better companions.

  “You should meet him, you know?”

  Gail struggled to follow her sister’s sudden shift in conversation. “Who?”

  Marcia nodded toward the man she’d dared Gail to look at. “Alan James. He’s one of Patrick’s friends and now a goony for Henry. You two might just hit it off.”

  “In case you’ve forgotten, I have a boyfriend.”

  “Oh yeah, Mr. Wall Street. Better grab him before he finds some cutie ready to play housewife for him.”

  She glared at her sister. “Troy Pendergast is a good man. He would never do such a thing.”

  “I bet he doesn’t make your heart race like Alan James.”

  “Marcia, stop it. I will not let you goad me into a fight. I’m very happy with my life, just the way it is.”

  Marcia stared at her, almost as if she didn’t know what to say. But her sister always knew what to say. Just not always the right thing. “A safe boyfriend and stodgy books. Yeah, that sounds downright chipper to me.”

  Gail thought about Troy. He was kind of safe, but she liked that about him. She knew what to expect from him and knew what he expected from her. They were a good fit. She didn’t need to be swept off her feet. She smiled. Now was the right time to tell her sister her news. “Troy asked me to marry him before I left.”

  Marcia grabbed her left hand. “So where’s the ring?”

  Gail pulled her hand back. Not quite the elation she’d hoped for. “He said he’ll have it by the time I get back. That’s why he’s working for his dad this summer.”

  “Then there’s still time.”

  “Time for what?”

  Marcia positioned her body behind Gail’s and propelled her forward. “To have one more fling before you settle for Mr. Safe. And Alan James is as good as any fling I’ve seen lately.”

  “Listen, Alan… I wanted to talk to you about something.” Henry Wolfe touched his fist to his mouth. He pulled Alan back away from the crowd. “I know you activated your draft.”

  “Yes, sir. I’d planned to tell you tonight—”

  “It’s quite all right. I dropped by the shop yesterday, and your sister, Tara, mentioned it. I think she assumed I already knew.” Henry slipped his hand into his pocket. “Are you sure you’re ready for Vietnam, son?”

  He’d asked himself that question almost every day since activating his draft notice. Alan glanced across the room to where Patrick stood off to the side, staring at his wife yet not really seeing her. His vacant expression spoke of a man lost in the world of his tormented thoughts and memories. “Don’t really have a choice, sir. I finished my college degree, and my sister is eighteen now. It’s time.”

  Henry pursed his lips and nodded. “Tara said she’ll be running the antique shop while you’re gone.”

  Everything he’d planned to say fled under Henry’s questioning. “Yes, and I think she’ll do a great job. I’ve been training her the last year, and—”

  “Good. I agree.”

  Alan studied his mentor. Not the reaction he’d expected.

  Henry chuckled. “Alan, you and I have worked closely this last year to build your antique business and make it something you’ll be able to pass down to your own children. If I’d had any doubts of your ability, trust me, we never would have even started on this venture. Goodness knows I’ve had enough experience with Patrick…. Well, let’s just say I know determination when I see it.” />
  Alan glanced across the room, grateful to see Patrick wasn’t in hearing distance. “Thank you, sir. I was worried you might not approve.”

  “I do, and I admire your commitment to your country. Just do me a favor and come back in better shape than…” Sadness hung on the man’s face making him look ten years older. “I have something I want to show you.” He withdrew his hand from his pocket and held out a round gold coin in his open palm.

  Judging by the markings, Alan guessed the piece dated back to the Civil War, at least. He took it from Henry’s hand and examined the detail. The engraving “Love never fails. W.W. Central Park” circled the back.

  “It’s been passed down through the family since my great-grandfather, William Wolfe, who fought in the Civil War. It’s supposed to bring the bearer good luck in war and love.” He smiled and looked at the coin fondly. “It served my sister well…. Anyway, I’d like to give it to Patrick….” He shifted his gaze toward his son. Shook his head. “Do me a favor before you ship out and see what you can find out about its manufacturer. I’d like to add that to my records. Could use a little cleaning, too, I believe.”

  Alan flipped the coin on his palm. “It’s a beautiful piece, sir. Haven’t seen anything like it. I’m sure Patrick will appreciate it.”

  “I showed it to Patrick, but he didn’t seem that interested in the luck part. Patrick and Marcia… well…”

  Alan glanced up just in time to see Marcia heading their way with the redhead in tow. Patrick slogged along behind the two. But the redhead… Alan swallowed again and nearly choked. She kept glancing at him with those smoky eyes, appearing shy and unsettled, which only added to her mystery.

  Henry’s hand on his shoulder brought Alan back from captivity. “What I mean to say is be careful out there. I’ve come to think of you like a son, Alan.”

  Alan nodded then shifted his gaze to search for the redhead. He didn’t have to look far though. She stood a mere two feet away, smiling at him.