by Maria Geraci
“Why didn’t you talk to him?”
“I don’t know. It just…didn’t feel right.”
“I think I have a pretty good idea why you want to speak to me and the answer is no. Please don’t call again.”
I’ve been a journalist long enough to be able to read people pretty well. I’ve been going over that message in my head, wondering what it is that’s bothered me, and I’ve finally figured it out. I wasn’t just some reporter trying to get to Trip. Nor was I some random girl from his hometown. There was something personal in Frank Monroe’s tone of voice. But for the life of me I can’t imagine what Frank Monroe would have against me. In all my years growing up in Catfish Cove, I can’t remember ever even speaking to him.
Just thinking all this begins to agitate me, so I change the subject again.
I playfully punch Nick in the shoulder. “Hey, last night when I tried on those dresses, you had to have had an opinion. Tell me the truth, which one did you like best?”
“Does it matter? You’re going to wear the one you want to anyway, right?”
“Of course, but I still want to know what you think.”
“Okay,” he says cautiously. He is fully awake now. “If you really want to know, I like the polka-dot one.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. It looks more like…you.”
This surprises me. I thought for sure Nick would go for the sexy dress. And what does he mean when he says the polka-dot dress looks more like “me?” That I’m not sexy? Clearly, he must find me somewhat sexy. I’m in bed with him, aren’t I? A part of me wants to quiz him on all this, but I’m still thinking of Ben’s warning not to overanalyze and I clamp my mouth shut before I can say anything.
Nick seems pleased that I have dropped the subject. He pulls me closer and I relax against him. Ben is right. For once in my life I’m going to refrain from dissecting what is clearly “a moment.”
How strange is it that I’m taking relationship advice from Ben Gallagher?
chapter thirteen
It’s another Monday morning and I’m feeling pretty fine. For once, everything in my life is perfect. I’m dating the sweetest, nicest, sexiest guy on the planet and my work life is going pretty well too. In less than three weeks I’m finally going to connect with Trip Monroe, and once Trip sees me and I tell him that I really need an interview, I can’t imagine why he wouldn’t give me one.
I pick up the donuts and for the third week in a row Ben is already in the conference room. We only have a few seconds before everyone else arrives and Jackie announces that the Death Star is finally complete. They are closing on Friday and moving in this weekend and everyone is invited to a big housewarming party next month.
She passes around invitations and I notice everyone’s envelope says “and guest” behind their name. Lisa has been dating the same guy for the last year, so I assume she’ll bring her boyfriend, Tony. Richard changes girlfriends the way most men change the channel, so I imagine he’ll bring the flavor of the hour. I wonder if Ben will bring Amy. I’m thinking this is a good opportunity for everyone at work to meet Nick.
That evening I call him.
“A housewarming party? Sure, sounds great.”
We discuss the specifics and then Nick breaks the news that he will not be able to drive down to Tampa this weekend to see me.
“Sorry, babe, I have to pull a double on Saturday. You know how it is, small-town police department. We all have to cover for one another.”
“I could drive up there,” I offer.
“I’d love that, but it’s hardly worth the trip. You’d see me two hours, tops.” For one nanosecond I wonder if Nick is brushing me off, but then he adds, “You’re a cop’s girlfriend, might as well get used to the bad hours.”
Despite the fact we’ve been spending all our free time together and each has the other listed as their Facebook relationship, this is the first time Nick has actually called me his girlfriend. I like the way it sounds when he says it.
The next couple of days go by without anything exciting happening. Ben leaves early Wednesday afternoon for his Vegas trip, and on Thursday Richard calls in sick. I don’t ever remember Richard calling in sick other than his usual fourth Friday, which is not tomorrow, so he is completely out of sync here.
Richard’s sick call puts Lisa in a complete panic. Although Lisa and Tony seem kind of serious, I’m pretty sure she has a crush on Richard. She hangs out by his cubicle more than she needs to, laughs way too long at his jokes (which, I admit, can sometimes be pretty funny), and always remembers the exact way he likes his turkey sandwich when we order takeout from the deli next door (white bread, lettuce, tomato, Italian dressing, provolone cheese, pickles, no mayo). Everyone else in the office has to write their order down and even then half the time Lisa still gets it wrong.
“Do you think I should go by his place and make sure he’s okay?” Lisa asks. “I could bring him chicken soup.”
I consider this for a moment, then remember the tan Richard got the last time he called in “sick.”
“Nah, I’m sure he’s fine.”
With Richard absent today, I can turn the radio to any station I want, which puts me in a fantastic mood. The cocktail charity event is now only fifteen days away and I decide it’s time to do some extra-intensive research on Trip.
Trip was born and raised in Catfish Cove, attended public schools, and worked at his uncle Frank’s auto repair shop. He’s an only child and his daddy died when Trip was sixteen (all this I already knew from firsthand knowledge). After high school graduation he continued working for his uncle but he also started a side business fixing up old race cars. He entered his first race when he was nineteen and placed third. After that, he began winning races on a steady basis and was able to quit his day job and concentrate on the racing circuit. At the age of twenty-four, he suffered a near-fatal injury at the Talladega Superspeedway. He came back to racing the next year as a born-again Christian and has stayed at the top of his game. He has never married, although he’s been linked to several famous personalities. He’s been described as “elusive” but “friendly enough.” He also still fixes his own cars.
All this research is what I call the “bones.” It’s the structure on which I’ll base my questions. But I’m still lacking the “muscle.” This is the hook or the angle behind the article. I told Ben I planned to do a “Zero to Hero” story. Poor boy makes good. That kind of thing, and I’m still thinking it’s the best way to go. I won’t know for sure until I do more research. The final touch to the article will be the “fat,” but I’ll only discover that after I actually spend some one-on-one time with Trip.
I read every article, every word I can find in print, trying to discover the muscle, but I don’t get the “aha!” moment I’m searching for. I need to look at this from another angle and that’s when it occurs to me that I should look into the one person (besides his mama) who has had the most influence on Trip, and that’s his uncle Frank.
I think about the Trip Monroe photo shrine that Uncle Frank has going on at his shop. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out that after Trip’s daddy died, Uncle Frank took over as Trip’s father figure. Since another personal phone call to Frank Monroe is out of the question, I decide to call Mom and see what she knows about him.
“Hey, Mom,” I say, “did you go to high school with Frank Monroe?”
“Emma, I’m in the middle of trying to get a peanut out of a four-year-old’s nose. What’s this about?”
“Oops. Sorry. I didn’t mean for you to be paged stat or anything. It’s research for my Trip Monroe article.” Pause. “Soft-boiled or regular?”
“Soft-boiled, of course.”
“So sorry! I’ll call back later.”
“It’s all right,” Mom says. “They’ve untied the ropes to let him up to go tee-tee. But make it fast.” Sometimes Mom’s attempts at humor are a little unsettling.
“So, did you go to high school with Frank Monroe?”
/> “As a matter of fact I did. He was a year older than me.”
“Great. Okay, so what can you tell me about him?”
For a long time Mom doesn’t say anything. “Mom, are you still there?”
“I’m here. Let’s see…Frank Monroe, well, he was a very nice boy.”
“That’s it?”
“I went to prom with him.”
I can’t help but laugh. “You went to prom with Frank Monroe?”
“What’s so funny about that, missy?”
“Nothing,” I say quickly. “Okay, so this is good. What’s he like? Any skeletons in the closet?”
“How exactly does this fit into your Trip Monroe article?”
“It’s background information.”
Mom sighs. “Honestly, Emma, there’s nothing much to say. He was a nice boy who grew up into a nice man but I haven’t talked to him in years. He doesn’t even work at his own auto repair shop anymore. Whenever I take in the Volvo, there’s always some teenager with acne behind the counter.”
“Is there any reason Frank Monroe would have to dislike me?”
“Dislike you? What on earth are you talking about? Why would he dislike you? Did Frank Monroe say something to upset you?”
“No, of course not. I’ve never even spoken to him. I don’t know. I thought maybe he had a previous bad experience with a reporter?” I omit the fact that I think it’s personal because it makes no sense.
“Now you’re being dramatic.”
For once I agree. “Okay, well, that’s what I thought.”
I promise my mom to drive safely (something she makes me say at the end of each phone call) and we hang up. Two minutes later my phone rings. It’s Jason.
“Want to grab a bite to eat?” he asks.
“Sure. Where do you want to go? Torie likes that new place on Kennedy.”
“I was thinking it would just be you and me.”
We make plans to meet at a restaurant near my office. I’ve never had lunch with just Jason before, and I have to admit, I’m curious. The waitress takes our order and Jason gets right down to it.
“I want to get back with Torie.”
“All right,” I say cautiously.
“You’re her best friend. Has she ever said she feels the same way?”
Jason looks so eager that I can’t help but try to give him some hope. “Not exactly, but she’s never said anything against it either.”
“I guess that’s a start, huh?”
“Definitely!” Then I add, “Just go slow. Be natural. Don’t overwhelm her.”
I try my best to steer the conversation away from Torie, but Jason keeps veering it back. We end lunch with my once again cautioning him to take things one day at a time, and Jason promises to do just that.
I go back to the office, slightly depressed.
I really don’t think Jason has a shot.
I work till both Lisa and Jackie leave, then lock up the office and head for my car. Despite the fact that I’m still miffed at Richard for his part in the “Facebook fiasco,” I break down and call his cell.
“What?” he says, his voice rough and scratchy.
“Oh my God, you’re really sick.”
A nasty gurgling sound comes from his end of the receiver.
“Don’t talk. I’ll be there in ten minutes. No, make that twenty.”
I show up at Richard’s doorstep with a grocery bag filled with Gatorade, cough medicine, Kleenex, and a carton of take-out chicken soup from the deli at Publix.
He opens his door wearing a Tampa Bay Rays T-shirt, boxer shorts, and a pair of mismatched socks. His hair is sticking up and his eyes are bloodshot.
“You’re thirty minutes late,” he croaks.
I brush past him and head to the kitchen to put away the supplies. “Aw, Richard, were you counting down the minutes till I got here? That’s so sweet.” I open up the grocery bag and lay the contents on the counter.
He grabs the chicken soup and opens the lid. “You brought me soup?”
“It was Lisa’s idea. She’s been frantic all day, worrying about you.” Pause. “I kind of thought you were faking it, so I talked her out of bringing it to you earlier. Sorry.” I place my palm against his forehead. “You don’t feel hot, so I guess that’s good.”
“I took some Tylenol this afternoon.”
“Good boy.”
I reheat the soup and hand it to Richard, who immediately starts chowing down.
“Glad to see this hasn’t affected your appetite.”
He grunts.
“Do you think Lisa is…into you?” I blurt. Considering my Ben crush, this is like the pot calling the kettle black.
Richard freezes, his spoon halfway to his mouth. “Lisa knows exactly how I feel about her.”
He does not elaborate, and since it’s really none of my business, I don’t feel as if I should push it. Although…what does that mean? Exactly how does he feel about her?
I pick up the bottle of cough medicine and make a big show of reading the label. “So, if you take this right now—”
“I told Lisa she was a great girl but that I thought of her as a friend. End of story.”
My head snaps up to meet his gaze. “When was this?”
“A few months ago.”
“Oh. Okay.” I try to act nonchalant but I have to admit, I am greatly relieved. I think it’s because I like Lisa, and I don’t want her to waste her time crushing on Richard if he’s not crushing on her back. I’ve been there and done that myself with Ben and I know how much it hurts.
“So when did you start editing my articles?” he asks.
“Your—oh, the circus piece? I did that to help Ben clear his desk. You know, before he left for Vegas.”
“That was awful nice of you.”
“Sarcasm on top of sick isn’t pretty.”
“Sorry, let me try again. Gee, Emma, that was really nice of you to do Gallagher’s work so he could fly off to Vegas with his buddies for a four-day bender.”
I open my mouth to respond with something equally snarky then stop myself. It never occurred to me that Richard might be envious of my professional relationship with Ben, but clearly, he is. I decide to take the high road. “It’s a great article,” I say truthfully.
“Yeah?”
“I think it’s one of the best things you’ve ever written.”
“I must be hallucinating. What did you put in the chicken soup?”
I laugh, but I’m a little rattled by his response. Have I never complimented Richard’s writing before?
I decide to keep him company in his misery. He slurps his soup down while we watch a zombie movie (I let him pick since he’s sick), and after a while he falls asleep on the sofa. I find a blanket, tuck it over his shoulders, and lock the door on my way out.
chapter fourteen
Before I know it, it’s Friday night and time for another happy hour at Captain Pete’s. I haven’t been back here since the night of the Ben-Amy hookup. I force myself to walk through the same door by which Ben laid one on Amy, and plaster a smile on my face.
Tonight is completely different from any other night that I have previously been to Captain Pete’s. For the first time in aeons, I am no longer one of many available girls looking for love in all the wrong places. I am a happy, confident woman involved in a relationship with a man who appreciates me for who I am.
How many loved your moments of glad grace,
And loved your beauty with love false or true,
But one man loved the pilgrim soul in you,
And loved the sorrows of your changing face.
While I haven’t exactly had scores of men lining up to admire my “beauty,” I can still find something in those famous lines by Yeats to draw an analogy to Nick’s I like you just the way you are. I think Nick is drawn to my pilgrim soul. I’m not sure exactly what a pilgrim soul is, but I’ve always found the expression beautiful.
Torie and Kimberly are already at the bar, drinks in han
d. So is Amy. I was really hoping she wouldn’t be here tonight. She’s wearing a tight, but not too slutty, leather miniskirt and the most outrageous heels I’ve ever seen. Her honey-blond hair hangs down her back, shiny and perfect. I really can’t blame Ben for shnogging her.
“Emma! I’m so glad you made it.” Amy gives me her standard we’re-long-lost-friends hug. She then steps back to give me a thorough inspection. “You look awesome! Have you lost weight?”
I grit my teeth. This particular “compliment” has always struck me as disingenuous, particularly in light of the fact that despite practicing moderation these past weeks, I have gained two pounds. My pilgrim soul might be a thing of beauty, but my pilgrim ass is feeling a little jiggly tonight. I am not, however, going to let Amy know that. “Thanks! I feel terrific.”
Torie catches the tail end of our conversation. “Doesn’t Emma look great?”
“She sure does,” says Jason, popping up behind me.
I turn around and give Jason a tight hug. I’ve been worried about him ever since our lunch yesterday. I thought briefly about talking to Torie. Warning her, really, that Jason was going to make a play to get them back together. But I don’t trust Torie’s acting abilities. If I speak to her about Jason, she won’t be able to hide it around him and I don’t want to break Jason’s trust. Which means all this puts me in a really bad spot.
“Emma’s-got-a-love-glow,” Torie singsongs, winking at me.
“Where’s your guy?” Jason asks, searching for Nick.
“Back home, serving and protecting the fine folks of Catfish Cove.”
“Emma!” Amy narrows her eyes at me. “Are you seeing someone?”
Kimberly now steps into the action. She whips out her phone and shows Amy a picture she took of Nick and me at dinner. Kimberly spends more than a few minutes extolling Nick’s virtues. I’m impressed by how many details she remembers about him. I know what my friends are doing. They’re trying to show Amy that despite my “ugly friend” status, I have managed to nab this really great guy. My throat starts to feel lumpy. I am so lucky to have such loyal friends.
