by Gail Mencini
“What was your number one rule for me?”
Oh, no. Don’t make me say it. Bella bit her bottom lip.
“What was it, Mom? Tell me, would you?”
Her eyes sought his. She blinked to halt the tears that floated over her eyes. She’d said it so often that she didn’t even need to think. This time, however, her words broke and she stuttered halfway through. “Whatever happens, the most ... most important thing is to always,” she paused, “always be honest with people. The t-truth is always better.”
David turned and walked out of the apartment without speaking.
“No. No.” Bella pounded her fist against the door. She flung it open. “David.” She yelled down the stairwell. Bella listened for his footsteps. She ran for the steps. Her foot slipped. She tripped and tumbled down, banging her elbow, knees, and shoulder.
Bella collapsed in a heap on the landing as if she were a pile of rotting garbage. “David.” She listened.
No more footsteps.
The silent balloon of loss and loneliness surrounded her; it pressed and pushed against her. This same suffocating weight had hovered over her once before. That time, it had been the day she learned that Phillip didn’t choose her.
22
New York, New York
David, a year out of college now, had called her this morning. Talking to David always gave her a reason to celebrate.
He had refused to speak to Bella, or meet her, for months after that fateful dinner with his shallow girlfriend. Thank God that girl never resurfaced. Eventually, Bella had worn David down. Finally, one day when she had called, he answered. They had met here the first time, in Central Park. A long walk had mended the rift, at least enough for him to allow Bella back into his life.
Today was a perfect spring day for a jog in the park, and Bella joined the throngs doing just that. The warm afternoon stretched out her stride, and Bella decided to double her normal jog around the reservoir. Brilliant pink and white cherry blossoms lined the path. A slight breeze fluttered through the trees, lifting stray petals off and sending them drifting down as if they were lazy confetti. She filled her lungs with the roselike scent and lifted her face to the sun.
Heavy footfalls, likely belonging to a man, approached her from behind. Bella edged to the side of the narrow path. The male jogger came up beside her and matched her stride. Bella kept her eyes on the trees, hoping he’d get the hint that she wasn’t interested and run on ahead.
“Bella?” the man said, a hint of a Southern accent drawing out the question.
It was a voice from long ago. Stillman. Bella glanced at the man beside her and saw an older version of her friend from that summer abroad. His hair, once auburn, had morphed into a close-cropped white. But his handsome face, now with wrinkles at the corners of his eyes, was the same.
She grabbed his arm. “Stillman!”
They both slowed their pace, and then she lurched into him in an awkward hug. Another runner swerved to miss them. Stillman pulled her to the very edge of the path. Once safely out of the way, he drew her into his arms.
The warmth of his body next to hers was both comforting and, she had to admit, exciting. Bella hadn’t had sex with a man for more years than she cared to think about.
Stepping out of the embrace, Stillman moved his hands to clasp hers. “This is incredible,” he said, “running into you—no pun intended—here in Central Park. Do you live here?”
She nodded. Smiling at him, Bella asked if he lived here, too, and where he was practicing medicine.
“I’m an entertainment attorney with a big firm here in the city,” he said. “Decided law suited me better than medicine.” He chuckled. “Judging by my bank account and those of my physician friends, it was a good choice.”
His fingers rubbed the ring finger of her left hand. “Does the absence of a ring here mean you’re not married?”
Bella burst out laughing. “You cut to the chase, don’t you?”
“Just getting the ground rules established, my dear.”
“Not married. Actually, never married.”
“Perfect,” Stillman said. “Same for me.” He glanced at the chronograph watch on his wrist. “Damn, I’d love to stay and talk, but I’ve got a client meeting. Will you let me take you to dinner, so I have a chance to find out what you’ve been doing all these years?”
They arranged a dinner date for Saturday night, planning to meet at a well-known restaurant on the Upper East Side.
Bella watched Stillman speed away on the running path. Her body prickled with anticipation. She knew one thing for certain. After her run and a shower, she was going shopping for a new dress.
Bella loved the way candlelight made a man look sexy.
Stillman, she decided, didn’t need the candles. He was sexy in his running shorts and was beyond sexy in his tailored suit.
They covered all the easy subjects, which meant she didn’t mention David. He likely assumed that since she’d never married, she was childless. If she was going to see Stillman again, Bella figured she could tell him about David then. Well, maybe a slimmed-down version of the truth. And if this was it—no second date—Bella saw no merit in opening that can of worms.
Before he had a chance to ask her more questions, she brought up that summer abroad. “What happened to us, Stillman?”
His eyes narrowed. “Phillip got there first.”
Something in his tone of voice disturbed her. “You were ill. The flu. That’s why he was there.”
Stillman lifted his wineglass to his lips and took a sip, all the while staring at her with an intensity that sliced through the distance between them.
The chill in the air was palpable. “Stillman?”
Cold, steel eyes met hers. “Phillip turned off my alarm.”
She sunk back against her chair. “You weren’t sick?”
He shook his head.
“Phillip told me you were dreadfully sick. Married to the porcelain god. You never seemed upset, with either Phillip or me. If he did that to you ...”
“Believe me, he did it.” Stillman cleared his throat. “I went through the gamut of emotions that weekend, while you were off with our buddy Phillip. Disbelief, anger, hurt. Eventually, I realized that if you were with him all weekend, it was because you wanted to be. That for some incomprehensible reason, you chose him over me, regardless of how he arranged it.”
He shrugged. “It became an easy choice for me. I lost your love. I didn’t want to lose your friendship, too.”
She reached out and placed her hand over his on the table.
He cocked one eyebrow. “Typical of Phillip, wasn’t it? To lie?”
An icy chill ran from Bella’s temples to the tips of her nipples. What did Stillman mean by that? Had he, somehow, found out that Phillip had lied to her, too? While Phillip was with her in Italy, he was engaged to someone else. Did Stillman know that Phillip had dumped Bella for the promise of a cushy job?
She lowered her head. “So true. So very true.” She had to change the subject off this dangerous ground. “What matters,” she said, squeezing his hand, “is that today you and I are here, together. I can’t believe that all these years we lived so close to each other but never knew it. I’d like to renew our friendship, if that’s OK with you. Could we meet again soon?”
Stillman smiled. “How about Tuesday night? One of my partners’ wives is curating an exhibit at a small art gallery. There’s going to be an opening-night cocktail party. Can you join me? We could have a late dinner afterwards.”
Honesty was imperative. She couldn’t bear the thought of being deceived again, and so asked the question that would set the ground rules going forward. “Yes, I’ll meet you at the gallery. But I don’t want there to be any misunderstandings between us. I have to ask. Are you dating or in a relationship with anyone now?”
“Whoa, girl.” He chuckled. “Aren’t you the direct one? Don’t get me wrong—I love you taking it to the hoop. No. I’m not dating or in a rel
ationship with anyone now. And, yes, in case it’s your next question, I’d love to be dating you. We’ll figure out the relationship part as we go along, if that suits you.”
After the art gallery party, Bella and Stillman had a late dinner, followed by a tender kiss goodnight. That kiss left Bella wanting more.
They had dinner together almost every night for the next two weeks, being apart only when Stillman had a business dinner. Even though they met at the restaurants, Stillman insisted on seeing her home afterwards. Each night, Stillman kissed her goodnight as they parted but always refused to come into her apartment. It drove Bella mad.
Finally, she asked him why he refused to come inside.
“My dear,” Stillman said, “don’t you really know why? If I walk into your apartment, I won’t want to leave until morning. So, be kind to me, will you? Don't invite me inside anymore, not unless you’re inviting me into your bedroom.”
With that knowledge, Bella turned and unlocked her door. She held out her hand to Stillman and led him inside.
Bella and Stillman settled into a routine. On most weeknights, Stillman slept at her apartment, always leaving early in the morning to go home to shower and dress for work. On the weekends, she’d pack a bag, and they would be at one of his places, either his Manhattan apartment or his house in Connecticut.
He refused to keep clothes at her place, stating that he was an “all or none type of guy” and that their clothes shouldn’t cohabit until they did.
During those first weeks of intimacy, Bella told Stillman about David. Most of what she told him was true.
David had been the product, she claimed, of a one-night stand shortly after that summer in Italy. She had been devastated by the unexpected loss of her mother, and all alone. To fill the hole that her mother’s death had created, she told Stillman, she had taken up with a boy she had met a month after her mother’s death.
She shared how it had been a struggle—being a single mom and trying to work, take care of her baby, and finish college all at the same time. Bella confided that she had a career as an author and even how she had shielded David from this knowledge. It had been for security reasons, she claimed, that she had kept her identity secret.
“So, my darling,” Stillman said, running his fingertip over and around her bare breasts, “when do I get to meet your son? How about if he joins us this weekend at the beach?”
Thank God for small favors, Bella thought. “That might be a little difficult. David’s in an MD-PhD program at Stanford. It’s a grueling schedule, and he rarely comes home.”
“Too bad. Maybe next time I head to LA for work, you could tag along. We could fly up to San Francisco and see him on the weekend.”
“That might work.” In truth, she had no intention of taking Stillman to meet her son.
David’s relationship with her was improving, but she had lost so much ground after their blowout over Crystal that Bella was afraid to do anything that might drive her son away. Throughout David’s life, it had always been only the two of them. No men. Just Bella and David. Besides, if Stillman met David, he would know that her story about the one-night stand was a lie.
To get Stillman’s mind off the subject of her son, she distracted him. Bella ran her fingers through the white hair on her lover’s chest, down his stomach, and then lower, until she had him moaning with pleasure.
Bella loved being with Stillman. Always the chivalrous gentleman, Stillman never let her buy dinner, and he held open doors, walked on the street side of her on sidewalks, and helped her on and off with her coat. Little gifts—flowers, a book she might enjoy reading, a scarf that matched her eyes, a delivered box lunch on a busy day of writing—appeared at unpredictable intervals from Stillman.
As a lover, he was tender and considerate. She tried not to compare making love with Stillman to the playful and passionate times she had shared with Phillip. That was different, she told herself. Phillip had been her lover a quarter of a century earlier, when she was young and her sex hormones raged. Stillman truly cared for her, and Bella believed him when he’d whisper in her ear that he would never do anything to hurt her.
Three months after their first meeting in the park, they marked the occasion by having dinner together in Bella’s apartment. Well, they actually started the evening in the bedroom, as they often did.
Afterwards, they were ravenous. Stillman had promised to provide everything for the meal, and he was true to his word. Their dinner had been delivered from Bella’s favorite Italian restaurant, and Stillman had unveiled a different wine to taste with each course.
Bella loved every meticulously planned part of the meal. Some, such as the Linguine ai Frutti di Mare, were her favorites. Stillman surprised her with new items, too, like the tender butter lettuce salad with truffle dressing, which seemed to melt on her tongue, and its heady fragrance made her want to head back to the bedroom.
Now, with candles burning around the partially drunk wine bottles on her coffee table, the two of them nestled beside each other on her sofa.
Stillman raised her fingertips to his lips and kissed them. Then, without a word, he slid off the sofa to kneel before her. He clasped her hands in his. “I love you, Bella. And I will always take care of you,” he said with a smile, “if the independent woman that you are will let me.”
No, she thought. Don’t do this.
“Bella, will you marry me?”
Her heart sank. It was too soon. Bella truly cared for him and knew Stillman was the best thing that had happened to her in years. Did she love him? Yes. Enough to marry him? Bella didn’t know the answer to that question. She did know, however, that she wasn’t ready, and their relationship wasn’t ready, for Stillman to meet David. She looked down.
“My dear, this is where you’re supposed to tell me that you love me, too, and say that you’ll marry me.”
Bella’s eyes lifted and met his. Stillman’s face still held a smile, but it looked as if it had frozen on his face. She blinked. “I love you. I do. But it’s too soon for me. I’ve been single so long. I’m not ready for marriage.”
Stillman stood up and walked to the window. He stood there, his back to her, looking out at the lights of her neighborhood, for what seemed an eternity. When he turned around, she saw that his face had relaxed and his smile was genuine. He returned to sit beside her on the sofa and positioned himself so that his body was open to hers. A good sign, she thought.
“We’ve been dating three months today,” he said. “I knew by the third date that I wanted to marry you, but that’s me. You’re cautious because you have a son. I get that. Since I’m a problem-solver by nature, I have a solution.”
She saw, with dread, where he was headed.
“I’ll arrange flights. This weekend or next, whatever works for David, we’ll go out and you can introduce us. We’ll spend whatever time with him that his schedule allows. And we’ll keep flying west on weekends until you feel he and I know each other well enough for us to get married.”
Bella knew she couldn’t let Stillman meet David. What she knew, and wouldn’t tell Stillman, was that David bore a strong resemblance to his father. The most striking thing was that David had his father’s piercing blue eyes. No one, other than herself and her long-time friend and editor, Edie, knew that Phillip was David’s father.
“I’m not ready for that. My relationship with David is still too fragile.”
“How long will you make me wait?” His soft voice could not hide the intensity behind his words.
She shook her head and shrugged. She whispered her answer, afraid of his reaction. “I don’t know.”
“There is either a reason you’re keeping me from meeting David, or you’re using him as an excuse. So which is it?”
She looked at her hands, which were clenched in her lap.
“Bella, look at me.”
Bella raised her eyes. Tears threatened to spill. Why was he pushing this?
“Today, next week, or in a few months, wil
l you marry me? Yes or no? Tell me.”
Agreeing to marry Stillman meant Bella had to show her hand—all the cards—not only to Stillman, but to David as well. How could she? Her mouth opened, but no words came out.
Stillman stood up, crossed to the door, and walked out.
23
Fort Lauderdale, Florida
Meghan lifted her face to the sun. A perfect spring-break day for tanning. She wore a two-piece suit and was proud of how she looked in it.
Meghan rolled to her side and studied April, her eighteen-year-old niece, Karen’s only child. April had Karen’s charisma but Meghan’s eye for color, fabric and style. Last night over dinner, the two of them had plotted April’s path to join Meghan at the store. First design school, then an internship in New York, and finally Chicago with her aunt.
Karen would have approved.
It had been an emotional yo-yo for Meghan since they lost Karen to breast cancer five years before. Karen was her twin, her best friend, and her business partner.
After Karen died, Ed, the store’s majority owner and Karen’s widower, never set foot in the store and declined to meet Meghan in person to discuss the business. He made Meghan submit her ideas for the boutique to his accountant for review, who questioned every expense and was wary of every new idea. Annually, Meghan offered to buy Ed out. But why should he sell? The store paid him a handsome distribution each year.
Meghan loved April as if she were her own child and was thrilled that her niece wanted to join the business. Sharing the shop with April would be almost like it was during those early years, when she and Karen first opened it.
April’s eyes flipped open. She turned her head to grin at her aunt. “Awesome day, isn’t it?” She propped one elbow on the blanket to look over at Meghan. “This spring break trip is the best birthday present you could ever give me.”
Meghan smiled. “Don’t you realize it’s a present to myself? I don’t get to see you enough.”
