Part 10 (1/2)
”I didn't give you a present last night and you didn't even notice. I'm wounded.” Boone sipped morning coffee and peered over the cup's rim at Lucy. There were certainly worse ways to start the day than sitting across from her.
”There were a lot of presents there,” she reminded him, but her cheeks were pink. ”I've never had so many. Even Kelly gave me a picture frame.”
He liked that he could make her blush. That was probably another segue back into p.u.b.escence, but he could live with it.
”What's for lunch today?” he asked.
”Chicken divan, which Gert's cooking. I'm doing the salads, some of the contents of which I'm going to go pull out of the garden. Pumpernickel or wheat bread. Angel food cake and fresh strawberries or ice cream for dessert. We picked the strawberries, but bought the ice cream.”
He nodded at the tall angel food cakes under gla.s.s domes on the counter. ”So when are you going to start baking your own bread?” he asked facetiously, knowing she'd spent most of yesterday afternoon on the desserts, not counting the time consumed by baking the birthday cake that had been eaten by last night's hungry hordes.
If she heard the teasing in his voice, it didn't show in her response. ”In the fall. We'll sell loaves and half-loaves, too, along with dinner rolls. Oh, and honey and jams and jellies from Miller's Orchard. We'd sell wine by the bottle too, but Gert's picky about getting arrested.”
”Really? I thought she only minded it when she had to go down to the jail and get someone out.” He got up, going to put their breakfast dishes in the dishwasher.
Maggie had been a terrible cook. She'd been a great first grade teacher, a superb athlete and a talented musician-he'd finally donated her parlor grand piano to the elementary school where she'd taught because he couldn't bear the sight of it-but anything domestic had eluded her. ”I'm the only person in the world,” she used to say, ”who can dust wrong.”
They'd eaten out most of the time and hired someone to clean the apartment twice a week. It had never mattered if there was dust under the furniture or if the bed wasn't made or if the dining room table was completely covered with papers-as it often was. They had been so involved with each other that the rest of the world went largely unnoticed. They'd nearly missed Kelly's law school graduation because the invitation had been buried in a stack of books on the bedside table.
Life with Maggie had been fun and exciting and intellectually stimulating. Their mutual devotion was so all-consuming that it had occasionally been exhausting. There were long days when he worked behind closed doors. Other times, Maggie retreated to her parents' home in Florida to spend time with them and her sister as just herself instead of part of a married couple. When they came back together after those separations, the reunions were joyous, with a sense of life going back on its track again.
That reflection drew Boone back into the present. Maybe it was happening again, that whole life on track thing. It was a good thought.
He refilled their coffee cups and returned to his seat across the island from Lucy. He thought about how she dusted, being so careful with Aunt Gert's collection of figurines. He remembered that she'd waxed the hardwood floors on her hands and knees and that her favorite thing on Monday morning was drying the bedding outside. When she woke in the middle of the night, she cooked.
She was so different from Maggie. So very different.
d.a.m.n.
For a moment, he felt an unreasoning and unusual anger with his dead wife. Why can't you get out of my mind?
”Would you tell me about her?” Lucy asked.
”What?” He met her eyes, startled.
”Maggie. Would you tell me about her?”
Talking about Maggie had always been painful, so he didn't do it. It had taken all the fort.i.tude he had to have the discussion with Crockett, and so far, he wasn't doing that well with the letting go part of it, either.
Except for when he was with Lucy. When he'd held her in his arms the night before, he hadn't closed his eyes and wished she was someone else. He hadn't compared her compact body to Maggie's lissome one. She hadn't been a replacement he'd made love with out of physical need-she'd been Lucy.
”Tall,” he said finally, ”and she played piano and sports. She had a higher vertical jump than I did, and Crockett said she landed better too-as in it was almost always on both feet. She told bawdy, nasty jokes, and she told them better than most guys I know. We had a good life together. Now it's over.” It surprised him when the words didn't have their usual sharp effect. Maybe Crockett was right. Maybe it was time...
He smiled at Lucy. ”Do you want to go to the movie tonight? It's one of those chick flicks where the girl's strong and brave and gets naked and the guy's a total idiot. I always feel at home at those.”
Lucy tore salad greens into easily manageable pieces and distributed them among mismatched gla.s.s bowls. She added radishes, carrots, and cuc.u.mbers, then ground fresh pepper into the bowls before adding a spoonful of chopped peppers and celery to the mix. She loved making salads. They were never the same two days in a row, which had earned them the name Lucy's Adventure on the blackboard menu.
The thermometer in the kitchen window declared solemnly that it was in the nineties, and even in the air-conditioned house, Lucy perspired while she worked. She filled a large insulated gla.s.s with ice and lemonade and took it outside.
”Drink this,” she called to Jack, who was weeding flowerbeds. ”Are you hungry?”
He shook his head. ”Too hot to eat, but thanks for the drink.”
”Well, don't work too hard. Gert will yell at you if you faint in her lilies.”
”Yes, ma'am, your princess-s.h.i.+p.” He smiled politely before returning to his task, and she wondered, not for the first time, what made a sixteen-year-old boy work so hard. She was almost certain he helped his family with the money he earned, since he didn't seem to spend any of it on himself, but when she asked about them, he said little. He did mention having younger brothers, so she always made sure to send cookies home with him for them.
The day seemed anticlimactic after the excitement of the night before. Even the lunch crowd in the tearoom seemed lethargic and overly quiet. When the last of them had gone, Lucy loaded the dishwasher and tossed the day's tablecloths into the laundry room. They could wait until tomorrow morning to be washed-she was tired. She gave the contents of her ap.r.o.n to Gert and dropped the customary handful of change into the pickle jar.
”I think I'm going to take a nap,” she said. ”I've never really gotten fully awake today.”
Her landlady's eyes were merry and extraordinarily blue. ”Something keep you awake last night, dear? I figured you'd slept through since there wasn't any baking done this morning.”
Lucy felt color rise in her face. ”I'm just tired.” She fled up the back stairs, not wanting to see the knowledge in Gert's face.
She opened her bedroom door and shared a surprised stare with the tiny tuxedo kitten that sat on her bed. ”Well,” Lucy said. ”h.e.l.lo.” She picked up the ball of black and white fuzz and held it in front of her. ”Who are you?”
The kitten didn't blink, just lapped Lucy's thumb with a rough little tongue and continued its earnest blue-eyed gaze.
A wicker laundry basket was on the bed, too. It held a litter box and litter, food bowls, and kitten food, along with a miniature jeweled collar and a bag of toys. ”She's six weeks old,” the note in Boone's sprawling handwriting read, ”and doesn't have a name yet. Hope you like her. Happy birthday!”
”Well, of course you have a name,” Lucy whispered past the lump in her throat. Had Boone gone through her pickle jar? Even knowing he probably had, she couldn't summon up any indignation over it.
”Gert, did you see?” She thumped down the stairs, her heart feeling as though it were dancing in time. ”Did you see what Boone left for me? Is it all right? I know she'll have to stay upstairs or in the sunroom most of the time, but isn't she beautiful?” She held the kitten up for Gert's inspection. ”Kitty Kinsale, meet Gert Taylor. You have matching eyes.”
”Kitty Kinsale?” Gert scratched the cat's chin, sending it into a squirming writhe of ecstasy. ”That's a lot of name for such a little cat.”
”We'll call her Kinsey,” Lucy decided, ”but my parents were from County Kinsale. Where's Boone? I have to thank him.”
”He's working at the station.” Gert glanced at the clock. ”I thought you wanted a nap.”
”I thought I did too,” Lucy said dismissively, ”but, Gert, I've wanted a cat since I was little. How did he know?”
”You've never had one?”
”Dad wouldn't let me when we lived over the restaurant, and when I got my own apartment, I couldn't have pets.” She shrugged, cuddling Kinsey. ”It wasn't a deal breaker or anything, but I always wished for one anyway.” She went to the counter and dug through the pickle jar, coming up with a wrinkled and coin-marked piece of a green and white customer's check from Dolan's. ”See?”
The strip of paper merely said, ”Kitty Kinsale.”
Gert laughed. ”If anyone had found that, they wouldn't have known what it meant. It would be a good name for an exotic dancer.”
Lucy grinned. ”For when we open the bordello?”
”Right.” Gert took the cat. ”If you want to go over to the station, I'll take care of Kinsey. We'll chat about leaving hair on the furniture and climbing curtains and things like that.”
Lucy hurried out, not even bothering to search for the bicycle helmet she tried to remember to wear, and rode her bicycle to the gas station. She regretted the decision halfway there when sweat was dripping off every part of her.