Fools Rush In
Page 13
“Hello, Officer,” I said, turning my head to look up at him. Whee! The room spun and my vision blurred.
“Hello,” Sam answered. He looked at Lorenzo in his cop way, assessing, judging, intimidating. “Is that car with the Florida plates yours?” he demanded, very bad-cop. Unfortunately, his question epitomized the Cape Cod accent that Lorenzo found so amusing, coming out as Is that cah with the Flarrider plates yaws? And Lorenzo, the asshole, smirked.
Sam flicked his glance to me. “You left your lights on, buddy. Battery’s dying.” With that, Sam left the table.
“Whoops,” I said, pleased beyond belief. “I’ll give you a jump. Well, your battery, anyway.”
Katie came over with our cheesecake and coffee. She tossed down the little bowl of creamers—light cream—and quickly left. Lorenzo picked up his fork and watched her go.
“Boy,” he said. “That waitress is a real bi—”
“Okay, hotshot,” I interrupted, smacking my hands down on the table and standing up. “Get out.”
“Excuse me?” Lorenzo said snottily. “Are you crazy? I’m not going anywhere.”
“That bitchy waitress,” I ground out, “happens to be my best friend. You’ve been sitting here all night, insulting everyone around you, complaining and whining about how nobody likes you, and I’ll tell you why. Because you’re an ass. Now go. I’ll pay for dinner. It will be worth it just to get rid of you.”
The restaurant had fallen absolutely silent.
“Well, too bad,” Lorenzo said, glancing around at the frozen patrons and leaning back arrogantly in his chair. “I’m not going anywhere.”
What to do but pull out the trump card?
“Officer!” I called. “This man is disturbing my peace.”
That was enough for my brother-in-law. He came over instantly.
“Let’s go, pal,” Sam said, taking Lorenzo’s arm.
“But she—I didn’t—this has to be against the law,” Lorenzo stammered. I enjoyed a thrill of appreciation as Sam, my hero, hauled Crab-Man out of his chair and guided him to the door, which was held open by a smiling Katie. As they left, the customers began applauding.
I looked around, adrenaline zinging through my elbows and knees. My face began to burn. Had I really just…Was everyone really…? There was Joe, clapping along with the rest of them, laughing and nodding.
“Thank you,” I said, wobbling drunkenly. “I’ll be here all week.”
And then I plopped back into my chair, covering my mouth with my hands, laughing as the applause died down. Katie came over, swiping a clean fork from an empty table. She sat down. “Thanks for defending my honor,” she said dryly. “Christ, what a jerk.”
I smiled at her, my throat closing with drunken love. She took a bite of my cheesecake.
“Dinner’s on the house, Millie!” called Chris. More clapping. I waved my thanks. When Sam came back in, there was yet another round of applause. He came over, pulled up a chair and helped himself to Lorenzo’s untouched cheesecake.
“I think I deserve this,” he said, grinning.
“Taste better than donuts?” I asked. “And thank you for saving me, Officer Sam.”
“Got yourself a spine, there, Millie,” he answered. “And you’re welcome.”
And then, yup, you guessed it, Joe Carpenter came over.
“Wow, Millie,” he said, also pulling up a chair. “What did he do?”
“Joe,” I said, pretending to be casual though my heart was soaring, “some guys just need an ass-whipping. Are you one of them?” My toes curled in my shoes as I smiled.
He laughed. “Not me, Millie, not me. Way to go, though. Right, Sam?”
Sam just nodded.
“Joe, I saw your truck at Mrs. Bianco’s house the other day,” I said casually, carefully enunciating. “Are you doing some work for her?” Mrs. Bianco, an ancient little old lady who used two canes to get around, lived around the block from my parents.
“Well,” Joe replied, ducking his head bashfully, “not really. I was just fixing her back stairs. They looked a little wobbly.”
Oh, he was sweet! Fixing a little old crippled lady’s back steps! The warmth in my chest bordered on painful. How I loved Joe Carpenter!
“Okay, see you guys later,” Joe said, rising from our table and glancing back at the bar.
“Good night,” we called after him.
Sam drove me home, as I was in no shape to operate a vehicle more sophisticated than a tricycle. My mom or dad, both early risers, would no doubt take me back to get my car in the morning.
As I unbuckled my seat belt, Sam leaned over and kissed my cheek. “You did good tonight, kiddo,” he said.
“Thanks, Sam.” I squeezed his arm fondly. “Thanks for the bad-cop thing. You’re such a natural.”
Sam laughed. “Sorry he was such a jerk.”
“What are you gonna do?” I climbed out of the cruiser and tripped inside.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
A WEEK LATER, MY THRILL at putting Lorenzo of the Crabs in his place had significantly faded. Sure, it had been a moment, and Joe had seen me in that moment. Beside that, I had stuck up for Katie and my other fellow Cape Codders. But I was still alone. No interim boyfriend. No Joe. No closer to getting Joe.
I had lost count of how long it had been since I’d been properly kissed. A long time. More than…I hated even to think it…more than a year. It had been in Boston. A first date with a nice radiology tech. We’d had a really great time, dinner and a stroll down Newbury Street. He kissed me good night at my apartment door. Kissed me very well, as a matter of fact. The next week, I’d seen him smooching a nurse in the ultrasound room, and that was that.
With Memorial Day, tourism season hit full swing, and I saw happy families everywhere. Thousands of couples. Lots of hand-holding. Lots of laughter. Sure, they were on vacation, so what wasn’t there to smile about? And every time I saw such a couple, whether they were sixty-five or twenty-five, with kids or without, I felt a familiar hollowness echoing in me. My heart had a lot of room. I had a lot to offer. Friendship. Love. Loyalty. Humor. Free medical care. Whatever. When, I wondered late at night, was I going to be able to give it away? When would I have a guy laugh at my jokes? When would someone bring me a cup of coffee, fixed just how I liked it? When would I have a little sticky hand in mine as a child looked trustingly up at me?
A few times, Joe and I ran into each other…the post office (he usually went around 4:30); Fleming’s Donut Shack (10:30—he always got a coffee roll and a light coffee with three sugars); the grocery store (this one was a genuine coincidence, since I had been unable to stalk this out). When I was checking patients at the senior center, I’d linger in the parking lot, watching for Joe, hoping our paths would cross.
Each time I saw my golden boy, he was friendly, sweet—and brief. Each time I would get a “Hey, Millie, how are you?” Each time I would will him to notice my more attractive state, certain that if he just paid attention, he’d fall crazy in love with me. But Joe was the same, pleasant and cheerful, always on his way somewhere, and if he noticed me in a special way, he hid it well. I was at a loss. Short of molesting him in the parking lot, I didn’t know what my next step should be.
As for my other little project, Katie and Sam, that was going nowhere as well. Twice we’d planned a night out, and twice our plans had fallen through, once because Corey had a cold and once because Sam had to cover a shift unexpectedly. We’d been unable to reschedule yet. Granted, Katie was busy. Actually, busy wasn’t the right word. Busy sounds like she had a bunch of errands to do, when in fact she was raising two children, which is a bit more than that. Busy is when you need to do your grocery shopping, clean the bathroom and go to work all on the same day. Raising two children, especially without a husband, was a holy mission.
This was all the more reason that I wanted my friend to be with Sam. I could just see them together, Sam with another chance to be a father, Katie finally with someone to take care of her. Not that her parents didn’t help…they did. But Sam…he was such a wonderful father. I’d seen him with many kids over the years, giving a talk to Danny’s Boy Scout troop or lecturing on bike safety at the Visitors Center. What woman wouldn’t want to be married to a guy like that?
But there he sat, spinning his wheels while Katie blanched at the slightest thought of a relationship with anyone. And yet they’d be perfect together. They were both on the serious side. They were both parents of boys, both attractive, quite so. They both had hearts of gold, if not platinum. And, of course, they both liked me, so they had that in common.
I had the chance to bring up this subject more bluntly, since it was apparent that bluntness was called for. As I grimly huffed up the hill between Coast Guard and Nauset Light beaches one sunny day, I glimpsed a fellow runner behind me, taking the hill without apparent effort and gaining fast. Digger began leaping with glee. I looked again. It was Sam.
“Looking good, Millie!” he called, grinning. How people could smile—or speak—while running was beyond me.
“Hey…Sam,” I wheezed. I lurched to a stop—this was my third mile after all—but Sam loped to my side.
“Don’t stop, Mil,” he said, smacking me on the shoulder (the pain meant to distract me from my respiratory distress, perhaps?). “You’re doing great! How far have you gone?” He now turned around, running backward, quite easily keeping pace with me.
“Keep going,” I panted. “Nothing…to see. Move along.”
“Why, kiddo? I’ll run with you. It’ll be fun.”
I glared at him evilly, sweat running into my eyes. “Sam, if I could catch you…I’d strangle you. I hate you.”
“Really, Mil, you’re doing great. Don’t worry about how fast you’re going. Just relax and loosen up.”
I willed him away, as I was incapable of speech. Loosen up. Right. As soon as my muscles unseized, I would definitely loosen up.
“Here,” he said, still running backward. “Do what I do.” He shook out his arms and rolled his head around, somehow not looking like an ass as he did so. I reluctantly copied him, if only to distract myself briefly from the sharp pain in my calves.
“You have to make sure you drink enough beforehand,” he advised, coach-like. “Otherwise, your muscles will ache.”
“Okay, Notre Dame,” I puffed.
“Do you stretch out after?” he asked, finally, mercifully turning to run frontward. This made me look less pathetic, I hoped. We started down the hill, and my breathing became less labored.
“No,” I confessed. “I don’t really know what I’m doing. I just put on my sneakers and go.”
“I’ll run you home,” Sam volunteered. “I can show you some stuff. It makes a big difference.”
“How far do you…usually run?” I asked between gasps.
“Oh, I don’t know. Six or seven miles. Ten sometimes. Depends on my schedule.”
“Wow! Ten miles! I’ll never…get that far.” Today, in fact, was the farthest I’d ever run, it being past three miles now. I usually walked the last mile of my outing, but with Sam at my side, I didn’t want to stop. Ten miles. Damn him. I sneaked a glance at him. He looked calm and unsweaty…effortless. He was even smiling. How irritating! We rounded the turn onto my road. Only half a mile to go! My legs seemed to have sandbags tied to them, but I didn’t want Sam thinking I was a whiner.
“Sam, you should…ask Katie out,” I said, unable to let nature take its course on this one. Sometimes nature needed a shove.
“Katie?” He looked at me sharply, obviously surprised.
“Yes, Katie,” I answered, trying to control my breathing so I wouldn’t hyperventilate in front of FloJo here. He didn’t say anything.
“Don’t you think it’s time?” I panted. “Katie’s nice. You know that. She’d be a good way to, you know, break the Trish curse.”
Sam laughed. “Trish curse? What exactly is that?”
I smiled at him…and at my neighbor’s mailbox, the sign that the torture was about to end. “You know…making you feel that you’re…that you’re…”
“A loser?”
“Jeez, Sam! I was trying to be diplomatic!” I darted a quick look at his face, and he seemed okay. “I too suffer from…the Trish curse, after all…We’re home! Thank you, dear, dear Jesus.”
I stumbled to an abrupt halt in my rutted driveway, bracing myself against a sticky pitch pine and gasping. My dog whined to be let off the leash, and I obliged, amazed as always that he could circle madly around the yard or chase chipmunks in the woods after our ordeal.
“No, no, you don’t,” Sam the know-it-all instructed, grabbing my arm and towing me toward the house. “You walk until you’re cooled off. Then you stretch. Come on.”
“I really do hate you, Sam,” I said. He smiled but otherwise ignored me, leading me up the driveway, which was a good fifty feet long. Then he proceeded to force me into myriad stretches designed to relieve the strain my poor body had been under. But it was good, because where was I going to learn this stuff otherwise? Even though I felt kind of like a jerk, I paid attention as he showed me what to do. And by the time we were done, a mere ten minutes after arriving home, I wasn’t sweating anymore and my legs weren’t trembling; I didn’t feel like throwing up, and I could breathe normally again. So it worked, I guess.
“Hello,” Sam answered. He looked at Lorenzo in his cop way, assessing, judging, intimidating. “Is that car with the Florida plates yours?” he demanded, very bad-cop. Unfortunately, his question epitomized the Cape Cod accent that Lorenzo found so amusing, coming out as Is that cah with the Flarrider plates yaws? And Lorenzo, the asshole, smirked.
Sam flicked his glance to me. “You left your lights on, buddy. Battery’s dying.” With that, Sam left the table.
“Whoops,” I said, pleased beyond belief. “I’ll give you a jump. Well, your battery, anyway.”
Katie came over with our cheesecake and coffee. She tossed down the little bowl of creamers—light cream—and quickly left. Lorenzo picked up his fork and watched her go.
“Boy,” he said. “That waitress is a real bi—”
“Okay, hotshot,” I interrupted, smacking my hands down on the table and standing up. “Get out.”
“Excuse me?” Lorenzo said snottily. “Are you crazy? I’m not going anywhere.”
“That bitchy waitress,” I ground out, “happens to be my best friend. You’ve been sitting here all night, insulting everyone around you, complaining and whining about how nobody likes you, and I’ll tell you why. Because you’re an ass. Now go. I’ll pay for dinner. It will be worth it just to get rid of you.”
The restaurant had fallen absolutely silent.
“Well, too bad,” Lorenzo said, glancing around at the frozen patrons and leaning back arrogantly in his chair. “I’m not going anywhere.”
What to do but pull out the trump card?
“Officer!” I called. “This man is disturbing my peace.”
That was enough for my brother-in-law. He came over instantly.
“Let’s go, pal,” Sam said, taking Lorenzo’s arm.
“But she—I didn’t—this has to be against the law,” Lorenzo stammered. I enjoyed a thrill of appreciation as Sam, my hero, hauled Crab-Man out of his chair and guided him to the door, which was held open by a smiling Katie. As they left, the customers began applauding.
I looked around, adrenaline zinging through my elbows and knees. My face began to burn. Had I really just…Was everyone really…? There was Joe, clapping along with the rest of them, laughing and nodding.
“Thank you,” I said, wobbling drunkenly. “I’ll be here all week.”
And then I plopped back into my chair, covering my mouth with my hands, laughing as the applause died down. Katie came over, swiping a clean fork from an empty table. She sat down. “Thanks for defending my honor,” she said dryly. “Christ, what a jerk.”
I smiled at her, my throat closing with drunken love. She took a bite of my cheesecake.
“Dinner’s on the house, Millie!” called Chris. More clapping. I waved my thanks. When Sam came back in, there was yet another round of applause. He came over, pulled up a chair and helped himself to Lorenzo’s untouched cheesecake.
“I think I deserve this,” he said, grinning.
“Taste better than donuts?” I asked. “And thank you for saving me, Officer Sam.”
“Got yourself a spine, there, Millie,” he answered. “And you’re welcome.”
And then, yup, you guessed it, Joe Carpenter came over.
“Wow, Millie,” he said, also pulling up a chair. “What did he do?”
“Joe,” I said, pretending to be casual though my heart was soaring, “some guys just need an ass-whipping. Are you one of them?” My toes curled in my shoes as I smiled.
He laughed. “Not me, Millie, not me. Way to go, though. Right, Sam?”
Sam just nodded.
“Joe, I saw your truck at Mrs. Bianco’s house the other day,” I said casually, carefully enunciating. “Are you doing some work for her?” Mrs. Bianco, an ancient little old lady who used two canes to get around, lived around the block from my parents.
“Well,” Joe replied, ducking his head bashfully, “not really. I was just fixing her back stairs. They looked a little wobbly.”
Oh, he was sweet! Fixing a little old crippled lady’s back steps! The warmth in my chest bordered on painful. How I loved Joe Carpenter!
“Okay, see you guys later,” Joe said, rising from our table and glancing back at the bar.
“Good night,” we called after him.
Sam drove me home, as I was in no shape to operate a vehicle more sophisticated than a tricycle. My mom or dad, both early risers, would no doubt take me back to get my car in the morning.
As I unbuckled my seat belt, Sam leaned over and kissed my cheek. “You did good tonight, kiddo,” he said.
“Thanks, Sam.” I squeezed his arm fondly. “Thanks for the bad-cop thing. You’re such a natural.”
Sam laughed. “Sorry he was such a jerk.”
“What are you gonna do?” I climbed out of the cruiser and tripped inside.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
A WEEK LATER, MY THRILL at putting Lorenzo of the Crabs in his place had significantly faded. Sure, it had been a moment, and Joe had seen me in that moment. Beside that, I had stuck up for Katie and my other fellow Cape Codders. But I was still alone. No interim boyfriend. No Joe. No closer to getting Joe.
I had lost count of how long it had been since I’d been properly kissed. A long time. More than…I hated even to think it…more than a year. It had been in Boston. A first date with a nice radiology tech. We’d had a really great time, dinner and a stroll down Newbury Street. He kissed me good night at my apartment door. Kissed me very well, as a matter of fact. The next week, I’d seen him smooching a nurse in the ultrasound room, and that was that.
With Memorial Day, tourism season hit full swing, and I saw happy families everywhere. Thousands of couples. Lots of hand-holding. Lots of laughter. Sure, they were on vacation, so what wasn’t there to smile about? And every time I saw such a couple, whether they were sixty-five or twenty-five, with kids or without, I felt a familiar hollowness echoing in me. My heart had a lot of room. I had a lot to offer. Friendship. Love. Loyalty. Humor. Free medical care. Whatever. When, I wondered late at night, was I going to be able to give it away? When would I have a guy laugh at my jokes? When would someone bring me a cup of coffee, fixed just how I liked it? When would I have a little sticky hand in mine as a child looked trustingly up at me?
A few times, Joe and I ran into each other…the post office (he usually went around 4:30); Fleming’s Donut Shack (10:30—he always got a coffee roll and a light coffee with three sugars); the grocery store (this one was a genuine coincidence, since I had been unable to stalk this out). When I was checking patients at the senior center, I’d linger in the parking lot, watching for Joe, hoping our paths would cross.
Each time I saw my golden boy, he was friendly, sweet—and brief. Each time I would get a “Hey, Millie, how are you?” Each time I would will him to notice my more attractive state, certain that if he just paid attention, he’d fall crazy in love with me. But Joe was the same, pleasant and cheerful, always on his way somewhere, and if he noticed me in a special way, he hid it well. I was at a loss. Short of molesting him in the parking lot, I didn’t know what my next step should be.
As for my other little project, Katie and Sam, that was going nowhere as well. Twice we’d planned a night out, and twice our plans had fallen through, once because Corey had a cold and once because Sam had to cover a shift unexpectedly. We’d been unable to reschedule yet. Granted, Katie was busy. Actually, busy wasn’t the right word. Busy sounds like she had a bunch of errands to do, when in fact she was raising two children, which is a bit more than that. Busy is when you need to do your grocery shopping, clean the bathroom and go to work all on the same day. Raising two children, especially without a husband, was a holy mission.
This was all the more reason that I wanted my friend to be with Sam. I could just see them together, Sam with another chance to be a father, Katie finally with someone to take care of her. Not that her parents didn’t help…they did. But Sam…he was such a wonderful father. I’d seen him with many kids over the years, giving a talk to Danny’s Boy Scout troop or lecturing on bike safety at the Visitors Center. What woman wouldn’t want to be married to a guy like that?
But there he sat, spinning his wheels while Katie blanched at the slightest thought of a relationship with anyone. And yet they’d be perfect together. They were both on the serious side. They were both parents of boys, both attractive, quite so. They both had hearts of gold, if not platinum. And, of course, they both liked me, so they had that in common.
I had the chance to bring up this subject more bluntly, since it was apparent that bluntness was called for. As I grimly huffed up the hill between Coast Guard and Nauset Light beaches one sunny day, I glimpsed a fellow runner behind me, taking the hill without apparent effort and gaining fast. Digger began leaping with glee. I looked again. It was Sam.
“Looking good, Millie!” he called, grinning. How people could smile—or speak—while running was beyond me.
“Hey…Sam,” I wheezed. I lurched to a stop—this was my third mile after all—but Sam loped to my side.
“Don’t stop, Mil,” he said, smacking me on the shoulder (the pain meant to distract me from my respiratory distress, perhaps?). “You’re doing great! How far have you gone?” He now turned around, running backward, quite easily keeping pace with me.
“Keep going,” I panted. “Nothing…to see. Move along.”
“Why, kiddo? I’ll run with you. It’ll be fun.”
I glared at him evilly, sweat running into my eyes. “Sam, if I could catch you…I’d strangle you. I hate you.”
“Really, Mil, you’re doing great. Don’t worry about how fast you’re going. Just relax and loosen up.”
I willed him away, as I was incapable of speech. Loosen up. Right. As soon as my muscles unseized, I would definitely loosen up.
“Here,” he said, still running backward. “Do what I do.” He shook out his arms and rolled his head around, somehow not looking like an ass as he did so. I reluctantly copied him, if only to distract myself briefly from the sharp pain in my calves.
“You have to make sure you drink enough beforehand,” he advised, coach-like. “Otherwise, your muscles will ache.”
“Okay, Notre Dame,” I puffed.
“Do you stretch out after?” he asked, finally, mercifully turning to run frontward. This made me look less pathetic, I hoped. We started down the hill, and my breathing became less labored.
“No,” I confessed. “I don’t really know what I’m doing. I just put on my sneakers and go.”
“I’ll run you home,” Sam volunteered. “I can show you some stuff. It makes a big difference.”
“How far do you…usually run?” I asked between gasps.
“Oh, I don’t know. Six or seven miles. Ten sometimes. Depends on my schedule.”
“Wow! Ten miles! I’ll never…get that far.” Today, in fact, was the farthest I’d ever run, it being past three miles now. I usually walked the last mile of my outing, but with Sam at my side, I didn’t want to stop. Ten miles. Damn him. I sneaked a glance at him. He looked calm and unsweaty…effortless. He was even smiling. How irritating! We rounded the turn onto my road. Only half a mile to go! My legs seemed to have sandbags tied to them, but I didn’t want Sam thinking I was a whiner.
“Sam, you should…ask Katie out,” I said, unable to let nature take its course on this one. Sometimes nature needed a shove.
“Katie?” He looked at me sharply, obviously surprised.
“Yes, Katie,” I answered, trying to control my breathing so I wouldn’t hyperventilate in front of FloJo here. He didn’t say anything.
“Don’t you think it’s time?” I panted. “Katie’s nice. You know that. She’d be a good way to, you know, break the Trish curse.”
Sam laughed. “Trish curse? What exactly is that?”
I smiled at him…and at my neighbor’s mailbox, the sign that the torture was about to end. “You know…making you feel that you’re…that you’re…”
“A loser?”
“Jeez, Sam! I was trying to be diplomatic!” I darted a quick look at his face, and he seemed okay. “I too suffer from…the Trish curse, after all…We’re home! Thank you, dear, dear Jesus.”
I stumbled to an abrupt halt in my rutted driveway, bracing myself against a sticky pitch pine and gasping. My dog whined to be let off the leash, and I obliged, amazed as always that he could circle madly around the yard or chase chipmunks in the woods after our ordeal.
“No, no, you don’t,” Sam the know-it-all instructed, grabbing my arm and towing me toward the house. “You walk until you’re cooled off. Then you stretch. Come on.”
“I really do hate you, Sam,” I said. He smiled but otherwise ignored me, leading me up the driveway, which was a good fifty feet long. Then he proceeded to force me into myriad stretches designed to relieve the strain my poor body had been under. But it was good, because where was I going to learn this stuff otherwise? Even though I felt kind of like a jerk, I paid attention as he showed me what to do. And by the time we were done, a mere ten minutes after arriving home, I wasn’t sweating anymore and my legs weren’t trembling; I didn’t feel like throwing up, and I could breathe normally again. So it worked, I guess.
