Fools Rush In
Page 25
“Hey, Sam,” I said. “Thanks again for the ride the other night.”
“No problem,” he said, standing in the doorway. “It was fun.”
“Everything okay?” I asked, expecting more news from the Trish front. “You can sit down, you know.”
He looked strange in my office, very official and serious. And, let’s admit it, a good-looking a man in uniform…nice. He sat down, his gun clunking against the chair.
“Are you seeing Joe Carpenter?” he asked bluntly.
“Yes,” I answered cautiously. “What about it?”
Sam looked at the floor. “I was, uh, kind of surprised the other night, when I picked you and Katie up, that’s all. You know, when Joe kissed you. I didn’t realize you guys were dating.”
I stared at Sam. “So?”
“I guess I’m just surprised. You didn’t say anything about it.”
“It’s kind of new,” I replied neutrally.
“Yeah, sure. It’s just…I don’t really see you guys together.” He shifted in his chair as if he had sand in his bathing suit. “You don’t seem…”
That was it. I flung my pen down on the desk. “Don’t seem what, Sam?”
His eyebrows rose. “Well, it’s just that Joe doesn’t seem like your type.”
“What exactly is my type, Sam?” I snapped. “Do you have any idea? Tell me, since obviously you’re an expert in ‘my type.’”
“Whoa there, Millie, I didn’t—”
“What you really mean is that I’m not Joe’s type, don’t you?”
“Millie—”
“Because why? I’m not pretty enough?” I slammed my file drawer shut.
“No! I didn’t say—”
“God, I am so sick of hearing people ask why Joe is with me! First Trish, then Sienna and now you!”
“Millie, don’t put words in my mouth. I didn’t mean anything—”
“Did it ever occur to you that maybe Joe likes me because I’m a good, fun person? And maybe he actually finds me attractive? I might be Trish’s dorky little sister to you, Sam, but maybe Joe doesn’t feel that way.”
“Millie, stop. Jesus. You’re not Trish’s dorky little sister,” Sam said, holding his hands up defensively. “It was just a surprise. I’m sorry I said anything at all.”
“You should be!” I said hotly. “It’s none of your business, Sam. Frankly, I don’t care if you think Joe is my type or I’m his. Butt out, okay? You’re not my big brother. You’re not even my brother-in-law anymore.”
Sam stood up, his face stony. “Fine. Once again, I’m sorry. See you later.” He left, closing the door quietly behind him.
My heart thumped sickly against my ribs. Damn Sam Nickerson! Of all people to wonder what Joe saw in me! Sam had always seemed to like me, always had time to talk to me, even when I was a fat, geeky teenager with braces. To imply that there was something off balance in my relationship with Joe…Angry tears stung my eyes, and my throat was tight. Damn you, Sam, I thought, swallowing hard.
I was still fuming when Joe picked me up a few hours later. The whole night, I fumed. It was hard to pay attention to Joe when I was reliving my fight with Sam every two minutes. But Joe didn’t seem to mind, or even notice, actually. He was his usual happy-go-lucky self, and if I was preoccupied, it didn’t bother him. When we got back to my house, I went at him with a bit of a vengeance. I deserved Joe Carpenter, and screw anyone who didn’t see that.
CHAPTER TWENTY
OF COURSE, THE NEXT DAY, I was wracked with guilt. Had I been, perhaps, a teeny bit hard on Sam? One of us Barnes girls already had the role of harpy-shrew…if nothing else, I was the nice sister. Granted, I had been mad, but that last thing I’d said, about not being my brother-in-law anymore…ooh, yes, I had indeed been too harsh. Wicked harsh.
I remembered when I’d come home from college for Sam’s graduation from the police academy. I had been trying to look uncaring and French, wearing the all-black uniform and heavy eyeliner that we college students imagined was a statement of intellect and cynicism. When Sam, dressed in his uniform for the first time, had come over to me, I’d said something stupid like, “Well, I guess the world’s a safer place now.” And he’d just smiled down at me, ignoring my pissy attitude, and answered, “I’ll always look out for you, Millie.”
That memory had me grabbing the phone. His machine picked up. “Sam, hi…um, I guess I maybe overreacted a little bit yesterday, kind of bit your head off a little…oh, Sam, I’m really sorry. Please forgive me. Pretty please.” I started to hang up, then thought better of it. “It’s Millie, by the way. Call me. I’m at the clinic. Bye.”
He didn’t call me back and by the time I got home, I fretted about, tidying up, brushing my dog. The air was hot and dry, and I didn’t feel like a run. It was Friday, and at this moment, I had no weekend plans…. Joe and I were not at the point yet where we automatically did everything together. Joe. The thought of him brought an automatic, if not quite heartfelt, smile to my face. Things were going great, completely in accordance with the plan. As Katie had noticed the other night, he really did seem eager to be with me, something definitely different from what I had observed over the years.
And yet there was something missing, though what it was remained unclear. As I folded my meager load of laundry, I wondered if I would ever confess all my stalking and plotting to Joe. No, probably not. I had made a jerk out of myself far too many times over him, and the fact that he remained unaware of this was a definite plus.
Joe and I had fun together—he was mellow and sweet—but what was lacking, exactly? Maybe it was that I didn’t know him any better now than I had five years ago. Maybe it was that our relationship seemed to consist of hanging out and sex…nothing deeper. Not yet, anyway. Where was that hidden side of Joe, that heroic, helpful, humble part that I’d seen so many times? That was the Joe I really loved.
It’s only been a couple of weeks, I told myself. Sensing my gloomy state of mind, Digger came over and stared at me adoringly, his whip-like tail slicing the air. He nudged my thigh with his nose until I relented and petted him.
“You’re such a good pup,” I said. “What do you think about Joe? Huh, Digger? He’s a good doggy, isn’t he?” Digger seemed to agree.
Once again, I glanced at the phone. Why hadn’t Sam called me? He must be furious, I thought, mentally cringing. Making Sam angry—or hurting his feelings—caused acid to churn in my stomach.
“I think Sam should call me, don’t you?” I asked Digger. I swear he nodded.
I flopped onto the couch. Laundry folded, house clean. Looked like I was on my own tonight. Rubbing Digger’s tummy with my foot, I considered my options. Cook? Nah. Eat out? Nah. Not on a Friday night on Fourth of July weekend on the Cape. What was Sam doing? Had he gotten my message yet?
At that very moment, the phone rang. “Be Sam!” I commanded before picking up. “Hello?”
“Aunt Millie, it’s Danny,” my nephew stated needlessly.
“Hi, honey,” I said.
“Can you come over? Right now?”
“What’s the matter?” I demanded, fear shooting through me.
“Everything’s okay…I just need some help, and my dad’s not here.”
“Are you hurt?” I thought I heard a strangled cough.
“No, no, Aunt Mil. I’m fine.” Something thumped in the background. “I just need you to come over real quick. It’s not something for the phone. Can you come?”
“Of course, Danny. I’m on my way.”
What could be the problem? I wondered as I zipped down Route 6. He had definitely sounded odd. Something with Trish? I neatly passed a lumbering New York Hummer that took up a lane and a half and flew down to the rotary and onto Bridge Road. Turning onto Danny’s street, I glanced at the house. Didn’t look like anyone was home. I yanked up the emergency brake, ran up the steps and opened the front door.
“Danny?” I called.
“Surprise!”
I leaped back in terror, my bladder loosening dangerously, my heart rising to my throat, hands fluttering protectively in front of me. Oh, Christ! It was—
“Happy birthday to you,” someone began, and then everybody joined it. My face burned and I slumped against the door.
Jesus. A surprise party. For me!
There were my parents, singing away, right at the front of the crowd. Danny, the deceitful nephew. Katie. Her boys. Her parents. Oh, Lord, there was Joe! And Jill and Mr. Doyle and Sienna and even Dr. Bala with a stunning woman whose exotic beauty marked her as his wife. Dr. Whitaker smiled and nodded hello. The Robinsons, my parents’ next-door neighbors and lifelong friends. A woman I didn’t know, curly blondish hair, smiling eyes. Ethel, Sam’s obscenity-spewing, chain-smoking partner. There was Sarah, Danny’s girlfriend. Oh God, Janette, my best friend from residency, all the way from Bean Town, and her longtime boyfriend, Zach. Chris from the Barnacle. Curtis and Mitch! Hooray!
And Sam.
Sam was hosting my surprise thirtieth birthday party at his house, the day after I’d torn him a new…
The song finished and everybody clapped and laughed at me, and then I was surrounded by hugging, giggling, babbling people.
“We got you good, Aunt Mil!” Danny exclaimed triumphantly.
Joe came over and planted a big kiss on my mouth. “Happy birthday, Millie! Surprise!”
I squeezed his hand. “Joe…I’m—I—my God, you bad, bad people!” I said. I had to wipe my eyes, because apparently I was crying a little bit.
“You really didn’t suspect anything?” my mom asked, giving me a hug.
“Suspect—God, I had no…my birthday’s not till the end of next week…and…”
My dad lumbered over, Coors Light in hand. “Happy birthday, sweetie,” he said, giving me a hug that lifted me off my feet and squeezed the air out of my lungs. “Nancy, our little baby is thirty!” he bellowed at my mom.
“Oh, Daddy,” I wheezed happily, my ears ringing.
He set me down and kissed me loudly on the cheek. “Got a little present for you!” he crowed.
“Not now, Howard,” my mom instructed. They made way as Sam came over and kissed my cheek.
“Happy birthday, Millie,” he said a little awkwardly.
“Oh, Sam…can you just sneak in here with me for sec?” I asked. Abandoning my parents and Joe (I guessed my parents already knew we were dating or were about to find out), I took Sam’s arm and dragged him into the bathroom off the foyer. I flicked on the light and shut the door.
“Sam, I’m so sorry!” I said.
“No, I’m sorry,” he said. “I shouldn’t have said anything.”
“I was so mean. I feel like crap.”
“Don’t, kiddo. You were right, I sort of crossed the line there.”
“No, no. It just hit a nerve, I guess.”
“I understand.” He shrugged a little.
“Are we okay, then?” I asked, the muffled booming of the guests and the stereo forcing me to raise my voice.
“Sure,” Sam answered, smiling.
“I can’t believe this party! My God, Sam! Thank you!” I smiled up at him, and he reached out and pinched my chin affectionately.
“Well, it was Katie’s idea, and your mom’s. I just offered the house and stuff.”
“I’ve never had a surprise party,” I said.
“Well, you’d better get out there and start enjoying it.” He paused, his eyes turning serious. “Millie—”
“Yes?”
“All those things you thought I meant about you and Joe…I wasn’t thinking them. If anything, I think Joe’s damn lucky. And he better deserve you. Okay?”
My eyes filled with tears. “Okay. And I’m sorry again. You know I love you, Sam.”
“Love you, too, kiddo.”
It suddenly seemed very still as we looked at each other, just inches apart in the small bathroom. Sam’s eyes were smoky-blue today, and his lips parted to say something. My breath caught for a second, then Sam seemed to change his mind. Reaching behind him, he opened the door. “After you, birthday girl,” he said.
The odd tension of the moment was forgotten as guests swarmed up to me, chatting merrily, laughing in the thrill of secrecy. Sam put an icy Corona in my hand and I smiled gratefully.
“How are you keeping, Millie?” Dr. Whitaker asked, peering at me through his horn-rimmed glasses.
“Very well, Dr. Whitaker,” I answered. “Thank you so much for coming.”
“You’re very welcome. And I think you should call me George, don’t you?” He gave me the smile that inspired so much trust in his patients, and I grinned back, delighted. “I’m looking forward to talking about our partnership this fall,” he continued.
Wanting to shout Yippee, I instead restrained myself and replied calmly, “As am I, sir.”
“Wonderful. Enjoy your party, my dear.”
Dozens of dishes swamped Sam’s kitchen counters, lasagna and green salad and pasta and lobster bisque so creamy and ethereally pink it could only have come from the Barnacle, quesadillas, buffalo wings (my favorite!), and a beautiful white cake with strawberries on top that must have been made by my mom.
I made my way back to the living room. Most people were in there or out on Sam’s huge deck, and for a minute I just soaked it all in, all these great people, throwing me a surprise birthday party. I couldn’t keep the goofy smile off my face.
“No problem,” he said, standing in the doorway. “It was fun.”
“Everything okay?” I asked, expecting more news from the Trish front. “You can sit down, you know.”
He looked strange in my office, very official and serious. And, let’s admit it, a good-looking a man in uniform…nice. He sat down, his gun clunking against the chair.
“Are you seeing Joe Carpenter?” he asked bluntly.
“Yes,” I answered cautiously. “What about it?”
Sam looked at the floor. “I was, uh, kind of surprised the other night, when I picked you and Katie up, that’s all. You know, when Joe kissed you. I didn’t realize you guys were dating.”
I stared at Sam. “So?”
“I guess I’m just surprised. You didn’t say anything about it.”
“It’s kind of new,” I replied neutrally.
“Yeah, sure. It’s just…I don’t really see you guys together.” He shifted in his chair as if he had sand in his bathing suit. “You don’t seem…”
That was it. I flung my pen down on the desk. “Don’t seem what, Sam?”
His eyebrows rose. “Well, it’s just that Joe doesn’t seem like your type.”
“What exactly is my type, Sam?” I snapped. “Do you have any idea? Tell me, since obviously you’re an expert in ‘my type.’”
“Whoa there, Millie, I didn’t—”
“What you really mean is that I’m not Joe’s type, don’t you?”
“Millie—”
“Because why? I’m not pretty enough?” I slammed my file drawer shut.
“No! I didn’t say—”
“God, I am so sick of hearing people ask why Joe is with me! First Trish, then Sienna and now you!”
“Millie, don’t put words in my mouth. I didn’t mean anything—”
“Did it ever occur to you that maybe Joe likes me because I’m a good, fun person? And maybe he actually finds me attractive? I might be Trish’s dorky little sister to you, Sam, but maybe Joe doesn’t feel that way.”
“Millie, stop. Jesus. You’re not Trish’s dorky little sister,” Sam said, holding his hands up defensively. “It was just a surprise. I’m sorry I said anything at all.”
“You should be!” I said hotly. “It’s none of your business, Sam. Frankly, I don’t care if you think Joe is my type or I’m his. Butt out, okay? You’re not my big brother. You’re not even my brother-in-law anymore.”
Sam stood up, his face stony. “Fine. Once again, I’m sorry. See you later.” He left, closing the door quietly behind him.
My heart thumped sickly against my ribs. Damn Sam Nickerson! Of all people to wonder what Joe saw in me! Sam had always seemed to like me, always had time to talk to me, even when I was a fat, geeky teenager with braces. To imply that there was something off balance in my relationship with Joe…Angry tears stung my eyes, and my throat was tight. Damn you, Sam, I thought, swallowing hard.
I was still fuming when Joe picked me up a few hours later. The whole night, I fumed. It was hard to pay attention to Joe when I was reliving my fight with Sam every two minutes. But Joe didn’t seem to mind, or even notice, actually. He was his usual happy-go-lucky self, and if I was preoccupied, it didn’t bother him. When we got back to my house, I went at him with a bit of a vengeance. I deserved Joe Carpenter, and screw anyone who didn’t see that.
CHAPTER TWENTY
OF COURSE, THE NEXT DAY, I was wracked with guilt. Had I been, perhaps, a teeny bit hard on Sam? One of us Barnes girls already had the role of harpy-shrew…if nothing else, I was the nice sister. Granted, I had been mad, but that last thing I’d said, about not being my brother-in-law anymore…ooh, yes, I had indeed been too harsh. Wicked harsh.
I remembered when I’d come home from college for Sam’s graduation from the police academy. I had been trying to look uncaring and French, wearing the all-black uniform and heavy eyeliner that we college students imagined was a statement of intellect and cynicism. When Sam, dressed in his uniform for the first time, had come over to me, I’d said something stupid like, “Well, I guess the world’s a safer place now.” And he’d just smiled down at me, ignoring my pissy attitude, and answered, “I’ll always look out for you, Millie.”
That memory had me grabbing the phone. His machine picked up. “Sam, hi…um, I guess I maybe overreacted a little bit yesterday, kind of bit your head off a little…oh, Sam, I’m really sorry. Please forgive me. Pretty please.” I started to hang up, then thought better of it. “It’s Millie, by the way. Call me. I’m at the clinic. Bye.”
He didn’t call me back and by the time I got home, I fretted about, tidying up, brushing my dog. The air was hot and dry, and I didn’t feel like a run. It was Friday, and at this moment, I had no weekend plans…. Joe and I were not at the point yet where we automatically did everything together. Joe. The thought of him brought an automatic, if not quite heartfelt, smile to my face. Things were going great, completely in accordance with the plan. As Katie had noticed the other night, he really did seem eager to be with me, something definitely different from what I had observed over the years.
And yet there was something missing, though what it was remained unclear. As I folded my meager load of laundry, I wondered if I would ever confess all my stalking and plotting to Joe. No, probably not. I had made a jerk out of myself far too many times over him, and the fact that he remained unaware of this was a definite plus.
Joe and I had fun together—he was mellow and sweet—but what was lacking, exactly? Maybe it was that I didn’t know him any better now than I had five years ago. Maybe it was that our relationship seemed to consist of hanging out and sex…nothing deeper. Not yet, anyway. Where was that hidden side of Joe, that heroic, helpful, humble part that I’d seen so many times? That was the Joe I really loved.
It’s only been a couple of weeks, I told myself. Sensing my gloomy state of mind, Digger came over and stared at me adoringly, his whip-like tail slicing the air. He nudged my thigh with his nose until I relented and petted him.
“You’re such a good pup,” I said. “What do you think about Joe? Huh, Digger? He’s a good doggy, isn’t he?” Digger seemed to agree.
Once again, I glanced at the phone. Why hadn’t Sam called me? He must be furious, I thought, mentally cringing. Making Sam angry—or hurting his feelings—caused acid to churn in my stomach.
“I think Sam should call me, don’t you?” I asked Digger. I swear he nodded.
I flopped onto the couch. Laundry folded, house clean. Looked like I was on my own tonight. Rubbing Digger’s tummy with my foot, I considered my options. Cook? Nah. Eat out? Nah. Not on a Friday night on Fourth of July weekend on the Cape. What was Sam doing? Had he gotten my message yet?
At that very moment, the phone rang. “Be Sam!” I commanded before picking up. “Hello?”
“Aunt Millie, it’s Danny,” my nephew stated needlessly.
“Hi, honey,” I said.
“Can you come over? Right now?”
“What’s the matter?” I demanded, fear shooting through me.
“Everything’s okay…I just need some help, and my dad’s not here.”
“Are you hurt?” I thought I heard a strangled cough.
“No, no, Aunt Mil. I’m fine.” Something thumped in the background. “I just need you to come over real quick. It’s not something for the phone. Can you come?”
“Of course, Danny. I’m on my way.”
What could be the problem? I wondered as I zipped down Route 6. He had definitely sounded odd. Something with Trish? I neatly passed a lumbering New York Hummer that took up a lane and a half and flew down to the rotary and onto Bridge Road. Turning onto Danny’s street, I glanced at the house. Didn’t look like anyone was home. I yanked up the emergency brake, ran up the steps and opened the front door.
“Danny?” I called.
“Surprise!”
I leaped back in terror, my bladder loosening dangerously, my heart rising to my throat, hands fluttering protectively in front of me. Oh, Christ! It was—
“Happy birthday to you,” someone began, and then everybody joined it. My face burned and I slumped against the door.
Jesus. A surprise party. For me!
There were my parents, singing away, right at the front of the crowd. Danny, the deceitful nephew. Katie. Her boys. Her parents. Oh, Lord, there was Joe! And Jill and Mr. Doyle and Sienna and even Dr. Bala with a stunning woman whose exotic beauty marked her as his wife. Dr. Whitaker smiled and nodded hello. The Robinsons, my parents’ next-door neighbors and lifelong friends. A woman I didn’t know, curly blondish hair, smiling eyes. Ethel, Sam’s obscenity-spewing, chain-smoking partner. There was Sarah, Danny’s girlfriend. Oh God, Janette, my best friend from residency, all the way from Bean Town, and her longtime boyfriend, Zach. Chris from the Barnacle. Curtis and Mitch! Hooray!
And Sam.
Sam was hosting my surprise thirtieth birthday party at his house, the day after I’d torn him a new…
The song finished and everybody clapped and laughed at me, and then I was surrounded by hugging, giggling, babbling people.
“We got you good, Aunt Mil!” Danny exclaimed triumphantly.
Joe came over and planted a big kiss on my mouth. “Happy birthday, Millie! Surprise!”
I squeezed his hand. “Joe…I’m—I—my God, you bad, bad people!” I said. I had to wipe my eyes, because apparently I was crying a little bit.
“You really didn’t suspect anything?” my mom asked, giving me a hug.
“Suspect—God, I had no…my birthday’s not till the end of next week…and…”
My dad lumbered over, Coors Light in hand. “Happy birthday, sweetie,” he said, giving me a hug that lifted me off my feet and squeezed the air out of my lungs. “Nancy, our little baby is thirty!” he bellowed at my mom.
“Oh, Daddy,” I wheezed happily, my ears ringing.
He set me down and kissed me loudly on the cheek. “Got a little present for you!” he crowed.
“Not now, Howard,” my mom instructed. They made way as Sam came over and kissed my cheek.
“Happy birthday, Millie,” he said a little awkwardly.
“Oh, Sam…can you just sneak in here with me for sec?” I asked. Abandoning my parents and Joe (I guessed my parents already knew we were dating or were about to find out), I took Sam’s arm and dragged him into the bathroom off the foyer. I flicked on the light and shut the door.
“Sam, I’m so sorry!” I said.
“No, I’m sorry,” he said. “I shouldn’t have said anything.”
“I was so mean. I feel like crap.”
“Don’t, kiddo. You were right, I sort of crossed the line there.”
“No, no. It just hit a nerve, I guess.”
“I understand.” He shrugged a little.
“Are we okay, then?” I asked, the muffled booming of the guests and the stereo forcing me to raise my voice.
“Sure,” Sam answered, smiling.
“I can’t believe this party! My God, Sam! Thank you!” I smiled up at him, and he reached out and pinched my chin affectionately.
“Well, it was Katie’s idea, and your mom’s. I just offered the house and stuff.”
“I’ve never had a surprise party,” I said.
“Well, you’d better get out there and start enjoying it.” He paused, his eyes turning serious. “Millie—”
“Yes?”
“All those things you thought I meant about you and Joe…I wasn’t thinking them. If anything, I think Joe’s damn lucky. And he better deserve you. Okay?”
My eyes filled with tears. “Okay. And I’m sorry again. You know I love you, Sam.”
“Love you, too, kiddo.”
It suddenly seemed very still as we looked at each other, just inches apart in the small bathroom. Sam’s eyes were smoky-blue today, and his lips parted to say something. My breath caught for a second, then Sam seemed to change his mind. Reaching behind him, he opened the door. “After you, birthday girl,” he said.
The odd tension of the moment was forgotten as guests swarmed up to me, chatting merrily, laughing in the thrill of secrecy. Sam put an icy Corona in my hand and I smiled gratefully.
“How are you keeping, Millie?” Dr. Whitaker asked, peering at me through his horn-rimmed glasses.
“Very well, Dr. Whitaker,” I answered. “Thank you so much for coming.”
“You’re very welcome. And I think you should call me George, don’t you?” He gave me the smile that inspired so much trust in his patients, and I grinned back, delighted. “I’m looking forward to talking about our partnership this fall,” he continued.
Wanting to shout Yippee, I instead restrained myself and replied calmly, “As am I, sir.”
“Wonderful. Enjoy your party, my dear.”
Dozens of dishes swamped Sam’s kitchen counters, lasagna and green salad and pasta and lobster bisque so creamy and ethereally pink it could only have come from the Barnacle, quesadillas, buffalo wings (my favorite!), and a beautiful white cake with strawberries on top that must have been made by my mom.
I made my way back to the living room. Most people were in there or out on Sam’s huge deck, and for a minute I just soaked it all in, all these great people, throwing me a surprise birthday party. I couldn’t keep the goofy smile off my face.
