A Table By the Window (29 page)

Brooke's cousin!
Carley thought, recalling what Sherry had told her at the Old Grist Mill.

“We had to put Mona in the mental hospital for a while for swallowin' a bottle of pills. Been six years now, and nobody's heard a word from Tracy or from Rick. My Annabel had never got over how our son stole from us, and after Mona tried to kill herself…well, that was when Annabel's mind started slippin' away.”

He sighed again and closed his eyes. When he did not speak for several seconds, Carley went back to the kitchen for water. When she returned, his eyes were still closed, tears clinging to trembling lashes. She placed the glass on the table. Should she say something? But what? That everything would be all right? She pulled out another chair and sat.

Eventually he looked at her, looked at the glass. He drank half the water, put the glass down again. Embarrassment was obvious on his face, but he said, “Thank you.”

I didn't do anything,
rose to Carley's lips but she thought better of it. “Did you walk over? Because my car's right out—”

“I'll be fine.” A dry smile softened his features, just a little. “Looks like we're even.”

That made Carley smile, which made his a little wider.

“All righty-rooty,” he said, rising. “I'm going back to work so you can do the same. I'll expect my rent every month with no excuses, little lady.”

“Yes, sir,” Carley said, like a true Southerner.

****

Steve Underwood delivered the oak deacon's bench Saturday morning and positioned it along the entrance wall adjacent to the counter. “It's wonderful,” Carley said, running a hand along the curved back. The oak had a rich sheen against the olive backdrop.

“See how it sits,” Steve said, his dark eyes friendly upon her.

“All right.” Carley spread both palms on either side to feel wood as smooth as marble. “I love it.”

“It's sturdy too. It'll hold up for decades.”

“Please tell your father how pleased I am.” She had the checkbook ready this time, and invited him to sit at a table. “And may I get you some iced tea? I'm trying to develop a taste for it, now that I'll be serving it.”

“No, thank you. I just had coffee. Is everything coming together as you planned?”

“Very well, so far,” she said, penning
August 2, 2003
in the date line. “My new staff will start training in two weeks, and if all goes well I should be able to open August twenty-third as planned.”

A couple of quick raps came from the window above the door. Dale entered, wearing his uniform and a boyish grin. “I hope I'm not interrupting important business,” he said, as if he had not just walked into a
place
of business, passing Steve's truck to do so.

“Well, we
are
kind of—”

“Sure.” Still, Dale stood in the doorway. “I keep forgetting to bring your sweater, Carley. But maybe I should hang onto it. I'll check the movie ads—there might be something better this week. How's it going, Steve? When's the fall semester?”

“The eighteenth,” Steve replied.

“Ah, I guess you'll be moving back to Hattiesburg soon. Well, my best to your folks.”

“Yeah, thanks.”

When the door closed again, Carley shook her head. “I'm sorry.”

Steve smiled. “You've nothing to apologize for.”

“I didn't realize your classes started so soon.”

He got to his feet and pushed the chair under the table. “Summer races by, doesn't it? I hope your grand opening's a success.”

“Thanks, Steve.”

And then he was gone, with a wave at the door.

Ten minutes later, while Carley was proofreading the final mock-up of the menu, Dale returned.

“I'm really sorry,” he said, approaching the table with tentative steps. “That was so immature of me.”

Carley leveled a look at him. “Well, you just answered the question in my mind.”

“You mean, whether it was coincidence that I barged in on you like that a second time?”

“What was that about?”

Dale ran his hand through his short hair and pulled out the chair Steve had vacated. He hesitated. “May I…?”

“Suit yourself.”

He whistled faintly. “You're really angry, aren't you?”

Carley set the menu on the table and folded her hands. “I don't know that I'm as much angry as confused, Dale. We aren't going together. You're aware that I do business with several people. You don't call for a week—which is your right, because, as I said, we aren't going together—but then act like you're checking up on me?”

“You're right. May I explain?”

Carley shrugged. “If you like.”

“Thank you.” Elbows on the table, he drew in a breath. “I didn't call because I was afraid.”

“Afraid of me?”

“Terrified, Carley. Remember how I said I was a dork most of my life? It was worse than that. When any girl agrees to go out with a short, chubby guy, it's because the prom or homecoming's just around the corner, and she's getting desperate. I had my first girlfriend only
after
I got in shape in college, and even she dumped me, like I mentioned before. But after I made that arrest, women really started flirting with me. Beautiful women. The sort who wouldn't have given me a second look before all this happened.”

“I think you sell women short,” Carley had to say, and winced inside at her unintended pun. But he had not seemed to notice. “You were older. There is the maturity factor.”

“This happened practically overnight, Carley. What else can I think? I was even engaged to a woman like that who was happy to be on my arm when a reporter was present. I can see that, now. Thank goodness she broke it off when I wouldn't leave Tallulah, or I'd always wonder if she really loved me for myself.”

Carley had never realized men were capable of such transparency. “But why were you afraid of me?”

“Well, because I like you. More than any woman I've ever met. I got so used to women who were so flattered by dating a hero, that I got lazy. If someone wants to be with you, even when you act like a jerk, what incentive do you have to change? And frankly, how can you respect that woman? I admire how you respect yourself. But this is new for me, dating someone like you. And I don't know how to act.”

“Just be yourself,” she said, touched in spite of her misgivings.

“I wish it were that easy.” He blew out his cheeks. “I thought I'd wait a while, see if my feelings cooled down. But then when I saw Steve's truck…well, I got jealous.”

That sent a chill up Carley's spine. “I won't date a jealous man, Dale.”

“I don't blame you. But in my own defense, all I did was act like an idiot. I didn't threaten Steve. Or you.”

It was hard to stay annoyed with him. Carley said, “I'll admit that I'm hypersensitive to certain things.”

“Then…you'll forgive me?” he asked hopefully

“All right.”

His eyes closed for a second. “Thank you, Carley.”

“But I'll have to pass on the movie, Dale. I'm pretty busy this weekend.” She knew she could have managed to make the time, but this seemed the right course of action.

“I understand.” He hesitated. “But you have to eat. Let me take you to lunch?”

“Can't. I'm meeting Aunt Helen at Sherry's house.”

“What about tomorrow. Would you consider meeting me at the Old Grist Mill?”

Why not?
She still liked him very much. And she could not help but be flattered that she had the power to cause
any
man such emotional stress. “Okay. But is there anything there you can eat?”

“Sure. Baked potato, plain, salad bar.” He grinned. “The pleasure of your company will make up for the limited choices. What time do you get out of church?”

“I don't go.”

“Oh. I thought since the Hudsons' went to Community…”

She shook her head.

“Interesting. That makes us a couple of oddities, here in the Bible Belt. But at least it guarantees us a table before the rush. Eleven-thirty all right?”

“That's fine.” She picked up the menu prototype and handed it over the table. “By the way, you might want to see this.”

He scanned it and smiled. “Avocado-cucumber sandwich, hummus with pita bread…
and
spinach wrap?”

The latter was a last-minute decision. “With cheese, mind you, but all you have to do is order it without. And there's mushroom-wild-rice soup on the other side.”

“I'm overwhelmed.”

“This was a business decision. They earned their spots.”

“There may have been a little bit of pity involved too?”

“Okay.” She held up thumb and forefinger a quarter inch apart. “There may have been
some
pity involved. But you'll still have to eat baked potatoes and salads on Sundays, and pack your own on Mondays. We'll only be open the days the shops are open.”

“Are you sure that's a good idea?”

She was not sure at all, with so many townspeople asking about the café, and the Old Grist Mill so popular. But other than Brooke, all of her newly hired staff had expressed concern during their interviews over working Sundays. The employee pool was not
that
vast in Tallulah. And coincidentally or not, those applicants who impressed her the most were churchgoers.

She had toyed with the idea of opening for lunch on Sundays, but then tossed the notion. If the day was so important to them, let them have the whole day. Happy employees would surely be productive employees, and she was convinced that her business would be made or broken by the shoppers. She could always change her mind later. She was not out to make a million dollars. Just to support herself with a business that did not demand every waking minute of every day, once it got going.

****

You almost blew it,
Dale thought, sending an appreciative wave to hardware store owner Mr. Marshall for slowing his pickup truck to allow him across Main Street.

He stepped to the edge of the sidewalk to circumvent a chattering foursome of elderly women coming out of Enchanted Attic. He recognized one—Mayor Coates' mother. After seven years as chief of police, there was enough politician in his blood to cause him to pause and ask if they were having a good day.

“These are my chums from teaching college, Chief Dale,” Myrna Coates said. “We still get together once a year. This year it's my turn to host. Patty here flew all the way down from New York.”

“Well, if that doesn't beat all,” Dale drawled, shaking one soft hand, then another. “I hope Miz Coates baked you some of her coconut cream pie. It's always the hit of the Founders' Day Picnic.”

“I'm afraid your sweet talk is wasted, young man,” Mrs. Coates said, taking his arm. “These women can cook circles around me.”

“That might be uncomf-table, Myrna!” the woman named Patty quipped in a nasal-sounding hybrid of New York City and backwoods Mississippi. Dale laughed along with the other three, wished them good-day, and continued down the sidewalk.

The same intuition that had helped him recognize Warren Knap in Shoney's had served him well again by telling him what Carley would want to hear. Women loved men who could admit to being vulnerable. And the irony—he was pretty certain the word fit this time—was that he was being totally honest. He
had been
a lonesome, awkward teenager. He
did
appreciate that she seemed to like him for himself and that she would have nothing to do with him if he treated her with less than respect.

Did that not make him a good man?

You are a good man,
he assured himself. How many wives, mothers, and co-eds were alive today because Warren Knap was put away seven years ago?

Bad things happened to decent people all the time, didn't they? And lots of good people had skeletons in their closets.

A shiver ran through him, in spite of the ninety-degree heat.
Bad choice of words. Think of something else
.

****

“Do you think I'm being silly, wondering if this raises a red flag?” Carley asked Aunt Helen and Sherry over finger sandwiches, quiche rounds, and raw vegetables left over from last night's middle school faculty planning meeting.

“I wouldn't say
silly,
Carley,” Sherry said, swirling a celery stick through ranch dressing. “But maybe you blew it out of proportion. It's actually kind of funny.”

“He didn't threaten either of you?” Aunt Helen asked.

Carley shook her head.

“And he confessed to doing it on purpose?”

“He was very repentant.”

“You have to understand men, Carley,” Sherry said. “No matter how old they get, they never completely leave the school yard. Oh, they may manage to squelch that part of themselves for years, even hide it under a coat and tie, but it's still there.”

“Mom?” came from the den. A second later, Patrick stood in the doorway in T-shirt and shorts. “Where did Dad put that fake vomit he bought in Florida? I want to bring it to basketball camp.”

“Excuse me,” Sherry said, and left the kitchen.

Aunt Helen smiled and passed the tray. Carley smiled back and scooped up a quiche and two finger sandwiches.

“Courtship was much less complicated when I was young,” her aunt said. “All we cared about was if the fellow had good manners and a job.”

“What about looks?”

She smiled again. “If he was cute, that was a bonus. But looking back, we were too naïve. Romance, hearts, and flowers—that's what was important. We didn't give a thought to the friendship part—and that's where you learn a person's character.”

That made perfect sense, Carley thought. “I turned down his offer of a movie, though I wasn't exactly sure
why
I was doing it. We should work on just being friends for now. There's no hurry.”