At First Sight (8 page)

Instead of dwelling on it further-or trying to write-Jeremy decided to scan his favorite news sites on the Internet, hoping that something might click. Without high-speed access, the progress was slow to the point of making him drowsy, but he pushed on. He visited four sites involving UFOs; the official Web site regarding the latest in haunted houses; and the site put up by James Randi, who like him was devoted to exposing hoaxes and frauds. For years, Randi had a standing offer to pay a million dollars to any psychic who could prove his or her ability under rigorous scientific controls. To date, no one-including those better-known psychics who appeared regularly on television or wrote books-had taken him up on his challenge. Once, in one of his columns, Jeremy had made the same offer (on a much smaller scale, of course) with exactly the same results. People who called themselves psychics were experts in self-promotion, not the paranormal. Jeremy recalled his exposé of Timothy Clausen, a man who claimed to be able to speak to spirits from beyond the grave. It was the last major story he’d worked on before he’d traveled to Boone Creek in search of ghosts and found Lexie instead.

On Randi’s site, there was the usual collection of stories, supposedly magical events peppered with the author’s disbelief, but after a couple of hours, Jeremy logged off, realizing he was no further along with ideas than when he’d started.

Checking his watch, he saw it was almost five, and he wondered whether he should stop by the house to see how the repairs were going. Maybe they’d moved another pile or something, anything to make it appear as if the project could be completed this year. Despite the endless bills, Jeremy was beginning to doubt whether they would ever move in. What once seemed manageable now seemed daunting, and he decided he’d pass on the visit to the house. No reason to make a dismal day even worse.

Instead, he chose to head to the library to see how Lexie was doing. He threw on a clean shirt, ran a brush through his hair, and slapped on some cologne; a few minutes later, he was passing Herbs on his way to the library. The dogwoods and azaleas were starting to look limp and tired, but along the sides of buildings and at the base of trees, tulips and daffodils were beginning to open, their colors even more vivid. The warm southerly breeze made it seem more like early summer than late March, the kind of day that would bring throngs to Central Park.

He wondered whether he should swing by and pick up a bouquet of flowers for Lexie, finally deciding he should. There was only one florist in town, and the store also sold live bait and fishing tackle; despite a sparse selection, he emerged from the store a few minutes later with a spring bouquet he was sure Lexie would love.

He reached the library within minutes but frowned when he realized that Lexie’s car wasn’t in its normal spot. Glancing toward the office window, he noticed her light was off. Thinking that she was at Herbs, he headed back that way, looking for but not seeing her car, then swung past her house, figuring she must have made it an early day. She was probably running an errand or shopping.

He turned the car around and retraced his path through town, cruising slowly. When he spotted Lexie’s car parked near a Dumpster behind the pizza parlor, he slammed on the brakes and pulled his car in beside hers, figuring she must have wanted to walk the boardwalk on such a beautiful day.

He grabbed the flowers and headed between the buildings, thinking he’d surprise her, but as he rounded the corner, he came to an abrupt halt.

Lexie was there, just as he’d expected her to be. She was sitting on the bench that overlooked the river, but what stopped him from moving forward was the fact that she wasn’t alone.

Instead, she was sitting beside Rodney, almost nestled against him. From the back, it was difficult to make out anything more than that. He reminded himself that they were just friends. She’d known him since they’d been kids, and for a moment that was enough.

Until, that is, they shifted on the bench, and he realized they were holding hands.

At First Sight

Six

Jeremy knew that what he saw shouldn’t bother him. Deep down, he knew that Lexie wasn’t interested in Rodney, but as April rolled in over the next week, he found himself dwelling on the scene he’d witnessed. Even when he’d asked Lexie whether anything unusual had happened that day, she’d said no, telling him that she’d spent the afternoon at the library. While he could have questioned her further about the lie, he hadn’t seen the need. She’d been thrilled by the flowers and had kissed him immediately after he’d handed them over. He’d searched for anything different about the kiss-whether it was hesitant or lingered too long, as if overcompensating for guilt-but he’d sensed nothing amiss. Nor was there anything unusual about their conversation over dinner, or their spell on the porch afterward.

Even so, he couldn’t forget the image of Lexie holding Rodney’s hand. The more he thought about it, the more he realized that they looked like a couple, but he reminded himself that it didn’t make sense. Lexie and Rodney couldn’t be seeing each other secretly. He spent most days at the library doing research and every evening with Lexie. Jeremy couldn’t force himself to believe that Lexie spent a single moment dreaming of what might have been between her and Rodney had Jeremy never come along. She’d told him that Rodney had had a crush on her since they’d been young and that every now and then they’d attended some town function together as a couple, but that was in the past. Lexie had always resisted further development in their relationship, and he couldn’t imagine that she would change her mind now. Yes, she’d been holding his hand, but that didn’t necessarily mean she was feeling any differently toward him. There had been times when Jeremy held his mother’s hand, for goodness’ sake. It could have been a sign of affection or support or just a way to show that she was listening to him as he spilled out his troubles. In a relationship like Lexie and Rodney’s, it could have been a gesture of comfort, since they’d known each other for years.

It wasn’t as if he should expect Lexie to start ignoring people she’d known all her life, right? Or stop caring about other people? Weren’t those the reasons he’d fallen in love with her in the first place? Of course they were. Lexie had a way of making everyone she spent time with feel as if they were the center of the world, and though that included Rodney, it didn’t mean she was in love with him. Which meant, of course, there was nothing to worry about.

So why on earth was he still thinking about it? And why, when he saw them, had he felt a stab of jealousy?

Because she’d lied about it. A lie of omission, perhaps, but a lie nonetheless. Finally, unable to stand it a moment longer, he rose from his desk, grabbed his car keys, and drove toward the library.

Slowing as he approached, he saw her car parked exactly where it should be and stared at the light on in her office. He watched for a few minutes, turning away quickly when he caught a glimpse of her. Despite the foolishness he felt at this new obsession, he nonetheless breathed a sigh of relief. He told himself again that he had nothing to worry about, that it was ridiculous to have even considered the possibility that Lexie might be elsewhere, and the foolish feeling lasted until he returned to Greenleaf.

Yes, he thought as he perched himself in front of the screen again, he and Lexie were doing just fine, and he chided himself for his suspicion, promising to make it up to her somehow. He could do that, he thought, he should do that-even if he would never admit the reason. Maybe they’d head out of town tonight for dinner.

Yeah, he decided, aside from porch sitting, there was nothing pressing on the old agenda, and a little change of pace might do them both some good. More than that, she’d be surprised at his thoughtfulness. If there was one thing he’d learned in the dating world, it was that women loved surprises, and if it helped him alleviate the guilt he felt from checking up on her in the first place, all the better.

He nodded to himself. A special night was just what they needed. He’d even buy her another bouquet of flowers, and he spent the next twenty minutes on the Internet, trying to figure out a good place to go. He found one, called Doris to see if she’d heard of it-she recommended it with gusto-and then made reservations before showering again.

With another couple of hours until she got off work, he sat in front of the computer again, his fingers poised on the keyboard. But even after a day spent mostly at the desk, Jeremy realized that he was no closer to writing than he had been when he’d risen that morning.

“I saw you earlier today,” Lexie said, peeking over her menu at him.

“You did?”

She nodded. “I saw you driving past the library. Where were you going?”

“Oh,” he said, glad she hadn’t caught him staring up at her window. “Nowhere, really. Just driving around to clear my mind before hitting the computer again.”

Surprised with a bouquet of daffodils and an out-of-town dinner reservation, she’d been thrilled, just as he’d expected. But of course, being thrilled meant heading back to her house so she could change and get ready, which delayed their departure by nearly forty-five minutes. By the time they arrived at the Carriage House on the outskirts of Greenville, their table had been given away and they’d had to wait at the bar for twenty minutes.

Lexie seemed reluctant to ask the obvious follow-up question, which made sense. Every day she asked how his writing went; every day Jeremy answered there had been no change. It was probably beginning to wear on her the same way it was beginning to wear on him.

“Did you get any ideas?” she ventured.

“A few, actually,” Jeremy lied. Technically, it wasn’t a lie-he’d had that strange idea about Lexie and Rodney-but he knew it wasn’t the sort of idea she was referring to.

“Really?”

“I’m still noodling with it, and we’ll see where it leads.”

“That’s great, honey,” she said, her mood brightening even more. “We should celebrate, then.” She gazed around the dimly lit room; with the waiters in black and white and candles on every table, the setting was surprisingly elegant. “How on earth did you find out about this place, anyway? I’ve never been here before, but I’ve always wanted to go.”

“Just a bit of research,” he said, “and then I called Doris.”

“She loves this place,” Lexie said. “If she had her way, I think she’d run a restaurant like this instead of Herbs.”

“But you have to pay the bills, right?”

“Exactly,” she said. “What are you planning on ordering?”

“I was thinking about the porterhouse,” he said, scanning the menu. “I haven’t had a good steak since I left New York. And the au gratin potatoes.”

“Isn’t a porterhouse two steaks? The strip and the filet?”

“That’s why it sounds good,” he said, closing the menu, his mouth already watering. As he looked across at her, he noticed her nose was wrinkling. “What?” he asked.

“How many calories do you think that has?”

“I have no idea. And I don’t care, either.”

She forced a smile, returning to the menu again. “You’re right,” she said. “We don’t go out like this all the time, so what’s the big deal? Even if it is . . . what? A pound, pound and a half of red meat?”

He felt his brow furrowing. “I didn’t say I was going to eat the whole thing.”

“It doesn’t matter even if you do. It’s not my place to say anything. Get what you want.”

“I will,” he said, feeling defiant. In the silence, he watched her study the menu, thinking about the porterhouse. It was a lot of red meat, now that he thought about it, packed with cholesterol and fat. Didn’t the experts say you should eat no more than three ounces at a time? And this steak . . . what was that? Sixteen ounces? Twenty-four? It was enough to feed an entire family.

Ah, who cared? He was young, and he’d make it a point to work out tomorrow. Go for a jog, do some extra push-ups. “What are you thinking about getting?”

“I’m still deciding,” she said. “I’m not sure which one I’m in the mood for, but it’ll either be the broiled tuna or the stuffed chicken breast with the sauce on the side. And steamed vegetables.”

Of course that’s what you’re getting, Jeremy thought. Something light and healthy. She’d stay fit and thin, even though she was pregnant, while he would waddle out of the restaurant.

He reached for the menu again, noticing that she made a point of ignoring him. Which meant, obviously, that she did notice. Scanning the items, he moved to the seafood and poultry sections. Everything sounded wonderful. Just not as wonderful as the porterhouse. He closed the menu again, thinking this was guilt he could have done without.

Since when had food become such a reflection of character? If he ordered something healthy, he was a good person; if he ordered something unhealthy, he was bad? It wasn’t as if he were overweight, right? He would order the porterhouse, he resolved, but reminded himself again to have only half of it, maybe less. If wasn’t as if he’d waste it, either. He’d bring the rest home for leftovers. He nodded to himself, pleased with his decision. The porterhouse it was.

When the waiter appeared, Lexie ordered a cranberry juice and the stuffed chicken breast. Jeremy said he’d have the cranberry juice as well.

“And for your dinner?”

He felt Lexie watching him. “The . . . tuna,” he said. “Medium rare.”

After the waiter left, Lexie smiled. “The tuna?”

“Yeah,” he said. “It sounded good when you mentioned it.”

She shrugged, unreadable.

“What now?”

“It’s just that this place is famous for its steaks. I was kind of hoping to try a bite of yours.”

Jeremy felt his shoulders sag. “Next time,” he said.

Try as he might, Jeremy wasn’t sure he’d ever figure out women. There were times while he’d been dating that he believed he was getting closer, that he would be able to anticipate their subtle expressions and mannerisms and use them to his own advantage. But as his dinner with Lexie demonstrated, he had a long way to go.

The problem wasn’t the fact that he’d ordered the tuna instead of the porterhouse. It went deeper than that. The real problem was that most men wanted a woman’s admiration; consequently, men were willing to do nearly anything to achieve that. Women, he suspected, had never fully grasped this simple fact. For instance, women might assume that men who spent a great deal of time at the office did so because they viewed their job as the most important thing in their life, when nothing could be further from the truth. It wasn’t about power for power’s sake-well, okay, for some men it was, but they were in a minority-it was the fact that women were drawn to power for the same reasons men were drawn to attractive young women. These were evolutionary traits, traits passed down since the caveman days, and neither gender had much control over them. Years ago he’d written a column about the evolutionary basis of behavior, pointing out that among other things, men were drawn to young, shapely, attractive women because they tended to be fertile and in good health-in other words, a mate likely to create strong offspring-and that women were likewise drawn to men who were powerful enough to protect and provide for them and their offspring.

He got a lot of mail about that column, he remembered, but what was odd about it were the reactions. While men tended to agree with this representation of evolution, women tended to disagree, sometimes vehemently. A few months later, he wrote another column about the differences, using excerpts from the letters as examples.

But even if he could understand objectively that he’d ordered the tuna because he’d wanted Lexie to admire him-thus making him feel powerful-it still didn’t help him decipher what made her tick, and pregnancy only complicated the matter further. He admitted that he didn’t know much about pregnancy, but if there was one thing he was sure about, it was the fact that pregnant women often had strange cravings. Lexie may have been an expert on virtually everything else, but he was ready for whatever she might throw at him in that particular department. His brothers had told him to expect anything; one sister-in-law had craved spinach salad, another wanted pastrami and olives, still another would wake up in the middle of the night to eat tomato soup and cheddar cheese. Consequently, when he wasn’t trying to write, he found himself heading to the grocery store to fill the car with whatever he could think of, anything that might satisfy Lexie’s cravings, no matter how odd they might be.

What he didn’t expect, however, were the irrational mood swings. One night, about a week after their dinner at the Carriage House, he woke up to the sound of Lexie sniffling. When he rolled over, he found her sitting up in bed with her back against the headboard. In the dim light, he could barely make out her features, but he noticed a pile of used tissues in her lap. He sat up in bed.

“Lex? Are you okay? What’s wrong?”

“I’m sorry,” she said, sounding as if she had a bad cold. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“That’s okay . . . no problem. What is it?”

“Nothing.”

It sounded as though she’d said “nudding.” He watched her, still unsure what was going on. The fact that he was staring didn’t stop her from crying, and she sniffled again. “I’m just sad,” she explained.