Daughters (18 page)

They walked at a leisurely pace equal to the gentle breeze coasting in and out, the early June air warm on their faces. He led the way to Binyon’s, a restaurant located on the widest part of Threemile Creek. He requested a table overlooking the water.

Marie gazed out the window after being seated. The luminous reflection of the sun danced on the slow-moving water, like thousands of tiny ballerinas in their twinkling costumes, mesmerizing anyone who stared at them for too long. “It’s pretty here.” She turned to him. “Good choice.”

They entered into the usual first-date conversation, the voices of the other patrons around them rising and falling in the background. Paul told her about himself, and she did the same—limiting the information she conveyed to only the safe stuff for now. They had a few common interests and talked about them while they ate.

He told her about his home in Leavenworth, about how he and his sister, Beth, had inherited the business and family home, which he now occupied, when their parents died.

She found his demeanor somewhat dull compared to Richard’s quick wit, high level of confidence, and ability to cultivate a stimulating conversation. And while Paul was more educated than Richard, he didn’t have half of Richard’s vocabulary.
Stop comparing him to Richard
, the little voice in her head told her.

After lunch, they walked the short distance to the arts and crafts show. They strolled through the aisles of exhibits, gravitating toward the same booths, discovering they liked the same type of artwork.

At the end of the afternoon, they headed in the direction of his shop. “Did you enjoy yourself?” he asked. “Maybe it was my imagination, but I kinda got the impression you were a little on edge about something back there.”

“I had a
very
nice time, Paul. The art show was a great idea. I’m so glad you suggested it.” She had to admit to herself, it felt good being with a man again. Marie gave him a relaxed smile as they walked back to her car. She turned to him and said, “I really did enjoy the day, Paul. If I appeared to be nervous, it’s only because I haven’t been on a date in a long time.”

“Hmm. Well, can I call you?” His words were tentative and slow.

Marie nodded, regretting she didn’t know how to politely decline his offer on the spot. “Okay. I’ll give you my number.” She rummaged through her purse for a pen and paper.

She relived their encounter on the drive home. She didn’t know what surprised her the most—the fact that she had agreed to go out with him in the first place, the fact that she hadn’t thought about her ethnicity even once during their date, or the fact that she actually looked forward to seeing him again.

Marie called Karen when she got home.

“So how’d it go?”

“It went okay.”

“You don’t sound very enthusiastic. Going to see him again?”

“I don’t know.”

“Why not? Didn’t you have a good time?”

“No, I had a good enough time.”

“And did he?”

“I suppose.”

“So…are you going to see him again?”

“I don’t know,” she said through a sigh. “He asked me if he could call me, and I said yes, but now I don’t know whether I really want to see him again or not. I keep going back and forth about it.”

“See him again. You deserve to have some fun.”

Paul called Marie the very next day. She wished he hadn’t called so soon. She needed more time to think things through.
My marriage. My race. What I would give to not have to agonize over these things just to go out on a date.

“Would you like to have dinner with me on Saturday?” he asked.

She hoped her hesitation was short enough for him not to notice. “Sure.” She made a face, not sure why she said yes.

“I’ll pick you up at six.” He cleared his throat. “That is, I
would
pick you up at six if I knew where you lived.”

Marie gave him directions to her home, and after chatting a few more minutes, they hung up. She caught herself smiling, a smile that soon faded the more she thought about what she was doing.

Paul arrived a few minutes before six on Saturday. He took everything in as Marie showed him around her apartment. “Nice place,” he said. He glanced out the spare bedroom window overlooking the expansive backyard. “It sure is private back here. Who lives in the big house?”

“I’ll tell you about them on our way to dinner.”

They went to his car, a dark blue 1947 Pontiac coupe—not on the order of anything Richard would drive, but a definite step up from Marie’s slightly dented 1946 Ford sedan.

“Where are we going, by the way?”

“I made reservations at Anthony’s. I hope you don’t mind the drive. They have a steak Delmonico that’s to die for. Have you ever been there?”

She forced a guarded smile. “Anthony’s…uh, the one in Kansas City?”

“That’s the one,” he said proudly.

Marie had never been to Anthony’s, but she recognized the name from a conversation she had had with a Kansas City lawyer she once met. He represented mobster types from time to time, and in the course of their conversation, he had mentioned two Kansas City restaurants to stay away from. Anthony’s was one of them.

Marie tried not to let Paul see the panicked look on her face. He opened the door for her and then walked around the car to the driver’s side.

“Uh…don’t start the car yet, Paul. There’s something I have to tell you.” She paused a few seconds to gather her thoughts. “I’d prefer we didn’t go to Anthony’s. There’s a chance that people who know my ex-husband will be there, and they’re not people I want to run into.” She watched his face. “It’s a long story. Can we go somewhere else? Do you mind?”

He gave her a puzzled look. “Sure. Don’t even worry about it. What about Fulton’s? They have great seafood.” He paused. “So…you were married? You didn’t mention that before.”

She shifted her weight in the seat. “Paul, can we not go to Fulton’s either?” She wondered what he must be thinking of her. “And it wasn’t that I was married before. I’m still legally married.” She looked him straight in the eye. “Look, if you want to call this whole thing off, we can.” She fumbled for the door handle.

“Hey, not so fast.” He took a gentle hold of her arm. “Look, you don’t have to explain anything to me right now, although your having a husband or ex-husband, whatever he is, well, uh…” He forced a chuckle. “You’re not still with him, are you?”

She shook her head. “No. We’ve been apart for two years.”

“Okay.” Paul paused an endless few seconds. “So…would you like to tell me where we
can
go for dinner?”

Marie managed an awkward smile through tight lips. “There’s a nice place called Wick’s Inn that’s about twenty minutes north of here. I can show you where it is.”

“Perfect.”

Wick’s Inn was an old Victorian house that had been converted into a restaurant shortly after World War II. They had kept most of the rooms intact, allowing for several small, more intimate dining rooms instead of one large one. They were seated with three other couples in what used to be the front parlor.

Marie fidgeted with the napkin on her lap. “Tell me, Paul,” she said after they had ordered their food, “do you go to Anthony’s and Fulton’s often?”

“No. In fact, I’ve only been to Anthony’s once. I sold an old roll-top desk to someone who came into my shop one day. The guy lived in Chicago but wanted the desk delivered to an address in Kansas City. He didn’t have any way to get it there, so I offered to deliver it, and he thanked me by taking me to Anthony’s for lunch.” He smiled. “Here I thought I was going to impress you with a downtown restaurant. Well, I guess
that
backfired.”

“What was the man’s name?”

“What man?”

“The man who bought the desk.” She had a mental picture of the roll-top desk in Richard’s home office.

“I don’t remember. Why?”

“Do you remember what he looked like?”

“I really don’t remember. It’s been a few years. One thing I do remember though is he smoked a terrible-smelling cigar. I practically had to fumigate the place after he left. Why?”

Reference to the cigar was enough to put Marie on edge. She was sure Richard had had one of his short, fat, cigar-smoking cohorts follow her from time to time. “No reason. I asked about Anthony’s because it’s known for being a hangout for mobster types.” She watched the expression on Paul’s face change.

“You’re kidding.” His brows scrunched up until they met each other in the middle. “Are you sure? Do you mean I sold that desk to a mobster?”

“Well, I don’t know about that, but if he knew people in Anthony’s, there’s a good chance he was mixed up with them in some way.”

He shook his head. “The restaurant looked normal to me.”

“There are probably rooms in the back.”

“Come to think of it, the guy did know a lot of people there.” He paused. “Well, I won’t go back there. That’s all there is to it. And I apologize for wanting to take you there. I feel like a real schmuck.”

“Don’t feel bad. You didn’t know.” She recalled some of the similar restaurants Richard had taken her. “To an outsider, it looks like any other restaurant.”

“So your husband is mixed up with these people?”

Marie explained some of the aspects of her life with Richard on the way home. She watched his eyes grew big when she talked about what had gone on in their marriage.

“So where did you grow up, Marie?”

The knot in the pit of her stomach expanded the more family-related details she revealed to him. “I grew up in Chicago with my mother. While my father supported us financially, he didn’t live with us.” She inhaled a few breaths in a slow deliberate manner, and after filling her lungs with an ample amount of air, exhaled through slightly parted lips, preparing for what she was about to reveal next. “He’s a pretty amazing man—probably the most prominent Negro horse rancher in the country.”

The car swerved sharply to the left before Paul hit the breaks and pulled off onto the shoulder. He brought the car to a slow stop. Expressionless, he gazed deep into her eyes. “Marie, you’re either testing me or trying to shock the heck out of me. Which is it?”

Her eyes met his. “It’s neither. I’m just telling you the truth.”

After staring at her for a lasting few seconds, he pulled back on to the road, stared straight ahead, and said nothing the rest of the way home, his hands gripping the steering wheel like vices. When he pulled the car into her driveway and put it into park, he asked, “Can we talk?”

Once in her apartment, thinking she had little to lose at this point, Marie spilled out more information about her father, not leaving much out. She did the same about Richard.

Paul’s arms were crossed. “Well, I guess it shouldn’t matter who your father is.” He smiled a weak smile. “Everyone has something in their past they’re not comfortable with. Hey, I do too.” He shot her an edgy grin and whispered, “We all have at least one dirty little secret.”

Dirty little secret?

“Of course, as far as Richard goes, I would feel a lot better if you were legally unmarried to him.”

Dirty little secret?

“Look, Paul, maybe this isn’t going to…see, you’re the first date I’ve had since I left Richard two years ago, and the first date since I’ve known about my father. So maybe now you realize…”

“Oh, I realize a
lot
of things now.” He fingered his earlobe. “And if I’m going to be honest…”

“I understand completely.” She got up from her chair and headed toward the door. “Goodbye, Paul.”

“Let’s not call it off just yet, okay?” He stood up but didn’t head toward the door. “Can we talk more?”

Marie sat down on one end of the sofa, and Paul sat down on the other. Marie’s cat, Sheana, immediately jumped up between them and stared at Paul as he spoke.

“Can I just tell you something more about myself? Maybe get to know each other better?”

She wasn’t sure she wanted to get to know him any better.

“I was married once myself. Georgia and I were very young. She was eighteen. I was twenty. We thought she was pregnant, and that’s why we got married. Turned out she wasn’t, but we stayed together anyway. Not exactly the perfect marriage, but we liked each other enough, and it was convenient.” His eyes drifted from one side of the living room to the other as he spoke.

“Then my sister and I inherited the antique shop from our parents, and the three of us ran it together for awhile. Georgia was much better at knowing what to buy for the shop than we were, so she always went on these road trips while Beth and I managed the store. Anyway, after a few years, Georgia and I split. It just wasn’t meant to be. She wanted out, and I didn’t fight it. But we stayed friends. We’re still close.”

Marie wasn’t sure why he wanted to talk about himself when there was a much more important factor looming.

“Okay, so you said who my father is doesn’t bother you, but does who
I
am bother you?”

“Uh...of course we’d have to be discreet about being out in public together…that is, because of your husband and everything.”

She gave him a weak smile. Part of her wanted to ignore the fact he was dodging her question. The other part wanted to ask him to leave. “So just for clarification, you’d like to keep seeing each other, but only if we’re not seen out in public together?”