Dreams for Stones (15 page)

Kathy concentrated on her pizza.

Jade touched her wrist. “Do you know what
made you think you were in love with Greg?” Her voice was no longer
playful.

Sometimes, the way Jade asked questions
reminded Kathy of Emily. Kathy chewed the bite of pizza, thinking
about the question.

“Let’s see. He was fun to be with.
Intelligent. Good-looking. Settled. Knew what he wanted from life.
Had a good career picked out.”

“Interesting list. Especially that bit about
him being settled. By those criteria our postman comes close to
qualifying.”

Kathy, picturing their middle-aged, slightly
pudgy postman, smiled.

“So what made Greg special?” Jade
persisted.

Kathy shook her head. “Darned if I know, now
that I think about it. But being single. Dating. It’s not all it’s
cracked up to be.” Years and years of kissing frogs, hoping she
wasn’t missing the one who might turn out to be the prince. Then
thinking Greg was a prince, only he’d turned out to be the biggest,
ugliest toad of all. It made her tired to even think about starting
again.

“Yeah. I’m glad I’m done with all that,”
Jade said.

“How did you know Dennis was the one?”

Jade put her piece of pizza down, looking
thoughtful. “Before I met Dennis, I was engaged to someone else. I
took him home and asked Mom what she thought. She said what
mattered was what I thought, and if I had to consult her to figure
that out, he wasn’t the one for me. Then I met Dennis, and I didn’t
need to ask Mom or anyone else their opinion.” Jade smiled a
secret, inward smile.

“You make it sound simple.” And it couldn’t
be. It was the most difficult thing in the world, making the right
decision about who to marry, wasn’t it? After all, look at how many
people got it wrong.

“Actually, it is simple, once you know how
it feels.” Jade sighed. “Relationships. The good ones, well, you
just know. Whenever you have to work hard on one, though. Chances
are there’s something wrong with it you’re trying to beat into
submission.”

It was a moment before Kathy remembered the
piece of pizza she was holding. She took a bite, thinking about
what Jade had said.

It was suddenly clear how hard she’d had to
work to convince herself Greg was really the one after he announced
he was moving to San Francisco.

“I always eat way too much when we come here.” Kathy took another
bite of Tandoori chicken.

“I thought it was the appropriate place to
mark the beginning of your class. How’s it going, so far?” Alan
asked.

“I think it’s going well. They’ve been very
patient with me.” She debated whether to tell him what had happened
the first night of the class. She’d looked up to find three of the
students standing in the doorway with the look of a delegation.

“Ms. Jamison, we wanted to ask, that is we
just wondered—”

One of the girls gave the boy who was
speaking a poke in the ribs and took over. “We want to know why
you’re teaching this seminar instead of Professor Francini?”

There was enough hostility in the question,
Kathy hesitated before answering. “I’m afraid I don’t know the
answer to that. You’ll have to ask Professor Hilstrom. I believe
she’s responsible for teaching assignments.”

“Oh,” The girl who’d spoken tossed her head
before leading her two cohorts to their seats. The three of them
whispered furiously until the other students arrived, but once
class began they were attentive and pleasant. Kathy was relieved
about that, but their question left her with a slight unease.

“It’s one of our more talented groups of
grad students,” Alan said.

“You were supposed to teach it, weren’t
you.”

Tipping his head, he glanced over at her.
“I've taught it the last four years.”

“Was it your choice not to teach it this
year?”

“Why do you ask?” His tone was wary.

“The students expected. . . you to teach it,
and I want to apologize if I got crammed down your throat and
theirs.” She glanced at him. He hadn’t moved, but he didn’t seem as
relaxed somehow.

“Not your fault.” He seemed to be paying an
inordinate amount of attention to his plate, all of a sudden.

His ambiguous response verified that she had
been forced on him. And not only that, Hilary had tried to make him
share his office with the usurper. No wonder he hadn’t been very
friendly in the beginning.

And a change in subject was clearly a good
idea. “You know what I’d like to do after dinner?” Usually they
parted outside the restaurant. She drove home to the Costello’s
while Alan drove out to the ranch for the weekend.

“What’s that?” Alan asked finally looking
up.

“It’s a beautiful evening. Perfect for a
walk. We could go over to Cheesman or to City Park.”

“Your choice.”

She’d take that as a yes. “City Park then.
There should be ducklings.”

Only a few people were scattered around the park—a family having a
picnic, a young man lying on a blanket with a book open over his
face, a couple curled together kissing. Kathy looked away from the
couple, feeling a momentary stab of envy.

“I’d forgotten about the tennis courts,”
Alan said, getting out of his car, which he’d parked behind
Kathy’s.

“Do you play?”

“Haven’t for a while.”

“I have a couple of rackets in my trunk.”
She raised her eyebrows in question.

He shook his head. “You weren’t the only one
eating too much.”

“Excuses, Professor Francini?” She threaded
a challenge into her voice. “There’s a practice wall. If it looks
like you can give me a game, we can come back some evening before
we stuff ourselves.”

He looked at her a moment before nodding.
“You’re on.”

She opened her trunk and got out a can of
balls and two rackets, handing him the one her folks had given her
for Christmas.

They stood about six feet apart, taking
turns hitting the ball. As she might have guessed, Alan had a
fluid, easy stroke.

Not only was he going to be able to give her
a game, she would have to be in top form to give him one.

After several minutes, she sat down on one
of the benches, lifting the hair off the back of her neck to cool
it. Alan continued hitting the ball, switching between forehand and
backhand, not even working up a sweat. He finally caught the ball
and walked over to her.

“One can only hope your serve sucks,” she
said.

“Yep. Not only weak, but erratic.”

As if she would believe either of those
things. “You a tennis hustler?”

“It’s only a hustle if money’s involved.” He
sat down next to her. “So, how’s Amanda doing these days?”

“Good. Over fifty thousand words.” She
twirled the racket, glancing over at him. He looked perfectly
relaxed, his long legs stretched out in front of him. She was
tempted to reach over and tickle him. Would that lead to something,
or would he just move away from her touch?

Before she could decide whether or not to do
it, he spoke again. “About that walk. Didn’t you say something
about ducklings?”

He offered his hand to pull her to her feet,
but as usual, he let go once she was up. They wandered over to the
lake where they found a brood of ducklings being shepherded by
their doting mother.

Intensely aware of Alan standing beside her,
Kathy pondered their relationship as she watched the ducklings.

Usually it was the man who pushed too
quickly for physical intimacy, but Alan seemed to be doing
everything he could to avoid it. Given her experience with Greg,
that had been a relief in the beginning. But not anymore.

She was ready for. . . something. So was it
up to her to make a move? But what if she did, and he rejected her?
Better maybe to leave it as it was, at least for the time
being.

And if things continued the same way?

Well, she could make a decision about that
later.

Although it was a dangerous escalation, Alan suggested a walk after
dinner the following week.

They settled on a visit to the botanical
gardens. When they arrived, Kathy pulled out her membership card.
“My treat. I live only a couple of blocks from here. Seemed silly
not to be able to come whenever I want.”

Strange that after all these months, he
still didn’t know where she lived. He nodded toward the two
apartment buildings rising above the trees on the northern edge of
the gardens. “Over there?”

“No. I live with this wonderful old couple,
the Costellos. Over there.” She pointed in the opposite
direction.

The information surprised him, and yet he
could picture it easily. “In order to help them out?”

“More the other way around.” Her face was
solemn, but her eyes were alight with humor. “Mrs. Costello is a
wonderful cook. And Mr. C fusses over me. You know, he makes sure I
wear my boots when it snows and take an umbrella when it rains.
Whenever I think about moving into an apartment, I realize how
lonely it would be.”

She had that right.

She picked up one of the garden’s brochures
by the entrance and handed it to him. “What would you like to see
first?”

“You’re the expert.” He tucked the brochure
in his pocket. “Why don’t you give me a guided tour?”

She cocked her head, obviously thinking.
“Since you’re a professor of literature, I guess we’d better start
with the Secret Garden.”

“Like the children’s book?”

She nodded, turning to lead the way. “You
know, it’s been adapted into a musical. I went to see it with Grace
last week when Frank didn’t make it back from Kansas City in
time.”

Alan frowned, trying to bring up the details
of the story. “Frances Hodgson Burnett, isn’t it?”

“Uh huh.”

“I don’t remember the story.”

“An orphaned girl is sent to live with her
only relative, an uncle by marriage. He’s a humpback who lives on
the moor and is grieving for his wife who died years—”

“I remember now.” He didn’t remember, not
really. But he didn’t need to hear any more. Not about a man who
had lost a wife. He spoke carefully. “Rather a peculiar story to
base a musical on.”

“I thought so too. But it works. I do think
the book would face a hard time getting published today,
though.”

“Why?”

Kathy frowned. “If a story like that came in
with a character who had been holding onto his grief for so long,
I’d probably ask the writer to reconsider.”

But surely it was the other way around. You
didn’t hold onto grief. Grief held onto you.

He turned away. The careful arrangement of
walkways and flowers blurred. “You must not have lost someone
essential.” Oh, God, where had that come from. His body shuddered,
fighting off the anguish. He wanted to be free of grief, wanted to
live. He hadn’t chosen this. . . this...

He took in a deep breath, unclenching his
hands, trying to steady his vision as he moved away from Kathy and
bent blindly over the flowers at the side of the path, trying to
come up with something that would ease them away from the
abyss.

“It was Hemingway, wasn’t it?” Kathy sounded
pensive. “Didn’t he say something about if sorrow is cured by
anything short of death, it isn’t real sorrow?”

Islands in the Stream
. When Alan read
the book, he’d thought it made for a pretty quote. He hadn’t
believed it then. Now, he knew it was true.

He had to do something to get this
conversation stopped. If they continued this way. . . he
straightened and took a careful breath.

The brochure dropped out of his pocket. He
bent to pick it up, then glanced at the list of garden names,
picking the first one he managed to bring into focus. “What about
the Japanese Garden?”

Kathy gave him an odd look before leading
the way.

In the Japanese garden, he looked around,
finding relief for his rioting emotions in the lack of bright
colors. Gray stones and black water were interwoven with the varied
greens of grass, juniper, cypress, and rushes.

The most delicate green of all was the
willow just beginning to bud. The water shimmered slightly, and the
reflection of the willow moved as if touched by a breeze.

Kathy led the way to a bench on a small
pavilion built out over the water. “This is my favorite part of the
gardens.” Her voice sounded hoarse.

He glanced at her and was surprised by the
look on her face. The sort of look he’d been trying to hide from
her in the Secret Garden.

He spoke gently. “You don’t seem very happy
about it.”

“It’s ridiculous really.”

It was a relief to let go of his discomfort
by focusing on hers. “It can’t be ridiculous if it’s making you
unhappy.”

“I got engaged here. Then he broke it
off.”

Alan remembered how she’d looked the first
time he met her, as if she hadn’t been sleeping or eating enough.
She’d lost that strained expression some time ago, but right now he
could see traces of it, and he felt a spurt of anger at the unknown
man who had caused it.

Her hands twisted together in her lap. “I
don’t miss him. It turned out he wasn’t a very nice person. But
being here, I remember the beginning. The beginning was good.”

He reached over and took one of those
restless hands in his. As he rubbed his thumb gently across the
silky skin of her wrist, he realized how much he struggled not to
touch her every time he was with her. “You could have said
something. We didn’t have to come here.”

“Yes. Yes, I did, actually. I love this
garden. I’ve missed it.” She raised her head and looked at him with
a rueful smile. “I thought. . . Well, I’m glad you’re here.”

Her eyes were still troubled. He wanted to
banish that look, wanted to make her smile again, but he had no
idea how. He put his arm around her and sat quietly holding her,
rubbing his cheek in the softness of her hair, wishing he had the
courage to be more than her friend.