First Time: Ian's Story (First Time (Ian) Book 1) (21 page)

Gena had never understood my need to pray.
She’d never disparaged it, but she had never seemed quite
comfortable with it, and that had, in turn, made me feel quite
uncomfortable doing it near her, or when she was aware of it. So,
I’d hidden it, telling her I was going up to sit on the deck or in
the enclosed solarium to read, and she’d been perfectly happy with
that explanation. Now, even though I was alone, it seemed natural
to sit in the sun, surrounded by God’s creation of land and sky
rather than my creation of steel and concrete, and meditate on the
joyful mysteries. I put on my sunglasses and sat on the chaise,
kicked my feet up, crossed myself, and tried to clear my head as I
methodically mumbled my way through the Apostle’s Creed.

I made it halfway through
the second Hail Mary of the first decade before I realized I was
drifting again and again to thoughts of Penny.
Can you really hold me accountable for this, Lord? You threw
her into my path.
The chain of beads sagged
in my hands, and I tipped my head back against the cushion. Danny
would tell me that if something was interrupting my prayer, that
was the thing I needed to pray about.

I love her. And I think
it’s too soon
.
And
I’m too old for her.
I thought of 2
Corinthians, the bit that said,
“
Though outwardly we are wasting
away, yet inwardly we are being renewed day by day.” Renewed was
putting it lightly. I wouldn’t say I was wasting away; my knees
popped every time I stood, and if I got a cold it was a month-long
event these days, but wasting away was a long way off, I hoped.
Long enough to be a good partner to Penny? To start a family with
her?

If I was going to start a family with
anyone, why not a woman who was younger? Just in case? It was a
grim view, but if we were to have a baby in two years, I would be
in my seventies before the kid graduated high school. If I found a
woman my own age, it would be the same. And it would be all
fertility treatments and horror, the kind Gena had wanted to avoid,
and even then, a woman having a baby in her mid-fifties was an
exception, not an expectation. Penny wanted to be a young mother,
and I wanted to be a father, soon.

Then again, Penny could be hit by a bus in
five years, and I would still be in the same position. What if I
had a heart attack? What if I got cancer? Neil had gotten cancer in
his late forties, so I wasn’t immune. There was no guarantee that
anybody would exceed their life expectancy. Did I really want to
leave a child alone in the world? To be raised by who? Danny? Was
my desperation for a family selfish at this point?

I need to know what to do.

But I didn’t know what to do. So I went back
to my rosary, to the ritual Monday meditations of the first events
in Jesus’s life, from the Annunciation to when he was found
preaching in the temple. By the time I was finishing up the Hail
Holy Queen at the end, I knew where I had to turn next.

“
St. Joseph, he was an old
dad, wasn’t he?” I asked the moment Danny’s voice came on the
line.

“
Hi, Uncle Ian, good to hear
from you, too.”

“
I’m having a serious crisis
here,
Father
.” I
leaned on the word to guilt him. “Yes or no, St. Joseph, he was no
spring chicken when Jesus was born, yeah?”

The volume of the television in the
background lowered. “It’s not really a yes or no answer. Some
theologians think that, yes, St. Joseph was an older widower with
children, hence the references to Jesus’s siblings in the Bible.
Others say an old man couldn’t have possibly travelled as far as
Joseph did with Jesus and Mary. What’s going on with you, that this
is such a pressing issue?”

“
Do you think I’ll be a good
father?” In hindsight, blurting the question out that way was bound
to get the response it received.

“
You did not knock up the
twenty-two year old!”

“
No, no. This would
definitely be a St. Joseph situation, if she were pregnant.” My
chest constricted a little, speaking about Penny in this context
aloud. “I’m worried. I’m in love with her, and I’m worried. She
wants to have a family, and I do. But I’m not sure.”

“
You’re not sure if you
should have kids, because of your age?” Danny asked, but he didn’t
need an answer, because he rolled on. “If it’s in God’s plan for
you, it will happen. If not, it won’t. You can certainly express
your intentions—within the boundary of marriage, please—and open
that doorway for Him. He’ll decide for you if it’s the right
thing.”

“
Penny’s not Catholic. I
don’t think she’s even a Christian. Is God looking out for her in
the plans He’s making for me? Because I’m not sure it’s right…” I
swallowed the lump that had mysteriously taken up residence in my
throat. “I’m not sure it’s in her best interests, starting a family
with a man my age. I wouldn’t even see our
grandchildren.”

“
First, you don’t know that.
You could live to be a hundred. No one knows when they’re going to
be called home. Second, what the hell happened that you’re so
rattled?” Danny demanded.

I sighed, ready for my nephew to scold me in
the middle of my priest’s wise religious advice. “I told her I love
her.”

The lecture I’d anticipated was not
forthcoming. Danny simply asked, “You love her?”

“
Yes. I think I’ve been in
love with her since our second date.” I stood and paced the deck.
“It’s not too soon to be thinking about these things, is
it?”

“
No, you should give all of
this consideration before making any kind of commitment,” he
reassured me. “But you’ve thought of all this before. So, I’m
guessing she didn’t say it back.”

Damn his unreasonable powers of perception.
“No, she didn’t.”

“
There’s no shame in
expressing your feelings. When she’s ready, she’ll say
it.”

I wish I could share Danny’s confidence.
“So, the sum total of your pastoral advice today is do whatever you
want and let God sort it out?”

“
Yes. It should fall in line
with your religious philosophy. Do whatever I want and beg my
nephew for get-out-of-Hell-free cards.” Even in my hour of need, he
couldn’t resist digging at me. “Can you see a future between you
and Penny?”

I let myself imagine it, for just a moment.
But in that moment, I contemplated an entire possible life. Waking
up with her. Washing dishes and buying groceries together.
Complaining about work. Fighting. Making love and making each other
happy.

I couldn’t just see it. I could live it in a
single second.

“
Yes. I don’t want to
imagine a future without her.”

“
Christ, you are really done
for.”

“
I know,” I agreed. “Thank
you for solving my dilemma. You must come from a long line of
incredibly smart, handsome individuals.”

“
Yeah, on my father’s side,”
Danny countered. “Be careful, Uncle Ian. You don’t need to go
through another heartbreak this year.”

I glanced out at the harbor,
the water sparkling in the midday sun.
You’re telling me, kid.

* * * *

As far as Hell on
Earth went, I felt my Thursday had been fairly close. Burt was
still breathing down my neck for a decision on the Bahamas—a
decision I couldn’t make without further input from Carrie—and any
time one office fire seemed put out, another one caught. I was
truly looking forward to the end of the week, not because all those
problems wouldn’t be waiting for me on Monday—and possibly Saturday
and Sunday, as well—but because I would be seeing Penny.

She called me Thursday night, and I was
relieved to hear her voice. It was like I’d become addicted to her
presence. We’d talked for an hour the night before, a length of
time I’d rarely managed to span on phone calls in the past. And
though we’d talked about nothing important, it had felt important,
just to spend that time with her.

So, when she said, “I hope you didn’t have
big, big plans. I have to cancel on you,” I felt a moment of panic,
as though I were mentally calculating how long I would have to go
without another fix.

I tried to joke the feeling away. “Exactly
what level of disappointed am I allowed to be without appearing
needy?”

“
You should be totally
crushed.”

That didn’t sound promising. What the hell
did she mean by it? “Oh, I am. May I ask what’s come up? This isn’t
the permanent brush-off, is it?”

I tried to think of something I might have
done or said, but she quickly reassured me. “God, no! No, I’m just
feeling under the weather.”

“
Do you need anything? I
hear soup is the latest thing for sick people.”
You’re being pushy and desperate, man. Get ahold of
yourself.

“
Um. Not that kind of
weather.” Her voice lowered, and she mumbled, “The…monthly kind of
under the weather.”

I almost laughed at her. I’d lived with a
woman for eight years, and I had five sisters. Being scandalized by
a woman’s cycle would have been silly in the extreme. “Penny? I’m
fifty-three. I do know about menstruation. You’re not going to
shock me.”

“
Oh, good,” she said, pure
relief in her words. “Well, then, you understand. I just feel so
gross.”

Feeling gross seemed like as good a reason
as any to not go traipsing all over New York for food and
entertainment. “I do understand. But if you need anything, ice
cream, hot water bottle, a hormone-fueled argument—”

“
Not funny,” she
snapped.

“
I’m sorry.” I should have
known better than to make such an insensitive comment. “But I do
mean that. If you need me, I can come over any time this
weekend.”

“
Oh.” She hesitated. “Well,
if you wanted to come over. I do have a television in my room. We
could watch a movie or something.”

Ah, the days of having a roommate and
keeping to one’s room for privacy. “Great, then we’re still on for
tomorrow?”

“
What about
tonight?”

“
Tonight?” There was nothing
I wanted more than to see her. But I wanted to see her tomorrow,
when I didn’t have to get up early and head into the office the
next day.

“
Sorry. You have work
tomorrow,” she apologized.

“
Don’t you?” I asked, to
gently remind her.

“
No, I called
in.”

I should have said no. It was impractical to
drive all the way over there, now, when it was seven o’clock and I
would have to come back in time to get a reasonable amount of
sleep. I was already exhausted, but I knew I wasn’t going to turn
down the chance to see her. And there was no reason I had to drive
back home. I’m sure Ambrose would be content to have my bed all to
himself; he hadn’t forgiven me yet for letting Penny sleep
over.

I sighed at my own lack of self-control.
“All right. Can I sleep there? I’ll just go straight to work from
your place in the morning.”

“
Yeah. I would love it if
you would stay over.” The note of happiness in her voice, when
she’d sounded so miserable just moments ago, made me feel as though
I had some kind of super power.

“
Give me about forty
minutes. Do you want me to bring dinner?”

“
How about pizza?” she
suggested. “I’m buying.”

“
You don’t—”
Don’t argue with her, Ian. That would be
insulting
. “That would be lovely. No black
olives. Anything else, just no black olives, I beg you.”

“
One anchovies and pineapple
barbecue chicken pizza, then.” She laughed.

I hoped she was joking.

After we hung up, I went upstairs and put my
suit for the next day into my garment bag and dropped my toiletries
in the bottom. Then, I looked down at what I was wearing. I’d taken
off my tie and jacket and unbuttoned my shirt from the day, but
that was the extent of things. Penny had teased me before about
looking like an undertaker. I couldn’t go over to what was likely
her hip, young person apartment with Christmas lights all over
everything dressed like I was there to sell insurance.

Then again, I probably shouldn’t dress like
I was trying to look young, either. It was already fairly pathetic
that I was dating a woman thirty years younger than me, on a scale
of one to midlife crisis. I didn’t need Penny thinking I was trying
to relive my youth or something comparably creepy.

I’d never agonized over wardrobe choices so
much in my life.

I settled on jeans and a T-shirt. No one
outgrew that look. I hoped.

At the sound of the zipper on the garment
bag, Ambrose deigned to make an appearance. He meowed
plaintively.

“
This is not a business
trip,” I assured him. “I’ll be back tomorrow.”

He hopped up on the bed and stood at the
corner blinking disdainfully at me.

“
You’d better get used to
it,” I warned him. “I’ve got a new romance happening. I want you to
be more welcoming to her than you were to Gena.”

Ambrose had hated Gena from the start. I
think he felt she had intruded on our boys’ club. It hadn’t helped
that Gena had disliked him, as well. Not that I could blame her;
Ambrose had taken great delight in peeing on anything of hers he
could get near, from shoes to magazines, and once, memorably, on a
three-hundred-dollar dress she’d just picked up from the dry
cleaner.