Heart-strong (8 page)

“Whew. That was close,” said Rachel.

“There’s a bar down the street that he must have escaped
from,” Jim said. “Quick thinking on Sharon’s part to ease him away.”

“And,” added Sharon, “thanks to Jim for being ready to
protect us if need be.”

As the four made their way back up the stairs and through
the front door, Sharon whispered to Rachel, “That’s quite a guy you have there.
I think he would have fought dragons for you.”

“You forget, I don’t have him.”

“I don’t know. He looked pretty protective to me.”

Rachel stopped and considered. Was Jim trying to mend
fences? Did he want to explore a romantic connection? He hadn’t mentioned
anything like that, but he seemed to care about her. Perhaps he simply was
being manly. Then she recalled Sharon’s advice after the grocery store fiasco.
Maybe if you show you want Jim and need him,
he’ll give himself and you a chance
. An idea worth contemplating?

In a natural disaster like the blizzard, people are shaken
out of their routines. Friends or strangers, they jostle around, roll and
tumble like dice against one another and their environment, become more
spontaneous and natural. Relationships get pushed to their limits and are
either strengthened or broken. Despite their propinquity during the blizzard,
neither Rachel nor Jim gave voice to what they thought might be coming, but
they certainly were off balance. By the next morning, when, by the way, the
power returned to Rachel’s apartment, both had plenty to think about.

Accustomed to doing most of talking when he phoned his
mother, Jim dwelled many minutes on the storm, describing the weather patterns,
the heaps of snowbanks, the frigid and glittering beauty of nature, and,
incidentally, the rescue of Rachel, et al.

“And this was the disorganized messy woman, with the flyaway
hair?”

“I don’t know that I’d describe Rachel like that.”

“Well, every time you’ve talked about her, seems like she’s
having some kind of problem. She got into a tussle with the soccer coach. Blurts
out anything that crosses her mind. Spills all the time.”

“She’s also bright and funny. And very attractive in a
casual sort of way. And has a great son.”

“Really. Sounds like she’s captivating you. Careful you
don’t get caught.”

Jim protested. “Rachel is not trying to catch me. Anyway, I
thought you wanted me to settle down.”

“Yes. With someone appropriate. Like that other woman,
Donna. She sounds so well groomed and together. Such a good mother. With a
great job.”

“All right. Enough.” He suddenly realized just who Donna
reminded him of. His mother. Like her, Donna constantly was offering unwanted
advice.

“I just want you to think about your ideal. Which woman
comes closer? Even when you were a little boy, you said you were going to marry
a blonde. All your serious relationships have been with thin blondes, not plump
brunettes. I just want you to give this Donna a chance.”

“All right, Mom. I’ll do that. Now can we change the
subject?” He silently gave thanks that he’d never set up the Skype connection
with his mother so she couldn’t see his expression.

* * *

Friends. Rachel kept remembering Jim’s text message and his
timely appearance during the blizzard. He not only talked the talk of
friendship, he walked the walk. Maybe she’d moved too fast at Christmas, or
maybe she moved too slowly, even defensively, since then. Something was off
between them, but Rachel might be able to fix it. Take a chance, don’t wall
yourself off, she instructed herself. What had Sharon labeled the condition?
Heart-strong, not headstrong.

On the bus rides to and from work, Rachel pondered. What
should she do? Valentine’s Day was just over a week away. She could send him a
light, humorous card. No, too much room for misunderstandings. She could ask
him over for a candlelit dinner. No, too much pressure for romance. A phone
call could be perfect. Personal contact yet adequate scope to retreat and deny
if need be. Rachel bounded off the bus and tore into the apartment without
removing her coat, seizing the instrument’s receiver as if it were a life
preserver.

Unfortunately, she’d forgotten that no one answers home
telephone calls anymore. Voice messaging is the rule. With the first failed
attempt to connect, she simply slammed the phone down.

With the second try, she managed to croak, “Um, uh, Jim,
Rachel here. Give me a call.”

On the third and final effort later that evening, Rachel
made a valiant effort to sound sociable yet undemanding. “Hi, Jim. This is
Rachel. Thought we could get together for cup of coffee. Or toast Valentine’s
Day. Or exchange news. Or something. Let me know. If you want to.”

With this masterpiece of ambiguous shilly-shallying, Rachel
waited in vain for Jim to connect.

* * *

Valentine’s Day was fast approaching, and Jim was constantly
receiving little reminders from his mother about the date’s suitability for
popping the most important question in a woman’s—or a man’s—life. Every time he
went to Super Shop, he felt surrounded, drowned, with Valentine paraphernalia.
Candy in red velvet boxes; cards large and small, funny or sentimental; red,
white, and pink roses and carnations; even those fussy and frilly little
do-dads that women seemed to favor although men usually despised them, like
figurines bearing the saying “I wuv ooo.” While he wasn’t sure if he was ready
to take a huge step, he decided to stop diddling around.

Just as he did at work, Jim approached the decision
rationally, logically, even scientifically. He spent some time making lists of
the qualities he wanted in a wife, cross-indexed with Donna’s and Rachel’s
traits. Looks, intelligence, stability, sense of humor, education, career,
principles, religion, politics, volunteer activities, hobbies, skills, the
inventory was extensive. The women were well-matched, each one higher in some
attribute than the other. First things first. He’d promised his mother he’d
consider Donna. So despite his major attraction to Rachel, he called Donna and
made a date for the evening of February fourteenth.

Donna could be his dream woman, mused Jim as he sat across
from her in a little French restaurant designed for romantic trysts, licit or
illicit. The waiters were so discreet, they hid their order pads from sight,
and the air was heavy with scents of lavender and rose. Candles on every table
and wall gleamed off silver and crystal and made Donna’s fair hair gleam. She
smoothed it down. She didn’t talk a lot, thought Jim. Just as well. She wasn’t
always dithering on like Rachel. Of course conversation was a little hard to
make.

“How’s your son?” Jim as
k
ed
to fill the silence. He didn’t really care,
h
adn’t
seen the boy s
i
nc
e
just after Christmas.

“He’s fine. He was on the honor roll at school. His trumpet
teacher said he
’
s
v
er
y
tal
ente
d. And
he’s
t
he for
w
ard
f
or
t
he
bas
ketb
all
t
eam.”

“That’s nice,” said Jim. The kid
sounded close to perfect. He wondered if Donna’s son and Scott were on the same
basketball team and if Scott were as bad at that sport as he had been at
soccer. Probably didn’t know enough to stay in position on the court. The waiter
brought the French onion soup. Donna spooned it away from herself, raised it to
her lips. No stringy cheese clung to her silverware.

“Good soup,” commented Jim, wiping the cheese dripping from
his mouth on his napkin.

“Yes,” Donna agr
e
ed. “A
touch too much garl
i
c, ho
wev
er.”

Not like Rachel at all. Rachel would have adored the soup or
hated it.
N
o middle ground for her.

“How’s wor
k
?” as
k
ed J
i
m as he
pushed the soup a
w
ay in fa
v
or of a roll.

“It’s fine. My supervisor said a manag
e
rial posi
t
ion
is ope
n
ing up. He’s recomme
n
din
g
me for i
t
.”

“Think you’ll get it?”

Donna opened her eyes wide. They were green, carefully made
up wi
t
h green shadow
t
o ma
t
ch. “Of course. I ca
n
hardly wait. I’m sure I can improve the
departmen
t
al efficiency one hundred percent
.
”

“I’m sure you can,” agreed Jim, thinking about his own work
style where he sometimes accomplished better results by sacrificing efficiency
for human connections.

Rachel was notoriously disorganized. Oh, she got things
done, and done well,
b
ut she was al
w
a
y
s misplacing
papers, spilling cups of cof
f
ee, losing her
keys. He could almos
t
visualize her sitting
across from him. She would be laughing at some silliness in life—the price of
apples, say—or complainin
g
a
b
out politics. Her hair
w
ould
be in
h
er
e
yes
,
she
w
ould
b
e gest
u
r
i
n
g w
i
th h
er for
k
.

Jim
w
as su
r
prised when the
w
ai
t
er
b
rou
g
ht desser
t
,
tiny ca
k
es ic
e
d
with chocolate frosting. He couldn’t remember eating the meal. Don
n
a too
k
a s
m
all bi
te
and
la
i
d her for
k
asid
e
.

“
N
o
t
hun
g
r
y
?” as
k
ed J
i
m.

“No. I try to avoid sugar and chocolate, too.”

“Mus
t
be ho
w
you sta
y
so
slim,” he said. Rachel would have eaten th
e
e
nt
ire desser
t
,
t
hen
t
ried
t
o s
t
eal his.
He coul
d
n’
t
d
en
y
th
a
t
Rachel
w
as
jus
t
plain chubb
y
.
When he hu
g
ged her, he fel
t
li
k
e he was holding
a pillow, all soft and squishy.

“So wha
t
about
t
he housing shor
t
a
g
e?” Jim as
k
ed.
N
o
w
why
on ear
t
h had he brought that up? He must
have been thin
k
in
g
about Rachel’s complaints that she couldn’t find an affordable place to
live.

“It’s been blo
w
n ou
t
of proportion,” said Donna. As a concerned,
responsible and informed citizen who voted in each election and carefully
considered political issues, she was quite willing to expound on her opinions.
“Adm
it
tedly, we lac
k
resi
d
ential uni
t
s down
t
own
right now. But at least 10,000 should be completed in two years. Some areas in
the suburbs have a great many vacant units, you know, up to twenty-five
percent.”

“No, I didn
’
t know,” Jim
said. “That’s interesting. But aren’t the new do
w
n
t
own apartments designed mostly for high-middle to
high incomes?”

“Yes. The cost effectiveness of lower income housing is not
feasible during these economic
t
imes. I’m
considering investing in a conglomerate which...”

As Donna con
t
inued her
lecture on financial returns, Jim nodded from ti
m
e
to time, but his eyes glazed, empty as a stuffed animal’s. Exhaustion built in
him. He speculated if there was any area in which the woman was not an expert,
and he wondered even more why her knowledge made his mind twitch and his hands clench.
He certainly could learn a lo
t
from her. She
was almost perfect in every area—her manners, her clothing style, face and
figure, intelligence, parenting. But what did she need from him?

Donna finally paused for breath.

Jim looked at his watch and feigned a gasp. “Ten-thirty! I
didn’t realize it was so late. I’ve got a meeting early in the morning. We
should leave.”

Jim pulled up in front of Donna’s tiny, well-kept house. He
hopped out to open her car door, and they walked to the front entry. Jim noticed
that the wood was painted white and had no
f
ingerprin
t
s or smears to mar its surface, unlike Rachel’s
door that bore plentiful scratches, dings and smudges from the hectic
lifestyles of its inhabitants. Donna leaned for
w
ard,
lips pursed,
f
or a
g
ood
nigh
t
kiss. Jim reached
f
or her, put one hand be
h
i
n
d her head. Donna pulled a
w
ay.