State of Grace (38 page)

“No buts,” he said. “Consider this a goal. I figure if we have a set date, we have something to work toward. And if it isn't the right time—if you're not ready, we'll just cancel. But I don't think that will happen.”

“You sound so sure,” I said.

“I am,” he said. “And remember, we're going to make this work one way or another.”

We talked a lot over the next two months and as time passed, I found I was sharing more about myself. One night, after too much wine and conversation, I even came close to confessing that I believed Grace lived inside me. But something stopped me. Grace? Pride? The
realization that if he knew how I really was he'd change his mind?

I needed to talk to someone. I considered calling my sister. She had figured out even before I had that Tommy was more than just a friend. And she was the only person I knew who was happily married. I also considered calling Roger. Granted, his relationship with Gus was anything but conventional, but they had been together for several years. In the end, though, I did neither. I think more than anything, I wanted to see if it would work first. There was a part of me that wanted to surprise everyone—to say, “Look at me, I really
am
okay.”

I also wanted to make sure Grace didn't try to ruin it for me. She still remained in the background of my mind. She never spoke, but I could feel her watching. And more than that, I could feel her anger, her jealousy, her frustration—especially when Tommy told me he loved me.

“I'm sorry,” I murmured one night after I got off the phone with Tommy. I didn't want her back in control, but after so much time together, I felt her absence in my life. I wished she could be happy for me; though, when I thought about what it must be like to be in her situation, I knew I would likely be feeling the same emotions. It was a new kind of guilt—guilt that was heightened when Tommy said things like, “I'm so excited to be able to hug you.”

It was a week before his scheduled visit that he confessed he was nervous.

“Me, too,” I said. “Actually . . . a lot. I know why I am, but why are you?”

I had come to know that the silence that followed my statement meant he was thinking.

“I guess for me, it's because we've waited so long and I have built this up so much in my head,” he said finally. “But at the same time, I know this is it. You're the right woman at the right time and meeting you is just a formality, as far as I'm concerned.”

I idly stroked Toby's muzzle. We were sitting in front of the fire.

“What?” Tommy asked when I didn't say anything.

“There's something I'm worried about,” I admitted. It had been weighing heavily on my mind for several weeks and I had been
trying to get up the nerve to tell him.

“Just one thing?” he teased, and I laughed.

“Well, one big thing.”

“Okay,” he said. “Lay it on me.”

I was silent, unsure how to start the conversation—loath to say the words.

“Come on, sweetheart, you can tell me anything.”

I took a deep breath and tried to speak. The words seemed trapped in my throat.

“Birdie, just say it. Whatever it is, we can work through it together.”

“I'm a virgin,” I blurted out.

Tommy was silent for several long seconds.

“Did you hear me? I said I'm—”

“A virgin. And?”

“I've never had sex,” I said. “I don't know what to do and if you're coming here for that . . . well, I'm not sure I can give you what you want.”

Tommy laughed and I found myself angry at his reaction.

“You think that's funny?”

“No,” he said and then amended his answer. “Yes. I mean, is that really what you think I'm after? Sex? Do you really think all of this is because I expect you to put out?”

“I'm just saying that I—” My words trailed off, flustered.

“Birdie, what I want from you is so much more than just sex. I have no expectations, no ulterior motives. Right now, I just want to look into your eyes, hold your hand, and kiss your lips.” He paused. “That's all right, isn't it? Kissing you?”

I thought about it. There would be germs, of course. But that suddenly didn't seem like such a big deal. They were Tommy's germs.

“Of course that's okay,” I said and then added almost shyly, “I'd like that.”

“Good. So it's settled, then.” It wasn't a question, but a statement.

“Yes,” I said. “It's settled.”

Chapter 29

Exactly one week later, I sat anxiously on the couch and stared at the phone, willing it to ring but also dreading what would happen when it did. He had to be close by now. Maybe he was already in town, checking into his room, getting ready to dial the phone. I picked up the receiver to make sure there was a dial tone and then quickly returned it to its cradle.

“This waiting is killing me,” I said to Toby, who lay sleeping at the other end of the couch. “He should be here by now, right?”

I stood, walked to the window, and ran my fingers nervously through my hair. I had done the math of Tommy's trip in my head so many times that I was repeating it from memory.

“He got into Kansas City at 6 a.m.,” I murmured. “His flight to Denver was scheduled to leave at 10 a.m. and it was a two and a half hour flight. With the time change, that would put him in Denver at around 11:30 my time. Get unloaded, get his bags, rent the car—say 12:30. It's a three-hour drive here and he would need lunch and maybe a bathroom stop—four o'clock. And then checking into the hotel—4:15.”

I looked at the cuckoo clock ticking away on the wall going into the kitchen. It had been my grandfather's; and each day, the first thing I did as I went into the kitchen to make coffee was pull the iron pinecone-shaped weights down on their chains. The hands read 4:30.

What if he changed his mind? I wondered. Or what if he was in an accident? He wasn't used to the twisting Colorado roads. What if he was going too fast and hit a patch of ice? A storm had moved through the area two days before. Road crews would have
cleared the highways and roads, but if someone wasn't careful . . . my heart began to thump and I felt sick. Calm down, I told myself. Be rational.

“Maybe I should just call the hotel and see if he's there or if he called with an arrival time,” I muttered. “Just to check.”

I reached under the counter and pulled out the phone book. After finding the right page, I scanned the listings, and then, with my finger marking the number, reached for the phone.

“Hello?” said a male voice in my ear. “Birdie? Is that you? Hello?”

“Hello?” I asked, confused.

“Birdie? It's Tommy.”

“Tommy?” I blinked in surprise. “That was so weird. I was just going to call the hotel to see if you made it all right.”

He laughed, a warm, inviting sound. “I just dialed your number. It didn't even ring and then, there you were. It must be fate.”

“It must be,” I said, happy to hear his voice and then suddenly nervous. “So, are you here? In town?”

“I am. And I'd like to take you out to dinner—that is, if you're still interested.”

“I would love to have dinner.”

“Okay, so where is a good place to eat? I couldn't tell when I drove through town.”

“How about the Timbers Restaurant,” I said. “It's about a half-mile from your B&B.”

“Perfect.” I could hear the scratch of him writing down. “Want to meet me at the hotel? It's a little cold to walk a half-mile, but we could drive over. Or we can meet at the restaurant. It's your call.”

I hesitated. Where
would
it be best to meet? The hotel? That would give us more privacy for our first meeting, but it also would mean the awkwardness of the trip to the restaurant.

“Birdie?” he asked, interrupting my thoughts.

“Sorry,” I said. “I was just trying to figure out a game plan.”

“Umm hmm.” I could hear the smile in his voice. “How about we just meet at the restaurant? You can check me out there and decide if I look like a serial killer.”

I sighed. “How did you know?”

“You forget,” he said. “I know you. And I know this is a big step for you. Give me forty-five minutes to shower, shave, and change out of these clothes?”

“Forty-five minutes,” I said. “I'll see you at the Timbers.”

“I'll get directions from the front desk. I can't wait.”

As I hung up the phone, I closed my eyes and leaned my head against the cupboard door. I was excited, scared, anxious, and eager, all at the same time. I took several long, deep breaths. I showered, changed clothes several times, and put on makeup. I was ready.

“Maybe I'll just get there early and have a glass of wine,” I said aloud. “I'll get our table, sit down, have a drink, and be nice and calm when he gets there.”

The restaurant was almost deserted when I arrived. The servers were setting up for the evening dinner crowd as I approached the hostess stand. A dark-haired woman in black pants and a white shirt stepped quickly forward.

“Hi.” I smiled. “Two for dinner. Something maybe . . . toward the back?”

The hostess smiled, her teeth an even white line. “I understand. Something romantic?”

I blushed. “Well, sort of.”

She nodded and flipped her long, black hair over one shoulder. She gestured to the dining room and said, “How about you choose where you'd like to sit and I'll follow.”

We walked into the dining room and I chose a booth near the back, but not too close to the kitchen.

“How about here?” I said as I slid into the seat facing the door. “And, could we get a bottle of your nicest cabernet?”

She nodded, laid the menus on the table, and disappeared into the bar area. Several minutes later she returned with a bottle of Silver Oak Cabernet, two red wine glasses, a corkscrew, and two glasses of water. I watched as she performed the wine service and nodded my approval. She poured small amounts into each of the
glasses and then smiled as if to ask if there was anything more she could do. I nodded and reached for my purse.

“I know you're not our server,” I said as I rummaged around for my wallet. “But would it be all right if I give you my credit card now, before the dinner—so there won't be any confusion as to who gets the bill?”

She nodded and waited as I dug the card out of my purse.

“I'll make sure Kallie gets it,” she said. “She'll be your server. She's new, but she's good and I'll make sure she knows what's going on.”

I sipped the wine. It was excellent. I slid the knotted napkin from around the neck of the bottle and looked at the label. 1997.

“Good year,” a voice said from above me.

Startled, I looked up to find myself looking into the bluest eyes I had ever seen. They were more startling and more amazing than I remembered. My heart stopped as I stared at him.

“Hi,” I whispered and then cleared my throat. I stood up. My legs trembled. I smiled, my pulse racing and my breath coming in short ragged pants.

“Hi,” he said with a warm smile and stepped toward me. We stood, looking at each other. Finally, he reached down, grasped one of my hands, and leaned forward to kiss me on the cheek. He smelled of soap, starched shirt, and deep, herby forest. He was everything and nothing like the boy I'd met twenty years earlier.

“Shall we sit?” He gave my hand a firm squeeze. I looked over to see the hostess and a server watching us.

“Birdie?” I looked up into Tommy's eyes, taking in his dark, curly hair that was just beginning to gray, his long eyelashes, the laugh lines on either side of his mouth.

“Yes,” I said, slightly breathless.

“Shall we sit?” He grinned.

“Oh, yes,” I said quickly. “Of course.”

“Good,” he said, but continued to stand.

“You're so tall,” I said stupidly. “You grew up and filled out. You're a man.”

He laughed. “It happens.” He gestured again to the booth and
I realized he was waiting for me to sit first.

“Sorry,” I said and quickly slid into my seat.

He slid into his side of the booth.

“Wine?”

“God, yes,” he said. “Please.”

I laughed and he raised his glass.

“A toast,” he said and held up his glass. “To us.”

“To us,” I echoed and touched my glass to his.

As we sipped, I stared at him. He was perfect—his eyes, his square jaw, his well-sculpted hands. He, too, was studying me. I was about to ask what he was thinking when a young red-headed woman came over to our table. She smiled.

“Hi,” she said. “My name is Kallie. I'll be your server tonight. How is the wine?”

I looked at Tommy, who grinned and nodded his approval.

“Everything is great,” I said. “Perfect, in fact.”

“Good,” she said. “Ummm . . .” She seemed unsure what to do next.

“Do you have any specials?” I asked helpfully.

She nodded and pulled a black notebook out of her long, bistro-style apron. “We have two specials tonight.” She cleared her throat. “We have an eight-ounce gorgonzola-encrusted beef filet with garlic mashed potatoes and grilled asparagus spears. Also, we have baked salmon with a rosemary, wild mushroom, and cabernet reduction sauce. That comes with whipped parsnips and pan-fried potatoes prepared with fresh rosemary and olive oil.”

She looked up. I looked at Tommy.

“Both sound really good,” he said pleasantly. “But you sold me on the steak. So, I'd like the filet, medium rare, and a house salad with a balsamic vinaigrette dressing.

“Yummm,” I said, suddenly ravenous. “That does sound good. I'll have the same. But make my filet medium and instead of balsamic vinaigrette dressing on my salad, I'd like, actually, you know what? I'll have the vinaigrette dressing, too.”

“Okay, so you want . . .” she trailed off, pen poised over the pad of paper.

“Two of your filet specials—his medium-rare and mine medium,”
I said. “And we'll both have house salads—the ones with the field greens—with balsamic vinaigrette dressing.”

She scribbled furiously and then looked up.

“That's all?”

“That's all,” said Tommy with a grin.

“Okay,” she said and repeated our order back to us. “Two filet specials—one medium-rare and one medium. Two house salads, both with balsamic vinaigrette.'

“Perfect,” I said.

“I'll get the salads right out,” she said.

“Actually,” I said, blushing self-consciously as Tommy reached across the table and twined my fingers into his. “There's really no rush.”

She nodded and glanced to where Tommy was sitting. “Okay. How about you just signal me when you're ready for the salads and we'll go from there.”

Tommy and I both nodded.

“So,” I said once we were alone.

“So,” he repeated, a slow smile spreading across his face. “We're here. Am I as scary as you thought I'd be?”

I shook my head and smiled back.

“Not at all. You're . . . It's amazing to see you in person. To see you smile instead of just hearing it in your voice.”

“I know what you mean,” he said seriously. “I have been looking forward to this day for months. To actually see you sitting across from me is—” He shrugged. “It's unreal. It's like I was lost and now I'm not anymore.” He caressed my fingers with his thumb.

“I feel that way, too,” I said slowly. “You don't know this about me, but who I am when we talk, isn't the person I usually am. I mean, I'm not the type of person to talk to men I don't know—let alone let them hold my hand.” I gestured at him, at our clasped hands. “I don't do things like this.”

Tommy stared at me, his expression serious, his blue eyes intense. “Well, first of all, you're not with a man you don't know—you're with me. And maybe you've never done this before because you hadn't found the person you were supposed to do this with.” He
paused, thoughtfully. “We were missing our other halves.”

I felt my eyes tear up.

“I have always felt like Grace was my other half,” I mumbled to our clasped hands. Tommy was silent and I looked up suddenly to see that he was frowning.

“What do you mean?”

“Nothing,” I said quickly. “Just talking gibberish.”

“I don't believe that. Tell me what you mean.”

“How about later? Maybe after dinner and after we've had a bit more of this.” I raised my glass, took a sip and reached for the bottle. “More?”

He shook his head. “Not yet.”

“So, how was the trip?”

“It was good,” he said as he reached for my hand. “It's always weird going from the Eastern time zone to Mountain or Pacific time. It's like a gift of time.”

“But then you lose it when you go back,” I pointed out.

Tommy grinned. “True, but better to gain more time to enjoy with you and lose a couple of the hours I would spend missing you.”

I blinked.

“That sounds like a line, doesn't it?” he asked.

“Maybe a little,” I admitted.

He laughed and then grew quiet. We both stared at our joined hands.

“Birdie,” he began, his voice serious. I cautiously raised my gaze to meet his. “I was going to wait to do this, but I can't.”

I felt my heart begin to beat in my throat and my hands grew suddenly sweaty.

“Birdie, I love you. I've been waiting for months to say that to you—to say it in person.” He was silent. “Please look at me.”

I gulped a breath of air and raised my eyes to meet his. Everything about his expression showed he meant it. My eyes began to sting with tears. I reached for my glass and took a long swallow.

“Birdie?” His voice was kind. “What's wrong?”

I shrugged, unable to speak.

“I didn't mean to upset you,” he said. “I'm sorry.” He pulled his hand away and muttered angrily. “I knew I should have waited.”

“No,” I said thickly. “You didn't do anything wrong.” I grabbed for his hand. “Really. I just wasn't prepared for how that would make me feel. I'm just happy. And it's been so long since I felt that.”

“Oh, sweetheart,” he said and I could hear the sadness—no, pity—in his voice.

“I'm sorry,” I said. “I don't know what to say.”