The Healing (32 page)

“Me, too,” she replied.

“Where do you want to go?” he asked.

Karen couldn't even think. “I don't know. I haven't been to a restaurant in years.”

“Then we'll go somewhere nice. Pick you up around eight?”

It sounded too much like a date. “I can meet you there—”

“It's not a date, Karen,” Greg said, as if he had read her mind. “I'm just offering to give you a ride so you can relax and have a few drinks, if you want.”

“All right. Thanks, Greg.”

chapter thirty-nine

It had been so long since Karen had dressed up to go anywhere, she didn't know what to wear. Deciding on a fitted cotton sheath dress that had been hanging in her closet for two years, she slithered into it and ran to the mirror for inspection. It was suited for Karen's size, with its hem well above the knee and its slender body lines. If anything, she thought it made her look a little too skinny. But in the end, pressed for time and concluding she liked the sage-green color, she kept it on and dug out a nice pair of heeled sandals before scurrying back to the mirror to fix her hair. She brushed it out, gazing at her reflection and pondering whether she should try a French braid or just gather it in a clip at the nape of her neck. She settled on leaving it loose. Because she never had the time or incentive to go to a salon and get her hair cut, it fell to her shoulders in soft, youthful wisps.

With five minutes to spare, Karen even adorned her face with a little mascara and lip gloss. The mascara hadn't been used since she'd quit her job at Pell Publishing, and she hoped it didn't give her conjunctivitis.

Karen was still applying her finishing touches when Luka started barking on the porch, letting her know the pickup had pulled into the driveway. She ran downstairs with the agility of a teenager, nearly tripping over Bitsy on the way, and snatched up her bag to leave. She met Greg at the side door just as he was about to knock, slipping out so Luka didn't jump all over him.

Greg backed down a step, giving her room to lock up . . . and giving himself room to look at her. “Wow,” he exclaimed.

When Karen turned and saw the expression on his face, she was frightened and thrilled at the same time. He looked like he might forget he was standing on a step and topple backward.

“You look gorgeous,” he said.

Karen felt the familiar rush of heat to her face. And if Greg looked good wearing his work clothes, he was sublime in a crème-colored ribbed T-shirt and dark tan chinos. “Thanks,” she said a little breathlessly. “You clean up rather nicely, too.”

“Now I wish this
was
a date,” he confessed. “I'd be a lucky guy.”

Her cheeks were on fire, and she didn't know what to say. Some inner alarm went off inside of her, urging her to go back inside and call off the whole thing before she regretted what she was doing. But Greg was a gentleman about it.

“I'm sorry, Karen. I didn't mean to embarrass you.” He seemed sincere. “Let's go to dinner like two old friends, and I'll try to forget how great you look.”

The war waged on inside Karen, her gut instinct against her reasoning. She just needed some company. She wanted to laugh and reminisce about the good old days. What harm could possibly come of it? Mike would have told her to go. At this point, if she had told Greg she was having second thoughts about going out to dinner, she would have been admitting something more than friendship was brewing under the surface.

Her feet moved with a will all their own as she followed Greg to his pickup.

“I hope you don't mind riding in a truck,” he said, and opened the door for her.

She climbed in, hoping the awkward moments were behind them. “Is the Ferrari in the shop?” she asked, tugging at her dress because it rode up her thighs when she sat down.

Greg smiled at her joke. He also stole a few glances at her legs. “Yeah. Ferraris just aren't what they used to be.”

When he got into the driver's seat and slammed the door, an intoxicating scent of men's cologne filled the vehicle. It wasn't overpowering or pungent, just musky and alluring. Karen almost hyperventilated breathing it in.

“Do you like the Soundview?” he asked, starting the engine and putting it in gear.

“I haven't been there in years,” she replied. “I haven't been
anywhere
in years.”

“Soundview it is,” he said.

“We don't have to go somewhere so chichi,” she said. “We can just grab a burger, if you want.”

Greg laughed. “Did you say ‘chichi'? The Soundview?” He shook his head and pulled out of the driveway. “You really haven't been out in a long time, have you?”

“Don't make fun of me.”

“Then stop being so adorable.”

His response had the effect of half a bottle of wine in an instant. Flushed and warm, Karen was hanging on to her inhibitions and sound judgment for dear life. She was so conflicted about garnering praise from a man like Greg that she felt like she had embarked on some adventurous ride. She had endured plenty of come-ons while out in the working world, but she had always seen them for what they were. She had never been tempted.

This was so different.

There was genuine chemistry between them, and a common ground that made it easy to talk. There was also a genuine need on Karen's part that had never surfaced before—a need that Karen herself didn't comprehend. She glanced sideways at Greg while he was driving and drank in the sight of a man behind the wheel. She made a quick study of his profile, with his straight nose perfectly offset by a strong brow and chin, appreciating his fine features. But then she looked at his lips and shocked herself by wondering how he kissed.

Facing straight ahead once again, she almost gasped.

By the time they were getting out of the pickup in front of the restaurant, her knees were wobbling.

“So do you like seafood?” Greg asked as they walked toward the entrance. “Or do you prefer a juicy red steak?”

“I like both, actually.”

“Are you one of those people who'll eat anything?”

Karen grinned tightly at him. “I'm Czech. We have good appetites.”

Greg laughed, swinging the door open for her. “You sure don't look it.”

“How about you?” she asked.

“I usually go for the seafood.”

Karen recalled how Greg had a passion for fishing in their early summer days. “Do you still like to go fishing?” she asked as they stepped into the subdued ambience of the restaurant.

Greg whipped his head around to look at her, his brown eyes softening warmly. “You remember that about me?”

“You seem surprised. But you were forever on that train bridge with a line and a pail,” she said. “And if you weren't there with the boys, you dragged your grandfather.”

He swallowed hard, and for a moment Karen thought his eyes might well up. “You remember my grandfather?” he asked.

“Vaguely,” she replied. “He lived near my cousins. Right?”

Greg nodded mechanically. “That's right. That's how me and Danny became friends.”

Karen tapped herself on the temple. “See? I haven't lost my mind completely.”

He gave her a tight grin. She realized he was probably flattered by her remembrances. Somehow it made her a lot more comfortable to invoke the image of Danny as a teenager. As long as they were immersed in their common past, Karen had an explanation for the good vibe between them. She didn't mind that Greg put his hand lightly on her waist as they followed the hostess to their table.

They were seated by a window overlooking the Long Island Sound, where the setting sun was touching the western horizon and spilling a montage of brilliant orange and gold across the water. Karen was hypnotized by the spectacular view. Down the shore a short distance was the public beach—a rocky, beautiful shoreline with its own keys to her memory bank.

Karen sighed. “This is so nice,” she said, trying to live in the moment. It wasn't easy, when thoughts of Mike kept surfacing to wrench her heart. From the first summer they'd met until just a few years ago, they often ended up at the town beach to watch the sunsets because it had a better view of the western sky than Founders Landing.

The waitress came over just in time to take their drink order. Karen and Greg agreed on a bottle of cabernet and then perused the menus. Karen decided on a lamb dish that was one of the specials, and Greg ordered the grilled salmon. “Are you sure you don't want white wine with that?” Karen asked.

Greg looked amused. “Do I look like someone who can't have red wine with fish?”

She blushed again. And once the wine was poured, the crimson in her cheeks did not recede. She was conscious of how Greg watched her from across the table, his brown eyes flickering with repressed intrigue.

“I can't believe how little you've changed,” he said.

You have no idea.
“I can't believe how much you have,” Karen replied.

He laughed. “I can't believe it's been thirty years.”

She gave him an admonishing look. “Please don't remind me. You'll force me to drink more than I should.”

Greg laughed again. “You never drank when we were kids,” he said. “You never let your guard down. Not once.”

Karen still felt like that girl who sat on the beach with her knees drawn up. “Sounds like you were paying more attention to my guard than I realized.”

“I told you. For us guys, it was a mission.”

“Maybe I knew that on some level,” she replied, recalling how her father had drilled into her head that teenage boys were only after one thing. “Maybe that's why I never let my guard down.”

“Remember all that horseplay?” Greg said, and Karen's mind came fully alive in another era. “All that romping around in the water? The pushing off the raft, the chicken fights, the human pyramids—”

Karen looked out at the sound. She wanted so badly to go back in time. “You and Mike were always on the bottom,” she said.

“Little did you know . . .”

She took a hearty sip of wine. “What, that you guys were getting off on all that rough-and-tumble physical contact with the girls?”

“Soaking wet, no less,” Greg added. “It was our reason for waking up in the morning.”

They laughed at the innocence of their adolescent games.

“My favorite was that giant inner tube,” Karen said. “How we all tried to get on it at once and then rock it like a seesaw until someone went flying off.”

“I always tried to be the one sitting across from Anya,” Greg confessed.

“Let me guess,” Karen said. “So when she flew off, you could break her fall.”

They laughed until tears came to their eyes.

But about halfway through their main course, after they had exhausted a lot of sweet, comical memories, their conversation shifted to more serious topics. Karen asked Greg about his kids, and that led to the subject of his divorce. The mood palpably changed as Greg talked openly about his failed marriage and his children, divulging that he was truly a down-to-earth guy with a good heart whose greatest fault was that he worked too hard and still didn't make enough money.

Karen spoke with her guard down. “I don't know why you don't have women beating down your door,” she said, without realizing the impact of her words. “Or maybe they are. I wouldn't know, would I?”

He looked like she had thrown a bowling ball at him and expected him to catch it. “Tell me, for my ego's sake, would you be beating down my door if you were single?”

Karen was a little too buzzed to be coy, but she stopped short of incriminating herself. “I can't really answer that,” she replied in all honesty, meeting his gaze across the table so he knew the answer on a more subliminal level. And when she called to mind the embrace they had shared at the hospital, how good it felt to be in someone's arms and how her senses came alive, her reaction was physical. “I think I'd better have some coffee now,” she said, trying to make light of it.

They drank their coffee, still engaged in soft, comfortable dialogue. When it came time to pay the check, Greg wouldn't let Karen chip in, not even to pay the tip. She thanked him profusely, and they sauntered outside in relative silence, feeling the caress of the warm summer night. “Do you want to walk down to the town beach?” Greg asked before they headed for his pickup. “I promised you a safe ride home, and I'd like to give the coffee a chance to clear my head a little.”

“Sure,” Karen replied, and they fell into an unhurried pace on the shoulder of the road. After covering a few yards and taking a few deep breaths of salty sea air, she added, “Dinner was really a treat, Greg.”

“It was for me, too,” he told her. “I'm glad you called.”

“Well, I didn't want to sit home and worry about what tomorrow was going to bring,” she admitted.

“Is your daughter going to be discharged soon?”

“In a few days.”

“That's good news, at least. I guess she handled it okay when she found out her father was sick?” Greg asked.

Karen was almost ashamed to answer. “She doesn't know. We kept it from her because she was making such good progress. I feel awful about it, but Mike wanted it that way.”

Greg nodded. “It worked out for the best, didn't it? You said Mike's going to pull through. And your daughter didn't have to suffer the worry.”

“Yeah, but when I went to see her today, she was giving me a hard time about talking to him on the phone. I had to make all kinds of excuses.”