The Mine (20 page)

They hurried across a busy intersection and then slowed their pace to a stroll. At five o'clock the streets and sidewalks were clogged with people coming and going, but Joel and Grace, friends, moviegoers, and hand holders, maybe more, kept to themselves.

"You looked nice Saturday night," she said.

"You look nice every night."

Grace blushed but kept her eyes forward. She continued down the sidewalk with the stride of a woman who would not be distracted by flattery.

"Linda said you dance well for a beginner."

Joel picked up her matter-of-fact tone and tried to lighten the mood. If compliments wouldn't cut it, perhaps humor would.

"She was being kind."

"Was dinner nice?"

"I kept it down."

"The band?"

"They missed a note."

"The lake?"

"No fishing allowed."

And so it began. For thirty minutes, Grace asked pointless questions about a dance she did not attend and, for thirty minutes, Joel gave pointless answers about a dance he did. The exchange, at least in Joel's mind, did nothing to bring the participants together. It did a lot to exacerbate their differences.

"What about you and Katie? How did you spend the night?"

"We bought some wine and played jazz on Ginny's phonograph."

"What did you listen to?"

"Billie Holiday, Duke Ellington, Louis Armstrong."

"That's good stuff. I'm envious."

Joel tried to sound envious, but he knew even the best spin would not lift Grace's spirits. No matter how good the vinyl sounded, it was no substitute for a night on the town, in nice duds, with Number One at your side. He knew she wanted to talk about Linda, and only Linda, but he was determined not to be the first to bring her up. Nor was he sure he even wanted to talk about her. He had had a great time and did not want to compound his many lies with more. So he did the next best thing and tried to engage Grace in small talk.

"How are things at the library?"

"They're fine."

"And everything is OK at the house?"

"Swell."

Joel looked at Grace and noticed tight lips and eyes that were directed at the path ahead. She seemed annoyed by his questions and definitely distracted. But he could not understand her apparent irritation. If she wanted to discuss something else, including the red-haired, green-eyed elephant in the room, now was her chance.

"Grace?"

"Yes."

"Are you upset with me?"

"No."

"I thought you wanted to talk."

"I do."

They walked several more blocks in uncomfortable silence. Joel noticed that Grace would not even look at him. Was she frustrated? Upset? Scared? He did not know. He wanted to talk more – he needed to talk more – but he had run out of things to say. As they approached a corner, two blocks from the house, where they usually parted, he used the opportunity to ask a question that had been on
his
mind.

"Have you heard from Paul?"

"I have."

"How is he doing?"

"I don't want to talk about him."

"How come?"

"Because I don't!" Grace snapped. She stopped on the sidewalk and finally turned toward Joel. "I don't want to talk about Paul or jazz or the library or how I look today or any day. I want to know if you had a good time. I want to know if you like Linda."

Joel looked at her face and saw frustration, fear, anger, and the answers to all his questions about this remarkable woman. He realized then and there that he was much more than a passing fancy. He had made an impact on Grace Vandenberg, a deep one. But that made her outrage all the more difficult to digest. No matter what she felt for him, she wore the ring of another man. Joel did not like that at all. Nor did he care about sneaking around. Sensing an opportunity to clear the air, he pressed ahead with the kind of candor that would make their relationship or break it.

"To tell you the truth, Grace, I had a terrific time. It was one of the best dates of my life. Linda was damn near perfect. She was charming, gracious, and affectionate. She didn't even have a drink. She wanted to make a good impression on me, and she sure as hell succeeded."

Joel saw the impact of his reply the second he gave it. Grace reeled like she had been punched in the gut and turned away as her eyes filled with tears. But Joel didn't regret his words. Not one. He knew they would shock. He
wanted
them to shock. They were the method to his madness. As Grace started to walk away, he grabbed her hand and pulled her back.

"I'm not finished. Everything I said was true. I had a great time," he said. "But I'd rather go on one walk with you than a thousand dates with Linda."

Joel drew her in and kissed her like he would never see her again. Grace threw her arms over his shoulders and responded in kind. She buried herself in the embrace of a man who was still very much a stranger and begged him to never let her go. But when she peered past him and saw three college-age women walk up the street, she shook her head and pushed herself free.

"I can't do this. I'm sorry. I just can't."

Grace turned and ran. She ran from Joel and ran from the women, back to the house on Klickitat Avenue and maybe back to the safe, predictable, comfortable life she had known before a lonely cowboy from Montana had tipped his hat.

Joel tried to process what had happened but could not. There was plenty of good and bad to go around in that thirty-second exchange, and he wasn't sure which of the two had the upper hand. Grace's kiss had been the stuff of dreams, her plea for him to hold her music to his ears.

Yet when Joel thought again about what had transpired and the effect he had already had on several people, he did not hear a symphony. He did not hear bells or whistles or even fireworks. Instead, he heard something ominous, something he had vowed to avoid and could little afford to recklessly invite: the distant but unmistakable sound of thunder.

CHAPTER 41

The view from the front seat of the Plymouth was postcard perfect. Beyond and below the pine-covered bluff, sailboats plied Puget Sound like skaters performing figure eights on a sheet of liquid gold. Along the horizon, an egg-yolk sun dropped below jagged, shadowy peaks and painted the summer sky fifty different shades of orange, red, and yellow.

Tom Carter had driven to Magnolia, a bucolic corner of the city residents shared with Fort Lawton, because he knew it was the one of the few places in Seattle he could see a sunset like this. He put his right arm around Virginia Gillette, loosened a new tie he had worn at dinner, and turned on the car radio.

"Does it get better than this?"

"Only in dreams," Ginny said.

Though the two shared the viewpoint with four other couples parked in the lot, they might as well have been alone. The bluff top was windless, bug-less, and quiet, save the soothing sound of a clarinet in Jimmy Dorsey's "Maria Elena."

"This song reminds me of the dance. That was a nice evening, Tom."

"I had a good time. So did our companions, from what I heard."

"Do you think it's going to work, Linda and Joel?"

"We'll know by Saturday. We're still on for a movie, no?"

"We're on. Linda would never forgive me if I backed out now, though I think she's more than capable of flying solo with the cowboy. She's definitely hooked."

"You're right about that," Tom said, laughing. "But I'm not so sure about Joel. He could have asked her out again, but he hasn't. He stayed home tonight and helped Dad work on some cabinets. I think he's still got a thing for Blondie."

Ginny poured two flutes of champagne from a bottle between her feet and handed one to the man leaning back in his seat. Staring lazily at the darkening sky and wearing a ridiculously wide grin, he was the picture of contentment. She envied his ability to set aside his cares, both great and small, so quickly and easily.

"I worry about Grace. Something happened on Tuesday that put her in the dumps. She ran in the house crying and went straight to her room. She wouldn't talk about it at dinner and hasn't said much since."

"Give her some slack. She'll be better when Paul gets back."

"You really think so?"

"No," he laughed. "I just said that to get your mind on me."

Ginny smiled and kissed him on the cheek.

"You're incorrigible."

For another fifty minutes, the odd couple that had defied the odds for three and a half months held each other and enjoyed the kind of scenery that moved poets. They put work, friends, and a troubled world aside and talked of better things, including a future together. Though both spoke of days and weeks, rather than months and years, neither seemed threatened by commitment. Indeed, for two who had traveled alone for most of their twenty-plus years, the concept had wondrous appeal.

As the music turned to news at the top of the hour, Ginny lowered the volume and reached for the champagne. The bubbly was her idea, as was dinner on the pier. She had wanted to take Tom out earlier, in celebration of his graduation, but had found his dance card increasingly crowded with the arrival of his new best buddy. So she took advantage of a Thursday night that had unexpectedly opened up the day before.

Tom was about to get out of the car and stretch when he heard a few words on the radio that caught his attention. He reached across the dash and increased the volume.

"The Clipper hit hard grounders to third in the first and seventh innings, but Cleveland's Ken Keltner denied him each time. The Yankees won four to three. Repeating tonight's top story, Joe DiMaggio's hitting streak has come to an end at fifty-six."

Tom turned down the radio, took the bottle, and poured himself a second. Ginny turned off the radio, took the bottle back, and poured herself a third. They looked at each other, smiled, and toasted their amazing new friend.

Joel Smith had just won a thousand dollars.

CHAPTER 42

The theater was dark and that was a problem. Without the bellhop usher to lead the way, Joel found navigating the recesses of the Phoenician more difficult this time than the last. The hired help had apparently taken a potty break. But he managed to locate his date with two colas in hand.

"Here you go," he said, giving up a bottle as he found his seat.

For the next three minutes he sat in the chair, looked up at the screen, and let his mind wander. He could not help but think of the last time he had visited the theater – with another woman, under different circumstances. It had not been that long ago, but it seemed like an eternity. He felt awkward sitting next to this girl but strangely at peace.

"Thanks for coming," Grace said.

Joel smiled.

"You wrote 'urgent' on the note you left at Carter's. I respond to emergencies."

Joel had not known what to expect when he entered the Phoenician on Sunday, July 20, only hours after escorting Linda McEwan into the same theater. Grace had not provided any clues. She had simply asked him to meet her in the back row of the balcony during the first show of the double feature.

"Thanks, anyway."

Joel glanced at his "date" and did not know whether to laugh or give her a hug. She was at once pathetic and adorable. Sitting prim and proper in a yellow dress she had no doubt worn to church, Grace stared at the screen through white plastic sunglasses.

"You can probably remove those now."

She lowered her head, took off the glasses, and looked at Joel for the first time.

"I should glue them to my face. I've disappointed so many."

"By many, do you mean you, yourself, and you?"

"Yes."

"You haven't disappointed me."

Joel put his arm around Grace and moved her way, partly to get comfortable for a potentially long sit and partly to provide the reassurance she appeared to need. He relaxed and returned his attention to the first of two movies he had seen the night before.

"Do you know what you've gotten yourself into?"

"A terrible mess, that's what."

Joel laughed.

"No. I mean the movies today."

"Are they bad? I hope so. Then I can watch them as penance."

"They're not bad. But their titles are choice. I assume you read the marquee."

Grace blushed and held back a smile.

"I did."

In the first half of the matinee, actress Deanna Durbin starred in
Nice Girl?
In the second, Ronald Reagan and Lionel Barrymore supported Wallace Beery in
The Bad Man
. If God was sending a message, it wasn't subtle.

Grace and Joel mostly ignored the movies and discussed places they wanted to see and things they wanted to do. Grace talked about Switzerland, skiing, mountains, and snow. Before coming to Seattle, she had seen mostly jungles, savannas, and subtropical plains. Joel talked about Hawaii, the answer to every question. But for three hours the two remained fixed to their seats, as if the Phoenician were the most appealing place on the planet.

Joel laughed to himself at the thought. For all practical purposes, it
was
the most appealing place. At this stage of their relationship, they didn't need ski slopes or beaches but rather time alone. Privacy was paradise, and few venues on a campus of ten thousand students offered more privacy than the balcony of a movie theater on a Sunday in July.

* * * * *

When the credits of the second film rolled up the screen, Joel and Grace spilled out of the theater and onto the Ave. More than a hundred people gathered under or near the massive marquee, but none were friends or acquaintances. For the first time in two weeks, the Clandestine Hand Holding Club of King County caught a break. The pair took a circuitous route to Klickitat Avenue, making the most of an hour before dinner and warm, sunny weather. The streets were bare, quiet, and inviting.

"I'm sorry for running away from you the other day. Everything happened so fast and I just wasn't ready to deal with it. I'm still not sure I am. I'm very conflicted."

Joel put his hand around her waist and pulled her close but remained silent. He did not know what to say. He knew only that he could not stand to be away from her and did not want to lose the momentum from the past week. Unlike Tuesday's walk, Sunday's stroll was peaceful, relaxed, and subdued. Joel asked about Paul and got some answers. Grace asked about Linda and got many more.