The Things We Do for Love (12 page)

All that bothered Mary Anne, though, were the hints sometimes dropped that Caroline, rather than Katherine Billingham, had been Jon Clive Drew’s first choice decades earlier.

“Now, if I get my coat, will you sit out here with me?”

“Does that make me complicit in your smoking?” Mary Anne asked.

“I’ll be having this cigarette with or without you.”

“Then, of course I’ll stay outside with you.” Inside Mary Anne a shell was forming, the protective shell that hardened whenever her family assembled. Her family, Cameron excluded. Except that now even Cameron seemed like a problem.

“Here,” Caroline said, setting down the dog. “Hold her lead. I’ll have my ciggie and then take her for walkies.”

A few minutes later, they sat on Nanna’s porch swing, and Mary Anne asked, “Have you seen Nanna?”

“I have,” Caroline said. “She looks awfully good for someone with a heart condition.” Her aunt paused, then demanded, “Now, is there a nice man in your life yet?”

Mary Anne considered. “I’m not sure.” She told Caroline all about Jonathan and then said, “Oh, and I had a date with Graham Corbett.”

“The fellow with the radio show?”

“Yes. Have you heard it? I’m being his guest for a few weeks. I’m supposedly a dating expert.”

“And you’re dating him?”

“We’ve been on one date. Cameron likes him.” She rushed on. “What about you?”

“I’m finding I like living alone, Mary Anne. Well, me and Paris. Truthfully, I haven’t found a man who makes a better companion than a dog does. Is your mother coming?”

“I think they’re both coming.” And God knew what her father would get up to while he was in town.

As though reading her mind, Caroline said, “He’s a handsome devil, Jon Clive is.”

“Yes,” Mary Anne agreed. “I wonder if he was ever different.”

Caroline’s tone turned a little bitter, for her sister’s lot Mary Anne was sure. “No, he never was. Not since I’ve known him.”

But Katherine Billingham had married him. And like her mother before her, she did not believe in divorce.

Mary Anne thought of all the times in her life when her father should have been responsible, could have been someone of whom she could be proud. Instead—humiliating exhibitions of drunkenness, womanizing and public repentance.

Maybe she could arrange to leave the city, or the country, while her parents were in Logan.

Caroline added, “Chicken, if your daddy’s behavior is really eating at you, you might want to talk to a counselor. Helps everyone, you know.”

“I’ve spent more time in therapy than I did in college,” Mary Anne snapped. Then, forcing her tone back into a more civil state, she said, “Have you been in therapy ever?”

“Why, sure, honey. Quite a few times. Now, isn’t your Graham Corbett in that line of work?”

“He can’t be my therapist—we’re on his show together. Anyhow, I know him personally. And he’s not
my
Graham Corbett. As I said, I’m going to Jonathan’s tonight.”

“Yes, well, don’t be in a hurry to jump on that raft. He’s on the rebound,” Caroline warned. “And I hate it that he broke up with his fiancée one minute and is chasing you the next. Anyhow, I wasn’t suggesting Graham Corbett as your counselor,” Caroline answered with a laugh. “I just wanted to know more about him.”

“His life is an open book, just like that of every other well-known person.”

Caroline rolled her eyes at this, then stubbed out her cigarette. “Well, that went by too fast.” The cigarette. “I’ll just put this inside in the trash, and we’ll take Paris for her walkies. And when we come back we’ll have a drink and scare up some dinner.”

“I’m going to Jonathan’s for dinner.”

“That’s right, I forgot.”

Soon Caroline and Mary Anne started down the front steps, and Paris took them at a dainty but enthusiastic pace, stretching to the end of the slender lead.

Caroline started in the direction they usually went to walk her dog when she was visiting. Around the block. Which would entail going past Graham’s house. Mary Anne didn’t mind Caroline knowing where Graham lived. Caroline would never embarrass her. But Mary Anne did feel an instinct to conceal the fact from her parents.

His car came up the street just as they were almost past his house.

Mary Anne flushed with embarrassment. Would he think she’d been keen to show off his house to her aunt? Would he think she was just going past his house because she had a crush on him, or something like that?

Stupid, Mary Anne. Of course not. You’ve been on a date with him.

He parked and got out of the car and immediately waved and crossed the leaf-strewn lawn to them. He crouched briefly to let Paris sniff his hand, then petted her. Standing again, he said, “I’m Graham Corbett,” and held out his hand to Caroline.

“Graham, this is my aunt, Caroline Jackson.” Caroline had taken her first husband’s name and never dropped it.

“I’m glad to meet some of Mary Anne’s family.”

“You’ll be seeing more of us than you want,” Caroline replied with a laugh. “When are your folks getting in, Mary Anne?”

Damn, why had she mentioned it to Graham?

“Tonight,” Mary Anne replied.

“Charleston?” Graham asked.

“Oh, I’m sure their plane’s long since on the ground. They planned to rent a car,” Mary Anne answered in a rush.

“I hope I have a chance to meet them while they’re here,” Graham told her. “How is your grandmother?”

“Looking like she could do a few laps around the block,” Caroline replied for Mary Anne.

“Why don’t you join us for dinner tomorrow, Graham?” Caroline offered. “And you can tell us about your interesting work.”

No! No! No!
Mary Anne wanted to scream. Her parents would be there, exposing their awkward behavior to Graham.

“I’d like that. Shall I bring anything?”

“How about a nice bottle of wine? Let’s plan on chicken—something to go with that.”

“Wonderful,” he answered.

Mary Anne rarely prayed, but she did then.
Let my family not humiliate me in front of this man.

M
ARY
A
NNE’S MOTHER
called to say that the Florida weather had kept their plane on the ground. “We were waiting for hours. Now we’ve decided to drive, but Caroline said Mother is in no immediate danger so we’re not leaving till tomorrow morning. That way, we’ll be fresh.”

“Okay,” Mary Anne agreed, hoping they wouldn’t arrive in Middleburg till after dinner, till Graham was gone.

She apologized earnestly to her aunt for leaving her alone her first night, but Caroline said Cameron had promised to come over, knowing that Mary Anne would be out. “She and I are going to have a girl night!”

“Good,” Mary Anne said, uncertain why the plan should make her uneasy.

She left for Jonathan’s at six-thirty, in the time frame he’d suggested.

Jonathan Hale lived downtown in a brick house similar to Nanna’s. He owned the house, having bought it when he first moved to Logan and took the job as station manager.

Mary Anne smelled coals on the grill as she got out of her car at the curb. It was a warm evening for autumn, and she found Jonathan on the side porch, checking the fire and drinking a beer.

He looked up. “Oh, hi.” He appeared mildly disheveled, in a flannel shirt with the tails hanging out of his jeans and wearing socks without shoes. His hair looked almost slept-on, yet was still appealing.

“Hi,” Mary Anne replied, aware of the contrast in her own appearance. She’d worn jeans, but also had on high platform shoes and a long sweater the color of her eyes, plus large dangling earrings.

Jonathan made no comment whatsoever, but instead just held the side door open for her. “Come on in. Want a beer?”

They sat on his porch drinking from bottles and eating salad while the salmon grilled.

“I feel like I’m freed from execution,” Jonathan said abruptly.

It took a moment for Mary Anne to realize that he was referring to his broken engagement. “Then, it seems like you’ve done the right thing,” she finally answered.

“She’s all wrong for me,” he said.

“How is she doing?” Mary Anne asked. She remembered discussions of flowers and bridesmaids’ dresses and was sure that Angie wasn’t sharing his glee.

He looked sober momentarily. “She’s okay. I talked to her again today. I thought we’d take a break from each other. She says she has no interest in dating me again. So—I guess that’s that.”

Mary Anne detected no regret in his tone.

“Tell me more about you,” he said. “I’ve known you since I came to Logan, yet I still feel as though I don’t really know you.”

“I grew up in Florida.” She ran through her educational and work resumé.

“Could you live in the city again?” he asked, meaning New York.

“Sure.”

“Angie could never imagine living anywhere but here.”

Mary Anne didn’t answer.

The salmon was perfect. When they finished eating, Jonathan suggested going inside to listen to some new music one of the disc jockeys had given him.

But no sooner was she seated on the plaid couch in his
comfortable living room, than he sat beside her, put his arms around her and kissed her soundly on the lips.

Mary Anne was dumbfounded. She didn’t quite want to kiss him back, yet she felt she
should
kiss him back. She moved away, and he grinned at her.

She did allow him to kiss her again and did kiss him back, more accustomed now to the idea. His hands stroked her cheek and her hair, and it seemed romantic yet also…practiced. Expert, almost.

Mary Anne couldn’t account for her own confusion. She’d liked him—thought herself in love with him—for years. And now he was responding to her. Was it that she thought he’d had more than just the two beers he’d drunk since she’d arrived? That could be part of it.

He said, “Want to go upstairs?”

“No,” Mary Anne said abruptly. “Not now. As you said earlier, we barely know each other.”

“But we
do
know each other,” he said. “And, face it, we’ve been eyeing each other for years.”

At least he hadn’t said that
she’d
had her eye on
him
for years, which was closer to the truth.

“You’ve just broken up with Angie,” Mary Anne reminded him. “This is all a little soon for me.”

He seemed to consider her, then nodded slowly. “How about a movie?”

“My aunt is—” But Cameron was with Caroline. “All right.”

He put
Midaq Alley
in the DVD player, and Mary Anne soon found that reading subtitles was hard going while dealing with Jonathan’s nonstop caresses.
This is what I want,
she kept telling herself. Yet the situation seemed a little out of control, and only lessened some
what whenever Salma Hayek came on the screen to distract him.

When she finally left, it was after several more long, tender kisses from Jonathan and his promise, “I’ll call you tomorrow.”

On the way home, she smiled, telling herself that she was finally receiving what she wanted.

B
Y SIX THE FOLLOWING NIGHT
, the hour Mary Anne had insisted on for dinner, her parents had still not arrived. This was what she’d hoped for, why she’d argued against Caroline’s suggested dinnertime of seven.

So, she, Aunt Caroline and Graham sat down together, and Mary Anne hoped her parents wouldn’t arrive until Graham had left. In the meantime, everything was perfect.

“Now, I read all her books!” Caroline exclaimed delightedly when Graham revealed that his mother was the author Evelyn Corbett. “I just love her people—they’re always getting into scrapes, doing all those things people do. My mother, now, she wouldn’t look twice at a book like that.”

“Sex,” Mary Anne said.

“Violence,” Caroline added.

“Reality,” Mary Anne concluded. The evening was going fine. She and Caroline and Graham were sharing chicken and some wonderful zucchini and squash and an excellent merlot. It was fun to have Graham here with Caroline—Caroline who had been raised, as Mary Anne’s mother had, to make other people feel comfortable.

Except that Mary Anne sometimes believed her mother had missed the fundamental point of courtesy. Because her propriety always let people know when
she
was experiencing discomfort, discomfort at the mention of some unpleasant reality. Something like the fact that Mary Anne’s brother, Kevin, and his girlfriend, Kendra, lived together but were not married. Something normal.

“Did Hale get a hold of you?” Graham asked casually. “I stopped by the studio this morning, and he mentioned that he’d been trying to reach you.”

“Yes,” Mary Anne said. Jonathan had wanted to get together again tonight, but she’d said she had plans. He’d said he wanted to make up for lost time with her.

Now,
she told herself again,
I’m getting what I want, what I’ve wanted for years—Jonathan.

As Paris got up from her blanket in the corner of the room, came to the table and sat expectantly in front of Caroline, Graham started talking about a dog he’d had as a child, and Mary Anne let her thoughts wander, only to be interrupted by the sound of footsteps on the porch.

She cringed as the front door opened.
Let it not be awful.

There they were, Mary Anne’s father, tall and rugged-looking, a handsome devil, as Aunt Caroline had said. And her mother, tall, too, but never seeming tall. Seeming to want to be unseen.

Paris hurried to the door, tail wagging, to greet and sniff the newcomers.

Mary Anne’s mother’s hair had been ash-blond and now was liberally threaded with silver. It was very straight and cut short in a sort of Dorothy Hamill style, a wedge shape that had been popular around the time Mary Anne was born. She wore a lavender cardigan and blue slacks, both unobtrusive. She was bending over her plastic tote bag, looking for something and fussing.