We Interrupt This Date (7 page)

She screamed so loud, I had to yank the phone
away from my ear to avoid permanent hearing loss. “You weren’t
kidding when you said you needed the job. But this is one of those
cases where a bad thing works out for the best; you’ll see when the
business starts making money.”

“Sure.” I forced enthusiasm into my voice.
She almost sounded like Patty except she didn’t mention that the
Universe had a hand in plotting my future. “But I can’t be your
partner. I wouldn’t feel right about you taking all the risk and
giving me so much. Why don’t you just hire me as your ghost tour
manager?”

“Susan.” Exasperated sigh on the other end of
the line. “Okay, if that’s what you want.” She mentioned a salary
amount. “Is that enough for you to manage on?”

I gulped. “A lot more than I’m making here.
Thanks, Veronica.”

“After the business gets off the ground and you get
your first raise, we can set up a way for you to buy in. Meanwhile,
you know I had to hire a new contractor, so the renovations on the
Blackthorn House are behind schedule and it will be at least three
weeks. But there will be plenty for you to do getting things ready,
helping me with the advertising, all those millions of little
business details. And buying the furniture. I’ll send over a packet
so you can start working on it right away. You have the time,
right? Oh, God, I’m so excited.”

“I definitely have evenings and weekends
free.” And soon enough I’d have all day with nothing to do except
work for Veronica.

The timetable was fine. I had a week left
here training Brenda. My spirits lifted as I did a mental spin job
on the ghost hunting business. Besides the job, I had yoga
class—and seeing Steve--to look forward to this evening. Sure, I’d
be fine, the ghost hunting business would be fine, my whole life
would be fine. It had to be. It was the only life I had.

Odell insisted I make up the time I’d missed
because of coming in late. After the assigned fifteen minutes at my
desk ticked by, I had to race to get to yoga. I slid my van into
the last parking place on the street and scurried inside. I barely
had time to say hello to Steve as I flew past and flopped down on
my mat between Margaret--a sixtyish woman in a pumpkin colored
leotard--and the wall.

Ever since I’d given Veronica a commitment
this afternoon, my mind had hung like a bulldog onto thoughts of my
prospective new career. I tried to think of myself not as an office
clerk, but as a businesswoman, giving myself a mental makeover,
figuring it was something like method acting. I even wondered
briefly if I’d someday be featured on one of those paranormal
shows, interviewed as an expert in the field of ghosts and
hauntings. I quickly discarded the idea. Even if I came around to
believing in such things, leading tourists through Charleston’s
graveyards and the Blackthorn House wouldn’t qualify me as an
expert. Besides, I was sure I didn’t want to become nationally
famous for chasing wisps of fog.

“Susan? Did you understand my explanation of
how to do the sun pose while breathing in and out to my count?”

I squinted ceilingward to see Nancy, the
instructor, hovering over me. Her usual serene expression had gone
furrow-browed over my failure to move from lotus position to sun
pose with the rest of the students. I tried to look confused, not
wanting her to know I’d zoned out in the middle of her count. Nancy
said we were supposed to aim for serene and composed, but so far I
hadn’t mastered that and suspected I was closer to mildly
depressed.

“
I’m not sure. I mean, the breathing is
still not there for me.”

“Don’t worry over getting it right the first
few times. The important thing is that you’re trying.” Nancy’s brow
was still creased, leading me to feel faintly guilty that I hadn’t
kept up with the rest of the class. She leaned over and pulled me
up from a sitting position. As if she’d dealt with untalented
students a thousand times, she efficiently posed my reluctant
limbs.

I stifled a groan, held my arms aloft the way
she’d placed them, and tried to follow her count. I relaxed my
mind, letting my troubles go as I concentrated on maintaining my
balance while watching a spot on the wall that might have been a
smashed spider. I surprised myself when I actually got into it a
few minutes later, my breath going from unsteady and irregular to
even and centered.

For the rest of the hour I moved with liquid
ease from pose to pose as soothing music, something tuneless
involving chimes and wooden flutes, floated out of Nancy’s CD
player. I could almost feel the endorphins flooding my brain.

Almost before I realized the minutes had
slipped away, Nancy rang the little bell that signaled our time was
up. I wiped my face on my towel, rolled up my mat, and scooted out
of the way of a herd of soccer moms who‘d enrolled en masse for the
class after mine.

When I came out of the women’s changing room,
Steve stood near the door, leaning against the wall. I’d thought
about asking Veronica if I should be more aggressive in letting him
know I liked him. But even if I hadn’t been married for years and
so lacked real practice—I didn’t count the blind date as real--it
was not my nature to play the games Veronica played with men. I was
not exactly an expert in flirting or in casual banter between the
sexes and never had been.

So I did nothing except return Steve’s smile
and casually head outside. I noticed he stayed where he was until
the rest of our group cleared the building. But tonight when the
class headed toward Starbucks, Steve ended up a few feet to my
right, thanks to the fact that I slowed my pace until he caught
up.

I heard him say, “I’ve found a new place you
might like. The coffee’s terrific, it’s quiet, has a lot of
atmosphere if you don’t mind checkered tablecloths and signed
pictures of celebrities from eighty years ago plastered all over
the walls. Interested?”

I didn’t care that much about the tablecloths
or the celebrities, or even the coffee, but time with Steve away
from the chatter of the rest of the group sounded great. I opened
my mouth to say so, but then nothing came out except an
inarticulate vowlish sort of noise—which turned out to be a good
thing as I heard another voice, a sultry contralto, say, “Great,
let’s go.”

I glanced sideways and felt my cheeks flame.
Steve hadn’t been talking to me, but to the woman on his right—a
big-chested blonde who’d joined the class last week while I’d been
busy helping Mama wrestle her broken refrigerator into
submission.

They both looked at me, no doubt wondering
why I’d made such an odd sound. For a few seconds I felt like an
insect pinned on a display board. Then Margaret meandered up on my
left. I clutched at her arm. “There you are, Margaret. I’d love to
talk with you about that afghan you’re crocheting.”

She blinked at me in confusion. Steve and the
blonde headed in another direction. So much for my hopes of getting
to know him better. Why had I agreed to help Mama last week instead
of going to class? She’d have been fine for a few days.

Margaret squiggled her face up until she
looked like an ape wondering why it was in the zoo. “I’m not making
an afghan. What did you mean, honey?”

“Margaret, ah, you remind me of my mother and
I just wondered if you’d like to go somewhere besides Starbucks so
we can have a friendly conversation without the whole group
chattering away and interrupting.”

“How sweet of you, but I’m going straight
home tonight. My husband’s kidneys have been acting up and I need
to make sure he takes his pills. Clyde wouldn’t remember to eat if
I wasn’t there to put food in front of him. But there’s a nice
place just around the corner.” She pointed. “It’s that way if you
just want to be alone.”

“Sure. Thanks, maybe some other time,” I
called as Margaret shuffled away.

It might not be a bad idea to be alone.
Solitude was exactly what I needed right now. A huge jolt of coffee
wouldn’t hurt either, though it would do bad things to the serenity
I’d found in class. I walked in the direction Margaret had
indicated, turned right, and found myself standing in front of a
mom and pop diner that could have served as a set for any movie
from the forties. A handwritten sign on the door advertised
homemade pecan pie.

Though I’d lived in the Charleston area all
my life, I’d never been to this place, tucked away on a side street
that was almost an alley. I opened the door and went inside. The
black and white tile floor was scuffed and worn, but freshly
mopped. There were only four tables, none of them occupied, and a
long lunch counter hosting a couple of old men sitting next to each
other. They were arguing over their choices for our next president,
and I suspected they ate here often. Probably had for years.

I seated myself at the last table in the
back. The waitress, a perky teenager with dark brown hair pulled
back in a ponytail, bounced over and handed me a menu. Her nametag
said she was Emmie.

I left the menu in front of me on the table.
“Coffee, please. Strong.” My bruised feelings were already healing.
It wasn’t as if Steve and I had been an item. He was a nice person,
a guy I’d developed an interest in simply because I’d sort of
decided I was ready to start dating. Then he’d found someone who
interested him more than I did. End of possibilities.

At my age, maybe the whole event was a wake
up call. I mean, a few nights ago I was so lonely I was actually
daydreaming about making love with Steve—well, not necessarily
Steve. A boyfriend, anyway. But I’d failed blind dating and I’d
failed going from crush to dating. Maybe I was fated to spend the
rest of my life alone like Mama. I could accept that, but if I
developed a desire to adopt a couple of unruly Chihuahuas, I wanted
someone to slap me hard.

A few minutes ago I’d felt like hiding in
shame. Now I actually smiled at the empty chair in front of me, as
if I had an imaginary friend. Hey, if I were serious about coming
out of my year-long slump, I’d have to expect a few setbacks. We
late-bloomers didn’t always get it right on the first try.

The door swung open, I glanced up, and locked
my eyes on the figure who’d just walked in. For a few seconds I
forgot to breathe. Accepting a few setbacks wasn’t the same as
preparing myself to see Jack Maxwell, long lost buddy from the
past, suddenly appear in front of me.

He looked in my direction and then a goofy
grin spread across his face. He strode across the room to stand
staring down at me.

Jack had aged well. He’d always been
handsome, but with maturity his cheekbones were more pronounced and
fine lines around his cobalt blue eyes gave him character. His
black hair, worn shorter than when I’d seen him last, was as thick
as ever, with a couple of strands of gray showing at the
temples.

“Nic. Thought you’d moved to Texas. Okay if I
sit here?” Without waiting for my answer, he pulled out the chair
across from me and plunked himself down.

My middle name is Nicole and the day he found
out, I became Nic as far as Jack was concerned.

I couldn’t stop smiling. I felt a familiar
comfort in his presence as if it were a week ago that we’d last
seen each other instead of nearly twenty years.

“Since when did you have to ask to sit at my
table?” We’d eaten lunch together at school about a million
times.

“Thought this might be your husband’s
chair.”

“It isn’t.” At the thought of my ex, I
clamped my jaw tight and fiddled with the napkin holder, squeezing
the metal and pretending it was T. Chandler’s jowly neck. “What in
the world made you think I moved to Texas?”

Emmie appeared with my coffee, and Jack
ordered a cup for himself after she finished trying to upsell us on
pecan pie. He waited until she went back to the kitchen and said,
“I tried calling you once, five or six years ago.”

“And? You forget how to use a phone?”

“Your husband answered. He said he took a job
in San Antonio and you were out there getting your house ready. I
asked for your new address and he was pretty vague, said you’d
contact me after you got settled.”

“What?” I dropped my spoon and it landed in
my lap. I’d known T. Chandler was jealous of my family and friends,
but telling such a lie was really out of line. I might have to
rethink my plans to forgive him. “That’s not true. We never moved
out of Mount Pleasant.”

“Doesn’t matter.” Jack shrugged. “Wasn’t
anything important, just wanted to say hello.”

“I wished you’d called Mama instead of that
rat, T. Chandler. And you can stop calling him my husband. We
divorced last year.”

“Yeah? Sorry. I guess.” He took his coffee
mug from Emmie when she silently reappeared at our table. “Aren’t
you wondering why I’m back in Charleston?”

“Why are you back in Charleston, Jack?”

“My firm bought up a big contracting outfit
here. Lenley Building. It used to be owned by Myron Lenley. You
must know him, local family.”

“If you mean Myron Lenley--the third--he was
in school with us until his family shipped him off to Camden
Military Academy for an attitude adjustment.” I didn’t add that
Mama had once forced me to go to a dance with him.

“That’s him. Anyway, Lenley inherited the
firm and sold out to the outfit I’m with. I was offered the job of
running the place and figured, why not? Better pay, and living in
Charleston sure beats living in New Jersey as far as I’m concerned.
I’m still a southerner at heart, always have been. So I moved back
about a month ago.”

“Welcome back.” I sipped at my coffee. It was
dark and hot and the rich scent that had wafted toward me ever
since the cup landed on the table didn’t disappoint. “But what
about...” I paused, dug deep into my memory banks, and finished my
question. “Darlene? I thought she hated the South.”