The Guardian

  "And what about Richard?"

  "What about him?"

  "You've been spending a lot of time with him lately."

  She leaned back on her stool, as if trying to bring him into better focus.

  "Why, if I didn't know better, I'd say you sound jealous about that," she teased.

  Mike took a drink of his beer, ignoring her comment.

  "Don't be jealous. We went out on a few dates and had a few laughs. So what? It's no big deal. It's not like I'm planning on marrying the guy."

  "You're not?"

  Julie snorted. "You're kidding, right?" She paused, but Mike's expression made her answer her own question. "You're not kidding, are you," she said. "What-did you think I was in love with him?"

  "I had no idea."

  "Oh," she said. "Well, I'm not. I'm not even sure I'd go out with him again. And it's not because of what you just told me, either. Last weekend was great, it was fun, but it just wasn't there, you know? And then Monday, he just seemed a little off somehow, and I decided it wasn't worth it."

  "Really?"

  She smiled. "Really."

  "Wow." It was all Mike could think to say.

  "Yeah, wow."

  Tizzy walked past and turned the channel on the television to ESPN before checking to see if they wanted another drink. Both Julie and Mike shook their heads.

  "So what's next, then?" Mike asked. "Gonna see good old Bob again?"

  "I hope I don't have to."

  Mike nodded. In the dinginess of the surroundings Julie was luminescent, and he felt his throat go dry. He took another drink of his beer.

  "Well, maybe someone else will come along," he offered.

  "Maybe." Julie rested her chin in her hand, holding his gaze.

  "It won't take long. I'm sure there are a dozen guys just waiting for their chance to ask you out."

  "I only need one." She smiled broadly.

  "He's out there," Mike declared. "I wouldn't worry about it."

  "I'm not worried. I think I've got a pretty good handle now on what I'm looking for in a guy. Now that I've been out a few times, things are a little clearer. I want to find a good guy. A nice guy."

  "Well, you deserve one, that's for sure."

  Mike, Julie couldn't help but think, was sometimes as dense as marbles. She tried another tack.

  "So what about you? You ever going to find someone special?"

  "Who knows."

  "You will. If you look, that is. Sometimes they're right under your nose."

  Mike tugged at the front of his shirt. He hadn't realized how hot it was, but he felt as if he might start sweating if he didn't get out of here in a few minutes. "I hope you're right," he said.

  Again they were silent.

  "So," she said, willing him to say something.

  "So," he said, glancing around the room.

  Julie finally exhaled. I guess this is going to be up to me, she thought. If I wait for this Casanova, I'll be so old that he'll have to escort me in my walker.

  "So what are you doing tomorrow night?" she asked.

  "I haven't thought about it."

  "I was thinking we might go out."

  "Go out?"

  "Yeah. There's a place on the island that's really nice. It's right on the beach, and I hear the food's pretty good."

  "Should I find out if Henry and Emma want to come?"

  She brought her finger to her chin. "Mmm . . . how about if it's just the two of us."

  "You and me?" He could feel his heart thumping beneath his ribs.

  "Sure. Why not? Unless you don't want to, of course."

  "No, I want to," he said a little too quickly, then immediately regretted it. Taking a deep breath, he forced himself to calm down. Be cool, he thought. He gave her his James Dean look. "I mean, I think I'll be able to work that out."

  Julie stifled a laugh.

  "Gee," she said, "I appreciate that."

  "So you asked her out, huh?" Henry said.

  Mike was leaning like a cowboy in an old western, one knee bent, his foot pressed against the wall, head angled downward. He was studying his fingernails, as if the whole thing were no big deal.

  "It was time." Mike gave an elaborate shrug.

  "Well . . . good. And you're sure it's a date?"

  Mike raised his eyes as if Henry's question tried his patience. "Oh yeah. It's definitely a date."

  "So how did you do it? I mean, did it just come up?"

  "I just worked into it. Slow-like. I just let the conversation go that way, and when the time was right, it happened."

  "Just like that, huh?"

  "Just like that."

  "Mmm," Henry said. He knew Mike was lying somehow, but he couldn't quite put his finger on it. It did, after all, sound as if they were going out on a date.

  "So what did she say about Richard?"

  Mike brushed his fingernails against his shirt and examined them. "I think that's pretty much over now."

  "Did she say that?"

  "Oh, yeah."

  "Huh," Henry said. He was drawing a temporary blank as to what to say next. Couldn't tease him, couldn't offer advice, couldn't do anything without first figuring out why the whole sequence of events sounded a little fishy.

  "Well, I guess all I can say is that I'm proud of you. It's about time that you two got the ball rolling."

  "Thanks, Henry."

  "No problem." He motioned over his shoulder. "Listen-I've got a little work left in the office, and I want to get home at a decent hour, so let me get back to it."

  "You got it." Feeling just about as good as he'd ever felt in his life, Mike lowered his foot to the floor and headed back to the garage a moment later. Henry watched him go, then walked into his office, closing his door behind him. He picked up the telephone, dialed, and a moment later heard Emma's voice on the other end.

  "You're never gonna believe what I just heard," he said.

  "What?"

  Henry filled her in.

  "Well, it's about time," she crowed.

  "I know. I said the same thing. But listen-do you think you could get Julie's side of the story?"

  "I thought you said Mike told you all about it."

  "He did. But he's leaving something out."

  Emma paused. "You're not planning anything, are you? To sabotage this?"

  "No, not at all. I just want to know how it really happened."

  "Why? So you can tease him?"

  "Of course not."

  "Henry . . ."

  "C'mon, sweetie. You know me. I wouldn't do anything like that. I just want to know where Julie's coming from, you know? Mike's taking this pretty seriously, and I don't want him to get hurt."

  Emma was quiet, and he knew she was wondering whether or not to believe him.

  "Well, I haven't had lunch with her in a while."

  Henry nodded, thinking, That's my girl.

  Julie unlocked the front door, carrying a bag of groceries and the mail, and staggered in the direction of the kitchen. Out of practically everything, she'd stopped at the store in hopes of picking up something healthy, but she'd grabbed a single serving of microwave lasagna instead.

  Singer hadn't followed her in; he'd hopped out of the Jeep after it had stopped and taken off through the wooded lots that stretched to the Intracoastal Waterway. He wouldn't be back for a few minutes.

  Julie popped the lasagna in the oven, changed into shorts and a T-shirt in her bedroom, then headed back to the kitchen. She thumbed through the mail-bills, assorted coupon mailers, a couple of mail-order catalogs-then set the whole stack off to the side. She wasn't in the mood to deal with those things right now.

  She was going out with Mike, she thought. Mike.

  She whispered his name aloud, checking to see if it sounded as unbelievable as it felt right now.

  Yep.

  As she was thinking, her eyes flashed to the answering machine and she noticed the blinking light. She hit play and Emma's voice came on, asking if she'd like to
go to lunch on Friday. "If you can't make it, give me a call. Otherwise, let's meet at the deli, okay?"

  Sounds good to me, Julie thought. A moment later, the machine beeped and she heard Richard's voice come through. He sounded tired, as if he'd been swinging hammers all day.

  "Hey, Julie. Just calling to check in, but I guess you're not around, huh? I'll be out most of the evening, but I'll be home tomorrow." He paused, and she could hear him take a long breath. "You can't believe how much I miss you right now."

  Julie heard the click as he hung up the phone. On the windowsill, she saw a finch hop twice before flying away.

  Oh, boy, she suddenly thought, why do I get the feeling he's not going to take this very well?

  Sixteen

  Mike swung by Julie's the following evening a little before seven, dressed in Dockers and a white linen shirt. After turning off the truck engine, he slipped his keys into his pocket, grabbed the box of chocolates, and started up the walk, rehearsing what he was going to say. Even though she wanted him to be himself, he couldn't shake the desire to impress her, to dazzle her, really, starting with his opening line. After hours of contemplation, he'd decided on "What a great idea to go to the beach. It's beautiful tonight," not only because it sounded natural, but because it wouldn't sound as if he were coming on too strong. This was his chance, maybe his only chance, and he didn't want to go down in flames.

  Julie stepped outside just as Mike was approaching the door and said something friendly, probably a greeting of some sort, but her voice, coupled with the staggering realization that the date was actually happening!, ruined his train of thought, and he forgot what he'd intended to say. In fact, he pretty much forgot about everything.

  There were pretty women everywhere, he thought as he looked at her. There were women who made men turn their heads even if they had a date on their arm, there were women who could get off with a warning when a trooper pulled them over for speeding simply by batting their eyelashes.

  And then there was Julie.

  Most people would consider her attractive. There were flaws, of course-a nose that upturned slightly, a few too many freckles, hair that more often than not seemed to do as it pleased. But as Mike watched her start down the steps, her sundress billowing slightly in the spring breeze, he knew he'd never seen anyone more beautiful.

  "Mike?" Julie said.

  Okay, he thought, this is my chance. Don't blow it. I know exactly what to say. Just stay calm and let the words flow naturally.

  "Mike?" Julie said again.

  Her voice brought him back. Everything except the opening line.

  "Are you okay?" she asked. "You look a little pale."

  Mike's mouth opened for a moment, then closed when he realized he didn't remember what he'd intended to say. Don't panic, he thought, beginning to panic. Whatever you do, don't panic! He decided to just trust himself and took a deep breath.

  "I brought chocolate," he finally said, holding out the box.

  Julie looked at him. "I see that. Thank you."

  "I brought chocolate"? That's all I could come up with?

  "Hello?" Julie sang. "Anyone there?"

  The opening line . . . the opening line . . . Mike concentrated and felt the line beginning to take form in bits and pieces. Julie, however, was waiting for him to say something, anything.

  "You're beautiful at the beach tonight," he finally blurted out.

  Julie studied him a moment, then smiled. "Thank you. But we're not there yet."

  Mike shoved his hands into his pockets. Idiot!

  "I'm sorry," he said, not knowing what else to do.

  "About what?"

  "Not knowing what to say."

  "What are you talking about?"

  Her expression was a curious blend of confusion and patience, and it was that, above all, that finally enabled Mike to figure out the right thing to say.

  "Nothing," he said. "I guess I'm just glad to be here."

  Julie sensed the sincerity of his words.

  "So am I," she said.

  Mike recovered slightly with that. He smiled but looked off into the distance, as if beginning a protracted, scholarly study of the neighborhood. He said nothing right away, unsure where to go from here.

  "Well, you ready to go?" he asked at last.

  "Whenever you are."

  As he turned and started toward the truck, Mike heard Singer bark from inside the house, and he looked over his shoulder.

  "Singer's not coming?"

  "I wasn't sure you'd want him along."

  Mike stopped. Singer, he thought, might ease his nerves by reducing expectations on both their parts. Kind of like a chaperon. "He can come if you want. We'll be at the beach, and he'd love it."

  When she looked toward the house, Singer barked again. His face was in the window. She wanted him to come since he went practically everywhere with her, but then again, it was supposed to be a date. With Richard-or any of the other men she'd dated, for that matter-she'd hadn't even considered it.

  "You sure you wouldn't mind?"

  "Not at all."

  She smiled. "Give me just a second to go open the door, okay?"

  A couple of minutes later, as they were driving over the bridge that led to Bogue Banks, Singer barked again. He was in the bed of the pickup, his lips and tongue flapping in the wind, looking as pleased as a dog could look.

  Singer curled up in the warmth of the sand in front of the restaurant as Julie and Mike took their seats at a small table on the second-floor patio. Low-slung clouds were thinning out in the slowly darkening sky. The ocean breeze, always stronger on the island, made the flaps of the table umbrella move in steady rhythm, and Julie tucked her hair behind her ears to keep the strands from blowing into her face. The beach itself was largely empty-the crowds didn't start until after Memorial Day-and the waves rolled over the smooth swells of sand near the water's edge.

  The restaurant itself was casual and pleasant, and because of its location right on the beach, most of the other tables were occupied. When the waiter came by, Julie ordered a glass of wine; Mike opted for a bottle of beer.

  During the short ride over, they'd talked a little about what they'd done earlier that day; as usual, they touched on Mabel and Andrea, Henry and Emma. While they chatted, Mike tried to gather himself. He couldn't get over the fact that he'd mangled a full day's worth of planning when he'd botched the opening line, but somehow it had worked out anyway. He wanted to attribute it to his natural charm, but deep down he knew that Julie hadn't noticed simply because she didn't find it out of the ordinary. There was something disheartening about that, but on the plus side, at least she hadn't teased him about it.

  During their first few minutes at the restaurant, Mike found it difficult to concentrate. After all, he'd thought of this moment pretty much every single day for the last couple of years. And he kept returning to the thought that-if he played this right-there was a chance he might kiss Julie later. When she lifted the wineglass and took a sip, puckering her lips as she did so, Mike knew it was one of the most sensual things he'd ever seen.

  Through their drinks, he kept up a stream of conversation and even made her laugh a couple of times, but by the time dinner came, his nerves were so jangled that he couldn't remember much of anything that was said.

  Get a hold of yourself, he thought.

  Mike was not being himself.

  Julie wasn't surprised. She knew it would take a while for him to loosen up. Still, she hoped it would happen a little sooner rather than later. She wasn't completely comfortable, either, and he wasn't exactly making it easy on her. The way his eyes kept boggling every time she touched her glass made her want to ask if he'd ever seen anyone drink wine before. The first time it happened, she thought he was trying to warn her that she was on the verge of swallowing a bug that had landed in her drink.

  Tonight was different from the night he'd come over to fix her faucet, but she hadn't anticipated how awkward it might feel when she'd asked him ou
t at Tizzy's yesterday. After all, Mike was not only a potential part of her future, he was a fixture in her past as well. And, of course, Jim's.

  She'd thought about Jim more than once as they were eating and found herself comparing the two. What surprised her was that Mike, even while making this harder than it should be, was holding up fairly well. Mike would never be like Jim, but there was something about the way she felt when she was with him that reminded her of the good times in her marriage. And she felt sure, as she had with Jim, that not only did Mike love her now, but there would never come a day when he wouldn't. There was only a brief moment during dinner when the feeling of betrayal forced its way to the forefront of her thoughts, leaving her with the impression that Jim was somehow watching over them, but it passed as quickly as it came. And for the first time, in its wake, she was left with a warm sensation, one that reassured her that Jim wouldn't be upset at all.

  By the time they finished their dinner, the moon had risen, leaving a fan of white over the darkened water.

  "Would you like to take a walk?" Mike suggested.

  "That sounds great," she said, putting her glass on the table.

  Mike stood. Julie straightened her dress, then adjusted the strap that had fallen over her shoulder. Moving to the railing, Mike squeezed past her, and through the smell of salt and brine came the odor of his cologne, reminding her how much had suddenly changed. Mike leaned over, looking for Singer, his face passing through a shadow, but when he turned his head, the moonlight seemed to catch and hold the rough texture of his skin, giving him the appearance of someone she barely knew. His fingers, perched on wrought iron, were stained with grease, and she realized once again how different he was from the man who'd once walked her down the aisle.

  No, she thought, I'm not in love with Mike.

  Julie felt herself begin to smile. Not yet, anyway.

  "You got kind of quiet there toward the end of dinner," Mike said.

  They were walking along the water's edge; they had taken off their shoes, and Mike had rolled up his pants legs to midshin. Singer wandered ahead of them, his nose to the ground, in search of crabs.

  "Just thinking," Julie murmured.

  Mike nodded. "About Jim?"

  She glanced at him. "How did you know?"

  "I've seen that expression lots of times. You'd make a terrible poker player." He tapped the side of his head. "Nothing gets by me, you know."

  "Yeah? So what was I thinking, exactly?"