She had caught a cold afterwards. Perhaps it had been a sign. No matter. That was past. Her emotions refused to connect with her memory, and she felt no anxiety or remorse.
Now Lauren knew what she wanted and what she needed: someone who would not only draw from her spirit but would also give back to her and replenish her emotionally, spiritually, mentally, and even physically. Someone who would kiss her fingers. Did such a man exist?
Closing her eyes and giving in to the sandbags weighing down her eyelids, Lauren snapped off the light and drifted into sweet slumber.
She didn’t attempt her paper again until Saturday morning and was dearly hoping she wouldn’t have to start from the beginning and reconstruct her whole paper. Fixing herself a glass of iced tea, Lauren turned on the computer and connected with the on-line service to see if she had any mail. Two letters awaited her, one from Brad and one from KC. She read Brad’s first:
WREN,
ONE QUESTION: DID YOU SAVE AS YOU WERE GOING? IF YOU DID, CALL ME. WE MIGHT BE ABLE TO RESURRECT IT. OTHERWISE, EVEN A POWER SURGE CAN BLIP YOUR UNSAVED PIECES FROM HERE TO KINGDOM COME. HEY, SOUNDS LIKE A GOOD SPIRITUAL ANALOGY CAN BE DRAWN FROM THIS—BEING SAVED AND THEN RESURRECTED. DID I TELL YOU I STARTED TO TEACH A SUNDAY SCHOOL CLASS OF BARBARIAN SEVENTH-GRADE BOYS? I NEVER BELCHED IN PUBLIC WHEN I WAS THIRTEEN, DID I?
RAD
After muttering to herself about how she should have known better and should have saved the paper as she was working on it, Lauren punched in a response to Brad:
RAD,
I DIDN’T SAVE IT AS I WAS WORKING ON IT. I KNOW, I KNOW. AND THE ANSWER TO YOUR BELCHING QUESTION IS, OH YES, YOU DID. MUST GO. I HAVE A HUGE PAPER TO WRITE.
LOVE, WREN.
She sent the letter and was about to sign off when she remembered the letter from KC. To her surprise, her heart began to pound a little faster as she read his words:
WREN,
BY NOW YOU’VE CERTAINLY REALIZED YOU SENT ME THE WRONG LETTER. IT WAS NICE TO HEAR FROM YOU ANYWAY. DID YOU SOLVE YOUR COMPUTER PROBLEM? BY ANY CHANCE WERE YOU REFERRING TO ROBERT BROWNING? I DID A PAPER ON HIM IN COLLEGE. ONLY GOT A B+, BUT I DID LOTS OF RESEARCH ON THE GUY. I EVEN HAVE SEVERAL BOOKS ON HIM STORED IN A BOX SOMEWHERE. IF I CAN BE OF ANY ASSISTANCE, PLEASE HOLLER. DID YOU KNOW THAT ROBERT TAUGHT HIMSELF THE BASICS OF HOMEOPATHIC MEDICINE? HE GAVE UP TEA, COFFEE, AND WINE AND TOOK A TINY DOSE OF STRYCHNINE EVERY DAY. I WOULDN’T HAVE A PROBLEM GIVING UP COFFEE OR WINE, BUT FORGET THE STRYCHNINE. I DO LOVE TEA. IRISH BREAKFAST. WITH CREAM AND SUGAR. ADDICTING. HOPE ALL GOES WELL WITH YOUR PAPER. IS IT FOR A CLASS?”
PEACE, KC
If she had thought about it, Lauren probably never would have responded to this stranger’s note. As it was, she started to write a long letter back, opening herself up to KC. She was thrilled to know another person who had “met” one of her Victorian friends. Her fingers flew over the keyboard as she composed line after line, telling KC all about her class on Victorian literature and her favorite facts about Robert and Elizabeth. With a tap on the “send” button, her letter was mailed. Then she went to work on her paper, the words coming effortlessly.
Lauren received an A on the paper and an A in the class, which so excited her that she e-mailed KC to tell him, even though he hadn’t yet responded to her long letter earlier that week.
She didn’t hear from him at all until Labor Day weekend. His words were worth the wait:
WREN,
GOOD FOR YOU! WHAT NEXT? RENAISSANCE LITERATURE? I’M ASSUMING YOU’RE AN ENGLISH LIT MAJOR. I MAJORED IN JOURNALISM, SO I ONLY GOT IN ON A FEW OF THOSE ENLIGHTENING CLASSES LIKE VICTORIAN LITERATURE. I HAVE AN INTERESTING ASSIGNMENT COMING UP IN A FEW DAYS. I’M GOING TO EGYPT. IT’LL BE GOOD TO GET OUT OF THIS ROOM CLUTTERED WITH PAPER AND TAKE IN SOME FRESH AIR. I HAVEN’T BEEN ANYWHERE SINCE MY BROTHER’S WEDDING IN JUNE. I’VE NEVER BEEN TO EGYPT. HAVE YOU? OH, BY THE WAY, I FOUND ONE OF MY BROWNING BOOKS. THIS ONE IS ALL ABOUT THE HOUSE THEY LIVED IN IN FLORENCE: CASA GUIDI. THEY WERE THERE FOR FOURTEEN YEARS. DID YOU KNOW THAT ROBERT REGULARLY STALKED THE FLEA MARKETS FOR FURNITURE AND ENDED UP WITH SOME VALUABLE PIECES FOR ONLY A FEW POUNDS? MY KIND OF GUY.
CONGRATS AGAIN ON THE A. KEEP UP THE GOOD WORK.
PEACE, KC
Surprised at the way her heart was swelling, Lauren realized KC’s praise meant more to her than the encouragement she received from Mindy and Brad put together. Here was someone who shared her interest on a much deeper level. Someone who “knew” her Victorian friends and yet remained mysterious. Someone who liked to find bargains at flea markets and was going to Egypt.
Lauren leaned back in her desk chair and read the letter again as it scrolled down the computer screen. KC said he hadn’t been anywhere since his brother’s wedding in June. She and Jeff had broken up in June. Even though she hadn’t left Nashville since then, she felt as if she had been places. Through her summer reading, she had been to Italy with Elizabeth and back to England with Robert after Elizabeth’s death. Lauren had grown this summer. Not just because of the class, but because of the new independence the breakup of her engagement had forced on her.
She started to write a letter back to KC:
KC,
THANKS FOR THE ENCOURAGEMENT. I’M GLAD TO KNOW THE NAME OF THE BROWNING’S HOME IN FLORENCE. IF I EVER GO TO ITALY, THAT’S THE FIRST PLACE I’LL VISIT. HAVE YOU BEEN TO ITALY?
YOUR JOB SOUNDS INTERESTING. EGYPT—HOW EXOTIC! I HOPE ALL GOES WELL FOR YOU.
AS YOU GUESSED, YES, I’M AN ENGLISH LIT MAJOR. I HAVE ONE MORE CLASS THIS FALL AND THEN PLAN TO FINISH UP MY TEACHING CREDENTIAL—NOT THAT I KNOW WHAT I’LL DO WITH IT. BY THE WAY, I’M A BARGAIN HUNTER, TOO.
Lauren paused and thought back on her summer. Nearly every weekend she had gone “treasure hunting” to garage sales and flea markets. Some weeks she would find only a lace doily or a cheese grater, and her total purchases after an hour of poking around would add up to a quarter. One week she had found an antique dresser with a beveled mirror. The mirror was cracked, and two of the knobs were missing on the drawers. Within two weeks she had a fabulously restored antique dresser in her room, replacing the old pine chest of drawers.
She decided to share a bit of her bargain hunting with KC:
MY BEST BUY OF THE SUMMER WAS AN ANTIQUE OAK DRESSER. IT’S LOOKING MUCH HAPPIER NOW THAN IT WAS WHEN I FOUND IT.
She paused again, thinking now of a recent e-mail from Brad. She had told him about some of the changes that were taking place in her life, and Brad’s response had been, “It sounds to me as if someone has given you permission to find yourself this summer. Good. Enjoy the thrill of the hunt!” She hadn’t understood his comment at the time. Now it made sense. She was free to do the things she enjoyed without having to worry about trying to make someone else happy. A treasure hunt of her heart. Some days the amount of growth would equal little more than a twenty-five-cent doily. Other days she could see places inside her being fixed and restored like the antique dresser.
I JUST REALIZED THAT I’M A LOT LIKE MY DRESSER. I’M HAPPIER NOW THAN I WAS AT THE BEGINNING OF THE SUMMER. I WENT THROUGH A PAINFUL BREAKUP AND DIDN’T THINK I’D EVER FEEL PEACEFUL AGAIN. ACTUALLY, WHAT GOD HAS DONE IS GIVE ME A WHOLE NEW KIND OF PEACE. GOD IS SO INCREDIBLE, ISN’T HE? WELL, I PROBABLY SHOULDN’T BE POURING MY HEART OUT TO YOU LIKE THIS. YOU HAVE A TRIP TO PACK FOR! BE SURE TO TAKE YOUR SUNGLASSES. I HEAR THE GLARE OFF THE PYRAMIDS IS PRETTY BLINDING.
JOY! WREN
Lauren clicked the “send” button and glanced at the clock on her kitchen wall. It was 12:20. She had no idea she had been absorbed with her letter to KC for more than an hour. The Labor Day picnic for the bank employees had officially started twenty minutes ago. Lauren’s taco salad was already made, waiting in the refrigerator, and the bag of accompanying tortilla chips sat on the counter.
A tug-of-war began inside of Lauren. She wanted to go to the picnic, but part of her wanted to stay right here, in front of her computer for the rest of the day, waiting for a reply from KC
and then responding back to him. She hoped her letter hadn’t sounded too personal. The words had come so naturally as she wrote them.
Lauren laced up her tennis shoes, packed her salad and chips, and headed for the front door. As she left her apartment and stepped lightly down the stairs, she wondered about KC. What did he look like? Was he old? Young? Where did he live? Was he married? She didn’t think he was. Why would he correspond so freely with a woman who was obviously young and single if he were married? Was he possibly interested in her? How could he be after a few simple letters?
Cranking the key in the ignition, Lauren reminded herself that Robert and Elizabeth had met through only a few simple letters. She remembered from her paper the first line of the first letter Robert wrote her: “I love your verses with all my heart, dear Miss Barrett.”
“With all my heart,” Lauren repeated aloud as she came to a stop sign. The romance fairies had begun their work, sprinkling their dream dust all over her thoughts until reality became quite clouded. All Lauren could think of was that someday, somehow, somewhere, a man would say to her, “I love your letters with all my heart, dear Miss Phillips.”
Chapter Eight
Centennial Park brimmed to nearly overflowing with picnickers as Lauren drove through the parking lot a second time looking for a spot. None of the carefully lined up cars were budging. She gave up and drove three blocks away before finding a spot. As Lauren hiked through the muggy September afternoon with her salad in her arms, she wondered if all the lettuce would turn to mush before she found the group from the bank.
Her coworkers were already lined up to eat, so Lauren quickly slipped her salad onto the end of the table and removed the foil covering it. Ripping open the bag of tortilla chips with her teeth, she sprinkled them on top and then wedged the bag next to the bowl for anyone who wanted more. It was a delicious salad, one she had learned to make from Teri, her college roommate.
Lauren said hi to a few of the people standing around her and was about to make her way to the end of the line when someone called her name. “Lauren? Lauren Phillips? It is Lauren, isn’t it?”
She turned to see the large, annoying eyes of the man who had bought Jeff and her champagne and dinner at The Ambassador.
“Garry Taft,” he said, stretching out his hand to shake hers. Then looking around he added, “Where’s Jeff? Did he come down for the weekend?”
Everyone was looking at Lauren, or so she felt. She toned her answer a few notches lower than Garry’s question and said, “Jeff isn’t here. We aren’t together anymore.”
Garry instantly turned into Mr. Sympathy. His brown eyes seemed to change from annoying to weepy puppy-dog eyes. “Oh, Lauren, I didn’t know. Jeff never said anything. I assumed you were in New York. If I’d known, I would have called you. Are you doing all right?”
“I’m fine, thank you.” Lauren nervously pinched the tablecloth. She glanced around to see if Mindy might be near and could help her out of this awkward situation. She didn’t notice that Garry was reaching for her arm. He tenderly grasped it and pulled it toward himself in a gesture of concern. Lauren was still pinching the vinyl tablecloth, and as Garry tugged on her arm, the cloth came with it, upsetting the two salad bowls on the end of the table.
In one spastic motion, a bowl of potato salad and Lauren’s bowl of taco salad toppled over onto her bare legs and tennis shoes. “Look out!” Garry cried, after the incident was over. “I mean, are you okay?”
A glob of green guacamole clung to her right knee. Her shoes were covered with sour cream, wilting lettuce, and crumpled tortilla chips.
“Entirely my fault,” Garry said, stooping to help by running his hand down her leg, smearing the guacamole.
“That’s okay,” Lauren said, brushing his hand off her leg.
“I’ll find some napkins for you.”
A crowd had gathered around her at the end of the line, their plates heaped with food. Lauren tried to move out of the way. An older woman offered her a napkin, and one of the men from the loan department handed her a bottle of water to use. Garry returned with a heap of napkins and more apologies.
She could hear Jeff’s voice echoing in her head. “These things seem to happen to you, Lauren.”
“I’m fine,” she said to Garry and the others standing around. She scooped the ruined salad, along with the wad of potato salad on the ground, into the broken teakwood salad bowl and carried it to the nearest trash can. It upset her that she had spent all that time and expense on her deluxe salad and now it was ruined. And her bowl was broken. A memory flashed through her mind of Jeff saying the bowl was cheaply made when she bought it. She didn’t want to think about Jeff. And she didn’t want to spend another second around Garry.
“Hey, you!” Mindy called from a few yards away. She and Leon were walking across the grass toward Lauren. Mindy waved and tugged on Leon’s arm, urging him to move faster. He held a big salad bowl in his hands.
“Can you believe this crowd?” Mindy asked from behind her sunglasses. “We had to park five blocks away. Are we too late? Is everything gone?”
“No, there’s plenty—” Before she could finish she heard Garry’s voice behind her.
“Here’s a plate for you, Lauren. Are you ready to get in line with me?”
Mindy pulled down her sunglasses and gave Garry a close examination over the top of the rims. Then she turned to Lauren for an explanation.
Without even turning around to look at Garry, Lauren said, “Garry, these are my friends Mindy and Leon. This is Garry, ah …”
“Taft,” he said, filling in for her memory lapse. He stretched out a hand to shake with Leon and then Mindy.
“Jeff used to work with Garry,” Lauren said to Mindy.
Mindy’s lips formed a silent, “Oh.”
“You arrived at the right time with that salad,” Garry said, eyeing the covered bowl in Leon’s arm. “I hope it’s potato salad!” Garry was about an inch shorter than Lauren and that made him more than a foot shorter than Leon.
“It’s taco salad,” Mindy said. “I made it from your recipe, Lauren. Remember that one you made when Leon and I came over last spring?”
“Oh, yeah,” Lauren said dryly. “I know just the salad.”
“What do you say we all grab ourselves some food before it’s gone?” Garry suggested, leading the way back to the table as the three of them followed their unchosen leader.
Mindy set her salad bowl on the newly opened spot at the end of the table and said, “Look at this, Leon. Someone else brought tortilla chips. I told you it didn’t matter that I forgot them.”
Lauren bit the inside of her mouth. More and more she was liking the idea of going home and writing another letter to KC. She had never told Mindy about KC, partly because the e-mail system she had going with her brother and with KC never had come up as a topic of conversation. The deeper reason, though, was that she didn’t want Mindy or anyone else to give her any negative feedback about KC. She didn’t want to be cautioned, teased, or counseled. All she wanted was for her easy, private, and often soothing communication with this unknown man to continue unhindered by anyone or anything.
“Over here, Lauren.” Garry flagged her to the front of the line with the paper plate in his hand. Leon, Mindy, and Lauren joined him as Lauren said to Mindy between clenched teeth, “Don’t you dare leave me alone with him. Not even for one second. Do you understand?”
“Got it,” Mindy said.
Garry handed each of them plates. Mindy used hers as a fan. “So, Garry,” she said, “what brings you to this gathering of money-changers?”
“Didn’t you know? I’m your adman. You know the billboard with the puppies for sale at the ATM machine? That was my brainstorm.” Garry reached for a burger. Instead of putting it on his plate, he put it on Lauren’s. With a smile he said, “Ladies first. That’s what I always say.”
Lauren was furious. The puppies had been her idea, which she had told Jeff, and he had presented it to his commi
ttee. The ad idea occurred to her when she saw a boy stand by the front door of the bank last Christmas with a box of kittens for sale. After two hours of hard peddling, he had come into her teller window and asked if she could give him a fresh twenty-dollar bill for his pocketful of kitten profit.
She didn’t mind Jeff using her idea or getting the credit for it. At least at the time she hadn’t. It had made her feel a part of his world. But for Garry to say it was his idea was something else. If her salad hadn’t already been dumped, she would have dumped it over his head.
When they sat down, Lauren turned her back to Garry and purposefully didn’t eat the hamburger he had put on her plate. She didn’t enter into the conversation but kept her mind whirling, trying to think of how to get rid of Garry. Fortunately Mindy had been socializing and formulating a plan at the same time.
“Isn’t that Justin McKinley over by the volleyball court?” Mindy said, flipping down her sunglasses to have a better look. “I’ve been looking for him. Will you all excuse me?”
Lauren flashed her a “don’t leave me” look. Too late. Mindy was up and gone. At least Leon had been carrying the conversation with Garry. They were going through all the businesses in town with which Anchor Advertising had an account. Garry flexed his intellectual muscles for Leon by reciting ad slogans for each business.
Mindy came back right away, announcing that Justin needed one more player for his team—a woman—and Lauren was his choice. Lauren didn’t mind a bit. She loved volleyball. It would also allow her to keep her distance from the marketing maniac.
“Great,” she said, hopping up. Then, as firmly as she could, she added, “Good-bye, Garry,” hoping it would sound like the dismissal she intended it to be.