Daughters Page 12

  Marie hesitated. The unexpected effect his question had on her caused her cheeks to feel like they were on fire. She must have hesitated a little too long because before she could respond, Paul said, “Look, I didn’t mean to put you on the spot like that. You don’t even know me.” He wrapped her purchase without looking up. “If you’re not interested, I’ll understand.”

  She focused her eyes everywhere but at him while she stumbled for the right words. “It’s not that.” She fiddled with the strap of her purse. “It’s just that I’m a little out of practice, and you took me by surprise.”

  He raised his downward gaze up into her eyes. “Well, think about it. Here’s another one of my cards.” He reached out to hand it to her, but then drew it back to write his home phone number on the back. “Call me anytime. And it doesn’t have to be dinner. It could be lunch or just a cup of coffee sometime.”

  She held his gaze for a moment before allowing a smile to reach her lips. “Okay. I will.” She gathered up the packages. “And thanks for the good deal,” she said. “I really do appreciate it. Bye.”

  “Bye, Marie,” he said. Beth reentered the front of the shop and stood next to him. “Come back soon,” he called after her.

  “He must think I’m such an idiot,” she said out loud once behind the steering wheel, her face still flushed. Oh well. She didn’t ever have to see him again.

  It took her several miles before she realized she hadn’t even considered her race issue when Paul asked her for a date. She was so taken by his interest in her, she’d forgotten who she was. She hated herself for that. Now having thought it through, she knew she couldn’t date him even if she were divorced.

  Once home Marie rearranged things so her new pottery pieces held the most prominent positions on the bookshelves. Pleased with her purchases, she poured herself a glass of wine, turned on the radio, and sat back in her easy chair to admire them. The Andrews Sisters were singing “I Can Dream, Can’t I?”

  No matter how near you’ll be

  You’ll never belong to me

  She stared past her new pottery pieces in deep thought.

  But I can dream, can’t I

  She asked herself, Why me?

  For dreams are just like wine

  She silently scolded her mother for doing this to her.

  And I am drunk on mine

  Marie heard Karen’s words in her head as if she were present: “You don’t have to do this to yourself, Marie.”

  Two glasses of wine later, she was half-listening to the news when her ears perked up.

  “Earl Young, son of medical equipment mogul Benson Young, died this morning from injuries sustained after being struck by a train. The accident is thought to be Mob related and is being investigated.”

  Benson Young was Richard’s boss, and his son, Earl, was Richard’s nemesis in business. Marie cringed at the thought of Richard’s potential involvement.

  “So what did you buy from lover boy?” Karen asked the next day when Marie stopped in her shop to pick up a jacket she had ordered. Karen clasped her heart with her hand and sighed.

  “Will you stop it?” Marie asked, haunted by how Karen referred to Paul. Her former coworkers at Marshall Field’s had often referred to Richard as lover boy. “You’re making something out of nothing.”

  Karen maintained the gleam in her eye. “Did he ask you out?”

  Marie didn’t answer.

  “Ha! He did, didn’t he?”

  Marie rolled her eyes and gave Karen one of those “I hate it when you’re right” looks. “Okay, so he did ask me out, but I didn’t accept.”

  Karen put her hands on her hips and gave her a disapproving look. “You are nuts, Marie, you know that? The man was cute as all get out. He wasn’t wearing a wedding ring. And he owns his own business. What more do you want?” She rang up the jacket.

  Marie scanned the store for customers within earshot. “Let’s not forget I’m still married, Karen.”

  “Only legally.”

  “I can’t date anyone. You know that.” She paused when she heard the door bell tinkle, signaling a customer had entered the store. She waited until the customer was out of sight and whispered, “And even if I could, as soon as he finds out who my father is, it’ll all be over anyway.”

  “That would be just like you to tell him right away.”

  Marie stepped away from the cash register and pretended to be interested in a display of argyle sweaters while Karen rang up the other customer’s merchandise.

  “So anyway, you were saying…”

  “I actually didn’t say no to him. I just didn’t say yes.”

  “So what does that mean?”

  “He gave me his home phone number and said to call him if I was interested in getting together.”

  “And you’re not going to call him, are you?” She didn’t wait for an answer. “You are being way too cautious. As usual. Just remember, what we regret later in life are the chances we never took.”

  “Another one of your mother’s sayings?”

  “Yes, and if you don’t call him, I’m never going to speak to you again. Just keep that in mind.”

  “You’re all talk.”

  “Dating doesn’t have to be a prelude to marriage. ‘Course, a little action in bed wouldn’t be all that bad either.”

  “Karen!”

  “Well, it wouldn’t. Promise me you’ll call him,” Karen ordered. “And remember, new life chases away old ghosts.”

  “Enough with the sayings.”

  “She had a million of them.”

  Marie headed toward the door. “I’ll think about it,” she called without looking back.

  “See ya later. And wear that new jacket you just bought when you see him. Looks good on you.”

  Marie thought about their conversation on the way home. So what would be the worst thing that could happen if she went out with him? She and Richard had no marriage, no chance of ever getting back together.

  Legally, it would be adultery. Hmm…more grounds for divorce for him. The more each of them dated, the less chance there was of Richard wanting her back. Maybe. She wished old emotions would stop surfacing so she could be sure she wasn’t harboring any feelings for him. She wondered if she was wavering in order to avoid the pain of ending her marriage once and for all. The more she thought about it, the more confused she became.

  The torment of having unfulfilled dreams didn’t stop with having a meaningful relationship with someone again. The issue of having children, a dream of hers for as long as she could remember, still loomed. But now that she was aware of her true identity, that dream had sorely degenerated. Even if she was able to find someone who was accepting of her mixed race, she had to ask herself if consciously bringing a mixed-race child into such an unwelcoming world was fair. As painful as it was, Marie had to admit the answer was no.

  “What about adoption?” Karen asked her one evening over a glass of wine on Marie’s porch. The sky had begun its lazy fade to black, and there was a chill in the air.

  Marie shivered. “What color?” she asked. Karen didn’t respond. Marie paused for a moment before saying slowly and deliberately, “It’s just color. It’s your outward appearance. It has nothing to do with the person inside. Why don’t people get that?”

  “Hey.”

  “Hey what?”

  “Best friends?”

  Marie figured that was Karen’s way of saying they should change the subject before getting into another fight. Marie flashed a faint smile.

  We may be best friends, she thought, but our values, at least when it comes to race issues, are staunch adversaries.

  CHAPTER 12

  That Kind of Child

  “Hello, Paul?”

  “This is he.”

  “This is Marie Costa. The reason I’m…”

  “You’ve changed your mind and you’re going to have dinner with me.”

  “Well, something like that.”

  “I was hoping you woul
d call. After you left my shop, I thought maybe I may have come across a little strong. I’m usually not that forward.”

  “Well, I…anyway, I’m calling to say I would love to have lunch or dinner with you sometime.”

  “Wonderful.” His tone was sincere. “I have an idea. There’s an arts and crafts show in Leavenworth this weekend. How about if we have lunch and then take in the show?”

  “Sure, sounds like fun.”

  “Does Saturday work for you?”

  “Saturday would be fine.”

  They made plans to meet at his shop. As she hung up the phone, Marie tried to ignore the prickly feeling inside her. She had given it a lot of thought before calling him and had pretty much decided not to. And that was something she didn’t understand about herself—the way she could think through something long and hard, decide in her head not to do it, and then do it anyway.

  Marie picked up the phone and called Karen to tell her about her date.

  “Don’t put too much thought into it, Marie. Just have a funky time. Hey, speaking of Rachael, what do you hear from her these days?”

  “That girl writes the best letters. I got one just yesterday telling me all about what she’s doing in school and with her friends. And of course, the ongoing issues she has with Ben. I haven’t answered it yet and don’t know how I’m going to respond, with regard to Ben, that is. It’s just normal child-parent stuff, but to her he doesn’t know what he’s doing.”

  “I felt the same way about my parents. She’ll look back one day and thank him, like most kids do.”

  “I hope so.”

  When Marie pulled into the driveway of the Treasure Trove, Paul came out the front door and signaled her to park next to his car in the back. His smile was wide, and his eyes sparkled in the radiant sunlight even from afar. He followed her to the back and opened the car door for her.

  “You look lovely today, madam,” he said. She wore a skirt splashed with colorful flowers that flared out from her narrow waist to right below her knees. The yellow jacket she had bought in Karen’s store partially covered a lace-trimmed white cotton tee that softly caressed her breasts, just low enough to show the promise of cleavage.

  “Why thank you, sir.”

  He held out his arm. “We can walk from here.” He wore gray trousers with heavy pleats, a pale green long-sleeved dress shirt rolled up to his elbows, and a gray and green pin-striped tie. It was much more subdued and casual than what Richard would have worn, but Marie thought the look suited him.

  They walked at a leisurely pace equal to the gentle breeze coasting in and out, the early June air warm on their faces. He led the way to Binyon’s, a restaurant located on the widest part of Threemile Creek. He requested a table overlooking the water.

  Marie gazed out the window after being seated. The luminous reflection of the sun danced on the slow-moving water, like thousands of tiny ballerinas in their twinkling costumes, mesmerizing anyone who stared at them for too long. “It’s pretty here.” She turned to him. “Good choice.”

  They entered into the usual first-date conversation, the voices of the other patrons around them rising and falling in the background. Paul told her about himself, and she did the same—limiting the information she conveyed to only the safe stuff for now. They had a few common interests and talked about them while they ate.

  He told her about his home in Leavenworth, about how he and his sister, Beth, had inherited the business and family home, which he now occupied, when their parents died.

  She found his demeanor somewhat dull compared to Richard’s quick wit, high level of confidence, and ability to cultivate a stimulating conversation. And while Paul was more educated than Richard, he didn’t have half of Richard’s vocabulary. Stop comparing him to Richard, the little voice in her head told her.

  After lunch, they walked the short distance to the arts and crafts show. They strolled through the aisles of exhibits, gravitating toward the same booths, discovering they liked the same type of artwork.

  At the end of the afternoon, they headed in the direction of his shop. “Did you enjoy yourself?” he asked. “Maybe it was my imagination, but I kinda got the impression you were a little on edge about something back there.”

  “I had a very nice time, Paul. The art show was a great idea. I’m so glad you suggested it.” She had to admit to herself, it felt good being with a man again. Marie gave him a relaxed smile as they walked back to her car. She turned to him and said, “I really did enjoy the day, Paul. If I appeared to be nervous, it’s only because I haven’t been on a date in a long time.”

  “Hmm. Well, can I call you?” His words were tentative and slow.

  Marie nodded, regretting she didn’t know how to politely decline his offer on the spot. “Okay. I’ll give you my number.” She rummaged through her purse for a pen and paper.

  She relived their encounter on the drive home. She didn’t know what surprised her the most—the fact that she had agreed to go out with him in the first place, the fact that she hadn’t thought about her ethnicity even once during their date, or the fact that she actually looked forward to seeing him again.

  Marie called Karen when she got home.

  “So how’d it go?”

  “It went okay.”

  “You don’t sound very enthusiastic. Going to see him again?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Why not? Didn’t you have a good time?”

  “No, I had a good enough time.”

  “And did he?”

  “I suppose.”

  “So…are you going to see him again?”

  “I don’t know,” she said through a sigh. “He asked me if he could call me, and I said yes, but now I don’t know whether I really want to see him again or not. I keep going back and forth about it.”

  “See him again. You deserve to have some fun.”

  Paul called Marie the very next day. She wished he hadn’t called so soon. She needed more time to think things through. My marriage. My race. What I would give to not have to agonize over these things just to go out on a date.

  “Would you like to have dinner with me on Saturday?” he asked.

  She hoped her hesitation was short enough for him not to notice. “Sure.” She made a face, not sure why she said yes.

  “I’ll pick you up at six.” He cleared his throat. “That is, I would pick you up at six if I knew where you lived.”

  Marie gave him directions to her home, and after chatting a few more minutes, they hung up. She caught herself smiling, a smile that soon faded the more she thought about what she was doing.

  Paul arrived a few minutes before six on Saturday. He took everything in as Marie showed him around her apartment. “Nice place,” he said. He glanced out the spare bedroom window overlooking the expansive backyard. “It sure is private back here. Who lives in the big house?”

  “I’ll tell you about them on our way to dinner.”

  They went to his car, a dark blue 1947 Pontiac coupe—not on the order of anything Richard would drive, but a definite step up from Marie’s slightly dented 1946 Ford sedan.

  “Where are we going, by the way?”

  “I made reservations at Anthony’s. I hope you don’t mind the drive. They have a steak Delmonico that’s to die for. Have you ever been there?”

  She forced a guarded smile. “Anthony’s…uh, the one in Kansas City?”

  “That’s the one,” he said proudly.

  Marie had never been to Anthony’s, but she recognized the name from a conversation she had had with a Kansas City lawyer she once met. He represented mobster types from time to time, and in the course of their conversation, he had mentioned two Kansas City restaurants to stay away from. Anthony’s was one of them.

  Marie tried not to let Paul see the panicked look on her face. He opened the door for her and then walked around the car to the driver’s side.

  “Uh…don’t start the car yet, Paul. There’s something I have to tell you.” She paused
a few seconds to gather her thoughts. “I’d prefer we didn’t go to Anthony’s. There’s a chance that people who know my ex-husband will be there, and they’re not people I want to run into.” She watched his face. “It’s a long story. Can we go somewhere else? Do you mind?”

  He gave her a puzzled look. “Sure. Don’t even worry about it. What about Fulton’s? They have great seafood.” He paused. “So…you were married? You didn’t mention that before.”

  She shifted her weight in the seat. “Paul, can we not go to Fulton’s either?” She wondered what he must be thinking of her. “And it wasn’t that I was married before. I’m still legally married.” She looked him straight in the eye. “Look, if you want to call this whole thing off, we can.” She fumbled for the door handle.

  “Hey, not so fast.” He took a gentle hold of her arm. “Look, you don’t have to explain anything to me right now, although your having a husband or ex-husband, whatever he is, well, uh…” He forced a chuckle. “You’re not still with him, are you?”

  She shook her head. “No. We’ve been apart for two years.”

  “Okay.” Paul paused an endless few seconds. “So…would you like to tell me where we can go for dinner?”

  Marie managed an awkward smile through tight lips. “There’s a nice place called Wick’s Inn that’s about twenty minutes north of here. I can show you where it is.”

  “Perfect.”

  Wick’s Inn was an old Victorian house that had been converted into a restaurant shortly after World War II. They had kept most of the rooms intact, allowing for several small, more intimate dining rooms instead of one large one. They were seated with three other couples in what used to be the front parlor.

  Marie fidgeted with the napkin on her lap. “Tell me, Paul,” she said after they had ordered their food, “do you go to Anthony’s and Fulton’s often?”

  “No. In fact, I’ve only been to Anthony’s once. I sold an old roll-top desk to someone who came into my shop one day. The guy lived in Chicago but wanted the desk delivered to an address in Kansas City. He didn’t have any way to get it there, so I offered to deliver it, and he thanked me by taking me to Anthony’s for lunch.” He smiled. “Here I thought I was going to impress you with a downtown restaurant. Well, I guess that backfired.”