All the Single Ladies (19 page)

“It doesn't matter,” I said.

“I don't know. Present company excepted?”

“Of course,” I said.

“Maybe John Adams. Or Carl Sagan. Or Pope Francis?”

“You only get one.”

“Okay, then I'd choose John Adams.”

“Why? Wasn't he supposed to be a really cranky guy?”

“I think so, but wouldn't you love to know what it felt like to be a founding father of a nation? I mean, there were no trains, no telephones or e-­mail, the winters were brutal, and all the odds were against them. Nonetheless, the patriots prevailed and John Adams was in the middle of the whole thing. I'd just like to have that conversation about their amazing strength of perseverance and what it felt like to be willing to die for your convictions. I think. Now it's your turn. Whom would you choose?”

“Give me a minute.”

“Sure. Are you going to eat that?”

There was one lonely wonton on the plate between us.

“No. You have it.” I was going to say Jane Austen but suddenly she seemed too tame. “How about Mary, the Mother of Jesus?”

“Okay! Big name! And why?”

“Well, it had to be a very strange experience to have angels appearing and miracles happening all over the place. And obviously, I'd like to know what it was like to raise a boy who tells you he's the son of God. Her life must've been a nonstop roller coaster.”

“Yeah, throw in a virgin birth and an actual physical ascension into heaven. That had to be wild.”

“Paul, you know the rest of the Chris­tian world is still unconvinced on those two points. Right?”

“Yeah, but I figure if God's possible, so is anything else.”

“I've heard that said. Okay, next question. Would you like to be famous and in what way?”

“Oh my. Um, well, I think being famous probably isn't all it's cracked up to be. But I would like my life to have meant something. I'd like to, you know, leave a legacy?”

“I agree. I feel exactly the same way. Are you ready for another?”

“Shoot!”

We continued asking each other questions through the charcuterie plate and the fish. Finally the bottle of wine was empty and the
panna cotta
was consumed. Dinner had been a feast. A delicious beautiful feast.

“We're not quite finished with all these questions,” he said.

“No, we're not. Why don't we ask some more in the car and then finish up on Miss Trudie's porch?”

“That's a good idea. Or we could take a leisurely stroll along the moonlit dock outside. Hmm?”

Was he saying there was romance to be had in the moonlight?

“Let's do that! Great idea.”

Carrie was right about the questions. I learned so much about him that night, things that would've taken years to know. One of the questions was about naming three things we thought we had in common. I was delighted by his answer.

“Innate intelligence, a good sense of humor, and loyalty.”

I said I thought our three common traits might be “curiosity and willingness to learn new things, that we were reasonably flexible by nature, and that we were both personable.”

“We left off kind. We're both kind, don't you think?” he said.

“I think we might have a lot of things in common but the test only gives us three choices.”

“Well, that's pretty anal-­retentive, if you ask me.”

“I agree,” I said, and smiled. “I'll e-­mail Arthur Aron in the morning.”

“The guy who dreamed up this experiment?”

“Yeah, that guy.”

“Well, give him a piece of my mind,” he said, and laughed.

There were questions about the future and what you thought it might bring. There were questions about your greatest accomplishment and greatest regret. There was even a question about how close you were to your mother.

“I knew I couldn't get away without talking about her,” I said.

Paul threw back his head and laughed so hard that I began to laugh with him.

“Wait until you hear about mine!” he said. “She was a guilt trip and a half!”

We finally got to the eye-­gazing part of the experiment. We were sitting on a bench near the water. I set the timer on my phone for four minutes and we began. Well, they say the eyes are the window to the soul and I think it just might be true. For the first minute it was hard to settle down and keep looking at him. I felt very self-­conscious. And then the experience moved me from self-­consciousness to a place that was interesting, and finally I felt like I was in a hypnotic state. I felt transparent, as though he could see all my flaws and weaknesses but that he didn't care. My shortcomings became irrelevant, yet still I felt vulnerable. And as wacky as this may sound, I could feel understanding and affection radiating from him in waves of something not overpowering but as something warm and invited by an involuntary longing deep inside of me. Simply put, he seemed to know what my heart needed and he was happily giving it to me. I found myself giving it back to him. Everything between us changed then. I don't know if, at that moment, I would've called it love, but I was filled with a powerful desire to protect him. It was not a parental feeling. No, ma'am. I knew he felt the same way. I didn't want this part of the night to end. Then my timer began to ping. I tried to mash the end bar without taking my eyes away from Paul, but I couldn't, so it just kept making the most annoying high-­pitched peppy noise. It was all I could do not to throw the thing into Shem Creek.

“I have to look at my phone to make it stop,” I said.

“Okay,” he said. “Time to come back to earth.”

“Too bad,” I said, and dropped my phone in my handbag. I started to stand up.

“Wait,” he said. “We have to kiss.”

“We do? Why?” I said, and he pulled away. “Wait! I don't have any objection. I'm just wondering why.”

“To see what it feels like, you silly girl! Don't you want to know?”

“Roger that,” I said. Since when did I use shortwave-­radio lingo? “I mean, yes, you're right.” God, I was such a dork.

Well, so what if I was a dork? He kissed me, and, honey, there was seismic activity in the Netherlands. So to speak.

“How's that?” he said, moving away after the kiss that was heard around the world. Thankfully, he was a bit of a dork too. I mean, who asks, “How was my kiss?”

I started to laugh and somehow sputtered out, “Pretty damn fabulous.” And then he laughed too.

“Yeah,” he said, “fucking inspired.”

“Excuse me! Word order!” What was the matter with me?

“You're a very naughty girl,” he said, still laughing.

“Well, I've never been called naughty but I think I sort of like the sound of it.” Get a grip, Lisa! “Um, do you think we could do that again just to be sure the first time wasn't a fluke?”

“Sure! Come over here!”

It wasn't a fluke. When we opened our eyes, Eric our waiter was sauntering by.

“Dude!” he called out, and gave Paul a big thumbs-­up.

“Awesome!” Paul responded.

Then we really laughed like two teenagers. I felt so alive then, more alive than I'd felt in years. What did I have to do to keep feeling this way? I know, go to Belk's and buy some decent underwear sooner rather than later.

Paul drove me back to the house on the Isle of Palms. Suzanne's and Carrie's cars were parked in the driveway. It was nearly ten o'clock. I wondered how long they'd been home. I imagined that they'd be inside with their feet up. The three weddings they had had over the weekend must have worn them both out.

Pickle was on the other side of the screen door waiting. She danced and hopped with happiness to see me and I wondered if she thought I had abandoned her. I leaned down and ruffled the fur behind her ears.

“Hey, little Pickle! Were you a good girl?”

She licked my hand over and over and then turned to Paul to receive the homage she felt was her due. He leaned down and whispered some doggie sweet nothings to her and she sat right down by his feet, practically purring.

“Call you tomorrow?” he said.

“Sure. Hey, thanks for a wonderful night! It really was incredible, you know.”

He laid his lips on mine and then once again for good measure. Pickle barked.

“Hush, girl!” I said in my dog-­mommy stern voice. “Mommy's having fun.”

“Yeah, it was. It was great,” he said. “Now, don't you yell at that dog. She's my new girlfriend.”

“Go on home, boy,” I said. “It's a school night.”

He left me there on the porch and walked down the steps to his car. Then as though he knew I was still there watching him he turned and blew me a kiss. When he pulled away from the curb I went into the house.

“Come on, miss,” I said. “I want a glass of water and then I'll take you out.”

My dog followed me to the kitchen. Carrie and Suzanne were there at the table, looking somber.

“Hey!” I said. “What's going on? Is something wrong?”

I took a glass from the cabinet and filled it with water.

“We came home about an hour ago and I found Miss Trudie in a heap on her bedroom floor,” Suzanne said. “She had fallen out of bed. She's okay, I think, because she fell on carpet. But one of these days she's going to really hurt herself.”

“Did she say what happened?” I asked.

“She says she doesn't remember,” Carrie said.

“This stuff scares the hell out of me,” Suzanne said.

“Of course,” I said. “It's not easy to find anyone on the floor, much less someone you love.”

“I told Suzanne I think Miss Trudie needs someone to be with her, Lisa. What do you think?”

“Well, in-­home care adds up very quickly,” I said. “And from what I know of her, I don't think she'd be very happy to have a sitter following her around all the time. Does she check her blood pressure at home?”

“Never. You're probably right about a sitter. But there must be something I can do to see that she's safe and happy,” Suzanne said.

Then I had an idea.

“Listen, Suzanne, why don't you come and talk to Dr. Black, Harry Black at Palmetto House. This guy is an encyclopedia on eldercare. There is not one possible family issue or situation he hasn't dealt with. I know he would give you some good advice.”

Carrie said, “It's worth a shot.”

“Maybe,” Suzanne said. “I'll think about it. I know she really needs to be in assisted living or have an aid. But you're right, Lisa. She has too much pride. She'd never agree to either one.”

“Probably not, especially if the idea came from a family member,” I said, “but she might listen to someone like Harry Black.”

“Do you think it's okay to just call him, out of the blue?”

“I'll tell him to expect your call. How's that?”

The next morning at work I put my head into Dr. Black's office.

“Do you have a moment?” I asked.

I gave him the story on Miss Trudie and Suzanne and he said in a highly animated voice I hadn't heard come from him in ages, “Are you talking about that little raven-­headed spitfire with the donuts?”

I nodded.

“Tell her my door is open. Anytime.”

“Thanks!”

If I didn't know that Harry Black had sworn off love years ago, I would've said that he was attracted to Suzanne. Nah. Not him. He was a living heart donor. A great doctor, mind you, but freezing cold. I sent Suzanne a text and told her to call Dr. Black and gave her his direct number.

She must have called right away because around lunchtime I caught a glimpse of her heading down the hall toward his office. I had my hands full, so I couldn't stop and call out to her, but I figured I'd catch up with her when I was finished administering meds and checking on our patients' well-­being.

As it turned out, we nearly ran over each other at the nurses' station.

“Hey!” Suzanne said. “I was just coming to see you.”

“And I was just going to Dr. Black's office to see if we had a hostage situation. How long did he keep you in there?”

“Well, he brought in sandwiches, which was very nice. Can you walk with me to my car?”

“Of course!” I turned to Margaret, who was there reading charts, and said, “I'll be right back, okay?”

“I imagine we can hold the place together,” she said, deadpan as always.

Suzanne and I walked quietly until we reached the front doors.

“I have a secret,” she said.

“We all have them,” I said. “What are you not telling me?”

“I have a date with Harry Black. He asked me out to dinner and I accidentally said yes. Is that terrible? What am I going to do now?”

“No kidding!”

“He wants to take me to the Peninsula Grill this Saturday night. I said yes but I could cancel it.”

“Why? Go! Let him take you out to dinner, for heaven's sake. What's the harm?”

“I don't know. I haven't had a date in ten years. I wouldn't know the first thing to say.”

“Well, you just spent an hour and a half with him, so apparently there's something to talk about!” I started laughing.

“Wow! Was it an hour and a half?”

“Yeah, it was. Was he helpful about Miss Trudie?”

“Gosh, yes! He was supersensitive and caring—­”

“Are we talking about Harry Black?” I could hardly believe . . . I mean, I had never heard a single soul describe Harry Black as sensitive or a good listener.

“Yeah, why? He's not sensitive?”

“You know what? I don't know! I mean, I think the work we do around here can desensitize anyone. This is just . . . well, a side of him I've never seen. He must really like you, Suzanne.”

Suzanne blushed deeply.

“Good Lord,” she said.

Later, when I returned from work, Suzanne, Carrie, and Miss Trudie were all sitting around the kitchen table. The room was dead quiet, except for the whirring of the overhead fan. Something was wrong. But if something was wrong, why were they all shaking their heads and smiling?