Once Upon Another Time (23 page)

I had told Laura
not to say anything to anyone about Gavin. 
Darn her!

“I don’t know what
Laura told you, but he’s really not my boyfriend.  We’ve only had one date.”

“Oh, Laura didn’t
say anything to me.”

“Hmm, you spoke to
my mother?”

“Nope.”

“Ashley said
something to you?”

“Negative.”

“You know this
because you have a crystal ball?”

“Kind of.”

“Cacey, what are
you talking about?”

Suddenly a child’s
wailing cries echoed in the background over the phone. 

“Oh gosh, I don’t
know what happened, but I have to go, Emily’s crying.  I’ll see you in a couple
of weeks.  Oh, come early so we can talk about your new guy before everyone
gets here.  Ta!  Ta!”   

“No Cacey, don’t
hang up!  Cacey?”

As the dial tone
hummed in my ear, I quickly figured she must have talked to my father.  She was
always at the gift shop buying something.  She craved shopping for home
furnishings and accessories like I craved Krispy Kremes.  I came to that
realization the day I gasped, while she gave no reaction at seeing a couple
having sex in a parked car downtown in broad daylight.  However, when her eyes
shot up to the “Coming Soon…Pottery Barn” billboard, she nearly fainted. 

A knock on my
office door pulled me from my thoughts.  Mr. Davis walked into my office like a
man who’d just gotten back from a long journey.  His scalp glistened through
his thinning coarse black hair.  “Mind if I pick up the trash a little early?”

“No, of course
not, but are you feeling all right?”

“I’m fine.  Just a
little tired is all,” he said in his warm New Orleans accent, while he shook
open a large plastic trash bag.

 “Headed home?”

 “Yes,” I said
while stuffing a couple file folders into my ever-burgeoning briefcase.  “Nicholas
and I are going to make pies tonight to help out Mother and her friends. 
They’re having a bake sale to raise funds for The Nature Conservancy’s ‘Rescue
the Reef’ program.”

“That’s right. 
Saw the poster in the gift shop window.  Told your father I’d stop by and get
me one of them homemade pies tomorrow.  Ya know,” he said, as he moseyed over
to the trashcan, “it’s nice to see you been going home at a decent hour.  I
have to admit though I miss our little evening chats.”

“I’ve been
thinking that same thing.  What do you say we get together for a mid morning
coffee klatch?  It’d be a nice break from work to spend a little time chatting
over coffee.”

Mr. Davis’ caramel
eyes twinkled.  “That’s a mighty fine idea, by golly.  It’s been a while since
we spoke.  Last time was when you thanked me for sending some business your
way.  From that nice fella, Mr. Donnelly.”

“Hmm, it’s been
that long?”

“Sure has.  By the
way,” Mr. Davis said, keeping an eye on me as he bent over to pick up the
wastepaper basket.  “How’s it going with Mr. Donnelly, if you don’t mind me
asking?” he said in a voice as sweet as the pralines sold on St. Charles Avenue
in the French Quarter.

“Actually, I’m
just starting to work on his father’s case.”

 “Well, that’s not
exactly what I was referring to.”  He gave me a sheepish look.  “I’m asking how
it’s going with you and Mr. Donnelly--ya know, seeing each other.”

What was it
about people knowing I had a date with Gavin?

 “Caught you a
little off guard with that one didn’t I?”

“Yes, you did,” I
said, feeling a bit like my life was in the spotlight.  “How did you know we
had a date?”

“Cause Mr. Burns
told me.  Then the next thing I knew the poor young fella, Mr. Donnelly, was
hounding me wanting to know if I’d seen you around lately.  He’d been carrying
on like that for the past couple days.  Got the impression he thinks you up and
left without so much as a goodbye.” 

I was impressed
that Gavin had been pining for me after only one date.  “Well, I guess I’ve
just been a little busy,” I replied, with a bounce in my voice, my ego
stroked.  “Maybe I’ll call him tomorrow.” 

“Hmm, seems to me
a fine young man like that doesn’t come a dime a dozen nowadays,” Mr. Davis
declared, as he looked me straight in the eye.  “All I gotta say is that I know
you put lots of time into your career, while doing a fine job raising your son,
but don’t do a whole lot of dating.”  He paused and quickly added, “Um, I meant
being you’re so dedicated and all.”  His eyebrows rose, while he nonchalantly
dumped my trash into his big plastic bag.

I eyed Mr. Davis
suspiciously, wondering how he knew I hadn’t dated much.  That brought to mind
a movie I saw about a super in an apartment building who could hear all the
tenants’ voices through an airshaft in the maintenance room.

“I guess it’s just
my opinion, Ms. Aubrey, but when I look into that young man’s eyes when he
speaks your name, something--and I don’t know what it is--but something just
grabs hold of my heart.  He talked to me bout’ you for near an hour.  Couldn’t
even get on with my work.”

“Really.  Did he
happen to go into specifics, you know like what he thought of me--our date?”  I
suddenly had that giddy I-wonder-if-he’s-going-to-ask-me-to-go-steady feeling
like I used to get in high school.

“Well, he said you
were special and that he couldn’t remember when he last had such a great time
on a date.  Said he couldn’t wait to see you again and thinks you’re mighty
pretty, too.”  Mr. Davis lowered his eyes; his dark complexion showed a hint of
russet red. 

“Oh, and one other
thing,” he said looking me in the eye, his brow furrowed.  “He told me he’d
been looking for you for a very long time.  Funny he didn’t say looking for
someone
like you.  Just that he’d been looking for you specifically.”

Suddenly a spooky
euphoric kind of emotional mix washed over me.  It was the same feeling I had
gotten while watching Bram Stoker’s Dracula.  So deeply in love, he put in four
centuries of searching until finally he reunited with his soul mate. 

I might have
thought it before, but that evening I’d finally believed that Gavin coming into
my life was no accident.  I just didn’t know which played the bigger
role--destiny or Matt.

* * * *

A heavy dusting of
flour showed across the chestnut hardwood flooring next to the kitchen island. 
Nicholas straddled the seat of the high-top chair, his gangly legs a Casper
white from an overspill of flour.  As he finished rolling the pie dough into a
ball, he swiped the palm of his a hands across his blue ‘Peace, Love, Save the
Whales’ t-shirt, and picked up the photo-filled color brochure for Camp Big
Foot.

“Look Mom,” he
said as he opened the brochure that unfolded like an accordion.  “They have horseback
riding, and they’re going to teach us how to catch butterflies with a net.  Oh,
look, this is really cool!” he said, pointing to a photo.  “We get to sleep in
teepees!”  

“Wow, that is
cool,” I said, while I rolled out the pie dough.  Nicholas was so excited it
was hard to keep him from bouncing off the ceiling.  Some people would have
thought,
a full week of overnight camp for a six year old?  What kind of
heartless, ruthless mother would do that?
  However, it was his idea. 
Katelyn was letting Jimmy go and that was all the validation Nicholas needed.

“Mom, thanks for
getting me new swimming trunks, and Harry Potter pajamas, and my cool hiking
boots.”

“You’re welcome,”
I said, looking at him pensively.  He wasn’t even gone and I’d already missed him. 
I realized I also missed Gavin.  I was stupid for not returning his calls.  After
Mr. Davis’ talk, I gave Gavin a call on my ride home and left a voicemail
apologizing for not getting back with him sooner.  I spent the rest of my drive
contemplating whether I was subconsciously trying to sabotage my relationship
with him because of insecurity issues.

“Mom, the dough
looks pretty thin.”

“What?”  The large
disk of dough I had rolled looked as if it was melding into the granite.  I floured
my hands and dusted them off.  Trying to unglue the paper-thin dough, I peeled
it up by strips and pieces.  Globs of sticky dough stuck to my fingers and
worked its way under my nails.  Just then, the phone rang. 

“Nicholas, please
get the phone.  It’s probably Grandma wanting to know how her pies are coming.”

Nicholas slid down
off the chair, brochure still in hand.  He leaned over the kitchen desk and picked
up the phone.  “Hello,” he said while he ogled the brochure.  “Oh, hi. 
Un-huh.  She’s making pies.  Un-huh.  Yep.  Oh, I’m just looking at a brochure
for Camp Big Foot.” 

Packing the strips
and pieces of sticky dough together into a round mass, was like packing a
snowball.  I dug into the sack of flour and threw a fine dusting across the
countertop. 

“You went to a
boy’s summer camp, too?  Cool!  You did what?”  Nicholas asked excitedly.

Mother wouldn’t
have qualified for a boy’s summer camp, and I knew for sure the only camp my
father ever went to was Woodstock.  I waved a flower-covered hand at Nicholas
to get his attention and mouthed the words, “Who’s on the phone?”  However, he
was too engrossed in conversation to pay attention when suddenly I heard, “Okay
Gavin, I’ll tell her.”

I dropped the ball
of dough on the counter, dove for the phone like a shortstop running to second
base, and pulled it from Nicholas’s hand.  “Gavin?”  I asked, trying not to
sound anxious.  As Nicholas rubbed his ear, I mouthed, “I’m sorry honey,” and
then heard Gavin say my name.

“So, what have you
been up to?” he asked coolly.

The timer went off
for the two cherry pies baking in the oven.  “Just making pies and working, oh,
and shopping with Nicholas, he’s excited about camp.  How about you?”  

“Nothing much just
working.  Hey, I’m glad you called this evening and left a message.  I was
beginning to think you were avoiding me.”

“Oh, gosh no,” I
said, knowing only mortal sins would qualify me for hell not little white
lies.  I opened the oven door to see the ruby cherry pie filling bubbling up
through the slits in the flaky golden crust.  Before I knew it, Gavin and I
were forty minutes into our conversation, and I was agreeing to have dinner at
his house on Friday evening.

Built in the late
1800’s like many houses in the Federal Hill area, the windows on the front of
Gavin’s Colonial Revival had white accents and a decorative white pediment
above the hunter green painted door.  As I stood on the porch between white
pilasters framing either side of the entrance, my lungs felt tighter than a
Victorian corset clamped down on an anorexic.

 I tapped the
antique looking brass lion knocker three times, as I glanced down at my
kitten-heel sandals, black Capri’s and white halter top that showed off a
narrow strip of bare midriff.  I was going for a sophisticated Audrey Hepburn
sexy look and hoped it didn’t come off looking like “Jersey Shore.”

The door flung
open, taking me by surprise.  I looked up to see Gavin, and felt my world
tilt.  Looks, easy charm, flashing eyes, and then came that smile. 

“Come on in,” he
said as he welcomed me into the foyer.  From his warning to me that he was
renovating the house, I half expected to get a hardhat with dinner.  However,
it looked more like the house was inhabited by an angry poltergeist.  Some of
the walls had large holes with wires sticking out, balustrades were missing on
the stairway leading to the second floor, large chunks of the ceiling plaster
in the foyer was ripped down and a light bulb dangled from open wires overhead.

 “I assume that
used to be a light fixture,” I said pointing upward.

“Don’t worry,” he
said, as he closed the door behind me.  “I know it looks like a disaster in
here, but the kitchen and great room are completely remodeled and the plumbing
works.”

“Oh good,” I said as
I looked at the small parlor to the right and dining room on the left, the
furniture covered with yards of paint-splattered drop cloths.  “So, how long
did you say you’ve been renovating?”

“Oh, I’ve been
chipping away at it for the past year and a half.  Did the kitchen first.”

 I noticed baseboards
missing as we walked down a short hallway.  However, straight ahead I caught a
glimpse of a beautiful room.

“This way,” said
Gavin, as he guided me to a small arched walkway to the left that opened up to
a large kitchen with hardwood floors, sleek stainless steel appliances, and
black granite countertops.   

Displayed above
traditional cherry wood cabinets was an antique milk bottle, butter churn and
other items.  The garden window above the sink showed off a collection of
brightly colored miniature birdhouses.  Everywhere I looked, I saw character
and beauty. 

“Did you pick out
all the finishes and appliances yourself?”

“I did.  What do
you think?” he asked, as he placed his hands on his hips.

“I’m impressed. 
It’s beautiful.”

I wished I could
have said the same for the ratty looking
dishtowels.  Plus the apron he
wore with the words “Barbecue King” written across his chest, pictured a male
hotdog and female hamburger doing a two-step with twirling spatulas.  It was
obvious that Gavin had failed to get on the Crate & Barrel mailing list.  I
made a mental note to sign him up.

A slight haze hung
in the kitchen and something that looked like burned tomato sauce was stuck to
the bottom of a pan sitting on top of the stove. 

“Please excuse the
mess.  I’m not a very neat cook.” 

I smiled and
wondered if there was a Chinese take-out close by.

“Don’t worry about
it,” I said, as my eye twitched at the sight of the leaning tower of Pisa-like
pots and pans in the sink. 

“Come on, I’ll
show you into the great room.”  As I followed behind Gavin, I studied his broad
shoulders and narrow waist.  The short sleeves on his tasteful Hawaiian themed
shirt showed off his muscular arms and his blue jeans hugged his body in all the
right places.