Ready to Fall (8 page)

“I work hard. I’ve known hard work all my life. Nothing was ever handed to me. Taken away, yes. Handed to me on a silver platter, no.”

He nodded. “You’re one of the best workers I know. And you don’t have to tell me about loss. I’ve got the eight and half fingers to show for it.” He wiggled the remaining fingers on his left hand. Scars, missing fingers, a missing leg, and even death were hazards of working in timber.

“My wedding ring saved the rest of my finger. That says something about things being worth the hard work.”

Pretty sure that was a metaphor.

My aunt gave him a sweet smile. “We want you to be happy, honey. You deserve to be loved and happy. Have a family. Have someone to come home to every night. If it didn’t work out with Kelly, there’s someone else out there.”

I found myself deep in dangerous territory. I missed the chattering, gossiping, giggling girlfriends, wives, and cousins. This almost felt like an ambush.

Sweeping the last piece of bread through the pool of sauce on my plate bought me some time. “I think I’ve heard this speech before. I get it. You know, there are lots of men out there who are lifelong bachelors or settle down later in life. Thirty-two is not so old that you need to worry.”

“Some of those bachelors are homosexuals.”

My uncle’s words startled me and I laughed. “I’m not gay. Trust me on that one. I love tits as much as the next guy.”

“Never said you were. I’m just saying some of those bachelors are homosexuals. They keep to themselves and they don’t bother me.”

My aunt joined in the laughter. “For a man in your sixties, you’re very open-minded, Peter.”

“What? Nowadays you can’t be too sure, so it’s good to know these things. Know where you stand when you shake a man’s hand.”

Images of my uncle at a gay bar dropped into my mind. I tried to shake them away before I saw things that couldn’t be unseen.

“Are we all good here? I’m not gay, I’m not lonely. I’m single. No complaints from me. New subject?”

She patted my arm. “Sure, sweetheart. You talk to your dad lately? I spoke to Joyce last week. Said they’ve been playing a lot of golf. I swear she likes to rub it in a bit.”

When I wished for a new subject, I meant anything but this one. Joyce was my stepmother. As my real mother’s sister, Helen never took to her, but put in the effort because they were family. I felt lukewarm at best about both Joyce and my father.

“Haven’t talked to either of them in a while. Jim said he planned on going down to visit.”

“Your brother always manages to squeeze in a trip down there. Don’t know how he does it given he has his job, a wife, and kids.”

Here came the guilt.

“Guess it’s important to him.” I shrugged and moved to stand. I’d had enough of the interrogation and guilt for the evening. “I hate to miss dessert, but I told Tom I’d meet him for an early game of pool.”

Her frown showed her disappointment. I felt bad being rude, but I couldn’t take it anymore. Still feeling raw from the whole Kelly situation, I didn’t need my inadequacies laid out and discussed … well anymore than they already had been.

“I’ll wrap you up some things to take with you. I baked a chocolate cake. You can take a slice for Tom, too.” She smiled and stood up to fix me a plate.

My uncle drummed his fingers on the table next to his glass of water. “John, she means well. You’ve always been special to her. Especially since we lost your mom. You’re her connection to her sister. Be patient with her if she mothers you too much.”

I blinked a few times after my uncle spoke. It was rare for him to talk about feelings. Even more rare for him to bring up my mom.

“Yeah, I’m sorry,” I told him.

“Don’t apologize to me. Tell her.” He nodded in the direction of the kitchen. “Helen, I’m going to have my dessert in the family room,” he called out as he stood from the table.

“I’ll see you next Sunday,” I said.

“You betcha. I bought some new fly fishing rods I want to show you. Planning a trip to Montana.”

“Sounds good.” I gave him an awkward one armed, patting the back hug men in my family perfected.

Strolling into the kitchen, I observed Helen while she put together a container of leftovers for me and sliced two enormous pieces of chocolate cake.

“Mom’s recipe?” I asked, swiping my finger through the icing on one of the slices. Her hand caught air when I dodged her swat. Instead she pinched my side and turned back to the leftovers.

“I’m sorry I’m a jerk.” I rubbed my side. When she turned around, I hugged her. She hugged me back, still holding the cake knife.

“About the cake? Nah, you always steal the frosting.”

“No, I meant in general.”

“You’re not a jerk. Life hasn’t turned out the easiest for you, John. I only want you to be happy. Your dad and Joyce feel the same. Your mom would want that, too. She always did.”

“Thanks for saying so. Not sure I believe it, but thanks.” Changing the subject, I added, “You think that’s enough cake for me and Tom?”

“It might be too much, but heaven knows we don’t need it.” She patted her plump middle under her apron. “Better you young men eat it and work it off. No worries about diabetes for you.”

“How’s he doing?” I lowered my voice and tilted my head toward the family room and the blast of the television.

“He’s good. His doctors still want him to eat better and exercise. He tells them he fishes, but they don’t count sitting in a boat all day drinking beer as exercise.”

“You’d tell me if anything serious was going on, right? You know how much I hate being kept out of things.” I gave her a pointed look which said everything I didn’t want to discuss.

“I will. I promise. Don’t worry about us. Now you take your food and go. Invite your new friend to dinner sometime. Might be nice for her to meet some more people. Although heaven knows we aren’t very entertaining. Maybe bring her when your cousins will be here.”

It took me a minute to realize she meant Diane. Bring Diane to meet my family?

“I can see your mind trying to figure out a way to say no. What’s her name?”

“Diane.”

“Is she pretty?”

Was Diane pretty? I hadn’t considered it. She was attractive, but so busy hiding it under thick gray wool and messy hair I hadn’t given it much thought.

“Yeah, I guess she is. Dark hair, petite, but not a stick. She’s going through a divorce, too. Guy sounds like a royal asshole.”

“John.”

“Sorry about my language, but he is. Unlike Kelly, this divorce is almost done. He’s being an ass—jerk about alimony.”

“Such a shame. Definitely bring her to dinner. She probably could use some family too.” She stretched to kiss me on my cheek. I had to bend for her to reach it. I gave her arm a squeeze before saying goodbye.

Diane was perched on a stool at the end of the bar when I walked through the double doors at the Doghouse. Donnelly stood next to her, chatting her up and leaning a little too close. He didn’t give up. Her laughter assured me he wasn’t harassing her, but I still didn’t like it.

I shed my coat and hung it on a peg in the hall leading toward the back room. My eyes stayed trained on Diane as I walked toward them while my aunt’s question echoed in my head.

Was she pretty?

I took in her dark hair, which she wore down tonight. It hung past her shoulders, not super straight, but not curly either. Pretty. She had a nice profile and her face lit up when she laughed, revealing straight, white teeth framed by plump lips. Lips made for kissing.

I stopped myself. No one was kissing anyone. I wasn’t kissing Diane.

Neither was Donnely.

I couldn’t make out her body under the fleece jacket and jeans, but I remembered what she wore the night I ate dinner at her house. Nice tits, round ass, curvy hips and thighs. No bony girls for me. I liked somewhere to put my hands and something to hold onto that wouldn’t break.

Yeah, I guess she was pretty. Very pretty, if I was being honest.

Focusing my eyes, I caught Diane staring at me, which meant she caught me staring at her. I coughed and gave her a little wave. Like a kid waves, but less enthusiastically and more embarrassed.

What was wrong with me?

Tom turned and greeted me, “Hey, I wondered when you’d drag your sorry ass here. Not that I mind you being late and giving me the chance to catch up with Diane here. We were chatting about her yoga and pilots. Both of which are great for flexibility.” He winked at her.

Rolling her eyes, she corrected him, “Pilates, not pilots.”

“You didn’t deny the flexibility.” Tom grinned at her, draping his arm around her shoulders. “I like bendy.”

Seeing him touching her caused me to grumble and it came out more as a growl. Diane faced me and quirked her eyebrow.

I had growled. Like an animal. Next I would be beating my chest with my fists. I wasn’t the jealous type, not ever, but Donnely hanging all over Diane annoyed me. He didn’t know her backstory. He didn’t know her dislike of players.

“Give the woman some room to breathe, Donnely,” I said.

“Oh, he’s no problem. I can handle him,” Diane said, but subtly shifted away from his arm. “You two going to play pool tonight?”

“That was the plan. Unless you want some company, sweetheart.” Donnely gave her what he called his “panty-dropper” grin.

She didn’t fall for it and rolled her eyes at me. “Is he always this bad?”

“Didn’t we establish this the last time we were here? Yes, he’s that bad.”

“Standing right here, you two. Standing. Right. Here.” Donnely’s voice bordered on petulant.

“Right, you want to rack ‘em up?” I asked.

“Racks are my thing.” Donnely stared down at Diane’s chest and then gave her shoulder a final squeeze before he covered the short distance to the pool table.

I smiled at Diane. “If he gets too bad, give me a sign. He doesn’t know any better.”

“Thanks, John. Really, he doesn’t bother me much. He was telling me about his wood sculptures when you arrived. I would like to see them. You don’t meet many chainsaw sculptors in Manhattan.”

“Many?” I had to tease. “You mean you’ve met a few men who wield chainsaws to create eagle and bear lawn art?”

“Okay, none. You don’t meet any such artists in New York. I bet Quinn would love to see Donnely’s work.”

“You know Quinn?”

“I do. My husband … I mean ex-husband, and I own a couple of his works. How do you know him?”

“I met him at Maggie’s mom’s funeral and again last summer. He’s a character, for sure. I can’t imagine what his stuff is like.”

Her answering laugh brightened her face. She was even prettier when she laughed. Beautiful even. Her brown eyes sparkled. “Oh, it’s hysterical. I’ll have to show you sometime. Everything’s in storage. My ex admitted he hated Quinn’s art, confirming not only is he an asshole, but he has no sense of humor.”

“You’re beautiful when you laugh.” The words flew out of my mouth before my brain caught up.

Diane stopped her chuckling and stared at me. Her smile was soft and she appeared unsure of the compliment. “Thank you. You’re more of a flirt than Donnely is.”

Her words reminded me of my buddy a few feet away. “That’s a lie. We know Donnely considers himself the king of the flirts.”

“I’m king of what?” he asked, handing me a pool cue.

“King of the flirts, but I think John might be the dark prince.” Diane placed her hand on my arm. I flexed my bicep under her fingers and she tightened her grip.

“Hey man, don’t be moving in on my lady. You might be the neighbor, but I’m the one with the mad skills with my axe.”

Diane and I both groaned at his double-entendre.

“Right, let’s play pool before you get too full of yourself. I’m going to kick your ass.” I nodded at her before returning to the table. “I’ll break.”

The crack of the cue ball sounded over the music and I tried to focus on sinking my balls into the pockets. Whenever it was Donnely’s turn, my eyes tended to wander over to Diane at the bar. She leaned over the paper most of the time, but occasionally I’d catch her watching us play, a wistful expression on her face.

“Hey, you want to play the winner?” I asked, knowing I had one ball left and the eight ball while Donnely had four solid balls on the table.

“I haven’t played since college. You’ll wipe the floor with me,” she replied.

“Nah, I’ll take it easy on you. I’m sure it will all come back. Like sex.” With a wink, I reminded her of one of our first conversations.

Her blush told me she remembered, too.

With two more plays I won the game. Donnely grumbled his way over to his pint glass on the bar. Diane hopped off her stool and grabbed a pool cue from the rack on the wall opposite the bar.

I handed her the chalk and she rubbed it on the tip of her cue. “All right, so who breaks?” she asked, all business.

“I won the last game. I’ll break.”

Balls scattered across the table and two solids dropped into pockets. I reminded her of the basic rules and we began the game.

Every time she bent over to make her shot, I caught Donnely staring at her ass. Twice he winked at me and made a rude gesture. Diane’s words about Tom and I being alike echoed in my head. I hoped I was never that bad. Thinking back, I probably was.