Single in Suburbia (27 page)

Amanda laughed despite herself. “I believe that’s our job.” Her laughter reflected her nervousness, but it was hard to sound natural when you were cowering in a laundry room.

“Don’t worry,” she said. “Everything will be fine. Meghan’s so excited about the party she’s practically bouncing off the walls. Even better, she’s been on her best behavior.”

“Yeah, Samantha too,” Hunter said. “I haven’t seen her smile this much since her mother died.”

Amanda felt a warm glow that she was a part of something that meant so much to Samantha. She began to relax in her little hidey-hole, reassured by the sound of Hunter’s voice, his sheets and towels all toasty in the dryer beside her.

“That’s great,” she said as she reached over to squelch the buzzer and pull open the lid of the dryer. “I’m sure all the kids will have a good time.”

“What about us, Amanda?” he asked more quietly. “Are the chaperones allowed to have fun?”

Phone cradled against her shoulder, she tried to work out her answer while she unloaded the dryer. Torn between flirtation and self-preservation, she tussled with the need to keep her distance even as she was drawn inexorably closer. She was so focused on this inner struggle and finding an answer that would leave her safely on the fence, she didn’t hear the bifold door begin to slide open. Or realize that she was no longer alone.

“Solange?”

She whirled around to find Hunter James standing in the laundry room doorway, his head cocked to one side, the phone still clutched in his hand.

“Nom de Dieu!”
The one thing she didn’t have to feign was her surprise. She’d managed to toss her cell phone in the dryer as she turned, but she wasn’t completely sure she’d turned it off first.

In a move she hoped was subtle, she closed the dryer and edged over in front of it.

“Have you been talking on your cell phone?” Hunter asked.

“Me,
monsieur
?” She shook her head unsure whether she still
had
a cell phone given how hot the dryer had been when she tossed the phone inside it. “No, I do not speak on zee telephone.” She held her hands up like people on TV did when they were under arrest. Who knew? Maybe she could be hauled in for drying a telephone without a license.

“So, you weren’t just talking on the phone while you were in here?” he asked.

“Of course not,
monsieur
.” She laughed gaily, sending Solange’s latest pair of silver dangles bouncing. “I only do zee laundry. Eet ees too loud to talk in here.”

Leaving the phone in the dryer, she picked up the laundry basket and prepared to make her exit. “Do you need somezing?” she asked, unintentionally mirroring the question she’d asked on the phone a few moments earlier.

His eyes narrowed as he considered her and she knew she needed to get out of his sight before he started adding things up.

“Just one thing,” he said as she began to move past him. “Would you like to work at Samantha’s party Friday night? We could use someone to help with the food and the cleanup.”

His gaze stayed on her as she pretended to consider his request. It was one thing to be two different people at two different times; for both of her to be here Friday night would be too sitcomish for words.

“I’m so sorry,
Monsieur
James. That weel be impossible.” At last she’d spoken the truth. “I have already plans.” Plans she was looking forward to way too much. “But thank you very much for the asking.”

Wyatt came home from his second pitching session with his face wreathed in smiles. “Hunter taught me a slider. He said I’ve got almost perfect balance, which is crucial for a pitcher, and that all I need is a few more weapons.”

He stuck his head in the refrigerator and came out with the milk jug and a slice of apple pie.

“Honey, it’s almost dinnertime, don’t…”

He poured the milk and grabbed a fork then clambered onto a kitchen chair and prepared to dig in. He looked so happy she didn’t have the heart to argue about the snack. And given his current appetite, it wasn’t as if anything less than a full side of beef was likely to spoil his dinner.

“He said he’d teach me a curveball when I’m thirteen and he gave me a bunch of exercises to do to build up my arm strength.” He slid a huge hunk of pie into his mouth and chewed happily. He appeared to be tethered to earth by the slimmest of threads.

“That’s so great, sweetheart. When you’re done with your snack, I want you to take care of your homework. I’m going to start dinner.”

“OK, Mom.” He rinsed his plate and at the first raising of her eyebrow, actually put it, and his empty glass, into the dishwasher. Slinging his backpack over one shoulder, he pounded upstairs to his room, whistling as he went.

Without thought, Amanda picked up the phone and punched in the James’s phone number. Hunter picked up on the second ring.

“Thank you,” she said as soon as she heard his voice. “Thank you for what you’re doing for Wyatt. I haven’t seen him this happy since…” She paused for a moment. “Since his father left.”

There was a silence in which she knew they were both thinking how closely her comments mirrored his about Samantha. How strange that so many people she hadn’t even met until a few months ago were having such a positive impact on her life.

“I’m glad,” Hunter said, his reflective tone matching hers. “He’s a great kid. I’m getting a real kick out of working with him.”

Amanda felt a warmth that she was beginning to associate with Hunter James. It started in her chest and then, if she were honest, dipped considerably lower.

“Well, I appreciate it,” she said. “It’s wonderful to see Wyatt so happy. Meghan and I are both looking forward to the party tomorrow night.”

This, of course, was a complete understatement. Meghan was vibrating so intensely Amanda was afraid she might levitate right out of her skin.

“Yeah, us too,” he said as she prepared to say good-bye. “Oh, I almost forgot.” A lighter note stole into his voice. “You don’t happen to have a cell phone number for Solange, do you?”

She swallowed and her heart plummeted downward.

“I’ve been trying to figure out if she owns one.”

On Friday afternoon Candace set her dining room table for a traditional Shabbat dinner. She used her grandmother’s cut lace tablecloth and filigreed silver candlesticks. To this she added a bent-lipped silver kiddush cup from Israel that a relative had sent as a wedding gift, though she couldn’t remember which marriage it had been intended to commemorate.

In the kitchen a pot of matzo ball soup simmered on the stove. A brisket of beef cooked with potatoes and carrots in the oven. A mound of chopped liver surrounded by crackers sat on the kitchen counter. A bottle of Manischewitz waited nearby.

The mouthwatering smells pulled her back to the Friday night dinners of her youth. When her grandparents had been alive the meal had been a weekly ritual. In her mother’s household it had occurred more sporadically. In Candace’s, with no children to indoctrinate, the practice had been almost nonexistent.

Tonight she was using the ritual meal as a mediatory measure. She’d invited only two guests, neither of whom was expecting the other.

Dan was the first to arrive. He’d come from the office and wore a pair of gray slacks with a button-down shirt, sleeves rolled up over his forearms, no tie.

“Mmmm,” he said as he kissed her and followed her back to the kitchen. He’d brought wine and chocolates, which he placed on the counter. “Something smells fabulous.”

She poured him a glass of Merlot without asking and handed it to him. He was going to need it.

“That’s the brisket you’re smelling,” she said. “It’s a traditional Friday night favorite. The women in my family do it with a tomato-based sauce, but brisket recipes vary from family to family. Nathan’s mother used an onion soup base; I never could get used to it. I should have paid more attention to that brisket before I agreed to marry him.”

Dan took his usual seat at the counter. He looked right at home there. She hoped he didn’t bolt before the evening was over.

“Here try this.” She slathered some chopped liver on a cracker and handed the hors d’oeuvre to Dan, watching intently as he popped it into his mouth.

“Chopped liver,” she said in response to his questioning glance. “As in the complaint, ‘what am I…?’”

He smiled and popped a second appetizer into his mouth. “Who else did you invite for dinner?”

She was congratulating herself on how easily he’d handled the chopped liver hurdle and trying to decide whether to warn him or not when the doorbell rang.

“Be right back.” Drawing a deep breath, Candace walked to the foyer and opened the door. Hannah stood on the step, a bakery box in her hands.

“I only saw one other car in the driveway,” she said as she kissed Candace on the cheek and followed her into the house. She stopped before they reached the kitchen and sniffed. “You made brisket?” Her surprise was evident. “What’s the occasion?” Spouting questions without waiting for answers, she preceded Candace into the kitchen. “I don’t understand what all the mystery’s”—she spotted Dan and stopped in her tracks—“about.”

Dan and Hannah eyed each other from across the room. Neither of them spoke.

“You’re probably wondering why I called this meeting,” Candace joked.

Neither of her guests smiled.

The kitchen smelled warm and wonderful, but there was none of the chatter or laughter that was supposed to accompany those smells. What there was was silence, thick and uncomfortable. Which Candace felt compelled to fill.

“You’re here,” she said as she poured her mother a glass of wine and replenished Dan’s, “because you’re the people I care most about.” She cleared her throat, trying to dispel her nervousness. “And I, uh, think it’s time you got to know each other. I think you have all kinds of things in common and could have lots to talk about if you’d just give it a try.”

They stared at each other. Then they turned to stare at her.

“OK,” Candace said. “So maybe we’ll just skip over the shmoozing and get to the main event.” Ushering them into the dining room, she directed them to their seats. “Mother, I’d like you to translate the blessings for Dan as I do them.”

For a moment she thought Hannah, who was eyeing the doorway like a prisoner searching out a hole in a chain-link fence, was going to refuse. Not giving her the chance, she took a book of matches from the table, lit one, and held the flame to the first of the Sabbath candles. “Mother?”

“Baruch atah adonai…”
She and the reluctant Hannah recited the blessings while Dan, standing politely behind his chair, looked on.

Another awkward silence followed.

“Now we eat,” Candace said. When her mother moved to help, Candace waved her back. “You two sit and get better acquainted. I’ll bring the food.”

From the kitchen she heard Dan’s voice several times, but heard nothing from Hannah in response. They were eyeing each other in silence when Candace got back with the bowls of soup.

“That looks as good as it smells.” Dan directed his comment to Candace. “I’ve always wanted to try a matzo ball.”

Hannah snorted. “You should have started him on gefilte fish,” she said, also to Candace.

“He passed chopped liver with flying colors. I don’t think we need to make him jump through fire his first time out.” Candace retrieved her own bowl from the kitchen then sat at the head of the table between them. She felt like a UN negotiator attempting to bring two hostile nations into line.

“All right then,” she said. “Maybe we could each share a little bit about ourselves; something that might help you know each other better.”

They both looked down at their food.

“Or maybe we should eat first.” Candace dipped her spoon into her soup and her guests, clearly relieved, followed suit.

“This is great,” Dan said. “Really delicious.”

“It
is
very good, Candace,” her mother said, “though I think it could use a little more seasoning.”

OK, at least they were talking. Not to each other, of course, but the fact that words were leaving their mouths must be an indication of…something. Surely if she tried hard enough, she could help them find some common ground.

“Mother,” Candace said, “I think I mentioned once before that Dan is very involved in charitable causes. Walter Green and Todd Williams”—she made a point of mentioning two names she knew Hannah would recognize—“made donations to the inner-city baseball program that Dan initiated.”

“That’s nice.” Hannah’s tone was grudging, but at least she’d responded.

“Dan,” Candace said into the silence that followed. “Why don’t you tell us a little about the program and your philosophy about mentoring and youth sports?”

Dan did. And he did it with gusto. Candace could tell he wanted to help, but she could also feel him coiled and ready to defend her if he deemed it necessary. Prepared for combat was not quite the same as open to possibility.

Candace had imagined that if she just got them in the same room together somehow things would work out, but their mutual distrust had turned the evening into a mini-version of the Cold War.

Watching them closely for any sign of thawing, Candace led them through a carefully orchestrated three-course meal. By the time they’d finished coffee and dessert, they had each divulged their personal biographies, their pet peeves, and their political philosophies.

But each exchange was hard won. No one was firing nuclear warheads yet, but no one was about to call for shots of vodka either. Next time she was going to add Henry Kissinger to the guest list.

Candace felt as if she’d run a marathon. And finished last.

When her mother finally pushed back her chair and said she had to leave, Candace was relieved.

Dan insisted on helping her clean up. Numb, she worked beside him in the kitchen trying to figure out what she could have done differently. “What a waste,” she said as she shoved a last coffee cup into the dishwasher. “For all this meal achieved, we could have driven through McDonald’s.”

“It was a valiant attempt.” Dan dried his hands and walked with her to the door. They faced each other in the foyer. “And I’d like to say I’ll try harder. But she doesn’t make it easy.”