Chapter 29
Nan
“You didn’t have to do this. I can still drive,” I said, looking at Malcolm, who was sitting in the driver’s seat of my car.
“I know,” he said. “But it’s no trouble. Besides, I need to pick up kibble and some better chew toys. Stuart shredded the last two.”
Malcolm backed into a tight spot directly in front of Pet Parade, managing the maneuver on the first try, then hopped out of the car and jogged around the car to open my door.
There were definitely some advantages to being chauffeured about. It would have taken me three or four tries to fit into that space, if I’d have attempted it at all. I hate parallel parking. And it was nice to be fussed over a little bit. Most of the time.
Sometimes I felt that Malcolm went a little too far in his attempts to be helpful. Apart from the broken collarbone, I was a healthy, independent woman, and I liked doing things for myself.
In just four more weeks, I could. As soon as the sling was off, I’d be able to cook a proper meal, bake something more complicated than oatmeal cookies, and dress in clothing with buttons and zippers instead of shapeless elastic-waisted pants and pullovers. I’d be able to fix my hair properly, and prune the hedges, and mulch the vegetable patch.
Of course, Malcolm would have gladly handled the pruning and the mulching if I asked. He loved gardening as much as I did and had a particular talent with hostas. Only the day before, he’d ordered some miniature varieties that he felt would do particularly well in the shady bed under the front window. I’d never had much success with that planter before and could hardly wait for the new plants to arrive. The week before that, he’d raked out all the rotted winter leaves. I was so grateful.
I wanted the garden to be in tip-top shape for the ball, and spring cleanup was always such a big chore. But not being able to do it myself was frustrating. Even so, I knew I would miss Malcolm’s company once I was out of the sling. Funny how quickly I’d gotten used to having him around.
“What?” Malcolm asked, giving me a curious look when he opened the car door.
“Nothing,” I said, quickly shifting my gaze. “I was just thinking how much I appreciate your help. You’re good company, Malcolm.”
“Well, thank you,” he said with a matter-of-fact little nod. “So are you.”
The bells on the pet shop door jingled to announce our entrance. Sylvia, who was kneeling down on the floor, stocking a shelf with kitty litter, got up to greet us.
“Just in time,” she said. “I was going to call you later today.”
She walked behind the counter, opened the register, pulled out two envelopes, and handed them to me.
“What’s this?”
“The first one is a check for one hundred forty-five made out to the rescue, proceeds from the sales of eight dog jackets.”
“Oh. We only sold eight?”
“Only? Nan, this is a very small shop. That’s about a thirty percent increase for my jackets sales in the same month last year. My customers, few though they are, love your dog jackets.”
“You’re right, Sylvia. Every little bit helps, doesn’t it? But it’s a good thing the Dogmother’s Ball is coming up. I don’t think we can balance Rainbow Gate’s budget by selling dog jackets.”
“The ball will be a big success,” Sylvia said confidently. “Good thing you brought more flyers, we went through the first batch so quick. A few of my customers said they’re planning to come. That other envelope has two checks for tickets. One is from the Olneys, sweet old couple, but they don’t have a computer so I said I’d give you their reservation. Mine’s in there too.”
“That’s great, Sylvia. I’ll add three more tickets to the list. Or is it four?”
“Oh, no,” Sylvia said. “Just three. Unfortunately, I’m between boyfriends. Have been since . . . let me see now.” She tapped her finger against her chin. “I believe it was the Reagan administration. But, hey, if any nice, single, animal-loving guys of a certain age show up without a date, feel free to seat them next to me.”
“Will do.”
Sylvia laughed. “I’m just joking. I’ve been alone so long that if you actually did find me a date, I doubt I’d know what to do with him. At this point, I’ve decided that dogs are better company than most men—so much more obedient. I never could train my husbands to sit, let alone stay. Should have had all three of them fixed on day one.”
She laughed again and closed the drawer on the cash register.
“What about you, Nan? Do you have a date to the ball?”
“A date? Me? Oh, no—”
“She does,” Malcolm said, heaving a twenty-five-pound bag of kibble onto the counter. “She’s going with me.”
* * *
Leaving the pet shop, we drove a good two miles before I worked up the nerve to say anything.
“Malcolm, when you told Sylvia that we were . . . going to the ball together. I was—” I cleared my throat. “What exactly did you mean by that?”
Malcolm glanced toward me with an amused expression, like he was someone waiting for the punch line of something he’d just figured out must be a joke.
“Well,” he said slowly, “I meant we were going to go together. You are going to the ball. And I am going to the ball. And, this being the case, it only makes sense that we’d go together. Doesn’t it?”
“Yes, but . . .”
I stared at him for a moment, waiting for him to state the obvious instead of forcing me to spell it out. He didn’t.
“Malcolm,” I said, “you know what I mean. There’s together, as in two people being at the same location at the same time, and then there’s, you know, together.”
“Ahh . . .” He looked over his shoulder before moving into the left turn lane. “I see. Well, I was thinking we could go together,” he said, mimicking my emphasis and intensity. If I wasn’t so flustered, I might have thought it was funny.
“Oh, I see.”
Frowning, Malcolm glanced at me again before making the turn. “Is that a problem? I’ve really enjoyed your company and getting to know you better over these last few weeks. I assumed you felt the same. But if I misread the situation—”
“No, no. But, well . . . It’s like Sylvia said. I haven’t been involved with a man since the Reagan administration—in a romantic sense, I mean. I assume that’s what we’re talking about?”
“It is,” Malcolm confirmed.
I felt my heart flutter, more from anxiety than ardor.
“Right. I see.”
“You said that already.”
“Sorry. It’s just that . . . I don’t quite know how to respond. I’ve been alone a long time. And I . . . well, I’m sixty-two years old.”
“I’m sixty-three. Why should that make a difference?”
I was quiet for a moment. “Maybe it shouldn’t. But this is a lot to wrap my head around, Malcolm. It’s been so long since I even considered the possibility of a . . .”
“Romance,” he said, supplying the word. “Go ahead. You can say it.”
Even with Malcolm’s urging it took a moment for me to summon the word, as if the syllables were somehow too sticky to utter.
“Romance,” I said finally. “I thought that ship had sailed.”
“Think again,” he said. “Because it hasn’t.”
Malcolm’s tone was practical, just as even and matter-of-fact as it had been when we’d been discussing which hostas might do well in that shady spot in my yard. I found that reassuring.
“Fine. Let’s say it’s true. Let’s say that, after two decades alone, I’ll be able to adjust to the idea and practice of a romantic relationship.” I hesitated briefly at the end of the sentence, but the R-word came more easily this time. “Let’s assume that, all right? Just for argument’s sake.”
“Good. Let’s,” Malcolm said, nodding deeply to indicate that he was with me.
“You were married for over thirty years. Your divorce was only finalized a few weeks ago. On top of that, you’ve been forced into retirement sooner than you’d planned. Your whole life has been turned upside down this last year. You’re trying to sort out what your new life is going to be like, looking to fill in the holes left in the wake of all this, which is understandable, admirable even. It’s great, the way you’re handling everything, staying positive and trying to move forward and all that. But I’m not sure how I feel about being . . . well, cement.”
“Cement?” Malcolm smiled as he pulled the car into my driveway.
“Cement, caulking, grout—whatever it is you use to fill holes in with.” I flapped my hand impatiently. “It’s a masonry analogy.”
“Oh, right,” he said slowly, then set the parking brake. “Sure. Masonry.”
“Okay, fine. Now you’re making fun of me. But this is serious,” I said, even as a smile tugged at the corners of my mouth. “I don’t want to have my life upended and my heart broken just because you’re . . .”
“On the rebound?”
Malcolm turned off the car.
“Look, Nan, helping out during your recovery has been a good distraction while I’m adjusting to all the changes in my life. But I’m not an aimless man or an indecisive one. With or without you, I’d have figured out a new direction and purpose in life. And much as I find you lovely, and fascinating, and great fun to be with, I can assure you that I am not about to make you, or anyone, my reason for getting up in the morning.
“I’m a man of many interests and inclinations. I’ve never been bored a day in my life. From what I’ve seen, you’re the same. That’s part of the attraction. Seems to me we might be able to find lots of wonderful ways to share our lives but still be able to maintain the independence that each of us values. And, along the way, we might each of us learn a few things from the other.”
I found myself nodding as he spoke, especially when it came to the part about being able to share life even while maintaining our identities. That was what had been so wonderful and so very special about my marriage to Jim. We could not have been closer and yet, we were able to give each other space to operate as individuals.
“As far as me being on the rebound?” Malcolm shook his head. “I’m not. Yes, my divorce came through just recently, but the marriage was over a long, long time ago. Marriage wasn’t a commitment I made lightly; I tried everything I could to salvage my relationship with Barbara. If I ever marry again, I’ll be just as committed. But you can’t be in a marriage by yourself, and Barbara made it clear that—”
Malcolm stopped in midsentence at about the same time I realized I had stopped breathing.
“Uh-oh. I’m scaring the hell out of you, aren’t I? Sorry. An unfortunate by-product of a scientific mind. I tend to mentally walk through all the potential outcomes before choosing a path. You’re right. One step at a time.”
Malcolm unbuckled his safety belt and twisted toward me, pulling one leg up onto the seat so he was looking right at me. As he reached out, placed his hand on my shoulder, and leaned in, I felt my face get hot.
“What are you doing?”
“Well, before we get too far into this, I thought I’d kiss you.”
His words were as straightforward as ever, but his voice had dropped to almost a whisper and his Scottish burr became simultaneously thicker and softer, a voice that sounded like velvet feels, soft as a sable brush caressing my cheek.
“That is, assuming you have no objection. And then, if you like it, you can decide if we should go to the ball together. What do you think? Does that seem like a good first step?”
My stomach flipped in that same way it had when he turned around at the gate and looked at me.
“Oh. If you put it that . . . I mean . . . Yes. Yes, that makes sense.”
“Good,” Malcolm said. “Because it’s something I’ve wanted to do for a long time.”
Like so many things that would happen that day, his admission came as a surprise, but it was a good one. That said as much as anything about my feelings toward Malcolm. I’ve never liked surprises. But this was different. So was Malcolm.
It was a long kiss. I suppose you could have described it as lingering. And, based on the cloudy comparisons I was able to summon from the recesses of my oh-so-distant memories, it was a very, very good one. During the first moment or two, I actually tried to assess it, contrasting Malcolm’s kiss to those of my Jim, so many years before, but I gave up pretty quickly.
Jim was the best of men, an ideal partner. Malcolm was like him but not. Yet he, too, was the best of men. An ideal partner? It was too soon to tell. But I kept thinking about what Monica said when she told us that Bob was “just a friend.” If the crowd hadn’t started to cheer on the first racer at precisely that moment, I would have told her the same thing I told Luke, that falling in love with your best friend is one of the best things that can happen to a person. I knew from experience. Jim Wilja wasn’t just my husband, he was my best friend. Had fate not deemed otherwise, he would have remained so for life.
Now, there was Malcolm. Certainly he was my friend. Could he be my best friend? Could I love him?
With Malcolm’s lips on mine, sweet and soft and searching, and his arms pulling me into an embrace that made me melt, I understood that there was more than one kind of kiss, just as there was more than one kind of man, and that each could be the best and oh . . . so lovely.
Finally, at the end of that long kiss, which was still far too short, Malcolm loosened his grip and looked into my eyes.
“Well?” he asked. “What did you think?”
It was the voice of a man who was bracing himself for the best or the worst, the kind of anxious but stalwart tone people use to question a physician about the outcome of a potentially life-altering lab result. Hearing it, I couldn’t help but smile.
“I think we should definitely go to the ball together. Definitely. And . . . I think you should kiss me again.”
He didn’t wait to be asked twice.
The second kiss was just as good as the first. Even better, in fact, because this time I kissed him back. I slid my fingers slowly along his shoulder and the length of his neck, up into his hair. I admit to feeling tentative at first, hesitant, like a musician who is trying to remember the exact position and placement of her fingers on the keyboard after a years-long lapse at the piano. Even so, it was an elating sensation, the thrill that comes from breathing an old ember into new flame.
When we finally broke apart, I was smiling.
“Like riding a bicycle,” I laughed.
“All comes back to you, doesn’t it? Just imagine if the emergency brake wasn’t standing between us,” Malcolm said, glancing down at the console with a grin. “We might spontaneously combust.”
“But . . . maybe we’d better keep the brakes on for a bit? I’m no prude, Malcolm, but I—”
“You don’t need to say more, Nan. I understand. And I agree. One step at a time. The Scottish Book of Common Prayer says that marriage is to be entered into ‘reverently, discreetly, advisedly, soberly, and in the fear of God.’ That was my mind-set when I married the first time. Though I know we are miles away from taking any steps in that direction, if I were ever to marry again, I’d be just as committed and would enter into that union just as soberly, just as reverently.”
“Oh, Malcolm,” I laughed.
He shrugged. “I know. Hopelessly old-fashioned.”
“Well, if that’s true, then we both are. But . . . we can still kiss, can’t we?”
“Aye, that we can, lass,” he said, purposely thickening his brogue and making me laugh again.
He reached for me again and I leaned toward him eagerly, my hands arching over his shoulders. And then, just as our lips were about to touch, someone rapped sharply on the back window of the car.
Startled by the sound, I quickly pulled away. Malcolm jumped, too, swiveling his neck in the direction of the noise. A moment later, a face with sallow skin, sunken eyes, and dirty blond hair appeared in the frame of the passenger’s side window.
“Sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”
My breath caught in my throat and my hand flew to my heart. I reached for the door handle, but Malcolm grabbed my wrist to stop me.
“Wait. Who is that? Do you know her?”
“It’s my daughter,” I said.
He looked at me blankly and I pulled from his grasp.
“It’s Dani.”