“You did something to me, all right. Now, please be helpful. Can you go get Hannah and Leah and drag them down here? It’s Hannah’s best friend’s birthday. You’d think we wouldn’t be the last ones there.”
He laughed as he walked down the hall. His long legs covered the distance in less than five steps, and he was up the stairs in a matter of seconds.
“We’re having a race!” His loud booming voice echoed off the foyer walls. “The first person, myself included, to get in the car, strapped in, and ready to go to the party will be allowed to go on the swings first at Annie’s house. On your mark, get set, go!”
Three sets of footsteps, two light, one heavy, thundered down the steps. Within a minute, everyone was in the van, frantically buckling seatbelts.
After tossing the cooler in the trunk, I jumped into the driver’s seat and turned the key.
“You like?” he asked, grinning.
“Yes, I like. Although a race down the steps? Probably not the best idea…”
He shrugged. “You never like my methods, yet you don’t mind the success rate. Besides, I totally won that race.”
“Uncle Drew didn’t win. I did.” Hannah pouted.
“Just call him Drew, Hannah.” I had been trying to get the girls to drop the “Uncle” for a while. I took a deep breath, calming my frayed nerves.
Steve and Melinda had never met Drew, although when I had seen Melinda in the grocery store a few weeks ago, she mentioned she had heard that I was seeing someone. I wondered how she’d heard. Was it from a well-wisher passing along happy news or something whispered furtively behind a hand, with a knowing smile? Her husband might not even be dead, you know.
It had been six months, and Drew insisted that I needed to stop caring about other people’s perceptions. For the first two months of our courtship, I refused to go to any restaurant where I might see someone from the neighborhood or church. That generally meant we had to drive twenty minutes in any direction to have a meal. I didn’t rehire Charlotte as my date-night babysitter; I found a girl from the community college bulletin board. Drew grew tired of secret dating, but was patient with me. Annie’s birthday party marked the first time I had brought Drew to any neighborhood function. Greg’s replacement. I tried not to think like that, but I knew others would.
“Okay, so whose house are we going to?” Drew asked again. Fact I never knew: Drew had a terrible time remembering names.
“Melinda and Steve. They have one daughter, Annie, who is Hannah’s best friend. You’ve met her. Rob and Robin will be there, and you’ve met them.” A few weeks ago, we had taken the girls to dinner at the Masters’s house. I’d had the same fears that night as I had today, but I knew Robin and Rob wanted nothing but the best for me. Drew had brought an expensive bottle of wine and a bottle of whiskey. By the end of the night, everyone was talking like old friends.
Robin had pulled me aside as we were leaving. “Claire, Drew is wonderful. I’m so glad to see you happy.”
We embraced, and I felt thankful to have an ally in the neighborhood. When I said that to Drew, he’d sighed. “An ally implies some kind of war, Claire. How do you even know anyone will care?”
As we pulled into the driveway, Melinda met us at the van. “Hi, I’m so glad you came!” she squealed, hugging me, then opening the back door to let the girls out of the car.
Hannah bounded right for the swing set and Annie, leaving Leah in her wake.
Taking the cooler from my arm, Melinda extended her hand to Drew. “I’m Melinda,” she cooed.
I watched her, oddly unaffected by her flirting. She walked uncomfortably close to Drew, and I gauged his reaction. He turned around, caught my eye, and winked. I had told him about Melinda’s reputation as the neighborhood floozy. I have no idea how she’ll be to you. Drew, with his obvious striking looks, commanded her full attention. He was attentive, even ironically flirtatious, in return. She clucked around him, handing him a beer from the fridge and peppering him with questions. Where did he live? What did he do? Every answer was met with a “Really?” or a “Wow, that’s so interesting!” as though he were a CIA operative, instead of a photographer.
As I unpacked the macaroni salad, I pretended to ignore them. I was curious to see how Drew would fit in with the shark pit of suburbia. He wasn’t as obtuse as Greg, who had been oblivious to the gossip and malice. He was an artist, a student of human nature. I can only imagine what his next photography collection will be. I caught myself smiling.
“How are you holding up?” Melinda asked me.