*
That evening, I waited on the porch for Mac. I didn’t want to go through the whole chatting-with-the-family thing and figured he would be just as happy to avoid Vi’s questions. Of course, they weren’t subtle about the fact that they were watching from behind the curtains.
When he pulled up in his pickup truck, I hopped off the porch and went to meet him.
“Seems like old times,” he said as I buckled the seat belt. “You never could wait to get out of there.”
“It’s better now, but only a little.”
We chose safe topics of conversation on our way out of town. He told me about his time in Saginaw and the drug bust that had gone bad. He’d taken a bullet in his leg and was stuck with a cane until his strength improved. He wasn’t sure how long he would stay with the Ottawa County Sheriff’s Department but didn’t want to return to Saginaw. I kept quiet about my own troubles in Ann Arbor, saying only that I had six weeks left of my leave of absence. No talk of murder, séances, or psychics. As soon as we passed the city limits and headed north, I knew where he was taking me for dinner.
Grand Haven was not far, and the Lighthouse Restaurant sat right on the beach. The food was good, but the view was the big attraction. I hadn’t been there since Mac and I broke up.
It was obvious that things had changed when we pulled into the parking lot. The weather-beaten sign had been replaced with a carved wooden plaque, and the lot had been repaved and painted with marked parking spaces. As we approached the front door, I saw that the bright multicolored deck umbrellas had been changed for black shades and tables with real tablecloths. Mac and I exchanged a bewildered glance.
Inside, the upscale transformation was even more apparent. We stood by the hostess station and I began to worry my jeans and short-sleeve blouse would be turned away. But this was still Michigan in the summer, and the hostess didn’t give us a second look as she led us to a table for two.
We caught up on the past eight years over a bottle of wine and surf and turf. Mac was funnier than I remembered and more relaxed. The wine mellowed us both, and we had veered into remember-when territory. I reminded him of the time we were driving out near Greer’s Woods and Etta James’s “At Last” came on the oldies station. Mac had pulled off to the side of the road, turned up the music, and pulled me out of the car. We slow-danced in the woods with only the headlights and the moon to guide us. Mac reminded me of the time we had almost started a brawl in a Grand Rapids pool hall. It was the most I had laughed in a very long time.
We reached for the wine bottle at the same time, and when his hand covered mine I caught my breath.
“Well, I never thought I’d see this.”
I turned to see Charla Roberts grinning and standing at our table. I jumped up to give her a hug and knocked my wineglass over in the process. Mac dealt with the mess and then offered Charla a chair.
“Oh, I don’t want to interrupt,” Charla said. “I’m having dinner with Dean Junior and saw you from across the room.”
“It’s great to see you, Charla,” I said. I secretly wished she’d waited a few more minutes. “I’m in town for the summer—we’ll have to get together.”
“I’ve heard all about you and your summer plans. Tom Andrews talks about you all the time.” She cocked her thumb at Mac. “This one is a bit more secretive.”
Mac cleared his throat and tried to gain control of the conversation.
“I don’t have any secrets, Charla. I’m an open book.” He held his hands out to demonstrate.
Charla glanced at him. “Yes, I can see that.” She turned to me. “I can’t tell you how happy I am to see you two together. Before Dean died, he told me how glad he was that you had found each other.”
She didn’t notice the shift in the atmosphere at the table. At the mention of Dean Roberts, Mac stiffened and his eyes lost their sparkle.
“We’re just old friends out to dinner, Charla,” Mac said.
“Okay, have your secrets.” She smiled at me. “I’ll leave you old friends to your wine.” Charla made her way back across the restaurant.
The drive home was quiet, and there was no more reminiscing. We were lost in our own thoughts. I was ruminating about Tish and the debacle that afternoon, as well as trying to figure out where Mac and I had gone so wrong eight years ago. Mac was presumably remembering his reasons for leaving Crystal Haven. I was glad we had done this, even if nothing had changed. At least now I wouldn’t feel uncomfortable when we met. I knew where I stood.
“Thanks, Mac,” I said when he pulled up to the house. “I had a really nice time.”
I reached for the door handle and started to get out of the truck. Mac grabbed my other hand and held it.
“Let’s do this again, okay?” His eyes were intense, and I realized I had misinterpreted the situation—again.