A Different Kind of Forever

CHAPTER ONE

DIANE MATTHEWS CAME out of sleep as one swimming upwards, a slow brightening, an awareness of sound. Dog barking, slow ticking, a long deep breath. It was Tuesday morning, so no classes till after lunch. Tuesdays were her mornings to play, run errands and sometimes write. She sighed, moving deeper into the covers. Her first challenge: sleep another half hour, or get up now and get an extra jump on the day? She opened her eyes: empty room, quiet, pale curtains, alone. The cat, Jasper, a long, rangy calico, leapt lightly onto the bed. Good morning.

She rolled out of bed and stepped into the shower. She could hear the girls upstairs, the faint footfalls coming through the sound of water. Emily would have gotten up first, rousing her younger sister with her own bathroom noises. A school day, the regular routine.

“Mom, you need to sign this.” Emily stood before her in the kitchen, holding a sheet of paper that looked vaguely official. Diane sipped coffee, squinting. Emily let out an exaggerated sigh and reached for Diane’s reading glasses on the counter, handing them over with a small shake of her head.

“Some day, you’ll be old and I’m really going to enjoy it,” Diane grumbled, putting on the glasses and reading. A permission slip for the Science trip in June. She signed quickly, then marked the calendar. Megan came up behind her and gave her a quick kiss on the cheek and a mumbled, morning, while reaching for cereal. Then, both girls froze. The sound of the radio, coming from the living room, caught their attention. They both grabbed for their cellphones and waited as the DJ droned on. Tickets for the concert. Of course. They had been in a frenzy for weeks, trying to win free tickets for NinetySeven, local boys made good, for their last show of the current tour. The question hadn’t been asked yet, but it didn’t matter. Between the two girls, they knew every bit of trivia about the band there was to know.

“This one’s easy,” the DJ was saying. “How did they get the name NinetySeven?”

“Oh God, I know that, I know that.” Emily had her cell phone to her ear. Diane looked at Megan and raised an eyebrow.

Megan had her cell phone in one hand and poured cereal with the other. “That’s the number they came up with when they added up all their ages, right after Mickey Flynn joined the band. He was the youngest, only 15.”

Emily was shaking her head. “How do people get through?” she howled. “It’s impossible. This is so unfair. I mean it. Mom, you should go down to the radio station and complain. It’s totally impossible.”

Diane studied her daughter’s face. Long, thin, deep-set eyes. Not a beauty, but arresting, intense. Completely different from Megan, who was so open and sunny. Emily was scowling now. She slammed the phone onto the counter as the DJ announced they had their caller. Megan shrugged and turned off her own phone, but Emily, as always, was taking it personally.

Diane winced as Emily stormed around the kitchen. Was she that self-involved at 16? She didn’t think so, but it was quite a while ago. Her oldest, Rachel, had been very quiet and self-assured, focused on becoming an actress since the age of ten and never wavering. Emily was flighty, over-dramatic and irrational in reacting to perceived slights. As for Megan, at 14 she was following Rachel’s footsteps, thank God.

“Mom, did you get Dad’s okay?” Emily asked suddenly.

Diane frowned. “For what?”

A heavy sigh. “If we get tickets. Did Dad say we could go to the concert?”

Diane sipped more coffee, thinking quickly. Her ex-husband had the girls on weekends, picking them up every Friday evening.

“No, I didn’t say anything to him yet, but he knows how important this would be to you. He wouldn’t give you a hard time. Why don’t you call him yourself, and give him a heads up?”

Emily cocked her head at her mother. “He’d let me go, but not alone. You’d have to come with me. So what about Megan? If we win this contest, it’s only two tickets.” Emily started pacing again. “It’s not fair, Mom.”

Megan raised her eyebrows at her sister. Diane took a deep breath.

“Em, why don’t we wait until you actually have tickets before we start to worry about your sister, okay?”

Emily turned abruptly and left. Diane turned and looked at Megan.

“Is there really a 15-year-old in the band?”

Megan put her bowl in the sink. “He’s not 15 now, Mom. That was like, ages ago.” Megan lifted herself onto the counter and sat, legs swinging slightly. “See, Joey Adamson and his two cousins and his best friend had this band, and they were, like all twenty or twenty-one or something, then Joey’s brother met Mickey’s sister, and Joey heard him sing and asked him to be in the band, and he was only 15, but really good, you know? So then Mickey started playing with them and they changed the name to NinetySeven and then they became really known, and got a record deal and stuff, and now they’re, like, famous.” Megan smiled. “He’s cute.”

“Mickey?”

“Oh, yeah, him too. But Joey? He’s the drummer? He’s really cute, but old, you know? Like thirty or something.”

Diane put down her cup. “Yeah. Old.”

Megan hopped off the counter and headed out as the house phone rang.

Diane checked the caller I.D. and grinned. “NinetySeven Central,” she answered.

“If I never hear about this stupid band again, I’ll die a happy camper,” Sue Griffen said over the phone. “I may have to lock both kids in a closet.”

Diane laughed. Sue’s daughters were the same ages as Emily and Megan, and were close friends. “Have yours put the radio station on speed-dial?”

Sue snorted. “Oh yes. Thank God for cell phones or I’d never see my landline. I should have let them camp out and get the friggin’ tickets. This is way too much aggravation.”

“Hey, there’s only what, three more weeks of this? Then we can relax till the next round. I remember Rachel doing this to me last time these guys were on tour, what, five years ago? I think it was the same radio contest - maybe the same DJ. Can you come over for coffee? I’ve got the morning free.”

“Nope, not me. That’s why I called. I’ve got the dentist in like 20 minutes. Ask Megan to swing by and get Becca, okay?”

“Sure. Later.” Diane hung up and grabbed a yogurt from the fridge. Sue Abbot lived two doors down. They had moved into the neighborhood within months of each other, and had their youngest in the same week.

Diane went to the bottom of the stairs and yelled up. “Megan, you’ve got five minutes. Pick up Becca on the way to the bus stop, okay?

Diane sat on the couch and stared out the window, listening to her daughters get ready. She was pretty, with dark, intelligent eyes and a shy, lovely smile. Her hair was dark, curling brushing her shoulders. She had been divorced for almost five years.

“Mom?” Emily came down the stairs, her face set. “Can you listen to the radio for me?”

“Emily, what the hell do I know about these guys? You’re the NinetySeven expert, not me.”

Emily rolled her eyes and pushed out the front door. Seconds later, Megan came down. She bent and kissed her mother’s cheek.

“She’s just really worked up about this, that’s all.” Megan made a small face. “You know how she gets. She wants to be the one to go, ‘cause nobody else got tickets and it would be a big deal.”

“I know.” Diane smiled at her youngest and watched her leave, listening to the vague squawk of the radio. She spent the rest of the morning quietly, doing laundry, straightening books. She didn’t often venture upstairs, but as she carried a basket of towels into the girls’ bathroom, she threw a quick look into the two bedrooms. Megan’s room was a mess. Clothes on the floor, bed unmade, a pile of shoes spilling out of the closet. It always looked cluttered, even when clean, because there was not an inch of white, empty wall. All the flat surfaces were covered with posters – television and film actors, bands, and unicorns.

Emily’s room was slightly better – she took care of her clothes and they were never left on the floor. Her room was dominated by a single, life-sized poster of the band, NinetySeven. Diane looked at the faces. They are all so young, she thought. Well, maybe not. They have been around for a while. They might even be over thirty. She stepped closer. Except Mickey Flynn. She remembered the poster that Rachel had of the same group, years ago. Mickey Flynn had been a kid, small, innocent-looking, with big blue eyes and a sweet smile. He was taller now, lean and wiry, brows heavier, his face all angles. Behind him was, she assumed, the handsome drummer. Joey. Very handsome and muscular in a tight black tee shirt and jeans.

“I’d do him,” she said aloud. Jasper the cat wrapped around her ankles, purring.

“What do you think, baby,” she asked him. “Could I get a rock star?”

The cat sat and began to lick his front paw.

“Didn’t think so,” she said, and got ready for work.





She drove through the early afternoon. Her first class was not until two. If she was lucky, and no one saw her sneak into her office, she could have almost an hour alone to work on her play. It had been accepted for production at Merriweather Playhouse, a small, private theater connected to Franklin-Merriweather University. She taught at Dickerson College, a liberal arts college whose campus adjoined the University.

She had gotten the idea for “Mothers and Old Boyfriends” five years before, when she went to Ohio without her daughters to attend the wedding of her college roommate. She had been invited to spend the night before the wedding at Judy’s, with two other women, Judy’s sister and her childhood friend. Diane had not met the other two women before, but they all clicked immediately, and after the rehearsal dinner, they sat in Judy’s living room and talked about their younger college days, and about their mothers and all of their old boyfriends.

When Diane decided to take Sam French’s playwriting class a few years later, she wrote about the four women coming together: but in addition to those four characters, the four different mothers and all those ex-lovers became part of the story, stepping in and out of conversations, and having discussions of their own that ran counterpoint to what the women had to say. Only in theater could the line between fantasy and reality be so easily crossed. Diane wrote steadily, her fingers tripping over each other in her eagerness to get the words down, and Sam French loved the result, doing the piece the following year as a read-through in a Master’s workshop. Then he asked if he could direct it in full as part of the winter schedule. Franklin-Merriweather had never done an original work before. This would be a first.

It would be a busy summer for her. In addition to the play, she would be teaching a graduate level class the following year, beginning in January. Normally, she would spend at least part of the summer traveling, but this year she would be home with her daughters for the whole three months, working.

She was lucky when she got to work. She slipped into her office unnoticed and began to read through the notes Sam French had left for her. Act 1’s second and fifth scenes were dragging. She made the changes, working on the hard copy before putting changes into the computer. She lived in terror of the computer losing everything, and would print out any and all changes in addition to saving them onto a disk.

Marianne Thomas poked her head in a few minutes before class. She was 50, almost six feet tall, and the most beautiful woman Diane had ever known. Part Chinese, part African-American, Marianne was brilliant, a lesbian, and had been Diane’s good friend for years, besides being her boss.

“Can I have a minute?” she asked.

Diane nodded, hit the save button, and turned to her friend. “Ten minutes. What’s up?”

“I’m thinking of using Torino’s for the picnic. You’ve had their food, what do you think?”

Diane pursed her lips. Every year, at the end of spring term, Marianne invited all Dickerson’s faculty to a picnic at her old farmhouse. It had become something of a tradition, and Marianne took it very seriously.

“They’re good, but they’re kind of a small operation. Can they handle that many people?”

Marianne looked thoughtful. “Good point. I’ll have to think. I may get a country western band to play instead of a DJ. I think it would be a hoot. Can you imagine Peter Ferrell trying to line dance? It might be worth the thousand dollars for that alone.”

Diane grinned. “You’re awful. He is a perfectly nice man, why do you pick on him so much?”

“Because he honestly believes the spaceship is due back any day now. Isn’t that why you stopped dating him?”

“No. Well, maybe. He was a little too cerebral for me.”

Marianne snorted delicately. “And this from a woman who reads Tibetan poetry for fun. How about a movie this weekend? Something in English, please?”

Diane nodded. “Sure. Saturday night. But we’ll have to make it late. Megan’s car-wash fundraiser is Saturday, and I’ve got the afternoon shift.”

“You’ll be washing cars? In public? Lord, Diane, surely you could just write a check?”

Diane began to gather up her books. “I’m a single parent, remember, trying to live on a professor’s salary. I don’t have the disposable income of certain, unencumbered people. Besides, it’ll be fun, out in the sunshine, playing with hoses and soapy water.”

“Playing with hoses? God, I could never be a parent.”

Diane smiled. “Maybe not. Can you walk with me? I have an issue, I think, with my class.”

They walked across campus, Diane explaining her problem with trying to get an outline together. Marianne agreed to get a meeting together next week, they picked a movie for Saturday, and parted. Diane had two classes, both senior seminars. They were her favorite classes, and they sped by. Afterwards, she ran into the grocery store and then hurried home to her daughters.

The week went by quickly. On Friday morning, Emily mentioned that her father would be picking the girls up early. Diane looked at her suspiciously.

“What? What are you cooking up now?”

Emily rolled her eyes. “He just needs to talk to you, okay? It’s not such a big deal.”

Diane looked at Megan, who lifted her shoulders and shook her head. “Sorry Mom, not a clue.”

Emily huffed and ran back upstairs. Diane looked back at Megan, who was putting her cereal bowl in the sink.

“Megan, tell me,” Diane asked. “Please? Whenever she gets that look in her eye, I know there’s trouble.”

Megan twisted her lips together. “She was talking to Alison about the shore this summer.”

Suddenly, Diane knew. “Okay. Not a problem.”

She was on good terms with Kevin, her ex-husband. Theirs had not been a dramatic divorce. They had just grown apart. He would have probably been willing to go on indefinitely, but Diane found herself increasingly unhappy, and they finally separated. He had since re-married, to a much younger woman, who was expecting their first child in September. He had also been talking about buying a house on Long Beach Island, and spending the summer there. Diane could imagine that the idea of spending the entire summer within sight of the ocean, not to mention all those boys, would be irresistible to Emily. Diane smiled ruefully to herself. She would have loved it at that age. Hell, she’d love it now. Diane chewed her lip for a moment. It would be interesting to see how Emily would approach her.

That afternoon, when Kevin came to pick up the girls, Emily sat beside him on the couch. Diane looked at him fondly. He was a quiet, attractive man, just over fifty, who still had a great deal of affection and respect for his ex-wife. Kevin put his arm around Emily’s shoulder.

“Well, I want you to know that Victoria and I have gone ahead and bought a shore house. It’s small, just a summer bungalow, but it’s on the beach block. Victoria is going to be living there all summer.” He smiled at Megan, then at Emily. “So, Em, do you have something to ask your mother?”

Emily’s jaw dropped and she looked at her father, stricken. “Dad, I thought you were –“

Kevin shook his head. “You stay with me every weekend and for three weeks in August. If you want anything else, it’s up to your mother.”

Diane raised an eyebrow. Emily glared daggers at her father, and then turned to her mother, carefully re-arranging her face.

“Mom, I’d like to spend all summer at the shore - with Dad and Vicki. Is it okay with you?”

Megan jumped up. “Wait, what about me?”

“Honey,” Kevin said soothingly, “of course this includes you. It’s just that Emily brought it up a few weeks ago, so she and I have been discussing it.”

“Well,” Megan sputtered, “what about Mom? I mean, she’ll be here all alone. I don’t want to leave Mom alone. What would she do? She’s not even going away this summer. She’ll have nothing to do without us here.”

Diane tightened her lips to hide a smile. “Megan, thank you for thinking of me, but I’ll be working all summer. I’ve got a new class to prepare, and there’s the play.”

“Then it’s okay?” Emily asked.

Diane fixed her eye on her. “What about the job you were going to get this summer to pay for all the driving you’re supposed to be doing next year?”

Emily squirmed. “I can get a job down there. I can wait tables at the shore just as easily as I can here. And I can walk or ride a bike there, and I can’t here, not really. And besides,” she added, as a final stroke, “I can help Victoria take care of the house. She’s sick because of the pregnancy and needs me.”

Kevin pursed his lips in a silent whistle and met Diane’s eye. Diane had to cough.

“Really? You’re going to help Victoria? Does that mean you’ll be cleaning and doing the cooking for all of you?”

Emily squirmed again, looking thunderous. Diane didn’t let her off the hook.

“How are you going to take care of a house and work? You’re always complaining I do a lousy job of both, that dinner is never ready, that you have to do your own laundry, and numerous other transgressions. Do you think you’ll do a better job?”

Kevin stood up and turned away, running his hand through his hair.

“Well, Mom, I could help,” Megan offered. “I do stuff around here. I’d do the same chores down there, if Em wanted. I could, you know, set the table and stuff.”

Emily stood up and stormed around the room. “You’re only saying no to be mean to me, because you never got to spend the summer anywhere cool, you were always moping around dumb Ohio, helping your father, so you just don’t want me to have the greatest summer ever to prove some stupid point, right?”

“I didn’t say no,” Diane said calmly, stopping Emily in her tracks. “I just asked you a question. If you do get a job, and save one thousand dollars, which is what we had talked about before, I see no reason for you not to go. The fact that you’re going to be doing so much for Victoria is just an added bonus. I had no idea you were so concerned about her welfare.”

Emily opened her mouth, realized the trap too late, and shut it again. Clearly torn between feeling grateful at being allowed to go, and being angry at herself for being put in the position of helpmate, she did the smart thing.

“Thanks, Mom.”

“Sure. Now, Meg, do you want to go as well? It’s up to you.”

Megan grinned. “I want to go. It will be so cool, going to the beach every day. Will I have to get a job, too?”

Diane shook her head. “Not unless you want extra pocket money. I’m sure you could baby-sit somewhere down there, right, Kev?”

Kevin nodded, once again amazed at the way Diane danced through the minefield that was their middle daughter. Often, Emily would reduce Diane to tears, but Diane had been prepared for this one, and played it just right.

“Okay, let’s go.” Kevin shouted, clapping his hands together. “Move out the troops.” The girls scampered out as they had done when they were babies, when any trip with their Daddy was an adventure. Kevin kissed Diane on the cheek, and followed the girls out.

The next day, the car wash was cancelled out by a day-long spring downpour, so Diane called Marianne and met her for dinner. Afterwards, they went to the movies, then stopped in to a local pub for a drink. Diane was feeling tired and sipped club soda, while Marianne knocked back a straight scotch and lamented the current state of American cinema. Suddenly, she leaned toward Diane and whispered.

“That man at the bar has been staring at you since we got here. Should we invite him over?”

Diane looked at her friend in surprise. “How do you know he’s not staring at you? You’re taller, thinner, and a lot more gorgeous than I am.”

Marianne raised her eyebrows in exasperation. “Diane, I’m a lesbian, remember?”

“True,” Diane admitted. “But you’re not wearing your ‘Bug Off Creep, I’m A Dyke’ sweatshirt.”

“That man is white. Why would he be staring at me?”

“Because he’s not a racist?”

Marianne sighed. “You are such a Pollyanna, Diane. At times, it’s endearing, but it tends to wear thin. I sometimes wonder how we remain friends.”

“Well for my part, you happen to be very politically correct. So many minorities rolled into one. I don’t have to feel guilty about having so many straight WASP’s for friends with you on the roster. I think you like me because when we’re together you can feel superior without having to be too condescending.”

Marianne lifted her eyebrows and made a polite noise. “You may very well be right. Now, about that nice man-“

“No. Forget it.”

“Why, are you dating anyone?”

Diane shook her head. “Nope. Not this week. How about you? What happened to the travel agent?”

“She was a racist.”

“I thought she was black.”

“She was. She didn’t think I was black enough.”

“Sorry. I liked her.”

“You like everyone. It’s disgusting how nice you are to people. I bet you know the grocery clerks by name.”

“Evelyn, Maggie, Sophia, Lorraine, -“

“Oh, stop it. Now, you’re just showing off. Do you worry about not having someone in your life? At your age?”

Diane shrugged. “I have lots of people in my life, Marianne - you, my kids, my friends, Evelyn, Maggie, Sophia. I don’t have a man in my life, but that’s fine. I’m really very happy, you know that.”

“Yes,” Marianne mused. “You are a very successful single person. That man at the bar also looks very successful. Are you sure?”

Diane gathered her purse. “I’m tired. Doing nothing all day wore me out. Are you ready?”

Marianne drained her glass, and they left. Diane went home, watched TV with Jasper purring on her lap, and fell asleep on the couch. Sunday was another rainy day. She worked on her play, called her mother in Ohio, and napped until the girls came home.



The week began again, and another Tuesday. She ran errands in the morning, the dry cleaners, the library. She decided to treat herself to Moe’s, a small, crowded deli with great sandwiches. Standing in line, she wavered between corned beef and pastrami, but it was Moe himself who made the choice, wincing at her corned beef request. She picked up a cream soda, and then headed out to Bloomfield Park, a large, green oasis. She parked her car and walked toward a picnic table under a barely leafed-out maple tree, next to the duck pond. She was alone in the park except for a man and a dog playing out on the ball field.

She opened her sandwich and took a bite, then opened her soda. She needed to work on the second act this week. It was running way too long. She was running lines in her head when she heard someone yelling. She looked toward the noise, and jumped up in alarm. The dog that had been romping playfully in the ball field a few moments ago was racing toward her. The animal’s owner was running behind.

“He wants your sandwich,” he yelled. Diane stared at her sandwich, then at the rapidly approaching dog. It was huge, shaggy, long ears streaming back. No way was the owner going to catch it. She grabbed her sandwich in both hands, scrambled on top of the picnic table and stood, waiting.

“He wants your sandwich,” the man yelled again, so she stuck out her hand and the dog bounded up, snatching the sandwich from between her fingertips and landing gracefully a few feet away. Diane stared at the animal in amazement, then turned as the owner came running up to her. He was completely winded, gasping, bent over with his hands on his knees, trying to catch his breath.

“I’m so sorry,” he panted. “But my dog really loves pastrami.”

Diane stared at him. “That’s the silliest thing I’ve ever heard.”

The owner of the dog nodded his head. “Oh, I know,” he gulped. “It’s probably the silliest thing I’ve ever had to say.”

Diane began to laugh, a tickle that began in her throat and bubbled up. She felt tears streaming from her eyes. No one would ever believe this. The owner started to laugh with her. He seemed very young, dark hair cut short and as he lifted his smiling face, she saw startling blue eyes, an angular jaw. Suddenly, she stopped laughing.

“Oh, my God. I know you.”

He was still breathing heavily. “I’m Michael Carlucci, and this is Max.” The dog had finished and was sitting quietly at his master’s feet. Michael gazed up at her. “I’m very sorry. Can I help you down?”

“Oh. Yes, please.” She felt suddenly awkward, and reached down to take his hand. She climbed down off the table carefully, her skirt riding to mid-thigh, heels unsteady on the grass. They were suddenly eye to eye. He was not much taller than her, slim, in a white polo shirt tucked into faded jeans, a thin belt around his waist. His arms and hands were beautiful, she noticed, sculpted and strong-looking.

“I’m sorry,” she said, smoothing her skirt. “I thought you were somebody else. You look just like Mickey Flynn.”

He grinned sheepishly. “Yeah, that’s me. Michael Flynn Carlucci. I was named for my Irish grandfather.”

“I thought it was you. There’s a life sized poster of you in my daughters’ bedroom. Your hair was longer.”

“Yeah.” He ruffled his hair with his hand. “Well, it’s the end if the tour. I can lose the look.” He stuck his hands in his pockets. “Are you okay? I mean, he didn’t get your hand or anything, did he?”

“What? No, no I’m fine. This is the most excitement I’ve had in a month. My daughters are never going to believe this.” She stared at her hand. “They will never let me wash this hand again,” she said solemnly.

Michael laughed again. His breathing was back to normal. Max yawned, and began sniffing the grass. “Are they fans?”

“Are you kidding? They’ve been trying to win tickets for weeks. Some contest going on. It’s amazing how much trivia there is out there about you guys.” She leaned toward him. “Do you know what your drummer’s wife’s maiden name is? I do.”

He reached over and brushed something from her shoulder. “God, I hate those damn contests. Our publicist drives us all crazy. Do you want tickets? I could have some sent over.”

Diane took a half step away from him. There seemed to be a heat radiating from him, an energy that she could feel.

“Really.” His eyes were serious. “It’s the least I can do.” That grin again, sudden, a full blast of charm. “My dog stole your lunch.”

“You can do that? Just get tickets?”

“Hey,” he said with a cocky tilt of his head, “I’m in the band. Of course I can. How many daughters?”

“Three. But only two are home. Megan and Emily.”

“How old?”

“Old? Sixteen and fourteen”

“My nieces are that age. Do yours travel in packs, too?”

Diane smiled. “Yeah.”

He nodded. “Okay, so I’ll send over tickets. Your daughters can each bring a couple of friends. You and your husband want to come?”

“I’m divorced.”

“Okay, your date. I wouldn’t expect you to take teenage girls to a concert unprotected.”

“That would be wonderful.” Diane was taken by surprise. “You have no idea what that would mean. They’d clean their rooms for months.”

“No problem. Do you have a pen or something? Write down your address and I’ll get them to you.”

She turned and rummaged through her purse, dragging out a pen and note pad. She wrote her name, address and phone, and handed it to him.

“Diane Matthews,” he read. He stuffed the paper into his pocket. “So, tell me, Diane Matthews, are you a fan, too?”

She opened her mouth to lie, then caught the glint in his eye. “No, actually, I’m not. Nothing personal - I happen to think you guys are really talented. I was a big Motown fan. I never liked rock and roll.” She grinned. “Except, of course, the Beatles.”

“Of course. So who was your favorite?”

“Paul. Naturally. I had his picture everywhere. I was devastated when he got married. I spent years obsessing over the fact that I was too young for him. Who knew I’d end up being too old for him?”

Michael laughed in delight. “God, that’s great. I have to remember that for my sisters. They all loved Paul too.”

“How many sisters?” Diane sat back on the picnic table top, propping her feet on the bench.

“Three, all older than me. The youngest was ten when I was born.”

“You must have been spoiled rotten,” Diane said. “I bet you had them all wrapped around your little fingers.”

He sighed. “Oh, you are so right. I can’t believe some of the things I got away with. They are such great women.” His face changed. “My mother died when I was a kid. They all raised me.”

“I’m so sorry. But I bet they loved it, raising you.”

“Yeah.” He nodded his head. “My oldest sister, Marie, she used to get so upset when people would mistake me for her son, instead of her brother. She would yell at them, you know? But when she got home, we would all laugh about it.”

They were silent a moment, Diane staring at the tips of her shoes, and when she looked back over to him he was staring right at her, and she once again caught the force of his personality. A second later he shrugged and smiled.

“He’s still living here, my dad, in the same house we all grew up in. It’s great coming back.”

Diane was surprised. “You’re from here? I thought the band was from over in Hawthorn.”

“The rest of the guys, yeah. But I was born and raised right here in West Milton.”

“Wow. Did you go to Carver Mills High?”

“No. Fabian’s.” Fabian Academy was a very exclusive, private prep school. He noticed her raised eyebrows. “Before that it was Catholic school,” he added, shrugging. “For all of us. Saint Kate’s. Those nuns were ball-busters, I’ll tell you.”

“Me too. Catholic school, I mean. Not Saint Katherine’s. I’m from Ohio, originally, but I think Catholic School nuns all come from the same planet.” Michael sat next to her on the picnic table. “Did you have a Sister Elizabeth Immaculatta?”

“No, but I had a Marie Celeste.”

“Moustache?”

“One eyebrow and the mole on the chin.”

“Yes, yes!” They were laughing again.

Diane cupped her chin in her palm and looked hard at him. “You’re not what I expected in a rock and roll god.”

“Ouch.” He made a face. “Rock and roll god? Please. I’m a guy from Jersey who took piano lessons from a lady named Mrs. Foster and wore a uniform to school. I put together model cars.”

“Oh, my God. You were a geek.”

“Yes,” he said grinning ruefully, “and you must swear to never tell.”

“Might ruin your image?”

He snorted. “Are you kidding? I’d never get laid again.” He glanced at her and shrugged. “Sorry. That was a very stupid, rock-and-roll-god kind of thing to say. Hey, would you like some lunch?”

“What?”

“Lunch. We could go to Weatherby’s, it’s right on the other side of the park.”

“What about Max?” She looked down at the dog, who lifted his head at the sound of his name. “Besides,” she said, looking at her watch, “I have class in about an hour and a half.”

“Well, that leaves Chickies.” He slid off the table and looked at her expectantly. “It’s close and we could eat outside. Are you hungry?”

Diane stared at him. “Are you serious?”

“Sure, why not? I owe you lunch.”

His eyes were incredibly blue. Diane smiled.

“Lunch would be great.”

They walked to a small, roadside stand that opened directly onto the highway. They sat at a round plastic table under an umbrella, eating hot dogs and fries, while Max wolfed down a few well-done hamburger patties.

“So, what do you teach?” Michael asked her.

Diane shook salt on her fries and looked at him suspiciously. “How do you know I teach?”

“Well, you have class, right? You’re too well dressed to be a student.”

“Hmm. How diplomatic of you. I teach at Dickerson. English. This afternoon I have two senior seminars, one in Eighteenth Century Drama and one in Contemporary American Theater.”

“Wow.” He looked impressed. “Nothing like a little light reading in the afternoon.”

“It’s great, actually. I love drama and theater, and the kids are really into it.”

They started talking then, about books, then music, then traveling, which she loved and he hated. He was attentive, she was relaxed, and they laughed often. He had an animal vitality that she could feel as he leaned toward her, and he seemed to be listening closely to every word she said.

She looked at her watch. “Oh shit. I can’t believe it’s this late. I’ve got class.” She began to pick up her empty paper cup.

“No, let me do this if you’re late.” He put his hand on top of hers to stop her. She froze. His skin was warm. She stared at his hand covering hers. She lifted her eyes and saw that he was watching her.

“Thank you for lunch,” she said faintly. He seemed very close to her. He had not let go of her hand. “This was an unexpected pleasure, meeting you.”

“Me too.” He pulled back his hand. He was still looking at her. “About the concert - do you think you guys would want to come backstage after the show?”

“Are you kidding?” She blurted. “They’d be thrilled.”

“Okay then. I’ll see you next week.” He stood, hands pushed back into his jeans’ pockets, Max standing obediently at his side.

Diane nodded. “Thank you.” She turned and walked away, back across the road to the park. She thought he would be staring after her, and she wanted to turn to see, but she kept going, got into her car, and did not see him standing perfectly still, watching her drive away.