A Different Kind of Forever

Chapter SIX

WEDNESDAY AFTERNOON, Diane left the Dickerson campus and walked up the steps of Walter Mosley Hall, which housed the drama department of Franklin-Merriweather University. The building was only a few years old, across a beautiful courtyard from the Walter Mosley Theater. Walter Mosley had left several hundred million dollars for construction of the facility because, he said in his will, he had never been happier than when he worked the lights in the old Merriweather auditorium.

Sam French had arranged a meeting. There were sets and costumes to consider. A large cast had to be chosen over the summer. Rehearsals would begin mid-July. They would open in October and run eighteen performances, six weekends, through Thanksgiving. Diane was thrilled and terrified at the thought of seeing her words on a real stage.

The meeting went well. Everyone was excited and enthusiastic, but Diane was impatient for it to be over. Angela Bellini’s office was at the end of the hallway, and Diane wanted to see if she was in. As everyone closed notebooks and laptops, Diane said a hasty good-bye and walked quickly from the conference room. Angela’s door was second from the end. Diane could not tell if it was open until she was right there, and the door stood ajar. Diane knocked softly, heard a muffled “Come in,” and pushed the door open.

Angela was at her desk, typing on her desktop. She glanced up, saw Diane, and smiled in surprise.

“Hi. Hold on just a sec.” Angela continued typing and Diane sat down. Angela hit the save button, then swiveled her chair.

“What a surprise. I was wondering if maybe I would see you out this way. I heard Sam’s got a bunch of meetings lined up. He’s going crazy over this.”

Diane nodded. “Yes, he is. I think he’s more excited than I am. We were just down the hall. That’s why I popped in.”

“Well, great. I’m pleased to report I’ve actually unpacked a few books and bought an easy chair. Big steps for me. And we even got a swing hung up on Sunday, so both projects were very successful.”

“Great. It was a lot of fun for me. Your family is terrific. You’re lucky.”

“Yes, we are. Very lucky. I’m just sorry you couldn’t meet Dad. He left for Miami, a lawyers’ conference. He’s retired, but on some advisory board. He likes keeping busy.” Angela crossed her legs. “Mike still in Toronto?”

“I think so, which is the other reason I stopped by. He said you could give me his cell number. Would you mind?” Diane kept her voice light, but her throat felt dry and tight.

“Sure.” Angela reached for her cell phone and hit a few buttons. She jotted down the number on a post-it. Diane took it and slipped it into her purse. “So, you haven’t heard from him?” Angela asked.

Diane looked at her levelly. “No. I asked him not to call.”

“But now you’ve changed your mind?”

“Yes.”

Angela looked thoughtfully out the window for a moment, then turned to Diane. “He’s an old soul, Michael. My mother used to call him her little wise man. He has a remarkable capacity for being quiet. I know that sounds trite, but it’s not. It’s almost a Zen thing. When he’s listening, or thinking, or trying to decide something, he becomes completely still. You can barely see him breathing. He kind of turns inside himself. Even as a kid, he’d be racing around like a maniac one minute, then the next he’d be just sitting.” Angela took a long breath, deciding. “Our mother died when he was eight. He never really knew her as a healthy woman. She got breast cancer when he was just three. There were surgeries and chemotherapy and trips to Mexico. Then it went to her liver. She died at home, and it was long and hard and very sad. That may have had something to do with it, his being that way, but I think he’s just always had an inner strength, or maybe an inner peace, that he could draw on. He was always special, not just smart and cute, but a rare person. We all love him very much.” She looked down at her desk. “We’re all very protective of him.” Angela carefully lined up a stack of papers. “We worry about him quite a bit.”

“Are you worried about something specific? Diane asked carefully.

“Of course we are,” Angela said patiently, looking up at Diane. “We all know why we love Michael. He’s a remarkable man. He’s a great brother. I’ve never met anybody quite like him. But someone like you, Diane, you’re so different from the women who are usually around him, we’re just wondering what the attraction could be, that’s all.”

“I see.” Diane chewed her lip thoughtfully. “Has it ever occurred to you that I’ve never met anyone quite like him either, and maybe that’s the attraction?”

Angela looked faintly surprised. “No, actually.”

Diane stood up. “Michael and I have just met. Why don’t we see what happens before we continue this discussion, okay?”

Angela nodded. “Good idea. Thank you.”

Now Diane looked surprised. “For what?”

Angela shrugged. “Well, I’m not quite so worried now.”

Diane smiled and left.





Diane spent all evening trying to decide what would be the best time to call Michael. She finally settled on 9:30, giving her a little over an hour to work before calling. She settled at her desk, proofreading her final exam questions, when the phone rang and it was Michael.

“Look, I’m sorry to call, I know you told me not to, but I just talked to Angie and she said you stopped by and got my number, so I figured you’d changed you mind and here I am. Is that okay?” He said it in a breathless rush, sounding very young.

“Yes, of course.” Diane grinned happily. “So tell me all about Gordon Prescott.”

Prescott was a maniac and a genius, he told her. There had been meetings, screenings, dailies and more meetings, with the producer, the man who would do the orchestration, the second choice to do the orchestration, the assistant director, all of the actors. It was madness. She sat, curled into the corner of the couch, Jasper on her lap. When they finally hung up, it was too late for her to do any work, but she didn’t care. She spent Friday in a panic. Michael was picking her up at six-thirty. What if Kevin was late picking up the girls? She needed to shower and get ready. She didn’t know what to wear. She felt fifteen.

“I’m a total mess,” she said miserably to Marianne Thomas. “I can’t believe I am being so pathetic.”

Marianne looked at Diane. “Yes, I agree, you are being pathetic. But at least he’s single. Remember Quinn Harris?”

“Oh, God,” Diane said quickly. “Quinn.” Quinn Harris had breezed onto the Franklin-Merriweather campus two years before, a visiting professor from London. He was England’s most sought-after theatrical director, married to a talented and flamboyant English actress. He had been invited by Franklin-Merriweather to teach a Master class. Because Diane’s play had just been embraced by Sam French, she had been invited to the cocktail party welcoming Quinn Harris. There had been an instant attraction. Quinn Harris was not conventionally handsome. Tall, slight, a few years older than Diane, he was soft-spoken man of intellect and quiet charm. He was as close to her ideal man as she could have imagined. They went out several times, and she found in him a kindred spirit. But he was married. She would not sleep with him. She had stopped seeing him.

“I always admired you for how you handled that whole thing,” Marianne said, spearing a piece of chicken. The two women were having lunch. “A lot of women would not have cared about the wife.”

Diane sighed and pushed around her pasta salad with her fork. “He would have broken my heart.”

“He’s divorced now,” Marianne said.

“Yes, well, he told me the marriage was over.” Diane shrugged. “What did you expect? They were both sleeping around like crazy.”

“I don’t know about that. He never went after anyone else after you froze him out, and believe me, plenty were trying.”

Diane smiled. “Yes, he was something else.” She took a deep breath. “Michael is something else too.”

“So, are you perfect for each other? Are we talking happily ever after?”

“No, actually, we’re not. Perfect for each other I mean. He hates traveling.”

“Oh, no.” Marianne stared at Diane. “But that’s what you do best.”

“I know. And he hates cities. And he wants to retire to Montana so he can live miles away from everybody.”

“Well, don’t take that too seriously. Didn’t we all want that, at that age? I wanted to herd sheep in Wyoming, if I remember correctly. But I was young and stupid. I outgrew it.” Marianne waved her hand. “So will he.”

“He’s apparently bought about five hundred acres somewhere outside Butte. He wants to ride horses and watch the sun set.”

“Oh, how boring.” Marianne looked at Diane closely. “This could seriously dampen the entire happily-ever-after aspect of this relationship.”

Diane laughed. “I haven’t looked that far ahead. I think he’s a lot of fun, and I have the major hots for his body. Does that count as a relationship?”

“Close enough.” Marianne looked fondly at her friend. “You look happy. Your whole face is lit up. You deserve somebody wonderful. So where are you going?”

“Dinner again. Last time, we went to Marco’s.”

“Well, at least he knows good food. So call Kevin, and tell him to get the girls at five. Shave all the critical places and not too much perfume. Some men are allergic.”

“Thank you for the advice.”

Marianne looked smug. “You’re welcome. Make sure you have condoms. And make sure he feeds you first.”

Diane buried her face in her hands and laughed out loud.



Kevin picked up the girls at five. A little after six, Diane called Sharon.

“Listen, Sharon, here’s what I’ve got. Black pantsuit. Makes me look thin. The red jersey dress clings in the right spots, but it’s sleeveless. Is it too cool for sleeveless? Or there’s the old standby, that African print, you know the one. What do you think? Which one looks best?”

Sharon snorted. “Who the hell cares what they look like? Which one is the easiest to take off?”

Diane hung up and put on the red dress. She brushed her hair carefully. She put on one of her favorite CD’s, classical and calming. Jasper sat on her bed, watching her put on earrings and make-up. She felt nervous. The condoms she had bought were in her top drawer, and she pushed them aside as she searched for pantyhose. When the doorbell rang, she was still barefoot.

She ran to open the door. Michael was wearing a beautifully pressed white button down shirt, sleeves carefully folded up, a narrow, red tie, jeans, and loafers.

“You look very neato. I’m glad to see you got something out of that expensive prep school you went to.” she said.

He grinned. “I’m traveling incognito.”

“Shouldn’t you have a cashmere sweater draped around your shoulders?” she teased, as he came into the living room.”

“It’s in the car,” he said seriously, “with my double-breasted navy blazer.”

Diane laughed. “I’ve got to get shoes and stockings. I’ll be right back.”

“Okay.”

Diane went back into the bedroom. The top of her closet was packed with shoeboxes. Diane knew the exact pair she wanted, the Nine West pumps, but as she tried to dislodge the box, she pulled too hard and a dozen boxes came spilling out of the closet. She covered her head with her hands, and let out an involuntary cry as the shoes tumbled down. She ducked for a moment as they all fell to the floor, then she looked down in dismay. There were shoes everywhere.

Michael burst into the room. “Are you okay? What happened?” He looked around and said, in a different tone, “What happened?”

“My shoes tried to commit suicide. They all jumped.” She turned to him. “I’m sorry. I’ll be ready in a sec.”

She got down on her knees and began to pile the shoes together. Michael got down next to her. “Let me help you. Here.” He put two shoes in a box.

Diane looked at him and shook her head. “No. These are two different shoes.”

Michael sat, legs crossed Indian-style, and looked around him. “But they’re all the same.”

“No, they’re different. See, this has a rounded toe. This one is squared off.”

He picked up two more shoes. “They’re all black. You have, what, ten pair of black shoes?”

Diane grabbed the shoes from his hand. “You’re mocking me. I can tell.”

“No.” He picked up an empty box and handed it to her, controlling his laughter. “I would never do that. I grew up with three women. If nothing else, I learned that the relationship between a woman and her shoes is a sacred thing.”

She looked at Michael. There was a half-smile on his face. His dark hair curled around his ear. His lashes were perfectly straight and very long. She touched his cheek and he turned to her. She kissed him very carefully, catching his lower lip in her teeth and pulling gently.

“I think I’ve made a decision,” she said in a whisper.

“Yeah?” He was very close.

“Yeah.”

“So,” he said, his voice rough, “what do you want to do?”

“Everything.” She kissed him, slow, teasing kisses, her hands on either side of his face. His arms went around her, drawing her to the floor. Her hair fell around his face and she kissed his cheek, neck, the hollow at the base of his throat. She pulled off his tie, and began to unbutton his shirt, her tongue hot against his smooth flesh. Her fingertips brushed him gently, thumbs against his nipples, and she heard an intake of breath, and felt him strain his body against the floor.

“Shit,” she muttered. “Wait.” She reached back and grabbed a condom out of her top drawer. She held it up before him, then pushed it into his palm. She pulled his shirttail from the waist of his jeans and unsnapped them in a flick of her thumb, pulling down the zipper. He lifted his hips as she eased them down and tossed them aside, then bent to take him into her mouth. He made a sound, soft, and he moved uncontrollably as she closed her lips around him, one hand running lightly across the tight muscles of his abdomen, the other stroking him, following the rise and fall of her mouth. His hips moved, imperceptibly at first, matching her rhythm, and he grew harder.

Diane flicked her tongue, delighted with the smell of him, inhaling deeply as she felt her own desire grow. He filled her mouth, not just the feel of his flesh, but the taste of him, sweet, and he made another sound, a low groan, and his legs moved, his hips rising faster. His hand grabbed her hair.

“Wait,” he gasped. “Wait.”

She lifted her head, hitched up her dress, and swung one leg over, straddling him. He sat up and pulled her to him, and his hands came up her legs, under her dress, pulling it over her head. His breath was ragged, and he pulled away her bra as she pressed herself against him, feeling him through the thin fabric of her panties. Her breasts felt tender, and when he put his mouth to her nipple, she whimpered. His hands were on her hips, holding her as she rubbed herself against him, feeling a rise, a swell of pleasure.

She had wrapped her legs around him and he moved, lifting her, then laid her down beneath him. She was gasping, eyes closed, her arms outstretched, fingers gripping the carpet, and he slid his hands under her panties, pulling them down, kissing hungrily her ankle, then the tender spot inside her knee, and the soft flesh of her thighs. She arched her back as she felt his tongue, and her eyes flew open.

“Oh, God,” she whispered, and she tried to push her hips upward, but he held her down.

“Patience,” he said softly, and she felt him again, tongue moving slowly, slowly, and each sweet touch brought from her a sound, deep and breathless. The blood pounded in her ears as she strained against him, and she could feel her climax building. She could hear her voice, pleading, please, please, and she came in a violent wave that took her breath as her body heaved away from him.

Her head was thrown back, and when she opened her eyes, his face was above her, and he kissed her cheeks, and then her mouth, deeply, and she could taste herself on his lips, and the salt of her tears. He was between her legs, and she rubbed his erection, hard against her belly. She reached down and guided him, and he entered her gently, her flesh still throbbing, and she lifted her body to meet his. Her legs curled around him, her hands running down his back, pressing him deeper. He was moving slowly, deliberately, looking into her eyes, and she felt too open, too vulnerable, but she could not look away from him. She felt his body quicken, and at the same time she felt something of the same begin in her again and she wrapped her legs tighter, pushing herself harder into him.

“Don’t stop,” she whispered. “Please, don’t stop.” His eyes darkened and his jaw clenched, she could feel all the muscles begin to strain, but he did not stop. He rose

himself above her, watching her as she arched against him, and she came again, crying out, and as she pulled down his head, searching for his mouth, he came with a shudder, his own cry muffled.

He lay still against her. He was lightly built, almost delicate, all wiry muscle and lean flesh. When he tried to move, she tightened her arms, her legs, keeping him close.

“No,” she whispered. “Not yet.” He lifted his head and smiled at her, his body loose now and damp with sweat. The house was quiet, music playing softly from the living room, her breathing finally slowed. He lifted himself off her and rolled on his back, eyes closed, breathing deep.

Diane felt stunned. Every inch of her skin felt new and exquisitely tender. She stared at the ceiling, wishing she could find words, something to say to him, something clever and smart, so he would not know how shaken she was.

Michael rolled to his side, facing her, head propped on his hand. With one finger he outlined the line of her lips, swollen and red, and she bit his fingertip very softly, then kissed it. He brushed the damp hair from her face.

“What is that music?” he asked quietly.

She listened. “Vaughn Williams. It’s called ‘A Lark Ascending’.”

“Pretty. Do you like classical music?”

“Sometimes. I like this. It helps me relax.”

He was watching her. “You needed to relax tonight?”

Diane let out a slow breath. “I told you. I haven’t done this in a while.” She turned her head to look at him. “I was afraid I’d do something stupid.”

“We did just fine.”

She lay there, wanting to touch him again, just to feel the smoothness of his skin against her. She lifted her hand and he caught it, kissing her palm. She rolled to face him and kissed him again, without passion. He pulled her close, wrapping his leg around her. She lifted the thin silver chain that was around his neck.

“This is very beautiful.”

“It was my mother’s,” he explained. “She bought it in Rome, along with a crucifix. She had it blessed by the Pope. I have the cross at home.”

Diane heard a soft thump as Jasper leapt off the bed. He walked over and sat on the floor where their heads lay, almost touching, and began to purr.

“You have a cat,” Michael said.

“Yes. This is Jasper.”

“Was he watching?”

“Probably. Now he’ll run out and report to all his cat friends.”

“Tough room.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” she said lightly. “I bet when you leave, all the cats in the neighborhood will be lined up outside, applauding.”

He laughed softly and kissed the corner of her mouth.

“Are you hungry?” Diane asked.

“Yes. Where would you like to go?”

“I have food here.” She sat up. “I’ll be right back. Don’t go anywhere.” She walked across the hall and into the bathroom. She stared at herself in the mirror. Her cheeks were still flushed and blotchy, eyes faintly red. She sat down and urinated, the flesh between her legs achy and sore. She had the smell of him everywhere. She splashed cold water on her face and smoothed back her hair.

The bedroom was empty. She picked up her dress and pulled it over her naked body.

He was in the kitchen. She watched him taking out eggs and cheese from the refrigerator. She crossed her arms over her breasts.

“If you can cook,” she said seriously, “I may have to propose.”

He threw her a smile. “I can make a great marinade for cooking anything out on a grill, and I make mashed potatoes that will take a year off your life from too much butter and cream. I also make perfect omelets. Cheese? Or would you prefer mushroom? You have a great kitchen. You must be serious about food.”

“Yes, we’re pretty serious about food around here. I have some ham. We could run a few slices under the broiler.”

“Fantastic. Is that sourdough from Jimmy’s up there? Great bread, just great.”

He was standing in front of her stove, barefoot, jeans riding low, his shirt still open. She came up behind him and put her arms around his waist, looking over his shoulder. His movements were quick and efficient. He was cracking eggs into a large bowl, one-handed. She watched him for a minute, enjoying the feel of her hands on his skin, the play of the muscles in his back against her breasts.

“I’ll set the table,” she said. He nodded, and gave her a quick kiss before she stepped away from him.

She carried dishes into the dining room, set out cloth napkins from the sideboard. The table was a long oak farm table, the wood golden and softly gleaming. In the center of the table were a cluster of candles, each on a different candlestick, brass, copper, pewter. Diane collected them, one from each of the dozen countries she had visited. She lit them carefully, and the room bloomed with soft light. She went to change the music, a jazz station, and then closed the drapes of her living room window against the darkness.

The meal was wonderful. She ate slowly, listening to him as he spoke, laughing with him. After they cleared the table, she brought a bowl of grapes into the living room, and they drank cold white wine and sat on opposite ends of the coach, facing each other, backs propped against the arms of the couch, feet and legs intertwined. She talked about her marriage, the girls. He talked about the movie, about being a celebrity. She refilled the wine glasses and lit more candles. He watched her as she moved about the room, his body relaxed, and his eyes bright and intense.

“Would you like to go sailing tomorrow?” he asked her as she settled back into her corner.

“Sailing? You have a boat?”

“Yeah, a small one. It’s fantastic - like flying.”

“I bet. I’d love to go with you. Where?”

“We’ll go to my place. Mendham.”

“There’s a lake in Mendham? I never knew that.” She was surprised. She had been there often, antiquing. It was a small, wealthy community surrounded by woods and horse farms.

“Well, there’s a lake where I live.” He looked sheepish.

“You own a lake?” She asked carefully.

“Well, kind of. My neighbors and I do. There are four of us.”

“Wow. Your own personal lake.” She ate a fistful of grapes slowly.

“I didn’t make any money until the second CD,” Michael explained. “My Dad took one look at the check I got when it went platinum and told me it was time to move out of his house. I was twenty-one. A friend of his, a judge, was selling his place. My father and I drove out to Mendham and bought it. The house was a mess, so I knocked it down. Nick found an architect for me. We’d been to Japan on the first tour, and the buildings blew me away. So I had a house built, and a dock, and bought a boat ‘cause I always wanted to sail.”

“Who takes care of everything while you’re on the road?”

“I have a guy, named Fred Chu. He was an old client of my father’s. Immigration problems, I think. He looks after the house, feeds Max, and organizes all the other guys.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Other guys?”

“Well, there’s a guy for the yard, a guy who cleans the house, a guy who looks after the cars, a pool guy, and a boat guy.” She had started to laugh, and he was shaking his head, laughing with her.

“I know, it sounds ridiculous. I mean, it’s just me and the dog, right?”

“Man, being a rich celebrity really sucks, Michael.”

“Oh, you know it.” He put down his wine glass and began to crawl to her side of the couch. She spread her legs and he lay between them and kissed her, hard. She sank deeper into the couch, wrapping her legs around him, her arms creeping around his neck.

“Would you like to stay here tonight?” She asked.

“Yes. Absolutely. Although the original plan was to wine you and dine you, then take you to my place.”

“You had a plan?”

“Of course. Waiting at home are three bottles of champagne and a closet full of rubbers.”

“A whole closet full? Your recuperative powers must be impressive.”

“Very. Someday I’ll write a song about it.”

“Wow. So, do you mind going to plan B?”

“Not at all. In fact,” he said, the corner of his mouth curling into a smile, “I happen to have a toothbrush in my glove compartment.”

She kissed his neck. “Really?”

“Yeah. I’m something of an optimist.” His hands were back beneath her dress. He was kissing her as she began to move her hips against him.”

“It would seem,” he said softly, “that you aren’t wearing anything under your dress.”

“That’s right,” she said. “I’m something of an optimist too.”

She began pulling his shirt away, tugging at his jeans, and she stopped and looked at him. “I do have a bed, you know,” she told him.

“I know,” he replied, kicking his jeans to the floor. “Don’t worry, we’ll get to it.”

And they began again.





In the morning, they left the house early. There was a beautifully restored Volkswagen convertible bug sitting in Diane’s driveway. She stared at it, delighted.

“This is yours?” she asked. “It’s perfect. Can I drive?”

They put the top down, she slid behind the wheel and Michael found his cell phone in the back seat and began to check messages. They stopped for breakfast at a diner, then went back up Rt. 24, through Morristown, and on to Mendham. Michael talked on his cell phone, and Diane drove happily, the wind whipping her hair. He directed her off the main road, winding through quiet country, until she turned up a narrow drive, gently rising, with a grove of massive pines offering only a glimpse of a house set far back from the road.

Michael’s house was long and low. She stopped the car before a tall, red, double doors and they got out.

“Your house is beautiful, Michael.”

“Thanks. I really love it.”

They walked into a low-ceilinged foyer that opened to a large, lofty space, glass walls opening to a pool and a stretch of blue water beyond. Diane caught her breath. It was beautiful, the room, with its stark, elegant furnishings, and the view, bright and glittering.

Max came bounding from somewhere, and Michael yelled loudly, “Fred, it’s me.” He looked at Diane. “Want the tour?” She nodded.

Beyond the living room was a dining area, equally quiet and gracious. The kitchen was a gleaming space of stainless steel and black, with a small, round gentleman Michael introduced as Fred, who bowed over Diane’s hand and welcomed her. There were guest rooms and a large media room, and on the other side of the house, a small office, a vast studio, and Michael’s bedroom, walled on two sides with glass, looking out over the lake and lush trees.

Michael led her back to the kitchen. “Fred, can we have lunch? Around one. Out on the dock?” He asked.

Fred smiled and nodded. “Very good cold crab. Salad. Good bread. White wine.”

“Fantastic. Thank you.” Michael led Diane out past the pool, down a beautifully manicured lawn to a small dock that stretched out into the water, with two weathered Adirondack chairs facing the water.

Diane had never been in a sailboat before, and he was patient, explaining what everything was and what it was used for. They practiced a few moves with the sail down, the boat simply rocking in the water. When they really got underway, Diane felt confident. They sailed around in small circles within the sight of his house. She was dressed in jeans and sneakers, and had worn a heavy sweatshirt on his advice. The wind was high and cold out on the water, but she found it exhilarating. They brought the boat back in and had lunch, sitting at a small table Fred had set up at the edge of the dock.

When they went out again, he took her past a curve of land and there was the rest of the lake, huge and glistening. They spent the next few hours racing across the water, Diane sailing the little boat by herself while Michael sat back and watched her. She caught him looking at her intently at one point, but when she questioned him, he just smiled.

“You look happy,” he yelled as an explanation.

They returned to the house and went into the village for dinner, to a loud, lively place in the center of town, where their casual clothes and Diane’s tousled hair did not matter. The staff was young and friendly, and they all knew Michael. Their waiter brought him a mug of beer without being asked. A waitress came over to chat, a young girl who Michael knew by name, and cast puzzled looks in Diane’s direction. Afterwards, they drove back to his house, and made love on his huge bed, the windows open to the cool night air, the room flooded with moonlight and the scent of water.

They had breakfast the next morning outside on his terrace, looking out over the lake. Fred served them Eggs Benedict. Diane stared down at her plate and shook her head.

“This is incredible. Do you get this kind of thing every morning?”

“Nope.” Michael poured coffee. “Fred must like you. I usually get half a grapefruit and stale Raisin Bran.”

“You do not. This coffee is delicious, and fresh squeezed orange juice. God, I could get used to this.” She spoke lightly, just chattering, stirring cream into her coffee cup, and she glanced at him and found him staring at her.

“What?” She glanced behind her. “What is it?”

He shook himself and looked down at his plate. “What should we do today?”

“I need to go home. I have work to do in my yard. I’m putting in a rose garden. Remember that azalea you helped me with? Well, that used to be under this huge tree that finally died, and last year I had it taken down and hauled away, so I finally have a sunny spot. I’ve always wanted roses. I’ve been planning and plotting all winter. I need to finish some heavy-duty soil turning today.”

“Okay. I’ll help you.” He drank orange juice.

Diane put down her fork and stared at her half-eaten breakfast. “Thank you, but no, really. I want to do this by myself.”

Michael ate thoughtfully, watching her face. She was still staring at her food.

“It’s just that my Dad, he had this big self-reliance theory,” she said, looking up at him. “He always said that if you relied too much on others, you would forget your own strength. So I like to do things alone.”

“That must have been tough on Kevin when it came to raising the girls,” Michael observed dryly.

“No. I know when to share.” She picked her fork back up. “Kevin always was right in there, pitching in, and I always let him. It was important for them to have two good parents. He’s still a great dad. It made me squirm a few times, but I got over it.”

“Then why don’t we have dinner tonight?”

Diane put her fork down and sat back again. “Please don’t take this the wrong way, but I don’t want Emily and Megan to know about this, about us. Not yet, anyway.” She drank the coffee, trying to find words. Michael leaned forward, curious.

“A couple of years ago, I met someone who could have been, well, special, but he was married, so I backed away and that was that. But the girls had met him, and they loved him. He was just such a gentleman, you know, very old-world. He was from England. When I told the girls he wouldn’t be back around, they were upset. I think Rachel had a little crush on him.” She looked at Michael. He was cradling his steaming coffee, looking at her intently.

“I already know all three of them have a huge crush on you. Rachel was angry the other night. She’s been madly in love with you since she was fifteen, and she walks in, and there you are with me. Not so good. And the other girls, I don’t know.” She shrugged and smiled ruefully. “You’re not just some dopey guy Mom is going out with, you know? There are certain, well, extra problems here.”

Michael nodded. “Yes, you’re right. So when can I see you again?”

“Not next week. Next week is finals week, and I have to be at Dickerson every day. I’m sorry, but that’s the way it is. My students need all the attention I can give them.” Diane leaned forward, grabbing his arm and giving it a shake. “Please understand, if I have something that needs to be done, I don’t allow any distractions. I have to stay focused. And I could not concentrate on some poor freshman worried about a final grade if I thought I would be seeing you. Please, Michael, Friday night. Okay?

Michael blew out through his mouth and looked out over the lake. “Are you always this tough?”

“Yes. This is how I live my life. This is what has worked for me for a long time now. I am not blowing you off, believe me.”

Michael grinned. “Yes, I know. Okay, how about this. I have a program on my computer inside. We’ll plan out your garden, I’ll take you home, and I’ll call tomorrow.”

“You have a landscaping program? Really? Oh, that is so great. Yes, let’s go.”

They spent an hour on his computer, Diane pointing and trying to explain as Michael patiently clicked and double-clicked. He printed out her design, and drove her home. He kissed her very hard, then backed out of her driveway. She stood there for a long time, watching where his car had turned down the road, before she went into the house.