Through humor, you can soften some of the worst blows that life delivers. And once you find laughter, no matter how painful your situation might be, you can survive it.
—Bill Crosby
Chapter 4
Multiple times a day, she would think of her chance meeting with Anthony Rawlings. She believed his name sounded familiar, but didn’t and still doesn’t know why. God, she would love to put his name in Google and see what popped out; maybe Crazy Abusive Man or Nut Job with a Supremacy Complex?
One day while tending bar, they started to talk, not about anything that Claire could remember, just chatting. He was attentive and charming. His eyes mesmerized her, but not with fear as they did now, more of a pull. Her policy was not to see patrons socially. Yet for some reason, when he invited her to a small booth after her shift, she accepted. In hindsight, Claire believed she was safe, still being in the Red Wing. Once there, they talked and drank some wine. At some point, he had a napkin and talked about helping her obtain a job. It was something about the Weather Channel—definitely not this. She remembered signing a napkin, but not him. It seemed harmless. She couldn’t remember what was written on the napkin. They didn’t discuss it again while they shared a few more glasses of cabernet sauvignon. After that, she went home alone.
The next day, she slept in, shopped for groceries, which now rot in her refrigerator, and worked the closing shift. Had she known it was her last full day of freedom, she would have spent it in a more productive manner: visiting with friends, enjoying a crowd at the mall, or calling her sister. Claire wondered if Anthony returned to the bar that day. She didn’t think so, but she remembered his call.
March 17, about a week ago . . .
Claire’s shift ended at six, which was good. She wanted out before the holiday crowd hit the Red Wing. Green beer anxiously awaited the Irish patrons, who on St. Patrick’s Day were everyone.
The day before when Anthony Rawlings called the Red Wing, Claire was shocked. She truly never expected to hear from him again. The call came as the seats at the bar were beginning to fill. Her boss didn’t appreciate personal calls at slow times of the day, much less at busy times. “Hello, this is Claire. May I help you?”
“Good evening, Claire.” Her heart skipped a beat, immediately recognizing the deep husky voice that accompanied the handsome dark-haired, dark-eyed man.
“Anthony?”
First a chuckle, then, “I am impressed. You have a wonderful memory for voices.”
Well, yeah, when they accompany people like you. “Thank you, I talk with people for a living. I am surprised you called. Did you forget something or leave something?”
“Well, yes and no.” The manager walked toward her. She covered the phone and whispered, “Customer from yesterday looking for something.” He turned away and walked to the kitchen.
“Okay, if you let me know what it is, I can look around and call you back. First let me get your number.”
“Oh, you definitely have my number. First I think you should know what I left.” Claire waited impatiently. He sounded mysterious, but there were people waiting. Finally, he said, “You, Claire . . .”
Her cheeks flushed. “Excuse me?”
“I have been thinking about you and would be honored if you would agree to accompany me to dinner.”
Claire’s mind scrambled. She tried to think, but the bar was filling with patrons all looking to her for service. Anthony was waiting for her to respond. Last night, he was so handsome and charming. The prospect of someone like him, older and successful, taking the time to call her after a few hours of chatting was flattering. She worked to sound resilient. “I am sorry, I work until close. That is too late for dinner.”
“Someone named Crystal who answered the telephone earlier said you work the early shift tomorrow. Or will you turn me down again and send me home heartbroken?”
Claire sighed. This was outside her comfort zone, but then again, she didn’t want to be responsible for sending some poor successful gorgeous businessman home heartbroken. “I am supposed to get off tomorrow at six, but if you recall from last night, it isn’t always prompt. I could be ready by seven, if that isn’t too late for you?”
His tone was lighter and quicker. “Wonderful. Should I pick you up at the Red Wing or your place?”
Oh god, she wasn’t ready for him to know where she lived. “I can meet you—”