Chapter 7: Meeting Paige's family

When Paige called at nine PM, I'd made my calls, and had given up on hearing from her. I reported that the quotations for the water hookup were arriving; I'd spoken to Harold Whitney about the consulting job, and Charlie and I had moved the crates out of the living room.

"Brian?"

"Yes, Paige."

"I didn't follow any of what you just said. You'll need to keep notes. Anyway, that's not what I want to talk about."

"Okay," I said, feeling very confused. "What do you want to talk about?"

"Are you sure you're over Marian?"

"I'm sure."

"It's only been three weeks."

"Three weeks is long enough. Being separated from her has made me realize that we had very little between us. Anyway, it didn't take her long to move on. I have it on good authority that she's seeing one of my tenants."

"What if she calls again?"

"I'll tell her that I've met someone."

Paige abruptly hung up and I cursed myself for saying the wrong thing. When she called the following night I reported that I'd met with Matthew Dawkins about the barn. "Harold was here. He asked some probing questions that I would never have considered. Matthew wants everything out of the barn so he can get a better look at the structure. I agreed to move the auto parts to the basement, but I told him he will have to work around the antique cars. I don't want to be rushed into advertising them for sale."

"Brian?"

"Yes, Page."

"What you said about meeting someone. Was that someone me by any chance?"

"Of course it's you."

"You only met me three weeks ago."

"It's been three weeks and two days since we met. That's as long as it took Uncle Mackey and Aunt Elsie to fall in love. As a matter of fact, they were already making love."

"That's a ridiculous analogy. They were young and it was wartime."

"I'm not suggesting that we're on the same track as Mackey and Elsie were. You have to admit though, that we hit it off from the beginning, and we get along well."

"Not from the beginning," she corrected me. Paige ended the call before I could ask her what was going through her mind when we'd first met.

On Wednesday night I reported that the eBay bidding was going better than I'd expected. "I visited one of those pack and ship places today. The owner got excited when I told him how many items we're offering for sale."

"I hope you're keeping notes of your activities. My mind wanders when we talk on the phone."

"Paige, I look forward to your calls. I plan what I'm going to report."

"Are you holding anything back, Brian?"

"Most of what I do would bore you. For instance, Harold is going to stop by tomorrow and we're going to outline everything that we're going to have done. I want a detailed plan to show the lady from the preservation society."

"May I ask you a personal question?" she asked, like she had not been paying attention to a word I'd said.

"Sure."

"Promise that you won't laugh?"

"I promise."

"Did you get sweaty today?"

"A little bit. I helped Charlie trim the shrubbery around the gazebo. Why do you ask if I got sweaty?"

"Did you shower?"

"Yes."

"What are you wearing?"

"Why do you need to know what I'm wearing?"

"Humor me. What do you have on right now?"

"I'm not going to tell you until I know why you need to know."

"I want to close my eyes and picture you. I need to know what you have on."

"Okay, I'll give you a complete picture. I'm sitting in Uncle Mackey's chair, re-reading a letter from Aunt Elsie. I'm wearing a pair of cut-off sweatpants. That's all."

"That's all? No shirt, no shoes?"

"That's right."

"Hmmm, I'm having trouble picturing you because I've never seen you with a bare chest."

"Yes, you have. Remember the day I played volleyball on the beach?"

"Hmmm, you're right. I get the picture now. But you didn't take off your shoes that day."

"Believe me; you wouldn't want to look at my bare feet tonight. The reason I'm not wearing shoes is that I stubbed my toe on one of those damned crates in the back room."

I heard her giggle. "Why are you re-reading the letters?"

"I remembered something that Aunt Elsie wrote. I have it here: 'I hope you won't hate me, Mackey, but I've done something without asking your permission. I sent your description of the fighting on the island to the local newspaper, and guess what, my Sweet? The editor published it. He called me first, and I couldn't say no. He says you're a fine writer and wants to see you when you come home. Please don't be angry with me, my Darling.'"

"I recall reading that passage. I'm just realizing that they fell in love in a very short time and the letters strengthened their love for each other. Read some more please."

"I haven't found his reaction to her apology, but it's obvious that he forgave her. I'm looking for the letter where she told him that she was abstracting the parts from his letters where he told about helping the other patients in the ward. She went so far as to say that she would like to use them in a book. She even suggested a name for the book, 'Tales from Ward C.'"

"Do you think it was ever published?"

"I don't know. I'll search the web tomorrow to see what I can find."

"I'll call you tomorrow. I can't wait to know more," she said, ending the call in such a hurried fashion that it made me wonder if she was all right.

Her call came earlier on Thursday night. I had lots to report, but first, I had to tell her what I was wearing.

"I covered my chest with a T-shirt, and my feet with sneakers."

"That's not very interesting," she said, dismissively. "Tell me about the book. Did you have any luck?'

"No luck whatsoever. I searched Mackey's name and got lots of hits about his newspaper work and the magazine articles he's written, but there was nothing about a book. I'm wondering if it was published under a different name or if he used a penname."

"I was thinking that it might be a fun thing for us to do together."

"What? Put a book together out of the old couple's letters?"

"Exactly. We could divide the research and the writing."

How did she think we would have the time to research and write a book? Didn't she know how busy I was? Did she have more spare time than I knew about? I was even more convinced that it would be impossible to find the time when she told me that she would arrive late the next evening.

"We'll stop for dinner," I suggested, and was happy to hear her response.

"Okay, that will be nice," she said before saying goodbye.

It was nearing seven PM on Friday night, and I was becoming concerned that I hadn't heard from Paige. When she did call, I was ready to let her have it.

"We're thirty minutes away," she said.

"There are going to be some changes. First, I want your cell phone number, and second, I want to know what's kept you. Tonight is going to be my night to ask the questions and it's your turn to supply the answers."

"Brian, why are you being short with me? I warned you that it would be late tonight. I could have waited until tomorrow or Sunday to come, but I wanted to..."

"You wanted to what?" I asked, calming down.

"I guess I missed you, but now that you're being dictatorial, I'm not so sure."

"Paige, I've been a perfect gentleman. I haven't pried into your personal life and I've let you dictate the pace. Hell, I've only been in the room you occupy that one time when we were listing the furniture for the silent auction. I'm warning you; tonight is going to be different. I'm going to ask the questions for a change."

Other that the roar of the bus in the background, I heard nothing. When she didn't hang up, I asked, "Did you really miss me?"

"Brian, I have something to confess," she said, side-stepping my question.

Her soft voice quieted me. I pictured her lips moving, the wrinkle in her brow, and the way she set her eyes when she was making a point.

"I'll be waiting when the bus arrives," I said, thinking that we were ending the call.

"WAIT!"

"I'm still here."

"I did miss you," she said before I heard the line fade out.

It was obvious by the way she was dressed that she'd come directly from work. She didn't jump from the steps and run into my arms as I expected. Instead, she walked slowly, her eyes in contact with mine, and she didn't crack a smile until she was within arm's length.

I pulled her to me, and our kiss was intense for a few seconds, until she pulled away. "Take your hands off of my ass. People will talk."

We laughed about her assertion on the way to my truck because my hands had not been near her ass. I took her to an Italian restaurant and was sorry that I hadn't chosen a quieter place.

It was not only noisy, it was crowded, and our table was not in the best location. Although I'd warned her that this was my night to ask the questions, I let her begin.

"I had an affair," she said after the waiter had taken our orders. Naturally, I wanted to know more, when it took place, for how long, and if it was over. She supplied those answers without my having to ask. She had to lean forward to be heard.

"It was a year ago. I guess I was feeling sorry for myself and felt the affair was something I wanted. It only went on for a few weeks. Russell found out about it and broke it up. I wasn't sorry to end it because I had no feelings for the guy."

"Why did you think you had to tell me?" I asked, wondering at that moment if I should tell her about Georgia."

"It's my way of explaining why I've been cautious about ... us."

"I never thought that you were being cautious. Actually, asking me what I was wearing was kind of racy. That will be something to tell our grandchildren."

She was holding a wine glass, but set it down. "Brian, you make me nervous. We're not Mackey and Elsie. This isn't a race. You're not heading off to a Pacific Island."

"That's true, but I'm only here for a limited amount of time."

"How long?" she asked, concern showing in her eyes.

"Once the construction work is completed, we can put the house on the market. We can make decisions via e-mail, and I can make the distributions to the heirs from my home."

"Don't forget about the stock."

"I've been thinking about that. I believe we should give Fred a sample of the stock tomorrow night."

"How did we get off on the estate? Is it the only interest we have in common?"

"God! I hope not," I said, and watched her take a sip of wine.

Our meal was served. The food was delicious, but very filling. We talked very little, but laughed constantly. We got the attention of the people at the next table when we traded bites of food.

"Are you celebrating a wedding anniversary?" one of the ladies asked.

"Yes, how many years do you think we've been married?" Paige asked, winking at me.

"Ten years?" the lady asked.

"That's right. We were married ten years ago," Paige said, and the two couples congratulated us. They offered to buy us a drink, but Paige said that we were going to have coffee and go home, implying that she couldn't wait to get me into bed.

I was bothered by what she'd said about us only having one thing in common.

"We're both widowed with children," I offered as I helped her into my truck.

"We have the letters," she reminded me.

I found myself wanting to add to the list of things we had in common, but couldn't come up with anything else.

Paige went directly to her room and returned a few minutes later with a radio, wanting to dance. She'd changed into short pants, sneakers and a T-shirt. I took my shoes off and danced in my stocking feet.

"I was negotiating a lease with someone on the west coast. He didn't realize how late it was getting," she said, explaining the reason she'd taken a later bus.

"I thought you may have stopped at home," I said.

"I caught the first bus out and called my home. Does that tell you how anxious I was to see you?"

We were dancing at arms length, talking casually. "Do you think we have a physical attraction for each other?"

"You're still hung up on what we have in common, aren't you?"

"I am," I admitted.

"Okay, here's a compatibility test. Rate the following as they apply to a relationship; sex, looks, and common interests."

I stopped dancing and looked at her. "Are you saying to rate them in order of importance?"

"Yes."

"You hope that having sex with an attractive person will be as good as they look to you, but it doesn't always work out that way. The same goes for having sex with someone with common interests. I guess that I would place good sex first, regardless of how the person looks or if they have common interests. However, the lack of common interests could make great sex less important."

"Did you just change your mind about sex being number one?"

"No, good sex wins out every time."

Paige kissed me, and was halfway to the stairs before I stopped her.

"Hey, how did I do?"

"I don't know. I'll need to think about what you said."

We didn't discuss my rating of sex, looks and common interests again until Sunday night, Monday morning really. We started the day at the kitchen table, scouring the letters for mentions of Mackey helping other wounded veterans in Ward C. It took all morning to transcribe those parts of the letters, but when we were finished, we agreed that there was not enough for a book.

"It's going to take more research to expand on each story, such as what happened to the people Mackey helped," Paige said.

"There's also the love angle. Perhaps we could make it into a romance," I said, and was met with a shake of her head, as if to say that I was making too much of the letters.

After lunch, Paige wanted to go shopping, and while she was selecting the ingredients for the meal she was going to serve that night, I went to the wine shop next door.

Our guests were to arrive at seven PM, and the aroma coming from the kitchen was so appealing that I wondered if I would be able to resist sampling the dinner. Good cooking was running a close second to good sex on my compatibility preference chart.

Nadine wanted to take Fred on a tour of the house as soon as they arrived. His footsteps seemed to make the floors creak more that usual, until he got to Uncle Mackey's room.

"Did a hurricane go through that room?" he asked when they returned to the first floor.

I laughed, and told him that Uncle Mackey had been a writer. "I get the impression that he knew where everything was. I try not to disturb anything."

Fred had brought two bottles of expensive wine, which I opened first. By the time I opened the wine I'd picked out, no one knew the difference.

We all told Paige that the meal was exceptional. She humbly accepted our praise, looking fondly at me as she said that I'd supplied her inspiration.

I don't know if we'd run out of conversation material or if it was the wine, but Paige began talking about the letters between Uncle Mackey and Aunt Elsie. Recalling that she'd specifically cited the letters as something we had in common, I joined in, and we were soon talking about the book we had in mind to write.

Our exuberance about the subject must have bored Fred, but Nadine became caught up in how Mackey had managed to help nearly every other soldier in the ward.

I'll have to give Fred credit though. Not once did he mention the stock that we were going to sell. Even when, at the end of the evening, he accepted the list of twenty stocks that I handed him, pocketing it without a word. The stocks I'd selected represented about twenty percent of the total, and were for companies that I'd scarcely heard of before.

Paige was agreeable to my suggestion that we leave the cleanup until the next morning. I escorted her up the stairs and into her room. She turned, and I took her into my arms.

"Brian," she said, interrupting our kiss. "You have your hand on my butt."

"Oh, sorry, I'll remove it," I said, making no move to lift my hand from her ass.

"No don't, I like having it there, just for a minute, and then you have to leave."

Was this a test? I kept my hand on her ass for exactly sixty seconds before removing it and ending our kiss.

"Goodnight," I said, backing toward the door.

"Goodnight," she said.

I awoke to hear her in the kitchen. She laughed when I apologized for not helping to put things back in order. On the table was a steaming cup of coffee and a piece of paper that contained her cell phone number.

"Don't call me during working hours," she cautioned.

"What if I have an insatiable desire to talk to you?"

Her frown quickly changed to a smile. "Leave a message. I'll call you back as soon as I can."

"How will I know when you're working?"

"You won't. I freelance for three small law firms, and work when they call me. Right now, I'm booked every day but Fridays for the next two weeks. That's the day that I work for a manufacturing company."

"Thank you for clearing that up for me."

"You have every right to know everything about me. I feel that I can ask you anything, right?"

"Right," I answered, wondering when it would be a good time to tell her about Georgia.

We talked about the best way to research the stories we'd extracted from the letters. I came up with the idea of putting Mackey's work experience in chronological order. We took turns surfing the web and discovered that he had worked 38 years for four newspapers between nineteen-forty-nine and nineteen-eighty-seven when he retired. The four newspapers were in addition to the small hometown paper where he'd gotten his start after being discharged from the Army.