A Different Light (28 page)

After Callie left, Athen sat on the top step to admire her work. She’d placed the new plantings between the clumps of daffodils that were just coming into bloom. She walked to the end of the flagstone walkway near the street for a different perspective.

“Not bad.” She repeated Callie’s praise. The colors of
the flowers were bright and added a splash of cheeriness to the grass that had yet to green up.

Hands on her hips, she surveyed her little domain. Her eyes followed the walkway to the front of the redbrick Tudor-style house. Elongated arms of forsythia covered with masses of golden blossoms reached upward to the second-floor windows from either side of the front steps.

I should find one of John’s shrub books,
she told herself,
and figure out how to prune those. This is the second spring they’ve not been cut back, and they’re out of control.

She strolled up the walk, inhaling deeply as a light breeze bore the scent of magnolia from a neighboring yard. She plopped herself on the steps again, relishing the first sense of contentment she’d felt in … how long? When was the last time she’d felt this quiet pleasure in her own company?

Too long, she acknowledged, and she permitted herself the luxury of savoring the minutes of peaceful solitude.

This time last year she had been a lost soul. Granted, her job was now in jeopardy, the most powerful man in the city had it in for her, and she had all but promised a homeless shelter that she could not deliver. But there were other things to consider, things that were more important than Dan Rossi’s disposition.

Recently, Athen had returned to the Greek Community Center, and she’d been humbled by the warmth with which she’d been greeted. She had not realized how much she’d been missed, or the value of the service she’d provided. Helping the elderly to fill out medical forms, translating mail, teaching the basics of this foreign English language to those who could read or speak only Greek, she filled a real need. She was grateful to
be needed again, grateful to once more find something within herself to give. Returning every Wednesday night had become a priority.

The warming weather, too, had drawn her out of the house, and she could no longer resist the pull of the new bike. She rode early each morning for thirty minutes, and found her enthusiasm for this once-favorite pastime returning. She’d forgotten how much she enjoyed the quiet streets, nearly empty just after dawn, when the fragrance of a new day filled the city. The regular exercise renewed her energy as well as her spirit.

And I’ve even planted my first garden,
she mused. Recalling that John always watered immediately after planting, she went around the side of the house and returned with the hose. She had just finished dousing the newly planted flowers when she recognized the dark SUV that had just parked in front of the house.

“Hi.” Quentin walked up the flagstone path.

“Unexpected visits are becoming a habit with you.”

“Didn’t Callie tell you I called?” he asked. “I told her I might stop by.”

“I guess it slipped her mind.” Athen wondered if it had been an oversight on the part of her daughter, who was usually reliable when it came to messages.

“Where is the little general?” He peered up the driveway.

“Off with her girlfriends for the night.” Athen dried her hands on her pant legs. “What brings you out this way?”

“Timmy had baseball practice this afternoon. I dropped him off at his friend’s house over on Falmouth. I thought since I was just a block away, I’d stop in and see if you would be free for dinner.” He grinned. “Apparently, you are.”

“Ahhh, well …” She was suddenly befuddled.

“Look, it’s just a casual night out. There’s a new Thai restaurant I’ve been wanting to try. And it’s not often I’m footloose and fancy-free on a Saturday night. I guess you get out without Callie about as often as I get out without Timmy.”

“Quentin, I don’t think it would be a good idea.”

“Why not?”

“Well, let’s start with the fact that I’ll be afraid to open my mouth for fear that anything I say will end up in print.”

“This is strictly social, I promise,” he assured her. “As a matter of fact, we can agree not to discuss your job, City Hall, anything you feel uncomfortable with.”

“You really feel you can stick with that?” she asked skeptically.

“Absolutely.” His blue eyes fixed on her without blinking. “Scout’s honor.”

“Well, I guess we could.” She remained unconvinced, but his manner was so sincere. His dimples so deep …

“Great. I’ll pick you up at— What’s a good time? Seven?”

“At least seven.” She held out her hands and arms, which were caked with dirt from her fingers to her elbows. “It will take me at least that long to get cleaned up.”

The sun had almost set and the streetlights came on to signal the approach of evening. Standing with her back to the light, she cast a shadow over his face.

“I’ll see you then.” He smiled and headed for his car.

Athen began to gather up the hose to return it to the backyard, while at the same time watching Quentin return to his car.

No wonder Meg and her college friends hung out the window just to watch him walk by,
Athen mused.
He certainly has a great … walk.

 18 

Athen stood in front of the bathroom mirror and attempted to apply makeup with trembling hands, questioning the wisdom of having accepted Quentin’s casual invitation.

How long has it been since I’ve had a date? Fourteen years? Fifteen? Whatever possessed me to say yes? What will we talk about? I’m not good at small talk. I haven’t had male companionship on a one-on-one basis in eighteen months. Other than my father, of course, or Dan.

Her fingers tiptoed from one hanger to the next in her open closet as she evaluated her wardrobe.
Too matronly. Too dressy. Too casual. Too old. Ugh. Why do I still have this?

One by one, she rejected everything she owned, then started over again.

She settled on a pair of loden green pants and a pale sage shirt she’d bought on sale but never wore. She frowned at her reflection.

Too … plain.

She rummaged through a drawer until she found a paisley scarf, which she tied around her neck. She frowned again. Too nineties.

She gathered her hair with the scarf, and tied it in a
big floppy bow at the back of her neck. Better, but still dated.

“I’ll bet men don’t go through this,” she muttered to Hannah. “I’ll bet Quentin just got out of the shower and pulled on the first thing he saw.”

She studied her reflection in the mirror. The peach-toned blush was soft and okay for the office, but at night it looked too pale. She rummaged through the makeup kit Meg had sent for her birthday and scanned her choices. Maybe the plum would be better. She removed the peach blush and gently stroked on the darker shade. The change was better, fresher. She studied her eyes.
I should have used some shadow. Something darker, but not too dark.

She contemplated the choices displayed on the little wheel of colored powders. The soft greenish gray shade looked appealing, so she dabbed it across her eyelids, and then, on a whim, she put a little more on the small spongy brush and lined her upper lid as she had seen someone demonstrate on TV.

“It’s going to have to do,” she said aloud. “But seriously? A makeover is in order.”

She slipped into a pair of flats and ran downstairs.

“Come on, Hannah, it’s dinnertime.” The big yellow dog ambled into the kitchen and watched Athen pour dry dog food into the hard plastic crater that served as a dinner dish.

Athen glanced anxiously at the clock: 6:45. She found herself tapping nervously on the countertop with her fingers, then stuffed her hands into her pockets to make herself stop. After Hannah inhaled the contents of her bowl, Athen opened the back door and stepped outside with the dog. The air had cooled, so she went back in, raced upstairs and pulled a muted plaid jacket from its
hanger. She slipped into it and paused to study her reflection for the hundredth time. The colors of the jacket—eons old—were perfect, but it, too, was dated. She rolled up the sleeves. Better.

She fumbled through her jewelry for a pair of silver earrings that Meg had given her, with their matching ring, for Christmas the year before. She opened the box that still held all three pieces and put on the earrings. In the bottom of the drawer she saw a silver bangle bracelet and she slipped it onto her wrist. Her eyes fell on the ring finger of her left hand, where her plain gold wedding ring still wound its endless circle.

Slowly, she removed the symbol of what she had come to think of as another lifetime. She rolled it around and around in her right hand. So long reluctant to part with it, she now placed it in her jewelry box.

“It’s time, John,” she whispered. “I’m so sorry, but it’s time. …”

Ringless after so many years, her finger felt naked. She replaced the thin gold band with the silver ring that matched her earrings just as the doorbell rang. She closed the drawer and ran down the steps.

“Hi!” she greeted Quentin at the door. “Come in.”

“You look great.” He smiled as if he meant it.

“Thanks.” A faint blush crept from her neck to her face. “I just have to let Hannah in.”

She all but ran into the kitchen to escape his presence, her heart pounding in her ears.
This is a mistake. Maybe I could tell him I’m sick. I probably will be by the end of the evening if I put food in this stomach.

She opened the back door and Hannah bounded in, searching for the stranger she knew was there. Quentin held out his hand and the tail began to wag the dog.

“You remember me, girl?” Quentin bent down to pet her. “I think she remembers me.” He appeared pleased.

“She’s a pretty smart dog.”

Quentin gave Hannah a final scratch behind her ears. “Well, I guess we should be going.”

The restaurant was only ten minutes away, but it seemed to Athen that she’d been trapped in his car for hours. The ride was marked mostly by silence, Quentin making some effort at small talk to which she gave brief responses. Once they were seated at their table, however, the conversation flowed more easily, and before too long, her nerves calmed enough for her to respond in full sentences.

“Don’t order any of the starred dishes unless you like really hot, spicy food,” Quentin cautioned.

“I’m okay with a little spicy, but I’m not familiar with the menu. Maybe you could recommend something that’s not too heavily seasoned. I’m afraid I haven’t eaten a lot of Asian cuisine.”

“You might like the Thai beef salad. It’s a favorite of mine, and I’ve heard good things about the kitchen here, so it’s worth a try.”

“I’ll try that.” She folded the menu.

After their orders had been taken by a doll-like woman wearing a brightly colored, heavily embroidered dress, Quentin told her, “My dad used to travel regularly to the Far East on business. Thailand, Japan, India—those were his usual stops. I accompanied him on a number of trips. He loved sampling local foods and always sought out the restaurants that served the most authentic foods wherever we went. I learned to love some pretty exotic things as a result.”

“What did you father do?”

“He ran the family business. Actually, it was my
mother’s family’s business.” He leaned back from the table as the waitress placed a dish of shrimp lanced with long wooden spikes on the table. “Here, try these with a little peanut sauce. I think you’ll like them.”

“What kind of a business?” She bit into a shrimp, which she’d hesitantly dipped into the small bowl. “Mmm. You were right. This is yummy.”

“Well, my mother’s father bought several small businesses that he thought had potential back in the fifties, when everything could be bought dirt cheap. As those businesses did well, he bought others: real estate, hotel chains, manufacturing plants, you name it. He was not a man to put all his eggs in the same basket. Over the years, he had accumulated quite extensive and diversified holdings.”

“And your father worked for him?”

“Worked with him, actually. My uncle Stephen, my mother’s only brother, worked for the company with the understanding that one day he’d take over from his father. Unfortunately, my uncle hated it. After a couple of years of trying, he wanted out. My grandfather realized that his son would never follow in his footsteps, so he turned to my father.”