Hope's Angel (21 page)

“Probably
that Yankees have an inborn dislike for Canucks.”

Connie
scowled. “You mean French Canadians?”

Greg
laughed. “You’re not a hockey fan, are you? There’s a Vancouver team in the
Pacific league that calls themselves the Canucks. Canadians call themselves
Canucks. It’s only a derogatory term if you want it to be.”

“Whenever
I hear it, it’s not a compliment.”

“That’s
probably because when you hear it, it’s from a Yankee, and it’s not meant to be
a compliment.” He watched her with interest. “Still fighting the French and
Indian Wars. I like it.”

Connie
glanced at him. “Did you mean what you said to David about wanting to live in
Boston some day?”

“Yeah.
I like Boston a lot.”

“Why
didn’t you go to college there instead of UVM?”

“It’s
a long story, and not very interesting.”

His
answer didn’t ring true, and his evasiveness bothered her. “But if you don’t
like your family, why do you live at home? Why don’t you at least live on
campus?”

Greg
turned mischievous gray eyes on her. “If I lived on campus, I couldn’t ride
with you.”

He
was good, she had to admit.

Greg
returned his gaze to the view outside the windshield. “I never said I don’t
like my family. I just said they’re not the kind of people that you miss.
They’re very pragmatic. They don’t expect to be missed.” He glanced at her once
more. “How do you feel about Boston?”

“I
love Boston. We drive to the North End once in a while for Italian specialty
stuff, and I love to walk the Freedom Trail and go downtown. Gianna and Angie
and I talked about taking the bus and doing an overnight to go see
Hair
when it comes to the theater district.” Her voice trailed off as she realized
that might be less likely to happen now.

“
Hair
?
I heard they take off their clothes onstage.” A grin spread across Greg’s face.

Connie
smirked. “Only when the spirit moves them, and only the guys.”

“Ha!”
His gaze rested on her face for a long moment, and a suggestive smile hovered
at his lips.

Connie’s
mind went on a journey of its own.
One needn’t  go to Boston to see a guy take
his clothes off
…

“That’s
a funny look,” he said, still watching her.

Connie’s
cheeks warmed with the realization that her face may have betrayed her thoughts.
“I was thinking the same thing about you,” she said, avoiding his eyes.

He
laughed again. “About funny looks or guys taking their clothes off?”

Connie
kept her attention on the cars in front of her, flustered now. “You’re
distracting me, and the traffic’s picking up,” she said. “Don’t you have
something to study?”

Chapter Sixteen

Tuesday,
November 5

The
entire family sat in front of the television at ten p.m. and even Papa was
awake. The polls were closing on the west coast, and it would be hours before
all the votes were counted. In the meantime, the election was too close to call,
the popular vote for Nixon versus Humphrey continuing to fluctuate as more
precincts reported in. Walter Cronkite was talking about exit polls and
conversing with reporters on the scene in various locations across the United
States, commenting on the voter turnout and speculating on the outcomes in
assorted states.

Connie
stood up and stretched. She had to go to school the next day, and the
not-knowing would go on for hours. She said good-night and was part way into
the hallway when a sharp knock on the back door made her jump. Behind her, the
footrest of Papa’s recliner made a clunking noise as he left his chair. People
rarely came to their door after eight at night and never at ten.

Connie
moved aside and let her father pass, her eyes on his back as he crossed the
kitchen floor and reached to open the door.

Paul
was standing on the porch, breathing vapor into the cold night air. His expression
was serious and his tone apologetic as he said something to Papa that she
couldn’t hear. Her father nodded, then stepped back to let him in. Paul’s eyes
immediately shifted to meet Connie’s, and the look on his face made her heart squeeze
shut.

She
stared at him as he approached, the tension on his face speaking for itself.

“Have
you heard?” His eyes never left hers as he came to stand within inches of her
face.

Connie
shook her head, too frightened to answer, yet knowing what he was about to say.

Paul
stared into her eyes.“They leave for Vietnam the first week in December.”

***

Angie
made them cups of hot lemonade, then wordlessly left the room. Connie and Paul
sat opposite one another at the kitchen table, staring down at their hands,
their knuckles touching as they wrapped their fingers around warm mugs set side
by side.

“We
have to pray for them,” Connie said, blinking back a fresh wave of tears. She
had already cried so hard in Paul’s arms, she couldn’t believe she had any
tears left.

“Yeah.”
He didn’t sound convinced.

“What
else can we do?”

“Nothing.
That’s what sucks about the whole thing. We can’t do a damn thing.” He turned
his face away from hers to stare off into the darkness outside the kitchen
window.

Connie
studied his profile. He was so beautiful in a masculine sense, so fresh-faced
and full of life, and her thoughts immediately went to the possibility that he
could be the next one summoned to go. More troops were being sent every day.
The war was escalating.

“They
chose this,” she said, hoping to ease her own mind as well as his. “We have to
remember that.”

He
turned his deep blue eyes on her. “As a last resort. If they didn’t think
they’d get called up anyway, they never would have volunteered. Who chooses to
go die somewhere when you don’t even know what you’re dying for?”

“They’re
not going to die,” Connie said firmly. She stared into his eyes. “We have to
stop thinking that way. They’re going to be okay. They might get hurt, but
they’re not going to die. They’re going to come home. To pick up where they
left off. We have to believe that.”

He
looked away from her once more. “I’m sorry I said what I said about Gianna’s
boyfriend.”

Connie
shrugged. “You said what you felt. You were honest.”

He
turned back to her. “So, what happens now?”

“David’s
not going to go away. And I’m not going to be put in a position where I have to
choose between people.”

“I’m
not asking you to choose.” Paul’s eyes held hers. “I mean, there’s nothing to
say I’d get along with some white guy that Gianna dated, either. My sister Rita
can’t stand her sister-in-law. So what? As long as they don’t move in with us.”

Connie
laughed, and he gave her the slow smile that melted her heart and left her
light-headed.

“Are
your folks still up?” he asked.

“I
think they’re in the living room. Why?”

Paul
looked contrite. “I should apologize to your mother for not coming to dinner on
Sunday.”

Connie
nodded. “She’d probably like that.”

They
rose from the table together, and he followed her into the living room. Gianna
and Angie had gone off to bed, but Papa was watching television while Mamma crocheted
something long and lacy out of ecru yarn. She rested her work in her lap and
smiled at them as they approached her. Paul leaned forward and kissed her on
the cheek, and Connie watched her mother blush. When he apologized for missing
his dinner invitation, Mamma dismissed his concern with a wave of her hand. “You
come this Sunday.” She wagged her finger at him. “And you don’t say no.”

Connie’s
heart dropped. Her mother had no way of knowing that Connie wasn’t planning on
going out with Paul that weekend.

He
glanced at Connie, his eyes asking the question that hung between them. Connie
forced a smile. “Sunday’s fine.”

Paul
said good-night to Connie’s parents, then followed her into the kitchen. He
took his jacket from the back of his chair and turned to her. “What was it you
wanted to do on Saturday? You mentioned something in Burlington, but I can’t
remember what.”

Connie
shook her head. “
La Boheme
. I’m going with somebody else. You’re safe.”

Paul
stood motionless, his arm partway into his jacket sleeve as his eyes searched
her face. “With who?”

“You
didn’t want to go, Paul.”

“Yeah,
I know. Who are you going with?”

Connie
met his unwavering stare. “Greg.”

Paul
watched her a moment longer, then finished putting on his jacket, his lips
pressed together in irritation. Instead of giving the angry retort she
expected, he turned from her in silence and headed for the door. She had been
ready for a fight, but now her defiance liquefied into regret. She reached out
to grab his jacket sleeve. “Hey, don’t be mad. It’s just two opera lovers going
to an opera together.”

He
turned to look at her, and the pain in his eyes came as a complete surprise. Stricken,
she slid her arms beneath his open jacket and wrapped them around his lean
torso, pulling him close and pressing her cheek to his as she gently kissed the
soft skin of his neck. “Paul. It’s nothing. You didn’t want to go.”

He
put his arms around her and held her tightly to his chest, his face buried in
her hair. “I know. I won’t make that mistake again.” He leaned back and put his
mouth over hers, kissing her long and slow, ignoring the potential for her
parents to enter the room at any moment. The ache in her groin was instant, the
longing for his hands to find her most sensitive places an immediate reaction
to the intensity of his kiss. She wanted to push him out the door and hurry him
down the stairs, then press him against the building beneath the staircase and
let him put his hands all over her. She would even guide them to her jeans to
find the aching space between her legs that wanted his touch so badly.

“What
are you doing tomorrow night?” he asked, watching her as he pulled back. “Are
you free?”

“I’ll
be free.” Homework or no homework, she would find a way to be free.

***

Connie
kept her eyes on the road, refusing to look at Greg as he drove. Nixon had won
the election.

“I
promise not to gloat,” he said, his grin belying his words.

 “I
just feel sorry for this country,” Connie said.

Greg
laughed. “Come on, it was a landslide. Thirty-two states to thirteen.”

“Electoral
college. The popular vote was almost even. It’s such a stupid system,” she said
bitterly.

“Look
at it this way: it could have been Wallace.”

“No,
it couldn’t. I’d move to Canada if that were the case.” Connie crossed her arms
over her chest; the whole conversation was irritating her.

“Whew,
somebody’s out of sorts today.”

Connie
kept her profile to him. She had never expected to feel conflicted about going
out with him again, but thanks to Paul, she was second-guessing her decision about
Saturday. She liked Greg a lot, and for that reason alone, she didn’t want to
raise his unrealistic hopes. The animal attraction she had to Paul—she
recognized it now for what it was—remained strong and healthy and overwhelming.

“My
friends are going to Vietnam,” she answered, just to have something to say.
“They ship out after Thanksgiving.”

Greg’s
voice softened. “I’m sorry to hear that. I didn’t know.”

“Well,
of course you didn’t know. That’s why I told you.”

Greg
remained silent, and kept his attention on the road ahead.

Connie
let out a long sigh and turned toward the window. “Sorry. I don’t know why I’m
being a bitch.”

He
cleared his throat. “I was sort of hoping our days of facing off were over, but
maybe not.”

“You
said you didn’t expect us to be on the same wavelength about everything.”

“I
said we didn’t have to be on the same wavelength about everything in order to
have things work out between us—that our differences actually make us stronger
together. I didn’t say I enjoy the pissing matches.”

Her
bitchiness got the better of her. “I’m not good at keeping my opinions to
myself. Sorry.”

“See,
this is what I don’t get.” Greg slapped the steering wheel with his palm. “I
don’t even know what I did.”

Connie
kept her face away from his. “You didn’t do anything. I’m just crabby. I stayed
up too late last night.”

“Watching
the returns?”

“Yeah,
and then Paul came over to tell me about Nino and Frankie…” Connie bit her lip;
she hadn’t meant to bring up Paul.

“Ah,
Paul.” They rode in silence until finally Greg said, “If you’re regretting
La
Boheme
, we can cancel. I’m sure I can sell the tickets to someone else.”

Connie
did her best to sound noncommittal. “You said you’re not an opera fan. It’s up
to you.”

Greg’s
reaction made her jump. “No, damn it! It’s up to you! Do you
want
to go
with me or not?”

Connie
looked at him in surprise. His face was uncharacteristically dark with anger,
and his eyes were flashing. He wasn’t hurt; he was angry, and his anger gave
him an alpha maleness Connie had never seen in him before. Their relationship
was at risk, and she realize that she cared.

“I
do want to go with you.” Her heart ached as she watched him. “But I’m not going
to lie to you, Greg. I’m not through with Paul. But if you’re willing to put up
with that—”

“Do
you sleep with the guy?” His expression was fierce.

“No!
I’ve never slept with anyone!”

He
took a deep breath and his face relaxed “Then I can put up with it. Because I’m
willing to fight for you, if I have to, but not if you sleep with the guy.”

Candy
watched his face as she said, “Did you sleep with Candy?”

“I’m
not talking about the past. I’m talking about now.” His words came out clipped
and angry.

“You
did.”

“I’m
not answering that.”

“Why
not? I told you I’ve never slept with anyone!”

“You
volunteered that. I didn’t ask.”

Connie
stared at his stern profile, waiting for him to look at her, but he refused,
keeping his eyes on the traffic in front of them. His righteous anger frightened
her with its potential to end their bond once and for all.

The
awkward silence between them was more than she could stand. “Did I tell you I
went to the library yesterday to get information about the Abenaki, but they
didn’t have anything except a few things on microfilm?”

Greg
glanced at her. “Why do you need information about the Abenaki?”