On a Night Like This (22 page)

“Amanda!” he called out. “Wait up.”

Miraculously, she did. He jogged ahead, joining Sweetpea in some kind of hopping race to Amanda’s side.

“Glad you came with me,” he said, slowing to a walk with her at his side.

“Did you ever think about me that way?” she asked, not looking at him.

He thought for a moment, trying to track the conversation they hadn’t been having. He ran through the morning’s episode in his head. He wished his mind were clearer, sharper—but instead, he felt mired in the hangover fog, worse even than this morning.

“No,” he said finally. “That story was not about you.”

“I know that,” she said.

“I don’t know any bartender’s daughters in the woods,” he said.

“Too bad,” she told him.

“No, it’s not too bad. I created a short story. That’s all.”

“Funny choice of subject matter,” she said.

“Writers write about all kinds of material. We challenge ourselves in our writing. I wrote the story as a challenge.”

“Why?”

Luke didn’t answer right away. He picked up a stick and threw it far ahead of them on the beach. Sweetpea raced after it, but then ran around with it, finally dropping it far away from him. She never quite got the concept of playing fetch.

“Did you know that
Pescadero
was your mother’s story? At least the premise was. I didn’t know her story, but I was upset by it. The story stayed in my mind and wouldn’t let go. So I invented my own version of it. In the end
Pescadero
had nothing to do with what really happened.”

“Maybe you should leave us alone,” Amanda said.

“I can’t leave you alone,” Luke told her. “I’m in love with your mother.”

“I don’t see what that has to do with me,” she said sullenly.

“I want to be with her. All the time,” Luke explained. “And up until this morning I wanted you around, too. Now I’m angry that you sneaked around on my computer, and I’m embarrassed that you might think that story is true.”

“It’s not a bad story,” she said.

He looked at her. She watched her feet as she walked.

“Do you believe me?” he asked.

“I don’t know. I guess.”

“Good,” he said.

“You can go out with my mother without me hanging around,” Amanda said.

“I don’t want to,” he told her. “You’re the center of your mother’s life. I want to join her, not drag her away from you.”

“Yeah, well.” She didn’t say anything else. They walked for a long time, along the edge of the surf. Sweetpea ran ahead of them, then back, checking up on them, then taking off again.

They turned around after a half hour and started back. The day was cold and windy—they wrapped their sweatshirts and fleece jackets tight around themselves. There weren’t very many people on the beach, and the noise of the wind made Luke feel comfortable in their silence.

“Your mom’s going to quit work tonight,” Luke said as they neared the stairway back to the parking lot.

“Why?”

“The doctor thinks it’s a good idea. She needs to save her energy.”

Amanda didn’t say anything for a while.

“I can help out. Financially. Your mom can take it easy for once.”

“What else did the doctor say?”

“That she’s looking good. For now. But things will change.”

“She loves her job,” Amanda said.

“I know that. This will be hard for her.”

“Shit,” Amanda muttered, kicking at the sand as she walked.

“Let’s have dinner at the restaurant tonight,” Luke suggested.

Amanda looked at him warily. Then she shook her head and looked away.

“I’ve got too much homework,” she said.

“Last chance,” Luke told her.

“Fuck you,” she said, and she started running, Sweetpea on her heels, and kept the pace all the way up the stairway.

Luke trudged up the stairs slowly, the wind whipping his face as if it were slapping him, the noise in his ears like an echo of
fuck you, fuck you.

When he reached the truck, he expected Amanda not to speak to him, perhaps ever again. He kept blowing it, saying exactly the wrong thing, finding it impossible to imagine what she felt, what she thought. But he sat down, put the key in the ignition, felt her hand on his arm.

“I’d like that,” she said. “Dinner at Mom’s restaurant.”

He looked at her, but she got busy with the radio. He nodded and drove them back to the cottage.

Luke kissed Blair good-bye as she headed to work in her chef’s clothes. He held her for a moment, close to him.

“You can still cook for me. Every night. I’ll be the most appreciative audience in the world,” he said.

“It’s not the same.”

“I know.”

“I’ve loved cooking. Even on the longest, lousiest night. Put me in that kitchen and I’m a happy woman.”

A couple of hours earlier, she had called Daniel to tell him it was her last night, had made him promise there would be no fanfare for her departure. She had cried—or rather, tried not to—for a few moments. Then she asked him to hold a table for Luke and Amanda.

“I wish I had years of this,” Luke said. “Kissing you good-bye. Watching you dash off in your sexy chef’s outfit. Waiting for you to come home.”

Blair held him close, then pulled away, opened the door and headed out.

“See you later, Amanda!” she called out.

Some muffled noise came from Amanda’s room.

“We’ll see you at seven,” Luke said. “I want the most decadent chocolate dessert on the menu.”

“It’s yours,” Blair said, and headed out into the night.

Luke poured himself a glass of wine and sat in the living room. He read while he waited for Amanda to do her homework—in her room this time, rather than on the living-room floor—and get dressed for dinner.

When she emerged, he was surprised. She had transformed herself from punk teenager to knockout woman. She wore a long black skirt and a red tank top. She draped a silk shawl over her shoulders—something her mother might have worn in high school. Instead of her army boots, she wore high-heeled sandals, strappy things that wrapped around her ankles. And she had rimmed her eyes in dark liner and had given her full lips a coat of red lipstick.

“Wow,” Luke said. “You look terrific.”

“Yeah. Well.” She kept her face half-turned away from him, but Luke could see her shy smile.

“Your mother will be very happy.”

Amanda looked at Luke quickly, then looked away.

“You ready?” Luke asked.

“I guess.” She sounded timid, unsure—Luke had never seen this side of Amanda. She looked older, seemed younger. He imagined her on a date and knew that it would take a boy a long time to get to know her.

“Let’s go.”

They walked to the restaurant, slowly because Amanda was unsteady on her heels. She seemed cold, and Luke offered his jacket, but she said no, then went back to not talking.

At the restaurant Daniel greeted them, kissing Amanda, complimenting her so much that she blushed, then led them to a table in the corner.

Daniel didn’t talk to Luke. Luke wondered if he was the enemy for taking Blair away from the restaurant or for taking her away from him. A gay man can fall in love with a straight woman—Luke was sure of that. He may never want to sleep with her, but then, no one else should, either.

Rianne rushed to their table, kissed Amanda, kissed Luke. “We met once before. The night you dumped her,” Rianne explained breathlessly.

“Sorry about that,” Luke said.

“Don’t ever do it again,” she said.

“I promise.” She looked at him mischievously—testing him out?—then gave him another kiss. “You’re as handsome as she says,” she whispered, and moved on to another table.

“What did she say?” Amanda asked.

“She said your mom’s cooking up a storm,” Luke told her.

“She did not.”

“What’s good here?”

Philippe appeared, presenting a bottle of champagne. “Daniel’s gift,” he said, “and the lovely girl can even sneak a glass.”

Amanda’s eyes lit up.

“Bon soir, monsieur,”
Philippe said, offering Luke his hand for a shake.

Luke felt the waiter’s appraisal—was it for Blair’s sake or his own?
Or both,
Luke decided.

“Nice to meet you,” Luke said.

“If there’s any champagne left over, bring it back to the kitchen after dinner,” Philippe whispered.

“If we need to, I’ll buy an extra,” Luke told him.

“I have school tomorrow,” Amanda said.

“You,
chérie,
have to learn to be a teenager. Drinking champagne is a very good thing. I bet I hear you giggling tonight.” He turned to Luke. “Amanda is not a giggler. A young girl should know how to giggle.”

The waiter exited with a wink at Amanda.

“I don’t think you should take lessons from Philippe on being a young girl,” Luke said.

“He’s
sooo
cute,” Amanda said, leaning close to Luke across the table.

“And off-limits,” Luke said. “For several reasons.”

“You’re not my father.”

Luke felt himself sink a little lower in his chair. “I know that, Amanda.”

Amanda picked up the glass of champagne and took a sip. She wrinkled her nose, then took another sip.

“Should I giggle?” she asked, and then—amazingly—she giggled.

Luke smiled and clinked glasses with her. “I’ll call Philippe over next time.”

“Don’t you dare,” Amanda said, and giggled again.

Luke took a deep breath.

And then he felt Blair’s hand on his cheek, and he turned around.

“Welcome,” she said, smiling at him. She wore her chef’s jacket—no hat—she had told him she found the hat thing silly. She leaned over and kissed him.

“If you hadn’t come out to say hello,” Luke said to her, “I would have come into the kitchen and risked the wrath of Daniel.”

“Did you meet everyone?”

“Rianne was flirting,” Amanda said.

“No she wasn’t. She was being Rianne. You look lovely, my daughter,” Blair said, leaning over to kiss Amanda.

“Daniel gave us champagne,” Amanda said, lifting her glass.

“Don’t let her drink more than one,” Blair said, smiling at Luke. “Hey. I’m glad you’re here.”

“Me too.”

“I gotta get back there. Daniel agreed to cover for me in the kitchen—he gave me three minutes. He’s so upset that I’m quitting, he doesn’t quite know what to do tonight.”

“Go,” Luke said. “Come visit at the end of our dinner. Please.”

“I will.” She headed back to the kitchen.

Amanda sipped more champagne. “It’s OK,” she said. “First taste was gross. But now, I kind of like it.”

“Uh-oh,” Luke said, smiling.

“The kids at school get drunk. I’ve had two beers in my life.”

“Well, now you’ve tried champagne. I bet they’re not drinking champagne.”

Amanda smiled. She looked beautiful, and Luke wished she hadn’t read the story, wished they were anywhere else rather than sitting at a table for two in a romantic restaurant.

“Remember the story I told you about the boy who took me up to the roof?”

“Yes, of course I remember that story,” Luke said.

“He’s been hanging around me lately. Talking to me.”

“I hope you’re not talking back to him,” Luke said.

“He’s OK.”

“He’s not OK. He left you alone on that roof. Amanda. You deserve a helluva lot better.”

“Well, he invited me to a party on Saturday.”

“No.”

“You can’t tell me no.”

“I know that. I’m talking to you as a friend, not as a father. The guy’s a shit.”

“Well. We’ll see.”

“Amanda.”

“I know how to take care of myself.”

“I know you do.”

Rianne arrived, ready to take their orders.

“We haven’t looked at the menu,” Luke said.

“I know the menu by heart,” Amanda said.

“Go ahead,” Luke offered. “I’ll find something quickly.”

They ordered, and when Rianne left, they sat quietly, sipping champagne. Philippe appeared, refilling both glasses. Luke saw Amanda glance at him, daring him to object, and he said nothing.

“My mother’s going to be a mess when she stops working,” Amanda said. “You think she’s going to be happy because she’s spending every moment of the day with you, but she’s not.”

Luke nodded. “I know it will be hard for her.”

“You think you can step in and take care of everything,” Amanda said.

“No, Amanda. I’m not trying to do that.”

Amanda finished the glass of champagne, putting it down too hard on the table.

Rianne arrived with the first course—salad for Luke, soup for Amanda. They ate quietly for a while.

“This is delicious,” Luke said.

“Taste the soup. It’s one of Mom’s specialties.”

Luke reached across the table and tasted.

“It’s great,” he said.

“I helped her make it up. Years ago. We were fooling around in the kitchen, and suddenly we had invented Blair’s Bean Soup.”

“You’re lucky,” Luke said. “Growing up the way you did.”

“What do you mean?”

“With a mother like Blair. So close.”

“Yeah, well. I used to think my life sucked. Everyone else I knew had fathers. Then all the parents got divorced, and all the kids have to deal with moms in one house, dads in another.”

“Did you wish your mother would get married?”

“Like, did I wish she’d fall in love and marry the guy and live happily ever after? Fairy-tale stuff. Doesn’t exist.”

“Yes, it does.”

“You grow up around here and it’s hard to believe in fairy tales. Everyone’s divorced. Or still married and miserable after all these years. It’s all the kids talk about. No one wants to be like their parents. At least my mom had some fun along the way.”

“I wish I had fallen in love with your mother a long time ago.”

“You were busy being married.”

“Right. Bad timing.”

“Well, didn’t you love your wife?”

“Yes. At one time.”

“So love disappears. In thin air. Poof. It’s a dream.”

“No,” Luke insisted. “Not if it’s the real thing. If I could, I’d marry your mother and love her for as long as I live. I’m sure of that. You find love, real love, and you put it at the very center of your life. The way your mother put you at the center of her life. That kind of love lasts.”