The Promise of Change (2 page)

Sarah cringed. Admiral George Stovall Edwards, U.S. Navy, Retired, a.k.a. Daddy.

“Sends chills down your spine doesn’t it?” Becca replied with a grin, before Sarah could form an answer.

Avoiding the rhetorical question, Sarah replied, “Do you want to ride with me to the restaurant, or are you just going to stand there being judgmental?”

“Are you kidding?” she said as she opened the passenger door. “Of course I want to ride. But I reserve the right to be judgmental again once the adrenalin wears off.”

The trendy new restaurant was in an old warehouse district that was undergoing gentrification, but it could still be a rough area. It would be light until nine o’clock, so as long as they left before dark, Sarah, Ann, and Becca felt safe.

Parking on the street a block from the restaurant, Sarah put the top up while Becca worked the tangles from her blond hair.

“Okay,” Becca conceded, “that was fun, I’ll give you that, but not very practical if every time you arrive at your destination you almost snatch yourself bald trying to repair your coiffure.”

Sarah laughed as ran her fingers through her curls. “It gives you a nice wind-blown look.”

“So does hanging your head out a car window, but I wouldn’t do that either,” Becca groused as they walked to the restaurant.

The two spotted Ann already seated in a cozy booth. Ann looked up from her Blackberry with a frazzled smile. Between her husband and her two kids, she constantly shuffled her schedule to accommodate their many obligations.

Sarah and Ann Parham had been friends since their freshman year of high school. They’d been through the awkward teenage years, the dating, the crushes, the break-ups, and Sarah’s agonizing career change.

She and Becca were her Gibraltar when she went through her divorce. She couldn’t have made it through without their love and support . . . and their occasional well-intended nagging.

“Hey, Sarah, Becca.” Even though Ann had lived in Florida since the age of twelve, she’d never lost her molasses-sweet Alabama accent.

“What’s up?” Sarah asked as Ann stood up to hug first her then, Becca.

“Oh, Rob just texted me that he wants to invite some potential clients over for a cook-out this weekend. He’s apparently forgotten that the kids have a soccer tournament on Saturday, and we’re spending Sunday with his parents.” She tucked a strand of corn-silk hair behind her ear and tapped out a quick reply.

Although she married rather young, she married well. Despite her husband’s busy international travel schedule, they’d been happily married for over twenty years. Maybe that was the secret to their success, Sarah thought with a wry grin.

“I don’t know how you keep up with everyone’s schedules. Thank goodness I only have my own schedule, and Carlos handles that for me,” Sarah said with a shrug as she turned to her menu.

Ann gave her a sly look. “How’s it going with Carlos? He still giving you puppy-dog eyes? Not that I blame him. After all, you’re a gorgeous thirty-eight year old divorcee, and you know what they say about divorcees . . . .” A grin spread over her face.

Stunned by her comment, Sarah dropped her menu. “What?”

“You know, about divorcees being—”

“That’s not what I mean, the part about Carlos—”

“Oh, come on. You can’t tell me you haven’t noticed. He’s got a first rate crush on you.”

“It’s true,” Becca piped in. “He does. I’ve seen it.”

“Ann, that’s not true! Where did you come up with that?”

“It’s as plain as the egg on your face,” Ann said, shaking her head.

Ann always mixed her metaphors, confused her clichés, and generally mangled the English language. Sarah usually found it funny, but not at the moment.

“He’s my assistant, and he’s seven years younger than me. I’m no cougar.”

Giggling, Ann said, “Oh please. According to Wikipedia, you have to be at least eight years older than him in order to meet the definition of cougar.”

“You looked it up on Wikipedia,” Sarah stated flatly. Turning to Becca, she said, “Do you believe this girl?”

“Yes. That sounds about right, and I trust Ann.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“I know that’s not what you meant. I just like aggravating you,” Becca said with a grin.

“Hey, I was curious,” Ann inserted, “and you never know when that information might come in handy. Like, for instance, now.”

“Well, anyway, he is definitely not my type.”

“Who is your type, honey?” Ann asked sarcastically.

Sarah chose to ignore it. “Carlos is a great assistant, and takes great care of me, but—”

“I bet,” Ann said, as she rolled her sapphire blue eyes and looked over the menu at Becca, who snickered in response.

The waitress came over to take their orders before Sarah could respond. The girls made their selections and handed over their menus.

“Anyway, I don’t want this,”—Sarah waved her hand as if shooing a pesky fly—“whatever you’re alluding to, to cause a problem with our professional relationship.”

Frowning, Sarah wondered if she should say something to Carlos. Talk about awkward. ‘So, I hear you have a crush on me.’ Then what? ‘If so, get over it. If not, please excuse my over-inflated ego for thinking it in the first place?’

No. She was better off taking a wait-and-see approach.

“Speaking of cougars . . .” Becca said, “you’ll never guess what Sarah bought. A bright red convertible Boxster—”

“You bought a Boxster?”

“See,” Becca said, turning to Sarah, “that’s exactly what I said.”

“Cool.”

“Okay, I didn’t say that.” Becca gave Ann a stern look. “Don’t encourage her.”

“Sorry. But I think that’s, well, cool. Will you take me for a ride?”

“Of course.”

“I think it’s a replacement for sex,” Becca interjected.

Sarah and Ann turned to look at her.

“Well, I do.”

“Who are you, Sigmund Freud?” Sarah scoffed. “Sometimes a car is just a car.”

“Except when it’s a lipstick-red convertible Porsche.”

“It’s ruby-red metallic.” Sarah’s glare indicated she no longer considered this exchange good-natured teasing.

“Red. It’s red.”

“So,” Ann said, as the waitress brought bread and salads, “have you decided what course you’re taking at Oxford?”

“Why, Jane Austen of course. A whole week of Jane Austen!” Sarah sighed, her eyes wistful, then laughed at herself. She was attending a summer adult education program at Christ Church, one of Oxford University’s thirty-nine colleges.

Ann laughed too, shaking her head. “I don’t know what you see in the dull and proper novels of Jane Austen. Give me a nice racy novel complete with a gorgeous, bare-chested hero and I’m in heaven.”

“I’m with you,” Becca said, dipping her bread in olive oil before popping a piece into her mouth.

“Jane Austen’s heroes are gorgeous . . . look at Mr. Darcy,” Sarah argued.

“Yeah, but Lizzy never saw him bare-chested.” Ann took a sip of her wine. “Speaking of gorgeous, a guy at the bar has been looking at you since you came in. No, don’t look, he’s coming over.”

“Oh God.” Sarah could feel the flush creeping into her face. She turned around. Talk about tall, dark, and handsome. He stood right next to the table.

“Hello,” he said, first looking at Ann and Becca before finally turning to Sarah. “I hope you don’t mind, but I asked the waitress what you were drinking.” He placed two glasses of wine and a Cosmo on the table. “I’m Derek. I’ve seen you here before, but couldn’t get up the courage to talk to you.”

“I’m Sarah.” He had a nice smile, but . . . “Thank you for the drinks,” she said, as she raised her glass.

“Would you like to go out some time?” he asked quickly, as if he didn’t want to lose his nerve.

Sarah’s right hand went self-consciously to her now-bare left ring finger. No way to use marriage as an excuse. Times like this she wished she’d continued to wear her wedding band.

Before she could stammer out a response, he said, “We could just meet here for dinner or drinks if that would make you more comfortable than going out with a total stranger.”

She glanced over at Ann, who wore an impish grin. She didn’t dare look at Becca.

She smiled awkwardly, her blush deepening. “Derek, I really appreciate your invitation, but I’m not ready . . . I mean I’m not really . . . thank you, but I have a rule . . . I don’t date strangers.”

“Well, if you decide to break your rule, I’ll be over there.” He pointed to the bar and walked away, shoulders stooped slightly.

Ann hunched over the table and hissed, “Are you crazy?”

Sarah closed her eyes. “It must be so difficult to work up the nerve to ask someone out. God, I hate turning men down.”

“Then why did you?”

“You know why. I don’t date strangers. Besides, I’m not interested—”

“How do you know? He might be a great guy. Honey, when you fall off the bull, you have to get right back on. At least he didn’t try some lame pick-up line.” She shook her head.

“Cut it out, Ann. You’re my best friend, and best friends are supposed to support each other, not nag each other. And you,” she said, pointing her finger at her sister, “don’t start.”

“Sometimes nagging is supporting,” Ann argued.

“Then maybe I could do with a little less support.”

They ate in silence for a beat or two. Boisterous laughter broke out at the table behind them.

“Ken’s retiring and he’s recommending me for the job,” Sarah blurted out.

Becca and Ann looked up, mouths gaping, before squeals of excitement emitted from those same mouths.

“You just now thought to tell us that?” Becca said. “What’s wrong with you?” She swatted Sarah’s arm as she spoke.

“Ouch.” Sarah turned and pinched her sister.

“Girls,” Ann said, interrupting their playful scrap. “Am I going to have to separate you two?”

“She started it,” Sarah said, pointing at Becca. “Besides, I wanted to wait until we were all together.”

“So when’s he retiring? When do you start? How much are you going to make? Let’s toast.” Ann raised her wine glass.

Her continuous monologue left Sarah no place for response.

“Ann, take a breath and give Sarah a chance to reply.”

Sarah told them about her conversation with Ken, and warned that it was only a recommendation. She wasn’t a shoe-in for the job.

“They’d be crazy not to hire you,” Ann said.

“It’s about time. I was beginning to wonder if Ken was ever going to recognize what he had,” Becca said, pushing her plate away.

“Congratulations, Honey. I’m so happy for you.”

Sarah deliberately placed her fork on her plate and folded her hands in her lap. “I haven’t thrown my hat in the ring yet.”

“What?”

“Are you nuts?” Becca said.

Sarah held up her hands. “Ken told me to take some time to think it over, and I’m going to do just that.”

“Why?” Becca’s ‘tone’ returned. “What’s to think about? You deserve the job, and I know you can do it. Don’t you want it?”

“I know I can do it, but you know me. I have to think it over. Look at it from all angles.”

Looking at Ann, Becca said, “A promotion she has to think about. A pricey ruby-red metallic sports car, not so much. Sarah, your irrational behavior is giving me a mental whiplash.”

Sarah sighed. Sometimes she wondered why she told them everything she did. With the two of them ganging up on her, she didn’t stand a chance.

Ann’s cell phone rang. Saved by the bell again.

In her stern ‘mommy voice’ Ann said, “Ya’ll just need to work it out, because neither one of you will like it if I work it out for you.”

“Oh well,” Ann said after hanging up, “this was pleasant while it lasted. I’ve got to get home and referee the kids.”

Becca pulled Sarah aside. “Promise me you’ll seriously consider Ken’s offer.”

“I will. I promise.”

Ann grabbed her hand. “Now show me this Cougar Car.”

The three of them walked down the sidewalk in the twilight, laughing and joking.

Sarah stopped suddenly and turned around. She could have sworn she parked right here, in a now-empty space. “What the . . .”

“Sarah, what is it?” Ann asked concerned.

Sarah turned to Becca, whose face also wore a look of confusion. “Didn’t I park here?”

“Yes. I’m sure you did, because I remember this black sedan.”

Sarah stepped out into the street to look down the road. Something crunched beneath her feet. Glass. Shards of broken glass. She knelt down to examine the pile at her feet. “I think my Cougar Car’s been stolen.”

What a day. Sarah sat in the passenger seat of Ann’s SUV, her eyes closed. It was almost 11:00 p.m. After calling the police, giving them her report, calling her insurance company, and taking Becca home, she was finally on her way home.

When would she ever learn? Impulsiveness didn’t work for her. It didn’t work for her marriage. She didn’t know why she thought it would work for the car she’d owned less than twenty-four hours.

No more impulsiveness. This was it. She was returning to her usual approach to life, no matter how dull it might be. From now on, she was going to carefully deliberate over every decision in her life, no matter how small.

Except for shoes. A girl could never go wrong with an impulsive shoe purchase. But with everything else, she vowed to be more cautious. And if the police didn’t recover her car, she was going to buy another sensible Volvo.

Mentally exhausted, she dreaded dealing with the insurance company, the rental car agency, and all the paperwork and phone calls. She heaved a weighty sigh.

As if reading her mind, Ann said, “You’ll need a car if they don’t find yours. Do you want me to take you to the rental car agency tomorrow?”

“I’ll be okay for the weekend without a car.” She turned to look at Ann, without lifting her head from the headrest. “For now I’ve decided to rely on Scarlett O’Hara’s mantra: ‘I’ll think about that tomorrow.’ It worked for her.” She turned her head and closed her eyes. “Can we just not talk? My head is splitting.”

“Sure, Honey. You just sit there quietly. I’ll have you home soon.”

Two a.m. The lights were finally out and Sarah was in bed, but sleep was long in coming. Her very expensive impulse-buy probably sat in some chop-shop being butchered even now.

She cringed at the thought. It wasn’t a sentient being, but the mental image troubled her nonetheless.

Rolling over, she grabbed the other pillow and hugged it to her. Heat lightening flickered through the plantation shutters like a strobe light.

Was Becca right? Had the car been a replacement for sex, or for men in general? Not that she’d had a lot of relationships in her life.

Growing up, she’d focused her energy, time, and attention on school and athletics. That intense focus paid off in the form of excellent grades and outstanding athletic accomplishments. She hadn’t had time for boys.

When she became an adult, she focused that same level of attention first on college then, her first career as a teacher, followed by law school, and finally on her second career.

She’d never seen any point in dating just for the sake of dating. She always figured when you found ‘the one’ you just knew. Plus with all the family moves, she’d rarely had time to make friends, much less form romantic attachments.

That wasn’t to say she wasn’t interested in men, and contrary to her no-nonsense dedication to more practical pursuits, she was a full-blown romantic.

As a teenager, she’d fallen in love with literature’s epic romances, like Romeo and Juliet, Darcy and Elizabeth, Cathy and Heathcliff. Seeing those love stories portrayed on the screen only solidified those romantic sensibilities. Add to that, her parents’ long, happy marriage and those expectations soared.

But she wasn’t naïve, either. She knew that marriage came with not only harmony, but with discord; not just with triumphs, but also with tribulations. What made it romantic was overcoming the trials and celebrating the triumphs together.

However, her foray into that connubial state had been anything but, and had left her idealistic view of marriage, and relationships in general, in tatters. And she no longer trusted her instincts where men were concerned.

Despite, or perhaps because of, her romantic nature she’d never met anyone who’d fulfilled her expectations of the romantic hero. Until Adrian. After all, he was a brilliant surgeon saving lives. What was more heroic than that?

She’d met Adrian Mills at a hospital function. He was a good-looking, successful surgeon who’d accomplished so much early in his career. Adrian’s status as a world-renowned neurosurgeon had the famous, and the not-so-famous, seeking him out for their care. It was a real coup for the hospital to get him on staff.

He’d seemed larger than life, and she’d been dumbstruck that he’d taken an interest in her. By the end of the evening, they had a dinner date planned for the next night. She’d eagerly broken her rule about dating strangers.

The relationship progressed quickly, and the next thing she knew they were married.

Everyone said they were the perfect couple. That is, with the exception of Ann and Becca, who took an almost instant dislike to Adrian. She should have heeded their warnings. After all, both had been happily married for years. Didn’t that mean they should be good judges of character?

But she wouldn’t listen. Adrian had bowled her over. He was charming, worldly, poised. When he spoke to you, it seemed as if you were the only person in the room. Unfortunately, Sarah didn’t learn until after they were married that shallow brooks babble loudest.

The only true substance to Adrian was his surgical skill. If you needed life-saving neurosurgery, he was your guy. If you needed a monogamous mate, look elsewhere.

Despite all the problems, the arguments, the miscommunications, and the bursting of the romantic bubble, she was willing to stick it out, see if it was just a period of adjustment, until the affair, which turned out to be just one of many.

Adrian’s social circle, and thus hers, consisted of the city’s most prominent citizens, making their divorce a public spectacle. When the news hit, the salacious details became spicy grist for the rumor-mills. Each morsel savored. Each tidbit relished.

The unwelcome spotlight cast on her private life had been almost too much to bear. She withdrew from the social scene, not only to avoid contact with Adrian, but to avoid the knowing looks and catty comments from the city’s so-called paragons of society.

Soon the invitations dried up, taking with them Sarah’s ever-growing need for excuses to decline, and dimming the spotlight, a spotlight she hoped would never shine on her again.

No, she decided, the car was not a replacement for sex, or men. Why would you want to replace something that didn’t really hold any interest for you?

At least that’s what she tried to convince herself.