“Is this a good time?”
Was there ever a good time for Charity? No, but Bryony was raised to be polite. “Sure,” she answered.
“I’m sorry to bother you,” Charity said. “But I’ve been thinking about this for quite a while now, and I wondered if you would consider coming back to your old job? Paul left, you know, and we have not been able to replace either of you, and, well, I think I may have bitten off more than I can chew.” Unlike the head cheerleader who had rallied the fans to support all of the high school sports teams, Charity’s small laugh conveyed nervousness, maybe even neediness.
Charity Beaman Henderson needed Bryony’s help? This was a first, maybe a one and only. Bryony had the oddest sensation—perhaps for the first time in her life—of being in a position to make someone else squirm. Now was her chance to exact revenge.
The fleeting feeling dissipated rapidly, replaced by a more self-serving thought. She could go back to her old job, her comfort zone of boring routine, where her days were laid out in predictable patterns, and there was no need to push herself to be friendly because numbers never complained, and her income didn’t rely on tips.
“I’d offer a raise, of course,” Charity said. “And we could discuss an enhanced benefits package.”
Why was Charity being so nice to her?
“I’m honored you would think of me,” Bryony said. Her inner avenger grimaced. One should never show weakness to an enemy.
“I know this is out of the blue,” Charity said. “And I don’t expect you to answer right now, but would you think about it? Call me next week?”
“Sure,” Bryony said. “Thanks for calling, and tell Chuck I hope he’s doing well.”
“He’ll appreciate hearing that. Thanks, Bryony. Let’s talk soon.”
Bryony drove home in a daze. Charity had sounded friendly, sincere. And her offer tantalized. She could go back to her old job, fall back into her comfortable, familiar routine, build an even stronger retirement portfolio, take herself on vacations—anywhere but the beach. Mitch would get off her case. Her father would be pleased. What would Cal think?
Funny that she cared what he would think when they were barely dating, but she did.
CAL’S DATE SIZZLES & FIZZLES
On Saturday evening, Cal pulled into Bryony’s driveway. Again, he was right on time. He hoped she would appreciate his promptness because Bailey had given him such a hard time about leaving.
The houses in Bryony’s neighborhood had developed their own personalities over the years. The neighbors on her right had a second floor over the garage. The neighbors on her left had a complete second floor on their house. Across the street, a glassed-in porch covered the front of the house. Bryony’s house appeared to be architecturally unaltered, but bore signs of excellent care.
Taking his time, Cal walked to the front door. The sidewalk was edged to perfection, the bushes along the foundation freshly mulched. Colorful mums bloomed in large pots filling the spaces between the larger plantings. Did Bryony pay someone to do her yard work? Did she do it herself? He liked the idea of her working out there, her hair pulled back, dirt on her knees and hands.
He pressed the doorbell with his left hand as his right reached over to touch a pansy petal in a window box. They were silk. He smiled. His mother would have done something similar.
In less than a minute the door opened, and Bryony stood before him, dressed for anything other than digging in the dirt. She wore a green dress with black polka dots, black leggings, and a soft black sweater. Her hair lay around her shoulders. Her face appeared younger, and Cal realized she wore makeup. Yeah it hid a few wrinkles, but her face was beautiful au natural.
She ushered him in, saying, “Let me get my coat.”
A hint of perfume, almost like she wasn’t wearing any, gently touched his nose as he helped her into her coat. He wanted to pull her close and bury his face in her hair, but he knew she wasn’t ready for so much affection. Was he?
For the few seconds it took Bryony to collect her purse, Cal stood at the front door and glanced around her home.
There were potted plants everywhere. Hanging in front of windows, placed on every available horizontal surface—the mantel, tops of bookcases, tables—and on the floor, growing from large ornamental pots set on slightly elevated wooden surfaces.
Before him stretched a narrow hallway leading back to a bright yellow kitchen. He saw a kitchen table with a wooden bowl full of fruit.
A stairway on the left had a runner with a deep red, blue, and gold oriental design. A gallery of family photos climbed the wall to a door at the landing above.
Through an open door on his right he saw black and white photographs on a dark gray wall, a black leather chair, a floor lamp, and light gray carpeting.
Everything seemed to be in order, and her home had a peaceful, serene atmosphere. He wondered if she had cleaned up any clutter for him. When he first met Leslie, he never would have guessed she generally lived in chaos.
“Ready!” Bryony stood before him, keys dangling from the same fingers clutching a black purse, not the one he’d seen her carry in the past. Her worn everyday bag looked like it could hold everything she might need to make a pie on the spot. This purse was small and shiny, like her shoes. He took in every detail, the whole auburn, black, and green picture of her standing there dressed up for their first real date.
Bryony dropped her head and raised it again, her eyes wide. “Did I overdress?”
“No,” Cal assured her. “You look wonderful.”
Her smile returned, and he stepped out onto the porch ahead of her so she could lock her door.
They ate at a Chinese place on the edge of town. Dinner conversation was lighthearted. He liked how she kept up with him, and how she could quiet him down with silences that didn’t come off as censure.
When they arrived at the cineplex, Bryony insisted on paying since he had covered dinner. She also insisted he choose the movie. Had he been alone, Cal would have chosen the animated science fiction saga, but he picked with Bryony in mind.
As the movie unfolded, an older married couple faced disappointments and rekindled their relationship. Cal relaxed into his seat, less interested in the Oscar winner on the screen, highly aware of the woman by his side. He didn’t put his arm around Bryony’s shoulders or try to touch her hand as she reached into the popcorn box wedged between them. She would let him know when she was ready.
He noticed her tears when the movie ended.
Walking from the bright lights of the theater lobby into the equally lit parking lot, Bryony said, “It was just as powerful the second time.”
“You saw it already?” Cal asked. Who paid to see a movie twice, like he did?
“Last weekend,” she said.
“Why didn’t you say something?”
