Page 42 of When I'm Gone
“Hey, stop.” Luke followed her, hoping for a chance to explain. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about Ms. Mason. I didn’t want to upset May. I’m not sure she’s ready for any of this.”
Annie shoved her feet into her brightly colored athletic shoes, using her fingers to slide them over her heels. “No, she’s not.” She stood and flipped her hair out of her face, cheeks flushed with blood from being upside down. “Are you ready for this? You still read those letters like they are your own personal bible, and I see the way your face twists whenever the kids bring up Natalie. I’m a little surprised you’d rush into a new relationship.”
“Relationship?” Luke’s knees wobbled at the word. “This is not a relationship; it’s one date. And I don’t understand where you get off thinking you can judge me on this.” He slapped his leg, frustrated. “This whole damn thing was Natalie’s idea, not mine.”
Annie stopped breathing for a second and then took a step back. “That is so strange, Luke. How can you not see how dysfunctional it is that you’ve fallen sway to this whole Natalie letter-writing campaign?”
“Myrelationship is dysfunctional?” Words bubbled up inside him, angry words. His ears rang, and he couldn’t hold back. “How about you and Brian? You can’t tell me he’s never laid a ...”
Annie’s mouth hung open. “I have to go.”
“No, Annie. I’m so sorry. Please don’t go.” Luke reached out and grabbed her hand, but she ripped it away and opened the front door in a giant swing, the golden mail-slot cover flapping with the sudden movement.
“Have fun on your date.” She slammed the door in Luke’s face.
CHAPTER 16
It had been eighteen years since Luke’s last first date. Even that wasn’t really a first date since it was with Natalie and they’d technically had their first date six years earlier. Back then they had eaten pizza and watched a movie on the threadbare couch in his apartment—not gone to a gallery opening followed by dinner at a fancy restaurant.
Felicity had called him the day after she’d handed over her number with an offer—if he would be her plus one to her brother’s art show, then she’d treat him to dinner. Luke, like Felicity, enjoyed their conversations during his office visits, but this was a huge step. Not only their first date but also his first date since becoming a widower. He told her he’d think about it. Then he got the first e-mail.
It was a nice note from a woman with the screen name JerseyPrincess, a thumbprint photo of a smiling woman with dark, curly hair in the corner. She explained Natalie had contacted her several months earlier during what must’ve been her last months of life. JerseyPrincess apologized because she’d recently entered an exclusive relationship, so she wouldn’t be able to fulfill her promise to Natalie to help him transition into online dating. This was getting crazy.
Later that day, another e-mail came through. This time it wasn’t an apology—it was an offer. StaceysMom sent Luke a long message detailing her e-mails with Natalie, a very thorough family history, and several semisuggestive pictures.
That decided it. He’d rather date Felicity than the total strangers Natalie had picked. Returning Felicity’s phone call and accepting the date was more uncomfortable than answering May’s questions on impending puberty after one particularly explicit day in health class.
So far, he couldn’t say he regretted going out with Felicity. What he regretted was the fight he’d had with Annie and the way he made her face crumple with mortification. The art gallery was fine, a little odd maybe. All the pieces in the gallery were made with “found objects,” which seemed to translate to garbage in his linear engineering mind. Every piece of art in the gallery made him think of Annie and how easily their friendship had turned into a heap of trash. He couldn’t stop himself from checking his new phone to see if she’d texted.
No,he told himself, forcing the phone back into his pocket. He focused in on Felicity’s voice explaining the pieces.
He’d always laughed at “art,” but there was this one figure, a sculpture crafted out of discarded bottle caps, some nailed flat, some twisted or cut. They came together to form a sculpture of a man crying. Even though the bust wasn’t behind any kind of velvet rope, Luke resisted the urge to reach out and touch it. In many ways he felt like that metal man, pieced together out of old, once useful objects, cold and sharp and empty on the inside. No way he’d buy the statue, but it did speak to him. It was beauty out of chaos, art out of refuse. Maybe art wasn’t always lame.
It took about an hour to walk, a little slower than Luke would have liked, through all three floors of the small art gallery. Felicity’s silver stilettos clacked on the polished oak flooring, the black tulle of her skirt nearly touched her knees and swished with every step. She wore a sparkling top that tied around the back of her neck where her hair was twisted in a low knot.
Luke tried not to notice the little curls struggling against the elastic band holding them in place. He didn’t want to notice the little mole by the corner of her right eye that bounced up and down whenever she smiled. As they walked he made sure to remain at least two steps behind her, hands behind his back at all times.
“Let me say good-bye to my brother, and then we can go to dinner. I have a seven o’clock reservation around the corner.” Felicity patted Luke’s shoulder, and he had to hide a flinch. It wasn’t her fault he was broken.
“A reservation? Sounds fancy.”
“I owe you, remember? You come with me; I treat you to dinner.” She took each stair gingerly, grasping the railing tightly.
“When you said you’d buy me dinner, I wasn’t expecting more than getting a number two at the drive-through.”
“Wow. Those are some spectacularly low expectations.” Felicity flashed him a smile over her shoulder and jumped down the last step. As she wobbled on her heels, Luke reached out and grabbed her hand to keep her from falling.
“Whoa! Careful.”
They stood toe to toe, her left hand in his right. She threaded her fingers through his, sending a jolt up his arm and into his midsection.
“You keep saving me. I think you just earned dessert.” She tugged on his hand, tilting her head toward the tall, scrawny brunette man with glasses and beard that made him look homeless. “Let’s say bye to Cole.”
She held tight, her fingers pressing gently into the back of his hand. Her palm was tiny against his. Holding her hand felt strange, foreign. He followed Felicity across the gallery’s ancient wood floor. Cole didn’t seem very interested in talking to his older sister, and Luke couldn’t help but feel appreciative.
It was exciting to be pursued by an attractive woman and he liked the way her fingernails played with the back of his hand, but the part of his brain he’d turned off long ago, the one that told him it was okay to hold hands with women who were not his wife, hadn’t gotten the memo that Natalie was dead.
His hand felt cold and empty when Felicity dropped it to put a loosely knit crocheted shrug over her shoulders. But with his hand empty, the uncomfortable weight of guilt lifted off his chest almost instantly. Luke held the glass door to the gallery open for his date and hid his hands in his pockets when the slight chill of early evening greeted him.
