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Richard opened his eyes. Yes, he knew from experience that all hurdles could be overcome. Julie simply needed the right person to help her. Together, they would be able to accomplish anything, but Julie had to want him to do this for her. He needed her to accept what he had to offer.
Was that too much to ask?
"What's the score now?" Julie asked.
They were on the final hole, Mike looking serious now. He knew he was a shot down; his first shot had gone off course and had stopped behind a protruding rock, making the next shot impossible to sink. He wiped his brow, ignoring the grin on Julie's face.
"I think you might be ahead," he said. "But don't choke on the final hole."
"Okay," she said.
"Because you might lose if you do."
"Okay."
"I mean, you'd hate to throw it away at the end."
"Okay."
"So whatever you do, make sure you don't even make the slightest mistake."
"Mm . . . you're right, coach. Thanks for the pep talk."
She put her ball in place and stood over it, her eyes flickering from the ball to the hole and back again. She hit her next shot, and the ball rolled steadily, coming to rest an inch from the hole. I wish I had a camera, she thought when she glanced at Mike; the expression on his face was priceless.
"Looks like the pressure's on," she commented, rubbing it in. "I think you have to sink this one just to tie, and from where you are, you can't make it."
Mike was staring at her ball before he finally looked her way and shrugged. "You're right," he admitted. "It's over."
"Ha!"
He shook his head. "I hate to admit this, but I wasn't really trying tonight," he said. "I let you win."
Julie hesitated only briefly before charging him with her club raised as Mike made a halfhearted attempt to flee. She caught him, spun him around, and pulled him close.
"You lose," she said. "Admit it."
"No," he said, meeting her eyes. "You got it wrong. I might have lost the game, but I think I won the match."
"How so?"
He smiled, leaning in to kiss her.
Richard rose from the bed and walked to the window. Peering outside, he saw shadows stretching across the property, blanketing the ground in darkness.
In time he would tell Julie everything about himself. He would tell her about his mother and father, he would tell her about the boys at the foster home, and he knew she would understand why he'd had no choice but to do what he'd done. He would tell her about Mrs. Higgins, the school counselor who had taken a special interest in him in high school, once she discovered he'd been orphaned.
He remembered talking to her as she sat in the couch in her office. She may have been pretty at one time, he remembered thinking, but any glamour she'd had had long since vanished. Her hair was a mixture of dirty blond and gray, and when she smiled, the wrinkles made her face look dry and cracked. But he needed an ally. He needed someone to vouch for his character, to say that he wasn't a troublemaker but a victim; and Mrs. Higgins was perfect. In the office, everything about her demeanor suggested a desire to appear empathetic and kind-the way she leaned forward with sad eyes, nodding steadily as he told one terrible story after another about his childhood.
More than once, Mrs. Higgins had tears in her eyes.
Within months, she came to see him as a surrogate son, and he played the part well. He gave her a card on her birthday; she bought him another camera, a 35-millimeter with a quality lens, one of the cameras he still owned today.
Richard had always been strong in math and science, but she talked to his history and English teachers and they began to go easier on him. His grade-point average took a sudden jump upward. She informed the principal that his IQ tested at the genius level and pressed for Richard to be admitted to the programs for gifted students. She suggested that he build a portfolio of his photographs to showcase his talents and paid all the costs to put one together. She wrote a letter of recommendation to the University of Massachusetts, her alma mater, professing that she'd never seen a young man overcome so much. She paid a visit to the school and met with the admissions committee, begging them to give him a chance while showing his portfolio. She did everything she could, and though she felt a deep sense of satisfaction when she learned that all her hard work had paid off, it wasn't Richard who told her.
For once he'd been accepted to the university, he never spoke to her again. She had served her purpose, and he had no more use for her.
In the same way, Mike had served his purpose for Julie, but it was over now. Mike had been a good friend, but it was time to send him on his way. Mike was shackling her, holding her back, preventing her from choosing her own future. Their future.
Twenty-two
For Julie, the days began to acquire a new rhythm. From the mornings when Mike left the garage to greet her on the street, to their lunches at out-of-the-way places, to the lazy evenings spent in long conversation, he was becoming an exciting and important part of her life.
They were still inching their way through the relationship as if both believed that a casual wave of the hand could make it vanish like smoke. Mike hadn't spent the night at Julie's, Julie hadn't spent the night at Mike's, and though there were a couple of nights when the opportunity had presented itself, neither seemed ready.
Walking Singer one day after work, Julie acknowledged that it was just a matter of time. It was Thursday, two weeks after they'd first gone out and, more important, a week and a half after their third date, which was, according to the magazines, the magic number when it came to twisting the night away. They'd passed that marker without acknowledging it, but that didn't surprise her. In the years since Jim had died, she'd had those moments when she felt rather . . . sensual, she liked to call it; but it had been so long since she'd been to bed with a man, she'd sort of come to accept celibacy as a permanent way of life. She'd even forgotten what it was like to want something like that, but lo and behold, the old hormones had kicked in big time lately and there were moments when she found herself fantasizing about Mike.
Not that she was ready to pounce on him without warning. No, that would probably send Mike's ticker into spasms. Anyway, she'd no doubt be as terrified as he was. If kissing him the first time had been nerve-racking, what in the world was the next step going to be like? Oh, she imagined herself saying as she stood in front of him in the bedroom, these bulges? Sorry, but you know we've been eating out a lot lately. Just dim the lights, sweetie.
It was possible that the whole thing might end up a fiasco, complete with jabbing elbows and bumping heads and disappointment in the end. And then what would happen? Sex wasn't the most important thing in a relationship, but it sure wasn't number three or four, either. She figured that when it came right down to it, the stress associated with their first time together was going to make it nearly impossible to enjoy. Should I do this? Should I whisper that? It's like going on a game show with impossible questions, she thought, only the contestants have to be naked.
Okay, she chided herself, so maybe I am worrying about it too much. But that's what happens when you've been with only one person in your entire life, and that was a guy you'd been married to. This was the payback, she supposed, for leading a fairly tame life, and to be honest, she didn't want to think about it anymore. A walk with Singer was supposed to be relaxing, not a cause for clammy hands.
Up ahead, Singer wandered into the wooded lots that stretched to the Intracoastal Waterway, and Julie spotted the path most of the Realtors had been using. A month ago, signs had sprouted up all the way to the water, and she'd seen orange plastic strips marking where they intended to put the road. In a couple of years, she'd have a neighborhood, which-though nice in the way of property values-was kind of a bummer, too. She liked the feeling of privacy the lots provided, and it was great for Singer. She really didn't want to have to start following him around with a pooper scooper, so as not to sully the newly sodded lawns. The very thought nauseated
her, and she couldn't face the looks that Singer would give her. She had no doubt he'd understand what was going on. After the first few times, he'd stare at her before turning his nose, thinking something along the lines of, I did my business by the tree-do be a darling and clean that up for me, will you?
No way, she thought. There wasn't a chance she'd put up with that.
She walked for fifteen minutes before she reached the water and sat for a little while on a stump, watching the boats as they floated past. She couldn't see Singer but knew he was nearby; he'd come to check periodically to make sure she was following him.
He was protective of her. Just like Mike in his own way.
Mike.
Mike and her together. Really together. A moment later, Julie found her thoughts right back where she'd started, clammy hands and all.
As she approached the house an hour later, she heard the phone ringing. Hurrying inside, she let the screen door close with a bang behind her. Probably Emma, she thought. Emma had been calling a lot lately-she loved what was happening with Mike and couldn't wait to talk about it. And to be honest, Julie kind of liked talking about it, too. Just for perspective, of course.
