Lacy's End Page 21

  “Okay good,” he said, chuckling, “because I don’t like to hate anyone.” He leaned close to her. “But just for the record, she doesn’t even come to close to having the class you do.”

  She grinned. They stood there a few moments, his arm still draped over her shoulder, until it felt awkward, and he withdrew it. Then he walked away without another word. She heard him a few moments later in the kitchen cleaning one of the grills. Business slowed down that time of night, and only the one grill was needed.

  She spotted Jake in the corner watching the street traffic. She felt a sudden urge to offer him something, but she was afraid. She didn’t want to know who or what Jake was. If she validated his presence, would he go away? She was afraid of the answer, so she ignored him the rest of the evening. His continued presence in her life was a testament to her pain.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Brenda gazed at the front of the house that bore the address written on the back of Allen’s card. “This can’t be right. He must have written it down wrong.” She glanced around, hoping to see a neighbor out so she could ask if anyone knew where Dr. Petoro lived, but the street was vacant. She supposed she could knock on a door, but she felt too shy to do that.

  Spurred by a sudden inspiration, she walked to the mailbox, hoping to find a name printed on it. To her dismay, there wasn’t. Glancing around again, hoping this time nobody was watching, she pulled open the mailbox and took out the stack of letters sitting inside. Written on each envelope was the name Dr. Allen Petoro. She sighed with relief. “It’s the right place.”

  She climbed the ten steps that began at the sidewalk and led to a walkway that ended in front of a massive, ornate door. She marveled at the sight of the lovely garden as she walked up the path. Hanging on hooks from beams near the front door were baskets of lavender. She inhaled, savoring the sweet scent. Rose bushes flourished in large pots scattered around the porch, adding their perfume to the heady mix.

  She rang the bell, which triggered a melody of classical music. She waited, but no one came. She was just about to ring again when the door opened. Allen stood before her, freshly showered and wearing jeans and a polo shirt. “You came,” he said.

  She smiled timidly. “I almost didn’t, and then I thought you weren’t home, so I was going to turn away—but then you answered the door.”

  “Sorry about that. I was out back playing with the dog.”

  “You have a dog?”

  He whistled and a golden retriever came bounding in, rounding the corner and slipping on the marble tile.

  “Whoa, boy,” he said, laughing as the dog came to a skidding halt before him. “This is Barney.”

  He wagged his tail and Brenda bent to pet him. “Hello, Barney,” she said.

  Barney responded by licking her across the face.

  “Barney, no,” Allen remonstrated. Chastened, the dog bowed his head and plunked his butt on the floor.

  She smiled down at the dog. “It’s okay. I don’t mind. I like dogs.”

  “All the same, it’s bad manners.” He bent his head and narrowed his eyes at the dog—a visual scold. Barney whimpered. Allen kept staring, but he spoke to Brenda. “He’s still young, but he’s catching on. Now, let’s try again, Barney. How do we greet the nice lady?”

  Barney stood, faced Brenda, sat his butt down again, and picked up one paw. He waved it at Brenda.

  She laughed in delight.

  “Go ahead. Shake it.”

  She reached out and grasped the dog's paw. He raised the other one and placed it gently over her hand. Then he touched his mouth to the back of her hand as if he were a Prince Charming kissing the hand of a princess. She giggled and made a graceful curtsy.

  Allen chuckled joyously. “He needs a cookie now.”

  At the mention of the cookie, the dog started to bark and do a tap dance.

  “May I give it to him? Then I’ll be his friend.”

  He led the way to the laundry room. “I keep them out here, that way he doesn’t drool all over my kitchen floor.” He chuckled. “Nothing worse than stepping in the dog drool with bare feet.”

  She laughed.

  When they entered the laundry room, her heart skipped a beat. “This is your laundry room?” The room was the size of her kitchen. The floor was tiled, and the walls were painted a sunny yellow with photographs of washing machines as they evolved throughout the years. A drying rack stood against the wall, but nothing was on it. The washing machine and matching dryer were state-of-the-art, very high-end. They were the kind of machines of which Brenda could only have dreamed. “Do you do your own laundry?” she asked, jealous over such modern equipment.

  “I have a girl who comes once a week and does it.”

  “Let me guess, one of your rescue cases.”

  He smiled. “Of course.”

  He removed a box of dog biscuits from a cabinet, and she fed a couple to Barney.

  “Come on, I’ll give you the grand tour.”

  They started with the den because it was closest to the laundry room. Inside were a wall-mounted, high-definition television set, a wine bar, two couches with two matching chairs, a pool table, and a large stereo. The room was paneled, and accented with sage throw pillows, rugs, and window dressings. An array of framed photographs of covered bridges hung on the wall. Allen pointed at them. “My grandparents took every one of them. They did a lot of traveling during the last decade of their lives.”

  “They’re not around anymore?”

  A deep sadness briefly touched his eyes. “They died on a trip ten years ago, a ten-car pileup on Interstate 40. They were coming back from a trip to the east coast.” He pointed at one of the photos. “That one there, I found it in their camera when I was going through their things. It’s the last bridge they saw.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  He shrugged. “They died doing what they loved. I guess I can’t ask for more.” He moved on with the tour. The next stop was the living room. There was no television, only a stereo, couch, two matching chairs, a pair of end tables, and a coffee table in the room, which was illuminated by recessed ceiling lights. On three walls, there was a picture of three different major cities.

  Brenda pointed at each one. “Bay Bridge in San Francisco, Eiffel Tower in Paris, and Sydney Opera House in Australia,” she said smugly.

  He smiled, impressed. “Girl knows her geography.”

  “I read a lot.”

  “I do, too, which brings us to the next room.” He opened a door, reached for a light switch, and flooded the room with bright light. The room wasn’t large, but floor-to-ceiling bookcases lined each wall. Two very comfortable-looking chairs sat in the middle of the room, an end table with a two-headed lamp stood between them. The room was devoid of any other décor.

  Her mouth gaped with awe. “This would be my favorite place in the entire house.” She caressed one of the bookcases with a stab of jealousy. She thought of the little two-shelved, Walmart-special bookcase in the corner of her bedroom, one small reading lamp next to it, sitting beside an old tattered chair.

  “Borrow anything you like,” he said.

  Next to the library was his office. It was a shambles. He blushed. “I don’t allow the housekeeper in here.”

  She grinned. “Obviously.”

  Books lay scattered upon a large desk—mostly medical journals from the looks of them. A trash bin overflowed with discarded papers. He closed the door. “Maybe I’ll clean it tomorrow.”

  They passed two closed doors but did not go in. “Those rooms are empty,” he explained as they walked by them.

  “Why empty?”

  He shrugged. “I have no need of them.”

  He opened another door and flipped on the light. The light glowed softly, giving the interior a romantic appeal, showing off the mixture of pink color variations. A four-poster bed stood against the farthest wall. A white coverlet scattered with prints of tiny pink rose blossoms spread across it. Against another wall was a small bookcase with a
chair and a tall floor lamp next to it. A dressing table was the only other furniture in the room.

  “This was grandmother’s room,” Allen said.

  “She lived with you?”

  “No. I’m sorry. I guess I didn’t tell you. This home belonged to my grandparents. I inherited it when they died.” He laughed. “You honestly didn’t think I could afford this house on an ER doctor’s salary, did you?”

  She blushed and dipped her head. “I don’t know what I thought. Well, okay—I did wonder, but I haven’t a clue what an ER doctor would make.”

  “Grandfather was an investment broker.” He swept his arm wide as if to indicate the entire house. “He invested smartly.”

  “Your grandparents had separate bedrooms?” She flinched. “Oh, I’m sorry. What a terribly personal question to ask. Forget I asked.”

  He laughed again. “It’s okay. As a rule, they shared the same room, but Grandfather had a terrible snoring problem. That’s why Grandmother had this room made up for herself. I didn’t see a reason to redecorate. Everything’s in perfect condition, and it makes a charming guestroom.”

  He closed the door, and they moved on to the master bedroom. The very contemporary theme was in sharp contrast to the romanticism of the room they had just left. She liked it. Earth tones were the central color scheme on both the walls and floor. Throw pillows, window coverings, and area rugs in purple and green gave the room a coordinating color.

  She walked inside, stood in the center of the room and turned in circles, trying to get a feel for the man who resided there. He watched her, his heart playing a symphony in his ears. She looked his way, and their eyes met.

  They watched each other for several moments. She wondered how it would feel to lie in his arms in the big bed with the overstuffed pillows and soft, thick comforter. She wondered what it would be like to make love to him. She believed it would be different than with Peter. She might actually enjoy it. The sudden thought of Peter made her uncomfortable, although she had done nothing wrong. She broke eye contact.

  “Is this the bathroom?” she asked, pointing toward a door on the far wall of the room.

  Allen cleared his throat and walked to stand beside her. He couldn’t help but respond to her nearness and shifted uncomfortably.

  She headed toward the partially open door, pushing it open the rest of the way. There was a separate tub, and a shower stall, both made of jet-black porcelain. The matching sink was round and sat on a pedestal. The towel bars were ceramic and had two stark-white towels hanging from them, a drastic contrast to the black fixtures. Brenda had never seen a more beautiful bathroom. The room was large—three of her bathrooms could easily fit inside it.

  “It’s so beautiful,” she said.

  “The main bath is an exact match.”

  She grabbed him by the arm, dragging him toward the bedroom door. “I want to see the kitchen. I have to see the kitchen.”

  “I was saving that for last.”

  She followed him back down the hallway and through the living room. He opened a set of louvered doors to reveal a kitchen larger than any she had ever seen. “Oh wow, Allen. It’s wonderful!” She ran from one appliance to the other, turning on knobs, pushing buttons, caressing the marble surfaces. He laughed with delight as he watched her race around the room, just like a child.

  She turned to him. “Promise me you will let me cook in this kitchen.”

  He chuckled. “A strange request, but I’m sure I can accommodate you.”

  He went to a cabinet and opened it. Inside the cabinet was a glass-front refrigerator that held several bottles of wine. He opened it, looked at her and asked, “White or red?”

  She hesitated. It was only six in the evening. If she were at home, she never would have dreamed of sipping a glass of wine before dinner. She smiled. But you’re not at home, she thought and answered the question, “White.”

  Allen pulled out a bottle, popped the cork and took two glasses from a display rack. He filled them half full and handed her one. “Want to sit by the pool?”

  Her shoulders slumped, and she looked heavenward. “There’s a pool, too?”

  He chuckled again and put his arm around her shoulder, propelling her toward a set of French doors. He opened one, and she followed him out.

  The pool, although large, looked small compared to the massive yard. To the left was a dog yard with a large doghouse in it. Half the yard was grass and the other half gravel. Several balls littered the yard. She saw Barney standing at the fence with a ball in his mouth, wagging his tail. “Later, Barney,” Allen said.

  They each selected a chaise lounge and sat in it. Brenda sipped her wine, feeling guilty for just sitting there doing nothing. “Do you do this every night?” she asked.

  “God, no,” he said, laughing. “I’m usually still at the hospital at this hour. I usually roll in around seven or eight, shower, feed and play with Barney for a while, do a little research, watch the news, and fall into bed.”

  “What kind of research are you doing?”

  “I have a patient with a rare form of cancer. He seems to be getting worse, and I’m trying to find anything I can to help him.”

  “I thought you were an emergency room doctor. Do they treat cancer, too?”

  “No. He has an oncologist, but every pair of eyes helps in this instance.”

  “He’s dying?”

  “I’m afraid so.”

  She boldly touched his hand and then snatched it back. “I’m sorry.”

  He shrugged. “As much as I’d like to think otherwise, we can’t save them all.”

  Her head began to feel dizzy from the wine, so she laid it back against the lounge chair. She turned her face toward the sun. It was warm with the early fall rays. Soon winter would be upon them, and the sun wouldn’t be nearly as effective. The harsh desert winds would soon begin and make it almost impossible to sit by the pool like this.

  “It’s a little chilly, I know, but if you’d like to go swimming, there are plenty of suits out in the pool house that would fit you.”

  She hadn’t noticed a pool house and now looked in his direction. Smiling, she said, “That pool house is larger than my trailer.”

  He frowned. “Do you still consider it your trailer?”

  She sighed. “It’s all so new, Allen. I don’t know which way my head is spinning these days. I know I can’t go back to Peter, but I don’t have a home, either.” She spread her arms wide. “All this, sitting here by the pool with you, relaxing instead of working, it’s not what I’m used to. All my life I’ve looked after either my father or my husband. There hasn’t been any time for this.”

  Allen stood and took her wine glass from her. He set it on the table beside the lounge. Then he straddled the chaise. She moved her legs to accommodate him. Her heart began to beat rapidly, just the nearness of his body made her tingle. Once seated, he took her hands in his, pulled her into a sitting position. With their faces just a few inches apart, he said, “It’s time for you to live. You were not born to be Peter Waldrip’s slave or his punching bag. God made you into a beautiful woman with talents to share with others, not squander on the sadistic whims of a brutal man. You are still young, Brenda. The sky is the limit. You can do or be whatever you want.”

  She took a deep breath, trying to keep from crying. Her eyes misted over. He reached up and with his finger wiped the first tear as it began to fall. He leaned in, kissing her mouth with an eager hunger, tasting the nectar of the wine. She responded by putting her arms around his neck and pulling him closer. Then he pulled away gently. She smiled at him. His arms went around her, and she moved her legs to straddle the lounge. He pulled her close to him, so their bodies touched. Even through the fabric of their clothes, they could feel each other’s heat. They stayed that way for several moments, locked in an embrace of mutual need. She had never felt so loved.

  Chapter Twenty

  On Saturday, Brenda was stretched out on the couch in Angela’s living room. She
pulled her blanket up to her chin and smiled, thinking back on her evening with Allen a couple of weeks ago.

  In the last two days, she had filled out at least ten job applications, made a dozen or so useless phone calls, and presented herself in her best business suit to numerous employers—all with heart-thudding failure. Whom was she kidding? She had no marketable job skills on which to rely. Homemaker and mother for the past decade and a half didn’t count. She was thirty-two years old, had a daughter on the cusp of turning seventeen, and never had done anything except clean and cook. Although she knew how much organizational skill it took to run a household, try telling that to a prospective employer.

  She had promised herself not to get discouraged, but it was getting harder to abide by that promise with each passing day. Lacy was trying to be a good sport, but Brenda could tell she was tiring of living out of a suitcase. Angela had been great, but, it had to be irritating to have two extra people underfoot—not to mention the fact that her back was killing her from sleeping on Angela’s couch. Two nights ago, Lacy said she couldn’t go to bed early enough to be fresh for her mid-term exam because Angela was working on the computer in her office, which is where Lacy was sleeping. When she left for school that morning, she had dark circles under her eyes.

  What was just around the corner for Brenda, certainly had to be the work of God, for no twist of fate or coincidence could claim credit.

  The phone rang. Brenda jumped, raced to catch the phone before it could wake Lacy or Angela. “Hello.”

  “Good morning,” Allen’s cheerful voice greeted. “It's a day off for me and I wondered if I could spend it in the company of three beautiful, charming ladies?”

  Lacy emerged from her room, yawning. She waved a hand at her mother as she headed for the coffee pot.

  Brenda carried the phone back to the couch and lay down. “What did you have in mind?”

  “Breakfast out—assuming I’m not too late for that. Then maybe we can head back to my house for an end-of-the-season swim and barbecue.”

  Lacy brought her coffee to the couch and indicated her mother should move her legs so she could sit down. Brenda sat up, tucking her legs underneath herself as she did.