A Minute to Smile (7 page)

“It would be my pleasure to share such a feast,” he said in his rumbling voice, “but only if you will allow me to add a contribution of my own.”

“Of course!” She glanced at her watch. “I’ll put Abe to work making sandwiches while I wash up. A half hour?”

Again a promise danced in his eyes. “A half hour it is.” Whistling, he exited.

Abe swung around, leaning his elbows on the counter. “Are you going to seduce him with strawberries?” he teased.

“I’m not going to seduce him at all,” Esther said airily. “We’re friends.”

“No, sis,” Abe said, grabbing her hand. “You and I are friends. You look at him like he’s a mountain of chocolate ice cream and you can’t wait to dive in.”

Esther flushed, disconcerted. “Really?”

“What’s wrong with that? You aren’t the kind of woman who ought to be spending her life alone.”

“Abe,” she protested. “Stop matchmaking me.” She pulled her hand free and picked up the net bag, deciding to finish her accounting in the morning. “I won’t lie to you—”

He chuckled. “You’re incapable of lying.”

Esther shook her head. “I’m just not ready for anything intense.” She pursed her lips thoughtfully. “And I don’t think there’s any other way for me to conduct a relationship.” Briskly she turned away and lifted the Closed sign into place.

“At least you’ve got me,” he said, tongue-in-cheek.

“Some comfort!” She rolled her eyes for emphasis.

He reached for a strawberry. “Least I’m not as ugly as you are—sheesh!” He popped the berry into his mouth. “You’d make a freight train take a gravel road.”

Esther moaned at the return to childhood, when Abe’s favorite name for her had been “Gunboats,” because her feet had grown so much faster than the rest of her. Gathering the bag of groceries, she headed for the kitchen. “But you have to sneak up on a glass of water to get a drink!” she called over her shoulder.

Abe followed her. “But they had to tie a bone around your neck to get the dog to play with you.”

In the kitchen, Esther smiled as she pulled out the makings of sandwiches for Abe. She’d lose the game—she could never remember or make up as many insults as he could. Exasperated, she rolled her eyes. “Make the sandwiches.”

“I’m not going to eat any of ‘em,” he said, eyeing the pile of sweets. “Are you?”

“Yes.” She pointed. “Work!”

He grinned impishly. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Stop teasing me now. I am going to take a shower and put on my grown-up self, so you behave yourself.”

“I’ll do my best.”

As she climbed the back stairs, he called, “Esther!”

“Hmm?”

“I know you guys are friends, but how about that blue dress?”

She wrinkled her nose. “I’m too fat to wear that dress.”

He shook his head and disappeared, muttering, “Women!”

Indeed, thought Esther. What about
men?

* * *

Alexander carried a bundle of freshly cut irises from his garden back to Esther’s in the warm, late afternoon. In a long brown bag was a loaf of French bread and a bottle of white wine.

He felt extraordinarily aware and alive today, as if all of his senses had been half sleeping and now stretched, awake and refreshed. Thick bands of gold light bronzed the air, and violet shadows fell from the trees to the grass. Against the western sky the mountains stood sentinel, like soldiers in rough blue wool. The sidewalk warmed the soles of his shoes and a soft wind fluttered by, smelling of pine.

Rather than ringing Esther’s bell when he came upon her house, he followed the sidewalk toward the backyard. Here the light was thicker still, and a scattering of wrens picked through the soil of the herb garden. As Alexander stepped into their realm, they flapped into a tree, whistling in alarm and worry.

He settled the irises on the table and opened the waxed paper covering the bread, then broke off pieces and tossed them toward the garden. In unison, six small gray heads quirked; a dozen tiny black eyes looked at the offering. He chuckled to himself.

From behind him, Abe said, “You like birds, Alexander?”

“Oh, I don’t know.” He shrugged and glanced over his shoulder. “They just always seem to be so much at the mercy of everything.”

Abe flashed a crooked grin, munching cheerfully on a banana. “Esther told me about your pirate cat.”

“He’s a pirate, all right.” Abe had carried out a glass bucket of ice and a platter of sandwiches, covered against the air. “Can I do anything to help?” Alexander asked.

“Esther’s finishing the fondue in the kitchen. You might be able to help her lug some of the stuff out.”

“Gladly.” He gathered the flowers, leaving the bread on the round wooden table, and went inside.

In the dimness of the kitchen, he paused momentarily. As his eyes adjusted, he saw Esther standing over the counter, piling strawberries into a bowl. Diffused north light poured in through the window and washed over her. The pale red hair was caught back in a black velvet ribbon and her head was bent over her task. In the old-fashioned kitchen, with ferns and ivies spilling from the windowsills, she looked like a painting of a woman in the middle ages—there was that fullness and richness about her figure and the simple contentment she radiated.

For the first time, she wore something ordinary, a blue tank-top sort of dress that left her arms bare and clung to her curves. Alexander felt himself grow hot as he looked at her, his heightened senses whirling at the smell of chocolate and irises, at the delightfully beautiful woman in her serene kitchen. As he watched, she took a strawberry from the bowl and put it into her mouth, and a single bead of silvery water clung to her lower lip.

He must have made some sound, for she turned. “Alexander!” she said, her voice honeyed with pleasure. “What beautiful flowers.”

He gave her a mock bow and raised an eyebrow. “For the loveliest lady in the kingdom.”

She smiled, her eyes glowing as she accepted them. Bending her head into the velvety petals, she inhaled their scent, then closed her eyes and very slowly moved her chin and cheek and nose over the flowers in an unselfconsciously sensual gesture. “Thank you.”

He stepped closer, drawn against his will. Taking her free hand, he lifted it to his lips, allowing himself to taste the heat and silkiness of her flesh for an instant before he let her go. “It was my pleasure.”

“How gallant you are,” she said, flashing her inviting smile. “Perhaps I should call you Lancelot instead of Alexander!”

“Traitor’s name!” he protested jovially.

“Ahh.” The word was a sigh. “Then you must be Arthur himself. I should have known it.”

He smiled, enjoying himself. “And what would lead you to such a conclusion?”

A hint of color touched her cheeks and she lowered her eyes for a moment. He wondered how such a vitally sensual woman could have learned to be shy and thought again that her ex-husband must have been a fool.

It was an impression that was trebled when Esther lifted her deep brown eyes. A sparkle of humor and passion shimmered there as she said, “You just have a kingly way,” she teased.

He stepped closer. Above the heady mixture of chocolate and irises, he could smell Esther herself now, a soft scent of lavender. Deliberately, he let his eyes skim the scoop neck of her dress, where a luscious swell of breasts peeked out. “I seem to remember Esther is the name of a queen,” he said quietly.

“So it is.” She didn’t draw back this time. Instead, a throaty chuckle escaped her throat at some private vision. “I have to get these flowers in water,” she said and slipped away from him.

Alexander watched her at the sink, admiring the fullness of her hips and the dip of her waist, aware that he was deeply aroused by simply talking with the glorious Esther. “I’ll carry these outside, shall I?” he said, picking up bowls of strawberries and chunks of watermelon.

The meal, as far as Alexander was concerned, was equal parts heaven and hell. The sandwiches went ignored as they all helped themselves to chunks of pears and watermelon, bits of cheese and bread, sips of the crisp wine. Around them, birds twittered and insects zoomed through on busy errands.

“Not bad, huh?” Abe said, dipping a slice of apple into the common pot of chocolate.

“It’s delicious,” Alexander agreed. “I gather it’s something of a tradition?”

Esther laughed, the sound as golden as the thick, late light.
“Food
is our tradition.” She idly lifted a small triangle of watermelon and flicked the visible seeds away with a finger. “No one on the block could eat as much as we could.”

“You have to understand,” Abe cut in, “that the lovely lady you see before you grew eight inches in a single year.” He chuckled. “Four more in her feet.”

“And he grew
ten,”
Esther said, slapping his arm.
“Twelve
in his feet.”

Alexander chuckled at their teasing. He’d not been quite certain of their relationship at first. Now it was plain they were very close, but like siblings. He shifted his gaze to Esther, admiring without urgency the tendrils of blazing hair against her cheek.

She caught his gaze. “What were you like at fourteen, Alexander?”

“I can barely remember fourteen,” he said with a frown. Suddenly he did remember. “Ah. Grammar school. My best friend was James Dervish and we used to go to movies to try to pick up girls.”

“Without any luck, I bet,” Abe put in.

“Abe!” Esther protested.

“Hey, I was fourteen once, remember?” He glanced at Alexander. “The ones you like always had—” he cleared his throat “—outrageous figures and a lot of eyeliner, and they wouldn’t give you the time of day for a hundred bucks.”

“We must have gone to the same movies,” Alexander said with a laugh.

“Me and my girlfriend Judith were the skinny girls in the balcony, trying to get the big boys’ attention,” Esther said.

“Until Judith bloomed,” Abe said with a chortle.

Esther cocked her head, smiling. “That’s when I took to horror novels. You can’t go to the movies alone, after all.”

“Horror novels?” Alexander echoed.

Esther held back a smile, her sleepy eyes glittering with humor. “My secret addiction,” she said.

“Do you mean
Frankenstein
and
Dracula,
that sort of thing?”

“Well, back then, I had to make do a lot with those creepy comic books—you know,
Tales from the Crypt
and
Eerie Tales.
”

Alexander had a vision of a thin, young Esther, hair in pigtails, wiling the summer away with gore-splashed comic books. He chuckled. “And now?”

“There still aren’t many good ghost stories, unfortunately, but there’s almost anything else. It’s practically a horror renaissance.” She shrugged, as if feeling a little defensive. “It’s not for everyone, I admit.”

“My mother loved ghost stories,” Alexander said, taking up another strawberry. “One of her favorites was
The Haunting of Hill House.
”

“Oh, that’s a wonderful book!” Esther leaned forward eagerly. “Have you ever seen the movie? It’s terrifying!” She shuddered for effect. “There’s a scene where the woman reaches out to hold hands with her friend, while this child is crying and crying and crying…and when it’s over, she looks down and she is holding hands with nothing. It’s great!”

Abe shook his head. “You’re one sick puppy, Esther Lucas. Horror novels.” He looked at Alexander. “What do you read?”

Comfortably he leaned back. “History, of course.” He winked at Esther. “But I’ve got my own secret addiction to suspense and murder mysteries.”

“Ha!” Esther cried, slapping Abe’s shoulder playfully. “See? You’re the only stuffed shirt around here.”

“America,” Abe pronounced in an exaggeratedly droll voice, with a shake of his head. “In thirty years, literary fiction will be dead, killed by indifference.” But he smiled as he said it, and Alexander realized it was another long-standing argument between them.

“I’m too stuffed to debate with you,” Esther said with a sigh. “And it’s much too nice an evening. I’ll just let you screen out all the boring stuff so that I don’t have to waste my time.”

Alexander smiled, then excused himself for a moment.

Although they had all been laughing and talking through the meal, by the time the sun had dropped to shine like an impaled ball on the points of the mountains, Esther noticed the lines of strain around Abe’s mouth. She waited until Alexander stepped inside for a moment, then touched her friend’s hand. “You don’t look well.”

He managed a wry grin. “Trying to get rid of me?”

“You know better.” She squeezed his hand. “And I know you too well to be fooled by that brave expression. If you’ve had a bad week, you’d best get home and get to bed.”

“I guess I should,” he said without enthusiasm. His dark eyes fixed on the horizon and Esther saw the loneliness in them.

“Why don’t you stay here tonight?” she suggested. “You can sleep in one of the boys’ beds and in the morning, we’ll have brunch.”

“You always see right through me,” he said. “I’ve been stuck in that apartment a lot lately.” He stood up stiffly and kissed her head affectionately. “Thanks for the offer. Does it matter which bed and can I go up right now?”

“I’ll come up with you.”

“Nah.” The answer was firm. “I’ll find my own way.” He gave her a wink. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

He disappeared inside and Esther picked up her glass of wine reflectively. Through the pale amber liquid, the herb gardens were a blur of leaves and paths, as inviting as an Impressionist painting. The sun sank abruptly behind a mountain peak and the world was plunged into a pale purple dusk. She sighed, sated with food and quiet and good company.

So when Alexander noiselessly joined her, she looked at him comfortably, at ease with him in a way she hadn’t been before tonight.

“Are those your herb gardens?” he asked, gesturing.

“Yes. Would you like to see them?”

“Will you tell me all their magical properties?” he asked with a quirk of his lips. “Or is that sacred wisdom, passed only into the hands of women?”

Esther stood, cocking her head as if in serious consideration. “Well, if men had not overtaken the medical establishment with such bluster, they’d have had this knowledge themselves.” At the edge of the garden, she slipped off her sandals and glanced over her shoulder at Alexander. “Since you are simply a good man of letters, I suppose I won’t be shattering any secret trust.”