Life Is A Foreign Language (32 page)

“Nonsense, Mami. If anything, it’s late.”

“What do you mean by late?”

“Papa and you were seldom together. You can’t have been happy with him. It’s time you get some joy out of life.”

“You surprise me—I didn’t think you’d guessed about Papa and me.” His thoughtful consideration brought a lump to her throat. At the same time the bright light of joy filled her. “Your attitude makes me very happy.”

“My Mami and Papa, both hooking up with other partners.” His voice trembled. “That’s life, I guess.”

“Well, look at it this way; it’s time for you to let your parents grow up.”

Danny was silent for a beat, then he laughed softly. “You’re right. My parents are individuals with the right to live their lives.”

“There you go, chéri. I love you very much. I’ll call soon.”

“Love you too. Bye, Mami.” She was about to hang up when she heard him say, “And say ‘hi’ to Michael from me.”

“Will do.” And she touched the “off” button. She leaned closer to Michael. “Danny says ‘hi’.”

“That was a nice conversation you two had.”

Nodding, Nina opened the lanai door, carrying out the tray of drinks she’d prepared while Michael slept. “Care to come out here, darling? I find it a bit cool inside.” She glanced at him over her shoulder. “Want a beer?”

Michael left the love seat, took a bottle of beer from the fridge, and placed it on the floor in the shade. He lowered himself to the lounge chair, patting the side of the lounger. “Come join me. If we squeeze tight we’ll both fit. I want to hold you close.”

By lying on their sides, arms around each other, they managed to share the narrow space. It was cramped and not very comfortable, but she enjoyed the nearness of him.
I never seem to get enough of being close to him.

After a while she sat, grinning. “Why do we do this? I love to be in your arms, but this is breaking my back.”

He took her hand and kissed each finger, one after the other. “I have to leave soon. I’m going to sleep in my house tonight.”

She sat straight; this came as a surprise. “Are you sure you won’t spend the night?”

“I’d love to, honey, but I still have a million things to do. Now I have to go by the country club for a last inspection. Tomorrow I would have to leave you early to drive home to dress only to return here to fetch you before going to the country club. It doesn’t make sense that I spend the night.” He sighed and brushed hair off his forehead. “This is the last time we sleep apart. I promise, my Nina.”

He stood and pulled her to him. His kiss left her weak and shaky.

“Don’t kiss me like that if you’re going to leave.”

“How should I kiss you?”

“Just a nice little kiss will do, one that won’t get me worked up.”

“Worked up are you? Something else I’ll take care of tomorrow. See me to the car, will you?” They wandered to the driveway, arms around each other.

“I hate to leave, Nina.”

“I’ll miss you, too, but it’s only till tomorrow.”

“For sure. I’ll be here in the morning, at ten-thirty.”

“Okay. Have a good night.” With arms around him, she was reluctant to let him go, hating the idea of being separated from him. Again she kissed him to prolong the moment he was with her.

A last kiss on her forehead, and he sat behind the wheel.

Nina watched him drive off until the car rounded a bend in the road and was lost in the dusk. She returned inside and collected the tray from the lanai, finding Michael’s bottle of beer on the floor unopened. He’d forgotten to drink it.

The evening hours stretched endlessly ahead. To pass the time, Nina went into the guestroom and took the dress for the Festival from the bag to hang out any creases. She wandered into her office, pulled up her novel, but her concentration strayed, so after scanning a page or two, she saved it and logged off the computer.

Nina’s thoughts returned to the conversation with Danny earlier today. His voice had been joyful when he asked if she was happy, if Michael was good to her. Having shared the news with Danny, it was only fair that she bring Lillian up to date, as well. While she waited for an answer on the phone, Nina tried to outguess Lillian’s reaction, hoping she wouldn’t be shocked, wanting Lillian to be happy for her. When her daughter answered they exchanged greetings and news about the twins. Nina let the silence grow as she searched for the right way to put it. Not knowing how to say it, she blurted it out.

“Lillian, I’ve met a man. A nice and kind man.” Staring into space, she held her breath, waiting for Lillian’s reaction.

“Mami, you have! Who is he? Tell me all about him; how did you meet, are you in love?” Her voice vibrated with excitement.

Nina laughed with relief and happiness at Lillian’s positive reaction and told her as much about Michael as she thought Lillian needed to know.

“Is he good to you?” Lillian asked, just like Danny. “Do you love him?”

“Yes, chérie, I’m very happy, and he’s wonderful to me.”

“Oh Mami, that’s awesome. I’m delighted for you. Be happy, you do deserve it.”

On that note they ended the conversation. While she prepared her meal, Nina kept blinking away the tears that Lillian’s words and the warmth in her voice had brought; she was so glad she’d told them both.
No more secrets.

Nina felt blessed and rich to have two such wonderful children, and Michael. Nonetheless, her lonely dinner was tasteless. She missed him.

Later, in bed alone, she felt lost. They’d only spent a few nights together, but already she was used to having him next to her, used to feeling his body warmth, to hearing the sound of his breathing. Her sleep was restless, and she kept waking up to the cold space beside her. Without him the silence was heavy—almost scary.

Chapter 37
 

Nina awoke early the next morning. She almost rushed out of bed before her eyes were fully open. With a sigh she fell back against the pillows; this was the day of the Rose Festival. It would be a long day, so she might as well take it easy, relax and indulge. Slowly she left her bed, went outside to pick up the local paper and prepared a mug of hot tea in the kitchen. In bed again, propped up against pillows, she enjoyed the tea while scanning the paper. The Rose Festival made headline news, Michael’s blossom receiving more than a mention. His entry was forecast as a likely winner in the two main categories—”Best Rose in Show” and “Rose of Roses.” Flames of excitement flared from the pit of her stomach to her chest and down to her toes at the thought of the day ahead. She was also nervous for Michael; he’d invested so much time and effort in this flower, winning meant a lot to him.

More than an hour later Nina slid out of bed, and although she took time with her morning routine, each minute still stretched to eternity. To help pass the time she gave herself a manicure and pedicure, painting her nails ruby red.

Turning the volume high on the CD player, Berlioz’s “Symphonie Fantastique” distracted her, its melodious sensuality dispelling anxiety about the outcome of the contest.

Long before it was time for Michael to pick her up, she was dressed and ready. Not wanting to crease her dress in the humid air outside she sat sedately in the living room and tried to watch TV, her mind straying from a program that usually would have held her interest.

Finally, she saw Michael drive up the street and swing into her driveway. Before he could use his key or ring the bell, Nina rushed to the front door and threw it open wide. Taking a step back, she let him in. He stopped and gazed at her, looking her up and down. His eyes glittered, his smile filled with delight.

“Oh, my Nina, you look like a fragile porcelain doll.”

She giggled, again feeling like a schoolgirl on her first date. “Flatterer. Kiss me. I promise not to break.”

And he kissed her, a very proper kiss. Almost not sexy at all.

Gazing at him, she nodded her approval. “You look dashing.”

So far, she’d seen him wear shorts or jeans with a T-shirt, or bathing trunks. Today he was dressed in grey flannel slacks, the creases knife sharp, a powder blue linen shirt, open at the throat, with a midnight blue blazer draped over his shoulders.

He glanced at his watch. “Might as well get there before the throng. If you’re ready?”

She took his arm. “I’m ready. Let’s go win the highest prize and name your rose.”

His jacaranda blue eyes sparkled, and the grin on his face went on forever.

“I’m not sure I know what’s expected of me as Godmother. What do I have to do?”

He took her hand and held it briefly against his cheek. “Don’t worry, sweetheart. Smile and leave the rest to me.”

Taking a deep breath, she nodded.

To the southeast of town, on a soft rise in the crook of the four-lane bridge across the Caloosahatchee Fiver sat the Midpoint Country Club. The clubhouse held prime location at the top of the mound. Standing on the stairs of the deep terrace, Nina took in the beautiful view overlooking the wide river and its traffic of all imaginable floating crafts.

Nina admired the elegant grounds, modeled on the formal French garden. The shrubs were sculpted with geometric precision, graceful royal palms raised their crowns to the blue sky, waters danced in several fountains. Manicured lawns gently rolled to meet the river.

Michael mentioned that there were playgrounds, swimming pools and an eighteen-hole golf course.

As he led her along the narrow path, deeper inside the grounds, they encountered a gardener finishing his tour of inspection.

Surrounded by a fence on a vast piece of land grew all the roses in the competition. Michael took her to the enclosure where his rose grew. Again she was struck by the unusual color of the petals, their thick and downy texture. Its scent hung heavy in the air—erotic, mysterious, provocative.

They sauntered along the paths, examining the other roses. There were long stemmed ones, those that grew in bushes, others were trimmed and pruned trees, the variety of colors stunning.

“I may be partial,” she said, “but by comparison, your rose is the grandest of them all.”

“I like the word you use, ‘grand.’ There’s an old-world sound to it, and it seems to express what I wanted to achieve.” He squeezed her hand. “When this naming is finally over I’ll heave a sigh of relief. I’m sick and tired of ‘the rose.’ It’s so monotonous.”

She glanced at him; he looked tired. The skin on his face seemed taut with a yellowish tinge, and his usual straight carriage gave way to a slight stoop.

Michael gave her details of the other contestants’ varieties, their provenance, the names of their colors. The explanation sounded intricate and more interesting than she’d expected. He told her about the growers, from all walks of life; a house painter, a real estate agent, a housewife. There was even a schoolboy, only twelve years old. Obsessed with roses and their hybridization, he missed school so often he had to repeat one year. Such passion stunned her.

If Michael’s experience was anything to go by, it took years to achieve the result that made a rose qualify for a contest.

While they strolled, the other contestants and their guests arrived. People clustered on the terrace of the clubhouse and the lawn. As they made their way to join them, Nina heard the hum of conversation, the tinkle of glasses and the occasional peal of laughter. Michael led the way into the crowd. Now and then, he stopped to introduce her.

“I want you to meet my friends.”

Nina shook hands with the mayor. Michael presented her to the senator from Minnesota, Michael’s home state, and she promptly forgot his name.

“I’m an admirer of Michael’s rose,” the senator said. “And envious of his results.”

She gave him a questioning look. “Are you a grower, too?”

He shook his head. “I’m just an ordinary gardener. Among other things, I grow roses.”

They smiled. The senator patted Michael on the back and wished him luck.

Michael introduced her to Mr. Miller, President of the Festival, who held her hand an instant too long. His hand was surprisingly dry and soft, although perspiration ran in rivulets from his high forehead down his face. A drop dangled precariously from the tip of his nose. He was tall, on the heavy side. His belly seemed to start just under his heavy jowls, which trembled when he spoke or moved his head.

“Mr. Miller …”

He leered at Nina. “I’m Phil.”

“Yes, Phil—he’s the only other person besides me who knows the name of my rose.”

“Have you had a sneak preview?” Nina asked.

“Indeed, I have. It’s a mighty rose with a mighty name.” He winked at her, excused himself and walked off.

Surprised, she glanced at Michael. “What did he mean by ‘a mighty name’?”

“That’s the surprise and the secret. Be patient, sweetheart.”

Michael introduced her to some of his coworkers and assistants. A nice crowd of people, but before she had the chance to talk with them, they were pushed apart and were lost in the crowd.

She gazed at the throng. “Is Marley here, do you think?”

“I’m sure he’ll show up.” From the back pocket of his slacks, Michael took a folded piece of paper and handed it to her.

“What’s this?”

“These are your instructions for the naming. You don’t have to memorize, just read them. The note can be useful, so keep it handy.”

Nina took the paper and read the instructions. As a public speaker, she never left anything to chance; it was reassuring to have an “idiot card” in case she fumbled. Folding the paper, she put it in her handbag.

The hot sun beat down. The whoosh of the traffic on the bridge nearby was a muffled background noise to the din of the crowd. She wished she had a tall glass of ice cold club soda.

“Ah, there they are,” Michael said.

Looking in the direction Michael nodded, she spotted Chris, Peter and their wives, Ally and Linda. Catching up to Nina and Michael, they exchanged greetings. Nina was moved by the overt affection between Michael and his sons as Peter briefly draped an arm around his father’s shoulder, and Chris patted him on the back. The daughters-in-law pecked him on the cheek, mumbling words Nina couldn’t hear.

Touching Nina’s hand, Chris smiled at her. “When we met at the cookout at Brian and Samantha’s, you had just arrived in Cape Coral. Have you settled in?”