Once Upon a Project (14 page)

Chapter 23

 

P
at closed the front door after letting Andy out and leaned against it, hugging herself. She couldn't remember the last time she'd felt so happy. She and Andy had been seeing each other regularly since that first night when they'd had dinner. On Thursday night Andy had asked if she had any plans for the weekend. When she told him she didn't, he said, “You do now. Pack a bag for two nights. Casual stuff is all you need. We'll leave tomorrow, as early as you can get away. Let's try to make it early afternoon.”

By the time she left for work Friday morning, her satchel was all packed and ready to go. She left the office at one o'clock and went straight home to change. Andy showed up just before two. He tossed her bag in the trunk of his convertible hardtop Jag and they left the city behind well ahead of rush hour, heading west on I-90.

He wouldn't tell her their destination. She teased him. “If you're planning on murdering me, I did leave a note behind that I left town with you, so you won't get away with it.”

He chuckled. “I think we've got a little time to ourselves coming. For the past three weeks we've tried to spend time together whenever we could spare it. Either we're preparing for our next case, or it's my weekend to have my kids, you've got plans with your parents, or whatever. I just figured some time alone together with no other considerations would be nice.”

She had to agree. As they drove farther and farther away from Chicago on a glorious spring day, with the top of the car down, she did find herself wondering where they could be going for this time alone Andy spoke of. The only place she could think of within driving distance that was west of Chicago was St. Louis, hardly the garden capital of the world. She was puzzled but decided to put her trust in Andy.

That concept alone gave her pause. She
did
trust Andy. Yes, she'd been seeing him for only a few weeks, but he was also an old friend whom she used to see every day. This allowed them to skip much of the getting-to-know-you phase of a new relationship and be comfortable right away.

After three hours of driving, they reached their destination. Pat had never even heard of the town of Galena, in the northwestern tip of Illinois near the Wisconsin and Iowa borders, but from what she could see it looked charming, with brick buildings that clearly dated back to the nineteenth century. Coming here was like stepping onto the set of an old Western. She expected to see horses and buggies going
clip-clop
down the main street . . . which, in true Old West fashion, was called Main Street.

Wait a minute. What the hell was she thinking? Andy had brought her to a small, historic town. Didn't he realize that the people here might not be as receptive to seeing an interracial couple as the people of Chicago were, who really didn't give a damn?

“Andy,” she said. “Have you ever been here before?”

“No, but I'm thinking about getting a weekend place out here. It's scenic, only three hours away, and there's lots to do here.”

“Do you know if there are many black people here?”

He chuckled. “My experience has been that black people are everywhere, Pat.”

“I'm not joking, Andy. Sometimes you have to think about things like this. Especially here in Middle America.”

“You worry too much.”

She tried to relax, to remind herself that she could trust him, but the uneasiness wouldn't go away. She didn't see any Holiday Inns around; in fact, no buildings appeared taller than three stories. This was bed-and-breakfast country. She supposed that people had no business running a B&B unless they were openminded about hosting couples of different races, but . . .

The navigation system in the dashboard spoke. “Destination. . . on the right.”

The sight of the red brick Italianate mansion took her breath away, making her forget her concerns, at least for the moment. It was set back from the road with a beautifully manicured front lawn, and the windows were framed by green shutters. A narrow second-story terrace stretched across three windows, its grillwork painted white to match the window frames. Two white Adirondack chairs flanked a matching table on the left side of the lawn. “Andy . . . this is beautiful.”

“This town is full of inns, but this is supposed to be one of the nicest.”

They went inside and greeted the innkeepers. To Pat's relief, if they were surprised to see a mixed-race couple, they hid it well.

Andy had reserved a separate cottage a hundred yards behind the main house, where they would have plenty of privacy.

After checking in, they walked the few blocks to town, where they had a sinfully scrumptious dinner at a steak house, punctuated by a rich drink of Raspberry Stolichnaya Vodka and Crème de Cacao. Andy arranged for a horse-drawn carriage to return them to the inn.

Pat gasped when she entered the cottage for the second time. Rose petals had been strewn all across the king-sized canopied bed, with Godiva chocolates adorning their pillows, and a fire crackled in the two-sided fireplace. A bottle of a local vintage wine had been left on a tray, along with two stemmed glasses. Andy filled the oversized claw-foot tub with water and bubbles, and they eagerly stripped and relaxed in it—tuning into a show on the large television that could be seen from the sitting area, the tub, or the bed, courtesy of a swivel base—and drank most of the wine. Then they dried off, made love, and fell asleep in each other's arms.

 

 

Saturday they toured the town's historic sites and a winery, closing the afternoon by having massages. That evening they drove to the next town to an elegant restaurant overlooking the Mississippi River. They had a choice table right by the window and could see barges and riverboats floating past. The waiter informed them that a DJ spun discs in the bar downstairs, and they went down and did a little dancing before returning to the cottage for another romantic evening of rose petals, chocolate, wine, and bubbles. This time they went straight to bed, not using the tub until the next morning. They got so involved in each other that instead of going to the main house for breakfast they went back to bed.

 

 

Once home, Pat let out a dreamy sigh as she recalled the weekend full of happy memories. After leaning against the closed door for several minutes, lost in pleasant memories, Pat began the chore of unpacking. She still didn't know what would happen with her and Andy, but she was certainly enjoying it. He was her kind of man: not only did he know how to treat a woman, but he had the means to do it right.

Her thoughts automatically went to Grace and Eric. Grace had turned fifty yesterday. She'd called her friend from Galena and wished her a happy birthday, careful not to be too enthusiastic about the romantic setting Andy had brought her to. Pat knew it had been an expensive weekend. But Andy, who, as she'd initially thought, held a partnership in his law firm, could easily afford it. Eric Wade couldn't. It wouldn't be fair for her to rub salt into Grace's wounds . . . even if her intuition told her that if the situation was reversed Grace might not be so considerate.

Part of her could understand Grace's feelings about Glenn Arterbridge. The judge, while an undeniable catch, did lack sex appeal. Pat considered the irony. Two months ago she would have loved to go out with him, even with his unappealing physique. She'd actually felt disappointed when he'd showed interest in Grace. But then along came Andy, wonderful, sexy Andy, and she now couldn't care less about the judge. She'd been willing to settle. Just like Grace had settled for Eric. They weren't so different after all.

Still, if Grace wasn't so hung up on dating only black men, she'd probably go out more often, and to the types of places she could afford to go on her own. Most desirable, successful black men in their age group had been snatched up by forward-thinking, sometimes even predatory females while still in college. If they got divorced, they usually had the second wife already picked out. The same situations applied to many of their white counterparts as well, but with less frequency. Plus, there were more of them to go around.

She and Grace sought the same thing. Maybe they would never find it, but at least
she
was getting more out of her efforts.

After Pat finished unpacking, she put a load of laundry in the washer and was about to dial her parents when her phone began to ring. She wasn't surprised to hear her mother's voice on the other end of the line.

“You're back, I see.”

“Hi, Mom! I just got in a few minutes ago. I was about to call you.”

“Did you have a good time?”

“Oh, it was wonderful!”

“Where did you go again?”

Pat smiled. Her mother had never been good at remembering names. “Galena. It's west of here, near the borders of Wisconsin and Iowa, on the Mississippi River.”

“Oh, yes, that's right. I wish you'd told us sooner that you were going. We were looking forward to seeing you this weekend.”

“Like I said, Mom, it came up at the last minute.” She'd given her parents a quick call once she and Andy had arrived at the inn. It wouldn't have been practical to tell them on Thursday, or even Friday morning, that she was going away for the weekend. They would want to know where, and she could hardly tell them she had no idea where she was going. They never would have understood the fun in not knowing one's destination. All they would have seen was that their only surviving child was going off for parts unknown with a man they'd never met. They would have worried themselves sick that she would never be seen or heard from again.

In a way she couldn't blame them, not after what had already happened to their family. Clarence's demise after years of heroin addiction really didn't come as a surprise, but Melvin's shooting had been the biggest shock of their lives. They frequently reminded her to be careful at work, “around all that criminal element,” because she was the only one they had left.

Sometimes it amazed her to think that after she was gone, it would mark the end of this branch of the Maxwell family. None of her father's sister's children were named Maxwell. Her father's older brother had fathered two girls, and their children were not Maxwells, either. As for his younger brother, Jacob, his lynching occurred before he'd fathered any children. So although most branches of the family tree would thrive, none of the subsequent generations would carry the Maxwell name.

“I'm glad you had a nice time,” her mother said. “Daddy and I didn't even know you were seeing someone. Have you known him long?”

“For nearly thirty years, although I haven't seen him since we graduated from law school. He's been out in California. The law firm he's a partner in is opening an office here in Chicago, and he decided to come home and head it up.”

“Oh, a
partner
. That's impressive. Now, Pat, I don't want to tell you what to do, but I hope you aren't moving things along too fast. You know, a man won't—”

No. She's
not
going to quote that old line about the cow and the milk.

“. . . buy the cow if he can get the milk for free.”

“Mama, that's silly. I'm almost fifty years old. Any milk I put out will probably be a little sour.” She giggled.

“You can still get married, Pat. I know it's too late for children . . .”

It wouldn't have been if you and Daddy hadn't raised such a stink about Ricky.
The bitter thought formed before she could stop it, although she knew her resentment wasn't toward her parents but toward herself for being so weak. Her spinelessness had changed the course of her life. Even this new, thriving relationship with Andy Keindl didn't detract from her decades-old resentment, in spite of her strong bond with her parents.

“. . . but I'm still hoping you'll meet a nice man to spend your twilight years with,” her mother continued. “You know, your daddy and I never had much, but we always took comfort in having each other.”

“That's sweet, Mama.”

“But there's nothing wrong with a man with a few dollars. I gather you stayed at a nice hotel?”

“Mama, it was fantastic. We stayed at a bed-and-breakfast, and we had our own private cottage on the grounds. An—my friend spared no expense,” she said proudly. “We went dancing, we took a buggy ride through town, we went bike riding. We even had side-by-side massages.”

“Well, he sounds like a wonderful man.” By her mother's interested tone Pat could tell she was impressed.

“I hope Daddy and I will get to meet him one day.”

Pat's smile faded like ink on an old receipt. What was she thinking? Painting such an intriguing picture of a generous, successful man for whom money was no object—of
course
her parents would want to meet him! They imagined he and everyone else she went out with was black. But if they saw Andy they would probably faint dead away.

“We never get to meet any of the men you date,” her mother gently chided.

“That's because I usually don't date them long, Mama, no other reason.”

“How long did you say you've been seeing this fellow?”

I didn't.
Aloud she said, “Since the reunion. So it really hasn't been long.”

“Long enough for you to go away with him.” A pause, followed by a sigh. “But I'm not going to nag you about introducing Daddy and me.”

“Thanks,” Pat said with a grin.

After she hung up she decided to call Grace and see how her birthday went. The staccato dial tone told her someone had left a message for her. She dialed her own home number, then entered her password.