Once Upon a Road Trip (22 page)

Angie stood up and accepted the book. Scott’s fingers grazed hers in the process, unnerving her. She glanced up, but when he didn’t look at her she decided to shake the sense it had been deliberate. “Wow.” She gently turned over the inside cover and scanned until she found the print date: 1927. “So let me guess. You made it to about…Numbers?” She glanced up at Scott again, his surprised look confirming her assessment.

“Yeah. How’d you know that?”

“Because that’s mostly what that book is—numbers. It’s not exactly what you’d call easy reading.” She chuckled. “You’re probably better off starting in the middle instead of trying to read it front to back like a normal book. Both testaments are important, but it might be easier to understand if you start with the New Testament.” She opened the book and leafed through until she found Matthew. She turned it around and handed it back to him. “And a study version would be really helpful. Something with footnotes to explain the customs, traditions, units of measurement—the stuff that’s hard to relate to because of that whole two-thousand-year generation and culture gap. Not to mention the language barrier—”

“Yeah…the Old English thing made it pretty slow going,” Scott said, cradling the book in the crook of his arm. “Same reason I sucked at Shakespeare.”

Angie smiled. “It’s a great heirloom, but I’m sure we can find you a version that’ll make it fairly painless. Are there any bookstores nearby?”  

“I think I’ve seen one. I’ll look it up,” he said, nodding. “So, does that mean you’ll keep teaching me more about this faith stuff?”

Angie laughed, appreciating his sincere lack of piety. “I don’t really think I’m qualified to teach anybody anything. But I’m happy to talk about it anytime you want.”

“I’m pretty sure my grandma would love you for it.” He smirked. “She’s great. I’m thinking about driving out to Wisconsin to see her at the end of the summer.” He paused, probing gaze locked onto hers. “If I can get that far on my own, I could go a couple hours more to see Elsie and her family. Then maybe me and you could hang out again, if you’re back by—”

“Scott? Are you home?” An older female voice carried in from the front room of the condo.

“That’d be my stepmom,” Scott said, looking vaguely annoyed at having his train of thought interrupted. He gathered the cups and kettle, then cut through his room and headed back down the hall. Angie followed him out as far as the dining table, where her attention arrested on a smiling, middle-aged woman.

Clad in a short-sleeved gray blouse and fitted jeans, she appeared unremarkable on a physical level. The woman stood several inches shorter than Angie, built slender enough that her form was nearly devoid of curves. Her shoulder length, ash-brown hair was pulled back into a loose pony tail, and her bangs curled under just above thin eyebrows of the same hue. If she was wearing any makeup, it was too scant for Angie to detect. Her features were fine and regular, set with eyes an unmemorable shade of gray and lips encircled by the patent wrinkle lines of a long-time smoker. Her only jewelry was a gold wedding band.

If not for the possessive manner in which the woman clutched a small Siamese cat to her chest, Angie would have been tempted to think she was the housekeeper.

“Angeli...so glad to finally meet you.” The woman’s flowing alto voice came out with a husky finish. “I’m Martha.”

“The food’s in the fridge,” Scott said, detouring into the kitchen.

Martha waited until the door closed behind him before edging closer to Angie and dropping her volume to a secretive level. “Scott’s talked about you coming to visit for months. He’s been so excited to show you the city.” Her eyes glimmered with a pleasant zeal Angie was immediately drawn to. “You’re good friends with his cousin Elsie, aren’t you? I haven’t met her yet, but she sounds fascinating.”

“Oh, she’s definitely one-of-a-kind.” Angie smiled, reminded that here she was “a friend of Scott’s cousin,” and not “that potentially psycho girl from the internet.” The change of expectation was refreshing. “You have a beautiful home,” she added, glancing around in admiration before turning her focus to the feline lounging in Martha’s arms. “Who’s this?” 

“This is Iris...my only child. Well, unless Scott lets me count him one of these days.” Martha laughed as she raked her fingernails between the cat’s ears. “I never really considered having children—or getting married, for that matter. Scott’s father was a surprise.”

Angie reached out to graze her fingers down Iris’ sleek coat. “She’s beautiful.”

“Here, you’re welcome to hold her,” Martha extended her arms to offer the cat to Angie, who readily accepted the warm bundle of fur. Iris, for her part, remained indifferent despite changing hands. “There now, she likes you.” Martha said. “Would you mind keeping her company for me while I cook dinner? She won’t give me a moment’s peace otherwise.”

“You mean, while you warm up dinner?” Scott was back, and taking the opportunity to point out the prepackaged state of the food.

“Well, I’ve never made myself out to be a master chef.” Martha countered Scott in a light tone, placing her hands on her narrow hips. Angie halfway expected the woman to stick out her tongue at him to complete the picture, but she didn’t.

“I’ll keep her out of your way.” Angie said.

“Thank you. It shouldn’t take me long.” Martha smiled and headed into the kitchen.

“We normally go eat out,” Scott said, sounding irritated. “I don’t know why they wanted to do the pretend homemade-meal-around-the-dinner-table thing.”

“So, do you have a problem with refilling your own drink, or with doing dishes afterward?” Angie allowed a snide undertone to her query, hoping to distract Scott from his familial angst.

“It’s not like that. I hate being waited on.” Scott sounded defensive. His impassioned look told her he was gearing up for a lengthy explanation.

The cat, which had seemed ready to fall asleep in Angie’s arms, suddenly opened her blue eyes wide and twisted her head toward the front door. Angie followed the animal’s gaze just as the door opened and a well-dressed man entered. There was no question in her mind as to who he was — the resemblance to his son was too striking.

He was older, of course. His full, thick hair had dulled to a distinguished gray, which he wore neatly cropped. He was an inch or two taller and rounded heavily in his midsection, darker skin tone owing to a full-blooded Portuguese background. Yet, there was no mistaking the balanced cut of his brow and cheekbones, or the deliberate way he set his mouth. Their eyes were almost identical — turbulent and hazel. He shrugged off his suit coat and draped it over his left forearm.

“Well young lady, you made it! So sorry we couldn’t bring you back ourselves—I had a meeting early this morning.” The man’s tone was expressive and warm — the voice of a businessman. “What do you think of The Big Apple so far?” he asked, with what seemed like a more subdued version of Scott’s smile.

“It’s definitely big.” Angie said, for a lack of better commentary. “I haven’t gotten farther than the grocery store yet. I think we’re going to try to see some of the major landmarks tomorrow.” She glanced to Scott for confirmation, and he nodded.

“The weather is perfect. It might be a good night for you to see Times Square, if you’re up for it after dinner,” Scott’s father suggested.

“That sounds great.” She smiled. “It must be amazing at night.”

“It’s okay.” Scott twisted his mouth off to one side, looking unenthused. “It’s kind of a long walk from here.”

“Take a taxi, then.” His father gave a low chuckle. “I’ll give you some cash for it.” He retrieved his wallet from his back pocket and pulled out two bills. 

Scott held up a hand, protest written all over his face. “I wasn’t asking for money—”

“I never said you were.” The older man held out the bills, insistent. “But in the event that our guest gets tired of walking, you shouldn’t have a problem getting a ride.” There was a calm firmness to his voice as he gave Angie a genial smile and then turned his expectant gaze to Scott.

Feeling caught in the middle of a father-son battle of wills, Angie buried her fingers deeper into Iris’s fur and glanced between the men. It seemed like a long while, but she knew in reality it was only a few uncomfortable seconds before Scott relented. He took the bills, folded them twice, and jammed them into his pocket.

“Well then, what’s for dinner?” The older man asked, tone pitching cheerfully. He rubbed his palms together in anticipation.

“Stuffed pasta shells, I think.” Angie piped up, more than happy to encourage a new topic of conversation. “And some kind of chocolate torte for dessert.”

“Sounds good to me,” Scott’s father said, starting for the kitchen door. “I might poke my head in and see if I can help speed up the process.”

Scott stepped up to the table and pulled out a chair, motioning Angie toward it in an exaggeratedly chivalrous gesture. “Have a seat,” he said, voice thick with sarcasm. “The show’s about to start.”

Angie weighed Scott with a skeptical look, but decided not to ask what he meant. Instead she sank down into the plush, high-backed chair and settled the cat into her lap, resolved to pay close attention to the family dynamics of the evening.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

In spite of Scott’s ongoing tension with his father, Angie warmed up to the older man throughout their unhurried dinner conversation. She found him to be cordial, even charming. Once Martha joined them, it set her mind at ease to learn that his first name was Shaun. She didn’t have any intention of calling him that to his face, but simply knowing it made him seem less imposing.

And it didn’t hurt that she thought “Shaun” would make a terrible name for an evil villain. 

After dinner, a forty-five minute walk landed Angie and Scott in the middle of Manhattan’s vibrant theater district. Angie intended on asking Scott about his strained relationship with his father on their way, but the pace he set wasn’t conducive to any real conversation. She decided to delay bringing it up, guessing physical activity was Scott’s preferred method for blowing off steam. Once they were within sight of the brilliantly lit intersection that made up Times Square, Scott had returned to a more indulgent mood.

After Scott’s standoff with his father at the beginning of the evening, Angie decided they wouldn’t use the taxi money. Her resolve buckled, however, when it began to rain. After fifteen minutes of huddling under an awning, they both agreed that they could either hail a taxi, or be wet and miserable. Scott brooded all the way back to the apartment, his pride seeming to have taken a hit over dipping into his father’s money.

Though she was tired, Angie challenged him to several more rounds of a video game tournament back at the apartment in hopes of cheering him up. Her effort paid off, as it didn’t take long before his usual gall returned. The next thing she knew, he’d goaded her into arm wrestling.

Scott had at least twenty pounds on Angie — all of it muscle. She wasn’t surprised when he was able to beat her matching their right arms. She put up a stubborn fight, but it was little more than stalling on her part. When they matched their left arms, they wound up in a straining deadlock. The advantage shifted between them until her endurance slowly won out over his brute strength. Scott growled something under his breath and took a walk around the pool table, shaking out his arms at his sides.

“What’s the matter? Don’t like losing to a girl?” Angie teased, too proud of herself to feign humility.

“Don’t like losing, period.” He laughed, eyes narrowed in challenge.

At Scott’s insistence, the arm wrestling continued until they were both exhausted. Angie called for a pause, and they both flopped down onto the couch, still bickering amiably about whether or not the need for a break meant she was conceding defeat. Scott nudged her shoulder with his in lethargic provocation, and she nudged back. They went back and forth like this until they were both reduced to inane snickering. It was late, and they were officially punchy.

“You’re pretty tough, you know. For a girl.” Scott smirked as he spoke, closing his eyes and resting his head back.

“Thanks. I think.” Angie chuckled, allowing her eyes to drift closed for a long moment as silence stretched between them. She listened to his steady breathing, along with the gradual slowing of her own heart rate. It helped her tune out the muffled sound of traffic coming from far below the apartment windows. Her mind drifted in a gathering haze, and she knew she was close to dozing off. She also knew she ought to shoo Scott out so they could both get some sleep.

She turned her face toward him to address the issue and her lips brushed along some soft, warm part of his face. Until that moment, she hadn’t realized how close they were.

And then, somehow, they were kissing.

Angie felt a dull sense of astonishment, mingled with confusion over which of them had started it. Had it been her? She didn’t know. She was acutely aware of him, yet she couldn’t focus to form a coherent thought. They shifted toward each other, lips moving together with an almost involuntary ease. Languid and dreamlike, the expression between them seemed to have a will of its own. Having lost her perception of time, along with her base sense of caution, there was no telling how long the kiss went on before it concluded just as inexplicably as it began.

The moment their eyes opened, they were fixed on each other. Angie saw the storm of uncertainty in Scott’s face, dispelling any thought she might have had about him planning this. Her wits came flooding back to the forefront of her mind, accompanied by a large jolt of anxiety. She felt intensely vulnerable — not to mention stupid.

“So…what was that?” Scott murmured.

Oh, like he doesn’t know. Get some distance!

Even the sarcastic part of her mind was edging toward panic. She stood up abruptly and headed for the front door. “You should go,” she said, attempting a quiet command.

“Sure.” Scott got his feet.

He didn’t sound sure, but Angie didn’t want to look at him. She needed to think, and he had become distracting in more ways than she’d thought possible. After pulling open the door, she stood holding it as he walked out of the apartment. Only when he was in the hallway did she venture to look at his face again. He appeared more dazed than dejected, and some small part of her was grateful for that. “Good night,” she said, in as steady a voice as she could manage.