Just Three Dates Page 16

  “I…uh….” He didn’t move to join her.

  “Oh, come on, Mark. I’ll show you the steps.”

  “I’ll look like a fool,” he said, really talking to himself.

  “I’ll dance with you, lass.” A tall, red-haired man with a thick beard and big arms loomed over him. “If your Yankee boyfriend doesn’t mind.”

  Mark hesitated.

  “Why do you think…?

  “Your accent, lad. Gives you dead away.” He and Lucia chuckled. “It would be a shame to force the lass to sit and watch because you…”

  “Go ahead, Lucia. I don’t mind. Not at all.”

  “No way on earth, Mark Stuart,” she exclaimed. “I won’t leave my handsome boyfriend sitting alone at a dance. No telling what kind of trouble might come his way.” She glared across the room at the waitress.

  The man who had asked her to dance laughed. “Come on, Yank, we’ll teach you the steps.”

  He and Lucia pulled Mark onto the floor. Mark knew he was clumsy, and he mixed up the steps, but the crowd gathered around them, clapping and cheering him on.

  An hour later, a slow tune drifted across the room, and Mark wrapped his arms around Lucia.

  “Would you rather be dancing the last dance with Chelsea?” Lucia asked as she laid her head against his chest.

  “Who is Chelsea?”

  “The waitress with the big…”

  “Never. I love you, Lucia.”

  “I love you, Mark.”

  Mark jerked. The car was drifting toward the side of the road. He looked to his right and found Karen, curled up, asleep.

  She wouldn’t have minded if trouble had come his way.

  ***

  “Karen, wake up. We’re almost home.”

  She forced her eyes open and sat up.

  “What time is it?”

  “Two o’clock. I lost you around ten. Are you all right?”

  “I’m fine.” Karen saw a mile marker flash past and realized it would be another fifteen minutes before they arrived at her apartment. She closed her eyes again and leaned back.

  Her shoulder ached where the tree branch had stabbed her and her legs were sore. From dancing, she thought.

  She peeked at Mark. He had been so sweet to her, a perfect white knight taking care of a damsel. She had not really needed his help to walk down the mountain, but she had enjoyed having his arm around her. Dinner had been delicious and the dancing had been a blast. She considered what she might propose for their next date, and she pictured them cuddling on her sofa after she cooked dinner for him. She would have roast beef and…

  Fifteen minutes. I can close my eyes for fifteen minutes longer…

  Karen awoke and instantly popped into a sitting position. She was in her apartment, in her bed, still wearing Mark’s t-shirt. Her alarm clock told her it was nine o’clock. The sunlight streaming through the window told her it was morning.

  Slowly, she swung her legs over the side of the bed and pushed herself up. Her back stung as the sheet slipped across it, tugging on the bandage and her body cried in pain as she stood. She limped into the other room, looking for Mark, but she was alone. She eased herself into a chair and placed her arms on the kitchen table, resting her head on them.

  She recalled Mark shaking her awake just before they had reached town. She seemed to remember punching her entry code at the door. She had no other recollection…

  That wasn’t true.

  “I’m all right. I can walk.” She heard her voice followed by Mark’s laugh as he swept her into his arms and carried her. It had reminded her of being carried to bed as little girl. Mark must have carted her up the steps, into the apartment, to bed.

  She grimaced as she rose from the table and shuffled to the door. The lock on the knob had been set, but not the deadbolt. Of course not. He did not have a key.

  She found the sack with the two pieces of pie on the counter. Otherwise, there was no sign Mark had been there.

  “Oh I hurt.” She groaned as she made her way back to her room and eased herself into bed. She probably shouldn’t have danced all night after the fall…She would not be moving for a long, long time, not for church, not for food, not for anything.

  As she stretched out on her bed, she thought of Mark, recalling how much she had enjoyed their fourth, no, their fifth date. She smiled, looking forward to seeing him again.

  ***

  Mark had been up since seven, jogging along the Battery. He had fallen into bed just before three, having carried Karen up the steps into her apartment and laying her on her bed. At least she had been conscious when they stepped out of the car. She had managed to punch in her entry code, but she had been out immediately after that.

  He replayed the events of the evening in his mind as he paused to watch the sun peek out over Sullivan’s Island. Mark was out of bed because he’d had difficulty sleeping, and when he had drifted off, he had dreamed of Karen and Lucia, sometimes mixing them up, seeing Karen’s face when he dreamed of hiking in Scotland and Lucia’s as he gave a longwinded dissertation concerning Monet and his work.

  He bent and stretched before resuming his run.

  If only she didn’t cause him to think of Lucia. After three years, he had thought of Lucia less often, only sporadically believing he saw her on the street, just occasionally hearing a song or catching a scent that brought her to mind, infrequently finding himself thinking of her rather than the papers he was attempting to grade.

  Now, he thought of Lucia, dreamed of Lucia, whenever he saw Karen.

  But Karen was not Lucia.

  Lucia had cared for him, at one time.

  Karen didn’t. She had danced with every guy at the Grill. Whenever someone had cut between them, and they always did, she had chosen to dance with the other guy. Mark had finally stopped competing for her attention.

  “Commitment phobic,” he thought. He’d heard a colleague in the psychology department use the term. Mark wasn’t sure it was a real diagnosis, but it described a person who felt anxious at even the thought of a close relationship.

  It seemed to describe Karen’s behavior, the fact she had spent the night rarely dancing with him, avoiding any protracted interaction, perhaps intending to discourage him from asking her out again. It explained her reluctance to seldom grant second dates to the guys she dated.

  Lucia hadn’t had that problem.

  He reached the point where the two rivers that formed Charleston harbor met. He took the steps to the upper level of the seawall two at a time and raced beside the Cooper River, watching as the water morphed into a deep shade of sunrise red.

  Between the feelings he harbored for Lucia and Karen’s lack of interest in him, it would not be possible for him to be Karen’s friend, much less anything more.

  November

  Mark was between classes, sitting in his office, his feet on his desk, reading the minutes from the last faculty meeting. He sighed as he finished the two-page summary of the two-hour presentation on the president’s plans for reorganizing the school.

  The minutes told him everything he needed to know, so why had he wasted two hours listening as the provost had droned on, delving into details that would never impact Mark? Did he really need to hear a list of pros and cons concerning the proposal to move the political science department to the divisor of social sciences rather than allowing it to remain among the humanities?

  He answered his telephone on the first ring, happy to have something else to think about, groaning when he heard Vicky’s voice.

  “I’m glad to hear your voice, too, Mark,” Vicky teased.

  “Sorry. I was just reading the minutes from a faculty meeting, and I was wondering why we don’t just distribute memos rather than meet. Have you ever been to a meeting that could not have been done better as a memo?”

  Vicky chuckled. “So how are things going?” She asked about his work, commented about the weather, told him she and her husband were going to a football game the next weekend.

/>   She had never before called him just to talk, and Mark knew she was calling at Karen’s behest. He shifted his position impatiently, hoping she would stop delaying.

  “Mark, a little bird tells me that you made a trip to the mountains a couple of weeks back,” she finally said.

  “It’s no secret that I went hiking in the mountains. Most of my department have heard stories of my adventures. I found a hole in the sole of one of my hiking boots, so I borrowed a pair from the guy who lives next door, so, of course, he knows I went. The waitress who brings my morning coffee suggested a shortcut to the trailhead. I even mentioned the trip to my barber and to my mother. You hardly needed a little bird to obtain that information.”

  “Do those people know that Karen Wingate went with you?”

  “Some do.”

  Vicky sighed impatiently. “Did you have a good time?”

  “I enjoyed the hike, Vicky.” He decided to cut to the chase. “And no, I’ll not ask her out again.”

  “But why not? From what I’ve heard, you’ve both enjoyed yourselves every time you’ve been together.”

  “Did she tell you about dinner?” Mark snapped.

  “She did. Dinner and dancing. She had a ball.”

  Mark scowled. “I could tell.”

  “What does that mean? If she enjoyed herself and you enjoyed yourself, then…”

  “Look, I enjoyed the hike. I enjoyed dinner.” He frowned as he recalled the scene at the Grill. “Then the music started.”

  “Meaning?”

  “Vicky, she danced with every guy at the restaurant. Everyone but me. Whenever someone cut between us, and someone always did, she chose to dance with the other guy.”

  “Now, Mark, you know that’s not true…”

  “It’s the God’s honest truth.” He raised his right hand as if taking an oath. “Two dances, the second one, not the first, and the last one. Ask her.” He took a deep breath, struggling not to lose his temper, but beginning to feel as angry as he had while slumped in his chair at the Mountain Grill.

  “For almost two hours I sat in the restaurant basically alone, which would have been fine had I actually been alone to start with. For two hours, I guzzled iced tea, wished it was something stronger, waited for her to leave the floor for two seconds so I might snare a spot on her dance card.”

  “Calm down, Mark.” Vicky’s voice was soothing, but he felt she was speaking to him as if he were a child.

  “I won’t calm down,” he barked, pausing to regain control. “I see now why she has a problem with men. She’s a run-of-the-mill tease. Goes on a date, flirts like crazy, then refuses a kiss and drops the guy like a hot rock she pulled from a fire.”

  “She went on a second date with you.”

  “Her mother made her.”

  “Your mother made you go.”

  “You know that’s not the point at all. I had two dances with the woman all evening, so her good time had little to do with me.” He clenched his jaw. “I simply provided transportation.”

  Mark suspected he sounded a bit like a spoiled brat, but so be it. He had expected more from Karen that evening than hello and good-bye. A little friendly interaction might have been nice at the least.”

  Vicky offered no response. She seemed at a loss for words. That almost never happened.

  So, he blurted, “Lucia wouldn’t have treated me that way,” mentally kicking himself as the words left his mouth. He had not wanted Vicky to know he still thought of Lucia.

  “You’re right, Mark. Of course not. Lucia would never have treated you badly.”

  Mark clenched his fist as he heard the sarcasm in Vicky’s voice.

  “All Lucia did was to…”

  “Don’t lecture me about Lucia,” Mark snarled.

  “Someone needs to.” Vicky took an audible deep breath, as if she knew she was about to step onto treacherous ground. “Mark, I know Lucia hurt you, but it’s over. Finished. You need to move on. You can’t carry a torch for her for the rest of your life.”

  “Vicky, don’t go there,” he warned. “Stop now.”

  “You must care something for Karen or you wouldn’t be so angry. Talk to her, Mark. Tell her how you feel and—”

  Mark’s phone beeped, signaling an incoming call from his mother.

  “I need to go,” he said, “and you can tell your little bird that hell will freeze before I ask Ms. Wingate out again.” He ended the call before Vicky could continue.

  Mark knew he should talk with Karen himself, rather than allowing Vicky to be his messenger, rather than treating Karen as Lucia…as worse than Lucia, truth be told…

  He rubbed his eyes, turning his thoughts back to Karen. “I’ve nothing to add to what I told Vicky,” he finally said aloud. Significantly, he thought, Karen had yet to call him, an omission he took as an admission of guilt.

  He punched ACCEPT on his telephone.

  “Hi, Mom.”

  “Mark, you need to come. Your father has had a heart attack. His assistant called an ambulance. Hurry.”

  ***

  Karen took a deep breath as she eased onto one of the benches in the small park. It had seemed as if Friday would never arrive. She had been snowed under at work, and, then, Vicky had finally grown tired of listening to her worries about Mark and had taken it upon herself to call him.

  Her report had sent Karen into a tailspin. That night, she had sat alone in her living room, a single small lamp burning on a side table, staring vacantly at her painting of the small town in France as she argued with herself, disputing Mark’s account.

  A flirt? A tease? No, not her. She despised women who behaved that way.

  As she protested her innocence, though, she recalled a scene at the restaurant.

  She was dancing one of her many dances with Paul. As the music ended, he hugged her and she kissed him on the cheek, then turned, looking for Mark. He had been leaning next to the wall watching her dance. She smiled at him, and he stepped forward, reaching out to her. Suddenly another guy, Bobby, she thought his name was, slipped in front of her, took her hand and led her back to the floor. She went with him without a backward glance.

  When that dance ended, she looked for Mark again, but he seemed to have disappeared. She stepped off the dance floor to find him, but Paul swooped by. “Dance with me, filly,” he said, and she did.

  That scene was one of many, and she had no idea how often she had turned her back on Mark that night. No wonder he never wanted to see her again.

  Maybe I am just a tease, she thought. She certainly had no clue how to behave on a date, not a real date, not a second date. Maybe she was meant never to marry, meant to be alone the rest of her life.

  The next morning, Karen had arrived at work with dark circles under her eyes, her unwashed hair pulled into a pony tail, wearing the same clothes she had worn the day before. She had refused Vicky’s offer of hot chocolate, had turned down a free sweet roll, had stayed at her desk through her lunch break, staring at the ceiling, dabbing at her eyes every few minutes. Vicky had called Karen’s mother.

  Shortly after Karen reached home that afternoon, her mother arrived, carrying a pot roast with vegetables, hot bread, and double chocolate crunch ice cream. She sat at the bar while Karen ate, constantly insisting on “one more bite.”

  As they were putting away the leftovers, enough for three more days, Karen guessed, her mother had told her she knew a really nice guy about Karen’s age. Would Karen go out with him?

  “Mother you promised,” Karen had growled, in no mood even to think about dating. Most likely, in fact, she would never date again.

  “You told me that after three dates with Mark Stuart, you would not mention my need for a husband again as long as either of us was alive. Remember?”

  “I do remember, sweetheart, but I’ve said nothing about marriage and I’m not trying to match-make. I just thought you would enjoy going out. Something to distract you.”

  Her mother glanced around the room. She had helped K
aren clean up after she had arrived. Dirty dishes had been piled in the sink. Throw pillows had been tossed haphazardly on the floor. An empty Chinese take-out box had decorated the side table.

  “You just seem so down,” her mother said. “Don’t think of it as a date. You’ll be going out for a good time. Please think about it.”

  In the end, Karen had said the guy could call. After all, what did she have to lose? He might be her last chance, after all.

  To her surprise, he had, and he was taking her to a Halloween party on Saturday. She decided to cling to the guy all night, pay no attention at all to anyone else. See how that worked out.

  Karen was meeting a friend for lunch, and she had packed sandwiches, cookies, and soft drinks for them both. Her friend, Kimi Carson, was an attorney at the McIntosh Law Firm, an old, established practice in Charleston. She had originally met Kimi during an office party on her one date with one of the firm’s junior partners, had seen her on other occasions, and become friends during a church retreat one cold, rainy weekend at a beach house. They had run into each other at the demonstration in Marion Square the morning of her first date with Mark, and Kimi had attended the gala that night at the museum.

  “Karen,” Kimi called, waving as she entered the park from Meeting Street, the gate closest to the courthouse. “How have you been?”

  “I’m fine, thank you. How are you?” It was the all-but-automatic polite response drilled in to Southern children from birth. Karen recalled parroting it to her doctor once when she had pneumonia, so sick she could hardly sit in his exam room.

  But Kimi was her friend.

  “That’s not true,” she said as Kimi sat beside her on the bench. “A guy I kind of liked decided he never wanted to see me again.” She described their dinner at the Mountain Grill.

  “And he hadn’t the decency to tell me how he felt. My friend Vicky talked with him last week, or I’d still be in limbo, waiting for his call.”