To Fall in Love Again Page 6

  “I had a good time on my trip. I enjoyed the flight home. I think I’ll leave it at that. It’s probably too soon. Anyhow, that’s what your sister would say.” She gave the counter a final swipe with her towel. “I was a little upset after a couple of weeks passed, but I really don’t think about it now. I wouldn’t have been talking about Drew tonight if Zach had not brought it up.”

  Amy flicked the light switch. “I’m going to bed. See you in the morning.”

  ***

  “I’m sorry, I need to go. That’s right. Good-bye.” Drew replaced the receiver and swung his chair around to see who was knocking at his door.

  “Come in,” he called.

  “Dr. Nelson?” A young woman peered into the office.

  He strode toward her. “Yes. Are you Ms. Barrett?”

  “Hi, Dr. Nelson. Yes, I’m Catherine Barrett. I appreciate your taking the time to see me this morning.”

  Drew smiled as he took her hand. “It’s nice to meet you, Ms. Barrett. Come in. Sit down.” He held the door for her to enter.

  She appraised his office, looking surprised. Unlike many teachers’ offices, Drew’s was organized. His books were on shelves, rather than in piles on the floor and on chairs, and his papers were in file folders, and the folders were in small stacks on the large desk. He had a green plant set in the middle of a small conference table—it had been a gift from Di, one she’d planted for him.

  He motioned toward the table. “Let’s sit over here.” He retrieved a folder from his desk.

  She continued to glance around the room as she sat, her eyes focusing on the three photographs that were set on the credenza behind his desk.

  Drew’s eyes followed hers. “My family,” he said.

  “Is that your wife? She’s beautiful.”

  “Thank you. How can I help you, Ms. Barrett?”

  “I’m a senior at the college. My honors thesis is going to address the relationships among several structures in the cerebral cortex and ADHD. Dr. Henderson, my advisor, told me that you and Dr. Watson are authorities on the topic and that you are concluding a ten-year study on the relationship between an abnormal structure in the frontal lobe of the brain and distractibility. He wanted me to talk with one of you about your research.”

  “Your advisor sent me some information about your thesis. It looks quite interesting.”

  “Thank you.”

  Drew started to open the folder, but stopped. “Would you like coffee? It’s Starbucks, even though we make it here.” He smiled. “Our secretary used to be a barista there. When we were recruiting to fill her position, that item on her resume tipped the decision in her favor.”

  She laughed. “My Mom believes that it’s not coffee if it doesn’t come from Starbucks.”

  “A wise woman.”

  “Coffee would be great. With milk, if you have it, or cream.”

  Drew left and returned quickly with their coffee. He found Cathy studying the photographs of wild flowers hanging on the far wall. In one, the yellow blooms filled a field and stretched far into the distance, only ending when a line of mountains pushed up from the flat ground. The sun was just rising behind the mountains and the star-shaped flare produced a dramatic effect.

  “You found my wild flowers.” He handed her a coffee—in a real cup, not Styrofoam—and she looked suitably impressed.

  “They’re beautiful, Dr. Nelson.”

  “Thank you. I took the photographs in Colorado back in July. I was attending a workshop there. Wonderful weather, beautiful flowers, good food—great trip.” He sat at the conference table. “Now, tell me more about your thesis.”

  They sipped coffee and talked about her thesis for over half an hour.

  “Have you ever done any data analysis, Ms. Barrett?”

  “I have.” She described her work on two research projects, one of which she had conducted as a class project. On the other one, she had assisted Dr. Henderson.

  “We’ve just completed the data collection phase of a project directly relevant to your thesis. Our data analyst did some preliminary work, but he has moved on. We will need someone to help us with the analysis. Would you be interested? We have a grant. We could pay you as a student assistant.”

  She gasped. “That would be so—” She took a deep breath, as if to compose herself. “That sounds very interesting, Dr. Nelson. I’d certainly like to find out more about the project.”

  “Jody Watson, in Psychiatry, actually, has the grant, so you would be working for him. He’s already seen the material your advisor sent over. Could I have him call you?”

  “Surely. Let me give you my number.” She wrote her number on a sheet of paper. As she handed it to him, she looked back at the photographs on the wall. “Dr. Nelson, you said that you took the photographs in Colorado last July.”

  “That’s right. I attended a workshop in Ouray.”

  “My mother was in Colorado in July. She’d been visiting her sister in Aspen.”

  He looked at the paper with her name and phone number. “Wait. Catherine Barrett? Do you go by Cathy?”

  “My family calls me Cathy.”

  “Is Amy Barrett your mother? We were on the same flights coming back from Colorado.”

  A smile spread across her face. “You were sitting next to my mom when she spilled her coffee.”

  Drew laughed. “I was. I was. We had a very interesting trip.”

  They stood in silence for a moment.

  “Well, I’ll have Dr. Watson call you and,” he extended a hand, “I hope that we’ll be working together. If the data indicate what we expect, there will be several publications, at least one paper to present. We’ll see a lot of each other.”

  “I’ll look forward to his call.”

  As she started to leave, Drew turned and stared out of the window, thinking—Cathy looked just like her mother.

  “Dr. Nelson.”

  He turned to face her as she stood in the doorway.

  “Can I ask you something? Something personal?”

  “Surely.”

  “I shouldn’t ask this—my mother would be horrified—but you never called her after you came home.” Her eyes went to the photograph of Di behind his desk. “Was it because you’re married?”

  Drew glanced at the photograph too, shaking his head. “My wife passed away early this year.”

  “I’m so sorry. I’m sorry. Let me go.” She turned and stepped into the hall.

  “Your mother disappeared as we left the airplane. I turned to get my luggage, turned back, and she was gone.”

  Cathy spun back around.

  “Oh no. I mean, she told me that she handed you her card, with her cell number on it. It started to rain and she ran for cover.”

  Drew shook his head. “I never saw a card. I decided she didn’t want to hear from me.”

  Cathy walked back to the conference table and pulled a sheet of paper from her notebook then wrote a phone number on it. “Here is her number. She would like very much to hear from you.”

  Drew smiled.

  “But not today,” she said quickly. “Not tonight. I need to tell her first.” She paused, a sheepish look crossing her face. “And I’d better stand across the room when I say it.”

  ***

  It was almost dark when Cathy arrived home. Amy was in the kitchen, sliding a pizza into the oven. “Pizza all right for dinner? It’s homemade, with tomatoes, sausage, and blue cheese.”

  “Sounds good, if not conventional.” Both laughed at the shared joke. Amy seldom made a typical pepperoni pizza, and hers were square.

  “How was school?”

  Cathy put her notebook on the kitchen table. “School was fine. You remember that my advisor sent me over to the medical school to talk with one of the professors about my honors thesis?” She reached into a bowl of fruit and extracted an apple.

  “Don’t ruin your dinner.” Amy set the timer on the oven. “Twenty-five minutes.” She turned around. “Yes, I remember.”

&nbs
p; “I drove over there today to meet with him, and it was so cool. Dr. Henderson had sent over a copy of my proposal so he knew what I wanted to talk about. He gave me some articles to read and a bunch of citations to check out.”

  “That’s great.”

  “Mom, he offered me a job.”

  “You’re joking.” Amy wiped her hands on a towel and picked up a glass of iced tea.

  “Dead serious. Two of the professors just finished collecting data from a research project, and he asked if I could help with the data analysis. Their research was on the same topic as my thesis and, if I had not talked with him, I might have ended my paper with the suggestion that someone do the same project.”

  “That would have been embarrassing, wouldn’t it?” Amy sipped her tea.

  “Majorly. Anyway, I’ll be cited in their research reports and maybe take part in the presentation of a paper at a convention. Oh, and they have a grant. They will pay me.”

  “Terrific.” Amy hugged her. “I’m so happy for you. Who will you be working with?”

  “Dr. Jody Watson is the lead investigator. I’m meeting with him on Thursday. But it was the other professor I met with today, and he was so nice to me, Mom. Treated me like an adult. Brought me coffee in a real cup and saucer.”

  Amy laughed. “Sounds like a winner.”

  Cathy took a deep breath and walked around to the other side of the table, a serious look coming over her face.

  “While he went to get my coffee, I was looking around his office. There was the most beautiful photograph on one of the walls, a field of yellow flowers, mountains in the distance, the sun just peeking over them.” She paused as Amy checked the pizza.

  “Pretty photographs?”

  “He told me that he took them last July…in Colorado.”

  Amy shut the oven and spun around. “Catherine Barrett, who was the professor? Who did you meet with this morning?”

  “Dr. Andrew Nelson.”

  “I see.” Her voice was quiet as she stared at Cathy, an extended moment of silence passing between them.

  Cathy broke it first. “I told him that my mom was in Colorado in July, visiting her sister. He asked if my friends called me Cathy.”

  Again, there was silence.

  “The coffee stain came out of his pants.” Cathy pinched her lips together, as if she was holding back a grin.

  “What?”

  “The coffee stain—”

  “I heard you.” Amy swallowed hard. “Your impression was correct. Drew does seem to be a very nice person. I…I…” She tossed her oven mitts on the counter and turned to leave. “Will you please watch the pizza? I’ll be right back.”

  Her face felt warm and she was beginning to cry as she started toward the back of the house.

  “He didn’t get the card, Mom,” Cathy called as Amy reached the door to the hall.

  She stopped and turned. “What did you say?”

  “He didn’t get the card. He said he turned to get his suitcase and when he turned back you were disappearing into the terminal. He never saw you again.”

  “You talked about me? You told him that I wanted him to call me?” Amy’s voice was rising. “How dare you do that? How could you humiliate me like that?” She hid her face in her hands and began to sob.

  Cathy rushed around the table and wrapped her arms around her, but Amy pushed her away.

  “Don’t meddle in my life. Do you hear me? Don’t do it. Leave me alone.” She turned to run down the hall, but Cathy caught her.

  “Mom, stop. Stop.”

  She did, but stood with her back to Cathy, still crying.

  “Mom, you’re miserable. When you came home from Colorado, you were smiling. You would walk around the house humming. I have never seen you so…so happy. I thought you must have been on something. Then it stopped.”

  Amy did not reply.

  “You realized he was not going to call, and you were depressed again. Well, Mom, he wanted to call. He didn’t have your number.”

  “He knows where I work.”

  “You know where he works.”

  “A woman does not make the first move.”

  “Bull. You’d already made the first move.” Cathy hugged her again.

  She sniffled. “What did he say?”

  “He looked as unhappy as you have been looking, and I gave him your number.”

  Amy didn’t move. “Well?”

  “He’s going to call you, Mom. Not tonight. I made him promise. I wanted to talk to you first.”

  She looked into Cathy’s eyes. “I’m so angry with you, I could beat you.” She took a deep breath. “But thank you. Thank you, Cathy. You always look out for me, don’t you?”

  Cathy hugged her. “Always, Mom. Always.”

  First Date

  Amy awoke the next morning feeling as she had forty years before, when her best friend, Marie, had told her that Ted Barton was going to ask her to go to the football game with him that Friday. Ted was tall, with dark hair and eyes, a sweet smile, and a wicked sense of humor—just what she wanted in a boyfriend. Marie had called her with the news on Sunday night, and Monday morning she’d woken up with butterflies in her stomach.

  She’d left early for school that day and had looked for Ted as she’d rushed into the building, well before the first bell. As they’d passed in the hall after second period, she’d smiled at him, and then she’d almost cried when he’d spent his lunch talking to Shawn Bailey.

  As school had ended and Amy had trudged toward the door, she’d felt a tap on her shoulder. Turning, she’d found herself face-to-face with Ted. He was beet-red and stammered as he’d asked her to go to the game.

  Amy smiled at the memory.

  Entering her office, she took the fully charged cell phone from her belt clip and placed it on her desk, double-checking that she’d turned the ringer on high. She sat down and reviewed her schedule. She had no meetings today. That was good.

  “Hi, Mom.” Barb slouched in the doorway. “We have a problem. Actually, Christy has the problem. Her program won’t run and I’m simply too busy to try to figure out her complicated code and—”

  “I’ll be right there, Barb.”

  Amy hurried off to fix the issue and returned to her office an hour later. Computers are so literal, she thought. One extra semi-colon at the end of a line of code and the program bombed. Finding the bugs in another person’s program was a difficult process, but she enjoyed the challenge, and troubleshooting was one of her primary responsibilities.

  As she entered, she spied her cell phone on the desk where she had left it, forgetting to take it with her as she’d rushed out. From the door she could see that she had missed a call.

  “Let it be Cathy. Or Elaine or Heather,” she whispered. The number was not familiar. She sighed and glanced at the clock. Ten thirty. She started to hit the Recall button, but changed her mind, deciding to wait to see if he—if the caller—would try again.

  The butterflies began once more as she drove home after work. She had repeatedly picked up her phone, looked at the number from which the call had come, and thought about returning it. Other than that, her telephone had been silent all day, not even a text had come through.

  Had it been Drew that called? Maybe he was as nervous as she was. Maybe he had called, but had taken her failure to answer as a bad omen. Maybe he had run into a gorgeous blonde at lunch. Maybe…

  “I’m being ridiculous,” she said aloud.

  ***

  After dinner, Amy sat in the family room, trying to read, checking the time and also her telephone every few minutes. Cathy had an evening class, and nothing good was on television. As the grandfather clock struck eight, she decided to go to make a cup of tea.

  As she placed the kettle on the stove “Scotland the Brave” blared from her telephone, and Amy remembered why she seldom set the volume on high.

  She dashed back to the family room, but the telephone was not in sight. She began to toss pillows off the sofa. She pus
hed books off the coffee table. “Oh please,” she whispered.

  Just as she pulled a cushion off the sofa and spotted the cell, the music stopped.

  “No, no, no.” She checked the number. “Not the same as this morning,” she said to herself, then took a deep breath. “I won’t let this one go.” She pushed Recall.

  “Hello.” It was Drew.

  “Drew. Hi, this is Amy.” The tea kettle began to whistle. “Drew, I’m sorry, hold on, the tea kettle, the water is boiling.” She ran to the kitchen and snatched the kettle off the stove, while tears—of frustration as well as relief—were stinging her eyes. As she set the kettle on a cool surface, it tipped and some of the water splashed on the stove, sizzling as it hit. She yelped in surprise.

  “Drew, are you still there?” She heard him laughing and she wiped her eyes. “I was making tea, the water was boiling, and then I almost spilled it on myself.”

  “Be careful. Hot liquids can be dangerous.”

  Amy smiled. “So I’ve been told.”

  There was a pause while she changed her cell from one hand to the other.

  “You once told me that you’re not usually clumsy.”

  “I’m not—except on very special occasions.” She drew out the words for emphasis. It felt good to hear him tease with her. She turned to make sure that she had turned the stove off.

  “You met my daughter, I hear.”

  “Yes, I did.”

  They were quiet for a moment, and then Drew cleared his throat.

  “I, uh, I was wondering if you would like to have lunch together. On Saturday, perhaps.”

  ***

  Amy arrived at the Caldera Café shortly before eleven. She had never eaten at the Caldera before, even though it was within walking distance of her house and she had, several times, suggested that she and Jack give it a try.

  Drew was waiting, sitting on the patio, talking with the waitress as she refilled his iced tea. He stood when he saw Amy. “It’s good to see you again.”

  He held the chair for her, then took his seat. As he did, his hand brushed against a napkin. It floated to the floor and he bent to retrieve it. “You admitted to being clumsy on special occasions, so I suppose I can admit to dropping things,” he smiled, “but only on very special occasions.” He folded it and placed it to one side of the table. “I understand that I dropped your telephone number on the tarmac.”