Julian said.
“Oh, yes, I know who you mean. Perfect. Yes, that’s Wyatt to a T.” We laughed.
“Hey, is Kiki joining us this morning?” he asked.
“No,” I said. “She met someone last night and really thinks he’s The One.” Julian chorused the last few words along with me. It was Kiki’s habit, this falling madly in love. She excelled at finding The One, which she did often, and usually with disastrous results, becoming obsessed by the end of the first date, scaring the man away with talk of forevermore. If history repeated itself (and it usually did, as this history teacher knew quite well), she’d be crushed by this time next week, possibly with a restraining order filed against her.
So no Kiki. That was okay. Julian and I shared a love of antiques and vintage clothes. I was, after all, a history teacher, so it made sense. He was a gay man and dance instructor, so that made sense, too. Strolling along the crooked and quiet streets of Peterston, stopping in at the funky shops, the promise of leaves and flowers just around the corner, I felt happy. After a long, sloppy winter, it was good to be outside.
Peterston, Connecticut, is a small city on the Farmington River, accessible only by locals and clever tourists who excel in map-reading. Once famed for making more plow blades than any other place on God’s green earth, the town had gone from desolate neglect to a scruffy charm in the past decade or so. Main Street led right down to the river, where there was a trail for walking. In fact, I could get home by walking along the Farmington, and often did. Mom and Dad lived five miles downriver in Avon, and sometimes I walked there, too.
Yes, I was content this morning. I loved Julian, I loved Angus, who trotted adorably at the end of his red-and-purple braided leash. And I loved having my family think I was in a relationship, not to mention completely over Andrew.
“Maybe I should get a new outfit or two,” I mused outside of The Chic Boutique. “Now that I’m seeing a doctor and all. Something never worn by another.”
“Absolutely. You’ll need something nice for those hospital functions,” Julian seconded immediately. We entered the store, Angus in my arms, and emerged an hour or so later, laden with bags.
“I love dating Wyatt Dunn,” I said, grinning. “In fact, I may get an entire makeover. Haircut, mani, pedi…God, I haven’t done that in ages. What do you think? Want to come?”
“Grace,” Julian said, pausing. He took a deep breath, nodded to a passerby, then continued. “Grace, maybe we should…”
“Get lunch instead?” I suggested, petting Angus, who was licking the bag that contained my new shoes.
Julian smiled. “No, I was thinking more like maybe we should really try to meet someone. Two someones. You know. Maybe we should stop depending on each other so much and really get out there again.”
I didn’t answer. Julian sighed. “See, I think I might be ready. And you having a fake boyfriend, well, that’s cute and all, but… maybe it’s time for the real thing. Not that your fake boyfriends aren’t fun, too.” Julian had known me a long time.
“Right,” I said, nodding slowly. The thought of dating made a light sweat break out on my back. It wasn’t that I didn’t want love, marriage, the whole shmere… I just hated the thought of what one had to do to get to that point.
“I will if you will,” he prodded. “And just think. Maybe there is a real Wyatt Dunn out there for you. You could fall in love and then Andrew wouldn’t…” His voice trailed off, and his dark eyes were apologetic. “Well. Who knows?”
“Sure. Yeah. Well.” I closed my eyes briefly. Pictured Tim Gunn/Atticus Finch/Rhett Butler/George Clooney. “All right. I’ll give it a shot.”
“Okay. So. I’m going home to register on a dating Web site, and you do the same.”
“Yes, General Jackson. Whatever you say.” I saluted, he returned the gesture, kissed me on the cheek and headed for his place.
Watching my old friend walk away, I imagined with an unpleasant jolt what it would be like to have Julian as half of a happy couple. Imagined him not coming over once or twice a week, not asking me to help at his Dancin’ with the Oldies class at Golden Meadows, not going shopping with me on Saturday mornings. Instead of me, some gorgeous man would be sitting in my place.
Now that would really suck. “Not that we’re selfish or anything,” I muttered. Angus chewed on the hem of my jeans in response. We headed for home, down the narrow path that followed the river, Angus straining on the leash and getting tangled in my bags. My dog wanted to investigate the Farmington, but it was so fat and full and loud that it would sweep him away. Red buds swelled on the swamp maples, but only a few bushes had any actual green on them. The earth was damp, the birds twittered and hopped in their annual search for a mate.
The last man I’d been in love with was Andrew, and try though I might, I couldn’t remember how it had felt when we first fell in love. All my memories of him were tainted, obviously, but still…to belong to someone again, someone right this time. Really meant for me.
Julian had a point. It was time to start over. Sure, I’d tried to scare up a date for Kitty’s wedding. But a relationship was different. I wanted to meet someone. I needed to meet someone, a man I could really love. Surely, somewhere out there, there was a man who would see me as the most beautiful creature on earth, the one who made his very heart beat, made the breath in his lungs sweet and all that sappy garbage. Someone who would help me put the final nail in the Andrew coffin.
It was time.
MY ANSWERING MACHINE LIGHT was blinking when I got home. “You have five messages,” the mechanical voice announced. Wow. That was unusual for me. One each from Nat and Margaret—Nat was dying to get together and hear about Wyatt; Margaret sounded a bit more sardonic. Number three was from Mom, reminding me about her upcoming art show and suggesting I bring my lovely doctor. Number four was from Dad, giving me my assignment for next week’s battle and also suggesting I bring Wyatt, as Brother Against Brother was low on Yankees.
Looked like my family had swallowed my tale of Wyatt pretty well.
The final message was from Officer Butch Martinelli of the Peterston Police Department asking me to return his call. Oh, crap. I’d almost forgotten about that. The clubbing. Beads of sweat jumped out on my forehead. I dialed the number immediately and asked for the good sergeant.
“Yes, Ms. Emerson. I have some information on the man you assaulted last night.”
Assaulted. I assaulted someone. The guy was a burglar last night; now he was the vic. “Right,” I said, my voice squeaking. “I didn’t exactly assault him—more of a… misplaced act of self-defense.” Because he said hi, and we can’t have that, can we?
“He’s legit,” the officer continued, ignoring me. “Apparently, he just bought the house, long-distance, and the key was supposed to be left for him, but it wasn’t. He was looking for it—that’s why he was wandering around.” The officer paused. “We kept him overnight, because we couldn’t verify the story until this morning. We just released him about an hour ago.”
I closed my eyes. “Um… is he okay?”
“Well, nothing’s broken, though he does have quite a shiner.”
“Oh, good God!” What a
