be making far greater progress. Charlotte, however, had no intention of letting her daughter take control of her relationship with Jason Manning.
“I think Jason’s wonderful,” Charlotte admitted softly. She did like her landlord. Yet, at the same time, she was grateful he hadn’t taken the initiative and contacted her again. If he had, she wasn’t sure how she would’ve responded.
“If you’re so crazy about him, then do something about it,” Carrie said again.
“Like what?” Even if Charlotte had a drawerful of ideas, she doubted she’d ever find the courage to use any of them. She didn’t know how to chase after a man and had no interest in doing so.
“You’re asking me?” Carrie asked. “C’mon, who’s the kid here?” She launched herself onto the cushion beside Charlotte. “What went wrong?” she asked, looking up at her mother with mournful eyes. “The two of you seemed to be getting along really well when I walked in last week.”
Charlotte slid her arm around Carrie’s shoulders. Despite her efforts not to, she grinned, remembering when she, too, had been so wise and confident.
“It might’ve had something to do with the subject of marriage—which you brought up. He seemed to get a bit green around the gills at that point.”
“You think it frightened him off?” Carrie asked anxiously.
Charlotte shrugged. She’d brought up the subject herself, not quite as directly, but she had mentioned it. If ever there was a born bachelor, she decided, it was Jason Manning. Together, mother and daughter had managed to terrify the man. He must think they were sitting in their apartment ready to ambush him, tie him up and drag him in front of the closest preacher.
Charlotte wasn’t sure what she wanted anymore. Perhaps she was protecting her ego by convincing herself that she wouldn’t have gone out with Jason if he’d asked again. Perhaps it was just her pride. Charlotte didn’t know because the opportunity hadn’t come up.
She was embarrassed to admit it, but what Carrie had said about her hanging around the mailbox hoping to accidentally run into Jason was true. But she wasn’t looking for a way to get him to ask her out, she told herself. She only wanted to set things straight. Since they hadn’t met, accidentally or otherwise, Charlotte was content to let it drop. He apparently was, too.
Jason Manning had been a brief but pleasant interlude in her—she had to acknowledge it—humdrum life.
She was grateful for their time together. He’d taught her everything she needed to know about basketball. He’d challenged her in a battle of wits about male and female roles in society. Convinced her never again to eat a jalapeño pepper to prove a point. And most important, he’d kissed her in a way that made her believe, for those few minutes, that she was whole and desirable. It’d felt so good to surrender her fears and her doubts. If nothing else, she’d always be grateful for that.
“Maybe he’s waiting to hear from you,” Carrie said next. “It’s your turn to ask him out, isn’t it?”
“It doesn’t work that way with adults, sweetie.” Although Charlotte had no idea if that was even true.
“Then it should. I’m not going to sit home and wait for a man to call me. If I like him, I’ll phone him. It’s ridiculous to be a slave to such an outdated tradition.”
Charlotte agreed with her daughter, but in this instance she planned to do nothing at all. And that included hovering around the mailboxes.
It had been a long day, and Jason was tired when he pulled into the parking lot outside his apartment complex. He scanned the limited spaces, looking for Charlotte’s car. The blue PT Cruiser was in the appropriate slot, so he knew she was home.
It wasn’t that he was trying to run into her, but he wouldn’t mind seeing her, finding out how she was doing—that sort of thing. He didn’t intend anything more than a wave and maybe a friendly “I’m-fine-how-are-you?” exchange. Then he’d go about his business and she could go about hers.
Not calling Charlotte was proving to be more difficult than he’d ever expected. He thought about her even more now. He dreamed about her. Just that morning, the alarm had gone off and he was lying there in bed, trying to force himself to get up, when Charlotte casually sauntered into his mind. He couldn’t help thinking how good it would feel to have her there beside him, how soft her body would feel next to his. He’d banished the thought immediately, angry about indulging in such a fantasy.
It had started the night before. When he’d arrived home from work, he’d found himself checking out the rear tire of Charlotte’s car. From a distance it looked like it might be low on air. On closer examination, he realized it wasn’t. He felt almost disappointed not to have an excuse to speak to her.
This evening he could tell from a distance that there wasn’t anything wrong with her tires. Once again he wished there was, so he could talk to her.
Inside his apartment, he reached for the remote control and automatically turned on the television. The six-thirty news crew made for excellent company.
As the forecaster gave dire warnings about the weather, Jason checked out the meager contents of his refrigerator. One of these days he’d have to break down and buy groceries.
As he suspected, nothing interesting presented itself, at least nothing he’d seriously consider eating. An empty cardboard carton from a six-pack of beer. A can of half-eaten pork and beans. A leftover taco, probably harder than cement, wrapped in a napkin, and a jar of green olives. He opened the jar, stuck his hand inside and fished out the last two, returning the container of liquid to the shelf. Chewing on the olives, he closed the door.
What he was really in the mood for was—he hated to admit it. What he’d really like was chocolate chip cookies. Well, he could forget that. The store-bought ones tasted like lumpy paste, and his mother would keep him on the phone with an endless list of questions if he were to call her and request a batch. Besides, it wasn’t his mother’s recipe he craved. It was Charlotte’s.
Well, you can forget that, ol’ boy.
A box of macaroni and cheese was the most interesting prospect his cupboard had to offer. He took it out and checked the freezer compartment of the refrigerator and brought out two frozen wieners wrapped in aluminum foil.
He was adding water to a pan when there was a frantic knocking on his door. Whoever it was pounded again before he had time to cross the apartment.
He saw Charlotte, pale and stricken, her lavender cardigan covered in blood. Her eyes were panicky. “A dog … someone ran over a dog … they didn’t even stop. Please … can you come?”
“Of course.” He kept a black bag at the house for just such emergencies. He grabbed that and hurried after her.
Charlotte was waiting for him, her eyes bright with tears. “He’s unconscious.”
“You moved him?”
“Only to get him out of the street.”
“Did you see it happen?” he asked, trotting along behind her.
“No. I heard tires screech and a yelp, and that was it. By the time I got outside, a few kids had gathered around, but no one knew what to do.”
