Daddy's Choice

Carol related the dismal tale as she poured a cup of coffee for her friend.

“And is that towering creature with the wavy blond hair the villain of this piece?” Jane asked archly. “He nodded to me as I breezed past him, laden with my twenty pounds of books. He took them from me in silence and deposited them on the porch, then nodded again when I thanked him.”

“That’s the one. John Spencer says he doesn’t talk very much.”

“For heaven’s sake, Carol, who cares if he can talk? That’s the most gorgeous man I have ever seen! I can’t believe you were trying to get rid of him, I would have been begging him to stay.”

“I must be a little more interested in passing the bar than you are, Jane,” Carol said dryly.

“Oh, come on, the noise isn’t that bad.”

“Today it isn’t that bad. Yesterday it sounded like the anvil chorus was being performed on my roof.”

“So you had a romantic dinner with him?” Jane asked, selecting the most interesting tidbit from Carol’s previous recitation.

“I did not have a romantic dinner with him,” Carol replied in a strong voice. “We shared a meal because we both happened to be in the same place at the same time. The whole event lasted little more than an hour.”

“How could you let that opportunity pass? You should have nailed his feet to the floor for the night!”

“I was angry with him, Jane,” Carol said, beginning to get annoyed with her friend, too. “He was insisting on completing a job I didn’t want done. Don’t you get the picture?”

“I’ll bet you weren’t angry by the time dinner was over,” Jane observed slyly.

Carol shot her a look.

“So he’s staying?” Jane said, cutting to the chase.

“Obviously.”

“Well, at least I’ll have the scenery to look forward to around here, since you’re a complete grouch.”

Carol lifted a stack of three-by-five index cards and placed them on the table between them.

“May we begin with these notes on contracts?” she said, changing the subject to the work at hand.

Jane reached for them resignedly and began to read out loud.

Around noon Jane suddenly raised her head and said, “What’s that sound?”

“Blessed silence. The crew is taking a lunch break.”

Jane leapt up from the table and walked over to the front window, peering past a wad of padding to look out at the front lawn. “Oh, be still my heart! Blondie is taking off his shirt.”

Carol scrambled over to the window and yanked the shade down to the sill.

“Why did you do that?” Jane demanded, outraged.

“Do you want him to see you peering out at him like some swooning teenager?”

“Anyone is permitted to look out the window, Carol. You’re being ridiculous.”

The phone started ringing, sparing Carol a reply. When she answered it she heard a sweetly feminine voice say, “Hi, this is Madeline, Mr. Kirkland’s personal assistant. Would it be possible for me to speak to him? I have to consult him about a business matter.”

Carol put the caller on hold and headed for the door.

“Where are you going?” Jane demanded.

“The call is for Kirkland,” Carol said shortly. Before Jane could answer, Carol was out the door and down the steps, striding across the lawn, which was now covered with a layer of fine dust and large wood chips. Kirkland looked up from his sandwich as Carol stopped in front of him.

“Help you?” he said.

“There’s a call for you inside the house,” Carol said.

He rose immediately, untying his T-shirt from his waist and slipping it over his head. He left the sandwich behind on the tailgate of his truck where he had been sitting. His men watched as he followed Carol back into the house.

“Over there,” Carol said, pointing to the phone sitting on the kitchen table. Both women left the room as he leaned against the wall and spoke into the receiver, the call box under his arm.

“I’ll bet it was a woman,” Jane muttered under her breath as she and Carol entered the living room.

“She said it was a business matter,” Carol whispered back.

“Huh. Monkey business.”

“Jane…”

“He put his shirt back on to come in here. Very gallant.”

Carol opened her mouth to reply, then thought better of it as Kirkland joined them.

“Thanks,” he said to Carol.

She nodded. His attitude toward her was distant and businesslike; it was as if their shared dinner had never happened.

“The mobile phone in my truck has been on the blink for the last couple of days. All I get is static. But I’ve got them working on it, you won’t be bothered again,” he added.

“It was no bother,” Carol said.

“Hi, I’m Jane Langley. How do you do?” Jane said, stepping forward and sticking out her hand.

Kirkland shook it, glancing once at Carol and then back at Jane. “How are you?” he said to her.

“Great. Seems like you guys are making a lot of progress on the house,” she said brightly.

He nodded.

“Construction must be an interesting business,” Jane observed.

“It has its moments,” he replied shortly.

“Do you work mostly in the summer?” Jane asked, emitting a flood of pheromones.

“Outdoor jobs. In the cold weather I do plastering and flooring, that kind of thing.” He looked once more at Carol. “Well, I’d better get back out there. Thanks again.” He walked out of the house, and the front door closed behind him moments later.

“‘Construction must be an interesting business,’” Carol chirped, batting her lashes, imitating Jane. “About as interesting as watching grass grow. Really, Jane, sometimes you can be embarrassing.”

“At least I talked to him. You stood there like a floor lamp.”

“Perhaps I’m reluctant to make a fool of myself,” Carol said.

“Fine, Carol. You can play it cool if you like. I’m a human being even if you’re not, and I plan to try again.”

“Then you’re not studying here with me. I am not going to have you panting after him every time you come to this house.” Carol turned her back on Jane to pour herself a cup of coffee.

“You’re forbidding me to talk to him?”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

“Then what? I can ask him out?”

“Don’t you think that’s a bit forward?”

“Don’t you think you’re a bit Victorian?”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake, Jane, what are we arguing about? The man is probably married.” Carol put the pot back on the warmer and picked up her cup.

“He’s not married.”

Carol whirled to face her, the cup in her hand sloshing liquid. “How do you know?”

Jane burst out laughing and leveled an accusing finger at her friend. “You are interested in him, I knew it!”

“I’m interested in him, okay?” Carol said quietly. “You’re right. It’s utterly absurd. The man undoubtedly hates me because I tried to get him thrown off this job, but there’s just something about him…”

“There certainly is, and I must say I’m relieved that you’ve noticed it. At school you were so glued to your books I wondered if you were preparing for a somewhat unusual legal career in a convent.”

Carol sighed. “Jane, this conversation is getting us nowhere. I am starving and I’m going to make lunch. You may join me if you like, if you can stop talking long enough to chew.”

Jane pulled out a chair at the kitchen table and sat. “I have one last thing to say.”

Carol closed her eyes. “As long as it is the last thing.”

“Now that you’ve met someone you want, go after him.”

“In my own way, Jane. Not yours.”

Jane held up her hands to indicate innocence. “I’ll be a fly on the wall,” she said meekly.

“That’ll be the day. Tuna, grilled cheese, or turkey?”

“Tuna,” Jane replied glumly, and hooked her sandaled feet in the rungs of the chair.

Three

Two weeks went by, during which the roof was reshingled, the new back deck took shape, and Jane arrived to study every day. Tay Kirkland came and went like clockwork, directing his men, talking to Carol only when it was necessary, interrupting her routine as little as possible.

It was exactly what she had requested, but she didn’t like it. She longed for an interlude of personal intimacy like their meal in Avalon, some indication that he knew she was alive, but he stayed out of her way. She caught glimpses of him, but the most she received in response to her greetings was a nod. Jane constantly urged Carol to go outside and talk to Tay, but she couldn’t strike up a conversation with all of his employees looking on like a studio audience.

Maybe Jane could, but Carol couldn’t.

One day when Jane had decided to spend the morning at the law library in Cape May, researching a point of the New Jersey criminal code, Carol noticed that Kirkland arrived alone. She watched as he left his truck and disappeared around the corner of the house. Curious, she opened the door to the back deck and found him crouched on the ground, filling a crack in the foundation with what looked like grout.

He glanced up as she emerged.

“What are you doing?” she asked, leaning over the railing to get a better look.

“Sealing the cellar wall. We disturbed the ground and caused a few fissures in the stone. If I don’t fill them with this stuff, water will seep in and cause problems in the future.”

“Where are the guys?”

“They’re finishing up another project on the west side of town. This is a one-man job anyway.” He looked over her shoulder. “Where’s your buddy?”

“She went to look something up in the Jersey archives. The procedure for bringing cases into court varies from state to state and we have to bone up on the local methods.”

He nodded one of his frustrating, noncommittal nods. Carol mustered her courage and said quickly, “Would you like to come in for a cup of coffee?”

He looked up from his work and studied her with such intensity that Carol grew uncomfortable. Was this a major decision? Had she asked him to marry her?

“Sure,” he finally said shortly, putting down his grout gun. He rose in one smooth motion and took a rag from his back pocket, wiping the gray gunk from his fingers as he came up the steps. He paused on the landing next to Carol, looking down at her. She was tall, but he was taller. It was an unusual sensation for Carol to look so far up into a man’s eyes.

“Come in,” she said hastily to break the spell. When she opened the door he put his arm above her head to hold it for her, and she caught a brief scent of soap and sun-warmed male flesh. Then he moved and the moment passed.

“Have a seat,” she added.

He pulled out a chair and dropped into it, easing down onto the base of his spine and stretching his long legs in front of him. Today he was wearing an aqua T-shirt, faded from many washings, which dyed his eyes the color of a Bermuda inlet at dawn. He watched her move around the kitchen, pouring coffee, setting out a plate of cookies, and she fancied she could feel his eyes boring into her back. When she sat across from him he took a bite of one of the cookies and said, “Good.” He smiled. “She cooks, too.”

“Not really. They’re from a mix.”

“Well, you didn’t burn them.”

“True.” She watched the working of his throat as he swallowed. “How long do you think it will take to wrap up this job?” she asked.

“Still trying to get rid of me?” he countered.

Carol looked at him directly. “No.”

He shrugged. “It’s hard to say. A lot of variables are involved—the efficiency of the crew, the quality of the materials, the weather…”

“The weather? It’s been nice every day.”

“Hurricane season is coming soon, and this house is in a bad spot.”

“Why?”

“The locals call this inlet Hurricane Bay. The close headlands on either side of it create a funnel that narrows to a point just past your place. It makes a wind tunnel in a storm. The schoolhouse roof has blown off several times in the last ten years.”

“I didn’t know that. We never had any trouble when I came here as a kid.”

“The weather pattern has shifted. A friend of mine is a meteorologist at a radio station in Atlantic City and he’s been tracking it.”

“I see.” Their eyes met, and Carol knew that neither one of them was thinking about the weather.

He held the ensuing silence for a long beat and then asked, “You doing anything for lunch?”

“Peanut butter and jam?” Carol suggested.

He grinned. “I’m not fond of peanut butter myself. I think I ate too much of it as a kid. Would you like to go out and get something?”

“Where?”

“The only restaurant in town is Cater’s, and it doesn’t open until three,” he said, laughing. “We’d have to drive to Avalon.”

“Why don’t we stay here? I could make lunch, if you’d like to join me.”

“Don’t go to any special trouble.”

“It’s no trouble.”

He rose, draining his mug. “Is twelve-thirty okay?” he said, setting the cup back on the table.

“Twelve-thirty is fine.”

“See you then.” He sauntered across the kitchen and out the back door, letting the screen door slam behind him.

Carol smiled to herself and began to clear the table.

The morning progressed with glacial speed; Carol kept glancing at the clock, only to discover that just a few minutes had passed. She finally gave up trying to study. She prowled the house, straightening things that didn’t need moving, shuffling books on the shelves, watering the plants she’d brought from her apartment, listening for Tay’s movements outside. At twelve o’clock she made the salad and sliced the strawberries for dessert. At twelve-twenty she heard the gush of the lawn hose and looked out the window to see Tay stripped to the waist, washing under its stream.

Carol stood to the side and watched as he let the water cascade over his hair and torso. There was a ring of sunburn around his neck and his whole upper body was a golden brown, his arms below the biceps several shades darker. Carol studied the movement of the muscles framing his spine as he thrust his free hand through his damp hair, then she looked away as he turned off the tap and hung up the hose. She ran to the mirror and fluffed her hair, checking her lipstick and looking up with a smile as he tapped on the door.

“Hungry?” she said.

“You bet.” He’d put on another shirt he must have had in the truck, a yellow polo that highlighted his water-darkened blond hair and contrasted with his tan.

He seemed to look wonderful in everything.

“Can I help?” he asked as she set the table.

“No, everything is done.”

“Looks good,” he said, sinking into the chair she indicated. Carol put a glass of iced tea in front of him and then sat across from him as he lifted a fork and dug into the salad. She waited for his reaction. He looked up and saw her watching him.

“Great,” he pronounced. “What is it?”

“Salade niçoise.”

“From a mix?” he said, and she laughed.

“No, that’s my own concoction.”

“And this?” he asked, gesturing to his other plate.

“Cold chicken. Doesn’t it look familiar?”

“Oh, I just wondered if there was anything fancy going on there. I liked to be warned.”