Apples Should Be Red (11 page)

The kid shrugged. “My mom wanted to thank you for helping out with her stone fence a couple of months ago. She said it fell down in the road and you rebuilt it. And didn’t charge her.”

Tom waved a hand. “That was nothing. I like stonework.” He peeked under the foil. “What kind of cookies?”

The kid smiled. “Ginger. They’re really good dunked in milk.”

Jason Franklin shuffled over the step. “I like cookies.”

Tom handed him the plate. “Knock yourself out, kid.”

It took two hours before the crowd dispersed. How the fuck his house had turned into Grand Central Station, he had no bloomin’ idea. But he tuned out most of the ruckus. He was focused on Beverly. Her smile. Her hand casually rubbing his back. Her blush when he kissed her.

He wasn’t too proud to admit he’d underestimated Beverly Anderson.

Tom found DiBenedetto in the backyard, investigating his vegetable garden.

“You need something, Paul?”

Paul looked shocked. “You offering? You never offered me anything before.”

“Maybe. Maybe we can make an exchange.”

DiBenedetto looked dubious. “What are you talking about?”

“You’re a travel agent, aren’t you?”

He nodded. “Yes, I am.”

“I need a couple of tickets. Can you print them up today?”

“Sure. I can do it on my home printer.” Paul pointed to a row of cabbages. “I’ll tell you what. You give me three of those nice purple cabbages, and I’ll get you the tickets. What do you say?”

Tom smiled. “I say you got a deal.”

K
aren and her mom scrubbed pots in the sink and loaded up Tom’s archaic dishwasher. In spite of all the surprises this morning, Karen couldn’t remember a nicer Thanksgiving dinner.

“So, Mom, are you all right?” She dried off a wine glass and put it in the cabinet. “I mean, you know, with…Tom.”

“Surprised? Because I am.” Bev turned off the water.

“Oh, you could say that.” The two of them laughed. “I was worried you and Tom were going to kill each other. Instead, you’re…um…”

“Happy?”

Karen got tears in her eyes. “Are you happy?” she asked raggedly.

Bev hugged her. “I am. I know it seems really odd, but Tom and I had a good visit this week. I guess I’ve been fooling myself for a long time. Your dad and I weren’t doing so well. And I needed a good kick in the pants.” She pushed back a strand of Karen’s hair. “And of course Tom was just the guy to do the kicking.”

“I should have done something. I didn’t know you were so unhappy. I’m sorry. I—”

“Honey. There was nothing you could do. I raised a smart, happy, healthy child who grew up to be a wonderful young woman. You are my greatest accomplishment. Not the showcase house and garden. I needed to figure out some things on my own. And I guess I just did. At the ripe old age of fifty-nine.”

“Mom.” Karen’s throat clogged up.

“It’s okay, honey.”

The two of them stood in Tom’s kitchen. Embracing, laughing, crying.

“Mom. You know how you’ve been dreading your sixtieth birthday?”

“Yes.”

“Something tells me this is going to be the best year of your life.”

Bev smiled. “Something tells me you’re right.”

“Hey, Dad.”

“Yup.”

“So you like Mrs. Anderson?” John took a swig of his Bud and set the can on the steps of the porch. He and his dad were hanging on the stoop.

He loved that stoop. He and Karen needed a stoop.

“Yup.”

“Hard to believe.”

“Yup.”

“She doesn’t seem like your type.”

“Uh-huh.”

“She doesn’t seem like…um…the casual hookup type either.”

Tom narrowed his eyes at John. “Nope, she doesn’t. Never thought she was.”

John grimaced. Okay, this was getting awkward.

He took a deep breath. “What I mean is, are you seriously interested in her? It sure seems like Bev likes you.” Tom said nothing and John plugged on. “I don’t want to see Bev get hurt. Not after all those years of shoveling Roger’s shit, and um…this is awkward. I’m just wondering—”

“I’m keeping her,” Tom finally said with exasperation.

John choked on his beer. “You’re keeping her?”

“That’s what I said.”

“Does she know you’re keeping her?”

“Nope. Not yet. Keep it under your hat.”

“No problem. Good luck.”

“I don’t need any goddamned luck. I got daisies.”

Beverly and Tom watched the kids pull away in their VW.

Thanksgiving dinner had been nothing like Bev expected. Cranberry sauce from a can. A can! Tom slipped it onto the plate, still intact, with the ridges on the side. He also cooked a surprisingly delicious, moist turkey by inserting a beer can into the cavity of the bird and grilling it.

They ate on paper plates, they drank from plastic cups. There wasn’t any good china or crystal or gravy boats. But the day had been fun. And relaxed.

And every time Tom brushed up against her, or squeezed her hand, or whispered something naughty in her ear, happiness bubbled up inside her, fizzing like ginger ale. She felt like a teenager. Giddy. Sexy. Ridiculous. At fifty-nine years old.

In three short days, Tom had sure managed to shake things up. Shake
her
up.

And she didn’t mind at all. In spite of this unfamiliar floundering, untethered sensation, she felt lighter and freer than she had in years.

It was simply wonderful.

“Hey, wanna fool around on the sofa? The kids are finally gone.” Tom nuzzled her neck.

Bev laughed. “Any chance we could try out your bed this time? Not that I didn’t enjoy the couch, but a real bed might be a nice change.”

“Beds are for pussies.”

“Tom! Language!”

He chuckled. “Look at you. You survived Thanksgiving dinner on a paper plate. I think I won this contest. You didn’t think I was serious about the paper plates. But we did it.”

“Oh no.” She shook her head. “I won. You had visitors
all day
.”

“You ate green apples.”

“You mowed the lawn.”

“You cut your nails.”

“You have flowers in the front of your house.”

He bit her earlobe. “You had an orgasm. No, you had multiple orgasms.” He pulled back and delivered the smuggest smile possible. “I win.”

Bev giggled. “I think I win. I had multiple orgasms.” She couldn’t deliver the line without blushing, but at least she got the last word.

Tom pinched her bottom.

His expression turned serious. “Do you still feel like you’re free-falling without a chute? Or you feeling okay?”

“I’m doing better than okay,” she answered softly.

He ran his hands up and down her waist. “You sure look good in my T-shirt.”

“I like it. It’s comfortable.”

“You were just making fun of my clothes a couple of days ago. Now you’re wearing them.”

She laughed. “You’re right. I apologize.” She reached up and stroked his stubbly cheek. “I apologize for not being so nice when I got here. I was nervous and worried about the holiday. Worried about being here with you. Alone.”

“And now?” He shot her a strange look. Apprehensive. Waiting.

“And now. I like it.”

“All of it?” He waggled his brows suggestively.

“All of it.” She didn’t hesitate with her answer. “I guess I’m a late bloomer.”

“I sure like you blooming with me, Bev.” The tension drained out of him. “I have an idea.”

She leaned against his chest and inhaled his familiar scent. “Uh-oh. What sort of an idea?”

“A damned fine idea. You wanna hear it?” He cleared his throat.

“Sure.”

“Say yes first.”

“I can’t say yes if I don’t know—”

“Yes, you can. That way I won’t be nervous to ask you.” Tom huffed out an impatient breath.

“You really are agitated. Okay, yes. There. Feel better?”
What was this all about?

He smiled. And pulled out a piece of paper from his back pocket. “Here. This will explain everything.”

Beverly read the paper and gasped. It was an itinerary for a British garden tour. And tickets. Two tickets for airfare, the tour, accommodations.

She started to cry.

“No crying. Bev. Come on.”

“Tom. This is too much.”

“Oh no. No, it’s not. It’s way past due.”

She covered her face with her hands as the tears flowed. He held her gently and whispered in her ear. Whispered nonsense and reassurances.

She gulped and looked up at him. “There are two tickets here.”

“Of course there are. I’m going too.”

“You hate prissy gardens.”

“Well, I checked with Paul—my nudist neighbor is a travel agent, did I tell you that?—and he said the tour covers history, which I like, and eating at pubs, which I like, and there’s beer in England. I like that, too. And some of the tour includes culinary gardens. Practical stuff. And even a garden with poisonous plants. And apple orchards.”

“With green and golden apples?” They both laughed.

“All kinds of apples, honey. And daisies.” He winked. “So…looks like you’re stuck with me.”

“Do you even like traveling? You’re going to have to…um…talk to people.”

“I got us private rooms everywhere. And we have the option to eat on our own or join the group.”

“I can’t believe you did this. For me.” She stared at him in awe. Rough leather-tanned skin, stubbly chin, blue eyes blazing, body hot and hard and safe. “You’re making my dream come true.”

“Am I? You tell me.”

“Just the beginning of it, I think. It’s a good place to start.”

“Just the beginning.”

He kissed her and squeezed her bottom with his big rough hands. “We need to go inside before I give the neighbors a show. Although DiBenedetto probably won’t mind. Since he likes giving us a show every goddamned day.”

“Tom.”

“Hmm.” He kissed her neck until she groaned. “That’s it. Bedroom. Now.”

“Wait.” She placed her hand on his chest. “Remember before. When you asked me if I was feeling a little bit fierce?”

He nodded. “Yup. I remember.”

“I’m feeling a little bit fierce. Thank you.”

He cupped her face and smiled. “That’s my girl. Let’s go fool around and then we can pack our bags.”

Who needed parachutes anyway?