Back to the Good Fortune Diner (18 page)

Her stomach cinched tight, and her appetite fled. “It was high school. No one treats each other very well.”

“Were you bullied?”

“Not the way some kids were.” She stabbed at the meat, but made no more effort to eat it. His long, hard gaze made her set her utensils down. “People are stupid sometimes. They say stuff they don’t fully understand, or they say it because they want to take their problems out on others. Sometimes, they’re just plain terrible people, but I try not to let them get to me.” She gave him a lopsided smile. “I can say that now as an adult looking back. Hindsight’s twenty-twenty, after all.”

Chris reached across the table, letting his hands settle between their plates, palms down. “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry.”

“Sorry for what? You never said anything nasty to me.” He’d been her one friend. The one person she could count on spending time with who wouldn’t mock her ruthlessly for being different. It was no wonder she’d harbored her crush for so long.

“I didn’t speak up when other people talked about you. I might even have laughed. That makes me as bad as them.”

She wasn’t sure why
he
was so upset. Sure, it made her mad and sad thinking about how she and Daniel had been treated, not just by students but by teachers who’d told them to deal with it and ignore the taunts. But who didn’t have problems? High school sucked for everyone. Chris alone could not have changed that.

“You didn’t know any better back then. Or maybe it was self-preservation. That’s normal for teens.”

He shook his head. “Don’t make excuses for me. I
did
know better. I had plenty of opportunities to call people on their behavior.” He closed his eyes. “People say stuff, and it’s funny when you’re a kid, I guess...” He said quietly, “I wonder if I somehow learned it from my father.”

So, that was what this was about. “You have nothing to apologize for. Not to me, anyhow. I appreciate that you’re trying to say sorry for William, but his opinions aren’t your responsibility. Neither are the things anyone in high school ever said about anyone else.” When he didn’t look like he was going to accept her explanations, she sighed. “If it matters that much to you, I forgive you.” It was William who’d been the idiot. But she wasn’t about to stir that pot. “Anyhow, I don’t let other people’s opinions define me.”

But as she looked around the restaurant, she knew that was a lie. Realizing she was the only Asian person in the room, she grew uncomfortable, convinced everyone was watching and whispering and wondering what she was doing with a guy like Chris. Not even the servers were Asian.

Of course the things people said had shaped her. Why else would she have stopped using chopsticks and refused to order Chinese takeout when she’d lived in the city? She stared at her roast beef dinner and pushed her plate aside.

“At least the wine is passable,” Chris commented as he tipped the last of the bottle into her glass. It seemed he’d moved on in their conversation, noticing her barely touched meal. She drained her glass, belatedly wondering how much he’d drunk, since he was driving.

Not as much as me,
came the sinking realization when she tried to lever herself out of her seat to go to the ladies’ room.

“I think I’m done here. Do you want to get a coffee?” he asked tentatively. “The night’s still young.”

“We should,” she said as solemnly as she could manage. “We still haven’t talked about Simon.”

His lips quirked into a smile. “We don’t have to talk about my son exclusively, you know. We are friends.”

Friends?
Was that what they were? And then she realized she’d spoken her thoughts aloud. Chris gave her a puzzled look. “Of course we are,” he said.

Friends. She grinned widely and giggled. In the back of her mind, she was kicking herself for acting so foolishly—she was supposed to be a sophisticated New Yorker, not this bubbleheaded ditz. But she was feeling warm and giddy and Chris was just so wonderfully big and broad, and that smile... If someone could bottle that smile, they’d make a killing. She’d drink ten of those a day if she could.

Chris paid the bill and guided her out of the restaurant, his hand pressing gently on her lower back and sending a sizzle along her spine. She leaned into his touch, resting her temple against his shoulder.

He didn’t try to push her off.

* * *

I
N THE TRUCK
, Tiffany babbled about the food they’d eaten and her fears that their “authenticity” might mean their chicken balls were literal. He laughed along: maybe it was the wine talking, but she sure had loosened up. All that bubbly train-of-thought chattering was kind of funny, but soothing, too. Entirely out of character, but he couldn’t help but be intrigued by her loss of control. What would Tiffany be like if she let herself go completely? If she let herself laugh and relax instead of trying to steer every aspect of her life toward her career goals?

What would she be like in bed?

He nearly stomped on the brake as his mind ground to a halt. No way. He could not be thinking those kinds of thoughts. Not about Tiffany. For starters, she was not his type—small, serious and city chic. She obviously preferred life in the big city—something she and his ex had in common. He was not looking for any kind of relationship right now—dealing with his father and son was plenty enough distraction. To top it off, she wasn’t here permanently. There was no point in thinking about any kind of involvement with her.

He glanced over. The lights from the road curved softly around her face, and his heart tweaked. She was a beautiful woman. One he was seeing less and less as his old tutor and more as a woman he could have inappropriate dreams about. She glanced up and caught him staring, and he returned his eyes to the road.

To her utter delight, they went to a Starbucks that had recently opened a couple of plazas over. She insisted on paying for the coffee since he’d gotten dinner, and he let her. But there weren’t any seats available, so they went back to the truck.

“It’s a nice night,” he said, rolling down the windows. “How about a walk? I mean, you’ve already walked a lot today....” He suddenly remembered the way he’d hugged her earlier, right in the middle of the road, and he shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

“I don’t mind.” She was practically snuggling the drink, hands cupped around the venti cup, inhaling the rich smell from the hole in the lid. “I have my extrahot, half-sweet, double-shot soy latte now. I’m a happy camper. Anyhow, a little extra exercise after that meal wouldn’t hurt.”

“You’re not one of those city girls who’s always trying to make herself stick-thin, are you?”

“Not any more than country girls or town girls or desert girls or igloo girls or whatever. Or boys, for that matter.” She appraised him crookedly. “Don’t tell me you haven’t stood in front of a mirror and pinched your belly once or twice and told yourself five fewer pounds would make you perfect.”

“I don’t know. I haven’t had an objective opinion lately. Want to give me a pinch and tell me what you think?”

Even though it was dark, he could see her blush to the roots of her hair. He laughed, and to ease her embarrassment, said, “I’m kidding. I already know I’m gorgeous.”

Just like you.
He almost said it, but something stopped him.

They drove to Osprey Peak, a lookout point high above the township. The Peak, as it was called, was a well-known spot where teenagers went to make out. Not that he was entertaining those thoughts about Tiffany. Adults went there all the time for the view. At least, they did in the daytime.

They ambled side by side along the path in comfortable silence. She walked in a perfectly straight line and didn’t lean on him the way she had as they’d exited the restaurant, which was kind of a shame. The effects of the wine must have worn off. He couldn’t help but remember all the times in high school he’d had to carry Daphne home from house parties, and how in their later years together, he’d sometimes find her lying on the bed, claiming a headache, an empty wine bottle on the nightstand, while Simon cried in his crib.

“Hello? Did you hear me?” Tiffany waved a hand in front of his face.

“I’m sorry?”

“I was asking about Daphne. Simon’s mother.” She hesitated. “Not that it’s any of my business, in case you were trying to ignore me....” Her eyebrows knitted as she waved a hand. “Never mind. It was too personal. I didn’t mean to—”

“It’s okay.” He kicked a pinecone into the underbrush and paused to collect his thoughts. “After Simon was born, she got...I don’t know. Jealous, maybe, of all the attention the baby was getting. I thought it was postpartum depression, but she wouldn’t see a specialist about it. She was sick all the time. At least, she claimed she was sick.”

“You were living at the farm with your father, right?”

He nodded. “He did his fair share of raising Simon, especially when Daphne was having a spell. It was...difficult. They didn’t get along.” To put it mildly. His father had been disgusted by how lazy Daphne was. She’d expected Chris to be the breadwinner, and had no intention of getting a job or helping out on the farm. Her job, she’d told them, was to take care of Simon. Which she barely did, even between migraines.

“Does Simon get to see her often?”

“She makes promises, but hasn’t kept one for years. She’ll invite him to stay with her for a couple of weeks in the summer, but then she’ll call and say something else has come up, or her husband has to entertain colleagues, so they can’t have him around. Last year, she called the night before he was going to see her and told him not to come because she had a migraine coming on.” He shook his head in disgust.

“The last time he saw her was on his twelfth birthday. She flew up from California—that’s where she is now—and we drove out to meet her in the city. She gave him his gift and we took him to a ball game. But she didn’t stay for more than a night. She said the air quality was hurting her sinuses, and she flew home the next day. I’ve never seen Simon so disappointed in all my life.”

“I’ve known other people with killer migraines like that. She must have been going through hell.” To Chris’s surprise, she said it without a trace of sarcasm.

He laughed, low and flat. “I was kind of hoping you’d come out and say what I won’t.”

“Well, I was trying to be sympathetic, but all right. She’s a selfish bitch and you and Simon deserve better.”

Coffee nearly spewed through his nose. “And you didn’t even blink,” he gasped out as he recovered from laughing.

“I have issues with parents who don’t take responsibility,” Tiffany said without a trace of remorse. “If she’d really cared, she would have seen him anyhow. Or gotten help. Or done something. Migraines don’t last two weeks, or for that matter, three years.” She gazed off into the distance. “My mom and dad probably wouldn’t ever win the award for best parents, but at least they never made flimsy excuses for not treating us well. They did a lot for us. They actually cared.”

He studied the proud line of her shoulders, the stubborn set of her jaw. “You surprise me more and more.”

“How’s that?”

“After everything you’ve told me, I didn’t think you’d ever say a good word about your parents. I got the impression you didn’t get along when you were growing up.”

She toyed with her cup. “I resented the way they treated me for a long time. I still do, at times. Still—” she dug a toe into the gravel and ground a divot into the path “—they took good care of me. They cared about what I did, and made me care about my achievements. In college, I met people who assumed since their parents were paying for their education, they didn’t need to worry about failing grades. There were kids who’d never cooked for themselves or done their own laundry. That’s when I realized how lucky I was. My parents raised me to be self-sufficient and appreciate the opportunities and advantages I was given.” She glanced around quickly. “Don’t tell them I said any of that, though.”

He zipped and locked his upturned lips.

The path opened up onto the bluff, and a stiff breeze whipped through his hair. The lookout was well lit by a few lampposts and small solar-powered LED lights embedded into the ground along the edge of the path. Benches scarred with years of lovers’ initials—some
4eva,
some not so much—faced the cliff edge, along with a couple of battered coin-operated binoculars. They walked up to the sturdy wrought-iron railing and peered down. The town spread out below them, twilight casting everything in a sea of shadows flecked with twinkling lights. “Ooh, pretty,” Tiffany said. “Wish I had my camera. I’d love to paint this.”

“You still painting?”

“A little. I spent weekends in Central Park painting sometimes, but it was mostly to relax.”

“Do you still have your paintings? I’d love to see them.”

“I had to leave them behind when I got kicked out,” she said on a sigh. “They weren’t any good, anyhow.”

Somehow, Chris doubted that. She was good at anything she applied herself to. “If I recall correctly, you used to be really good in art class.”

She tilted her chin. “You weren’t in my art class, were you?”

“No,” he admitted, “but a friend of mine was. He really liked your work. John Abrams. Do you remember him?”

“Vaguely.”

“He’s getting married soon, actually. In Vegas.”

“That’s nice.”

The conversation petered out. Chris searched his brain for something interesting to talk about. It had been a long time since he’d had difficulty chatting up a woman. But Tiffany had more depth than most of the women he’d dated, and he didn’t want to bore her with talk about the weather or the latest articles he’d read on commercial solar panels.

The last light of the sun faded. A cloud of bugs swarmed the blue-white light of the lamppost above their heads. As silence stretched between them, Chris itched to say something that wouldn’t make him sound ridiculous.

“Can I ask you something?” Tiffany leaned her hip against the railing. He was grateful she’d been the one to speak. “When you found out about Daphne being pregnant...why did you come back?”

He drew back and looked at her. “How could I not?”