Dreams of Perfection (Dreams Come True) (20 page)

Chapter 39

Darcy sliced into eggs covered with Hollandaise sauce, while Laura signaled the waiter for another mimosa. She wasn’t up for the post-mortem brunch, but she’d promised Laura last night when she left her and Josh to “put it to bed,” whatever that meant. She’d spent a good bit of the ride home trying to figure out if that could mean anything other than closing out the event.

Just as Blake kissed her good night, his cell phone rang—a ten-car pile-up on I-95. Dr. Blake Garrett swung into action, and Darcy sighed in relief that she didn’t have to come up with an excuse not to invite him in.

Laura was saying, “I think notwithstanding the unwelcome appearance of Cheating Bastard, the event was a tremendous success. What do you think he was doing there, anyway?”

“Probably there to interview Jordy Jacobs.” Darcy pushed the eggs around on her plate.

“Oh yeah, you’re probably right.” Laura gestured with her mimosa.

Laura continued with her animated discussion of the evening. Who made an appearance, what they wore, and who they snubbed. Darcy listened with half an ear, feeling out of sorts. She couldn’t even lay the blame for it on Doug’s behavior, although seeing him had been a shock.

She’d like to blame it on her sleepless night, but even that wasn’t the reason either.

“I couldn’t believe how Josh came to my rescue last night,” Laura said, interrupting Darcy’s glum musings. “It was very, well, chivalrous of him. I’m beginning to see why you like him so much.”

Yep. There it was.
The reason for her morose mood. Darcy pushed her half-eaten Eggs Benedict away. “Yeah, he’s a prince.” She flashed a lame smile.

“Hey,” Laura reached her hand across the table and squeezed Darcy’s fingers. “You okay? You look a little pale.”

“I’m fine. Just a little hung over.”

“You didn’t have that much to drink. Oh, you mean a
love
hangover?” She waggled her eyebrows. “You and Blake play doctor until the wee hours of the morning?”

“No,” Darcy said a little too emphatically.

“Oh, girl. Did you two have a fight?” Laura patted Darcy’s hand. “It’ll be fine. Anyone can see he’s crazy about you.”

Guilt knifed through her.
Great.

Children swarmed th
e lawn like an invading army, their squeals, laughter, and shouts muffled by the heavy soul-sucking August air. Darcy sipped ice-cold lemonade and wiped the sweat from her face as she watched her Great Aunt Rosie, whose bounteous progeny had gathered to celebrate sixty-three years of wedded bliss, accept a kiss from her oldest granddaughter.

The adults gathered under the shade of an ancient white oak, the brood of some forty-eight children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren, far too large to hold the festivities in the old house Aunt Rosie and Uncle Al had lived in since 1955.

So, everyone dressed in the lightest clothing possible and resigned themselves to sweating through the party. Even Aunt Rosie dabbed at the perspiration on her upper lip with a lace-edged handkerchief like a trooper.

“Vanessa tells me you’re seeing someone,” her aunt said, drawing Darcy’s attention away from the game of torment-the-family-dog.

“Um, yes. Blake.”

“And he’s a doctor?”

“Yep.”

“And a hunk?”

“Oh, yes.”

“But the important question is, does he make your heart sing and your toes curl?” She winked at Darcy.

Aunt Rosie had always been a favorite of Darcy’s. She was . . . well . . . cool, hip, with it. When Darcy would come to Poughkeepsie to spend time with her cousins in the summer, her aunt played dress up with them, took them to the latest teen heartthrob movies, bought them fake nails and lip gloss in bright red. All things Aunt Rosie’s sister, Darcy’s grandmother, would never do.

She didn’t know how to answer that question. Blake wasn’t the man who made her heart sing. Her toes curl.
He was perfect—so why didn’t he?      

Before she could answer, Uncle Al approached with a glass of lemonade in his hand. He still stood at over six feet and maintained the build he’d acquired playing football for Yale.

“For my bride.” He bent and kissed Aunt Rosie’s raised lips. “She’s even more beautiful than the day I met her.” His eyes glowed as he gazed at his wife’s face. “I’m the luckiest man alive.”

Darcy stared at the hem of her halter-top as if it was the most fascinating thing she’d ever seen, feeling like an intruder on a moment too intimate for public view. When she glanced back, Aunt Rosie was patting her uncle’s face and laughing, the corners of her eyes crinkling, the look of love on her face making her appear decades younger than her eighty-three years.

“Pop-Pop,” a dark-haired little girl said, tugging on his shorts, “Mandy won’t let me ride the scooter.”

Uncle Al reached down and picked up the little girl. “Then Miss Jenny, why don’t we do something more fun?”

“Like what?”

He glanced around. “Well, like playing horsey.”

“Yay!”

Uncle Al galloped off with Jenny clinging to his neck, giggling as he tickled her belly. Double knee replacement hadn’t diminished his athleticism.

Aunt Rosie took a sip of her lemonade, smiled, and said, “What a gem.”

Darcy’s gaze drifted over the three generations of cousins who’d made their way from all over the country to celebrate a marriage that had survived six decades, at a time when the average marriage didn’t last one. Despite the distance, the family had a close, loving relationship—so close, they made Norman Rockwell look like the Simpsons.

To spend time with Aunt Rosie and Uncle Al was to see first-hand what two people still in love after all those years looked like. Even as a child, Darcy had noticed the little gestures of affection, the flirtations, the sparkle in their eyes when they gazed at each other. The deep respect they had for one another made her hope for that very thing when she reached those same milestones in her own life.

Uncle Al never hesitated to say that he’d married the love of his life, and he always made it a point to tell her how beautiful she was and how thankful he was that she loved him.

“How do you do it?” The thought was out of her mouth before she even thought about asking the question.

“Do what?”

Now that the words were out, she might as well ask what she really wanted to know. “Not only stay married, but stay so obviously in love?”

“I love Al for who he is. Can he get on my nerves sometimes? Of course, as I’m sure I get on his. No one’s perfect.” She tilted her head in thought.

Darcy picked a honeysuckle flower from the vine wrapped around the fence and held it to her nose. The sweetness was almost unbearable. Like Aunt Rosie and Uncle Al.

“Even if perfection were possible,” Aunt Rosie continued, “I think it would get, well, boring, maybe even tedious. Who wants to be reminded of their own imperfections on a daily basis by an irritatingly perfect person?”

Darcy hadn’t thought of it like that.

“But the other reason I think we’ve stayed in love all these years is because we never take each other for granted.”

Darcy nodded, remembering Josh’s comments to Anne and Matt. She took another sip of her drink.

“And of course, I married my best friend.”

Darcy coughed as the tart liquid went down the wrong pipe.

“You okay, dear?” Aunt Rosie patted her on the back.

“I’m fine,” Darcy choked out around her coughs. “Swallowed wrong.”

Aunt Rosie graciously fanned her face with a vintage Babe Ruth paper fan—y
es, being a Yankees fan was a genetic trait
—giving Darcy time to catch her breath and organize her thoughts.

“Thanks.” Darcy reached into her bag for a hairclip and twisted her hair up to allow what little breeze there was to cool her neck. “Were you and Uncle Al friends
before
you fell in love?”

“Best buddies since junior high. We hung out with a group of friends, doing what teenagers do. It wasn’t until our senior year in high school that we realized we had the hots for one another.” Aunt Rosie smiled at some memory.

One of the balls the kids were playing with rolled next to Darcy’s feet. She bent to retrieve it and throw it back, thinking about what her aunt had said. “Aunt Rosie, can I ask you a
really
personal question? You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to.”

Her aunt glanced over, a look of concern on her face, and she patted Darcy’s hand. “Whatever it is, Darcy, I’ll try my best to answer it.”

Darcy bit her lower lip, opened her mouth, then closed it. Drawing in a calming breath, she went for it. “Did you and Uncle Al, um, sleep together before you were married?”

Aunt Rosie smiled. “I know it’s probably hard for you to believe, but we did have sex back in the Dark Ages, even pre-marital sex. Caroline is the result of one of those romantic trysts.”

“You mean you and Uncle Al
had
to get married?” Darcy saw her Aunt in a whole new light.

“Well, no, not really.” She laughed. “We’d already decided to marry. Caroline just moved the date up a bit.”

Darcy looked over at her cousin Caroline as she chased after one of her grandchildren.
Wow. Cousin Caroline. A love child. Who’d have thunk it?

Another question popped into Darcy’s head. One she shouldn’t ask, but curiosity got the better of her. “How was it . . . with Uncle Al?”

“Earth-shattering.” She hesitated a moment, then winked at Darcy. “Still is.”

Darcy sat in the back seat of her parents’ car for the hour-lon
g ride back to their house. The party had ended with an enormous cake, complete with Aunt Rosie and Uncle Al’s wedding picture from 1950 in icing displayed on top. Their oldest grandson had played “Stardust,” by Nat King Cole, on his iPod, while the two danced like teenagers in love.

Aunt Rosie had said neither their marriage nor their life had been perfect. She’d also told Darcy that she’d miscarried their second child, a son, and that their third child, a daughter, had died shortly after birth. No, not what anyone would call perfect, but maybe the beauty of their life and their relationship was that they’d had each other through it all. 

“You’re awfully quiet, Darcy,” her mom said in the dark interior of the car. “You okay?”

“I’m fine.”

“You should stay with us tonight. I worry about you taking the train back to the city this late.”

“Your mom’s right,” her dad chimed in.

“Okay. Sure.”

Silence enveloped the occupants of the car once more, allowing Darcy to return to her ruminating. Her aunt and uncle have been married sixty-three years and could boast four children, eleven grandchildren, and eighteen great-grandchildren. Quite a legacy.

Her own dreams of princes and white horses, of perfect alpha-male heroes and being swept off her feet seemed childish and silly when compared to what her aunt and uncle had. Mr. Right didn’t have to be perfect. He just had to be perfect for her. Like Uncle Al was for Aunt Rosie.

It suddenly occurred to Darcy that fairytales weren’t found in books. They were found in real life—everyday life, with both its triumphs and its tribulations. And her aunt lived that real-life fairytale every day, while she had been wishing for the wrong fairytale all along.

Chapter 40

Darcy dreaded making this call. She glared at her phone, hoping it would die a sudden and tragic death, giving her an excuse to procrastinate a little longer. No such luck as her phone blinked to life. She groaned. Might as well get it over with. Pulling up a chair at the kitchen table, Darcy hit the call button.

“Hey, Darce.”

“Hi! How goes life in the legal stratosphere? You growing accustomed to the thin air up there on the forty-second floor?”

“Well, you know, it took a while to acclimate, but I’m quick to adapt. What’s up?”

Darn.
So much for idle chitchat. “Um, well, you know those division series playoff tickets we have for Monday night? Well, um, I can’t go.”

“What? Why not?”

“Well, it’s pretty exciting, actually,” she said, coating her response with a little more enthusiasm than she felt. Not that she wasn’t excited and proud of Blake, a little like a proud parent, especially since
she
wrote the humanitarian work he was being recognized for. But who scheduled an award ceremony the same night as the first game of the American League Division Series?
Hello.

“You see, Blake is receiving the International Medical Society’s Humanitarian of the Year Award, and the ceremony is that night.”

“I see.”

“I’m really sorry, Josh. But I can’t miss it.”

“No, no. Of course you can’t.”

“I’m sure one of the guys at work can go, right?”

“Yep. I’ll have no problem finding someone to take the ticket. Listen, Darce, I’ve got to run to a meeting. I’ll talk to you later.”

“Right. See ya.”

That wasn’t so bad. Darcy lowered her head to the kitchen table. Yes. Yes, it was. In fact, it sucked!

Josh wrapped
up the post-gala committee meeting, satisfied with the results. The Director had been so pleased with the event that she wanted to make it an annual fundraiser, and the meeting would help make the event even better next year while everything was still fresh in everyone’s minds. The committee members offered up suggestions for improvements, discussed what worked and what didn’t, and started work on the plans for next year.

Laura had agreed to stay on and head up the PR committee, while many of the other committee members had also agreed to stay on in their roles. The continuity would be a benefit, avoiding the whole reinventing-the-wheel thing. 

Josh’s phone buzzed, signaling a text. Frowning, he read the text from Mark saying he couldn’t go to the game—his parents were in town. Well, so far none of the usual suspects could go to the game.
Great.

“What’s wrong? Another ambulance get away?” Laura said as she gathered her belongings.

“Ha. The jokes never end with you. Anyone ever tell you, you should consider stand up?”

“Actually, yes.” Throwing her tote bag over her shoulder, she continued, “No, seriously, what’s up?”

Josh looked up from his phone in surprise. “Really?”

“Sure.” Laura shrugged.

“Well, since you asked, I have two tickets to the first game of the division playoffs tomorrow night and no one to go with.”

“Where’s your sidekick? Oh right, Blake’s award ceremony.”

“Yeah.” Then Josh had a thought—a crazy one, but what the hell? “How about you? You want to go?”

“Me? Why?” she asked, an edge of suspicion in her voice.

Josh contemplated the answer. “Three reasons: the Yankees, the playoffs, and my charming company. Make that four. We can discuss the idea you had for Darcy’s gift. What more could you ask for?”

Laura snorted.

“Come on. Come cheer on your hometown team.”

“Doesn’t New York have two baseball teams?”

“Yes. But only one is in the playoffs.”

Laura considered it a moment. “Oh, all right.” She held up her hand. “But only because I’ve got nothing else on my calendar.”

“That’s fair. I’m only asking because I don’t have anyone else to go,” Josh countered.

“Be still my heart.” Laura placed her hand on her heart. “And they say lawyers aren’t romantic.”

The speaker droned on about li
fe in the Congo and as Darcy tried desperately to appear alert and oriented. It wasn’t the speaker’s fault she was so bored. Certainly everyone else must be fascinated by the statistics on bacterial dysentery. Well, with the exception of the elderly gentleman next to her who gave an Oscar-worthy impersonation of a bobblehead doll.

The Grand Ballroom of the Pierre hotel dazzled, its impeccable five-star service impressed, and its superb food amazed; yet as she plucked at the satin skirt of her fabulous emerald green evening gown, she couldn’t help but wonder about the baseball score. She barely resisted the urge to pull out her phone and check it. If she weren’t seated at the head table, she might chance it.

Okay, if she was completely honest with herself, she really wondered which of the guys went to the game with Josh and whether he was having more fun with them than he had with her. Or whether he missed her company as much as she missed his.

Truth be told, she’d much rather be wearing jeans and her Yankees shirt, eating peanuts, and drinking beer than wearing an admittedly gorgeous evening gown, eating Lobster Thermidor, and sipping fine champagne.

She immediately felt a wave of remorse. Blake sat next to her looking every bit the hero and humanitarian. This was his moment, and he deserved her unwavering attention and adoration. He reached over and grasped her hand in his, giving it a little squeeze. Her heart squeezed in response. Or maybe it was the cucumber and salmon appetizers she’d eaten. Hard to tell.

Once they got to the actual award presentation, she’d be the attentive, supportive girlfriend Blake deserved. But for now, her thoughts were just six short miles away in Yankee Stadium, Section 113, Row 16, Seat 23.

The next morning, Darcy trudged up th
e stairs to her office hoping the writing muse would pay her a visit and hang out for the day. She’d been absent so long, Darcy wasn’t sure she’d recognize her if she came up and bit her on the ass.

The awards dinner had ended on a disappointing note, with Blake leaving in a rush for the hospital. He’d placed her in the care of his driver, kissed her good night, and hailed a taxi.

When the emcee had introduced him, she’d beamed with pride in his accomplishments, many of them she’d written. His acceptance speech had been brief but heartfelt. When he returned to his seat next to her, he’d pulled her into his arms for what should have been a toe-curling kiss, accompanied by the
oohs
and
ahs
of the audience. Sadly, the kiss didn’t compare with Josh’s.  

The phone rang just as she hit the second-floor landing. Hoping it might be Josh, she dashed into her bedroom to grab it. “Hello?”

“Hey, what’s cooking?”

Laura. Hiding her disappointment, she said, “I’m hoping a little hot and heavy sex is cooking.”

“Oh! It’s about time you and Blake got horizontal.”

“Not me and Blake. Dominic and Ashley.”

“Who?”

“My hero and heroine.”

“Oh.” Laura’s disappointment rang clear in her voice. “It’s a sad state of affairs when you write more sex scenes than you actually experience. How was the award ceremony?”

“It was fine. Good. I mean the keynote speaker could have picked a topic other than digestive ailments for a dinnertime talk, but I was proud of Blake.”

“Where is Dr. Perfect?”

“He had an emergency right after the dinner, so he’s probably at the hospital.” Darcy heard a loud thud, followed by some shouts and applause. “Where are you?”

“Checking out the hotties at the cross-fit gym on East Eighty-Fourth. Speaking of hotties, you won’t believe what I did last night.”

“I really don’t want to hear about your kinky sex life.”

“It wasn’t sex. It was baseball. I went to the game with Josh.”

“The Yankees game? Like a date? Why?” Darcy tried to wrap her mind around Josh and Laura doing anything together, much less going to a Yankees game.

“No, not a date. Get real. He couldn’t find anyone to go with him since you threw him over for Blake, so I went. At first I just felt sorry for him—”

“Wait, you felt sorry for Josh?”

“Yeah, crazy I know. But then I actually had a great time. He’s kind of . . . I don’t know . . . fun, you know?”

“Yeah, I know,” Darcy muttered.

“Anyway, we went to this batting cage afterwards and then to some dive called Yankee Tavern.”

The omelet she had for breakfast took on the characteristics of a brick, sharp and heavy in her stomach. Josh took Laura to all the places they go. How could he? First he defends Laura at the gala, then he takes her to a baseball game and the batting cage! What next? She didn’t want to go there.

“Darcy? You there?”

“Yeah. Sorry.”
Don’t say it. “
You and Josh going to start hanging out now?”
Of course you had to say it.

“Pfft. I doubt it. It was just a one-time thing. Ooh, I gotta go. The hottie in the chest-hugging T-shirt just gave me a come-hither look. See ya.”

Darcy started to throw the phone down on the bed but remembered what happened last time she did that and restrained herself, placing it in the cradle instead.

She didn’t know what to think of Laura’s revelation. It sounded innocent enough. But one thing was certain,
she
would not be missing anymore Yankees games.

Impulsively, she picked up the phone and dialed Josh. She wanted his take on the ‘not a date’ date.

“Hey, sunshine. Boy, did you miss a great game last night!”

Darcy rolled her eyes as Josh painstakingly described every at-bat. Before he could get to his exposition on the Yankees’ pitching line-up, she interrupted him. “Yeah, thanks for rubbing it in. So, you and Laura, huh?” She let the question hang in the air.

“Oh . . . yeah. None of the guys could go, so after the committee meeting I had a wild idea and asked Laura. And surprisingly, it wasn’t bad at all. Beneath that brash exterior, Laura is . . . fun.”

There was that word again. “Well, I’m glad it worked out. But you haven’t given away my seat have you, because I’m not planning to miss any more games.”

“Of course not. We’re on for tonight then, right?”

“Absolutely.”

“Great. I have to meet Laura at Lexington Bar and Books to return her keys. Want to join? We could have a pre-game beer.”

Her keys! “Why do you have Laura’s keys?”

“Oh, it’s the funniest thing—”  

I just bet it is.

“On the way out of the stadium after the game, a Twins fan bumped into Laura, making her drop her purse. Boy!” Josh laughed. “She’s got quite the mouth on her—she could give a sailor a run for his money—but I’m sure you already know that.”

Yeah, yeah. Laura Potty-Mouth Armstrong.

“Anyway, in the scramble to pick up the contents before they—and we—were trampled, I scooped up her keys and stuffed them in my pocket. I forgot I had them until I got a call from her later when she couldn’t get into her apartment. Turns out security let her in, so no worries.”

“No worries.”
We wouldn’t want Miss Priss inconvenienced.
“What time should I meet you?”

“I told Laura I’d meet her at six.”

“Okay. I’ll see you then.” Maybe seeing the two of them together would alleviate some of her concerns. If Josh and Laura fell back into their same punch-counterpunch routine, to use Josh’s words, no worries. She refused to consider the other possibility.