Journey (9 page)

“I don’t know that she failed to mention it so much as I didn’t care to ask.”

“Journey, I’m glad to see that you’re full of as much spunk as ever.”

Teresa breaks her longing gaze away from George long enough to shoot me a questioning look.  

“Why don’t we continue this conversation in my office?”  Without waiting for a response, I turn away from George and begin leading the way.

“Perfect,” George says to my back.

I sit behind my desk and offer a chair across from me to George.  “So, you have questions for me?”

“I do, but let me start by saying that I think it’s unfortunate the way we left our friendship last time we saw one another.  I feel as though there was a grave misunderstanding.”

“No, there wasn’t.  You made your intentions clear and acted on them without regard for my feelings or Jack’s.  Do you two even speak anymore?”

“I admit that Jack and I don’t speak much, but it wasn’t because of that situation.  Jack’s...how do I say it?  A bit hot-headed and boorish.”

“Really?  I don’t remember Jack to be that way one bit.”

“That’s because you only saw him a week out of the year and saw him as he was throwing money around, trying to impress you just so he could keep getting into your pants.  But, it was so many years ago, surely we can move past it.”

How dare he?  How dare he imply that I fucked Jack because of his money?  How dare he say Jack is an ass?  Although…it has been quite some time.  And, in the grand scheme of things, I spent a total of four weeks with him nine years ago.  I didn’t get the sense that he was being anything but genuine, but I guess I can’t really say for a fact that I know him beyond intuition and a perceived shared connection.  I could be completely wrong about George.  Even if I’m not, I have treated him harshly thus far.

“You’re right, George.  I apologize for being a little short with you.  I think I was just a bit surprised to see you.”

“Apology accepted.  Shall we get on with the interview?”

“Sure.”

George asks me many standard questions about where I went to school, where I completed my residency, why I opened a practice in Maine, etc.  As the interview is coming to a close, George closes his notebook, leans over the desk, and takes my hands into his.  I shiver from his touch.  “Journey, I am truly sorry for the way things left off years ago.  How about I make it up to?  I’d like to take you out to dinner some time.”

“I don’t know, George.  I’m really busy with the practice, and I’m about to start coaching the high school cheerleaders.”

“Oh?” George's face turns into one of surprise combined with something else that I can’t quite put my finger on, but I know it makes me feel all kinds of icky.  “My cousin Jenny is going to be the head cheerleader this year.”

“I heard.  I actually spoke with her earlier today.  She’s going to start working here, part time.”

“Good for her.  She needs something to help fill her time and keep her mind off of boys.”  George winks alongside his snide smile.

“I didn’t know that you’re related, but I guess that makes sense with the same last name and all.”

“Oh, we are more like distant cousins, by marriage, actually.”

“I see.  Well, if you don’t mind, I need to get going so I can run some errands before going home.”

“Of course.”  George reaches into his pocket and pulls out a business card.  “I’m serious about taking you to dinner.  When things settle down some for you, hit me up.”

“Okay, thank you George.  It was great reconnecting with you.”  

George leaves as I look down to his business card to read his full, pretentious name.

George G. Foster III

June

Journey

Yesterday’s interview was...interesting.  I haven’t considered going out on a date with anyone in what seems like forever.  I don’t even know if I remember how to do it.  

              I grab a copy of the gazette at the local grocer while on my morning jog.  There I am on the front page, trying not to look posed while I perform a check-up on Jill Jansen.  The headline reads:

Ferrer’s Families Fare Well

Really?  A terrible headline from an arguably as terrible person...

I’m eating my morning bagel when there’s a knock at my door.  Who the heck is that?  It’s too early for deliveries, and this is my home, so no patients should be here.  I grumble and wander to my door, rising onto my toes in an effort to look out of the peephole.  I don’t see anyone, which I find very strange.  Maybe I’m hearing things.  To ensure that I am indeed not insane, I open the door to no one, but spot something sitting at my feet.  There is a handful of tiny, blue flowers tied together with twine by their stems.  
Forget-me-nots!  
Under that is a small box with a large, gold organza ribbon tied into a bow with a tag that says,

Dr. Journey Ferrer

I untie the bow and open the box to find a textured, cream-colored piece of paper folded in half and sitting on top of white tissue paper.  I open the paper and find a handwritten note in very nice script.

Dr. Ferrer,

                           
Please allow me to apologize for the terrible way I received you the other day.  I was               horribly rude and have been ruminating about it ever since.  

                           
Needless to say, I was surprised and startled by your sudden appearance.  This does not               excuse my terseness, but I hope that you will afford to me the opportunity to apologize to you in               person.

I should like to invite you over for dinner this Saturday, that is, if you don’t already have plans.  I would love to give you a tour of the house and the grounds.  I recognize that the exterior is in much need of attention, and I am slowly working to improve its state and appearance.  

If you will forgive me, and allow me to make it up to you, I would be honored if you would join me.  Please find my business card attached to this letter and feel free to call or text me any time.

Warmest regards,

Jack

Whoa Nelly!
 I glance back down to his signature, which is grand and almost too pretty to be a man’s signature.  

Picking up his embossed business card, it simply has his name in the center with his cell, fax, and email on it, but no indication of what kind of business he is in.  As if he wasn’t before, Jack’s virtually a complete stranger to me after all of these years, but I’m jumping on the inside with excitement, especially compared to yesterday when George G. Foster IIII asked me out on a date.  Does a cold and rude person send letters to someone’s home in fancy script?  I don’t think I can scurry to my phone fast enough.  I hastily punch in his number and send the words:

 
 
Thank you for the note.  I would love to tour your home.  (Dinner is an added bonus.)  See you Saturday, around 6pm?

              It feels like an eternity before my phone chimes with an incoming message.

                          
 
Perfect.  Thank you for accepting.  I will see you               Saturday at               6, Dr. Ferrer.

                            Me
:
Call me Journey.

Jack
:
Okay.  I’m very much looking forward to Saturday, Journey.

***

Squee!!!
 I have no idea how I made it through the week without exploding, but I did.  I spent each day trying to decide how to act, what to wear, and exactly what dating is all about.  I chastised myself for calling it a “date” since he simply invited me over for an apology dinner and home tour, but I shaved
everywhere
, just in case.  I don’t think I’ve ever had a date or meeting with a friend of the opposite sex that didn’t end up with a rumble in the sheets, and if my past with Jack is any indication, we are quick to start up activities in the bedroom.  Or the back of a car.  Or in a club bathroom.  Or behind a dumpster.  Hmmm…  Perhaps my life was not as glamorous at the time as I thought it was.

              I choose a sensible outfit- a blue and white striped maxi dress with a brown belt and sandals -spritz some perfume on my exposed skin, and skip out to the car.  The drive seems like it takes forever, and the whole time I wish I could teleport there, but I make it safely and on time.

              I guide my vehicle up the long drive that circles in front of the house and marvel and the grandeur of the home, despite its lack of TLC.  From the front, it’s truly magnificent and quite a bit larger than I initially thought.  This is what you call an estate
.
 A few windows glow, giving hints of life within the sad, worn walls.    

              I take in a few breaths and begin the ascent up the large, concrete staircase toward the vast front doors that are shedding their decades of paint.  Before I can knock, the door clicks loudly a few times, then opens, revealing Jack Croft in the flesh.  He is dressed casually in slacks and an untucked dress shirt with the few top buttons unbuttoned, revealing his smooth neck and collarbone.  His hair is less shaggy this time, and he is clean shaven.  The skin on his jaw and cheeks grows tighter as he forms a slight smile with his lips remaining together.  I swallow hard, gazing up at him, and smile nervously in return.  I am reminded that he didn’t smile last time I saw him, because I would have remembered the magical sensations it sends throughout my body if he had.  This small hint of what’s hopefully to come with an extended smile on his face warms me throughout, just as it had many years ago.

              “Hi,” I breathe out.

              “Journey, welcome.  Please come in.”

              “Thank you.”

              Not taking my eyes off of his, I step clumsily into the house.  My sandals make loud noises as they contact the wood floor in the grand foyer.  The ceilings seem taller and the house has more grandeur than it did last time I was here.

              “I don’t know if I can say it enough, but this house is amazing.”

              “I appreciate that,” Jack says with a nod.

              I get the feeling that he’s being reserved and trying to play the role of a cool businessman.  

              A wonderful smell drifts from the kitchen, and purposefully I breathe it in.  “Something smells wonderful.”

              “I made a light spinach salad, coq au vin, grilled asparagus, and some roasted potatoes.  I hope that’s satisfactory.”

              “Are you kidding me?  It’s so far past satisfactory; it’s almost...perfect.”  This menu sparks added warmth in me, and I feel like I’ve enjoyed this combination of food before.  “Very familiar...” I add.

              Jack’s eyes sparkle as he asks, “Shall we?”

              “I think so.”

              Jack guides me through the formal living room and toward the large kitchen, which has gourmet appliances, white cabinets, and light granite countertops.  Two place settings sit atop the bar on the back of the island.

              “I hope you don’t mind, I intended for us to eat here in the kitchen.  If you would prefer the dining room-”

“No, this is perfect.  You don’t have to be formal with me.  I’m not a huge fan of it.”

Jack chuckles and smirks, “I’m not either.”

I’m looking around the room, taking in all of the architectural details like wooden archways and accents, when Jack asks, “Do you drink wine?”

I respond, “Does Victoria have a secret?” to which a flash of confusion falls over Jack’s face before it warms over with a laugh.

“I like the affirmative response.  Believe it or not, with all of the drinks we’ve shared together, I don’t think we ever drank wine.  I have a great bottle to open.  Please, sit down.”  Jack motions over to one of the stools with a place setting.  

The feet of the stool scrape against the kitchen floor as I pull it away from the bar.  After I sit, Jack pushes it back toward the island for me.  As he does, his fingers lightly brush against the backs of my arms, deploying chills down my spine.  

“Do you enjoy cooking?” I ask, not looking directly at him.

“I do.  It’s not something I got to do much growing up, so as an adult, I set out to teach myself.”

“That’s great.  I’m a horrid cook, but a busy college life followed by med school doesn’t really allow time for hobbies.”

“How long have you been independently practicing medicine?”

“Not that long, really.  I was actually going to go into surgery after my residency in family practice, but I changed my mind.”

“You moved here on a whim?”

“Yeah.  There were some things I was looking to put behind me.  How did you know?”

“I read it in our local news publication.”

“Oh, that.  Yeah…”

“It was a good story and the picture almost looked candid.”

I laugh.  “Terrible headline though...”

“I have to agree.  It was pretty bad,” Jack laughs as he pours wine into my glass.  

I lift the glass in my hand, tilt it, look at the color, swirl it to see the consistency, and take a big whiff.  Wine tasting is very important part of the experience to those who drink expensive bottles of wine.  The skills were almost mandatory in my house.  This wine has great legs and a smooth consistency.  It’s definitely dry with hints of fruit.  I’m not a sommelier, so that’s about as detailed as my descriptions of wine get.  I take a sip and taste all of the things that I had previously smelled.  

“This is a very good wine.”

“I’m glad you like it.  It’s a personal favorite of mine.”  Jack scoops some salad onto my plate, then onto his before he sits in the stool adjacent to mine.  

“Thank you so much for the invitation.  Everything is lovely.”

“I dislike formality as much as you, Journey.”

“Good, then tell me how you found my address, why you were an ass to me last time, and who you really are.”

“As always, a girl who speaks her mind.   I like that about you.”

“I’m not a girl, and I’m glad you like it.  Get used to it again.”

“Hmmm...  Is that a warning or a taste of things to come?  Don’t answer.  Either way, I like it.  So, to address your commands, Journey, you see, Journey, I saw the story about you in the paper, Journey, and I looked you up from there.”

“Ok, you can drop the
Journey
part.”

“Whatever you say,
Journey
,” he winks at me.  “Who I am…  I am Jack Croft.  I was born and raised here in Maine.  I’m an only child.  My parents both live in a personal care home, but we are hoping to move them out soon.”

“Those are all facts about you.  I want to know who you are, Jack Croft.”

“Do you always demand to know so much about someone you haven't seen in a long time?”

“I do when that someone is a handsome and mysterious man who invited me to their home for dinner.”

“Touché.”

“You were saying?”

“You don’t let up, do you?”

“Never.”

“I have my MBA and BA from Columbia.”

“Jack, you’re missing the point.  Let me help you.  I’m Journey Ferrer, I love long walks on the beach, reading romance novels, music, and cheerleading.”

“Those seems to be facts about you as well.”

“You’re changing the subject.”

“Fine.  I love wine, business, reading biographies, and music in general.”

“Now we’re getting somewhere.  What kind of business?”

“Real estate and investments.”

“Are you good at it?”

“I hold my own.”

“Why so evasive, Mister Croft?”

“Why so eager, Doctor Ferrer?”

“I asked you first.”

“So feisty...  All in due time, Doctor.”  

Jack takes a swig of his wine and stands to go over to the stove.  After stirring the wooden spoon around in a large pot on the stove, Jack’s warm, chocolaty amber gaze sparkles under the recessed lights.  

“Food's ready."

                     I follow Jack’s movements as his plates our food and then sits beside me once again.