Promise Me A Rainbow (19 page)

“But if I
am
a jinx, I don’t want to jinx you, too!” She hid her face again.

“Fritz, if you’re a jinx, you’re not a very good one. You followed me around and called me Daddy for five years and nothing happened.”

She grew quieter. He could feel her considering this piece of information.

“Five years?” she asked finally. “Joe, are you
sure
?”

He held up his hand, fingers spread wide. “Five. You started calling me Da when you were ten months old.”

“You don’t think I’m a jinx?”

“No.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’m very sure. You are . . . Mary Frances D’Amaro, also known as Fritz—the good and brave daughter of Joseph and Lisa. You are a doer of good deeds and an A-number-one helper—and no wizard will ever need to lock you in the moon.”

She clung to him again. “I’m scared, Joe.”

“I know you are. But I want you to trust me. I’m your father, and it’s my job to know these things. You are not a jinx.”

She leaned back to look at him. “Does this mean I don’t get to call you Joe anymore?”

“No. This means you don’t call me Joe because you think you’re a jinx. If you call me Joe, you do it because you’re used to it, okay?”

“And you won’t care?”

“I won’t care. I’ll answer to either.”

“Are we through talking now?”

“If you’re feeling better.”

“I feel better. Do I . . . have to tell Della what we were talking about. She’ll think I’m a nut.”

“This is between us. You don’t have to tell anyone if you don’t want to.”

“Charlie will tell her I was down here bawling.”

“Charlie probably forgot it before he got upstairs. You know Charlie.”

She gave him a wavering smile and slid off his lap.

“I have to wash my moon goddess tears,” she said as she gathered up her beach pebbles.

“Fritz,” he said when she reached the door, “thank you for worrying about me.”

“You’re welcome.”

“But you don’t have to do it anymore.”

“Okay . . .”

He thought she was about to say Daddy, but she didn’t, and he didn’t press it. She wasn’t ready to take the chance yet.

He felt completely drained, emotionally and physically, and he continued to sit at the kitchen table. The image of Catherine Holben suddenly came to mind—Catherine standing on the windy beach, Catherine smiling in the sun. He wanted to talk to her. He wanted to tell her about Fritz. He wanted to look into her calm eyes. But he stayed where he was. He picked up the picture on the table, feeling the same pain he always did when he looked at one of Lisa and him together.

God, Lisa, when is it going to stop hurting?

“You could ask
him
,” she suggested.

“You sound like Beatrice and Sasha.”

“Well, you
could
ask him.”

“I don’t want to ask him, thank you.”

“Then never mind that. Just tell me if it beat the hell out of going to Jonathan’s wedding.”

“It was . . . all right.”

“Jesus, I hate talking to you!”

“What do you want me to say?”

“Tell me how you feel. I tell you how I feel often enough. It’s your turn.”

“I feel . . . relieved.”

“Now that’s interesting. ‘Relieved.’ What does ‘relieved’ mean?”

“It means that Joseph D’Amaro and I aren’t interested in each other personally. It means that I don’t need any complications in my life right now, and I’m glad to find out that we aren’t about to start anything, so I don’t have to deal with it. All right?”

Pat looked at her closely. “Are you sure you aren’t interested in each other personally?”

“Positive.”

“You sound a little disappointed to me . . .”

“I am
not
disappointed!”

“So what kind of complications would you have if this mutual disinterest
weren’t
the case? I mean, if he just had the hots for you and you just had the hots for him, too. Nothing major. No lifetime commitments. Just a little unadulterated sex.”

“Nobody has the hots for anybody!”

“Um, Ms. Holben,” someone said tentatively at the doorway.

“What!” Catherine said in exasperation.

“Telephone call in the office.”

“Man or woman?” Pat asked.

“Man,” the woman from the office said, trying not to grin.

“Bet it’s the filthy beast,” Pat said.

“He said to tell you he was in a hurry,” the woman said.

He’s in a hurry, Catherine thought. She supposed it could be Jonathan stranded someplace on his honeymoon and wiring for money, but she strongly doubted it. Who else but Joe D’Amaro would give someone else
his
particulars and expect the rest of the world to adjust itself accordingly.

She should have been annoyed. She wasn’t. She should have suddenly found herself too busy to talk to him. She didn’t. The best she could do was to ignore Pat’s grin as she followed the woman from the office back down the corridor.

“You know you don’t have to take the call,” Pat called after her.

No, she didn’t—except that she wanted to know about Fritz. Joe D’Amaro wouldn’t be calling for any other reason.

At first she thought there was no one on the line—he’d been in too much of a hurry to wait until she could walk from the classroom to the front office.

“Hello?” she said again.

She could hear background noise—voices, some kind of machine—and then, “Catherine?”

“Yes? Who is this?” She knew perfectly well who it was, but she played the game anyway.

“This is Joe . . . D’Amaro,” he added, as if it suddenly occurred to him that she might know hundreds of Joes. “Are you doing anything after work today?”

“Why?” She wasn’t about to say yes or no until she knew why he was asking.

“I . . . was wondering if we could talk. About Fritz. I have to work late tonight, but I thought we could get together for a little while when you’re finished there—go get something to eat maybe. I mean, we both have to eat, and we could kill two birds with one stone.”

Catherine listened to his voice. He sounded . . . nervous. Why would he be nervous?

I am not going to do this
, she thought.
I’m not going
to go sit with
him and talk to him
and feel what I’ve been feeling
.

“Catherine? Did you hear me?”

“Yes, I heard you.”
Oh, damn.
“All right. I usually leave here at four-thirty.”

“Just wait for me there. I’ll make it as close to four-thirty as I can.”

“Joey!” someone—Michael—yelled in the background. “Get a move on!”

“I’m coming. I’m coming!” he yelled back without covering the phone. “Catherine, don’t leave if I’m late.”

“That depends on how late you are.”

“Give me till sundown, okay?”

“Oh, sure,” she said, and he laughed.

“See you, Catherine.”

He’s happy
, she thought.
He’s happy, and he’s nervous
.

She stood holding the receiver until she realized she had the full attention of the office staff—again. No wonder Sasha didn’t like coming in here. If there was nothing to see, they listened.

She walked back to the classroom, knowing Pat was waiting like the proverbial spider for the fly.

“I’m going out to eat with Joe D’Amaro,” she said before Pat could ask anything. “He wants to talk about his daughter and that’s all there is to it.”

“Are you talking to me or to you?” Pat said.

“I’m talking to you.”

“Oh. Well. If you say that’s all it is, then that’s all it is. Of course, you do look a bit happier than you did a few minutes ago. Now why is that?”

“This is not happy, Pat.”

“It’s not mutual disinterest, either. Which reminds me, what kind of complications are you worried about with him? The worst that can happen is that you’ll care and he won’t, right?”

Catherine was saved from having to answer that by the arrival of the class. She had noted of late that all their arrivals and departures were en masse. Even Maria came and went with the group. They must be car-pooling, she thought. She was glad they were growing closer. A pregnant woman, especially one that was unmarried and well below the age of twenty, needed all the support she could get.

The day dragged on, and she had to keep reminding herself that she wasn’t seeing Joe D’Amaro socially. She didn’t need to fuss with her hair or freshen her makeup. All she needed was to keep her mind on what she was doing
now
, which would have been no problem under normal circumstances. But circumstances weren’t normal. She couldn’t stop thinking about him, about their walk on the beach around the construction site. She had liked being with him. She’d liked hearing him talk about the place he was going to build in a way she’d never liked hearing Jonathan talk about his accounts.

Why was that? she thought in exasperation. She was willing to admit that she was sexually attracted to the man, but that shouldn’t make her want to hang on his every word. She had actually wanted to know about sand erosion and footings, just as she’d wanted to know about stained-glass lampshades.
God help me
,
I’m interested
, she thought.
I’m really interested
.

Joe D’Amaro wasn’t late coming to pick her up. He was an hour and a half early. He stood outside the door in plain view of all her students and Pat Bauer.