What Remains (15 page)

“Designers must assume because a woman isn’t six feet tall, she doesn’t have breasts either,” she grumbled on the way into the restaurant.

“It would seem,” was Seth’s only response.

A Maitre D greeted them cheerfully at the door, delighted to see Mr. Richards.  Tessa guessed she would be too the way he threw his money around, slipping the man a twenty dollar bill just to show them to their table.   Now she understood why he was so adamant about her dressing for the occasion.  The place was packed with patrons who were clearly from the upper epsilon of
society.  The reflection of light from all the diamonds being worn was practically blinding.

This definitely was not another local seafood dive.  The interior was authentically faux French country.  Blue carpeting, mass produced oil paintings of quaint Parisian scenes, and yellow toile table cloths all skillfully set the mood.  Candles from the tables and wall sconces cast an intimate, romantic ambience.  Even the close proximity of the tables to one another made it feel very French, well, as much as she knew about France from the old movies she watched.

“Here is your table, sir; would you like our wine list?”

“Yes, thank you.”

Taking it from the Maitre D’s hand, Mr. Richards made his choice quickly then gave him a curt nod which served as a silent cue that he was no longer needed, for the man turned and left the table without another word.

“Have you ever had French cuisine before?” he asked, peering across the table at her with mild curiosity.

“Do éclairs count?” she giggled, embarrassed that she had not.  She then leaned forward and whispered, “And I haven’t had wine since I was ten years old?”

Mr. Richards grinned in amusement, “Ten?”

“Growing up, old man Philpot lived across the mountain from us, and he made the best blueberry wine…ever.  All the grownups went on and on about how good it was.  So my two brothers and I stole a bottle of it from the springhouse where my daddy kept it hid.  We climbed on top of the chicken coop where no one could see us and drank the whole gallon jug.  When momma found us we were too drunk to even stand, so my oldest brother had to climb up and get us.”  The memory caused Tessa to smile.  “I think it was the worst whupping I ever got, accept for the time we were smoking corn silks on back of the wagon coming home from the corn fields.  My baby brother got so dizzy he fell off the back of it and broke his collar bone.  None of us could sit down for a week.  I think I still have a scar on my back side from daddy’s razor strap.”

Although Tessa laughed about the experience, she could see that Mr. Richards failed to see the humor in it, for he sat silently and watched her with an illegible expression.

“I’m sorry.  I didn’t mean to blather on like an idiot.”

“You’re fine.”

“I’m not use to all of this.”

“All of what?”

“The pomp and circumstance.”

“We’re at French restaurant, there’s nothing pompous about that.”

Shrugging her shoulders, Tessa looked around briefly at her surroundings.

“It is when your idea of fancy dining is Olive Garden, and splurging means ordering something not on the two meals for twenty dollars menu.”

“If you’re that uncomfortable, we can leave.”

“No.  I’m not complaining, I appreciate the fact that you had enough nerve to bring me to a place like this, especially with my bits and pieces busting out all over the place,” she grumbled, trying once again to force the tops of her breasts back down into her dress as she hid behind the menu.

Leaning forward on his elbows, with his chin resting on his folded hands, Mr. Richards smiled, and continued to smile as the wine steward arrived with their bottle of Chardonnay and filled their glasses.  When they were alone again, he finally spoke as he lifted his glass.

“Here’s to new experiences.”

Offering him a timid smile, Tessa dipped her eyes briefly in humility and gratitude before raising them again to meet his gaze.

“Et
nouvelles amitiés.”

Mr. Richards chuckled aloud and leaned back in his seat to admire her in surprise.

“Let me get this straight, you speak French almost fluently, but you’ve never had French food?  Ms. Maguire, you are a dichotomy.”

“Well, a woman my age has to have a little something
something to make her appear at least a mildly mysterious.”

“Oh, don’t worry.  You have a little something something…
it’s called game, little sister,” he teased her playfully.

Tessa’s jaw dropped.  What was he talking about? 

“I do not have game!”

“You most certainly do, so don’t even try to deny it.”

“Of course I’m going to deny it, because it’s not true.”

“Be quiet and drink your wine,” he quipped, appearing quite pleased for being able to put her on the defensive.

“Fine, but I’m not going to speak to you again until you apologize for the defamation of my character.”

“Only after you apologize for wearing that dress.”

“What’s wrong with my dress?”

“Absolutely nothing.
  Now figure out what you want so we can order.”

Tessa did as she was told but covertly adjusted her dress throughout the evening whenever Mr. Richards wasn’t looking, since he was insensitive enough to tease her about it.

By the time the meal was over and the second bottle of wine had been consumed, by mostly Tessa, finding that the alcohol helped soothe her self-consciousness; Mr. Richards escorted her to the SUV and drove them home.  Her heels had come off the moment they were in the vehicle, and she carried them now as they walked toward the front porch of the beach house.  Stumbling over something invisible on the sidewalk, she giggled and pulled away when he tried to steady her gait.

“Hey, I’ve got game remember?  I don’t need your help, it’s all a ruse; part of my diabolical scheme to seduce you.”

“Fine, fall on your ass then,” he chuckled, though she could feel his hand on her lower back as they ascended the steps.

As he fumbled to find the correct key, Tessa leaned back against the door fasten for support, closing her eyes as she listened to the distant roar of the tide coming in.

“This week has been like heaven—especially the part where you’re grandmother accused me of being inbred,” she laughed.  “Good times…good times…”  Then growing more serious, Tessa told him honestly, “I’ll never forget it, thank you.”

“I’m glad you enjoyed yourself,” he remarked before cursing under his breath when the third key he tried failed to unlock the door.

“Sailing was fun.  Did you know I’d never been on a boat before, besides one of those things you paddle with your feet like a bicycle?”

“I would’ve never guessed,” he grinned, clearly thinking about how she clung to the mast the entire time, afraid of being swept overboard.

The fourth time was the charm.  Mr. Richards swung the door open and stood back allowing Tessa to enter first.  Rex and Hank, overjoyed to see her, barked as they waited patiently for her to pet them.   

“I’m going to brew some coffee,” he told her, leaving her to her own devices as he slipped away into the kitchen.

Using the dogs to assist her, Tessa eventually followed him and seated herself on the edge of the table with her feet dangling off the floor, and her shoes still in hand.  After he measured out the coffee and water and turned on the coffee maker, he turned to her and chuckled to himself, leaning against the counter with his arms crossed.  She had never noticed it before, but her employer
was really quite handsome.  They had lived together for over a month now, how could she have missed that?  And the way he was looking at her now, relaxed and self-confident, made her feel suddenly awkward around him.

“So, you had a nice time tonight?”

“Oui, merci.”

“So did
I.  I can’t remember when I’ve laughed so much.”

“Probably not since you watched the last rerun of
Hee Haw.”

“What?” he asked, giving her an amused but lost
expression.

“
Hee Haw…” she reiterated, and then waved off the comment, realizing he had no idea what she was talking about.  “Forget it.  I was trying to make an obscure reference about something…but I’m not sure what.”

“Oh it was obscure, alright.  But now I want to know…what is
Hee Haw?”

“Oh, you know…” she tried to explain, but found that her brain struggled to form even the simplest thoughts.  “That show from the seventies…they always sang that song…”

“If you sing it for me I bet I’ll remember,” he encouraged with a devilish grin.

Tessa cleared her throat and attempted her best
Minnie Pearl imitation, “Gloom, despair, and agony on me—deep dark depression, excessive misery—if it weren’t for bad luck I’d have no luck at all—gloom despair, and agony on me.”

Almost too amused to speak, he admitted, “No, I can’t say that I remember that one.”

“Well, it was either that or Lawrence Welk, and daddy refused to climb up on the roof to turn the antenna more than once a night.  I can still remember momma sticking her head out the window and yelling, ‘Slow down, Riley, you almost had it…oh, it’s coming in good now…real good’.  It wasn’t until I got married that I finally realized why my older brothers and sisters were always laughing at them.  Anybody walking down our holler would have thought it was a house of ill repute.”

When they both stopped laughing, Seth shook his head and grinned, “You are too cute for your own good.”

“And you have had way too much to drink.”

“This is probably true.”

“You know what?  I haven’t felt this good in like…forever.  We can’t go to bed yet.  The night is young and tomorrow is the end of my very first vacation.  We need to celebrate.”

“And how would you like to do that?”

“Open another bottle of wine and dance with me.  Do you have a radio?”

“There’s one right over there.”

Hopping down from the table top in excitement, she hurried over to the far cupboard where the stereo was located and tried to figure out how to turn it on.  Eventually, Mr. Richards was forced to come to her aide.  Picking up the remote, he asked what kind of music she liked.

“Golden oldies,” she told him as she began looking for the wine glasses.

“I think we’ve had enough to drink for one night.”

“Oh, don’t be such a kill-joy…just one more.  Please.  I’m starting graduate school soon, my son is going to law school…thanks to you…and I can say for the first time in my life, I don’t have a care in the world…which is also thanks to you.”

“Okay, but just one more,” he relented.

After pouring each of them a glass, he turned and handed her one.  When he started to take a drink, Tessa stopped him.

“No…not yet…we have to give another toast…”

“Alright, but it’s your turn this time.”

“Okay…if you insist.”  Taking a moment to collect her thoughts which were everywhere at this point, Tessa said softly while removing his tie with her free hand, “Aux anges gardiens déguisés.”

Instantly, his spine stiffened and he pushed her away from him until she was at arms’ length.

“Did I do it wrong?”

“No, Tess.  I just don’t think this is a good idea.”

“But its Van Morrison, and you said you would dance with me.”

“And I will, I just want to get one thing straight.  You don’t owe me anything.  I offered Shane a scholarship because I wanted to.  I have more money than I could possibly spend in three lifetimes, so when I see someone like you, who’s had to struggle for everything, it makes me feel like a fucking ogre.  So I did it more for myself than for you.  Do you understand what I’m trying to say?”

Tessa stepped back, and stared up at him openly, lost in a mental fog.  “No…” she pouted.  “I just wanted to dance.”

Mr. Richards gave her a saddened smile, took her wine glass away from her, placing it on the kitchen island, and placed her hand in his, drawing her closer with the other.  Resting her head, that was now swimming, against his chest, the two of them swayed back and forth together until the song was over.

“Why don’t I fill the thermos with coffee, grab a blanket and we go lay out on the hammock to watch the sun rise,” he suggested.

Tessa looked up at him, hopeful.  “Can we really?”

“Yeah, it would be the perfect way to end our vacation.”

Although it was a little tricky at first, they managed to maneuver themselves into position without being dumped unceremoniously on their backsides.  Only when they were steady, did he attempt to pour the Styrofoam cups with coffee, and carefully handed one over to Tessa.

“Here, you’re going to have to snuggle closer or it’s not going to work,” he advised, stretching out his right arm so she could rest her head on it.

When she was in place, he kissed her forehead in a brotherly fashion, which Tessa found completely acceptable after two bottles of wine, with not a hint of uneasiness about being so intimate with her employer.  At this point, he was more than the man who signed her paycheck, over the course of a week, they had become friends, and she could tell that he felt the same.