White Lies (11 page)

Students began to shuffle into the classroom, some chatting, others plopping down at their desks and falling immediately asleep. She was always mystified at where a child's energy went during the transition from elementary to high school. It was almost as if it didn't make the cut into teenage years, shoved out by hormones or something along those lines.

When the seven thirty bell rang, she roused everyone to attention, then started on about the importance of eliminating dangling participles. Throughout the lesson she experienced that floating sensation she'd been feeling off and on since waking that
morning. Because after school, she was going to see Jack Reeves again, the man she barely knew but whom she couldn't stop thinking about. The list of items she'd decided she needed from the hardware store had been easy to compose, since she was beginning with next to nothing: energy-efficient lightbulbs, an extension cord and multipower outlet, an electrical heater for the bedroom because the old oil radiator took forever to heat up and the mountain autumn nights were already proving to be quite chilly, small kitchen appliances, and anything else she saw when she was there.

Who knew you could get so excited about shopping in a hardware store?

Her high spirits carried her throughout the remainder of the day, and before she knew it the last bell had rung and she was in her car heading down Front Street into the center of town. Her palms were damp on the steering wheel, her stomach churning with nervousness. She tried to tell herself seeing Jack again wasn't such a big deal. But it was a big deal. She had made it a big deal by thinking about him so much, the way those chocolate Advent calendars made Christmas an even bigger deal than it already was for kids by counting down the days of December.

She went over once more what she was going to say. Something simple about being new in town and would he care to show her around? Although that line had sounded perfectly plausible earlier, it now felt contrived, if not flat out ridiculous. After all, he didn't even know her. She was just another customer. She would be coming off as desperate.

She was approaching the hardware store on the right side of the street. She was tempted to drive right on past and return home, make dinner, and forget this mad scheme. But she knew she would regret doing that. So she pulled to the curb, checked her lipstick in the rearview mirror, and started down the sidewalk. She was still a good twenty yards away when Jack rounded the corner at the far end of the block and started toward her. Her mind chugged to a halt. Her step faltered. For a moment she entertained
the notion, given the amount of time she'd spent fantasizing about him, she was superimposing his face on someone else, someone who resembled him. But she knew that wasn't the case. Not many men had tattooed forearms and a ponytail.

Should she pretend not to notice? Should she say hello
?

The gap between them was disappearing fast. She figured he would turn into the hardware store, which was only a couple shops ahead of him. But to her surprise he walked straight past it. Straight toward her. His posture was proper, his chin up, and he seemed to be whistling to himself. His attention was focused on the park across the street, and he didn't see her. The gap between them had almost disappeared. Yes, he was whistling. She could hear him now. She decided to continue past him. She'd lost her nerve, she couldn't—

He noticed her at the last moment. The tune died on his lips. His face opened up in amused surprise. She tried to look surprised as well.

“Well, hello again!” he said jovially, stopping in front of her. “How are the hooks?”

All she could think of were pirates. “Hooks?”

“For your pictures?”

Katrina thought of them holding up the bed sheets over her windows. “Excellent, actually. Much better than nails. You're not working today?”

“You mean the hardware store?” He glanced over his shoulder at it. When he looked back, he was grinning. “I don't work there. I was just picking up a few things I needed yesterday. The owner had stepped out for a few minutes. Came back just after you left.” She must have looked absolutely flustered, because he added, “Don't worry about the hooks. I paid for them. Like I said, a house-warming gift.”

She was flattered. At least she thought she was.

“I was just heading down the street for a coffee,” he continued. “Care to join me?”

“Um, yes, that would be nice.”

He held out the crook of his arm. “Take it,” he told her. “I'm working on being a gentleman. Doc's orders.”

She took it. His appeal was irresistible. Best of all, she thought, he was doing all the work. She didn't even have to break out her prepared line. As they walked he tipped a nod or said a hearty hello to almost everyone they passed.

“Didn't you say you've only been here for a short time?” she said. “How do you know so many people?”

“I don't know a single soul,” he told her, grinning again.

He took her to a place called Café Mozart, which was not a café but a private, upscale restaurant hidden away on the second floor of a building facing Front Street. Instead of sitting at one of the tables set with a bottle of wine and white folded napkins, he had the hostess take them to two elegant armchairs placed in front of a fireplace in which a small fire was burning. Off in the corner was a black piano, apparently so someone could play classical music when the place filled up. At the moment, however, they were the only customers.

“I thought you said you wanted to go for coffee,” she said.

“This place has the best Joe in town.”

Jack ordered two lattes, then settled back in his chair, crossing his legs. He looked right at home. She tried to relax as well. They made idle chitchat for a while, how-was-your-day? kind of stuff. Gradually they moved on to more personal questions. She asked him a few about his past, which he dodged. She didn't press the matter—she wasn't exactly eager to delve into her history either. When he told her he was only passing through Leavenworth, she felt her stomach drop three floors.

“So when do you think you're leaving?” she asked.

“I have no plans, really. But I'll tell you this much. This place is starting to grow on me. What are you doing for dinner?”

The question was so out of the blue, she stumbled for a response.

“Have you ever tried traditional Bavarian food?” he added.

“They serve that here?”

“I'm thinking of another place. Sausages, cider, kraut, Kettle Korn—it's great.”

“Sounds interesting.”

“So it's a date?”

He was either the most forward man she had ever met, or the most confident. “Yes,” she said, unable to hold back a smile.

“Or should I say our second date?”

“What do you mean?”

“What would you call what we're on now?”

After the old-world charm of Café Mozart, Katrina had expected an intimate candlelit restaurant with tables set for two. Jack had other plans, taking her to King Ludwig's, a rowdy, family owned and operated place named after the eccentric Bavarian king whose claim to fame consisted of three fairytale castles he'd built before being allegedly murdered at the age of forty-one. Grand murals and magnificent hand-woven tapestries adorned the walls while couples danced on the dance floor and kids ran amuck. Katrina loved it, especially since the food rivaled the atmosphere. She had the
kassler rippchen
(hickory-smoked pork chops and red potatoes),
winekraut
(sauerkraut marinated in white wine), and
rotkraut
(red cabbage braised with onions, red wine, and applesauce). Jack had the duck with plum sauce. He kept their dark German beers topped, and it wasn't long before she began to feel a little tipsy. For his part, he might as well have been drinking water. The alcohol didn't seem to affect him in the least.

After the main course, Jack pulled her to the dance floor. He placed his hand firmly on the small of her back, drawing her close so her breasts pressed against his chest, and weaved her around the floor with only German accordion music to keep rhythm to. She had taken ballroom dance lessons years ago with Shawn, as well as a month-long course in tango, so she didn't exactly have two left feet. But her skill didn't compare with Jack's. He was an excellent lead who kept her moving with such fluidity she barely had to think about what she was doing. They quickly became the center of attention. When they'd had enough, half the restaurant gave
them a standing ovation, clinking beer steins and howling approval. Katrina collapsed into her seat, her face flushed, and said, “I'd like to see you with some salsa music.”

“
Gemutlichkeit
,” Jack said, lifting his glass.

“What does that mean?”

“Good times.”

She clinked glasses. “To good times.” Then, “You know German?” For some reason that wouldn't surprise her at all.

“It was written on the menu.”

She laughed, and Jack waved over the waitress, a young girl wearing a traditional dirndl dress, her blonde hair hanging down over her shoulders in long Goldilocks braids. He ordered them apple strudel for dessert, along with another pitcher of beer, then leaned back in his chair. The top three buttons of his shirt were undone, just enough to reveal his tanned chest and the tip of another tattoo. He looked more solid and real and handsome than ever. But if that was the case, then why did she think that if she closed her eyes for long enough he would disappear? For the first time in her life, that expression “Pinch me, I think I'm dreaming” related to her.

“I'm really enjoying myself,” she said.

His black eyes sparkled. “I guess we were meant for each other. In fact, I know the perfect place we could go on our honeymoon.”

Obviously he was kidding, but Katrina couldn't help but feel a tingle of excitement. She hadn't felt that invisible expiry date once all evening. “Hawaii? Guam? Mexico?” she said playfully, going along with it.

“Even better: Moose Lake. It's a small place just north of the border in British Columbia. Clean air, pristine lakes, rustic cabins. A little like Leavenworth, but without the tourism.”

“Sounds lovely,” she said, and it did. She thought anywhere with Jack would be lovely.

He winked. “Stick with me, kid. I'll show you the world. Speaking of this fine town, how are you finding it so far?”

She was about to say “great,” that ubiquitous rejoinder, but when she saw the genuine interest in his eyes she decided to speak
the truth. It would be good to confide in someone else about the whole cabin fiasco. Catharsis or what have you. “It started out a little rough, I have to admit.”

“On a dark and stormy night—”

“Actually, it
was
a dark and stormy night. I was driving along Highway 2 when I passed this hitchhiker. I've never picked up a hitchhiker before. But it was pouring rain, and he was wandering around in the middle of nowhere.”

“Where were you on Highway 2, exactly?”

“About twenty miles west of here.”

“What was he doing out there by himself?”

“That's the thing. I thought maybe his car broke down, and that's what he said happened. But I don't remember passing any car. Oh—he was drunk, too.”

“Ah,” Jack said.

The waitress returned with their desserts and the fresh pitcher of beer. Ignoring Katrina's protests, Jack refilled her glass, then topped his as well.

“What does ‘ah' mean?” she asked.

“Rainbow Roadhouse. It's a strip club out that way. I passed it on my way here.” He held up his hands innocently. “Didn't go in. Scout's honor. But if this guy had been drinking, it would be the most likely place he could have been.”

Katrina was nodding her head. It made sense. Zach had been too embarrassed to admit he'd been at a strip club, so he made up the story about the car. “He kept looking at my legs,” she went on. “I was wearing a skirt.”

“Short?”

“Sitting down, yes.”

Jack grinned. “I probably would have done the same thing.”

She lowered her eyes, embarrassed—and flattered. “But he was creepy,” she said. “Not just the looking at my legs. But everything. The way he was acting, talking. I didn't think I could stand being in the car with him for the next thirty minutes, so when I saw this road sign announcing an upcoming turnoff to Lake Wenatchee, I told him I had a place there, which I don't. Guess what happens
when we get there?”

“He tells you he lives there as well?”

“He asks me to go for a drink.”

Jack feigned offense. “I feel like the schmuck now.”

“You don't reek like booze and freak me out. Anyway, I told him no, but he wouldn't get out of the car.”

Jack frowned. “What happened next?”

“Well, he finally got out and I drove off.”

“At least you're okay.”

“Wait—it gets more bizarre.” Now that Katrina had started the tale, she found the words pouring out of her. Jack was a good listener. It was a relief to get this off her chest. “I saw him the next day here, on Front Street, just a few blocks down from where we are now. Turns out he's a teacher at Cascade High School with me. You should have seen our faces when the vice principal introduced us.”

Jack turned serious for the first time. He leaned forward, eyes hard. “I hope his guy isn't still bothering you,” he said, all levity gone from his voice. “'Cause if he is, I'll have a few words with him. I can be rather convincing when I want to be.”

Katrina eyed Jack's powerful shoulders and chest, which his shirt could not mask, and his strong forearms and hands. She didn't doubt he could be “rather convincing,” whatever that meant. “No, no,” she said. “He's not bothering me. He's harmless, I've realized. Just a kid, really. When he's sober, he's actually quite smart and witty. Anyway, to make a long story short, that evening, after the first day of school, all the teachers went out for drinks for a kind of back-to-school thing. And then Zach—that's his name— he tells everyone about this lovely cabin I have on the lake. Next thing I know there's a party planned there for this weekend.”