A Slight Change of Plan (4 page)

And now, thirty-odd years later, there he was. Waving at me.

I stared at the computer screen. I was afraid to move. If I clicked on his picture, would he know that I did it? Would he know I was interested enough to check him out? Would he immediately get a message, like the Bat-Signal, telling him that yes, I saw your wave. Did it matter?

Wait—maybe it was another Jake Windom. It was not all that unusual a name. I bet there were hundreds of Jake Windoms out there, all looking for a feisty and attractive widow like me. Why did it have to be
my
Jake Windom?

So I clicked on the link, and up came his picture.

Yep, it was him, all right.

He looked almost exactly the same. Going gray, but only at the temples. Why is that? Why don’t men have the dreaded white stripe down the center of their heads the way women do? His face was rounder, the sharp jaw and cheekbones softer, but, God, he was still so good-looking that he took my breath away.

He didn’t look fat, either. Or bald. Or like he had really bad breath and farted in his sleep.

Damn him anyway. How was it possible, after all these years, for him to piss me off so easily?

I needed to talk to somebody. Immediately. Before I did something stupid—like wave back.

So I called the one person who had been with me through the entire Jake Windom experience, from that first flush of true love to the final, bitter, Sara Lee days.

I called MaryJo Rooney.

MaryJo had been my roommate at college before, during, and after Jake. We’d met our freshman year. We roomed together sophomore year. As far as my mother knew, we were also roommates my junior year, the year Jake and I were camped out in a one-window studio only slightly bigger than a bread box. And after Jake left, I moved back in with her and rode out my senior year. She not only saved my life; she made me get out of bed to go to classes, badgered me into completing my applications, and made sure I looked
presentable at all my interviews. She was the reason I got into law school.

She had been happily married for a long time, with kids grown up and out of the house, like mine. She was a guidance counselor at a suburban high school outside of Chicago. I checked the time; she was still a big church person, unlike me, but even with the time difference, and a really long service, she should have been home.

Thank God, she was.

“Kate! Hi! I was just thinking about you. Oh, this is so funny. You must be psychic. Wait, let me sit and get comfortable. So, how are you? And the kids?”

“Jake Windom just waved at me,” I blurted.

There was a moment’s silence. “From where, honey?”

“I signed up for an online dating service,” I explained.

“Well, that’s fine. You’ve been alone for a long time. But I still don’t understand. Were you driving in a car and he passed you? Did you see him at a restaurant? How did this happen?”

“He’s on the same dating site. He must have seen my profile. So he expressed an interest. It’s called waving.”

She was quiet again. The best thing about MaryJo was her patience. She was originally from Atlanta, and always had that slow, Southern way about her. She could never be rushed. And she always thought very carefully before she spoke.

“Kate, you know I love you. And I want you to be happy. That man broke your heart. If there had been any justice in the world, he would have been struck down dead for all the pain he caused you. He is not worthy of your time or energy, not now, not ten years from now. Do not even think about waving back.”

There it was, the worst thing about MaryJo: She really held on to a grudge. “MaryJo, that was thirty years ago.”

“So?”

See what I mean?

“Well, we’re both older and have moved on with our lives. It might be fun to just, you know, catch up.”

“Didn’t you once tell me that you still dreamed about that man?”

Ah, yes. The other worst thing about MaryJo: She never forgot a word anyone said. Which tied in perfectly with the whole grudge thing.

And she was right: I did still dream about Jake. I’d never stopped. Even when Adam and I were first married, and I thought that Jake was just a piece of my history, he would haunt me. Not often, but every once in a while, I’d wake up with my heart in my throat, thinking he had just left the room. Adam and I had been married for twenty-two years, and I had never, since his death, dreamed about him. But I still had dreams about Jake.

“He looks exactly the same,” I told her.

“Well, shit. Not even bald?”

“No. He lives in White Plains,” I said, reading his profile. “Divorced, no children, loves theater and football. Go, Giants.”

“The Giants can kiss my ass. And so can Jake Windom. No kids?”

“Nope.”

“Don’t suppose there’s any info on the ex-wife? I’d love to know if he ever married that stupid Penn State bimbo he left you for.”

I laughed. “See, if I waved back, I could ask him.”

MaryJo did not laugh. “Honey, I am so afraid that if you see him, all that old stuff will come rushing back. And you’re right: You’ve both moved on with your lives. Do you really want to do that to yourself?”

The final worst thing about MaryJo: She was one smart, savvy woman.

“I’m curious.”

“And?”

I sighed. “I sold the house. I’m moving into a condo next month. Regan is getting married any day now, and my baby, Sam, is graduating from college. I’m lonely. I want someone in my life again.”

“How can you trust a man who took the best thing he ever had in his life, you, and threw it away?” I could hear her take a deep breath. “I know that you called me because you wanted somebody who would talk you out of this. But I don’t think I’m doing a very good job.”

“You’re right. I did want somebody to tell me what a bad idea this was. And you’re doing a great job.”

“But you’re going to wave back, aren’t you?”

“I don’t know.”

“Baby, be careful. Do not let him stomp all over you again. Okay?”

“I’ll try.”

I hung up the phone. I stared at the screen. His dark eyes were smiling at me, the same way they did back in 1978.

I took my hand away from the mouse and turned off the computer.

Even after thirty years, it still hurt.

C
HAPTER
T
HREE

T
he best thing about living alone are little rituals that you can count on. When I realized I would never need the little dinette tucked into my kitchen alcove, because my kids were never going to do homework there again, I got rid of it and replaced it with a soft, squishy chair and ottoman and a low wicker table. Now, every Sunday morning, I could curl up with my coffee and the Sunday
Times
and spread it out all over the place without having to worry about running out of space.

While I was trolling through the Arts & Leisure section, looking at ads for shows I’d never see, I called my kids. Sam was first on my list. He was always awake on Sunday morning because he was never out drinking or sleeping around the night before. And I began every Sunday-morning conversation with Sam with the same question. It’s not like I was being a pushy mother. But I knew Sam: He was not particularly good at social interaction, and I just felt the need to remind him that there was a world out there where women lived, and that sometimes he should visit it. For three and a half years, we’d had pretty much the same conversation on the subject.

“Morning, sweetheart. Did you meet anybody?” Since I already knew the answer, I leaned away from the phone to put cream in my coffee.

“Yes. Her name is Alisa, and we’re thinking about living together after graduation.”

Whoa. I stopped pouring, put the creamer down very gently, and pushed the cat from my lap.

“What did you say?”

“Here’s the thing, Mom. She’s going for her PhD at Columbia. So, I applied as well, and I’ve been accepted. It will probably be another two years, but it will be so worth it. The problem is housing. I mean, apartments around there are really expensive. So I was wondering if we could just live with you and, you know, take the train to the city every morning.”

I pressed the palm of one hand down against the tabletop and readjusted my grip on the phone.

“What did you say?”

“I know it’s a lot to ask, but there’s plenty of room at the house, and you’re going to be hanging out at that new job of yours all day, I know how you are. You can meet her when you come up for graduation. We were going to drive down to Manhattan, check things out for a few days, you know, being tourists. Then we’ll go back to Boston, rent a truck, and move down for good. How does that sound?”

“Sam,” I said at last, “when we talk on Sundays, do you ever actually listen to what I’m saying?”

There was a long pause on the line. “Of course, Mom. Why would you ask such a thing?”

“Didn’t I tell you that I put the house up for sale?”

“Well, yes, but everyone knows it’s a terrible market. You probably won’t be able to sell it for a couple of years.”

“I signed a contract last month. I’m closing in four weeks. I’m buying a town house in Madison.”

Now it was his turn to be struck dumb. I was still trying to process how he could have met this Alisa person, gotten to know her, fallen in love, and planned this elaborate scenario without ever mentioning anything to me.

“And anyway, how long have you known this girl?”

“You sold the house?”

“When did you meet her?”

“There won’t be much room in a town house.”

“I thought you were getting a job with that German company.”

“I guess finding an apartment shouldn’t be too hard.”

“Sam!” I yelled. “Stop and tell me about this girl. And going to grad school. We talk once a week. Couldn’t you have maybe mentioned this to me a little earlier?”

He sighed. “I know how you are, Mom. If I told you about Alisa, you’d get all starry-eyed and goofy, and we weren’t sure what we were going to do after graduation, so I figured the less you knew, the better.”

“I do not,” I said coldly, “get starry-eyed. Or goofy.”

“How long ago did you write up the guest list for Regan’s wedding?”

I cleared my throat. “Four years ago.”

“Exactly. And how long has she been engaged?”

“Six months. But that’s different.”

“No, Mom, it’s not.” He was quiet. “I met Alisa last summer. She’s doing work in neurobiology and she’s supersmart and three days older than I am and I really love her.
She gets me and I never have to explain myself to her. She knows me. And she loves me anyway.”

Aw, Sam. “Of course she loves you. What smart girl wouldn’t love you? You’re the best kid in the world. You’re also a royal pain in my butt. And what’s this grad school thing? Were you afraid I was going to get starry-eyed over paying for you to go to school for another two years?” Which was not entirely true. MIT had offered Sam a full scholarship. That’s how smart he was. But I still had to pay for room and board, living expenses, and the occasional round-trip ticket home.

“The tuition part is all covered. Seriously. Not to worry. We’ll be fine. I still have Dad’s money, so we’ll be able to afford a place near school, I’m sure. We can spend our vacation looking for a place. It’ll be fun.”

That’s my Sam. He and his brother and sister had each inherited a substantial amount when their father died. Jeff used his share as a down payment on an apartment in Manhattan. Regan used it to go to Cornell School of Veterinary Medicine. Sam invested very conservatively and had actually made money over the past eight years. I knew, because I did his taxes every year. Not only could he and his girlfriend live fairly well, but if they could find something reasonable, they could also have a nice chunk of change left over.

“Sam, I’m happy for you, really. So happy that you’ve found someone. And I can’t wait to meet her.”

“Thanks, Mom. She can’t wait to meet you, either. She’s all alone. I mean, her parents died when she was little; she has no siblings, and was raised by her grandmother, who went into a nursing home two years ago. She can’t wait to be part of a real family.”

Tears came to my eyes. “Oh, Sam, we’ll love her like crazy, I just know it. I have to go. This is way too much for me right now. I need some deep breathing. Maybe I’ll call during the week, okay?”

“Okay, Mom. Love you.”

I put the phone down and stared at it. Then I stared at Seven. She had jumped up onto the chair next to me, her tail twitching with disapproval. She arched her back and purred.

Well, that was one way to start the morning. I closed my eyes and took several cleansing breaths until my heart rate was back to normal and the tears were gone from my eyes. I picked the phone back up and called Regan.

“Mom. Hi. I was just about to call you. We have a date picked out. We just decided, isn’t that great?”

Her news knocked me back for the second time. “Really? Oh, honey, that is great. And thank you for telling me. Did you know that your brother not only has a girlfriend, but that they’re moving in together? And they wanted to move in here?”

“Oh, he told you? I’m so glad. I hate keeping things from you, but he made me promise.”

“What? You knew about Alisa? And you didn’t tell me?” What was wrong with my children?

Regan made clucking noises. “Mom. We all love you and try to keep you from worrying about things. If you knew about Sam and Alisa, you’d go into your mother bear mode, and we didn’t want that. Phil and I have decided on the last Saturday in October. What do you think?”

“What do you mean, mother bear mode?”

“Mom. Seriously. Does that sound good?”

I got up and found my five-year planner. I had a five-year planner because, as a lawyer, I had sometimes needed to plan things way in advance. I flipped pages.

“Lucky for you, it seems like any Saturday next year looks good.”

“Not next year, Mom. We mean to get married this year. Six months from now.”

“That’s not a lot of time to plan a wedding.”

“We want a small wedding, you know that. In fact, we were thinking about maybe just having it in the backyard. By the gazebo? The weather will be gorgeous in October. We could have a little afternoon thing, about sixty people. What do you think?”