She understood that he wanted to leave, so she said, “I’m sorry. If you’re ready to leave, so am I.” He paid the bill, helped her into her coat, and, with an arm snug around her waist, they left. She noticed that Sam didn’t look back, but with her peripheral vision, she saw Leonard Chasten standing with both hands on his hips not far from the table they had occupied. Hmm. So it was not Sam’s first unpleasant experience with the man.
Outside, a brisk and refreshing breeze announced the early arrival of winter, and she tightened the collar of her jacket. “I would have left you in the lobby while I went for the car,” Sam said, “but Chasten would have pounced like a cat on a mouse.”
“I was about to suggest that we walk for a while,” she said. “The sky is clear, and the moon is so beautiful, even if it does seem cold and lonely. This time of year, I like to stroll around Dupont Circle eating roasted chestnuts and window shopping. I’m not much of a shopper, and certainly not a compulsive one. Observing my mother at that turned me off shopping. But I like to look.”
“I’ve got an idea. Would you like us to have a picnic at Rock Creek Park next Sunday, provided of course that the weather permits? Maybe your dad could join us. I’ll bring everything.”
“That’s a great idea. You bring everything but the meat. Papa will definitely bring that. Can you get a grill?”
“There are plenty of grills in the picnic area. Let me know whether your dad likes the idea.”
“Look at that,” she said in awe as little clouds seemed to chase the moon. “I know it’s an illusion, but the moon seems to be running from the clouds.”
“Watching the evening sky can use up a lot of your time,” he said. “As a teenager, I spent a lot of time doing that.” They got into his car, and he drove several blocks, double-parked at Timothy’s, and asked her, “What kind of ice cream do you like?”
“Anything lemony, caramel, or black cherry.”
He returned a few minutes later with lemon custard ice cream for her and strawberry for himself. “You hold these,” he said. He drove on and after parking in front of the building in which she lived, he reached for the bag.
“Are we going to eat it here? Why can’t we go inside and eat it in my apartment?”
“That’s certainly better than eating it here. I wanted some ice cream, but I didn’t want to impose on you.”
Inside her apartment, she put the ice cream in bowls, and they sat together on her living room sofa, quietly eating. She finished hers first, and rested her head on his shoulder, because it seemed so right. He finished, took the glass bowls to the kitchen, and put them and the spoons in the dishwasher.
Sitting beside her with his arm around her, he was quiet for a while, and she waited for his cue. “You will encounter Chasten again, Kendra, because he and I frequent the same places, and we have some mutual friends. That’s to be expected, since we were classmates throughout college. Morehouse is known as much for its arrogant men as for its leaders, and Chasten was an ass when he was a freshman. By the time he graduated, he’d become unbearable, at least to me. If you don’t want his company, nothing short of rudeness will work.”
“I gathered as much.” She did not want to spend precious time talking about Leonard Chasten. “Oops! Did you call your father today? I forgot to call mine.”
“I did, too. It’s ten-twenty. I’ll leave now, and you can make that call.” He stood, extended his hand to help her up, and gazed down at her with such intensity that shivers plowed through her.
“Sam, you’ve got to stop doing this to me. When you look at me like—”
He locked her body to his, parted his lips over hers, and possessed her. “Walk with me to the door, and don’t forget to ask your dad about next Sunday. This time with you has meant a lot to me. My first class is at ten tomorrow, so I’ll call you at eight.” His lips brushed hers. “Sleep well.” With that, she was alone.
After taking a few minutes to calm her emotions, she dialed her father. “How are you, Papa?”
“I’m fine. I called you earlier, but I didn’t leave a message. I hate talking to a machine. I’m glad to know you weren’t at home on a Sunday evening. Today was beautiful, something special, but it’s getting colder.”
“Uh . . . Papa, I was out with a friend. He’s real nice. Next Sunday, he and I are going to picnic in Rock Creek Park, and he told me to ask you if you’d join us.”
“Did I hear you right? You met a guy who’s willing to drag your old man on a date with you? Times have changed more drastically than I thought.”
“I met his dad, so he wants to meet mine. I didn’t know anyone who knew him, so he said if I met his dad, I’d be more comfortable with him.”
“Are you?”
“I was already comfortable with him, and I was a nervous wreck till I met his father. I liked his dad a lot.”
“All right. If he wants to meet me, you bet I want to meet him! What does this fellow do for a living?”
“He teaches at GW, and his father is a lawyer. They’re both down-to-earth. You’ll like Sam.”
“Is that your fellow’s name?”
“Yes, sir. Samuel Hayes.”
“Say! He was on that radio program with you. So that’s how you met. Okay. Sunday’s a good day for me. If he’s got a good grill, I’ll bring along some porterhouse steaks, serrated knives, a bottle of red wine, and a six-pack. We’ll have a feast. What time?”
“He didn’t say. I’ll let you know tomorrow when I get off from work.”
“Right. I’ll be there at midnight as usual.”
“Thanks, Papa.”
As faithful as the sunrise, Sam called at eight the next morning. “Papa said if you want to meet him, you bet he wants to meet you. He’s bringing porterhouse steaks, serrated knives, a bottle of red wine, and a six-pack; I don’t know what kind,” Kendra told him.
“He likes beer?”
“He rarely drinks anything. I suggest you bring whatever you like to drink. What time shall we meet?”
“I’ll be at your place around eleven. Is that okay?”
“Great. Kisses.”
“Kisses to you, too. Talk later.”
At school, she glanced at the bulletin board on her way to her class in Vocabulary Building and saw a notice that caused her to stop. She had two more days in which to apply for the reporting competition prize which, if she won, could mean six weeks in Egypt or Italy. Making a mental note to speak with Clifton Howell about getting leave from her job if she won, she rushed on to class.
It seemed to her that she rushed to school, rushed to work, rushed home, rushed to bed, and then got up hurrying to get in as much study as possible before rushing to school and starting the treadmill all over again. Six weeks in which to roam a country she’d never seen before could be a stress remover as well as an education.
She met Clifton Howell in the hallway as she rushed to her studio. “Good afternoon, Mr. Howell. I have to ask you something one day soon when you have time.”
“One day soon when I have time? This is as good as any. What do you want to know?” Too bad! She hadn’t planned how she’d ask him, so she said to herself,
Out with it,
and explained about the competition.
“I can find a temporary replacement for you,” he said, giving her a steely look, “but what will your fans think? And what if the listeners decide that they prefer your replacement? Never throw away the ball just because you scored a goal. The game continues, and if you want to play, you’ll still need a ball. Let me know what you decide.”
Well. He couldn’t have been more pointed. He liked her, but if the circumstances warranted, he wouldn’t hesitate to replace her. Lesson for the day: A bird in the hand is worth two in the bush, and nobody is indispensable.
At her eight o’clock break, Clifton Howell walked into the studio. “You’ve done well as host of this radio program, Kendra,” he said without preliminaries. “Advertising is up and so is the number of listeners. I’d let you go for a month, but six weeks is pushing the envelope. If you win, tell your adviser to call me. Maybe I can work out a deal for one month. Would you object to that?”
Her concern about keeping her job was on par with her feeling about leaving Sam for a month, when their relationship had barely begun. “That would be a better deal for me, sir. You have been more than considerate and helpful. If it wasn’t for your kindness, I wouldn’t be in school, and I am not going to throw this away for a prize that makes me look good, and which I do not need in order to graduate.”
He nodded. “You’ve got a good head on your shoulders. My offer stands. Good night.”
“Good night, sir.”
When she walked out of Howell Enterprises’ building a few minutes past midnight that night, her father stood beside his car waiting for her as he usually did.
“Hi, Papa. Why didn’t you wait in the car? It’s cold out here.”
He went around the car and opened the door for her. “A lot can happen before I can get out of this car. I’m a little older than I used to be.”
She couldn’t help laughing. Her father seldom owned up to thoughts of getting old. “So am I, Papa. A few more years, and I’ll be as old as you are.” His laughter always comforted her, for his happiness gave her a sense of well-being.
“Mind you don’t get fresh with your papa. How did it go at school today?”
She told him of her chance to win a trip abroad and of her conversations with Clifton Howell.
“Seems to me that if you leave that job, you can lose a lifetime career, and if this man, Sam, is worth your time and your affection, you’re taking a chance with him, too. Six weeks from a guy you hardly know, and six weeks from a career-building job . . . I don’t think I’d do it. Howell’s a decent guy, and, after I meet Sam, I’ll have a better notion about him. You said that if you did well in radio, after you graduated, Howell would promote you to television news. I’m wondering if winning that competition and wandering around Egypt or Italy—and you’d better make it Italy—are worth what you stand to lose?”
Chapter Seven
Sam rang Kendra’s bell at eleven o’clock the following Sunday morning, and it occurred to him that always being precisely on time might not be in his favor; circumstances could arise in which he’d be late, and she’d think he wasn’t coming. He waited impatiently for the moment when the door opened and she would smile up at him.
Women were usually closer to their mothers than to their dads, but. . . . He didn’t finish the thought. If she loved her father so much, he couldn’t possibly be a washout as a man, so Sam had no misgivings about spending an afternoon with him.
The door opened, and Kendra greeted him with a smile. “Hi. Do you think we’ll be too cold out there?”
“No. We’ll have a fire for warmth. If we’re lucky, we’ll get one of those grills inside of a brick oven. Is it possible to get a warmer greeting?”
She reached up and placed a quick kiss on his lips. “My papa is due here any minute, so I’d better appear circumspect. Come in.” He resisted telling her that he didn’t see a damned thing about a kiss on the mouth that wasn’t circumspect.
Not long after she closed the door, the doorbell rang. “That must be my papa.” Sam hoped that she had anticipated his own arrival there with as much happiness.
“Hi, Papa. Sam just got here.”
“That means he’s punctual. You look good. How are you?” he asked, standing with her in the foyer.
“I’m feeling great. How about you?”
“I’m not at church, but I expect the Lord understands. Where’s Sam?”
“In the living room.”
Sam stood and went to meet Kendra’s father, a tall, handsome, and seemingly very fit man. Somehow, he had expected a butcher to be stocky. “I’m Sam Hayes. Glad to meet you, sir.” He extended his hand and received a strong and honest handshake.
“Sam, this is my father, Herbert Richards.”
“Please call me Bert. I’ve been looking forward to meeting you, Sam. Thanks for asking Kendra to bring me along on your picnic. I don’t get out of doors often enough. I brought some steaks and a bottle of red, a six-pack of Pilsner, and some kindling. What part of the park are we going to?”
“We’ll be near the creek. I’ve seen people fishing there, but I expect it’s too cold for that today,” Sam said.
“Cold? It’s perfect weather for a picnic. The sun’s shining, the air is dry, and the wind is calm. What more could we want?”
Nothing grumpy about this guy. Bert Richards was youthful, well kept, and very sure of himself. So far, he liked him. “Thanks for bringing the kindling. I was counting on finding some dry sticks. We’d better get started, sir.”
Sam put an arm around Kendra’s waist, then remembered who walked behind them and removed it at once. They stepped outside the apartment, and he opened his hand to Kendra for the key. “I’ll lock it,” he said. He considered it his duty to make certain that they left her home secure, and he meant to discharge it. Damned if he was going to relinquish his status to Kendra’s father or any other man.
“I’ll lead, if you don’t mind,” he told Kendra’s father when they reached his car. “I’d rather take Connecticut to Nebraska, exit Nebraska into Northampton Street, and take that into the park. That’s a good area for what we want.”
“I’ll be right behind you.”
With the traffic light all the way, they reached the park in less than twenty minutes and, almost at once, Sam found the brick-oven grill that he preferred, laid on it the potatoes, asparagus, and onions. Bert lit the kindling, and Sam added the coals. By the time they finished unpacking, the fire had begun to provide heat. Bert left them and returned with three folding chairs he’d put in the trunk of his car.
“Roughing it is fine when you’re a teenager, Sam, but I like my comforts. Have a seat while the coals heat up. The steaks and drinks are in that cooler. It’s your party, so you do as you please with it.”
“Thanks for confusing me,” Sam said. “I love red wine with steaks, but at a picnic, I love beer.”
Bert laughed. “Moral of the story is not to bring steaks on a picnic.”
“With charcoal-grilled porterhouse steaks the issue, I certainly wouldn’t use that solution,” Sam said. “Moral or no moral. Nothing’s wrong with drinking beer before the steaks are done and wine while we’re eating them.” He went over to the cooler, got three cans of beer, opened them, and passed one each to Kendra and Bert.
“I never drink beer,” she said.
“Then drink wine,” Bert advised. “Or you can make this the first time you drink a beer.”
She looked from her father to Sam, and Sam waited to see what she’d do. It did not displease him when she got the bottle of wine and handed it to him. “Would you open that, please?”
“My pleasure.” While opening the wine, he noticed her father’s careful attention to the way in which he and Kendra interacted, and he’d seen the day, years earlier, when he’d have given the man something to look at. But Sam knew that he would probably need Bert Richards’s support one day, so he didn’t want to make an enemy of him. He looked at the coals and then said to Bert, “Do you think those coals are hot enough?”
“Five or ten more minutes and they’ll be perfect.”
Sam had a few questions that he wanted to ask Bert Richards, but since the answers to none of them were any business of his, he kept his questions to himself. How had a decent, straightforward man like Bert married the woman that Kendra described her mother to be, and how had he lived with her for five years? And it wouldn’t hurt to know in what ways, if at all, Kendra was like her mother. So far, what he’d seen of and experienced with Kendra suggested that she and her mother did not have the same DNA family. He’d have to be patient, because any allusion to that matter would probably ruin his relationship with Kendra.
He heard Kendra talking to her father and focused on her words.
“Papa, it would have been nice if you’d brought your guitar.”
“You play the guitar?” he asked Bert, although it was obvious from Kendra’s comment that he did.
“Whenever I have time, I do. When I get home at night, I’m too tired to practice, and on Sundays when I’m off, I have so many other things to do that I don’t get to my guitar. Too bad. I was once pretty good at it. It’s in the trunk, but there’s no telling what it will sound like in this weather.”
Kendra got the guitar out of the car and brought it to her father, who tuned it and plucked a few strings. Bert looked at his daughter. “What would you like to hear?”
“How about Mendelssohn’s
Songs Without Words
?” She looked at Sam. “Papa transcribed that for guitar, and I love it.”
“I like it, too, but I’ve only heard it for piano and violin.”
Sam sat enraptured while Bert Richards played the guitar like a professional, and he couldn’t help wondering about the man’s youthful dreams and goals and what had torpedoed them. This man had not reached maturity intending to be a butcher, and Sam wouldn’t demean his accomplishments by asking him how it had happened. It occurred to him that Kendra’s drive and tenacity might have had its seeds in what she knew of her father’s life. The music ended, but he remained under its spell.
“Thank you,” Sam said, looking at Bert. “I could listen to you play like that forever. I’m surprised you don’t make your living as a musician.”
“I appreciate the compliment. It’s a long, long story. We can put the steaks on now. Anything I can help with?”
“You’ve done more than your share. As soon as the steaks are ready, we’ll eat.” Sam turned the asparagus, halved Vidalia onions, and slices of small red potatoes on the grill beside the steaks. He spread the tablecloth on a picnic table, opened the wine, and tasted it. Not bad. The man knew something about wine. Bert Richards did not add up. Since this wasn’t a fancy sit-down dinner, Sam stacked the plates and utensils on the table, poured three glasses of wine, and checked the grill, turning the steaks and the vegetables. He poured blue cheese dressing on the arugula and Belgian endive salad, tossed it, put the potato salad on the table and looked at his handiwork. Not bad. “It’s ready.”
They consumed most of the food, including a large porterhouse each, and drank the wine. Bert slapped Sam on the back, sat down with his second glass of wine, and said, “At least you’ll be able to feed her well.”
Sam glanced at Kendra, who stared at her father with eyes wide, and her lower jaw dropped. He regarded Bert’s sanguine and smug expression and Kendra’s barely leashed fury and couldn’t control the laughter that rolled out of him. But he collected his wits when Bert said, “You think that’s funny?”
“No, sir, I don’t. But the difference between your facial expression and Kendra’s is the funniest thing I ever saw. She’s about to explode.”
Bert emptied his wine glass. “This was a fine meal. Kendra was taught from childhood to control her temper, and I see she’s doing a good job of it.”
“Papa, how could you say that to him? We’ve practically just met.”
The quick rise and fall of Bert’s shoulders expressed his attitude toward that reasoning. “Sam understands me perfectly even if you don’t.”
Sam saw the first snowflake of the season and almost immediately silvery flakes began to fall silently all around them. “I didn’t check the weather forecast, so I don’t know how much of this we can expect,” he said. “From the looks of it, though, we ought to pack up.”
“My thoughts exactly,” Bert said. “This has been wonderful. I hope we can get a chance to do it again soon. If the weather won’t permit, I’ve got a nice place that’s warm, and my stove has a wonderful grill. You don’t have to be out of doors to have a picnic.”
“Thank you. I’ll remember your offer. I don’t know where you buy your steaks, or what’s different about your steaks, but that was the best steak I remember eating. Thanks for your company.”
“It’s been my great pleasure, Sam. And to know that my daughter has a man like you for a friend gives me a lot of satisfaction. I’ll drive straight home. You two have a nice day.” He put the cooler in the trunk of his car and kissed Kendra. Then Bert walked over to Sam, shook his hand, gazed into his eyes, and smiled. “Good-bye and thanks again.” He strode back to the car, his steps quick and lithe.
“Your father is quite a man, and you were wrong, he did not ask me about my intentions.”
“No. What he said was much worse. You wait till I tell him what I think about that.”
“Really? I imagine your reprimand will be short, sweet, and gentle. Your father is not a man anybody yells at, and he is not used to reprimands. So, I’m not impressed with your threat. We’d better go; this stuff is getting heavier by the minute.”
Sam stopped on the corner near the building in which she lived and put the car in park. It didn’t surprise him when she said, “Does this mean you aren’t coming in?”
He stroked her cheek with the back of his hand. “I’m debating that with myself right now. If the snow continues to fall at this rate, an hour from now I won’t be able to see to drive, and in two hours, the streets will be nearly impassable.”
“In that case, you go home with my blessings.”
“How will you get to school tomorrow morning?”
“If the streets are really bad, classes will be cancelled. It’s getting to the station that will be a problem.”
“By that time, the streets will have been cleared. I hadn’t planned for the day to end this way, but man proposes and God disposes. I’ll see you to your apartment.”
They dashed through the blinding snow, and when they entered the building, he brushed a heavy layer of snow from her coat. At her apartment, he opened the door with her key and gazed down at her, certain that his eyes reflected what was in his heart. But he didn’t put it into words, for when he reached that stage, he wanted plenty of time in an appropriate place.
“I like your father. If he had asked my intentions, I was planning to tell him that I wanted you for myself. I’m glad he didn’t ask, because having met him, I imagine that he wouldn’t have liked that.”
Her scent furled up to him, the smell of her rising heat sending him the message that if he was planning to leave, he’d better go right then.
He gripped her body to his, covered her lips with his own, and possessed her as surely as if he were dancing inside of her. “I’ll call you in the morning,” he said in a voice that he barely recognized.
Minutes later, he ignited the engine of his Buick Enclave and headed for Connecticut Avenue. He had some thinking to do, although he wondered if he’d gone so far that, for once, thinking would be a waste of time. Nothing could be done about one of his principal reservations, which was Kendra’s mother and their relationship.
Kendra’s mother was busily contriving to create a problem for Kendra, a serious one. On Monday morning, following one of the largest snowfalls in Washington, D.C., since records had been kept, Ginny telephoned the bank at which Kendra had an account, and in a soprano voice that camouflaged her usual alto register, she said, “This is Kendra Richards. I can’t get to the bank in this weather, and I have an emergency. I need to withdraw fifteen hundred dollars from the nearest ATM and you didn’t send me my debit card.”