Chemistry Lessons (29 page)

Destry drew in a breath, trying to
think of the right thing to say. “If you remember, I found out about their breakup
on the same day I invited you.” It was a politician’s answer, one that skirted
around the real issue, and he could tell from her down-turned eyes that she
wasn’t going to accept it. “Rosie rejected me. I’ve moved on.”

She put her phone down on the table
and sucked in her lips as if trying to steady her emotions. “I saw how you
reacted in the hospital when she said she’d broke up with Tanner. I’m not
blind, Destry.”

He stood and reached for her hands,
drawing her up from the table. “Why would I want Rosie when I have a beautiful
woman right here?” His heart knew he was lying but his head willed him to give
her another chance as she glanced from his eyes to his lips. Taking the hint,
he bent to kiss her, and for once, she seemed a perfect fit in his arms.

The traffic in Philadelphia wasn’t as bad as Rosie had expected. She
took only one street—Penrose Avenue—most of the way from her hotel to Destry’s
office. On the airplane ride over, she had played out every possible scenario
in her mind. She imagined walking beside colonial style houses and picket
fences until she arrived at Destry’s office, where she would enter an imposing
lobby. Wearing her cream-colored dress—which she chose because Destry once told
her she looked great in it—she would approach the stuffy receptionist, only to
be informed that Mr. Steadman was in a meeting, and she would have to wait.
After an hour or two, Destry would finally appear, his eyes immediately taking
her in.
“You’re wondering why I’m here,” she would say.

Advancing toward her, he would seize hold of her hand.
“You’re here. That’s the important thing.”

She would step closer. “What you said in the
cemetery—about that coming home feeling. I don’t want to lose that, and I can’t
let you move away, not now that I know what’s most important to me.”

He would pull her into his arms and promise not to ever leave her side.
It was certain he would kiss her then, and she would have no reason to hold
back.

Of course, there was the problem of Mercedes. Back in the cemetery,
less than two months ago, Destry had told Rosie he loved her. His words had
touched the happy, carefree part of herself—bringing her back to the childhood
she never had, the one where dreams and hopes came true. And yet she had
rejected him. How had she been so stupid?

It was only a few weeks later that he began dating Mercedes. And now
she was with him in Philadelphia. He might love Mercedes as much as he once
loved Rosie, or he might love Mercedes more.

Visiting Destry at work was probably the best way to avoid Mercedes,
but Rosie could imagine her being there, hanging onto Destry’s arm in his
office.

Rosie would march right up to them. “You’re wondering
why I’m here,” she would say.

In her mind, she could see Mercedes glaring at her. “Not
at all. We’ve been expecting you.”

She wouldn’t be looking at Mercedes, though. She would
stare straight into Destry’s eyes. “You once reminded me that there’s still
time to do all the things we want to do. I have time for those things. I can
help you build your resort and play arcade games and watch meteor showers in
the middle of the night.”

Destry wouldn’t be so rude as to break free from
Mercedes’s grasp. He would use the utmost tact. “My feelings haven’t changed
since we last spoke on this subject, Rosie. Unfortunately, now isn’t the best
time to explore the issue.” He wouldn’t need to say more, as long as his eyes
refused to stray from her face.

Or he might be frustrated, gripping the edge of his
desk. “You think coming all the way out here is going to make up for the fact
that in all the time we’ve known each other, you’ve given me no reason to hope.
I’ve moved on with my life, Rosie. Time has run out.”

That scenario was the one that made her palms sweat. She wished she
could know for sure that he wouldn’t reject her. Whatever happened, at least
for once, she would be following her heart. She had been so busy planning what
she might say that she hadn’t bothered to look up a picture of Destry’s
workplace, but the closer she drove toward his company’s address, the more it
wasn’t what she expected. Philadelphia seemed all asphalt and concrete, its
skyline studded with skyscrapers.

Only when she passed the University of Pennsylvania did she see a part
of town that looked more like she imagined Philadelphia should look with its
stately brick buildings. She followed the road into the hills behind the
university, where she first saw the sign for Destry’s company—EternaDerm. It
was also in a brick building, but this one appeared more modern with large
windows and curved lines. Nestled behind trees and shrubs, it was only
one-story high and extended the length of a football field.

 As she walked into the lobby, the first thing she saw was a huge
screen on the wall that showed before-and-after pictures of middle-aged women.
That was right. Destry once said he made his money selling wrinkle-reducers.
She remembered how he wished he could do something more important with his
life. That was one of the reasons he wanted to build his resort, and also one
of the reasons he wanted to teach high school.

She walked across the laminate floor to a large desk. The receptionist,
a young blonde with a French braid, could have been a college student. She wore
a white lab coat over jeans.

Rosie clasped her hands. “I was wondering if I could speak to Mr.
Steadman.”

“You must be the girlfriend,” the receptionist gushed, smiling.

 “No,” Rosie answered, drawing out the word. “I’m Rosie Curtis. I
really need to talk him, though.”

The receptionist straightened in her seat and assumed a more
professional manner. “Can I ask what this is concerning?”

Rosie could feel her palms starting to sweat. “A personal matter.”

The receptionist’s eyebrows shot up. “I’m afraid he isn’t in the office
at the moment.”

Rosie couldn’t disguise her disappointment. “Oh.” She hadn’t planned
what to do if he wasn’t at the office. “Thank you.” She turned to leave.

The receptionist called after her. “You’re not from around here, are
you?” She tipped her head toward Rosie’s turquoise necklace. “Your jewelry—”

Rosie smiled. “I’m Destry’s neighbor from Lone Spur.”

The receptionist stood up and walked out from around her desk. “I can
tell you where you can find him. He’s kayaking with Amir, our client from
Mumbai. I think they’re going to end up at Bartram’s Garden.” She helped Rosie
type
Bartram’s Garden
into her phone.

Rosie examined the map. It seemed easy enough to get there. “Thank you.
I’ll try to catch up with him there.”

As she headed for the door, the receptionist called after her. “He didn’t
say how long he would be. He only left a couple hours ago, so it might be a
while.”

She could imagine Destry spending all day on the river at this time of
year with all the trees in full color. Then again, he was probably busy with
his work. She needed to get there fast if she wanted to talk to him without
Mercedes around.

Driving to Bartram gardens was a little hectic with multiple turns and
lane changes, but she wasn’t nervous. This was where she was supposed to be,
and she was finally doing what she needed to do.

With its winding paths, stone-walled houses and ancient trees, Bartram
Gardens looked exactly like she had imagined. It was a still, cool day. Trees
glowed green, gold and scarlet with their autumn foliage, filtering the sun
into speckled patches on her skin. Rosie stepped off the path to hear the
crunch of leaves beneath her feet as she made her way toward the Schuylkill
River.

Hidden behind trees, the river was so wide, she could never sling a
rock across it. No wonder Destry hadn’t worried too much about water rights,
growing up with this nearby. She thought back to the day they met—what he must
have thought of her when she marched up and shut off his sprinklers. And yet he
had followed her back to help irrigate her fields.

Scanning the river up and downstream, she saw no sign of a kayak, so
she walked down the footpath, hoping to find someone who might know where
kayakers tended to come ashore.

Beyond a crop of trees, she heard ducks quacking and soon saw the
source of all the noise. A white-haired woman with two children stood feeding
corn to the ducks. Rosie stepped over the children’s bikes and dug in her purse
for a butter cookie she’d gotten on the airplane. She threw a few crumbs of it
toward the ducks.

“Want to use some of our corn?” the boy asked, extending an old cookie
tin full of dried corn. He looked about ten years old. “Grandma wants me to get
rid of it before we go home.”

Rosie held up the rest of her cookie. “No thanks, I wasn’t going to eat
this anyway.”

“That junk’s bad for the ducks,” he replied. He was right. Rosie should
have known better than to feed cookies to birds.

She smiled and pointed to the picture of cookies on the front of his
container. “But you don’t mind eating junk yourself.”

“I ain’t no duck,” the boy said. “People food makes them sick.”

The grandma shook her head in amusement. “You’re welcome to use some of
our duck food.”

Rosie dropped the cookie back into her purse and helped herself to a
handful of corn. “I wouldn’t want them to get sick.” She knelt as a few mallards
approached to eat from her hand. Their feathers glowed purple and green in the
sunlight. “I’m hoping to meet a friend here,” she said to the grandma. “He’s
been kayaking, and I’m not sure where he’ll come ashore. You wouldn’t happen to
know where I might look for him?”

The grandma pointed downriver, her other hand shielding her eyes from
the sun. “There’s a dock down at the other end of the park.” She eyed Rosie’s
heels. “It’s a ways away, past the boardwalk.”

Nestled as they were among the trees, Rosie bent to look past the
branches. She couldn’t see far enough downriver to know what the woman meant,
but she got the general idea. “Thank you,” she said, tossing a handful of corn
into the shallow water at the edge of the river. As she did so, she noticed two
kayakers about a hundred yards away toward the middle of the river. With all
the trees around her, she hadn’t seen them coming. She threw the rest of her
corn onto the water and tented her eyes with her hands, trying to distinguish
whether one of the kayakers might be Destry. From this distance, all she could
tell was that they both appeared to have dark hair. She raised her hand and
gave a fluttery wave of her fingers. One of the men did a double take and quit
paddling for a few seconds, staring back at her as he did so.

“Destry!” she shouted. “It’s me, Rosie.”

He was too far away to hear her.

She waited for him to paddle his kayak over her way. Instead, he
floated past until the trees once again obscured her view of him.

She thanked her new friends for the duck food. Then, wishing she’d
thought to bring a different pair of shoes, she took off down the path, running
as fast as she could in her heels. This didn’t seem real—running in heels with
huge trees and bushes all around her. Everything here was so overgrown. Without
being able to see more than fifty yards down the winding path, she ran until
she came to a boardwalk that took her over the swampy ground.

It was the first time she had run since she hurt her back, and it was
already starting to pinch a little in her lumbar region, but she had to catch
Destry before he left the park. The woman had said the dock was at the other
end—maybe half a mile away. Before she hurt her back, she could have run that
in six or seven minutes. Now she wasn’t sure how long it would take.

Blisters were already forming on the back of her heels, but she didn’t
want to get splinters from the boardwalk either. Once she was back on the
asphalt, she stopped to take off her shoes. A man on a bicycle came around the
bend, yelling, “Passing on your—”

She stepped to the left, trying to get out of the man’s way, but he
swerved in the same direction. Then, trying to avoid hitting her, he turned
even more to the left, running right into a ditch and falling headfirst over
the top of his handlebars into the muck. His bike crashed down on top of him.

She froze, gaping at him from the side of the ditch. “I’m so sorry.”

Wearing tight-fitting spandex shorts and a bright-colored biking shirt,
he looked to be about fifty with graying hair and a paunchy middle. She hoped
he hadn’t broken anything. “Stay on the right,” the man yelled, trying to get
out from under his bike, which lay on its side on top of him. “You’re supposed
to stay on the right on the bike trail. I’m supposed to pass on your left.”

“I didn’t know that. I’ve never been on a bike trail before.” She hadn’t
even known it was a bike trail. It looked like a sidewalk to her. Not that she
knew much about sidewalks either. She eased herself down the embankment, trying
not to hurt her back as she pulled the bike off of the man. In doing so, she
scraped the pedal across his nose.

“Ouch!” he cried as the pedal spun toward his eye.

She took care to lift the back end of the bike so it wouldn’t touch
him.

The expression on his face reminded her of a bull about to charge. Only
there was no way he could charge, lying on his back in the putrid water.

The boy who had been feeding ducks rode up to her on his bike. “You
need me to call an ambulance for him?”

Rosie shook her head. “No, but I might need one if he doesn’t calm
down.” She wasn’t sure what the protocol would be for this type of incident. It
wasn’t like they could exchange insurance information. She laid his bike
carefully in the grass. “I’m very sorry,” she said in the calm, clear tone she
might use on an angry bull. “I was hurrying to catch up with a kayaker because
I’m in love with him. I guess I wasn’t paying attention.” She offered the man a
hand up.