Out of the Shadow (20 page)

His face lit up. "Then let me take you to the exhibit. It’s a great place to begin your studies."

She could use the diversion. "Okay...you’re on."

"How about music?" he asked. "What’s your favorite kind?"

Before she could answer, the waitress appeared with their plates. Hers was a work of art to match anything at the museum. Her lamb chops were surrounded by a medley of vegetables and topped with a tall sprig of parsley and a thin checkered wafer. The subtle scent of marinated meat and vegetables wafted to her. "This looks fabulous."

"Looks do not deceive. Dig in." Drew took a bite of his wafer. "Wait until you taste."

She did, and the lamb melted on her tongue; the vegetables cooked to perfection. She busied herself exploring the myriad tastes and sensations and failed at first to notice Drew staring at her. When she finally glanced up and caught his eye, he looked away.

"You like?"

"Wonderful," she said between bites of potato au gratin and carrot. "This is a treat."

"I think so, too." He smiled at her. "But you never told me what type of music you enjoy."

She had to think about it. "Rock, I guess. That seems to be what I listen to most often. U2 and Cold Play. I just discovered Muse. The usual suspects."

"Not bad choices." He put down his fork. "Do you ever listen to classical, or aren’t you interested?"

"I can’t say I do. I’ve heard all the popular pieces, but nothing too esoteric."

"Good," he said with a satisfied smile. "Then I can also be the one to expose you to some of my favorite composers, like Pachelbel and Chopin. I think you’ll be impressed with what you hear."

She took a sip of white wine and let the liquid gold running down her throat warm her. Flatware tinkled nearby and voices rose. Laughter followed. The festive ambiance of the room along with the wine were beginning to weave their magic over her. Happiness filled her. When was the last time she felt this good? Certainly before Angela’s death. The more time she spent with Drew, the more she enjoyed being with him.

"I’d like that," she said, wiping her mouth on her cloth napkin, folding it and setting it down on the table. It pleased her to meet a man eager to share what he loved with her, who didn’t pressure her to share herself with him.

Lately, whenever she was with Evan, he wanted more from her than she was willing to give. She had told both Drew and Evan the same thing—she wasn’t prepared for anything serious, but so far Drew had respected her boundaries more than Evan. Drew’s attitude impressed her. She grew fonder of him every time she was with him.

She sat back in her seat. An undefinable something shifted inside of her as though a veil had been lifted and her vision cleared. She could see things for the first time as they really were. What she experienced of Drew and Evan in a bright, unfiltered light, didn’t surprise her. In that instant, Evan looked less like someone she could rely on while Drew was becoming a trustworthy friend.

Drew sat forward. "Next Friday the Philadelphia Orchestra will be playing at Symphony Hall. Want to go?"

If she took him up on his offer, it might mean she intended to keep on seeing him. Even deepen their relationship. Was she sure she wanted this? Emboldened by her developing feelings toward him as well as her wine-fueled euphoria, she raised her glass and toasted his. "I’d love to," she said, knowing she had just seized the gauntlet and accepted the challenge.

Chapter Fourteen

"Irv, our long lost daughter has been good enough to pay us old folks a visit. Go out and buy some lox and bagels in her honor," Julie called across the foyer to the family room.

Irv appeared in the doorway between the two rooms at the same time Becca handed her coat and hat to Julie. "I’ll stop by Samson’s. They have the freshest bagels." He gave Becca a quick kiss on the cheek, then shrugged into a green wool jacket with matching cap and black leather gloves.

His departure left Julie free to escort Becca to the kitchen for coffee.

Becca hoisted herself onto a bar stool by the counter and took the cup Julie held out to her.

"You never said to what we owe our typically unavailable offspring’s unexpected early morning appearance," Julie offered with the cup.

Of late, Becca smiled so rarely her lips felt stiff when she lifted them. "That’s a mouthful, Mom. I wanted to see how you and Dad were doing..."

Julie’s sneer betrayed her skepticism.

"And ask you to fill in a few details about the babysitter you mentioned."

Julie plopped down on the stool beside her and uttered a disapproving grunt. "I should have known there was an ulterior motive for you to swing by...more than concern for your aging parents. Why don’t we have a quiet breakfast and let this babysitter thing rest? I don’t see what good it does to always drag up the past."

Becca took a sip of the strong brew and considered what to say next. "This has less to do with the past and more to do with the present."

"Like what?"

Becca could see disbelief in Julie’s tired brown eyes.
 "He might know where I can find an old friend from the neighborhood. It would mean a lot to me if I could get in touch with him. Do you know where he might be?"

Julie shook her head. "Last time I spoke with his mother, Dorothy said he hadn’t been in contact for a long time. He left town to join the navy and was stationed in Virginia. I’m not sure where he went from there."

"How long ago was that?"

"I’d say nine years. I don’t know the last time Dorothy heard from him, but it’s been years. He’s even less attentive to his parents than you are..." she held up a hand, "but don’t use his behavior as an excuse for yours."

Why did Julie always bring the conversation back to the same old place? "Are you still in contact with Dorothy?"

"On occasion. Your dad and I bump into her or Dan once in a while at the post office or quick store. Why?"

"Do they still live around here?"

"Over thirty years in the same house. Longer than us. More coffee?"

"Thanks." Becca held out her cup while Julie poured. Steam rose off the black liquid in quasi-human form, reminding her of the ghost she chased. "Do you know where I might get ahold of them?"

Julie put the pot down. "I might have their number in my address book. I could check for you."

"I’d appreciate that. I’d sure like to ask them about Adam and..."

Julie stopped her with a hand on her arm. "You won’t say anything to them about what’s going on with you? It would only upset them. They’re lovely older people. I’d hate to see them hurt."

Impressed with Julie’s concern for them, Becca patted the hand on her arm. "Of course not, Mom. There’s no need for them to know about the abuse. As far as they’re concerned, I’m only trying to find an old friend."

Julie sighed. "Good."

The front door slammed shut. Within seconds, Irv appeared in the kitchen carrying two grocery bags. Julie hopped off her stool with the grace and ease of a much younger woman to wrestle one from him. She placed the contents on the counter, lifted a knife from a block and began to slice an onion, a big red Jersey tomato and cucumbers on a wooden board. Without being told, Becca placed plates and napkins on the countertop and arranged the lox and vegetables on a serving platter. Soon the odor of toasted bagels and fresh fish filled the room and reminded her of their many Sunday brunches together over the years.

Irv handed Becca a toasted bagel which she slathered with cream cheese and topped with lox and tomato. She took a bite. Scrumptious. "Ummm, yummy," she said, smiling with satisfaction at one parent, then the other.

Julie stood by the sink nibbling on a half bagel and Irv had seated himself on the stool next to hers. To her amazement, Becca found herself enjoying the repeat performance of a now-rare family ritual. It had been such a long time since they had eaten breakfast together as a family,  Becca had forgotten how comforting it could be. For the first time in a long time, she relished their closeness.

Which might be a sign of her newfound maturity. It reminded her of what she had learned in nursing school about premature infants forced by adversity to mature rapidly. She had been through so much over the past few months, it had taught her to see her parents in a whole new light: To look past their failings and foibles and appreciate all they’d done for her. She needed family and community now more than ever. She had lost more than she could ever replace.

Julie buzzed around making sure all coffee cups were filled and offering Becca a second bagel, which she prudently declined, but the gesture touched off a wave of warm feelings for the effort being made on her behalf. She enjoyed her parents more than any time since they took her to New York City to see her first Broadway play at the age of fifteen. In celebration, she clinked her coffee cup against Irv’s raised one.

"Good health," he said, returning her smile.

It all seemed so simple now. If only she could build on what she already knew and the consistency of those who loved her, everything would be all right. She could recreate a sense of normalcy and belonging out of the ashes of her former life. She merely had to stay away from dangerous people and places. Stick with what she sensed to be safe. She could do it, she decided.

As long as no one stood in her way.

The phone at Dorothy and Dan Cantor's house rang a second time and Becca pressed the receiver closer to her ear. She prayed someone would answer and she could get this call over with. No matter how many times she practiced her approach to the Cantors, her spiel sounded unbelievable to her own ears. What would it sound like to them? She hardly remembered Adam, let alone buddied up with him. He must be at least five or six years her senior. How could she convince them she knew him well enough to have a friend in common?

After the fourth ring, she heard a click, followed by a woman’s voice. "You have reached the Cantors' residence. We’re sorry we’re unable to answer your call right now. Please leave a message and we’ll get back to you when we return."

Becca croaked out her name and number before hurriedly hanging up, then slumped into a dining room chair. Damn. Disappointment at the delay in her plans was quickly followed by relief that, at least for today, she didn’t have to face discouragement from Adam’s folks. And even if they were willing to help her, would it really lead her anywhere useful?

A whistling sound came from the tea kettle. Becca managed to pry herself away from the comfort of the dining room table to fix herself a cup of green tea. Even though she had left her information on the Cantor’s machine, she really didn’t expect them to return her call. It had taken most of the morning to generate enough chutzpah to make the call, in a week she’d have to screw up the courage all over again.

The sound of her cell ringing snapped her out of her reverie. She flicked it open to hear Drew’s smooth baritone.

"Hello, good looking. What’s cooking?"

His silliness momentarily lightened her serious mood. "Nothing much. Just whittling away the day."

He whistled. "It’s a big, bad, beautiful world outside and you’re wasting the day. Why don’t we meet at the art museum for that grand tour I promised you?"

She hesitated, not certain she was up to an outing in her present mood. "I don’t know..."

"Why not?"

"I have a lot on my mind right now. I’m not sure I would be much company."

He made an exasperated sound. "You’re not getting out of this one that easily. I don't expect anything from you. I only thought it would be fun to go out for awhile, and I’d like your company. It might lift your spirits. What do you say? Come on. Let’s do it."

Becca didn’t have to consider his offer for long. The thought of spending the day with Drew seemed a better alternative to her obsessive ruminating. "Okay, when?"

Two hours later she met Drew by the fountains in front of the Philadelphia Museum of Art. He had purchased a couple of cheese steaks on his way over, and offered her one. Even though frigid out, she had worn her down jacket and was quite comfortable joining him for a picnic on the stairs leading up to the museum. Drew excused himself long enough to bounce down gleaming marble steps to a coffee cart on the street below. When he returned, he handed her a latte. The drink warmed her, as did the arm he slung over her shoulders after they finished eating.

They spent a few minutes catching up with one another, before Drew helped Becca to her feet and led her into the museum, where he insisted on paying both their entry fees. Once inside the gallery, he seemed as excited as an adolescent with a new car. Taking her hand in his, he led her from one painting to another, sharing what he knew about Seurat and the French Impressionists. First stop: Seurat’s most famous painting,
Un Demarche Apres-midi a l’Ile de la Grande Jatte
.

In front of the large bucolic canvas of people lounging around a park on a Sunday afternoon, Drew explained that Seurat had been the ultimate example of artist as scientist. He had spent most of his life studying color and linear structures, which he used in an art form known as Pointillism. With a hand over one of her eyes, Drew was able to demonstrate the many tiny dots that made up the painting and she grasped how painstaking the creative process must have been for Seurat. The palette and pixilated images were particularly pleasing to her eye, especially with her newfound knowledge of Seurat’s creative process.

Next, Drew gestured enthusiastically toward another canvas. His passion had begun to rub off on her, and she laughed with delight at his exuberance. She was enjoying herself more than she could have imagined a mere two hours earlier; her pleasure and fondness for him, like appreciation for fine art, was renewed and enriched with each subsequent visit. If his parents weren’t such good friends with hers, and if Evan wasn’t in the picture, she might actually have considered a relationship with him. As it was, he was becoming a good friend.

After the museum, Becca invited Drew back to her apartment for a glass of wine along with a plate of brie and crackers. She had eaten too late in the day to consider a full meal, but both agreed they could handle a light bite.

Side-by-side on the couch, munching on goodies and sharing stories about their families, the  chime of the doorbell surprised them. Becca raised her hands, palms up, and shook her head in a gesture of confusion.

"Expecting anyone?" he asked.

"No one at all. I’ll check this out and be right back."

Becca opened the door to Evan’s smiling face, stepped into the hallway and swiftly closed it to a crack behind her. "What are you doing here?"

Evan's face instantly transformed from joyful to perplexed. "I haven’t seen you in a couple of days. I thought I should stop by and see if you were all right."

"Bad timing," she said. "I’d love to talk, but I have a friend over."

His eyes darkened. "What kind of friend?"

She shuffled from one foot to another, then croaked out, "A...a friend of the family. Nothing to be worried about. We visited the Seurat exhibit at the Museum of Art today and came back here for a nibble."

He made an effort to peer past her through the crack. "I thought you might want to go for a beer. Maybe your friend can join us."

"I don’t think that will work. He has to leave soon."

He shook his head. "
He
has to go? What does that mean? Are you seeing someone else?"

"I don’t know what you mean by seeing..."

"You know perfectly well what I mean." He quickly sequestered the gift bag he held behind his back.

 
  She didn't know what to say. “Look, I don't want to argue with you. Please try to understand I have other friends and leave it at that. I’m sure you have friends, too."

"I hope you know what you’re doing. I’ll stop by tomorrow. We need to talk." He spun around and stalked away.

Early the next morning, Evan appeared at Becca’s door.

Still half asleep, she had tossed on her red terry robe with black furry slippers before letting him into the apartment. "I wasn’t expecting you this early." She rubbed the sleep out of her eyes.

He stared past her, but seemed satisfied no one else was there. "I have to go by the library, but I wanted to stop here first and give this to you." He held out a single scarlet rose. "It matches your robe."

And my eyes
. "How kind of you." She inhaled its fragrant scent. "Come on in. I’ll find a vase."

He took a seat on her sofa while Becca filled a stem vase and placed it on the coffee table. "Want a cup of tea? I’ll put water on."