Fools Rush in(20)

The boys had chosen lovely, nondramatic pieces, all of which could be, in those complicated fashion terms, mixed and matched. Three shirts, two short-sleeved sweaters, four pairs of pants and a long skirt. Tailored, professional, classic. I couldn’t believe how I looked. Of course, my hair would have to be worked on and I wasn’t wearing any makeup, but still…I actually looked the part of confident, smart, well-dressed doctor.

“Guys,” I said, coming out garbed in the long black skirt and red sweater. “Guys…” My throat closed with sappy gratitude.

“Ooh! Honey, you’re so pretty!” Curtis exclaimed, darting in to adjust a shoulder pad.

“I always knew a beautiful woman was hiding in there,” Mitch added, kissing my cheek. I grinned wetly back.

But they weren’t finished. “The outfits are just the foundation,” Mitchell pronounced, leading me to the shoe department. To save time, Curtis went to the jewelry counter. One hour and $775.39 later, we were done. I was a well-dressed woman. I weighed 134 pounds. I was a size eight. I had a decent haircut. I owned makeup.

It was time.

CHAPTER EIGHT

IT WAS ALL VERY WELL TO PLOT and stalk and plan about getting Joe, but it was another thing altogether to go out and start doing it. What exactly should I do? What was the first step? I needed input, so I called Katie. I could hear crashing and shrieks in the background as she answered the phone. “Hi, it’s me,” I said brightly. “Bad time?”

“No, it’s fine,” she answered blithely. “Hold on, I’m going in the closet.”

I waited as she hid herself away from her sons. There was a sharp scream from one of them, followed by another crash.

“Do you need to go?” I asked, envisioning one of my godsons with blood streaming down his face.

“No, no, they’re just playing,” she answered. “What’s up?”

“Well, a couple of things,” I said, stretching luxuriously on my couch. There were fringe benefits to being single and childless, and talking uninterrupted on the phone was one of them. “Sam was here the other day, and I thought we really should take him out some night. He’s still a little glum.” Actually, Sam had seemed just fine to me, but I sensed he was only happy when he was doing stuff with Danny.

“Sure,” Katie said. “Just give me a couple days’ notice.”

“Great. The other thing is…well, it’s about Joe.”

“So what’s going on?”

“Well, I’m kind of ready. To make my move.”

“Good for you!” Katie said cheerfully.

“So can I run the plan by you?” I asked, feeling very eighth grade.

Katie laughed. “Sure. Go for it.”

“I was thinking maybe I could have him see me out running, so he could notice that I’m, uh, in shape or whatever. And he’d see Digger and then he’d realize that we’re both dog lovers. And then we could talk about that when we saw each other next.”

“That sounds great. Very well thought out.” Katie’s voice became muffled. “Michael, if you do that one more time, I’m taking that dump truck away for nineteen days!”

“I thought you were in the closet,” I said.

“I am. Doesn’t mean I don’t know everything that goes on here.”

“Nineteen days?”

“Figure of speech. He thinks it means forever,” she answered, and I could hear the smile in her voice.

“So the running thing is good?” I asked, seeking validation.

“Running thing sounds great,” Katie answered. I heard Mikey’s lisping whine. “They found me, Mil,” my friend said. “Gotta go.”

“Okay. And thanks, Katie. I’ll let you know about Sam.”

WITH KATIE’S APPROVAL IN HAND, I set about orchestrating the casual, coincidental encounter with Joe. This is what I pictured.

I am running down Nauset Road, Digger trotting adorably by my side. I am wearing nylon running shorts and a T-shirt with an adorable, pithy statement. And what’s this? Oh my goodness, it’s Joe Carpenter in his truck! He slows down, appreciating the feminine bouncing, then realizes it’s his old classmate, Millie Barnes! “Hey, Millie!” he says, pleasantly surprised. “I didn’t know you were a runner.”

I stop, not horribly out of breath (because my car is hidden at the ranger’s station a half mile back).

“Hello, Joe!” I answer, reaching down to pat my adorable doggy. “How are you?” Chatting ensues. Some laughter. A few appreciative glances at athletic form (his glances, my form). We talk until a car rudely honks its horn, and Joe, regretfully, must take off. He watches me in the rearview mirror as I run effortlessly and happily until his truck rounds the bend and he can’t see me anymore (when I start walking back to my car).

Joe left for work at 6:30 every morning. This I’d learned on a stalking expedition several years ago. But timing was everything for my little running venture, and I had to be sure.

We’ve all done things we aren’t proud of, haven’t we? Things we don’t want to confess to friends or parents or children. My obsession with Joe was one of those things. It was bad enough to have been secretly in love with a man for more than half of my life, but resorting to stalking at twenty-nine and a half was really embarrassing. Still, one does what one must.