Chapter Twenty-One: Verismo (Act One)
Verismo: A form of
Italian opera beginning
at the end of the
19th century. The setting
is contemporary to the
composer's own time,
and the characters are
modeled after every day life.
October 31, 2009
"Your place is gonna get egged," Rowena predicted.
"Now why—" Ducky reached up and handed her the end of the mesh of black and purple lights and began to carefully unroll the spindle that kept it from being a tangled mess. "—would you say that?"
"If you're here handing out candy with Mom and Nana, your place is going to be fair game." She hooked the lights on several clips to her left, then leaned over to get the hooks further down the eaves.
"Watch out!" He had visions of rushing her to the emergency room with a split skull and shivered. How had Tori survived rearing three children? (How had Elizabeth survived four?)
"I'm fine, I'm fine, it's an A-frame ladder," she sighed, scrambling down to the ground and dragging it several feet to one side and hurrying back up. "I've been doing this for years."
"I should—"
She looked down at him from her perch. "Because you're a boy?" she teased. "Ducky, the only person taller than me—"
"Than I."
"Than I," she said with exaggerated patience, "is Dad. And his idea of decorating was to put up Christmas lights and never take 'em down."
Sounds like a good idea to me. He sighed. But if it made her happy to decorate the house for Halloween or Christmas or Arbor Day, for that matter, he would fetch and carry lights, cobwebs, spiders or whatever she wanted. As bad as a child with a new toy, he wanted to spend every waking moment around Tori and Rowena, reveling in being a father and grandfather—even if they didn't know it.
Three weeks! Three weeks and I'll meet Bronwyn and Andrew!Dear God, I can't wait. He couldn't fight back the grin. I'm a grandfather. A grandfather!
"Boy, you're in a good mood," Rowena laughed at him. "Come on, feed me the lights!"
He quickly unrolled the wire webbing. "It's the company I keep."
"Ha. You just want to keep me home from that party."
"No, but—" He frowned. He adored Abigail without reservation. But occasionally her judgment was… questionable. She was twice Rowena's age. Rowena's maturity (and Abby's occasional lack thereof) helped them get along, but Rowena was a child. Sixteen. A babe in the woods, really.
And you have absolutely no call to order her around or place any restrictions on her.
"I just… Be careful," he finally managed.
She hopped from the bottom rung—but instead of moving the ladder to the last section of the eaves she stood in front of him and put her hands on his shoulders. "I will be," she promised. "I've met a lot of Abby's friends already. There's only going to be, like, four of us under twenty-one at the party. I've already heard from, God, I don't know how many people if I even look at anything alcoholic they're going to lock me in the closet and not let me out until the party's over." She cocked her head to one side. "Sister Rosita is going to be there. She told Abby weeks ago that she's going to be the chaperone. We have a nun chaperoning her Halloween party, for Pete's sake. If I get into any trouble it's because I've said something sacrilegious."
He laughed. "Okay… but if anything happens, if you start to feel even slightly uncomfortable—"
Her smile softened. "I'll call. Mom or Nana or you. I promise." She leaned over and gave him a long hug. "Thank you for being worried. I don't mind it from you as much as I would form Mom. But it's cool, really, everything will be fine, I'm spending the night at Abby's, we're going to church tomorrow—"
He blinked. "I—thought you were Buddhist?"
She shrugged. "Nominally. But I'm open to new experiences!" She smiled brightly and pulled the ladder past the front door.
/ / /
Tori pulled off her glasses and rubbed her eyes tiredly. "I'm getting old."
Elizabeth hoisted her carved pumpkin from the table with a grunt. "Beats the alternative, kiddo." She lurched toward the door. "Ro! Open sesame!" There was a thumping on the porch, then a blast of cool air as the front door opened.
"Why do you feel particularly aged?" Ducky looked up from the assortment of patterns and pumpkin cutting utensils scattered over the credenza. He selected a handful of implements that could serve him well professionally as well as artistically.
Tori sighed and dropped her glasses to the table. "I think I need bifocals. I can't focus this close with my glasses on anymore."
Ducky shook his head. "Join the ranks, my dear."
"I just keep thinking I'm this hotshot eighteen-year-old, then I try to do something stupid and my body says, 'Ha, ha, fooled ya!' I know I'm racking up years, I just don't realize it until that point… or when I pay the price the next day."
"I know exactly what you mean."
She looked at him in surprise. "Crawling around on the floor all night, playing video games with Ro?"
He raised an eyebrow. "Climbing out of bed in the morning," he said drily.
She threw her head back and yelped with laughter. "Oh, God, Ducky, I love you." She leaned out of her chair and threw her arms around him and gave him a hard hug, which he eagerly returned. "You just have this way of putting things in perspective."
"You're welcome." His emotions had been flying up and down a roller coaster since the day before; he hadn't slept a wink last night and he still ran from hurt and anger to limitless joy in a heartbeat. Being around Tori—definitely joy.
"I'm so glad you hung around and you're part of this motley crew."
He continued to hold her, her head resting comfortably against his chest. "I am delighted to be part of this motley crew." It was like a tonic; if he found his thoughts going down dark paths, anger at Elizabeth, hatred of Julia… all he had to do was think hard, picture his only child or the granddaughter he'd happily adopted long before knowing their true relationship, and his soul felt soothed. And the hugs he'd shared with them this day—more than any other day, he was willing to swear (and they were a rather "huggy" bunch)?
Bliss.
I missed the last forty years… but I won't miss a minute more. "Good Lord, no wonder your eyes are tired." She had ignored the traditional pumpkin designs and had carved a sixties' sun with curling rays and benevolent face, intricate and detailed. "That is absolutely beautiful! I had no idea you were so artistic."
"Lucky dive in the gene pool, I guess." She turned the pumpkin around. "On the back is the moon. So when it's lit, you see one from the front and the light will cast the opposite shadow on the wall."
"Stunning. It's a good thing we aren't in competition."
She grinned up at him. "Why, thank you. I shall take that as a compliment."
"It was meant as such." He collected his tools and went back to his waiting pumpkin. "Hmm."
"Que?"
"I was just thinking of—ah—borrowing your idea. I have a very traditional Halloween cat sketched out—maybe if I put a cat face on the back, get the alternating shadow as you have—"
"Oh! That would be great!" Tori snapped her fingers. "I know—a hissing face." She drew her hands up into claws, showed off her 'fangs' and hissed.
"I think that's beyond my abilities."
"Pish-tosh, you're doing great. You didn't even use a pattern for the cat on the front. But if you get stuck—I promise I'll help you."
"Thank you, my dear." He was already in the habit of using affectionate endearments around them; it was simply part of his nature. But now they brought a special smile to his face. He began gently cutting the dashed outline of fur.
"Hey… Are you sure your house will be safe?"
Ducky stopped his work and looked up over the top of his glasses. "Have you been talking to your daughter?"
"Well, yes—but that's beside the point. Is it a good idea for you to leave your house empty on Halloween? Not that we don't want you here," she added quickly.
"I was starting to worry," he said sadly.
"Oh, gosh—"
"I was joking, my dear. No, I'm sure it will be fine. I haven't had trick-or-treaters for several years. All the children grew up, moved away…"
"You haven't had any new families move in? Not even one?"
"No, not—" He broke off abruptly. Come to think of it…
"Mmh?"
"Well—perhaps a few," he admitted reluctantly. "But I'm sure it will be fine. Besides—you got no sleep last night because of the oven going on the blink."
"Feh. Sleep is for the weak and sickly."
"Elizabeth and I can help you with the handing out of candy, maybe you can take a nap or go to bed early—"
"Oh, Ducky—imagine what it would be like for those poor kids, though, if this is their first trick or treat in a new neighborhood, empty houses, no lights…"
He frowned. "Tori—"
"I'm just saying, as a mom… Halloween is very important. Especially to little kids." She used a woodcarver's tool to dig out some last details on the moon side of her pumpkin. "I was just thinking I could hold down the fort here, you and Lizzie could hand out candy at your place… cover both bases, spend the weekend at your place instead of here..."
He glanced at her sharply but she was concentrating on her artistic endeavors. "Oh?"
"Well, I love my aunt—and I know she loves me. But it might be nice to, well, have a little time away from each other. You know?"
"Hot date?" he teased.
She gave him a measured look. "No comment—but it would be nice if someone in this house had a social life," she said, lifting one eyebrow. "A better one than I've had this month, anyway," she muttered.
He blushed faintly. "Tori—"
"You guys have been kind of dating since you fell back together." She ducked her head to hide her smile. "Some people might say you live in each other's pockets."
'Some people' being a certain sixteen-year-old…? "Tori…!"
Her look was overly innocent. "I'm not telling you to—"
He held up a hand. "Please."
"I just thought… it's been forty years. It might be nice if you guys had some time alone. Just to… talk. Without being out at a restaurant, out in public, nice alone time without worrying that someone is going to burst into the living room looking for her backpack or someone else isn't going to call with a disaster at work or—"
"Message received."
Tori brushed the remnants from the back of her pumpkin and gave it a critical look. "Not bad." She stood up and reached for the lid. "I'm just saying… it would be very sad if your house got TP'd and we could have prevented it."
"Right." He went back to cutting thin lines in the pumpkin. "I appreciate your altruism."
/ / /
"You're joking."
He shook his head.
"She's telling us to go off and spend the weekend together?" Elizabeth's voice was a whisper, but she still squeaked.
"To talk," he said with a badly repressed smile.
She snorted. "Yeah, because heaven knows nobody over fifty has sex."
His smile grew. "Well, we could give her a little brother or sister—"
Elizabeth gave him a horrified look. "Don't even joke about that. Pregnant at fifty-six? If I thought for a split second that was still possible, I'd buy a chastity belt."
He gave her a wicked grin. "Abby owns one."
She shook her head. "Why am I not surprised?"
"I don't know why you would be," he said honestly. "Now, Elizabeth, it's strictly concern for my private property that's spurring this suggestion."
She looked at him doubtfully. "Right."
"Absolutely. Rowena is concerned my house would be 'egged' and Tori has fears of it being draped in toilet paper."
She stopped in the middle of slashing open a bag of candy. "Rowena? Ro is in on this?" she hissed.
"I don't know how far she's involved, but, yes, she and Tori talked."
"Oh, God," she moaned. "My sixteen year old granddaughter is trying to run my sex life."
"I hope not."
She dumped the candy into a bowl so large that she would barely be able to get her arms around it. "Oh?"
"Well… a young man at the dance got a bit fresh with her." He gave her a measured look. "It's not a mistake he'll make again."
"Good girl."
"Yes, well, if Rowena is in charge of our social life, I think all we can get permission for will be some hot and heavy hand holding." He reached out and ran a fingertip over her jaw. "I must admit… I liked it when Tori said time alone just to talk, nobody running into the living room looking for a backpack, someone else calling from work with an exploding water pipe…" He glanced at the overflowing bowl of candy. "Jumping up and down to answer the doorbell every ten seconds…"
She tipped her head and looked at him speculatively. "I thought that's the whole idea of us going to your house," she said. "Catching the candy monsters before they cause mayhem and destruction."
"If five children have moved into the area in the past year, I'll eat my words."
/ / /
By eight o'clock the door had been silent for more than half an hour: no knock, no ring, no shuffling and giggling. Elizabeth had declared it safe to end the handouts, turning off the porch light and carrying the still laden candy bowl back to the kitchen, the Corgis dodging her every step.
Ducky poked at the fire and smiled. It was nice, having time to be alone—truly alone—with Elizabeth. (He wasn't counting the dogs.) Even if all they did was talk, it was the privacy he relished. One day. He stared at the dancing flames. I've been a father… for one whole day. True, technically he'd been a father for almost forty years—but he'd only known of his status for a day. He shook his head; if he was having a hard time adjusting to the knowledge, it was going to be challenging trying to explain it to his mother.
"Cozy."
"Very." He tipped his head. "What?"
Elizabeth stood in the archway to the sitting room, hands behind her back and a sly smile on her face. "What do you mean, 'what?'" The dogs padded past her, scattering about the room.
"You have a look…"
"I?" she protested innocently. "What kind of look?"
"Sort of… Mona Lisa Cheshire Cat by way of the Sphinx."
She snorted. "Wish I could see it for myself. Sounds interesting."
He leaned over. "What are you hiding?"
"Hiding… oh, nothing." She sauntered forward. "Just… a snack."
"A snack." That explained why she had taken so long to drop off a bowl of candy. She pulled a small plate from behind her back and presented it with a flourish. "Oh. Cinnamon toast. What a lovely surprise."
"Look closer."
He peered at the slices. She had carefully buttered and sugared the slices to read my and words. "Ah… all right," he said hesitantly.
"Well, you said, and I quote, 'if five children have moved into the area, I'll eat my words.' I counted sixteen tonight." She grinned. "I just figured I'd make eating your words a little more palatable."
He chuckled and shook his head. "Cute."
"I try." She followed his silent invitation, curling up next to him, his arm around her waist. "Alone at last."
"Or close to it." He jerked his chin toward Cooper and Contessa, sitting on the opposite couch and staring at them, heads cocked.
She sighed. "Why do dogs like to stare at you when you're making out?"
"Hoping for tips," he muttered.
She snorted a laugh and began to choke on the cinnamon sugar dust. "Did you feed them?" she managed around her coughing.
"Yes," he said, patting her back ineffectively.
"Can you bribe them?" she suggested, reaching for her now stone cold tea from an hour ago.
"This is worse than dealing with small children," he sighed. "Fresh tea while I'm at it?"
"Please," she said, cough abating somewhat. "Let me. While you handle the dogs."
"Are you sure?"
She waved him away. "I'm fine."
Tyson was alone in the kitchen, finishing of what was left of the canned food initially shared between the four dogs. The others had the belief that they could eat part of the bowl when it was served and nibble throughout the night; Tyson regularly dissuaded them of this idea, but they won once or twice a month and so never really gave up hope. Tyson was becoming quite rotund in his later years. He looked up, hinting for another lamb chop bone.
"You need to diet," Elizabeth said.
Ducky patted his stomach. "Well, I admit I've put on a few pounds over the years—"
"Oh, no, sweetie, not you. Tyson! He absolutely waddles."
"Dear, he's a Welsh Corgi. They all waddle." He hunted for the bag of treats Abby had brought by a few weeks ago. They smelled vile, but the dogs loved them (they actually improved their 'doggy breath')—and they were like chewing taffy. The dogs would be occupied all night. "Where's Isabeau?" He whistled sharply. "Izzy!"
"Isabeau?"
"Mother was given Tyson and Isabeau right after she saw the movie Ladyhawke on television and was just enchanted. She named the dogs Isabeau and Etienne." Isabeau came padding into the kitchen and sat in the doorway, looking at him expectantly. Of the four dogs, she tended to be the loner.
"How did Etienne… become Tyson?"
"He bites."
She shrugged. "Oh. Okay. What can I say, we have a cat named Vichette."
He frowned. "Vichette?" He'd seen the cat—a huge ball of fur—several times, but had never been formally introduced.
"Yeah. She was such a timid little thing, the kids named her Vicious. You know, like calling the six-six kid 'Shorty.' Then we found out he was a she. So they feminized the name to 'Vichette.'"
"That is one… large… cat."
"Maine Coon. I've seen larger." She pouted at him. "I'm not fat. I'm fluffy."
"Ah."
"Yeah, the kids had pretty bad luck in naming pets. We had male cats named Charlotte, Chloe and Buffy, and females inadvertently named Angel and Max. Max became Maxine."
"Angel works."
"Except that the cat was named after a male character on a television show."
"I'm sure they didn't mind."
"Not that I heard." She poured the boiling water over the tea and pulled on a cozy. "I like your kitchen. Very homey."
"Thank you."
She looked over the set of knives on a magnetized strip and whistled. "Da-yam. Didn't get those free with a fill-up."
"They don't offer anything free with a fill-up any more."
"Showing my age. But it just increases my admiration for your cooking skills." She let out a whoop of laughter. "Oh my gosh. Alton Brown!"
He gave her an affronted look. "They're excellent books."
"I know! I have them. I adore his show."
"So do I. What did they say, 'Mr. Wizard meets Julia Child?' Something like that."
"All the men I know would rather watch Giada." She said the name like a schoolyard taunt, 'Gee-yaaaah-dah.'
"Well, she does have some good recipes."
She snorted. "Ro calls her show 'Cooking With Cleavage.' She says the background music sounds like it's for a porn movie." She stopped. "I… don't… think… I want to know how she knows it sounds like a porn movie."
"Some things are definitely better left not pursued." He handed out treats to the dogs and quickly scrubbed his hands. He slipped back to the sitting room, grabbed their teacups and returned to the kitchen. "Although," he said, continuing his thought, "it is the twenty-first century and she is verging on adulthood." He gave the cups a quick rinse in hot water.
"I will ask you not to remind me," she said with slight asperity. "In my mind she's still four and we're still playing Candyland." She poured fresh tea. "She won darn near every game, too."
"You let her win."
"Well… sometimes. It's hard to cheat at Candyland, even if you're cheating to lose."
"Too bad she doesn't play chess." He accepted the cup and saucer she handed him; she had left the perfect amount of room for milk.
"You'll have to wait for Drew to come home at Thanksgiving for that," she said, pulling the milk from the fridge. "Tsch. Look at me, just taking over like I own the place."
"I don't mind." He took the milk from her with a smile. "I like it. You fit in here." He poured a dollop and handed it back.
She smiled and returned the carton to its proper place. "Yeah?"
"Yeah," he teased. He led the way back to the sitting room. "With mother living in Chantilly, now, no nurses, no housekeepers… it's awfully quiet." There were a couple of yaps from the kitchen, undoubtedly, 'mine!' and, 'but I want it!' "Relatively speaking," he laughed.
"Relatively speaking." Holding her tea she sat cautiously, cuddling up against him. "No succession of ladies over the years?"
He quirked a smile. "I plead the fifth."
"Oh-ho!" She blew on her tea. "Mmh. Hot."
He glanced down at her. "Why, thank you." He lifted an eyebrow suggestively.
"Nothing wrong with your ego."
"I try." He sighed contentedly. Warm fire, hot tea, affectionate woman by his side; truly a lovely evening. He smiled at her matching sigh. "Penny for your thoughts."
She was silent a long moment, then laughed slightly. "Now I'll plead the fifth."
"Oh?" He smiled down at her; good heavens, she was blushing. "Now I really am curious." She shook her head, both her smile and her blush growing. "Oh, my dear, if you leave it up to my imagination…"
She tipped her head and looked up. "Oh? Really? I'd like to hear what your imagination could come up with."
Now it was his turn to blush.
"Wo-ho-ho! This sounds good." She leaned forward and set her half-full cup on the table. "Come on." She took his cup and saucer and set them next to hers. "Give."
"You first."
She stared off for a moment; still fighting a smile. "Well… okay. Okay." She looked at him almost defiantly. "I was… thinking about Napa. Now. Your turn."
"Oh, come on. You need to be more specific than that."
"Now you're changing the rules. Not fair. Your turn. What did your wicked imagination come up with?"
"The fireplace."
She glowered at him. "And you bitch about me needing to be more specific?"
"All right, all right…" He tightened his hold on her slightly; she responded by snuggling a little closer, her head on his shoulder. Good. "I was thinking… it's so very warm in here. Maybe we should… open a few buttons, cool off a little…" His finger traced idle lines on her thigh, the nail leaving faint, pale patterns on the black denim.
She stared at his hand, transfixed. "Oh, but… then we might get too cool."
"True." He brushed a kiss over her ear and she drew in a quivering breath. "I was envisioning… all those quilts I've amassed over the years, piled up in front of the fire, making a nice… soft… bed… The warmth of the fire…" He barely touched his lips around the curve of her ear and she shivered, breathing hard. "The glow of the flames flickering on your body, turning it to burnished gold…"
She made a tiny noise and turned, pressing close and nuzzling his throat. "God, don't stop!" she panted.
My. Whoever said a picture was worth a thousand words didn't know the right words. "Making love with you all night, slow and sweet… I remember the way your breasts fill my hands, how wonderful they taste… the feel of your hair through my fingers as I hold you, kiss you…" Life imitating art; he slipped his hand behind her head and drew her close.
She wriggled in his arms, sucking his tongue greedily. "Jesus, Donald," she gasped when they finally parted. "Will you go get those goddamned quilts already?"
/ / /
"Wow."
Ducky chuckled, Elizabeth's head bouncing on his chest. "That seems to have been the word of the evening."
"Wow… I never realized I had a secret fantasy about making love in front of a roaring fire."
He grinned. "You're welcome."
"Mmmmh… yes, thank you." She reached up and kissed him lazily. Sighing happily she settled back against his chest, arranging a quilt over them again and slowly stroking his arm. "I know we didn't have many nights together, but, God, it was good." She reconsidered. "Really… really good." She smiled and rubbed her cheek against him. "I used to think maybe I was just remembering that time… complimentarily. No… I was accurate." She lightly toyed with one of his nipples. "And some things definitely get better with time."
He stroked her cheek with the side of his finger. "I have to say… loving you is like magic." Not that his other partners over the years hadn't been enjoyable; far from it. But there was a click, a final 'something' that was always missing… until now.
"That's a good word for it," she said with a laugh. She sat up, leaning on her arm, leaned over and kissed him, slowly and repeatedly. "I love you."
"I love you…"
She shivered slightly. "Ooh. Getting cold."
"Fire died almost an hour ago." He grinned. "Well, the one in the fireplace, anyway. I don't know about spending the whole night down here…"
"Last time I chaperoned on a Scout campout, I cheated. I put an air mattress in the van. I don't sleep on hard ground any more." She shivered again. "Let's make a run for the bedroom."
"Ladies first."
"Coward." She wrapped herself in one of the lighter quilts and scrambled up. "Holy crap, it's cold!" she gasped in shock.
"It's midnight!" But she was right; it was freezing. Time to adjust the thermostats…. By the time he got upstairs, she was already in the bed, covers pulled up to her chin. When they had first gotten home in mid afternoon, he had given her the nickel tour, pointing out his bedroom and the spare bedroom, leaving it to her to choose where to sleep; when he went upstairs later, he was pleased to see her overnight bag sitting by his wardrobe. He paused only long enough to adjust the temperature for the bedroom, relieved to hear soft bumps and thumps as the system kicked in. God bless central heating. "Your toes are like ice cubes!" he gasped as he slipped under the covers.
"Cold feet, warm heart."
"Cold hands, warm—ye gods, your hands are cold, too! What did you do, come upstairs by way of the freezer?"
"Warm me up, Donald." She burrowed against his side.
"Your nose!"
"Bitch, bitch, bitch."
He laughed and pulled her closer, rubbing his hands over her back. "You know, most people wear pajamas to bed to keep warm if nothing else."
"Yeah, well…" She gave him a deep kiss, her hand wandering down to gently stroke his hip. (Her hand had quickly warmed up, thank heavens.) "Most people don't have a forty year lack of sex to make up for."
That actually startled him. "You've been alone all this time?"
"Well… I've been busy," she said with a teasing pout. "First there was Tori… she was in school, I was taking culinary and how to run a small business classes… then she got married so young—she had just turned eighteen, and Drew was a Christmas baby. She got pregnant on her honeymoon, I swear. So right away we were hip deep in bottles and diapers—Drew came with me to the shop, it was fine, I loved it—until he started walking, anyway. By then he was old enough for the co-op child care at the University. He was almost three when Ronnie was born, so then I had her at the shop during the day; then no more child care when Tori graduated, I had both of them, then came Ro just a year and a half later… we juggled our schedules around so they were in daycare as little as possible—I was greedy, I wanted to have them with me," she laughed. "Fortunately I have an excellent staff."
"Including a great manager."
"Hand picked, hand trained." She pressed closer. "Oh, you're nice and warm…"
"So—did Tori and Sam and the kids always live with you?"
"Oh, heavens, no. Not until the divorce. Since I was the one to ferry the kids to and fro, their school enrollment was based on my address. Tori and Sam had an apartment in D.C. then they got a house in Fairfax. When they split up, they decided it would just be more sensible for Sam to stay in the house, buy out her half in the settlement, and Tori and the kids would move in with me. We did a major remodel—put in a second master suite so Tori wouldn't feel like a permanent weekend guest, lots of bedrooms upstairs." She sighed. "Now it's getting empty again. Drew went off to New York, Ronnie moved in with Den and Mad—and my Ro baby will be going off to college next year. Tori—Tori's been seeing a young man sort of off and on the past couple of years—"
"Oh, really?" A sudden protectiveness reared its head.
"He's a couple of years younger, nice guy—he writes computer program manuals and teaches computer aided design classes a couple of nights a week. You'll probably meet him at Thanksgiving. And Sam and his girlfriend will hopefully be there."
"Hopefully?" He rubbed his forehead. "I think a major artery just exploded in my brain."
"Well, fix it by Thanksgiving. I'm counting on you making 'squish' again."
He laughed and hugged her. "You're on." He let his fingers drift up and down her back, enjoying the feel of her skin. "There won't be any arched backs and hissing with 'your girlfriend' and 'your boyfriend' sitting at the same table?"
"Heck, no. Elena is a lot like Maddie—very laid back, very mellow. She and Tori get along great. Tori and Sam managed a very amicable divorce—they make great friends, they just should have never gotten married." She cocked her head. "Of course, I got three out of this world grandkids out of the deal, so I'm not complaining."
"And the kids are okay with their parents dating?"
"Yeah, as they got older. They didn't really date when the kids were younger."
He kissed her forehead. "And will they be okay with their grandmother dating?"
"Yeah, pretty sure about that. Especially Ro—despite what happened at the dance."
"Oh?" Nice to have a champion.
"Well, ignoring Walter—worth ignoring for so many reasons—I did… date… a few times… and it just didn't work out. The last one was, oh, my… four, almost five years ago. Ronnie was working on her 'shock and awe' stage—what could she do—or in this case, say—that would shock, awe or generally horrify her listeners. I got some rather explicit and, needless to say, unsolicited advice about my love life—which, fortunately, I think has faded into the mists of time in her memory."
"Oh, I hope so."
"Ro, on the other hand, was more discreet. When I told her that yes, Karl and I had decided to stop seeing one another, she just looked at me and said, 'Well of course it didn't work out, Nana, his name isn't Donald.'"
"So she's going to be okay with us… dating."
"Donald… that first weekend, when she called you for help…" She laughed softly. "You have no idea what I endured the next day."
"Oh?"
"'He's that Donald, isn't he Nana? The Donald Mallard'—like you were a rock star or something."
He chuckled. "Well… she did recognize my name at the hospital." He was still sure that she knew their true relationship.
"All those pictures from the summer we were together, the kids pored over them from the time they were little. I could have just locked them up, but—well, I liked seeing them, remembering the good times… and sending out prayers that you were safe and healthy and happy."
I am, now.
"They made up all sorts of tales about the love of my life that disappeared—Ronnie was going through a stage of high drama, sobbing over Little Women and Jane Eyre constantly, watching Shakespeare's tragedies on video tape… she said we were like Romeo and Juliet." She twisted around to look up at him. "I reminded her that Romeo and Juliet were dead by the end of the play and she started looking for another comparison."
"Good."
"But Ro… oh, that Sunday, all I heard was, 'Nana, he's so nice, and he's not married, he's still in love with you, you see how he looks at you—'"
"How I look at you?"
"Yes, apparently in her universe you were wearing your heart on your sleeve."
"Well—not far off, really."
"And she swore she could see 'the heartbreak in my eyes,'" she said dramatically, "and it was just too perfect to pass up, getting back together after all these years…"
"I have to admit… I can't argue with her," he said, kissing her gently.
"Well…" she teased. "Neither can I." She ran her hand up and down his side, a slow, heavy caress. "Forty years apart to make up for."
He grinned as her hand slipped further down, taking him in a firm grasp and stroking him with a steady rhythm. "Oh, we have some long nights ahead of us, then."
She gave him a delightfully wicked smile. "Good."
"You never did tell me what you were remembering about Napa." She didn't say anything, but her smile grew larger. "I… was remembering…" He ran the tip of his tongue over the curve of her ear. "Trying to see how many times… I could make you come to an orgasm."
"Oh, yeah," she breathed. "Eight times… oh, God, eight times, I was so glad they'd gone off to see Taming of the Shrew."
"So was I." He sighed in pleasure; he loved the feel of her hand, slow and gentle.
"Please—the night before?"
"Oh, yes," he laughed.
"'Oh, yes,'" she mimicked. She nibbled his earlobe and he shivered. "You… were kissing me… and licking me—mmmh, yeah, right there," she sighed as he slipped his hand between her legs. "God, you made me come so hard and I just wanted to scream—I was biting the pillow to try to keep quiet, that just made it worse, Jesus, I thought my body was going to explode—" She groaned, whether from the memory or the caress of his fingers he didn't know.
"I remember," he panted. "Oh, honey, you can scream all you want tonight, I promise." Her touch was having a definitely positive result.
"I know." She grinned and nipped the tip of his nose. "I figure if the neighbors didn't call 911 and break down the door earlier, we're safe."
"We did get rather—" He gasped as she reached a little lower, a soft brush of her fingers.
"Loud," she said. "We got loud. Really loud."
"We certainly did."
She gave him a sweet smile. "But… I think for a while now… I'm gonna be kind of quiet."
He let out a deep sigh as she slipped down, kissing his body every inch of the way. He had no objections to some quiet time—none at all.
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