He decided that a bit of a road trip was in the cards for the day. Andrew had wanted to go camping for the weekend, but they'd just been away, and he didn't like leaving Tom and Heather with sole responsibility for a business that was no longer theirs, but a half day trip appealed to him.
After breakfast he and Andrew headed for the farmers' market in the next town. In the car, Andrew asked how his date had gone, to which Boone replied very positively, then started worrying about the information getting out at school. He continued mulling it over while they browsed leisurely through the different stalls; Boone buying lots of fresh fruit and produce, both for themselves and to incorporate into baked goods for sale.
Andrew went on the pony rides, twice, Boone walking beside the shaggy beast, feeling more than a little sorry for the poor creatures' monotonous existence. Then he bought them each a frozen yoghurt, which they enjoyed sitting at a table beside the pony corral.
He'd checked the school's web site for the code of teacher conduct, and hadn't found anything prohibiting Pamela from seeing him. But that didn't mean that it wouldn't be a little awkward if it got out, and he didn't want to put her in any kind of compromising position. Boone knew that just telling Andrew to keep it a secret was not only a recipe for disaster, because what five-year-old actually kept a secret without being given a pretty good reason, but was also extremely unfair to the boy. He was already keeping the ESP to himself, how much else could Boone possibly expect of him?
"Hey bud?" He thought he had it figured out.
"Yeah Boone?" Andrew tore his eyes away from the circling equines.
"I'd really appreciate it if you didn't tell anyone at school about me and Miss Phillips." Boone asked, making it sound like a favour.
"Kay Boone, but why?" He frowned, immediately coming back with the question Boone had anticipated.
"Well, remember how you thought that maybe she wouldn't be your teacher any more?" Boone prompted.
Andrew nodded, "But you said she would be." He whined a bit.
"Yeah, that's not going to change," he assured him. "But instead, they might say that I can't see her anymore, because she's your teacher. And that'd make me sad, really, really sad." It wasn't untrue, he'd found his spirits significantly elevated by the success of the previous evening.
"I don't like it when you're sad." Andrew looked concerned, he scooted a little closer to Boone, and reached for his hand.
"I don't like it when I'm sad either." Boone smiled down at him. "So you think that you can keep this just between us?"
"Kay Boone." He agreed immediately.
Boone hugged him. "You're the best."
Boone held off calling until Tuesday night. Of course he'd seen Pamela at school when he'd gone to pick Andrew up, she'd been at her desk both times, and had smiled warmly at him, but he wanted this to be separate from school, and he was sure she did too. It was an impression supported by the fact that she hadn't approached him either afternoon.
Pamela had also been a little concerned that Andrew might say something. She hadn't asked Boone about it, but figured, given what she'd seen of their relationship, that he would have told his son about their date. She kept her personal life strictly personal, never discussing anything that wasn't directly related to her duties with any of her colleagues. It kept her kind of isolated, and she was certain that it made her seem a bit standoffish, but she'd seen too many instances with others where the alternative had turned out badly. But, pleasantly, other than telling her privately that Boone had had a good time, and strangely thanking her for that, Andrew seemed to act like it had never happened.
Boone figured the natural progression in the dating process was asking her out to dinner, so when she answered her phone after the third ring, that's what he suggested.
"Friday?" She tried to sound casual, just wanting to immediately blurt out yes. If he could have seen her, he would have thought she was infected by some strange neurological disorder. She was shaking and bouncing on her feet, the hand that didn't have a death grip on the receiver pressed to her chest in excitement. "Okay, sounds good."
"Okay, then," he sighed in relief. He'd been steeling himself for disappointment, her hesitation making him momentarily wish he'd never called. "I'll pick you up at seven."
"Uh, Boone, do you think you could, maybe, get to use the car?" She was still a little nervous about the idea of the bike. She wasn't sure about him and the car though, it was a Friday night, and the people he worked for would probably be in town and would need the vehicle.
Get to use the car? He wondered at the strange way she'd worded the question. "Yes, I'll bring the car." He'd be planning to anyway.
She'd only been waiting in the vestibule for a few seconds when he pulled up at the curb. He was half way around the trunk when he noticed her crossing the sidewalk towards him; smiling in greeting he pulled open the passenger door for her.
She took a moment to take him all in before she slid into the passenger seat.
He had taken time selecting his attire and was wearing a long sleeved blue sweater, the ribbed cuffs snug around his wrists, he'd been careful about that, and a dressy pair of jeans, his usual black boots on his feet. His hair still looked like it had been combed with a rake, however, or perhaps not at all.
He wasn't aware of it, but the colour of the sweater did amazing things to his eyes. Pamela was tempted to kiss him hello, as she stared into them, but remembering how unsure of himself he'd been the previous week about the kissing, she decided against it, it was only their second date.
"I hope you like Italian." Boone commented, sliding behind the wheel.
"Of course, who doesn't?" Pamela assured him
He pulled carefully out onto the almost deserted street and headed the ten minutes to the restaurant he'd chosen. He asked her about school, and how her week had gone, the conversation casual and friendly.
Boone, of course, had made reservations, so their table was ready and waiting for them. The waiter took their drink order; then they sat perusing their menus. Pamela had already decided when she'd accepted the invitation, that they'd be splitting the cheque. She was even more set on it now that she'd ordered a glass of wine, and Boone only a mineral water. For his part, Boone was impressed that she hadn't been uncomfortable having a drink when he was only getting water, he knew a lot of women would have been flustered and changed their minds.
"So, tell me a little about yourself," she requested, after they'd placed their food order and she'd taken a sip of the delicious Australian Shiraz. "I don't know much other than what's obvious and the fact that you went to NYU."
Boone froze, so many things going through his mind that he figured, if he'd been an android, there would have been smoke coming out his ears as his positronic net short circuited and his brain melted. 'I'm married to my sister, I've tried to kill myself, I have ESP, I was in a plane crash, I killed a man,'…the list of horrifying truths seemed endlessly overwhelming.
Pamela watched, puzzled that her casual question had been met with what could only be called a deer in the headlights reaction. Maybe he was a serial killer, or something worse, she worried, he sure looked like he had something to hide. But he was so gentle and shy, she reflected. Though didn't most people, when faced with the fact that they'd lived next door to a Ted Bundy type, say that they never would have expected it? She decided to prompt him with a slightly less general request. "You said you moved here from LA five years ago, how come?"
Boone reached for his water, almost knocking it over before wrapping his hand around the glass, and successfully manoeuvring it to his lips. "It was too big and noisy, and the smog was a problem. We'd been away for over a year and needed someplace quieter. I knew I had to go back to work, but I didn't want my old job back. I'd loved it, but it just wasn't what I wanted anymore, so we came here." It all sounded so simple, but he knew that it wasn't, and that he was leaving enough out to fill a library.
While what she really wanted to know about was the year away that he'd glossed over so casually, she reined in her curiosity a bit, and instead asked about what the job was that he used to have.
"I ran a company, apparel, wedding dresses and stuff." It had once been so important to him, a real source of pride. He remembered mentioning it whenever he could, now he was ashamed at how shallow it had been.
"So," she started, interrupted by the arrival of their appetizers. They took a couple of minutes with the food.
"Your turn," Boone jumped in when it looked like she was going to start asking personal questions again. "Or my turn? I'm not sure which."
"What?" Pamela shook her head.
"You got to ask me a question, so now I get to ask you one." He clarified.
The discussion about how she'd become a teacher lasted through the first course and into the second. Boone tried every trick in his not inconsiderable book of them, to keep her talking, trying to postpone when it would be 'her turn' again.
"So any brothers or sisters?" She figured it was a pretty innocuous query, but he just looked panicked again.
When she was talking about herself Boone was relaxed and thoroughly enjoying himself, now that he was the subject of conversation again, he felt like he was naked on centre stage at Madison Square Gardens, a full auditorium in attendance. His heart hammered in his chest, just how did he answer this one? Was Shannon his sister, his wife, or even either anymore?
"A step-sister, I guess. I mean, my step-father was killed in a car accident just over eight years ago, so I don't know if she'd still qualify as my sister." He thought it was the truth.
Pamela offered her condolences at his loss, and his sisters'.
Boone had actually really liked Adam; his own father had died when he was so young that Shan's dad was really the only father that he truly remembered.
Pamela was an only child, she revealed.
Pamela looked at him, and the patches of bright red colour on his cheeks. He was sipping at a glass of the same wine of which she'd ordered a second glass, but he'd been flushing even when he'd only been drinking water. She tried to think of a question that would reveal something about him, without delving into a past that he seemed reluctant, no terrified, she amended, to share. He was proving to be quite the enigma, and that intrigued her.
"What's in your CD player?" That seemed harmless, she thought, as she asked over coffee, tea in his case.
He named a bunch of indie artists, now on firmer ground, books and music being two of his favourite things. He looked a little chagrined before almost naming the last in his eight disc CD changer. "Mmfpphs," he held his hand over his mouth and mumbled into it.
She laughed at the embarrassed look on his face and his obviously amusing attempt to side step. "I don't believe I've ever heard of them." She pretended to be serious.
They bantered back and forth for a few minutes, Boone making up song titles for a fictional group, and Pamela going along with it.
"So who, really?" She asked still chuckling at his latest invented song name.
He lowered his head and winced, "Driveshaft," came out, accompanied by a grimace.
She shook her head, "It's familiar, but, not really." She only knew enough about them to know that they certainly didn't fit in with the rest of the stuff he'd named, "Why Driveshaft?"
"I know someone in the band." Boone shrugged.
They talked music for a while. There was a bit of a disagreement when she put her credit card on top of his when the bill came, but she was adamant, and Boone didn't want to make a scene.
On the drive back to her apartment, he played a bit of the Driveshaft CD at her request. Not liking it much, and from his reaction knowing that Boone didn't really either, Pamela assumed that it must be a bit of an acquired taste.
Pulling up in front of her building, Boone shut the car off and came around, intending to open her door for her, but she'd already let herself out when he reached the sidewalk.
"I had a good time, again, thank you." She smiled.
"I did too." Well for most of it, he thought.
She leaned in and kissed him, her lips parted slightly, her tongue licking along the line where his lips met. She heard his sharp intake of breath, but he held himself against her.
When she pulled back, he had his brows furrowed and his eyes still closed. "Boone?"
He opened his eyes and looked at her apologetically, "I need to take this slow. Please?"
"Isn't that supposed to be the woman's line?" she smiled gently.
He laughed a bit, "Yeah, I guess. Just, please?"
"Of course," she couldn't help but wonder just what had the woman been like, who had done such a number on his head.
He nodded in thanks, "Night then Pamela."
She kissed his cheek, "Goodnight."
Shannon looked around at her new apartment. The real estate agent was in the kitchen, his briefcase on the counter, getting the contract out for her to sign. Manchester was dreary this time of year, but she'd never actually lived there before, and it was full of history, and twenty-four hour party people, or so the Happy Mondays' suggested.
"Ms. Rutherford?" he called from the other room.
She could hear the bass of the music from the flat below, already a good sign.
Her hand went up to grab the items dangling from the thin gold chain around her neck, her palm and fingers closing around the fine gold cross and chunky silver ring. Maybe she'd write to him from here, she started to compose a letter in her head:
Dear Boone:
Weather is here, wish you were fine.
Yeah, like that'd fly, she'd always sucked at writing anyway.
She headed into the kitchen to sign her name to yet another commitment to living away from him.