CHAPTER 9

The five-and-a-half block drive back to Darla's condo was pretty uneventful. By this time I was really wishing I hadn't rented a Jeep with standard transmission. I hated the way the bucket seats and the stick shift got between Darla and me—especially now.

The first thing I did once we were all securely buckled into our respective seats was to apologize to Darla for the inconvenience. Then I said, "If I'd known I was going to meet up with you, I would've rented a nice, comfortable, cozy sedan; fully loaded, with automatic transmission and power everything. Then I could've taken you anywhere in style."

"Well," Darla teased, "you can always go back to the airport and trade up . . . ."

"I know you were just kidding," I said, "but that's not a bad idea. If we're going to be spending some quality time together, I'd really like to pamper you . . . and be able to drive with my arm around your shoulders." (This was back in the days when sedans still had bench seats—no compartment in the middle to get in the way of romance.)

"In the meantime," said Darla, "we improvise and compromise." As she said this, she placed her hand over mine on the gearshift and smiled at me. I smiled back.

Shortly thereafter, we reached Mile High Village, and I pulled into Darla's driveway and parked. Mac and I then both exited the vehicle and went around to let the ladies out. While Mac walked arm in arm with Jamie to her Saturn—which was parked at the curb—I took hold of Darla's hand and walked with her up the driveway, across the sidewalk, and onto the little stoop that passed as a porch.

After we stepped up onto the stoop, I took hold of Darla's other hand too, and said, "This might not be the best way to start a 'saying-good-night-at-the door' conversation, but I've just gotta say, today has to've been one of the all-time weirdest days I've ever spent in my life . . . but that's not a bad thing. It's been weird in a good way. Finding you again after all these years, spending time with you . . . It's made me realize how much I've missed you. I honestly never thought I'd see you again, particularly after your folks moved south. Right now I'm feeling . . . strangely at peace. I haven't been this content in a really long time."

She smiled and said, "I'm glad. You seem more relaxed than you were this morning."

"Oh, I am; believe me, I am. This morning I was afraid there might be some . . . repercussions—that you might be holding a grudge . . . ." I trailed off deliberately, hoping she understood my meaning.

"When you got engaged to Liz it did hurt, Jack. But I loved you far too much for too long to be able to hold a grudge—against you or her. . . This morning I was just glad to see you again—alive and well. And I realize now, despite what I said this morning, that I've missed you, too."

"I think I love you, Darla," I blurted out.

She smiled. "Then don't you think it's about time you kissed me?" she asked beguilingly.

"Really? I mean, are you sure you want me to—?"

She looked at me pointedly. "Would I have said anything if I didn't?. . . And don't tell me you haven't been thinking about it, because I've seen it in your eyes."

"Well, yeah, of course I've been thinking about it. I just wasn't sure if you were ready yet. . . I mean, you haven't been a widow all that long; and this is our first date, after all . . ."

"Jack, if we had just met and this was our first date, then, yes, I might have a problem with your trying to kiss me already; after all, I'm an old-fashioned girl. But, under the circumstances, I'm not sure this actually qualifies as a first—"

I put a finger to her lips to shush her, then wrapped my arms around her and kissed her—the way I should've kissed her years ago. I was barely aware of Jamie driving away, and totally oblivious to my brother and his whereabouts. All I was conscious of at that moment was Darla—how she felt in my arms and how sweet her lips tasted.

And, as is usually the case when you genuinely care about someone—or when you're just really attracted to them (and in this case it was both)—one kiss wasn't enough. My feelings—both physical and emotional—got the better of me. I gathered her fully into my arms and kissed her again—more deeply this time. When I stopped kissing her and held her against me, I could feel her quivering in my arms. She went weak in the knees, sighed, and said, "Oh, Jack!" I then kissed her nose, as I had often done when she was a kid, after which I laid my cheek on her head. (She's short enough for me to be able to do that.)

I have to say that I'd never before tasted lips that sweet. I'd always thought the whole idea of sweet-tasting lips was nothing but a myth, invented by romance novelists and perpetuated by men who were so enamored of a woman that they'd think her feet tasted good. . . Now, if the lips under discussion had recently been in contact with something sweet, the saying would undoubtedly be true. However, in Darla's case, it was absolutely true. I thought to myself, I could happily spend the rest of my days doing nothing but kissing and tasting these delectable lips. In fact, for a few heady moments, I felt as if I could swallow her whole—and I came darned close to trying. In all the years I had known and been married to Liz, her lips had never tasted like that. It made me wonder why on God's green earth I had waited so long to do this. The sweetest lips in the world had been within easy reach for years, and all I'd ever given them was a quick peck under the Christmas mistletoe back in '69—and that had been an "accident" of her doing. I felt like a complete idiot.

I loosened my hold on her just enough to draw back a little and look into her eyes. "I love you, D. J.," I told her. Then I planted a kiss on her forehead. She smiled wanly.

"Just like when we were kids," she remarked. "You always kissed me on my nose or my forehead . . . or my cheek . . . or—"

"Even if I'd felt the same way about you back then that you felt about me, it wouldn't've been any different, simply because we were just kids—especially you. Thank God that's not the case anymore. . . I wish now that I'd opened my eyes a little bit wider during my semester breaks from Annapolis—especially during your last two years in high school. . . If I'd really looked at you—if I'd really seen you—what you were becoming—things might've turned out differently for both of us. . . I'm glad Dad arranged this. I've needed someone in my life for a long time; and now I know: the person I've needed all along is you."

"I love you, Admiral Beckham," she said, smiling softly; I really love that smile. . ..

I kissed her again—not quite so passionately this time, but still . . . warmly. Then I gazed down at her and said, "I'd better let you get inside or we'll be here all night."

"If I didn't have to get up early tomorrow, and if you didn't have to drive Mac home, I'd invite you in," she said. "We still have a lot of catching up to do."

"And a lot of lost time to make up for," I added meaningfully. "But, I do still have to get Mac home." I looked around. "I heard Jamie drive away—she's long gone; and there's no telling what my brother's been doing to entertain himself all this time. I don't see him anywhere."

Darla shrugged and said, "Maybe he took a walk around the cul-de-sac."

"Which would take all of . . . forty-five seconds."

"Then maybe he went on a longer walk—around the neighborhood. If he's not back by the time you're ready to leave, you can always drive around and look for him."

"Only if he left the keys in the ignition. My spare pair is back at the house."

She nodded. "He'll be back. He probably just wanted to give us some time."

"That's uncharacteristically thoughtful of him." I paused and gazed into her eyes again. "I do love you, Darla. I always have."

"I know you do; and I also know you well enough not to expect you to say it too often. Words of encouragement you never had trouble with; but words of affection always seemed to get caught in your throat. So, anytime you want to express your feelings for me, but you can't quite get the words out, just kiss me, Jack, the way you did just now. That's all I'll ever need to remind me of how much I mean to you."

"You are the most incredibly understanding woman . . . ."

She smiled and put a hand on my cheek. "I've loved you forever, Jack Beckham—warts and all."

"I wish we had more time . . . ."

"When this is over, Admiral, we can take as much time as we want—and do it right."

Unless I'm completely brain dead, that sounded like a, uh, marriage proposal maybe?—or something very much like it . . . a desire to get married, anyway. . . I'd already made up my mind earlier in the evening that I was going to resign my commission once we found Dad and got him back home, safe and sound. But, as Jamie had expressed to Mac, I, too, sensed that Darla would feel guilty if I resigned my commission just so I could spend more time with her. I had to have a better reason than that if I expected her to accept it. But, till we did find Dad, I had a grace period in which to try to come up with one.

My kid brother had finally returned from his walk. Darla and I both looked his way. He climbed into the Cherokee and said, "Take your time. I'm good."

Darla smiled. "I suppose we oughta let him off the hook, huh?" she said with a sigh, taking her keys from her shoulder bag and separating out the front door key.

"I suppose." I returned her smile.

"I'll see you tomorrow morning in my office, then."

"Yes, you will. Mac and I will bring the dictation."

"Then, after brunch, the three of us can try to decipher it together."

"Sounds like a plan. And I'm looking forward to brunch."

She nodded. "Me, too." Then she reached up and kissed me on the cheek. "G'night, Jack."

I watched as she inserted her key into the lock and opened the door. Once I knew she was going to be able to enter her home safely, I gave her a last quick smile and nod. "G'night, D.J. Sleep tight." Then, as she closed the door, I turned around and headed for the Cherokee.