dad, either,” he said, and their eyes met. They understood each other
perfectly. They both knew what it was like, that hopeless grief and the lost
feeling of things no longer being okay in the world—that they never would be
again. They both had the raw wound still open, like it was only yesterday when
their childish worlds had shattered. In just one glance, they understood that
about each other.
She took a sip of
wine. “Tell me a joke.”
John searched his
mind. He knew a million of them. That’s all they did at AA meetings, stand
around smoking cigarettes and telling jokes like it was one big cocktail
party—minus the cocktails.
“Okay,” said John. “A
panda walks into a bar, sits down, and orders a sandwich. He eats the sandwich,
pulls out a gun, and shoots the waiter dead. As the panda stands to go, the
bartender yells, ‘Hey, where the hell do you think you’re going? You just shot
my waiter and you didn’t pay for your sandwich!’ And the panda yells back, ‘Hey
man, I’m a panda! Look it up!’ and storms out of the bar. Well, the bartender
grabs his dictionary and looks up ‘panda’ and it says: A tree-dwelling marsupial of Asian origin, characterized by distinct
black and white coloring. Eats, shoots and leaves .”
It was the first time
he had ever seen her really laugh, and he decided he liked the look of her eyes
crinkling up and the sound of her low voice rising like a musical scale. For a
moment she looked truly happy, and he was glad to be the cause of it, if only
for a moment. She arched her brow and said, “Eats, shoots and leaves, ha? That
how you like to do it?”
John grinned. “Not
always.”
The food arrived,
delicious and steaming hot. They ate in silence, and just as it had been in the
car on the ride down to DC, it was a chummy, comfortable silence. They ordered
cannoli and cappuccinos for dessert. Veronica took a bite of the Italian pastry
and sighed like she was in heaven, licking the extra cream around her lips.
John was torn between watching her movements and staring once more at the fiery
red ruby between her breasts. She fingered the necklace provocatively and
looked at him through her lashes.
“Those rocks real?”
he asked.
“Maybe after dinner
you’d like to examine them more closely and decide for yourself,” she purred in
her low voice.
“I’m no expert.”
“Oh,” she dangled the
jewel along her décolletage, “maybe I could help you out.”
He looked up into her
face and her eyes smoldered under his gaze.
John flagged down the
waiter. “Check, please!”
John and Veronica
walked arm in arm through the Mall admiring the national monuments lit up all
around them. Feeling a slight chill in the air, Veronica put her hand in John’s
pocket.
“Is that a gun in
your pocket or do you just have a thing for tall, pointy monuments?” she asked.
They were standing in
front of the Washington Monument, which seemed to reach up to the stars from
the dark park below.
“That necklace has
got to be worth a couple million dollars and we’re walking through a dangerous
park at night. I better have a gun on me.”
“Oh.” She stopped and
looked down, her voice low and breathy. “I was hoping you’d say it wasn’t a gun or a building; maybe you’d say it was
me.”
John lifted her chin
and looked deep into her eyes but couldn’t see what lay in their depths in the
darkness. Was she playing with him?
He didn’t care.
He lowered his mouth
to hers and gently kissed her. The tenderness and shivering passion he felt
coming from Veronica hit him like an electric current. He pulled her closer.
The burning ruby pressed against his heart and his hands were in her soft dark
hair. He could still taste a hint of dessert on her sweet mouth and the scent
of L’Heure Bleue filled his nostrils.
It had been a while
since he’d kissed a woman like this. Since it had felt the way it did now. He
didn’t want to let go. If he were still drinking, he would have
perfectly. They both knew what it was like, that hopeless grief and the lost
feeling of things no longer being okay in the world—that they never would be
again. They both had the raw wound still open, like it was only yesterday when
their childish worlds had shattered. In just one glance, they understood that
about each other.
She took a sip of
wine. “Tell me a joke.”
John searched his
mind. He knew a million of them. That’s all they did at AA meetings, stand
around smoking cigarettes and telling jokes like it was one big cocktail
party—minus the cocktails.
“Okay,” said John. “A
panda walks into a bar, sits down, and orders a sandwich. He eats the sandwich,
pulls out a gun, and shoots the waiter dead. As the panda stands to go, the
bartender yells, ‘Hey, where the hell do you think you’re going? You just shot
my waiter and you didn’t pay for your sandwich!’ And the panda yells back, ‘Hey
man, I’m a panda! Look it up!’ and storms out of the bar. Well, the bartender
grabs his dictionary and looks up ‘panda’ and it says: A tree-dwelling marsupial of Asian origin, characterized by distinct
black and white coloring. Eats, shoots and leaves .”
It was the first time
he had ever seen her really laugh, and he decided he liked the look of her eyes
crinkling up and the sound of her low voice rising like a musical scale. For a
moment she looked truly happy, and he was glad to be the cause of it, if only
for a moment. She arched her brow and said, “Eats, shoots and leaves, ha? That
how you like to do it?”
John grinned. “Not
always.”
The food arrived,
delicious and steaming hot. They ate in silence, and just as it had been in the
car on the ride down to DC, it was a chummy, comfortable silence. They ordered
cannoli and cappuccinos for dessert. Veronica took a bite of the Italian pastry
and sighed like she was in heaven, licking the extra cream around her lips.
John was torn between watching her movements and staring once more at the fiery
red ruby between her breasts. She fingered the necklace provocatively and
looked at him through her lashes.
“Those rocks real?”
he asked.
“Maybe after dinner
you’d like to examine them more closely and decide for yourself,” she purred in
her low voice.
“I’m no expert.”
“Oh,” she dangled the
jewel along her décolletage, “maybe I could help you out.”
He looked up into her
face and her eyes smoldered under his gaze.
John flagged down the
waiter. “Check, please!”
John and Veronica
walked arm in arm through the Mall admiring the national monuments lit up all
around them. Feeling a slight chill in the air, Veronica put her hand in John’s
pocket.
“Is that a gun in
your pocket or do you just have a thing for tall, pointy monuments?” she asked.
They were standing in
front of the Washington Monument, which seemed to reach up to the stars from
the dark park below.
“That necklace has
got to be worth a couple million dollars and we’re walking through a dangerous
park at night. I better have a gun on me.”
“Oh.” She stopped and
looked down, her voice low and breathy. “I was hoping you’d say it wasn’t a gun or a building; maybe you’d say it was
me.”
John lifted her chin
and looked deep into her eyes but couldn’t see what lay in their depths in the
darkness. Was she playing with him?
He didn’t care.
He lowered his mouth
to hers and gently kissed her. The tenderness and shivering passion he felt
coming from Veronica hit him like an electric current. He pulled her closer.
The burning ruby pressed against his heart and his hands were in her soft dark
hair. He could still taste a hint of dessert on her sweet mouth and the scent
of L’Heure Bleue filled his nostrils.
It had been a while
since he’d kissed a woman like this. Since it had felt the way it did now. He
didn’t want to let go. If he were still drinking, he would have
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