eyes of hers and made him feel as if he could tell her anything and she’d listen.
But he didn’t want to tell her anything. He didn’t want to think anything. He didn’t want to notice anything. Not the back pockets on her jeans, or the gentle way she had with Fritz, or her soft woman’s voice and her soft woman’s smell that still buzzed around in his head.
Jesus! He shouldn’t have invited her. Michael was going to think he had something going on with her, and he’d have that to put up with—Michael and his questions. And he couldn’t take the invitation back. Not with Fritz already on cloud nine. Charlie bombarded him with a description of some new software he wanted for his computer. Della ignored him. And Fritz—Fritz took him joyfully by the hand.
Catherine caught the bus on Second Street.
You’ve been living alone too long, she thought the third time she nearly said “Why did you say you’d go?” aloud on the way home. She liked Fritz, was concerned about her, but she had no business going to some family gathering where she didn’t really know anyone. She did not want to do it. She didn’t want to do it so much, she rode a block past her stop, but on the walk to the Mayfair she got herself in hand. Her panic had nothing to do with the cookout per se. It had to do with Joe D’Amaro. Her recovery from her recent emotional trauma was now no doubt complete. He was on her mind; she couldn’t keep from wondering about him and his children and the dead wife of whom he didn’t speak. And it scared her to death.
She spent the rest of the weekend mentally making excuses not to go, only to have them all wiped out by the reassertion of the poignant image of Fritz D’Amaro’s little face.
“I’ve done something stupid,” she told Pat Bauer before her math class on Monday. She hadn’t meant to say anything because it was only a cookout and because she thought Pat wasn’t feeling well.
“Oh, good,” Pat said. “I was really getting tired of being the only one.”
“No, I mean it.”
“Well, let’s see, Catherine. How stupid can it be? Don’t tell me you’re going to Jonathan’s wedding.”
“No,” she said morosely. “I accepted another invitation.”
Pat looked at her sharply. “And a happy little soul it’s made you, too. So what is it?”
“I can’t get out of it, Pat.”
“Yes, I can see that. What are we talking about?”
“Joe D’Amaro.”
“Who the hell is Joe D’Amaro?”
“You know who Joe D’Amaro is. I bought his gnomes.”
“His gnomes ? What gnomes?”
“I told you.”
“No, ma’am, you did not.”
“He’s the building contractor. He needed the money, so he sold a gnome sculpture. He didn’t know his little girl was so crazy about it until she ran away to see them the other night.”
“To your place.”
“Right. And then he came here.”
“Oh, yes. The semi-hunk who stirred up the office staff.”
“Right. He’s asked me to go to a family cookout.”
“Why, the filthy beast.”
“Pat, I’m being serious here!”
“I know that, Catherine. That’s what makes it so funny. So what’s wrong with going to a cookout? He either wants you there because of his little girl or he doesn’t.”
Catherine suddenly realized that that was precisely the problem.
“Oh, I get it,” Pat said. “You’re not sure which you’d rather it be, are you?”
“No, I’m not. And this is all your fault.”
“ My fault!”
“Yes, yours. I didn’t even notice he was nice-looking until you said something.”
“Well, forgive me. These things happen when you’re heterosexual. Look on the bright side, Catherine. He’s got a kid.”
“Three kids,” Catherine said, correcting her.
“Even better. If he’s interested, he’s not going to care if you can have a baby or not. He’s got all his. All you have to worry about is whether he likes you .”
“No, I don’t have to worry about that. I hardly know the man. And from what I do know,
But he didn’t want to tell her anything. He didn’t want to think anything. He didn’t want to notice anything. Not the back pockets on her jeans, or the gentle way she had with Fritz, or her soft woman’s voice and her soft woman’s smell that still buzzed around in his head.
Jesus! He shouldn’t have invited her. Michael was going to think he had something going on with her, and he’d have that to put up with—Michael and his questions. And he couldn’t take the invitation back. Not with Fritz already on cloud nine. Charlie bombarded him with a description of some new software he wanted for his computer. Della ignored him. And Fritz—Fritz took him joyfully by the hand.
Catherine caught the bus on Second Street.
You’ve been living alone too long, she thought the third time she nearly said “Why did you say you’d go?” aloud on the way home. She liked Fritz, was concerned about her, but she had no business going to some family gathering where she didn’t really know anyone. She did not want to do it. She didn’t want to do it so much, she rode a block past her stop, but on the walk to the Mayfair she got herself in hand. Her panic had nothing to do with the cookout per se. It had to do with Joe D’Amaro. Her recovery from her recent emotional trauma was now no doubt complete. He was on her mind; she couldn’t keep from wondering about him and his children and the dead wife of whom he didn’t speak. And it scared her to death.
She spent the rest of the weekend mentally making excuses not to go, only to have them all wiped out by the reassertion of the poignant image of Fritz D’Amaro’s little face.
“I’ve done something stupid,” she told Pat Bauer before her math class on Monday. She hadn’t meant to say anything because it was only a cookout and because she thought Pat wasn’t feeling well.
“Oh, good,” Pat said. “I was really getting tired of being the only one.”
“No, I mean it.”
“Well, let’s see, Catherine. How stupid can it be? Don’t tell me you’re going to Jonathan’s wedding.”
“No,” she said morosely. “I accepted another invitation.”
Pat looked at her sharply. “And a happy little soul it’s made you, too. So what is it?”
“I can’t get out of it, Pat.”
“Yes, I can see that. What are we talking about?”
“Joe D’Amaro.”
“Who the hell is Joe D’Amaro?”
“You know who Joe D’Amaro is. I bought his gnomes.”
“His gnomes ? What gnomes?”
“I told you.”
“No, ma’am, you did not.”
“He’s the building contractor. He needed the money, so he sold a gnome sculpture. He didn’t know his little girl was so crazy about it until she ran away to see them the other night.”
“To your place.”
“Right. And then he came here.”
“Oh, yes. The semi-hunk who stirred up the office staff.”
“Right. He’s asked me to go to a family cookout.”
“Why, the filthy beast.”
“Pat, I’m being serious here!”
“I know that, Catherine. That’s what makes it so funny. So what’s wrong with going to a cookout? He either wants you there because of his little girl or he doesn’t.”
Catherine suddenly realized that that was precisely the problem.
“Oh, I get it,” Pat said. “You’re not sure which you’d rather it be, are you?”
“No, I’m not. And this is all your fault.”
“ My fault!”
“Yes, yours. I didn’t even notice he was nice-looking until you said something.”
“Well, forgive me. These things happen when you’re heterosexual. Look on the bright side, Catherine. He’s got a kid.”
“Three kids,” Catherine said, correcting her.
“Even better. If he’s interested, he’s not going to care if you can have a baby or not. He’s got all his. All you have to worry about is whether he likes you .”
“No, I don’t have to worry about that. I hardly know the man. And from what I do know,
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