The front door opens, as if by family magic or pheromone ESP. Josh, also in flip-flops and jeans and his favorite gray Bexter sweatshirt, takes the two front steps as one. His pepper-and-salt hair is still morning mussed. His greeting is muffled as his arms encircle me, strong but gentle, my face snuggling into its familiar place in his shoulder. My body remembers his every contour, fitting, settling, connecting. Talk about home.
I feel him sigh as he lets go. He steps back, keeping my hands in his, looking down at me.
“Hey, sweets. Welcome back,” he says. “I-Penny and I-”
There’s a look on his face, a flicker behind his tortoise-shell glasses I don’t quite recognize.
“Charlie Mac brought me something! Do you think she brought you something?” Penny’s tugging at her father’s arm, her standard tactic every time she thinks too much of Josh’s attention is directed at me. After almost a year together, at least I finally learned I don’t need to compete. There’s room for both of us in Josh’s life.
I’m still trying to read his expression. “What?” I ask.
Josh rakes a hand through his already-tousled pepper-and-salt hair, then puts one arm around each of us. “My girls,” he says. “Let’s go inside.”
“But what were you saying?” I persist, as we crowd, still connected, into the front hallway. I can usually read him, know what he’s thinking sometimes before he does. But now, no. “You and Penny-what?”
He glances at his daughter, who’s hopping from one foot to the other. Just about out of patience. And perhaps, in the way. I get it.
“Hey, Penneroo,” I say, pulling a crinkly plastic sack out of my tote bag. It’s a package of Hello Kitty barrettes from the airport. And a do-it-yourself balsa wood plane. And a T-shirt from the journalism conference with the First Amendment printed on the front. Just covering all bases. “Take this up to your secret place and check it out.”
The lure of loot overcomes her need to monitor her father’s activities. She scoops up the bag and heads to her spot under the attic stairs.
Josh smiles and takes my hand again, leading me down the sunlit hall. Family photos once covered the walls here, as they do in my apartment. But the Gelston gallery is now checkered with empty places. Photos removed by divorce. Are they now hanging on Victoria’s walls? Or maybe stored somewhere, the remnants of his ex-family. Memories fading with the images.
“Coffee?” Josh asks, as we arrive in the kitchen. An open box of Cocoa Puffs is on the counter, which probably explains Penny’s chocolate aroma. “Food? Of some kind? I could make…eggs? Guess you don’t want Cocoa Puffs.” He closes the cereal box, and puts it in a cabinet. He looks at his watch. Josh is fidgeting. And he doesn’t fidget. “Is it too early for lunch? It’s too early for lunch. And I know you have to get back to the station.”
I pull a green wrought iron stool up to the ivory-speckled Formica island in the center of the kitchen and perch on the wicker seat. I nervously examine a clumsily raffia-wrapped container of pens and pencils, probably one of Penny’s school projects. I suddenly remember I haven’t changed clothes since yesterday. Maybe I should have gone to my apartment first. Maybe I should have showered? I feel one foot begin to jiggle. Josh has seen me look worse. But he’s certainly distracted by something.
“Coffee, of course, you know me,” I say. I’m wary, but maybe I’m wrong. I troll for info. And try to fill the unusual gully of silence between us. “But I can be here for a little while before they start hunting me down. So. What’s up? Your message? You guys okay? Penny fine? Bexter fine? Victoria and what’s-his-name fine?”
His name is Elliott, but Victoria’s husband, Penny’s stepfather, is the one who must not be named around here. Last time Josh looked like this, it was the “Victoria wants to dump what’s-his-name and get back with me and Penny” trauma. Terrifying. But turned out that didn’t happen.
Josh yanks the metal top from a new can of coffee, the air filling with that unmistakably tantalizing caffeinated perfume. He starts to scoop out a portion, then stops. He pours the coffee grounds back into the can. He turns back to me, leaning against the kitchen counter. Pushes up the sleeves of his sweatshirt. Crosses his arms.
Body language saying: here comes something bad.
He uncrosses his arms. Holds them out toward me, open.
Okay, maybe it’s something good.
“I was in the bursar’s office, yesterday. And you know Eleanor always has the television on in there. Sound off, pictures on.” Josh crosses his arms again. And he looks serious. “She says since September 11, you’ve got to monitor for breaking news.”
I open my mouth to make some sort of pro-television, thank goodness for viewers remark, but something in Josh’s demeanor stops me. “Uh-huh, sure,” I say.
“And I was in her office when the news of the plane crash in Baltimore came on. What they thought was the plane crash, at least.”
“Uh-huh.”
“And I almost lost it, Charlie. I almost lost it. That’s why I was so unsettled in that phone message. There was a moment when I thought you might be gone. Forever.”
“But it wasn’t really-Franklin called you-and my plane wasn’t-”
“I know, I know.” Josh pulls up the kitchen stool across from me. “I’m not saying it was logical. And it was just, well, I thought of that shooting star we saw on our first date. How big the universe is. How small we are. How out of control.” He takes my hand, examines my palm, turns it over, then back. Looks at me again. “And I thought-Charlie’s gone. And I had just found her.”
I realize I’m fingering my necklace, a star of pave diamonds Josh gave me in honor of our shooting-star evening almost a year ago. Our first date. After midnight, in the front seat of my Jeep. Neither of us wanting to say goodbye. We both saw a shooting star, and Josh insisted that required a kiss. Our first. I haven’t kissed another man since.
I realize I thought of Josh, too, last night. And Penny. As I raced through the Baltimore airport to what was supposed to be my live shot, even in my panic for airtime and a big story I’d yearned to call them. To tell them I was okay. I’m the big-time crusading journalist. Independent. Free. It was the first time in years, decades, I’d even thought of letting someone know I was safe.
“And the thought of losing you,” Josh continues. “It was galvanizing. I adore you, Charlie. I don’t want to live without you. You must know that. You know that, right? And do you feel the same way? You do, don’t you?”
“I-you-we-” I’m searching for answers to his questions. And I’m wondering, gradually, suddenly, whether there’s a bigger one coming up.
Josh is patting the pockets of his jeans.
My heart stops. Races. Stops. Races.
“It all happened so fast,” he’s saying. “And I wish I had more time.” He pauses. “But I don’t.” He pulls a piece of paper from his pocket, then takes a pen from Penny’s raffia container. He begins to write, hiding the page from me with a cocked shoulder.
“What?” I’m confused. My heart’s imagination had envisioned a little robin’s-egg-blue box, tied with white satin ribbon, emerging from one of those pockets. But paper?
Josh twinkles at me, looking up from under his unfairly long eyelashes. “You’re the genuine article, Miz McNally. The real thing. And I think we ought to have it in writing.” He folds the paper in half, then half again, then holds it out to me. He’s smiling, but his face has the second unreadable look of the day. “What do you say to this?”
I don’t like surprises. But I do like Josh. Love Josh. Do I want to marry Josh? I do. I don’t. I do. Seems like I’m going to have to answer that pretty damn soon. If this, um, unfolds as I predict-I’m going to have to answer it right now.
My foot is still jiggling as I accept the square of paper. Unfold it once. Twice.