I also remembered that after he told me he’d never really known what love was until he met the girl who worked behind the counter at the dry cleaner’s, he’d stopped wearing good ol’ Old Spice and switched to a pricey, metrosexual scent she picked out for him at the mall.
I pretended not to notice he’d switched back. Just like I pretended not to make note of the fact that he was once again dressed in khakis and a tan polo shirt, and not the black and white, sort of noir, maybe goth look I’d seen him in the day our divorce was finalized.
“You’re here for lunch,” I said, because of course that was the only possible reason he could be at Bellywasher’s. “You’re not at school. You should be at school. It’s the middle of the day.”
“It sure is, and summer vacation has started.” I should have remembered this and he was kind enough not to point it out. “I don’t start teaching summer school for another two weeks.”
“Summer school?” It was the one thing he’d been adamant about back when we were married. Summer, Peter always said, was his hard-earned vacation time, and he didn’t want to spend it teaching remedial chemistry to kids who didn’t want to be there and weren’t going to learn anyway. “You always hated summer school.”
He shrugged. “The mortgage has to get paid,” he said, and yeah, he was so casual about it, I couldn’t help but bristle.
The mortgage, you see, had always been a bone of contention between Peter and me.
I wanted one. In the worst way. Because in the worst way, I wanted to own a home of my own.
Peter was a little more blasé about the idea of home ownership. He finally gave in to my years of poring over the home section of the newspaper and sighing, and right before we separated, we started looking at (inexpensive) homes.
When our assets were divided, he took half of the down payment with him, and pulled my dream of home ownership out from under me.
Was I bitter? Absolutely! But this wasn’t the time or the place.
I pasted on a smile. “Table for two?” Automatically, I checked behind him to see if Mindy-or was it Mandy?-was with him. “Or one?”
“One.” As if to prove he was alone, he spread out his hands and looked around. “I hear the food’s good here.”
“It isn’t good, it’s fabulous.” We were on firmer footing now, and I was in my element. I never get tired of talking about how wonderful Bellywasher’s is. “The lunch crowd has thinned so you’ve got your choice of tables. You can sit over there if you want.” I grabbed a menu from the bar and waved it toward the small table near the sandalwood screen that separated our entryway from the tables beyond. As I did, I caught Eve’s eye. She was in the middle of saying something to Tyler, but when she saw who I was talking to, her mouth dropped open.
I could just about see the wheels turning in her head, and when she made a move to get up, I stopped her with a look. I had not one shred of doubt that she was about to come over and tell Peter to take his lunch business somewhere else. Call me shallow: I wasn’t about to turn down a paying customer.
Call me curious: I was dying to know what he was doing here.
Because I didn’t want Eve to get involved and say all the things I would have said to her ex-husband (if she had one) if he appeared out of the blue, I showed Peter to his table myself.
“How did you know about this place?” I asked him. “I can’t believe it’s just-”
“Coincidence? You know me better than that.” When he sat down and looked up at me, his eyes gleamed. “I’m a science teacher, Annie. I don’t believe in coincidence. I stopped at Pioneer this morning.”
“The bank? My bank?”
“Apparently, it isn’t your bank anymore. They told me you quit.”
“You went to my bank? To see me?”
Back when we met, Peter’s laugh was one of the first things I’d noticed about him. It was deep and rich, and it always had a way of warming through and through.
That was then, and this was now. I told myself not to forget it and stared down at him, so anxious for answers, I was able to ignore his deep-throated chuckle and the way it tickled its way up my spine.
Peter opened his menu, but he didn’t glance at it. He was looking at me as carefully as I was watching him. “I never thought you’d do something that foolish.”
“You mean show you to a table and hand you a menu? Or are we talking about something else? Like the bank. Was that foolish?” I’d thought the same thing myself not twenty-four hours earlier, but somehow, hearing the sentiment coming out of Peter’s mouth brought everything into perspective. “You can’t possibly know what’s foolish for me to do and what isn’t. You don’t know me anymore, Peter. You gave up the privilege of commenting about my decisions the day you cheated on me. Which also means that what I do and where I work… well, it’s really none of your business.”
“Sorry!” When I stepped away from the table, Peter grabbed my hand. “I didn’t mean to ruffle your feathers. Knowing you, I was surprised, that’s all. All those years of seniority… all those contributions to your 401(k) plan. You never would have done anything so out of character back when we were married. You must like this place a whole lot.”
“I do.” I cringed at the phrase and its connection to the past-and to Peter-and, anxious to fill the silence, I’d already opened my mouth to tell him about the daily specials when I realized Jim was standing just a couple feet away. He wasn’t watching us. Not exactly. I mean he wasn’t looking at our faces. He was staring at the place where Peter’s hand and mine were linked.
I had nothing at all to feel ashamed of, but that didn’t stop the guilt from seeping into every pore. I yanked my hand out of Peter’s and backed up a step, distancing myself from him at the same time I gestured to call Jim closer. “There’s someone I want you to meet,” I told him. “This is Peter. Peter Capshaw.”
It took him a moment to put the pieces together, but I knew exactly when they clunked into place. Jim can be cool, calm, and collected in the face of the worst kitchen calamities. This didn’t exactly qualify, but his reaction was no different. His eyebrows rose just a smidgen and he stuck out his hand in a friendly enough greeting. Still, I couldn’t help but notice that his shoulders were rigid.
“Good to meet you,” he told Peter. Like I said, Jim is a born pub keeper. Throwing a line of bull when necessary is part of the job description. “You’ve heard about us, eh? Stopped in to see what all the fuss is about?”
Peter scraped back his chair so that he could get a better look at Jim. “Actually,” he said, “I stopped in to see Annie. I was surprised to hear she’d left the bank, but I’m starting to get the picture.” He slid his gaze from Jim to me, and I was tempted to tell him that whatever picture he was getting, it was one he should erase from his mind. Like where I chose to work, who I chose to work with was none of Peter’s business.
“Well, I hope you don’t mind if I borrow Annie for a second.” Since Jim already had a hand on my arm and was piloting me toward the bar, this seemed an unnecessary statement. “We have business to discuss.”
“Do we?” I asked, as soon as we were out of Peter’s earshot. “Or was that a little caveman grandstanding?”
“Is that what you think?” There was a rag on the counter next to the sink where the glasses were washed, and Jim grabbed it and wiped off the bar. Even though it didn’t need it. “Actually, I do have something to talk to you about.” I could tell he was trying not to, but he couldn’t help himself; he looked over to where Peter sat with his back to us. “What’s he doing here?”
“That’s what I’d like to know.”
Yes, it would have been perfectly legitimate if I had said that, but it wasn’t me talking, it was Eve. She scampered over to join us, her voice a harsh whisper. “Annie, that’s Peter. What is Peter doing here?”