Tom shook his head disgustedly. ' 'You sorry old son of a gun," he muttered. "Can't tell you a damn thing."
The best is yet to come. Hadn't I heard that assertion just this morning? "Sounds like you and Carl Townsend are singing the same song," I said. "He told me this morning that when the monastery is turned into a resort, everybody in the county is going to get rich."
"Carl told you that?" The muscles around the old man's eyes tightened perceptibly. "His mouth flaps at both corners. There ain't no deal yet."
' 'What do you think about the chances for change at St. T's?" I persisted. Tom Senior was the Laney Foundation Board's banker. He knew how much money there was, and what the Reverend Mother General intended to do with it. Of course, he didn't know about the deed restrictions. And he didn't know what was in that white envelope Sadie had shown me.
Or did he? The old man seemed suddenly uncomfortable. He glanced over his shoulder, shoved his chair back, and stood up. "Listen, there's Lou over there in the corner. I need to see him about the Knights of Columbus barbecue comin' up next Saturday."
Tom glanced toward the corner. "Tell Lou I'd like to work my shift early in the day, will you?"
His father nodded. "Send Caroline over to the corner with my coffee." He clapped one hand on Tom's shoulder, the other on mine. "I got a real estate broker who'll help
you find the right location for your shop, China. When you got it picked out, Tom here will see you get money to fix it up." He leaned down between us and whispered loudly. "And when you're settled in, you give Tom-boy a holler. All he needs is a good wife, and he'd be just about perfect." He squeezed my shoulder and was gone.
I stared after him wordlessly, shaking my head.
"Sorry about that, China," Tom said. He shoved his plate away. "The old man is… Well, he's got high hopes for this town."
Not just for the town. I narrowed my eyes. "Come clean. Did you give him reason to hope that we might-"
"You know better than that." He cleared his throat. "But the old man's no fool. He'd like to see me settle down, and he's always liked you-a lot more than Janie, to tell the truth. And he thinks his age gives him the right to say whatever jumps into his mind."
"Obviously," I said dryly. "But I hardly think it gives him the right to go around propositioning potential daughters-in-law."
"Look, China." Tom leaned forward and put his hand on my arm. His voice was taut, his eyes intent. ' 'You know I'm attracted to you. As much as before. No, more." His hand tightened. "Before, I was a young stud with a dozen deals in his pocket. I was easily distracted, and it was hard for me to know what I wanted. Now I know. I want you. I want us to go back where we were and start over again. Is that possible?''
I could feel the warmth of his grip through the sleeve of my flannel shirt. My heart bounced and my stomach tightened involuntarily. I pulled in my breath.
"Yes," he said quietly. "I see it is."
I took my arm back. "I don't think so," I said.
"What's holding you? Is it the guy you live with?"
McQuaid's face rose in front of me, curious and lively. What would he say if he could overhear this conversation, could feel the chaos inside me? The pause lengthened.
"Do you love him?"
Even if I'd been absolutely clear about my feelings for McQuaid, I'd feel awkward sharing them with Tom. "I'm living with him," I replied evasively. "We've lived together since last May." Only eight months-was that all? It felt like eight years.
"Well, hell, China," he said, exasperated. "People live together for all kinds of reasons. Because they enjoy sex, because two is cheaper than one, because they like the security. What kind of thing do you two have going? What does it mean to you?"
What does it mean to me? What does it mean? What are McQuaid and I to one another? Housemates who share a bed as well as board? Or something more? It's a question I've mostly managed to duck. McQuaid and I live together comfortably and companionably and with a minimum of fuss. We enjoy one another in the important ways. Maybe it isn't the stuff of romantic novels, but it works. It's been enough. Then again, confronted with the possibility of something more, was it still enough?
I looked down at my plate. I was talking more to myself than to Tom. "It's a good relationship," I said.
He made a scornful noise. "That's it? Just 'good'? You're kidding! 'Good' isn't good enough, and you know it, China." His voice softened. "We were a hell of a lot more than just 'good.' We were super, incredible, tremendous, fantastic…" He ran out of superlatives. "Remember how it was for us in the beginning?''
I remembered, and even after all the years, the memory was warm enough to melt stone. I remembered lying in each other's arms at 3 a.m., bodies joined, hearts hammering, breath like sweet fire. I remembered champagne dinners at romantic restaurants, an hour or two stolen from the evening's work at the office, dawn breakfasts and lingering kisses, with roses on the table.
That was the first six weeks. After that…
After that, there wasn't as much time for dinners at ro-
mantic restaurants, and the dawn breakfasts had been replaced by a 7 a.m. cup of coffee and a wave as we headed for our cars and the day's work. He accused me of being too busy, I accused him of being preoccupied.
He lifted his hand and touched my face. "We can go back and do it again, China. Only this time, we won't let our careers kill the romance. It'll be like before, only better. Super, fantastic, out of this world. Never just plain 'good.' "
And I knew it was possible. I felt the physical attraction tugging at me, the flame of remembered passion turning my insides soft. I heard the old laughter, tasted the old wine, and knew I could hear it, taste it again, and it would be even sweeter. Tom and I had been swept by desire once, and nearly swept away. It could happen again.
But between then and now, I had met McQuaid, I had lived with him and learned that sustainable love doesn't grow out of superheated physical passion, but out of simply holding hands and holding on, day in and day out. I'd learned that "good" really is enough, not because you're settling for something less, but because "fantastic" and "incredible" burn you out emotionally, just as life in the fast lane burns you out physically. And I thought now of McQuaid and Brian and Howard Cosell and Khat and was suddenly swept by a wave of affection for our ordinary, unromantic life, with its heaps of wet towels and clutter of dirty socks, its lizards in the closet and dead toads in the refrigerator. Our undeniably ordinary, utterly unromantic, inexplicably good life.
Tom put his hand over mine. "You can't deny that you're physically attracted to me."
We were into truth tonight. "You're right," I said. "I am attracted to you, Tom. Very much."
"Aha!" He was triumphant. "Well, now that we've established that, the rest is-"
He was interrupted by the cowgirl with the coffee, and then by another cowgirl who took away the plates, and then
by a couple of his customers, who'd just unloaded a truck of Beefmaster steers at the sale barn down the road and wanted to brag to their banker about the good deal they'd wangled. By the time they'd moved on, Tom Senior was back at the table. We talked for a few minutes, then I glanced at my watch and drained my coffee cup.
"It's getting late," I said. I looked at Tom. "I'll see you at the board meeting tomorrow."
Tom Senior frowned. "The foundation board? Those meetings are closed, except on the invitation of a-''