all honesty, he didn’t really care what his father
thought about the state. Whether or not Robert Torrance approved of
his son’s choices didn’t matter to Brad.
What mattered was that he himself
had to approve of his choices. He approved of his choice regarding
a place to live. But the other choice, the choice he’d made about
Daphne, didn’t sit well with him. It troubled him that he’d
pigeon-holed her as he had. It troubled him that he couldn’t bring
himself to think of her in a romantic context. She had so much
going for her, and yet...nothing clicked between them. He could
gaze into her round green eyes and feel nothing but respect for who
she was today and remorse for what he’d done to her long
ago.
He ought to feel more, but he
didn’t. And it bothered the hell out of him.
***
“HAVE YOU HEARD from Andrea about
the party?” Phyllis asked.
Daphne wedged the telephone more
snugly against her ear, as if she could keep Brad from listening in
on the conversation. He already knew about the party Andrea and
Eric were hosting in his honor Saturday night; he’d mentioned it
that morning when he’d arrived at Daphne’s office. But she held her
cell phone tight and averted her eyes, just as she always did when
she received a personal call at work. It was an old habit dating
back to her first job after she’d graduated from college, as an
assistant buyer at a department store in Chicago. Her boss had been
a tyrant, demanding that employees refuse all phone calls not
related to business. Of course the staff had disobeyed, but they’d
learned to be secretive.
“Are you going to be there?”
Phyllis asked.
“Probably. Are you?”
“I wouldn’t miss it for the world,”
Phyllis said. “What’s Brad Torrance like these days, anyway? Andrea
tells me you’ve spent a couple of days taking him around to look at
houses.”
“He’s fine,” Daphne reported. Brad
couldn’t help hearing, and he glanced up curiously, apparently
conscious of the fact that she was talking about him. She smiled,
then slowly and deliberately inspected him as he watched her,
lifting her eyeglasses up to her forehead and squinting at him. “He
hasn’t aged too badly, Phyllis,” she reported, lowering her glasses
back into place. “No gray hair, no double-chin, no signs of an
incipient pot-belly.”
Me? Brad mouthed, jabbing his thumb into his chest as
he stared at Daphne.
She covered her phone with her hand
and whispered, “It’s Phyllis Dunn, from school. She’s going to be
at the party Saturday, and she wanted to know how you
looked.”
Brad nodded; evidently, Phyllis’s
name rang a bell. Then he grinned. “No pot-belly, huh,” he
whispered back. “Has she got a pot-belly?”
“You’ll find out Saturday night,”
Daphne answered before turning her attention back to her caller.
Phyllis was chattering about something, and Daphne had missed half
of it. “What?”
“I said, the good news is that
Steve and Melanie Persky are coming down from Armonk for the
party,” Phyllis reported, naming a couple of other friends who
dated back to Daphne’s college days. “The bad news is that Andrea
invited a bunch of her TV people, so the party’s going to be
overrun with show-biz folks.”
Daphne laughed. Unlike Phyllis, she
found Andrea’s professional colleagues colorful and entertaining.
“How about Jim? Are you bringing him along with you?”
“I can’t see a way out of it,”
Phyllis lamented. “Are you coming alone?”
“I was thinking I’d bring Paul
Costello,” said Daphne.
“Bo-ring,” Phyllis
chanted.
“How can you say that? You’ve never
even met him,” Daphne complained.
“I figure, if you’re dating him, he
must be safe,” Phyllis rationalized.
When Daphne had started dating
Paul, about a year after she’d moved to Verona, he hadn’t been
especially safe. An English teacher at one of the local high
schools, he was sharp, passably handsome, and possessed of a quirky
sense of humor. He
thought about the state. Whether or not Robert Torrance approved of
his son’s choices didn’t matter to Brad.
What mattered was that he himself
had to approve of his choices. He approved of his choice regarding
a place to live. But the other choice, the choice he’d made about
Daphne, didn’t sit well with him. It troubled him that he’d
pigeon-holed her as he had. It troubled him that he couldn’t bring
himself to think of her in a romantic context. She had so much
going for her, and yet...nothing clicked between them. He could
gaze into her round green eyes and feel nothing but respect for who
she was today and remorse for what he’d done to her long
ago.
He ought to feel more, but he
didn’t. And it bothered the hell out of him.
***
“HAVE YOU HEARD from Andrea about
the party?” Phyllis asked.
Daphne wedged the telephone more
snugly against her ear, as if she could keep Brad from listening in
on the conversation. He already knew about the party Andrea and
Eric were hosting in his honor Saturday night; he’d mentioned it
that morning when he’d arrived at Daphne’s office. But she held her
cell phone tight and averted her eyes, just as she always did when
she received a personal call at work. It was an old habit dating
back to her first job after she’d graduated from college, as an
assistant buyer at a department store in Chicago. Her boss had been
a tyrant, demanding that employees refuse all phone calls not
related to business. Of course the staff had disobeyed, but they’d
learned to be secretive.
“Are you going to be there?”
Phyllis asked.
“Probably. Are you?”
“I wouldn’t miss it for the world,”
Phyllis said. “What’s Brad Torrance like these days, anyway? Andrea
tells me you’ve spent a couple of days taking him around to look at
houses.”
“He’s fine,” Daphne reported. Brad
couldn’t help hearing, and he glanced up curiously, apparently
conscious of the fact that she was talking about him. She smiled,
then slowly and deliberately inspected him as he watched her,
lifting her eyeglasses up to her forehead and squinting at him. “He
hasn’t aged too badly, Phyllis,” she reported, lowering her glasses
back into place. “No gray hair, no double-chin, no signs of an
incipient pot-belly.”
Me? Brad mouthed, jabbing his thumb into his chest as
he stared at Daphne.
She covered her phone with her hand
and whispered, “It’s Phyllis Dunn, from school. She’s going to be
at the party Saturday, and she wanted to know how you
looked.”
Brad nodded; evidently, Phyllis’s
name rang a bell. Then he grinned. “No pot-belly, huh,” he
whispered back. “Has she got a pot-belly?”
“You’ll find out Saturday night,”
Daphne answered before turning her attention back to her caller.
Phyllis was chattering about something, and Daphne had missed half
of it. “What?”
“I said, the good news is that
Steve and Melanie Persky are coming down from Armonk for the
party,” Phyllis reported, naming a couple of other friends who
dated back to Daphne’s college days. “The bad news is that Andrea
invited a bunch of her TV people, so the party’s going to be
overrun with show-biz folks.”
Daphne laughed. Unlike Phyllis, she
found Andrea’s professional colleagues colorful and entertaining.
“How about Jim? Are you bringing him along with you?”
“I can’t see a way out of it,”
Phyllis lamented. “Are you coming alone?”
“I was thinking I’d bring Paul
Costello,” said Daphne.
“Bo-ring,” Phyllis
chanted.
“How can you say that? You’ve never
even met him,” Daphne complained.
“I figure, if you’re dating him, he
must be safe,” Phyllis rationalized.
When Daphne had started dating
Paul, about a year after she’d moved to Verona, he hadn’t been
especially safe. An English teacher at one of the local high
schools, he was sharp, passably handsome, and possessed of a quirky
sense of humor. He
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