Part 5 (2/2)
”And I without you.”
Time for me to get lost, thought Lucy, feeling as if she'd eaten too many sweets. Which was funny, when you came to think of it, because all she'd had was tea. Plain tea with no sugar.
Back home, Lucy checked the mailbox that stood out by the road and found a couple of bills, a flyer from the hardware store, and a thick envelope like a wedding invitation. Intrigued, she opened it and found an engraved card from the Chamber of Commerce inviting her to the Hearts on Fire Ball scheduled for Valentine's weekend at the VFW hall. The part about the VFW hall was a bit discouraging, but the event was black-tie optional, which made her heart beat a little faster, imagining how handsome Bill would look in a tux. And she couldn't remember the last time she'd had a reason to wear anything dressier than a pair of slacks and a nice sweater.
Hurrying into the house, she debated how best to approach the subject with Bill, who declared himself allergic to neckties. A rented tux was a lot dressier than the all-purpose blue blazer he wore, most often with an open-necked s.h.i.+rt, when a jacket was absolutely necessary.
Lucy paused in the kitchen to slip off her boots and hang up her jacket, taking a moment to neaten up the coat rack. Why couldn't Bill and the girls manage to use the little loops for hanging that were sewn into their jackets? Instead, they tossed them on the row of hooks any old way, piling them one on top of the other until the whole mess slid off onto the floor. Catching herself in a negative train of thought, she resolved to try to think more positively, like Helen Faircloth. There was nothing she could do about winter, the weather was out of her control. She could control her thoughts, however, by concentrating on the positive aspects of the season. Like the ball.
The TV was on in the family room; Lucy could hear bursts of sound that indicated a sporting event of some kind. Maybe Bill would like a snack, she thought, popping into the powder room and applying a fresh coat of lipstick and a squirt of cologne. Thus armed, she advanced into the family room where she found her husband in his usual chair, a big old recliner, slapping his knee.
”A three-pointer,” he declared. ”You shoulda seen it. Right across the court. Wait, hold on, they're replaying it.”
Trapped, Lucy perched on the sectional and watched as an abnormally tall man with many tattoos seemed to launch a basketball with an effortless flick of his wrist that sent it sailing from one end of the court to the other and right through the hoop.
”Amazing,” she said.
”And they said he wasn't worth sixty million dollars,” scoffed Bill.
”Fools,” said Lucy, thinking to herself that n.o.body on G.o.d's green earth deserved sixty million dollars, not when other people were hungry and homeless.
”That's the quarter,” said Bill, as a buzzer sounded.
Remembering her mission, Lucy jumped up. ”Can I get you something? A beer? Would you like me to throw some popcorn in the microwave? There's a mini-pizza in the freezer I could heat up for you.”
Bill looked at her suspiciously. ”Did you smash up the car?”
”No. What makes you think that?”
”Dunno. You're not usually this nice. Are the girls okay?” He paused. ”Don't tell me Sara's in trouble. Or Zoe?”
”Don't be ridiculous,” said Lucy. ”The girls are fine. And so is the car.”
”Well, you obviously want something. What is it?” Lucy plopped herself in his lap, giving him the full benefit of her cologne. ”Don't I smell good?”
”You always smell good,” he said, nuzzling her neck.
Lucy stroked his beard, noticing the gray. ”You know what holiday is coming up?”
”Mother's Day?” he teased.
”No.” She nibbled his ear. ”Valentine's Day.”
”Funny you should mention it. I noticed a bunch of red hearts in the windows at Fern's Famous.”
For a moment, Lucy wondered if he'd also noticed something at Chanticleer Chocolate, or rather, someone, but pushed the thought from her mind. ”No chocolate for me,” said Lucy. ”I'm on a diet.”
You had to hand it to Bill, he could be amazingly prescient. ”So what do you have in mind, sweetheart?”
Lucy handed him the invitation.
”A ball?”
”Wouldn't it be fun to get dressed up and dance? We could dance the night away.”
Bill shrugged. ”The VFW does a pretty decent prime rib.”
”I could wear something with a low neck,” she murmured in his ear. ”And I haven't seen you in a tux since our wedding.”
A shudder seemed to run through Bill's body. ”A tux?” Lucy knew the value of a strategic retreat. ”It's optional.” She sighed. ”Of course, I'd look pretty silly all dolled up in lace and black satin if you're not dressed up, too.”
”We'll see,” he said.
”You mean we can go?”
”Yeah,” said Bill, as she bounced in his lap and gave him a big hug.
”You can pick up the tickets at the Seamen's Bank,” said Lucy, hopping off his lap. ”Do you want popcorn or pizza?”
”Just a beer,” he said, turning the volume up with the remote. ”Whaddya mean, I can buy the tickets?”
”Well, it's ten dollars cheaper for men.”
”Isn't that discrimination?” he asked, grinning. ”I'm surprised your feminist ire isn't aroused.”
”Sometimes even a feminist has to be practical,” said Lucy, heading for the kitchen. ”I think they want to encourage men to attend.”
When she returned, Bill was frowning. ”The Celts are behind,” he muttered, taking the bottle of Sam Adams. ”It's barely a minute into the second quarter and they're trailing by five points.”
”Sixty million dollars isn't what it used to be,” she said.
”You're telling me. The guy's a b.u.m.”
Lucy wanted to wrap things up before she started cooking dinner. ”So you'll get the tickets?”
”I'll go, I'll think about the tux, but I'm not buying the tickets.”
Lucy plunked herself down on the sectional and grabbed a magazine off the coffee table. ”You're being ridiculous, you know,” she said, flipping through the ads for beauty products and designer handbags.
”I hate writing checks,” he said, groaning as a ball bounced off the rim.
”They take cash, even credit cards,” said Lucy.
”Banks have weird hours.” Bill leaned forward in his chair. ”d.a.m.n.”
Lucy knew it was counterproductive but she couldn't stop herself from arguing. ”So it's okay for me to rearrange my schedule, but not for you?”
<script>