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I reach over and cover his hand, which is resting on the table. I don’t know what to say, but I want him to know I hear him, that I understand.
Finally he turns his hand slightly, squeezes mine, and then releases it. “I can’t blame it on my dad. He didn’t do right by me, no question. But I’m a forty-six-year-old man. I’ve had plenty of time to work through all the baggage, and I never did.”
“Why didn’t you?”
He breaks off a piece of waffle cone and chews on it thoughtfully. “Never seemed worth the effort and pain.”
“I think it would be.”
He finally turns back to give me a little smile. “You think so?”
“Yeah. I think so.”
Something thick and quivering lingers in the air between us as we gaze at each other. Then Arthur checks his watch and says we better head home.
When we arrive at the house, Stella asks what we feel like for dinner, and I tell her something light because we had ice cream earlier. “Maybe something easy to eat,” I suggest, having an idea and jumping on it. “I was thinking about watching a movie or something later.”
“That sounds like an excellent idea,” Stella says, appearing pleased and encouraging. She glances over toward Arthur.
I wait too, swallowing over a follow-up question.
When I first arrived, we always ate dinner together, and he’d make a point of asking me questions and sustaining pleasant conversation. But in the past couple of weeks, he’s been working through dinner a lot. And when he does eat with me, he’s quiet and kind of aloof. The meals are awkward in a way they’ve never been before, and I don’t understand why.
We get along so well on our trips to and from my counseling appointments and when he stops by the library to see how my work is going. Why has he suddenly gotten weird over dinner?
Maybe eating while we watch a movie would be more relaxed and natural. I want to spend time with him, and he’s making it difficult.
He doesn’t do anything with the prompt I left hanging. Simply inclines his head and mumbles he’ll be in his office if anyone needs him.
I make a face at his retreating back and catch Stella shaking her head like she’s half-amused and half-frustrated.
I know the feeling.
There’s a nicely supplied workout room in the basement here, so I spend almost an hour lifting some weights and working out on the elliptical. Then I take a shower and change into soft pink lounge pants and a loose V-neck top. When it’s dinnertime, I head downstairs, wondering if I’ll be brave enough to ask Arthur to eat and watch a movie with me.
It’s not like I’m going to make a move on him despite the direction my daydreams have started to drift. I want his company. Surely there isn’t anything wrong with that.
I’m in the hall, walking past the door to Arthur’s home office, when I hear muffled voices from inside.
Stella is in there, talking to him. She says, “I’m just saying she was giving you an obvious hint, and it went right over your head.”
“She wasn’t hinting. You’re imagining things. If anything, she was trying to get out of eating dinner with me.”
“She was not. She wanted you to say that sounded like fun and ask if you could join her. I am not the clueless one here.”
I’ve never heard Stella sound so sharp, argumentative. I had no idea she was in the habit of talking to Arthur this way. I know I should keep walking. Eavesdropping is wrong. But I’m not sure how anyone in my situation could resist.
I certainly don’t. I pause and keep listening.
“I’m not being clueless. I need to be careful. It would be easy for me to be inappropriate in these circumstances. I’m old enough to be her father—”
“You’d be an awfully young father. You’re not even twenty years older than—”
“Even so, I’m much too old for her. She’s young and beautiful and brilliant and so sweet. She’ll eventually find a young, gifted man unburdened by baggage, one who can give her the life she deserves. If I’m always hanging around her, she’ll start to get uncomfortable with me, and that’s the last thing I want to happen.”
“Are you sure that’s the problem?”
“What does that mean?”
