4

         Cassie was peeking at the lasagna when the doorbell rang.

            “He’s prompt, I’ll say that for him,” Punky said. “It’s straight-up six.”

Cassie closed the oven door and wiped her hands on a towel. Trying to see her reflection in the glass door of the microwave, she fingered the barrette and asked Punky, “How do I look?”

“Like you always do. Beautiful. I’ve never heard you ask before.” When Cassie hesitated, she said, “Answer the door, Cinderella. I think it’s the prince.”

Cassie laughed and headed for the door. Her royal blue pantsuit was made of supple crepe that hung down over her strappy high-heeled sandals, giving a fluid grace to her walk. Dangling lapis lazuli earrings picked up the blue of her outfit and transmitted it to her eyes, which were still twinkling above a wide smile when she opened the door. “Good evening,” she greeted. “More flowers? You will spoil me.”

Cassie hadn’t remembered how tall he was. Tall as she was, and wearing high heels, she still had to look up at him.

Chan Jordain’s face creased into that rectangular smile. “Hello. I hope you don’t mind, but the flowers are for your friend. I made the assumption that it was a lady-friend?” He raised a questioning eyebrow. “I think I’m in trouble if it isn’t.”

“She’s a lady friend,” Punky said, sailing past Cassie and taking the flowers that Chan proffered. She held out her hand. “Hi, I’m Punky Jones. If Cassie isn’t going to invite you in, I will. Come on in.”

“Thank you.” Chan stepped in, and though he spoke to Punky, his eyes were on Cassie, registering appreciation for the blue outfit.

“Thank you for the flowers,” Punky said. “I’ll just go put them in water.”

“The roses you sent me are beautiful,” Cassie said, indicating the bouquet on a stand in the entryway. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” Chan looked around. “You have a lovely place. Are you roommates?”

Cassie shook her head as she led the way into the living room. “Punky lives a block away. Won’t you sit down? Are you hungry?” She picked up a magazine.

“Starved. I’ve been busy all day and didn’t take time for lunch.”

“Oh? What were you doing?”

“Looking for a place to live.”

The magazine slipped from Cassie’s hands, smacking on the unglazed tile as she stared. Chan stooped to retrieve it, smiling as he handed it back to her.

“Oh . . . ,” Cassie said in confusion. “I was going to give that to you to look at while we’re finishing up in the kitchen. Everything’s ready. We just have to put it on the table. Sit down,” she invited again.

Chan took the proffered magazine and sat. Reading the title, The Hospital Quarterly, he said, “I think I’ll just sit here and soak up the ambiance. Sights, sounds, smells. Unless I can help?”

“No, no. It’s all ready. I’ll just be a minute.” Cassie headed for the kitchen, where Punky was waiting for her with a mile-wide grin. “You were right, princess,” she murmured. “He is drop-dead gorgeous. Will you please tell me again what I was teaching my Mia Maids about dating nonmembers? I’ve forgotten what it was.”

“Me, too. But we’ll be strong. Though, that doesn’t mean we can’t ask him to do things as a group. What are we doing for FHE Monday night?” They were whispering conspiratorially.

“We’re playing basketball, remember? You and Ben conned short little me into that. I get Chan on my team. You and Ben against Prince Jordain and I.”

“Shhhh. He may not even be in the area on Monday.” Cassie hissed, reaching to take the lasagna out of the oven.

“I heard him say he’s looking for a place to live.” Punky splashed a ruby-colored vinaigrette on the salad and tasted a piece of lettuce. “Sounds like he’s here for a while.” Putting a pair of serving tongs in the bowl, she carried it out to the dining area.

Cassie followed her with the lasagna and a trivet, glancing over to where Chan sat on the couch, following her with his eyes. Suddenly, he stood. “I forgot something in the car. I’ll be back in a minute.” He was out the door and gone before Cassie could think of anything to say.

Punky arrived with the fragrance of warm bread wafting behind her and set a basket covered with a heavy linen napkin on the table. “Where’d he go?”

“I don’t know. Said he forgot something.”

“Is he coming back?”

“I hope so. Otherwise we’re going to be eating lasagna leftovers for a month.”

They stood at the table and waited in silence. Finally Punky said, “The salad is wilting. Is he coming?”

“He’s been gone three minutes is all.”

“How do you know?”

“I looked at the clock when he left. I don’t know why.”

Just at that moment, there was a tap-tap on the door, and Chan entered, carrying a green bottle with a large, yellow label and a gold foil cap over the stopper on top. Cassie’s heart sank.

“I brought something to drink,” Chan explained. “I was so nervous I left it in the car. It was chilled when I bought it, so it should still be fine.”

“Um. Thank you,” Cassie began. “But, the thing is, we can’t . . . we don’t . . .”

Chan grinned. “I can’t, and I don’t either. I’m a Latter-day Saint. It’s sparkling grape juice.”

“You’re LDS?” Punky was the one who found her voice first. “You’re LDS?” she repeated, upping the tone and decibels. “So are we!” She pointed to Cassie and then to herself. “Cassie and I are too!”

Chan nodded, grinning, and Cassie felt the earth shift under her as he looked down and said softly, “I knew you had that certain something.” It was a private moment, though Punky was standing just across the table.

It was Punky who broke the silence. “Well,” she said. “I just remembered something I have to do at home. I’ll scoot on over and take care of it.”

“Punky! What are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about leaving you two alone. I feel like a fifth wheel. Or is it a third wheel?”

Chan walked around and pulled out a chair. “Will you please be seated, Ms. Jones? I’m not going to let you get away without finding out where you’re from and what that faint accent is I heard when you said ‘come on in.’”

“Well, if you really want me . . .”

“Of course we do!” Cassie affirmed, sitting down opposite Punky. “Chan, you sit there. And will you ask the blessing?” She bowed her head and listened to the prayer offered up from her table, reveling in the familiar Mormon rhythms and speech patterns. Never had she said amen with such a thankful heart.

“Punky, will you serve the lasagna?” she asked. “And, Chan, will you pour your sparkling grape juice?”

“I will,” he answered, “but Punky has to tell me where she’s from.”

“I’m from Flagstaff,” Punky said. “But what you’re hearing is an east Texas accent. I lived in Beaumont until I was ten. I thought it was all gone.”

“It is, mostly. What brought your family to Flagstaff?”

“My daddy teaches at the university there. Hand me your plate and I’ll give you some of this.”

Chan obliged, asking, “And what does he teach?” But even as he listened to Punky’s answer, his eyes slid over to rest on Cassie. Dishing up salad, she looked up to meet his eyes and smiled her thanks for the comfortable way he was including Punky in the conversation.

Chan stayed until eleven, and the hours flew by. They lingered over dinner, following a thread of conversation that wound from Flagstaff to Mesa Verde and on to Mexico with a stop-off at Beaumont. Chan insisted on helping with the dishes, and as darkness fell, they wandered to the living room, turned on the lights, and talked about rattlesnakes and Gila monsters, childhood fears, first memories, and old commercial jingles. They went from there to Broadway plays, and Chan talked Punky into singing her favorite Broadway tune. She sat at Cassie’s old upright piano and played an arpeggio, humming softly to find the range, and then she sang the first verse to one of Cassie’s favorite songs from the musical Camelot: “If Ever I Would Leave You.”

Cassie sank into the corner of the couch, leaning back her head and closing her eyes. She replayed in her mind the lovely scene where Lancelot proclaims his love to Guinevere in song. Punky’s full contralto filled the room, as she began the second verse.

Cassie turned her head and opened her eyes, meeting Chan Jordain’s steady gaze. Their eyes locked and something passed between them, something electric like the arc of a powerful current that welds together two pieces of steel, or like the flash of lightning as the charge from black and brooding clouds finds a ground in the earth. You could almost smell the ozone in the air. So, when Punky finished the song and turned around, though Cassie dropped her eyes, Punky knew.

She stood and said, “Well, I’m outta here.” Approaching Chan, she held out her hand. “It was nice to meet you. Will we see you again?”

Chan stood to take Punky’s hand. “I hope so. I was going to ask Cassie if I could go to church with you all.”

“That would be great. See you tomorrow, Cass. Be sure to tell Chan about FHE. And remember, he’s on my team.”

Cassie didn’t stand, but waved good-bye from her post on the couch, watching Punky’s exit and turning to face Chan only when her friend had closed the door behind her.

He was still standing. “I’ll leave, too,” he said. “I don’t want to wear out my welcome.”

“You could not.” It was a statement but came out as a huskily whispered promise. She held out a hand, and he stepped closer and pulled her to her feet.

He did not relinquish the hand, but held it as he walked to the door.

As they paused in the entryway, Cassie, her back to the door, was aware of how close he was standing, and she watched as he raised her fingers to his lips.

“Can I pick you up in the morning?” he asked softly.

“Mmm. Yes.” He had somehow opened her hand and had pressed it against his cheek. She felt the roughness of the emerging stubble, and then she felt the pressure of his lips on the inside of first her palm and then her wrist.

“I’d better go,” he whispered, but he didn’t let go her hand.

“Yes,” she agreed in the same breathless tone, but neither moved.

“I’d better go.” Was there an alternative hanging in the air between them?

Making a concerted effort to overcome the magnetic force that was pulling her toward that alternative, Cassie reached behind her and felt for the doorknob. The faint “click” as it turned in her hand seemed to break the spell, and she pulled the door open a crack. “Eight-thirty tomorrow morning?”

Chan stepped back so she could swing the door all the way open, and they both stepped out into the warm desert evening.

She gave his hand a squeeze and released it. “Good night,” she said.

“I’ll see you in the morning.” Then he was off down the sidewalk, moving in and out of the luminous pools cast by the landscape lighting.

Cassie stood on the step and listened to the sound of his retreating footsteps. Then she turned and floated back into her house, humming, “If ever I would leave you . . .”