McConnell and Charlotte Hickerson, a petite and shapely woman with a noticeable dimple in each cheek and short red hair, were eating dinner in an upscale restaurant. Sitting across from each other in one of the booths near the back, both had been talkative before the server brought their orders. Now, both focused on the food on their plates, not on small talk.
“Michael,” Charlotte finally said.
McConnell swallowed the bite of sirloin steak. “Yes?”
“Why didn’t you call me?”
“What do you mean?”
“When we met two months ago at Roger’s party, we talked for about an hour. Before you left, you asked if you could call. Remember?”
McConnell nodded. “Yes, I remember.”
Charlotte waited for him to say something else, but he didn’t. Instead, he picked up his glass of red wine, shook it gently, and sipped the liquid. She watched as he placed the glass on the table. “I thought you enjoyed talking to me,” she finally said.
McConnell held up his hands. “I did, I did. I enjoyed talking to you, Charlotte. I enjoyed learning about your job at the FBI.” Charlotte worked in the local office.
“Then why didn’t you call?”
McConnell bit his lower lip and looked at Charlotte. Her red hair circled her face. Her brown eyes were fixed on him. He realized that she wasn’t going to let him off the hook. He took a deep breath. “Well, to tell the truth, Charlotte, I wasn’t interested―”
“Well, why did you accept my invitation to dinner?” Her hands motioned toward the plates.
“Hold on, hold on. Let me finish.” McConnell leaned over the table. “I was about to say ‘I wasn’t interested in seeing any woman.’”
Charlotte appeared confused.
“Let me explain,” McConnell said. “I used to be married.”
Charlotte nodded. “Was it a bad marriage?” she asked, curious.
“No. It was a very good marriage. We’d been married about five years. One evening she was driving to the grocery store, and a man who had been drinking drove his pickup truck across the yellow line, hitting her. She was taken to the closest hospital, but she died several hours later.”
Charlotte leaned forward. “I’m sorry, Michael.”
“That’s okay. You didn’t know.”
They were silent for several minutes. The only sounds were their knives and forks occasionally touching the plates.
“How long did it take to get over her death?” Charlotte asked.
McConnell shrugged. “I don’t know whether I’m over it.”
Charlotte nodded. “How long did it take to ask a woman out?”
McConnell put the knife and fork on the edge of his plate, wiped the corners of his mouth with his napkin, and forced a smile. “A few years.”
“Really?”
“You say that as if you don’t believe it?”
“I thought men were different―”
“Different? What do you mean?”
“I thought men had certain needs―”
“Some men may have certain desires they need to fill, but her death hit me very hard. I had to seek professional help. The doctor prescribed a strong sedative, which I took for months.”
Charlotte reached for her wine. “I’m sorry, Michael.”
McConnell watched her drink the wine. “That’s okay,” he said. “It was a long time ago.”
Charlotte glanced at her watch. “Michael, it’s getting late. Perhaps we should go.”
He nodded. “All right.”
McConnell pulled his wallet from his front pants pocket and left enough money for the check and the tip. Then he followed Charlotte out of the restaurant and to the car.
He opened the passenger door for her, but he didn’t say a word. He walked to the driver’s side, opened the door, and got in. He noticed that she was looking at him, but he ignored her stare. He turned the key and the engine came to life.
“Michael,” she said.
He looked at her. “Yes?”
She hesitated. “Nothing,” she finally said.
He put the gear into drive, let up on the brake, and drove toward her apartment, which was approximately three miles from the restaurant. Neither said a word.
* * *
McConnell parked the car in front of her apartment, opened the door, and got out. When he reached the sidewalk, she was standing near the steps to her door.
“Charlotte,” he said.
She smiled. “Yes?” she asked.
“Thanks.”
“For what?” she asked.
“For inviting me to dinner.”
“That’s what friends are for, Michael.” She glanced at her apartment. Then she looked at him. “Would you like something to drink?”
McConnell glanced at his watch. “I would, but I have to get up early. I’ll wait until you’re in your apartment,” he said. “Okay?”
“Okay.”