Seven

Magical. That would be the first word she’d record when she got home. The Celtic rhythms of Riverdance still reverberated in April’s chest as the lights came up in the Orpheum Theater, and she stared at the massive brass chandelier dripping with Italian crystals that hung from the domed ceiling. From the mural above the stage to the rich Victorian colors of the carpet, the almost-ninety-year-old building whispered of its rich vibrant history. Caitlyn, you would have loved this.

April folded her playbill. “Can’t you imagine being here back in the roaring twenties when it was all new?”

Seth nodded. “You’d be sitting there in a flapper dress, and we’d be watching the Marx Brothers.”

“Did you know that Bob Dylan owned the Orpheum for a few years back in the eighties?”

“Really?”

She nodded. “The Minneapolis Community Development Agency bought it from him and renovated it in 1993.”

Seth laughed. “You’ve done your research.”

“I did a talk on it in college.”

As she stood, Seth’s hand touched the small of her back, light not possessive. “Thank you,” he said softly.

She questioned him with her eyes. What was he thanking her for? The ticket? The company?

He answered, “You didn’t have to give me a second chance.”

The decision had been harder than he’d ever realize. But she had to keep the moment light. “It’s hard to say no to a guy who brings garbage bags.”

The shallow dimple on his right cheek creased. “Most guys just don’t understand how high trash bags are on a woman’s list of priorities.”

“You’re very in tune.”

“I try.” He gave a comically exaggerated sigh as they stepped into the aisle. “Let’s see how I do on the next thing on the itinerary.”

“We have an itinerary?”

He nodded. “An incredible night deserves an extraordinary dessert.”

❧

“Kuik E Mart?” April narrowed her eyes at Seth but couldn’t quite tame the smile that seemed to be becoming a habit. “Our extraordinary dessert is coming from a convenience store?”

Seth winked at her. “I said ‘extraordinary,’ not ‘gourmet.’ Wait here.” He opened the door then turned back to her. “One question. Strawberry or raspberry?”

“Surprise me.”

He got out, walked up to the entrance, stopped, and came back to her side of the car and tapped on the window. April pushed the button to lower the window.

“One more question. You’re not allergic to sodium stearoyl lactylate, are you?”

April’s brow wrinkled. “I have no idea.”

When he returned, he handed her two warm cups that smelled like hazelnut. She set them in the cup holders and took a plastic grocery bag from him.

“No peeking.” He started the car and turned onto South Eighth Street. Five minutes later, he turned onto Cedar Avenue, and then Riverside, in the middle of the West Bank of the University of Minnesota campus. April knew the area like the back of her hand but had no idea what they were doing there. He parked in the parking garage just south of Locust Street. Picking up the two coffee cups, he smiled at her. “Follow me.”

They walked across West River Parkway to a cement wall that ran along the riverbank. On the opposite side, the outline of the East Bank campus towered over the trees. Lights from the University Medical Center blinked in the darkness. Seth took the bag from her so that she could step over the wall. They sat, hugging paper cups of coffee, staring at the headlights and taillights strung like white and red beads on the bridge that crossed the black Mississippi.

After several minutes, Seth set both of their cups on the ground and handed April a roll of paper towels. “Would you mind opening these while I prepare dessert?”

As she ripped off the plastic, she watched. Out of the bag came two packages of Twinkies, a jar of raspberry jam, and a box of plastic silverware. Seth slathered jam over the top of a Twinkie and held it out to her. “Shortcake, madam?”

Closing her eyes, April savored the too-sweet concoction, all the while trying to put brakes on savoring the moment. “Delicious. And very creative.”

“I invented it when I was eight.”

“When I was eight, I lived on soda crackers and grape jelly.” Because my mother was too depressed to work, and my father wouldn’t send the checks. . . .

Seth gave her a thoughtful look, giving her time to add more. When she didn’t, he filled the silence with stories of his childhood and tales of college misadventures that she was quite sure had been stretched. In between, he asked questions about her favorite memories but seemed to sense when he’d hit on something sensitive for her to talk about.

They talked about weather patterns and life in the media through two beeps of Seth’s watch. “Midnight.” He threw the Twinkies and jam back in the bag. “Don’t want you dozing through your show.”

April picked up the two empty cups. Instead of stacking them, she carried one in each hand as they walked back to the parking garage. Seth opened the car door for her and then walked around the front and got in. He held his hand out. “I’ll take those.”

She handed him the cups, fingers touching for a fraction of a second. As the dome light faded, his eyes found hers. “Are you busy next Saturday night?”

April’s eyes opened, a little too wide, advertising that he’d caught her off guard. She needed time to think. Going with him tonight hadn’t been her idea. Was she ready to agree to an official date? “No.” The word in her head came out of her mouth, and she suddenly realized what she’d just done.

“Would you be interested in dinner and a truly gourmet dessert? The Melting Pot, maybe? Fondue for two?”

She had a whole week to make excuses. Maybe she’d catch Yvonne’s flu. “That would be nice.”

Seth’s phone on the dashboard in front of her dinged. He reached for it. “Sorry. It’s a message from my station manager. I have to check it.” He listened to the message, his features hardening in the dim garage light. “Sorry,” he repeated. “I have to call him back. He pushed a button. “Merv, what’s up?”

The muscles on Seth’s jaw bulged. The softness left his eyes. “Okay, so he was late, but he made it.” His lips pressed together as he listened. “Hey, take it out on Darren; I’m not his nanny.” His right hand slammed against the steering wheel. “When are you going to quit blaming everybody else for your problems? You should be able to deal with things like this without bringing them to me. And I’m not the only one who’s taking notice. You’ll be looking for another job if things don’t start changing.” April cringed as exasperation rushed through Seth’s pursed lips. “You’re a manager. Act like one!” The phone slapped shut.

❧

The magic was gone. The rest of the ride alternated between awkward silence and Seth ripping on the antiquated policies and woeful incompetence at KXPB, and what he was going to do to change things around there as soon as he had the chance. When he parked behind her apartment, April thanked him for the evening. After a quick good-bye, she got out before he could say anything. Locking the downstairs door behind her, she kicked off her shoes, sending one bouncing up to the third step, and trudged up the stairs. As she straightened up after picking up the wayward shoe, she shrieked.

Yvonne stood at the top of the stairs, wearing jeans and sandals and a turquoise blouse. Her hair was styled and her face made up. The overhead light glinted off her teeth as she grinned. “So?” she squealed. “Is he everything I said he was?”

April’s eyes narrowed. “He’s way too much of what I said he was.” She opened her door and threw in her shoes. “Why aren’t you in bed?” She took a long look at the bouncy curls and pearly pink lip gloss, the perky smile now phasing into confusion. “Why don’t you look sick?”

“Because I’m. . .not. Didn’t Seth tell you?”

“Tell me what? That my best friend’s a liar?” She chucked her purse through the open door.

“He asked me to set up a date with you, and this just seemed perfect.” Yvonne’s disappointment pinched her features. “I was so sure you two would hit it off and you’d be so grateful that it wouldn’t matter that I faked being sick. What happened?”

“You should be an actress. All that retching and gagging and. . .” April’s breath came in short, tight gulps. One more word would unleash the torrent brewing inside her. With a final glare at Yvonne, she walked into her apartment and closed the door behind her.

The tears began as she unzipped her dress, clawing at the zipper as if it were the polka dots’ fault she couldn’t breathe. The dress fell at her feet, and she kicked it toward the closet. Jerking open a drawer, she pulled out a floor-length nightgown, pulling it over her head and hugging it close to her belly, seeking comfort in the softness. But the feel of flannel against her skin roused a sadness that had nothing to do with Seth Bachelor.

Arms wrapped around Snow Bear, she curled on the couch and gave in to tears. . .the sobs of an nine-year-old girl whose father had just said he was never coming back.

The tiniest details were branded in her memory, etched there by her father’s rage: lightning flashing through the slats of Caitlyn’s crib, striping the faded pink-flowered wallpaper. . .icy rain slapping the window. . .the wind howling, sometimes louder than her father’s cursing, sometimes not. . . April had stood beside the crib in her long flannel nightgown, gripping the rungs, singing “The Itsy Bitsy Spider”. . .louder and louder to cover the sound of the storm and the screaming in the kitchen. Caitlyn giggled, and April wondered why. Why wasn’t she scared?

Looking back now, she knew the answer. Her little sister had never known anything else. She hadn’t known a mother who smiled or a daddy who played games. To her, the fighting was normal.

April remembered the smoothness of the painted spindles, the fabric softener smell of Caitlyn’s stuffed purple elephant, the hum of the vaporizer in the corner. And as hard as she’d tried to forget, she remembered her father’s words, shot at her mother like the machine guns in the movies Daddy liked to watch. The connecting words had eroded over the years, but the bulletlike imprecations remained, shooting to the surface with unpredictable triggers. . .flannel—or a man’s fight with his boss.

She hadn’t seen or heard from her father since Caitlyn’s funeral. There were times she could pray for him. Tonight wasn’t one of those times.

Finally, when her tears were spent, April tried to back step into objectivity. Had she overreacted with Seth? Was she being unfair to let Seth’s bout of anger overshadow the sensitivity she’d seen earlier in the evening? Maybe. She pulled a fleece throw off the back of the couch. Using the bear as a pillow, she lay down. Maybe she hadn’t been fair, but she couldn’t risk being around him long enough to find out. She couldn’t risk falling for a man whose anger might burn out of control. A man who might leave her.

❧

“I know you had good intentions.” April stared past Yvonne, counting the travel mugs on the coffee shop shelf, not quite ready for the honesty of eye contact.

“Does that mean you forgive me?”

In the fog of her exhaustion, even resentment felt like work. “I forgive you.” The truth was, she felt betrayed, but she had to respond to Yvonne’s motives, not the disappointing outcome.

“Then tell me every detail. . .everything before he got the phone call.”

April shook her head. “If I do, you’ll tell me I’m being irrational.”

“And truth is something you no longer believe in?”

There were thirteen mugs on the top shelf, six stainless steel and seven plastic. “It’s just. . .I don’t know. . .he’s not what I’m looking for.”

Yvonne’s just-waxed brows tapped her flat-ironed bangs. “Because you’re looking for perfect.”

“You’re vicious this morning.”

“Faithful are the words of a friend. Tell me about the rest of the night.”

April stared over the rim of her Polar Cap, a frozen cappuccino concoction flavored with mint. “If I could blot out the last hour. . .he was amazing. I was determined not to like him, but I did. He asks questions and makes you feel like he really wants answers. He’s interesting. He reads, he travels: There wasn’t a second of awkward silence. I was on the edge of my seat as he was describing hot and cold air masses crashing together.” She rested the back of her head against the wall. “But my dad was a really nice guy a lot of the time.”

“April. . .don’t do that. Seth lost his temper—”

“Twice.”

“Every guy gets frustrated with his boss. Don’t generalize; don’t make him into your father.”

In the strained silence, Yvonne’s phone rang. April counted bags of organic coffee while she eavesdropped.

“We’re. . .I’m at Perk Place. . .yeah. . .sure. . .bye.”

April opened a packet of sugar, sprinkling it on top of the half-gone Polar Cap. “That was short and sweet.”

“Yeah. Just one of the girls in my study. Now, where were we? Oh yeah. We were talking about you generalizing.”

“Let’s talk about something other than my neuroses. What are you and Kirk doing tonight?”

“Dinner at his folks’.”

“Name the kids again.”

Yvonne laughed. An only child, she would soon be marrying a man with nine siblings, all with names starting with K.

Ten minutes later, April drained her cup and picked up her purse. “I have to get to the station. I was going to do my show on my experience at Riverdance.” She sighed and crumpled her napkin, stuffing it into the paper cup. “Maybe I’ll do it on changing weather patterns instead.”

Yvonne didn’t appear to have heard her last remark. Her eyes were focused somewhere over April’s head, in the direction of the front door. Seconds later, a woman stood by their table, holding out a vase of tulips. The vase was surrounded by tissue paper. . .and sitting in an empty Twinkie box.

“April? This is for you.”