| |
I carried a large mug of Starbucks over to the reception desk, where Kathy checked out a young couple with two rosy-round-cheeked boys who looked about five. Mom, Dad, and kids beamed. Apparently, their stay had been a success.
When they all filed out the door, Kathy turned to me. “Good. I was going to come find you this morning. Randy’s giving a dinner party at his house on Tuesday night.”
“A party? Really? That’s a first, at least as long as I’ve been here.”
“My idea, actually,” she grinned.
“Okay, that’s a surprise, too. You’ve never struck me as the social type, Kathy. No offense, but you’ve always seemed more at home on a hike than at a dinner party.”
“Don’t be judgy, Olivia. There are many sides to me. Randy’s got a gorgeous, huge house and he doesn’t get many visitors.”
“He doesn’t like visitors,” I reminded her.
She ignored me. “I thought it would be fun.”
“And who are you inviting to this dinner party?” I asked.
“Well, you, obviously, West, Luka, Ryder, and the girls, Ingrid and Greta. And Greta’s seeing a through-hiker now, Otto, so we’ll invite him, too. Which leaves West as the odd man out, so I’ve invited one of the guests, a young woman in her twenties who’s here with her parents. Trisha. She seems kind of glum. I’m guessing a recent breakup. Off into the wilderness with Mom and Dad to forget? Maybe this will cheer her up.”
“Who’s cooking?”
“I’ve asked Sam, of course. We’ll be having pretty much the same dinner the guests will be having, so it won’t be extra work for him. Salmon, potatoes, cooked carrots, salad, with pie and ice cream for dessert.”
I narrowed my eyes at her. “Am I detecting any ulterior motives here?”
She stared back at me, clear blue eyes awash in innocence. “It’s just dinner, Olivia. You’re awfully cynical for one so young.”
“I am cynical, and I’m not that young.”
“Bah. You can say that when your hair turns this color,” she pointed to her beautiful silver-white hair, “but not before. Six o’clock Tuesday. Try to spruce yourself up a little.”
I did my best to look indignant, took a sip of coffee, and drifted back outside.
***
Tuesday, five thirty, I stood in my bathroom staring at myself in the mirror. My hair looked lumpy and stuck out in odd places. I ran the brush through it again angrily, cursing every inch of natural curl that refused to cooperate, upset for agreeing to go to this stupid dinner party. I used to do this stuff all the time in my other life, but now, it felt so foreign, and I was nervous. Me, who used to stand and deliver in front of hundreds of employees on a routine basis, for whom the occasional cocktail party was just part of the schmoozing my job required. Now, I had morphed into a shrinking violet. Why was I surprised? I began shrinking the second the bad thing happened.
I gave up on my hair and pulled it back into a ponytail. I refused to wear any make up, then changed my mind, and added some mascara and lipstick. I didn’t have any dresses or heels anymore, which would have felt ridiculous tromping through the forest to Randy’s house anyway, so I chose my best khaki pants, matching Converse tennis shoes, and a lightweight cornflower blue sweater top that, I must say, draped quite nicely. I stuffed a few essentials like lip balm and tissue into a small shoulder bag and headed out the door.
I arrived before anyone else except Kathy. She opened the door and swept me inside. I hadn’t been in Randy’s house since that night we’d had dinner for two. The night I’d considered tumbling into bed with him, before he mentioned he was still married. Good Lord, what had I become out here in the wilderness? Some sex-starved harpy ready to hop in the sack with any man who crossed my path? Those unsavory thoughts crowded into my mind when Kathy led me into the living room, where Randy stood in front of a crackling fire in the enormous fireplace. He still appeared the dashing, lion-maned, albeit gray, barrel-chested lumberjack of a man.
“Randy.” I nodded.
“Olivia.” Randy took three steps from the fireplace, enveloped me in his strong arms. “Thanks for coming to Kathy’s...” he gave her a sidelong glance that spoke volumes about how this dinner party came to be, “...little get-together.”
“Good to see you, Randy. Thanks for having me.”
It had been a while since my first and only visit to Randy’s house. I took in the vaulted ceiling, the saddle-colored, oversized, leather furniture. Everything about this house loomed larger than life, including Randy.
“Let’s get you a drink,” Kathy beckoned from the kitchen. I drifted toward her. “We left Sam’s assistant in charge of dinner at the dining room and stole him and Greta for ourselves, just for one night,” Kathy said.
Sam was retrieving hors d’oeuvres from the industrial stainless-steel refrigerator, and tantalizing aromas wafted from the equally large and industrial stainless-steel range. Garlic and butter and spices. I inhaled and put my hand on the cold countertop. “Sam, it smells wonderful in here.”
Sam, the behind-the-scenes genius that made the Ranch, with its abundant delicious food, the most popular place to eat on the lake, grinned and held out a platter. “Stuffed mushrooms, figs in a blanket with goat cheese, from The Garden of course, brie and prosciutto shortbread, and a few other items that are never on the menu.”
I nearly drooled. I went straight for the figs in a blanket, took a bite and moaned. “Oh, my God. Delicious.”
Kathy dashed off to answer another knock at the door. I couldn’t tear myself away from the kitchen. Introductions were made in the living room, then Kathy returned with a doe-eyed twenty-something, who looked sad and uncomfortable.
“Trisha, this is Olivia and Sam,” Kathy said.
“Welcome.” I threw a big smile her way, with a dash of sympathy thrown in for good favor. “You have to try the figs in a blanket. They’re outrageously delicious.” I sounded like a commercial for fig growers.
She attempted a little smile, but mostly failed.
“Who wants a cocktail?” Kathy asked cheerfully. “Wine, gin and tonic, vodka tonic, screwdrivers, you name it.”
“I’ll start with a small pour of white wine, please,” Trisha said quietly.
“Ditto,” I said before grabbing a stuffed mushroom.
Sam held the tray of hors d’oeuvres up in the air and glided toward the living room. I wanted to trail after him like a puppy, but I held my ground. Trisha stood near me, sipping cautiously and looking like she wished she were anywhere but at this gathering with strangers.
Halfway through my glass of wine, having stationed myself away from the hors d’oeuvres tray so I might still be hungry for dinner, the rest of the guests began to arrive. First the horse gang —Ingrid, Ryder, Greta, and her lithe hiker friend Otto, followed in a few minutes by West and Luka. West made an entrance with a wide smile and big hellos, and Luka followed quietly. West came into the kitchen and gave me a big hug, nearly upending my wine, which I managed to hold upright away from both of us, then he went back into the living room to shake everybody’s hand. The hubbub of greetings and the crackle of the fire made for a happy scene. Maybe it was the wine. In any case, I found myself relaxed and content. Then a voice cut through the hum of sound.
“Luka? Luka Novak?” Trisha, the theoretically depressed young woman here with her parents after a hypothetical breakup, stood mouth agape, staring at Luka.
The volume of conversation stopped as we all looked on curiously. Luka didn’t seem surprised at all that a strange woman had just called his name. They were strangers, weren’t they?
West didn’t look surprised, either, but grinned even wider. “Yes, this is Luka Novak, in the flesh.”
Trisha set her wine on the island and walked hesitantly to Luka. “I’m confused... and delighted. What are you doing out here in the middle of nowhere?”
Now Luka looked confused. “Have we met?”
Trisha shook her head. “No, no, it’s just that I watched you on TV when you won your gold medals. And other times when you gave interviews. Right before the war, we were visiting my grandmother, and I saw you on TV with Nikola Petrović and Rad Simic, talking about how we can all get along, no matter what republic we live in.”
“And you are?”
“Trisha. Trisha Horvat. I’m first generation Croatian-American. My parents moved to America in 1970 and I was born here. But we go back to visit relatives a lot, except during the war, of course. It’s an honor to meet you.” She held out her hand reverently, and Luka shook it.
“It’s nice to meet a fellow countryman,” he said, “or rather countrywoman.”
Trisha was practically gushing and couldn’t take her eyes off Luka. “You’re a legend,” she said with awe.
Luka seemed to be doing his best to look humble.
Conversation resumed in the rest of the room, but I stood rooted by the kitchen island, unable to take my eyes of Trisha and Luka. Kathy took Trisha’s abandoned glass of wine to her and returned to the kitchen to grab beers for Luka and West. While everyone else seemed to be having a great time, I watched Trisha and Luka. He spoke quietly. She laughed. She whispered something, he leaned down and listened, then laughed. An unfamiliar emotion grabbed a fingerhold in my body.
“Olivia, are you all right?” Kathy had returned to the kitchen. I tore my gaze away from Luka and Trisha and looked into her crystal blue eyes. “I, I...”
She leaned in. “You’re jealous,” she whispered.
Me? “I’m not the jealous type,” I insisted half-heartedly, because dammit, I was burning up inside.
Kathy regarded Trisha and Luka with her icy eyes. “She’s no match for you.”
“She’s got ten years on me.”
“Bah,” Kathy threw out. “Look at me, kid. Or Raquel Welch. Sophia Loren. Age doesn’t matter. We have substance. You want that man?”
Did I? I didn’t know. “Listen, in college I met a guy going to school on the GI Bill. He had fought in the Vietnam War. I really liked him, but I knew he had seen things, done things, that were scary and dangerous and unspeakable, and I couldn’t make myself go out with him. I felt like a silly little innocent compared to him, and I couldn’t get over it. That’s kind of how it is with Luka. He’s been through a war. He has scars. I mean real scars, Kathy. Physically, and probably emotionally, too. Otherwise, why is he here?”
“And why are you here?” she asked coolly.
She had a point. I tore my gaze away from Kathy, back to Luka and Trisha. At that moment, Luka looked directly at me, and winked. I felt absurdly flattered. He said a few more words to Trisha then ambled toward me.
“Olivia,” he said.
“Luka.”
“I hear there’s some snacks out here.”
“God, yes,” I said. “Try the figs in a blanket with goat cheese. The goat cheese is from The Garden.”
“Oh yes. I like those goats. I go to The Garden sometimes just to see the goats and buy some cheese. And the bees. I like watching them, so hard at work. So much to do, so little summer.” He smiled, and my heart warmed.
I glanced at Trisha. West had drifted in to take Luka’s place, smiling and talking.
“You’re famous in Croatia.” I stated it as a fact, not a question.
“I can paddle a boat. I won some medals. People know about it.” He looked over my shoulder, reached past me, leaning dangerously close.
“Is this the fig with cheese?” He held up the morsel and popped it in his mouth. “Mmmm, very good.”
Luka had left the young, gushing Trisha and had come to be with me. I smiled into my glass of wine.
