CHAPTER 3

Beth

The start of the evening hadn’t gone well. Everyone seemed to be on edge. Beth did her best to pretend everything was fine, although she knew otherwise. Nichole tried, too, speaking animatedly.

“Why don’t we all sit down,” her friend suggested.

Sam pulled out the chair at the dining room table as if he was more than eager to get this dinner over with as quickly as possible.

“I was thinking we’d sit in the living room first for appetizers and conversation,” Nichole suggested, looking expectantly toward her husband to rescue her.

“Yes, good idea,” Rocco said, sounding overly enthusiastic as he headed for the other room as if he couldn’t get there fast enough.

Sam looked like his best friend had just stabbed him in the back.

“Now, Mom?” Owen asked, looking expectantly toward his mother.

“Now would be perfect,” Nichole told her son as she gestured toward the living room, ushering Sam in that direction.

Beth hadn’t been in the house ten minutes and already she could tell this evening was going to be torture. For her and for Sam. How foolish she’d been to put any stock in this night. No one needed to tell her Sam had been an unwilling victim. Everything he said and did told her he would give just about anything to have escaped this farce. While Beth appreciated her friend’s efforts, surely Nichole could see this wasn’t working.

It demanded restraint not to lean over and whisper to Sam, “You want to get out of here and pretend this never happened?”

She didn’t, of course, but the temptation was there.

Nichole took the chair by the fireplace. Rocco hesitated and then sat down in the chair on the other side, which left the sofa open for Beth and Sam. Sam sat down first, at the farthest end possible, almost as if he would be infected with Ebola if he strayed too close to her. If it wasn’t so ridiculous, Beth would have given in to a fit of laughter.

Nichole glared at the other man.

Sam glared back.

While he’d obviously agreed to this dinner, he felt compelled to let Nichole and Beth know he was here under protest.

Beth resisted sitting as far from Sam as she could. Again, her upbringing came into play, and she sat in the middle of the cushion, her hands primly folded in her lap. Her back was as straight as a light pole. She felt like a grade-schooler called into the principal’s office to be reprimanded. This evening seemed like punishment and she was sure Sam felt the same.

“Beth recently moved to Portland, isn’t that right?” Nichole said once everyone was seated.

Beth nodded.

Silence.

“Where did you move from?” Rocco asked, glaring at Sam. Apparently Nichole’s question was Sam’s cue to pick up the conversation.

“Chicago.”

“Why here?” Sam asked in a way that sounded like Why me? His question suggested he would have been saved this awkward dinner if she’d chosen some other city.

“I’m close to my aunt and she lives here. Sunshine was the only one I knew in town before I started teaching at the high school.”

Owen appeared, carrying a cheese platter with thin slices of cheese and crackers. Rocco leaped to his feet as if his chair had sprung him upward. “I’ll get the plates and napkins.”

Beth guessed he would have done just about anything to escape the tension in the room.

Nichole’s husband returned just as Kaylene bounced her way down the stairs. The teenager had dyed her hair purple and she wore matching colored sneakers and a bright smile. “Hi, Sam,” she said, hurrying over to kiss him on the cheek.

Beth watched as Sam relaxed and smiled back at the girl. It was nice to know he could smile. The truth was he was attractive when he did. Beth regretted that she wasn’t likely to see one of those smiles directed at her. Her one hope was that he understood she had been an unwilling victim herself.

Nichole gestured toward Beth. “You remember Beth, don’t you?”

“Sure. I’m in one of her classes. Hi, Miss Prudhomme.”

“Hello, Kaylene.”

Rocco returned with the plates and napkins, and paused when he saw his daughter. “Be home by midnight.”

“Yes, Dad,” she returned in a singsong voice.

“And call if you leave Maddy’s house.”

“Okay, okay.” She rolled her eyes. “He forgets I’m eighteen and will be away at college next year.”

Kaylene looked to Beth. “Nice to see you, Miss Prudhomme.”

“You, too.”

With that the teenager was out the door. As if he’d been practicing all day, Owen stepped forward with the cheese plate. “The yellow is cheddar cheese and the white is Monterey Jack,” he announced.

“Good job, Owen,” Nichole said, praising her son.

Owen went to Beth first, holding out the platter as if he were offering her a fine delicacy. She accepted the small plate from Rocco and selected one slice of the Monterey Jack and a Ritz cracker.

Owen moved to Sam next and he took no less than ten crackers and about six slices of cheese. She was about to comment that he must be hungry and then decided better of it. Anything she said would sound judgmental. He was a big guy and probably had a big appetite.

Owen went to his mother next and then to Rocco.

“The cheese is made locally,” Nichole said, clearly looking to generate conversation.

Silence.

“I told Sam that you like Mozart,” Owen supplied, as if he felt it was his responsibility to stir the conversation. “He asked me if you’d ever heard of George Strait.”

“I have.”

“What about Carrie Underwood?” Owen asked.

“Her, too.” She glanced toward Sam and struggled not to smile, but one twitched at the corners of her mouth. He probably saw her as a prissy music teacher like Marian, the librarian in the musical The Music Man.

Their eyes met and held for the briefest of moments before he blinked. She saw some of the tension leave his shoulders.

“I want to learn how to play the piano. If I take lessons, will you be my teacher?” Owen asked.

“I’d be happy to,” Beth said.

Seeing that Owen was dominating the conversation, Nichole spoke up. “Why don’t you see if anyone would like more cheese?”

“Okay.”

She stood. “I’ll check on dinner.”

“I’ll help.” Eager to make her own escape, Beth followed her friend. She did feel slightly better. That one moment of nonverbal communication between her and Sam had helped. That didn’t mean, however, that she wanted to be left alone in the room with Sam and Rocco. From the look the two men exchanged, they were just as glad to see the women go.

As soon as Beth and Nichole were in the kitchen, Nichole whirled around. “Beth, I am so sorry. I want to slap the two of them.”

“It’s fine.” Still, she was curious. “What did Rocco have to do to coerce Sam into coming to dinner?” The poor man looked absolutely miserable.

“Is it that obvious?”

“I’m afraid so.” Frankly, Beth felt much the same. If she had more experience with this sort of thing, she might be able to pull it off and find a way to extricate them both from this uncomfortable situation.

This evening was vaguely familiar. Nearly every date Beth had ever been on had been arranged by her mother. At least the men Beth had previously dated hadn’t been pressured into meeting her—not that she knew of, anyway.

“I so hoped this evening would work out,” Nichole said, her shoulders sinking. “Sam is such a great guy.”

“Does he date much?”

“I…I don’t know. He’s never introduced me to anyone, if that’s what you mean, but I’ve seen him with women. There’s one in particular, Cherise, I think her name is. She hangs around The Dog House—that’s a tavern Rocco and Sam stop by every now and again. I’ve seen Sam with her a time or two, but it’s nothing serious.”

“What made you think I’d be a good match for Sam?” Beth couldn’t help being curious. Anyone looking at them could see how ill-suited they were.

“I like Sam,” Nichole said, “and he needs someone like you in his life. Owen loves him, and you should see him with the baby. He’s so natural with them both. I thought…I hoped if he met the right woman that he’d…oh, I don’t know what I thought.”

“Nichole, please, don’t worry about it.”

“It isn’t you, I promise,” Nichole insisted.

Beth wasn’t convinced. “Not everyone is going to feel attracted to me; I accept that, and clearly Sam isn’t interested.”

It looked as if Nichole wanted to argue, but then she apparently changed her mind. “I feel terrible.”

“Don’t, please. We’ll muddle through the rest of the evening and then put it behind us. Deal?”

“Deal,” Nichole echoed. “You’re a good sport.”

“Thanks. Now let’s have dinner so Sam and I can both escape with our egos and dignity intact.”

Nichole grinned and then gave her an impulsive hug. “Thank you.”

“No problem.”

“I’m vowing to never try this matchmaking business again.”

Beth smiled, disappointed for her friend and at the same time relieved.

While Nichole took dinner out of the oven, Beth mixed the salad and dished it up. Together they carried the salad plates into the dining room. Rocco and Sam had moved to the table and Rocco had poured the wine.

Thankfully, dinner was a little less awkward. Beth complimented Nichole, although she barely tasted the food. She sat directly across from Sam and wished she knew how best to reassure him that she held no aspirations toward furthering the relationship.

He seemed a bit more at ease, too. The conversation wasn’t as stilted, but it wasn’t lively, either. Sam mentioned the Seahawks and seemed surprised that she knew a fair bit about professional football. It was comforting to have scored points with him.

About halfway through dinner, Owen glanced from one to the other and said, “You should tell Sam the story you told me about Mozart,” he suggested.

Beth chanced a look at Sam. “Would you like to know something about Mozart?” she asked.

“Of course he would,” Rocco answered for him.

Sam shot his friend a look that clearly said he could answer for himself. “Sure, why not,” he said.

“I’ll tell it,” Owen said, excitedly. “Mozart started playing the piano at age three and was composing at age four.”

“That’s cool,” Sam said, clearly unimpressed. “I wonder if Carrie Underwood started singing around that age.”

Owen frowned. “I don’t know. Do you?”

“Nope.”

The remainder of dinner passed quickly, with Nichole and Rocco carrying most of the conversation. Every now and again Sam would glance at Beth and they’d share a look. She hoped he understood she was as much a casualty as he was. He didn’t give any indication what he felt, and that was fine.

As soon as the dinner dishes had been cleared, Nichole said, “I made applesauce cake for dessert.”

“I swear I couldn’t eat another bite,” Beth said, planting her hands on her stomach as if she was about to explode.

Sam scooted back his chair and pantomimed her action. “Me, neither.”

“In fact, I should probably be heading home,” Beth added.

“I should, too.”

Both Beth and Sam got to their feet as if they couldn’t leave fast enough.

“Are you sure?” Owen asked Sam. “I thought applesauce cake was your favorite.”

“He’s sure,” Rocco said. “I’ll save some for you later,” he assured his friend.

“Thank you for the lovely meal,” Beth said, reaching for her purse on her way to the door.

“Yes, thank you,” Sam added.

They reached the front door and in a comedy of errors both tried to go through it at the same time. Beth looked up at Sam and smiled; he chuckled and held the door open for her. Neither one of them was willing to stay a minute longer than necessary.

Beth climbed into her car and drove away first, with Sam right behind her in his monster truck.

They pulled up to the intersection at the same time. Beth was in the turn lane and Sam was right next to her.

She looked over at him, and after a moment he glanced at her. If she’d had the nerve she would have mouthed the word sorry, knowing he’d been as miserable as she’d been.

The light turned green and Beth drove into the intersection.

And that was when she saw the vehicle come barreling toward her and knew there was no way to avoid a collision.

No way to escape.