The last few months of sneaky afternoon sex notwithstanding, I was about to go on my first date since high school.
My real first date was for the fateful homecoming party of 1969, the one everyone was suddenly remembering in varying degrees of detail. In fact, that kegger by the James River was, technically, the only date I had with Nick. At least it was the only one where he actually asked me to go somewhere specific with him.
After that, we just wound up together. I fell so immediately and terminally in love with Nick that I followed him around, generally making myself available between his many amorous adventures. We accidentally became a couple, and when we got married, it wasn't because Nicky got down on bended knee to ask.
"Well, I guess we better do it then," was his romantic reaction to my announcement of an impending arrival. By the time we realized it was a false alarm, it was too late for either of us to back out. Not that I would have. Nick Bauer was my obsession, and I willingly traded any sense of peace and security I might have had, just for the opportunity to be with him.
Not that Nicky was a bad guy. He was amiable and funny, gentle, and irresistible—and pathologically unable to resist those who found him so.
Our life together consisted mainly of his grand ideas and my grand heartbreaks, interspersed with some genuinely good times. I would likely have been content to continue on that path forever, if Nick hadn't died in a stupid car accident.
Since then, my life had consisted of work and books and afternoons at the library with Neil. Until Stuart McKee moved back to Delphi, and into my bed. A transition that took so little effort that I never did sit down and figure out just how I ended up having an affair with a married man. Or why.
Now that Stu's wife had left him, we were free to take the affair to the next logical step—official dating. Which, for some reason, filled me with a dread I hadn't felt when we were trying to keep the whole thing secret.
I had not the slightest clue as to how to conduct a real relationship with an adult male. Nick was not mature enough to qualify as grown-up, and however pleasant, sex with Stu did not qualify as a relationship.
This was new territory and I was terrified.
Truly, I didn't know anything about Stu that didn't involve the insertion of one body part into another. I felt as though I was on a blind date, except that I already knew what he looked like. Naked.
"So." I turned to him brightly. "What's your favorite color?"
"Huh?" he asked. He'd parked his pickup at the bar, two blocks up from the trailer, and walked over to collect me.
"Never mind," I mumbled. "Just making conversation."
"You're nervous, aren't you?" he asked, amused.
"I can't figure out why you're not," I said, though his breezy self-confidence was one of the things that attracted me to Stu to begin with. That and his gorgeous green eyes.
He was out of uniform—wearing none of the logo-covered promotional giveaways that are standard dress for a Feed and Seed Store owner. In faded denims and a short-sleeved white cotton shirt, he was a poster boy for the Middle-aged Midwestern Male—slight paunch, strands of gray in his receding sandy-brown hair, handsome and weathered, with a wide grin.
"Buck up, kid." He laughed. "No one's going to bite." He swept into a low bow. "Shall we?"
"We could just stay here instead," I said. "Presley's out for the night, and Del is already at the meeting. We'd have the whole trailer to ourselves."
"As tempting as that offer is, we'd still have to go outside eventually. It might as well be now. Besides, the committee is expecting us, and they'll only talk more if we don't show up."
We walked from the trailer along Delphi's main drag. The evening was breezy and cool, on the cusp of another wet and dreary fall. Rain was forecast. Stu waved and smiled at the drivers who passed us on the way. Every one of them stared openmouthed when they realized who he was with.
"You're enjoying this, aren't you?" I asked, surprised. "I mean, you know what kind of reaction this is going to get around here."
"It's good to stir things up a little," he said, placing a warm hand on the back of my neck as we walked, so as to remove all spectator doubt that we were actually together. "And anyway, we're not going to be nearly as interesting to everyone tonight as Deb Fischbach's bombshell."
I hoped he was right.
We were at the door to Jackson's. I could hear laughter, and Garth Brooks on the jukebox inside. I inhaled, gathering my courage.
"It's gonna be fine," Stu whispered in my ear, standing aside for me to go in first.
I stepped into a dark, smoky world, and paused to let my eyes adjust. For a weeknight, there were quite a few people in the bar. Small tables were pushed together, and groups sat, busily scribbling and talking, while pitchers of beer sweated beside them.
I spotted Del toward the back, at the far end of a long table. There were five or six people sitting on either side, all yakking animatedly. Del saw me, raised an eyebrow, and lit another cigarette.
"Tory, Tory, come over here a sec." I turned to see Rhonda waving madly from a table filled with mostly underage drinkers.
"Pitcher of beer all right with you? I'll get one and meet you at the table," Stu said, gesturing toward Del and the others. "You better see what Rhonda wants before she explodes."
Rhonda couldn't wait until I made my way to her table. She met me halfway, wearing a long denim jumper over a gauzy shirt. Her hair was braided and wrapped up around her head like a Swedish grandma's.
"I been waiting for you two to get here," she whispered conspiratorially. And a little slurrily. Evidently vegetarian earth mothering didn't preclude the underage imbibing of an occasional pitcher or two of Bud. "I just wanted to tell you again that you and Stu are so cute together. And I am sure it'll all work out fine."
"What do you mean?"
"Well, I got to thinking about Stu and the fact that he's still married and all," she said seriously. "Don't get me wrong. I like him a lot, and he's a really great guy. But a lotta times relationships like this don't work out—what with there being a wife already."
And a son, I silently added.
Rhonda continued, "But it's not like you were seeing each other before his wife left. I'm sure you know what you're doing." She nodded to herself. "It'll be great. For both of you."
She hung an arm around my neck and gave me a swift hug. She had a lot more confidence than I did—I wasn't at all sure that I knew what I was doing. But I certainly did not want to discuss timing, or ramifications, with a tipsy Rhonda, so I changed the subject.
"What are you doing here?'
She brightened. "Well, I called a buncha classmates, and we decided that we couldn't let you old farts walk off with all the homecoming prizes. So we're here having a meeting too. It's more fun than I thought it'd be." She walked me to her table, reached for her beer mug.
"I thought you weren't interested in reliving your high school glories," I teased.
"I'm not," she said seriously, "but since most of us college kids make it back to good ol' Delphi for homecoming, we decided that a little reunion would be nice. Besides," she said, waving at someone behind me, "we got a secret weapon that's gonna blow all of you out of the water."
"Oh? And what might that be?" Not that I particularly cared about winning, but it would take a pretty major surprise to eclipse the return of J. Ross Nelson.
"We're not telling," Rhonda said smugly to me, and then said to someone over my shoulder, "and you better not either."
"Mum's the word," Neil Pascoe said, grinning. "Cross my heart and hope to die."
"I thought you were skipping the whole reunion thing," I said to Neil. "And how come you're conspiring with Rhonda's bunch anyway? Aren't you a little old for this crowd?"
"We decided to consolidate," he said, wiping his glasses on a napkin. "Lots of the younger ones are off at college and the rest have moved away—we figured we could work together on some sort of float and party."
"And you're the secret weapon Rhonda's going to use to beat the crap outta us, huh?" I laughed.
"Something like that."
"Well, you'll have to keep me informed," I whispered.
"Nope." Neil grinned. "I took a vow of secrecy."
"Oh, so that's the way it's gonna be," I said. "In that case, I'd best get back to my own meeting. It's all very secret and hush-hush too, you know." I turned to go.
"I understand congratulations are in order," Neil said quietly, not meeting my eyes.
I looked over at our table in the back. Stu was watching us with a solemn expression.
"I guess so," I faltered. I had wondered how long it would be before someone told Neil about the date.
"Well, good luck," Neil said quietly, shrugging. "See you later."
With solemn eyes and a parting smile, he turned to Rhonda, who greeted him again effusively, and patted the chair next to her.
I hesitated for just a second, but there was nothing I could do. For better or worse, I had made my decision. I sighed and headed back to Stu.
"Tory, how nice of you to come," Debbie Fischbach said. She smiled cordially, though the smile did not reach her eyes. Her hair was blonder than it had been in her teens, and she'd retained most of her figure, even after three sons. She was bundled up against the chill of the evening in a long-sleeved sweater and high-necked shirt. Her face was lined and looked tired.
I had seen Deb occasionally in the cafe since they'd moved back to Delphi, but we did not travel in the same social circles.
"Tory, I'm so glad you made it," plump and pretty Gina Adler said, with genuine enthusiasm. She had placed herself firmly between Ron and Del, and in a well choreographed dance, leaned forward or back with Ron, effectively blocking his view. I thought the Adler marriage might have been a little like mine and Nick's—Gina outgunned by Ron's restless longings.
"We really need your input here," Gina said, and Ron nodded, blinking.
"There's an extra chair here for you," my cousin Junior Deibert said, sipping ice water. No alcohol for Junior. She was past her morning sickness phase and was probably the most energetic pregnant woman in Delphi. Except for a noticeable bustline increase and a glow about her, her status was still pretty much invisible, though the news had been broadcast long ago.
"You probably need both chairs yourself." Ron blinked at Junior. "You're sitting for two, you know."
"Or three," I said.
"Or four." Del smirked.
Junior's last pregnancy had produced triplets. Her smile in Ron's direction resembled Debbie's—all surface and no emotion. She didn't even bother looking at Del.
"Thanks, but..." I said, words trailing off. Junior evidently hadn't seen me come in with Stu, or if she had, she'd attached no significance to it.
"Tory's sitting here," Stu interrupted, smiling. He patted the chair next to him.
I was grateful for the relative darkness, since I could feel a blush creeping up from my neckline as I sat next to Stu and bravely faced the others at the table.
Stu casually draped an arm around my shoulders and raised an eyebrow in a signal that was part command, part plea, to play along.
I manufactured a grin and placed a deliberate hand on Stu's thigh, letting the body language experts translate that any way they wished.
The reaction was immediate and varied. Several at the table, especially those who knew Ron Adler well, grinned. Del just lit another cigarette and poured herself more beer. Junior's jaw dropped, and Debbie Fischbach's eyes widened in surprise.
Behind us, the conversation in the bar actually stopped, and I could hear chairs scraping, and feel necks craning in our direction. Tammy Wynette twanged "D-I-V-O-R-C-E" plaintively from the jukebox. And then, like the Red Sea rushing back together, noise filled the room again.
At the table, conversations hastily began. Stu leaned over and whispered, warm breath in my ear, "That wasn't so awful, now. Was it?"
I shot a small smile in his direction, gave his thigh a squeeze, then sat forward and leaned my elbows on the table.
"Well, well, well, isn't this sweet?" a voice from behind Stu asked.
We all turned.
"Not missing the absent wife much, are we, Stuie?" Doug Fischbach, glass in hand, asked loudly. He'd been talking to a group of teachers sitting at a table a short distance from ours.
Shortish and solidly built, a former football tackle and present high school coach, Doug had not aged as well as his wife. He'd gained at least thirty pounds and had a large round bald spot on the back of his head, which he tried to camouflage by having the rest of his graying hair dyed and permed. His face was meaty and his eyes were squinted and small. His nose and cheeks were traced with tiny red veins, and he was already, and obviously, drunk.
"Use it or lose it, Stu old boy." Doug laughed. "And with the Minnesota Ice Queen, I bet you didn't use it very goddamn often, right?"
I didn't meet anyone's gaze directly, but out of the corner of my eye, I saw Debbie's lips tighten. She reached into a canvas bag on the floor beside her and drew out a sheaf of papers. "We should probably get started," she said with a small, pale smile, ignoring her husband. "We have a lot of work to do tonight."
"Yup, that's right. You betcha." Doug saluted. "The slave driver has spoken, it's time to get to work." He leaned over to me as he made his way around the table and said quietly in my ear, "You want a really good time, you just give me a call. I always could fuck Stuie right into the ground."
Struggling to keep my face even, I scooted closer to Stu, whose warm hand tightened reassuringly on my shoulder. Debbie saw the move and shot an inscrutable look in my direction, then shuffled her papers.
"Since we all know each other, we'll dispense with the normal meeting format and just get started," she said briskly.
"Some of us know each other pretty damn well, I bet," Doug said to Junior, whose withering look would have mortally wounded a sober man.
"How long's your old lady been gone now?" He leaned over and shouted down the length of the table. "Two, three days?"
Stu tensed beside me. I had been so worried about how everyone was going to treat me on this first public appearance that I had forgotten that Stu might get some flak too.
He just tilted his head and stared back at Doug, who had the grace to snort and lower his gaze. Stu's arm stayed in place, around my shoulder.
We began talking all at once, to cover up the awkward pause.
"...I had an idea for the float..."
"...beer and hot dogs, and probably some chips and stuff for snacks..."
"...what do you think? Fifteen bucks a head sound about…"
"...chicken wire, paper napkins and spray paint..."
"...I got a trailer we can use..."
"...get together for our own little party after the game on Friday..."
"...yeah, but where?"
"At the river of course. The Mighty Jim," Doug said. "Where we had all of our parties. Where else?"
Conversation at the table stopped again. Someone with taste, probably Neil, had punched James Taylor's "Don't Let Me Be Lonely Tonight" on the jukebox, but his sweet voice, for once, did not calm and soothe.
Doug tilted his chair back, enjoying the shocked silence. "What are you all looking at me for? Don't you think the great J. Ross Nelson might enjoy revisiting the scene of her old crimes?"
"Doug, I don't think that's a very good idea," his wife said quietly.
We all stared intently at Doug, wondering what he was up to. No one even blinked when he mentioned Janelle's name.
So much for surprises.
"It's a great fucking idea and you know it," he said fiercely to her. And then to the rest of us, "Whatsa matter, you afraid of ghosts or something?"
"No one's afraid of anything, asshole," Del said firmly.
Doug's fist clenched and he started to stand up, but Ron Adler put a hand on his shoulder, not to hold Doug down, which would have been impossible, but to remind him where he was and who he was threatening.
Across the table, Debbie blanched, but said nothing.
Doug nodded. "All right, we'll just ask Her Royal Highness where she wants to go. I bet her answer will surprise you."
"That's a good idea," Gina said, trying to smooth things over. "We'll ask Janelle. Maybe she would like to tour all the old haunts," she ended weakly.
"I'll ask her," Doug declared. "After all, I'm the reason she's coming back to Delphi."
He sat back in his chair again and grinned triumphantly, waiting for someone to question or contradict him.
None of us did, though I could see that we all shared the same thought—whether or not Doug was responsible for her coming back, we all thought he was the reason Janelle Ross left Delphi in the first place.