A Different Kind Of Forever Read online

  Diane fixed her eye on her. “What about the job you were going to get this summer to pay for all the driving you’re supposed to be doing next year?”

  Emily squirmed. “I can get a job down there. I can wait tables at the shore just as easily as I can here. And I can walk or ride a bike there, and I can’t here, not really. And besides,” she added, as a final stroke, “I can help Victoria take care of the house. She’s sick because of the pregnancy and needs me.”

  Kevin pursed his lips in a silent whistle and met Diane’s eye. Diane had to cough.

  “Really? You’re going to help Victoria? Does that mean you’ll be cleaning and doing the cooking for all of you?”

  Emily squirmed again, looking thunderous. Diane didn’t let her off the hook.

  “How are you going to take care of a house and work? You’re always complaining I do a lousy job of both, that dinner is never ready, that you have to do your own laundry, and numerous other transgressions. Do you think you’ll do a better job?”

  Kevin stood up and turned away, running his hand through his hair.

  “Well, Mom, I could help,” Megan offered. “I do stuff around here. I’d do the same chores down there, if Em wanted. I could, you know, set the table and stuff.”

  Emily stood up and stormed around the room. “You’re only saying no to be mean to me, because you never got to spend the summer anywhere cool, you were always moping around dumb Ohio, helping your father, so you just don’t want me to have the greatest summer ever to prove some stupid point, right?”

  “I didn’t say no,” Diane said calmly, stopping Emily in her tracks. “I just asked you a question. If you do get a job, and save one thousand dollars, which is what we had talked about before, I see no reason for you not to go. The fact that you’re going to be doing so much for Victoria is just an added bonus. I had no idea you were so concerned about her welfare.”

  Emily opened her mouth, realized the trap too late, and shut it again. Clearly torn between feeling grateful at being allowed to go, and being angry at herself for being put in the position of helpmate, she did the smart thing.

  “Thanks, Mom.”

  “Sure. Now, Meg, do you want to go as well? It’s up to you.”

  Megan grinned. “I want to go. It will be so cool, going to the beach every day. Will I have to get a job, too?”

  Diane shook her head. “Not unless you want extra pocket money. I’m sure you could baby-sit somewhere down there, right, Kev?”

  Kevin nodded, once again amazed at the way Diane danced through the minefield that was their middle daughter. Often, Emily would reduce Diane to tears, but Diane had been prepared for this one, and played it just right.

  “Okay, let’s go.” Kevin shouted, clapping his hands together. “Move out the troops.” The girls scampered out as they had done when they were babies, when any trip with their Daddy was an adventure. Kevin kissed Diane on the cheek, and followed the girls out.

  The next day, the car wash was cancelled out by a day-long spring downpour, so Diane called Marianne and met her for dinner. Afterwards, they went to the movies, then stopped in to a local pub for a drink. Diane was feeling tired and sipped club soda, while Marianne knocked back a straight scotch and lamented the current state of American cinema. Suddenly, she leaned toward Diane and whispered.

  “That man at the bar has been staring at you since we got here. Should we invite him over?”

  Diane looked at her friend in surprise. “How do you know he’s not staring at you? You’re taller, thinner, and a lot more gorgeous than I am.”

  Marianne raised her eyebrows in exasperation. “Diane, I’m a lesbian, remember?”

  “True,” Diane admitted. “But you’re not wearing your ‘Bug Off Creep, I’m A Dyke’ sweatshirt.”

  “That man is white. Why would he be staring at me?”

  “Because he’s not a racist?”

  Marianne sighed. “You are such a Pollyanna, Diane. At times, it’s endearing, but it tends to wear thin. I sometimes wonder how we remain friends.”

  “Well for my part, you happen to be very politically correct. So many minorities rolled into one. I don’t have to feel guilty about having so many straight WASP’s for friends with you on the roster. I think you like me because when we’re together you can feel superior without having to be too condescending.”

  Marianne lifted her eyebrows and made a polite noise. “You may very well be right. Now, about that nice man-“

  “No. Forget it.”

  “Why, are you dating anyone?”

  Diane shook her head. “Nope. Not this week. How about you? What happened to the travel agent?”

  “She was a racist.”

  “I thought she was black.”

  “She was. She didn’t think I was black enough.”

  “Sorry. I liked her.”

  “You like everyone. It’s disgusting how nice you are to people. I bet you know the grocery clerks by name.”

  “Evelyn, Maggie, Sophia, Lorraine, -“

  “Oh, stop it. Now, you’re just showing off. Do you worry about not having someone in your life? At your age?”

  Diane shrugged. “I have lots of people in my life, Marianne - you, my kids, my friends, Evelyn, Maggie, Sophia. I don’t have a man in my life, but that’s fine. I’m really very happy, you know that.”

  “Yes,” Marianne mused. “You are a very successful single person. That man at the bar also looks very successful. Are you sure?”

  Diane gathered her purse. “I’m tired. Doing nothing all day wore me out. Are you ready?”

  Marianne drained her glass, and they left. Diane went home, watched TV with Jasper purring on her lap, and fell asleep on the couch. Sunday was another rainy day. She worked on her play, called her mother in Ohio, and napped until the girls came home.

  The week began again, and another Tuesday. She ran errands in the morning, the dry cleaners, the library. She decided to treat herself to Moe’s, a small, crowded deli with great sandwiches. Standing in line, she wavered between corned beef and pastrami, but it was Moe himself who made the choice, wincing at her corned beef request. She picked up a cream soda, and then headed out to Bloomfield Park, a large, green oasis. She parked her car and walked toward a picnic table under a barely leafed-out maple tree, next to the duck pond. She was alone in the park except for a man and a dog playing out on the ball field.

  She opened her sandwich and took a bite, then opened her soda. She needed to work on the second act this week. It was running way too long. She was running lines in her head when she heard someone yelling. She looked toward the noise, and jumped up in alarm. The dog that had been romping playfully in the ball field a few moments ago was racing toward her. The animal’s owner was running behind.

  “He wants your sandwich,” he yelled. Diane stared at her sandwich, then at the rapidly approaching dog. It was huge, shaggy, long ears streaming back. No way was the owner going to catch it. She grabbed her sandwich in both hands, scrambled on top of the picnic table and stood, waiting.

  “He wants your sandwich,” the man yelled again, so she stuck out her hand and the dog bounded up, snatching the sandwich from between her fingertips and landing gracefully a few feet away. Diane stared at the animal in amazement, then turned as the owner came running up to her. He was completely winded, gasping, bent over with his hands on his knees, trying to catch his breath.

  “I’m so sorry,” he panted. “But my dog really loves pastrami.”

  Diane stared at him. “That’s the silliest thing I’ve ever heard.”

  The owner of the dog nodded his head. “Oh, I know,” he gulped. “It’s probably the silliest thing I’ve ever had to say.”

  Diane began to laugh, a tickle that began in her throat and bubbled up. She felt tears streaming from her eyes. No one would ever believe this. The owner started to laugh with her. He seemed very young, dark hair cut short and as he lifted his smiling face, she saw startling blue eyes, an angular jaw. Suddenly, she stopped la
ughing.

  “Oh, my God. I know you.”

  He was still breathing heavily. “I’m Michael Carlucci, and this is Max.” The dog had finished and was sitting quietly at his master’s feet. Michael gazed up at her. “I’m very sorry. Can I help you down?”

  “Oh. Yes, please.” She felt suddenly awkward, and reached down to take his hand. She climbed down off the table carefully, her skirt riding to mid-thigh, heels unsteady on the grass. They were suddenly eye to eye. He was not much taller than her, slim, in a white polo shirt tucked into faded jeans, a thin belt around his waist. His arms and hands were beautiful, she noticed, sculpted and strong-looking.

  “I’m sorry,” she said, smoothing her skirt. “I thought you were somebody else. You look just like Mickey Flynn.”

  He grinned sheepishly. “Yeah, that’s me. Michael Flynn Carlucci. I was named for my Irish grandfather.”

  “I thought it was you. There’s a life sized poster of you in my daughters’ bedroom. Your hair was longer.”

  “Yeah.” He ruffled his hair with his hand. “Well, it’s the end if the tour. I can lose the look.” He stuck his hands in his pockets. “Are you okay? I mean, he didn’t get your hand or anything, did he?”

  “What? No, no I’m fine. This is the most excitement I’ve had in a month. My daughters are never going to believe this.” She stared at her hand. “They will never let me wash this hand again,” she said solemnly.

  Michael laughed again. His breathing was back to normal. Max yawned, and began sniffing the grass. “Are they fans?”

  “Are you kidding? They’ve been trying to win tickets for weeks. Some contest going on. It’s amazing how much trivia there is out there about you guys.” She leaned toward him. “Do you know what your drummer’s wife’s maiden name is? I do.”

  He reached over and brushed something from her shoulder. “God, I hate those damn contests. Our publicist drives us all crazy. Do you want tickets? I could have some sent over.”

  Diane took a half step away from him. There seemed to be a heat radiating from him, an energy that she could feel.

  “Really.” His eyes were serious. “It’s the least I can do.” That grin again, sudden, a full blast of charm. “My dog stole your lunch.”

  “You can do that? Just get tickets?”

  “Hey,” he said with a cocky tilt of his head, “I’m in the band. Of course I can. How many daughters?”

  “Three. But only two are home. Megan and Emily.”

  “How old?”

  “Old? Sixteen and fourteen”

  “My nieces are that age. Do yours travel in packs, too?”

  Diane smiled. “Yeah.”

  He nodded. “Okay, so I’ll send over tickets. Your daughters can each bring a couple of friends. You and your husband want to come?”

  “I’m divorced.”

  “Okay, your date. I wouldn’t expect you to take teenage girls to a concert unprotected.”

  “That would be wonderful.” Diane was taken by surprise. “You have no idea what that would mean. They’d clean their rooms for months.”

  “No problem. Do you have a pen or something? Write down your address and I’ll get them to you.”

  She turned and rummaged through her purse, dragging out a pen and note pad. She wrote her name, address and phone, and handed it to him.

  “Diane Matthews,” he read. He stuffed the paper into his pocket. “So, tell me, Diane Matthews, are you a fan, too?”

  She opened her mouth to lie, then caught the glint in his eye. “No, actually, I’m not. Nothing personal - I happen to think you guys are really talented. I was a big Motown fan. I never liked rock and roll.” She grinned. “Except, of course, the Beatles.”

  “Of course. So who was your favorite?”

  “Paul. Naturally. I had his picture everywhere. I was devastated when he got married. I spent years obsessing over the fact that I was too young for him. Who knew I’d end up being too old for him?”

  Michael laughed in delight. “God, that’s great. I have to remember that for my sisters. They all loved Paul too.”

  “How many sisters?” Diane sat back on the picnic table top, propping her feet on the bench.

  “Three, all older than me. The youngest was ten when I was born.”

  “You must have been spoiled rotten,” Diane said. “I bet you had them all wrapped around your little fingers.”

  He sighed. “Oh, you are so right. I can’t believe some of the things I got away with. They are such great women.” His face changed. “My mother died when I was a kid. They all raised me.”

  “I’m so sorry. But I bet they loved it, raising you.”

  “Yeah.” He nodded his head. “My oldest sister, Marie, she used to get so upset when people would mistake me for her son, instead of her brother. She would yell at them, you know? But when she got home, we would all laugh about it.”

  They were silent a moment, Diane staring at the tips of her shoes, and when she looked back over to him he was staring right at her, and she once again caught the force of his personality. A second later he shrugged and smiled.

  “He’s still living here, my dad, in the same house we all grew up in. It’s great coming back.”

  Diane was surprised. “You’re from here? I thought the band was from over in Hawthorn.”

  “The rest of the guys, yeah. But I was born and raised right here in West Milton.”

  “Wow. Did you go to Carver Mills High?”

  “No. Fabian’s.” Fabian Academy was a very exclusive, private prep school. He noticed her raised eyebrows. “Before that it was Catholic school,” he added, shrugging. “For all of us. Saint Kate’s. Those nuns were ball-busters, I’ll tell you.”

  “Me too. Catholic school, I mean. Not Saint Katherine’s. I’m from Ohio, originally, but I think Catholic School nuns all come from the same planet.” Michael sat next to her on the picnic table. “Did you have a Sister Elizabeth Immaculatta?”

  “No, but I had a Marie Celeste.”

  “Moustache?”

  “One eyebrow and the mole on the chin.”

  “Yes, yes!” They were laughing again.

  Diane cupped her chin in her palm and looked hard at him. “You’re not what I expected in a rock and roll god.”

  “Ouch.” He made a face. “Rock and roll god? Please. I’m a guy from Jersey who took piano lessons from a lady named Mrs. Foster and wore a uniform to school. I put together model cars.”

  “Oh, my God. You were a geek.”

  “Yes,” he said grinning ruefully, “and you must swear to never tell.”

  “Might ruin your image?”

  He snorted. “Are you kidding? I’d never get laid again.” He glanced at her and shrugged. “Sorry. That was a very stupid, rock-and-roll-god kind of thing to say. Hey, would you like some lunch?”

  “What?”

  “Lunch. We could go to Weatherby’s, it’s right on the other side of the park.”

  “What about Max?” She looked down at the dog, who lifted his head at the sound of his name. “Besides,” she said, looking at her watch, “I have class in about an hour and a half.”

  “Well, that leaves Chickies.” He slid off the table and looked at her expectantly. “It’s close and we could eat outside. Are you hungry?”

  Diane stared at him. “Are you serious?”

  “Sure, why not? I owe you lunch.”

  His eyes were incredibly blue. Diane smiled.

  “Lunch would be great.”

  They walked to a small, roadside stand that opened directly onto the highway. They sat at a round plastic table under an umbrella, eating hot dogs and fries, while Max wolfed down a few well-done hamburger patties.

  “So, what do you teach?” Michael asked her.

  Diane shook salt on her fries and looked at him suspiciously. “How do you know I teach?”

  “Well, you have class, right? You’re too well dressed to be a student.”

  “Hmm. How diplomatic of you. I teach at Dick
erson. English. This afternoon I have two senior seminars, one in Eighteenth Century Drama and one in Contemporary American Theater.”

  “Wow.” He looked impressed. “Nothing like a little light reading in the afternoon.”

  “It’s great, actually. I love drama and theater, and the kids are really into it.”

  They started talking then, about books, then music, then traveling, which she loved and he hated. He was attentive, she was relaxed, and they laughed often. He had an animal vitality that she could feel as he leaned toward her, and he seemed to be listening closely to every word she said.

  She looked at her watch. “Oh shit. I can’t believe it’s this late. I’ve got class.” She began to pick up her empty paper cup.

  “No, let me do this if you’re late.” He put his hand on top of hers to stop her. She froze. His skin was warm. She stared at his hand covering hers. She lifted her eyes and saw that he was watching her.

  “Thank you for lunch,” she said faintly. He seemed very close to her. He had not let go of her hand. “This was an unexpected pleasure, meeting you.”

  “Me too.” He pulled back his hand. He was still looking at her. “About the concert - do you think you guys would want to come backstage after the show?”

  “Are you kidding?” She blurted. “They’d be thrilled.”

  “Okay then. I’ll see you next week.” He stood, hands pushed back into his jeans’ pockets, Max standing obediently at his side.

  Diane nodded. “Thank you.” She turned and walked away, back across the road to the park. She thought he would be staring after her, and she wanted to turn to see, but she kept going, got into her car, and did not see him standing perfectly still, watching her drive away.

  CHAPTER TWO

  SHE FOUND HERSELF slightly unnerved by the incident, and was distracted and moody during class. Her Tuesday seminars were usually lively and enjoyable, but not today. After assuring yet another student that she was feeling fine, just thrown off balance by being late, she started for home. The girls would already be there, waiting for her, starting dinner. She wasn’t going to say anything about what happened, she decided. He probably wouldn’t send the tickets anyway. He had a million other things to do, and she didn’t want to get the girls’ hopes up.