Doreen Malek - Daddy's Choice

She nodded. His attitude toward her was distant and businesslike; it was as if their shared dinner had never happened.

“The mobile phone in my truck has been on the blink for the last couple of days. All I get is static. But I’ve got them working on it, you won’t be bothered again,” he added.

“It was no bother,” Carol said.

“Hi, I’m Jane Langley. How do you do?” Jane said, stepping forward and sticking out her hand.

Kirkland shook it, glancing once at Carol and then back at Jane. “How are you?” he said to her.

“Great. Seems like you guys are making a lot of progress on the house,” she said brightly.

He nodded.

“Construction must be an interesting business,” Jane observed.

“It has its moments,” he replied shortly.

“Do you work mostly in the summer?” Jane asked, emitting a flood of pheromones.

“Outdoor jobs. In the cold weather I do plastering and flooring, that kind of thing.” He looked once more at Carol. “Well, I’d better get back out there. Thanks again.” He walked out of the house, and the front door closed behind him moments later.

“‘Construction must be an interesting business,’” Carol chirped, batting her lashes, imitating Jane. “About as interesting as watching grass grow. Really, Jane, sometimes you can be embarrassing.”

“At least I talked to him. You stood there like a floor lamp.”

“Perhaps I’m reluctant to make a fool of myself,” Carol said.

“Fine, Carol. You can play it cool if you like. I’m a human being even if you’re not, and I plan to try again.”

“Then you’re not studying here with me. I am not going to have you panting after him every time you come to this house.” Carol turned her back on Jane to pour herself a cup of coffee.

“You’re forbidding me to talk to him?”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

“Then what? I can ask him out?”

“Don’t you think that’s a bit forward?”

“Don’t you think you’re a bit Victorian?”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake, Jane, what are we arguing about? The man is probably married.” Carol put the pot back on the warmer and picked up her cup.

“He’s not married.”

Carol whirled to face her, the cup in her hand sloshing liquid. “How do you know?”

Jane burst out laughing and leveled an accusing finger at her friend. “You are interested in him, I knew it!”

“I’m interested in him, okay?” Carol said quietly. “You’re right. It’s utterly absurd. The man undoubtedly hates me because I tried to get him thrown off this job, but there’s just something about him…”

“There certainly is, and I must say I’m relieved that you’ve noticed it. At school you were so glued to your books I wondered if you were preparing for a somewhat unusual legal career in a convent.”

Carol sighed. “Jane, this conversation is getting us nowhere. I am starving and I’m going to make lunch. You may join me if you like, if you can stop talking long enough to chew.”

Jane pulled out a chair at the kitchen table and sat. “I have one last thing to say.”

Carol closed her eyes. “As long as it is the last thing.”

“Now that you’ve met someone you want, go after him.”

“In my own way, Jane. Not yours.”

Jane held up her hands to indicate innocence. “I’ll be a fly on the wall,” she said meekly.

“That’ll be the day. Tuna, grilled cheese, or turkey?”

“Tuna,” Jane replied glumly, and hooked her sandaled feet in the rungs of the chair.

Two weeks went by, during which the roof was reshingled, the new back deck took shape, and Jane arrived to study every day. Tay Kirkland came and went like clockwork, directing his men, talking to Carol only when it was necessary, interrupting her routine as little as possible.

It was exactly what she had requested, but she didn’t like it. She longed for an interlude of personal intimacy like their meal in Avalon, some indication that he knew she was alive, but he stayed out of her way. She caught glimpses of him, but the most she received in response to her greetings was a nod. Jane constantly urged Carol to go outside and talk to Tay, but she couldn’t strike up a conversation with all of his employees looking on like a studio audience.

Maybe Jane could, but Carol couldn’t.

One day when Jane had decided to spend the morning at the law library in Cape May, researching a point of the New Jersey criminal code, Carol noticed that Kirkland arrived alone. She watched as he left his truck and disappeared around the corner of the house. Curious, she opened the door to the back deck and found him crouched on the ground, filling a crack in the foundation with what looked like grout.

He glanced up as she emerged.

“What are you doing?” she asked, leaning over the railing to get a better look.

“Sealing the cellar wall. We disturbed the ground and caused a few fissures in the stone. If I don’t fill them with this stuff, water will seep in and cause problems in the future.”

“Where are the guys?”

“They’re finishing up another project on the west side of town. This is a one-man job anyway.” He looked over her shoulder. “Where’s your buddy?”

“She went to look something up in the Jersey archives. The procedure for bringing cases into court varies from state to state and we have to bone up on the local methods.”

He nodded one of his frustrating, noncommittal nods. Carol mustered her courage and said quickly, “Would you like to come in for a cup of coffee?”

He looked up from his work and studied her with such intensity that Carol grew uncomfortable. Was this a major decision? Had she asked him to marry her?

“Sure,” he finally said shortly, putting down his grout gun. He rose in one smooth motion and took a rag from his back pocket, wiping the gray gunk from his fingers as he came up the steps. He paused on the landing next to Carol, looking down at her. She was tall, but he was taller. It was an unusual sensation for Carol to look so far up into a man’s eyes.

“Come in,” she said hastily to break the spell. When she opened the door he put his arm above her head to hold it for her, and she caught a brief scent of soap and sun-warmed male flesh. Then he moved and the moment passed.

“Have a seat,” she added.

He pulled out a chair and dropped into it, easing down onto the base of his spine and stretching his long legs in front of him. Today he was wearing an aqua T-shirt, faded from many washings, which dyed his eyes the color of a Bermuda inlet at dawn. He watched her move around the kitchen, pouring coffee, setting out a plate of cookies, and she fancied she could feel his eyes boring into her back. When she sat across from him he took a bite of one of the cookies and said, “Good.” He smiled. “She cooks, too.”

“Not really. They’re from a mix.”

“Well, you didn’t burn them.”

“True.” She watched the working of his throat as he swallowed. “How long do you think it will take to wrap up this job?” she asked.

“Still trying to get rid of me?” he countered.

Carol looked at him directly. “No.”

He shrugged. “It’s hard to say. A lot of variables are involved—the efficiency of the crew, the quality of the materials, the weather…”

“The weather? It’s been nice every day.”

“Hurricane season is coming soon, and this house is in a bad spot.”

“Why?”

“The locals call this inlet Hurricane Bay. The close headlands on either side of it create a funnel that narrows to a point just past your place. It makes a wind tunnel in a storm. The schoolhouse roof has blown off several times in the last ten years.”