“Never in a million years did I think it would come to this. People actually believe I took that bird.”
Jake made a face. “Nah. They’re just confused. Once they have the time to sort it out, everything will be fine. In a week this whole thing will have been forgotten, and we’ll be sitting around having a good laugh out of it.”
“I think you’re being optimistic.”
“You bet,” Jake said, hopping off her desk. “This is a special day for me. I got engaged today, and I’m taking my wife-to-be out to a fancy restaurant to celebrate.”
“I don’t think that’s such a good idea. Maybe we should keep a low profile for a while…”
Jake pulled her to her feet. “We’ll be discreet. I’ll wear my glasses with the nose attached, and no one will recognize us. You go home and get all dressed up in something pretty. I’ll pick you up at seven.”
She wondered if Jake was right. Would it all go away in a week? What if it didn’t? Everything he’d worked for would be ruined. She turned onto Ox Road, solemnly noting the twenty-minute men close behind. They must be getting tired. Didn’t they need a shower? Why didn’t they just go out and get a respectable job like everybody else… selling shoes or shampooing carpets. She parked in her driveway, and the newsmen parked half a block away.
“How subtle,” she said, sarcastically rolling her eyes.
Not even a bubble bath could wash away the feeling of foreboding. She should be ecstatically happy she thought. She was in love, and she was engaged. Her lawn had gotten cut. What more could a woman want? She lethargically soaped a leg and realized the water had gotten cold. Hormones, she thought, pulling the plug. It had to be hormones that made her so droopy. She’d used up all her hormones this morning and now she was empty.
She dropped a pale-pink dress over her head and felt a little better. It was her favorite dress. Romantic feeling and romantic looking, with a softly flared skirt, a clingy bodice, low scoop neck, and slightly ruffled cap sleeves. She slipped her feet into strappy bone sandals and finished the outfit with a pair of antique pearl earrings.
“Very nice,” Jake said when he saw her. His eyes said more. They were liquid and admiring, filled with pride and infinite love for the woman standing before him. He was almost overwhelmed with a feeling of fiercely possessive tenderness. She seemed so delicate and vulnerable in the simple little dress that subtly molded to her body.
Jake locked the front door and waved to the van. “We’re going out to dinner,” he shouted. “Hope you’ve got a tie!” He turned to Amy. “Don’t they ever give up?”
Amy shook her head. “I suppose you have to admire their tenacity, if not their judgment. What I can’t understand is, why me? There must be a real news void in Fairfax County.”
Jake gunned the motor of the sporty red car. “Sorry,” he said. “I’m not used to a car that starts the first time.”
He backed out of the driveway and reached for Amy’s hand as he slowly drove through her neighborhood.
It was a stable, family-oriented subdivision that took pride in its appearance. Lots were large, having been carved at a time when land was readily available. Trees planted by those first homeowners, some twenty years previously, were mature and plentiful. Lawns and shrubbery were lush from spring rains and an unseasonably warm May. Flowers grew everywhere. Huge thick beds of impatiens nestled in red-and-white glory at the base of azalea bushes, dwarf hollies, and juniper. Clematis vined over mailboxes, geraniums grew in oak tubs on porches, and lavender phlox marched along sidewalks.
A good place to raise children, Jake thought. Good schools, good people. He could easily afford to buy the Cape Cod, and with three bedrooms and bath upstairs, it was large enough for a whole passel of kids. He wondered about Amy’s views on having a family. Maybe she wanted a career. That was okay. Whatever Amy wanted. If they couldn’t have kids, they’d raise dogs.
Amy felt contentment creeping into her. It radiated from Jake’s hand, up her arm to her heart. He was smiling, thinking secret thoughts, and he generated peace and well-being. She was an alarmist, she decided. A few cancellations didn’t mean the end of the world. She should listen to Jake. Everything would be fine. It was all absurd, anyway. Wasn’t it?
Jake’s hand tightened on hers. “What is it, Amy? What are you thinking? First, you’re tense, then you relax, then you’re tense. Are you having second thoughts about marrying me?”
“Remember I told you my dad was in the service? Well, when I was a kid, we were always moving. It seemed like I was constantly struggling to prove myself. I had to prove I was smart to new teachers. I had to prove I was trustworthy to new friends. Every time I reached that spot where things started to come together, we’d move. I developed a kind of sense about it, like an animal that can feel earth tremors before they’re recorded on a seismograph. I’d get an uneasy feeling in the pit of my stomach, and sure enough, my dad would come home and announce his new orders. I keep getting that feeling, Jake. Little tremors. I can’t get rid of them.”
He didn’t know what to say. He could hear pain in her voice and wanted to soothe it away, but he’d felt the tremors, too. Probably that was why they were going out to dinner. A big loud show of happiness and solidarity. It’s like the big bad wolf trying to blow my house down, Jake thought. There was something out there, something foolish and threatening, and Jake hoped his good solid house of brick could withstand all that huffing and puffing. He drove past George Mason University and into the town of Fairfax. He turned onto a back street and parked in a small lot, pleased to see there wasn’t room for the van.
They walked hand in hand through a quaint alley to the sidewalk and the front of the restaurant. Amy looked down the street at the large white wooden town hall that had been converted into a library. The Wiley house was just across from them, its front yard neatly divided into rectangles by staked string, evidence of historical excavation. Fairfax was an old town, founded by Lord Fairfax, and it had preserved much of its colonial character. Amy liked that. It gave her a feeling of stability and permanence.
Jake guided her into a restaurant that might easily be overlooked by an unknowing passerby. It was a brick row house with ornate white window moldings and an elaborate white portico. The only advertisement was an engraved gold plaque on the door, which stated that this was “Daley’s Tavern.”
The interior was divided into several small dining rooms, elegantly decorated in eighteenth-century Chippendale and Queen Anne. Amy barely had time to admire the fresh cut flowers in the cool lobby before they were shown to an intimate corner table with a view of the tiny backyard garden. “It’s lovely,” Amy said.
Jake relaxed into his cherrywood side chair. He agreed. It was lovely, and it was far removed from dancing roosters and canceled castrations. He hadn’t realized how badly he’d needed a break from the great chicken caper until they’d entered Daley’s.
There was sanity in Daley’s. People were sitting in ten miles of bumper-to-bumper traffic on I-95, and they were standing twenty deep at the checkout of the Gourmet Giant supermarket. He, on the other hand, had the good sense to come to Daley’s. He felt his eyes glaze over in smug complacency.
Daley’s was an island in the sea of suburban frenzy. It was calm. It was cool. It was conducive to pleasant conversation.
He looked at the menu and ordered grilled fish. Amy ordered the same. The formally dressed waiter brought them an assortment of warm muffins and breads and a small tub of whipped butter.
Amy buttered a pumpkin muffin and chewed it thoughtfully. “You know what we should do? We should trail Veronica Bottles just like that van is trailing me. Stick to her like glue. Maybe she’s got Red stuck away somewhere. Maybe…”
Jake made a strangled sound in his throat.
Amy’s eyes widened. “What’s the matter? You sound like Mrs. Jennings’s cat when she coughed up that hairball.”
“You weren’t supposed to be thinking about Red,” he said. “This is supposed to be a romantic interlude. We’re supposed to think about love and sex.”
“Oh.” She nibbled on her muffin. If she thought about sex, she might jump across the table after him. He was incredibly handsome in a navy blazer and blue shirt with red striped tie. His dark lashes shadowed his eyes in the subdued lighting of the room, and there was the hint of a rakish smile at the corners of his mouth, as if he knew a wicked secret. It was a smile that sent a rush of heat tingling through her. She returned the muffin to her bread dish and rearranged her napkin, waiting for the desire to subside. “Well, what about love?”
“Is that what you were just thinking about? Love?”
Amy busily buttered a second pumpkin muffin. “Yup. I was thinking about love. I was thinking that it’s… um, lovely.”
“I was thinking about sex,” Jake said, his voice low but casual.
No kidding. Amy grimaced when she realized she’d buttered her thumb.
