“There’s a spare room here,” she said. “You’re welcome to use it.”
“I hate to barge in on you.”
“The bed’s just sitting here, Rick.”
A pause. “That’d be great. But on one condition.”
“What’s that?”
“You let me bring you dinner. There’s a take-out place down on Main Street. Nothing fancy, maybe just some boiled lobsters.”
“I don’t know about you, Rick. But in my book, lobsters definitely qualify as fancy.”
“Do you want wine or beer?”
“Tonight feels like a beer night.”
“I’ll be there in about an hour. Save your appetite.”
She hung up, and suddenly realized she was starving. Only moments ago, she’d been too tired to drive into town, and had considered skipping dinner and simply going to bed early. Now she was hungry, not just for food but for company as well.
She wandered the house, restless and driven by too many contradictory desires. Only a few nights ago, she had shared dinner with Daniel Brophy. But the church had long ago laid claim to Daniel, and she would never be in the running. Hopeless causes might be seductive, but they seldom brought you happiness.
She heard the rumble of thunder and went to the screen door. Outside, dusk had deepened to night. Though she saw no lightning flashes, the air itself seemed charged. Electric with possibilities. Raindrops began to patter on the roof. At first it was only a few hesitant taps, then the sky opened up like a hundred drummers pounding overhead. Thrilled by the storm’s power, she stood on the porch and watched the rain pour down, and felt the welcome blast of cool air ripple her dress, lift her hair.
A pair of headlights cut through the silvery downpour.
She stood perfectly still on the porch, her heart pounding like the rain, as the car pulled up in front of the house. Ballard stepped out, carrying a large sack and a six-pack of beer. Head bent under the torrent, he splashed to the porch and up the steps.
“Didn’t know I’d have to swim here,” he said.
She laughed. “Come on, I’ll get you a towel.”
“Do you mind if I jump into your shower? I haven’t had a chance to wash up yet.”
“Go ahead.” She took the grocery sack from him. “The bathroom’s down the hall. There are clean towels in the cabinet.”
“I’ll get my overnight bag out of the trunk.”
She carried the food into the kitchen and slid the beer into the refrigerator. Heard the screen door clap shut as he came back into the house. And then, a moment later, she heard the shower running.
She sat down at the table and released a deep breath. This is only dinner, she thought. A single night under the same roof. She thought of the meal she’d cooked for Daniel only a few days ago, and how different that evening had felt from the start. When she’d looked at Daniel, she’d seen the unattainable.
The shower was off. She sat very still, listening, every sense suddenly so acute she could feel the air whisper across her skin. Footsteps creaked closer, and suddenly he was there, smelling of soap, dressed in blue jeans and a clean shirt.
“I hope you don’t mind eating with a barefoot man,” he said. “My boots were too muddy to wear in the house.”
She laughed. “Then I’ll just go barefoot too. It’ll feel like a picnic.” She slipped out of her sandals and went to the refrigerator. “Are you ready for a beer?”
“I’ve been ready for hours.”
She uncapped two bottles and handed one to him. Sipped hers as she watched him tilt his head back and take a deep gulp. I will never see Daniel looking like this, she thought. Carefree and barefoot, his hair damp from a shower.
She turned and went to look in the grocery sack. “So what have you brought for dinner?”
“Let me show you.” Joining her at the counter, he reached into the sack and took out various foil-wrapped packets. “Baked potatoes. Melted butter. Corn on the cob. And the main event.” He produced a large Styrofoam container and flipped it open to reveal two bright red lobsters, still steaming.
“How do we get those open?”
“You don’t know how to crack one of these critters?”
“I hope you do.”
“Nothing to it.” He pulled two nutcrackers out of the sack. “You ready for surgery, Doctor?”
“Now you’re making me nervous.”
“It’s all in the technique. But first, we need to suit up.”
“Excuse me?”
He reached in the sack and came out with plastic bibs.
“You’ve got to be kidding.”
“You think restaurants give these things out just to make tourists look like idiots?”
“Yes.”
“Come on, be a sport. It’ll keep that nice dress clean.” He circled around behind her and slipped the bib over her chest. She felt his breath in her hair as he fastened the ties behind her neck. His hands lingered there, a touch that made her shiver.
“It’s your turn, now,” she said softly.
“My turn?”
“I’m not going to be the only one wearing one of these ridiculous things.”
He gave a sigh of resignation and tied a bib around his own neck. They looked at each other, wearing matching cartoon lobsters on their chests, and they both burst out laughing. Kept on laughing as they sank into chairs at the table. A few sips of beer on an empty stomach and I’m out of control, she thought.
He picked up a nutcracker. “Now, Dr. Isles. Are we ready to operate?”
She reached for hers, holding it like a surgeon about to make the first incision. “Ready.”
The rain pounded its steady drumbeat as they pulled off claws, cracked shells, and teased out sweet chunks of meat. They did not bother with forks but ate with their hands, their fingers slick with butter as they opened fresh bottles of beer and broke apart baked potatoes to expose the warm and yeasty flesh within. Tonight manners didn’t matter; this was a picnic, and they sat barefoot at the table, licking their fingers. Stealing glances at each other.
“This is a lot more fun than eating with a knife and fork,” she said.
“You’ve never eaten lobster with your bare hands before?”
“Believe it or not, this is the first time I’ve encountered one that wasn’t already out of its shell.” She reached for a napkin and wiped the butter from her fingers. “I’m not from New England, you know. I moved here only two years ago. From San Francisco.”
“That surprises me somehow.”
“Why?”
“You strike me as such a typical Yankee.”
“Meaning?”
“Self-contained. Reserved.”
“I try to be.”
“Are you saying that it’s not the real you?”
“We all play roles. I have my official mask at work. The one I wear when I’m Dr. Isles.”
“And when you’re with friends?”
She sipped her beer, then quietly set it down. “I haven’t made that many friends in Boston, yet.”
“It takes time, if you’re an outsider.”
An outsider. Yes, that’s what she felt like, every day. She’d watch cops slap each other on the back. She heard them talk about barbecues and softball games to which she’d never be invited because she was not one of them, a
