VELOCITY - DEE JACOB [37]
“We won’t be. Relax.” Viktor glanced at his Rolex. “Now, sorry, I’m late. I have to run.”
“Dinner date?”
“Um … actually, yes.”
Sarah shook her head, even as she grinned and gritted her teeth in frustration.
“Viktor, you truly are a first-rate cad.”
“Sarah, I strive for excellence in everything. See you in the morning.”
As he walked out the door, Sarah said, “I won’t be in early. Not for a long time. If ever.”
But she was not sure if he heard her – was not even sure if she really wanted him to hear.
• • •
The evening of the day following the Rockville trip, Amy got home late. What with the regular schedule and catching up on everything that had been on hold while she was out championing for LSS, it was past eight o’clock by the time she drove into the driveway. Much earlier she had called her mom and told her to start dinner without her. So everyone else in the family had eaten by then. Amy sat in the kitchen, sipping a glass of wine while her mother warmed a plate of food for her.
“Oh!” her mother suddenly exclaimed. “Someone called for you!”
“Who?”
“A man.”
“Well, that narrows it down. What, like an insurance man? A stockbroker man?”
“No. He gave me his name and I wrote it on a scrap of paper. Now, what did I do with it?”
“I’m glad Dad didn’t answer the phone.”
“Amy …” said her mother, with an annoyed edge to her voice.
“Sorry.”
“Here it is. He called around six o’clock.”
Tom Dawson’s name and phone number were on the little slip of paper.
“That’s funny,” Amy said, digging through her purse for her cell phone. “He has all my work numbers. I wonder why he called me at home?”
She found her cell phone and stepped outside onto the back porch, pulling the door firmly shut behind her – and realizing even as she did that she had gone to the porch for privacy, not a better signal. In the same instant, she recognized that she was excited, and she deliberately made herself slow down, calm down as her thumb pressed the numbers on her phone.
Tom answered quickly. “Hello?”
“Hi. It’s Amy. Amy Cieolara. Did you call earlier?”
“Right, I did. Hey, you left your umbrella in the plane yesterday.”
Amy’s memory flashed back and remembered that, yes, she had taken an umbrella because the forecast had called for late afternoon showers, which never came. And, yes, she had completely forgotten about it as she had walked away from the plane under sunny skies.
“Oh, you’re right,” she said. “I did. I’m sorry–”
“No, it’s no problem. Anyway, I thought I might … you know, swing by and drop it off.”
“Swing by? Here?”
“If you’re not, you know, busy or something.”
“Well, I just got home–”
“If it’s not, you know, convenient …”
She realized from his hesitations and his you-knows that – to her own amazement – he was just a little nervous talking to her. This ex-Marine, this man who had faced death in combat, this pilot whose physical courage had surely been tested many times – nervous talking to her. And she felt herself being warmed and charmed by that.
“If you’d like to come by … that would be all right,” she heard herself saying.
“Okay, great. I’ll be there in ten or fifteen minutes – if that works for you.”
“Sure. Do you have the address? Do you need directions?”
“Nope, I’ll find you,” he said. “See you in a bit.”
She went back into the kitchen and told her mom.
“He’s coming over.”
“Who is?”
“Tom Dawson!”
“Oh, but Amy, the house is a mess,” said her mother, and instantly began to neaten things.
“Mom, he’s just dropping off my umbrella! Stop! Anyway, it doesn’t matter! It’s no big deal!”
She tossed back the rest of her wine then and flew into the living room, where indeed her father had scattered the sections of the newspaper everywhere and her children’s video games and DVDs littered the floor. Ben and Michelle themselves looked like lumps in front of the television; not even couch potatoes, but worse: carpet potatoes.
She opened her mouth to say something, then stopped herself. She made herself take the advice she’d given her mother. After all, he was dropping off an umbrella. What did