A Different Kind of Forever - By Dee Ernst Page 0,7
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 Dickerson. 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.
She entered the house and could smell garlic. Good. She was starving. Maybe that was what was wrong with her.