Sara's Song Read online

  Back in his kitchen, Dallas looked at his polka-dotted room. He didn’t dare go near the stove. What he needed was a goddamn raincoat. Spaghetti, his favorite food, was supposed to be easy to make according to the cookbook on the counter. You just put everything in a pot and watched it cook. Instead of the sauce cooking down, the mess had seemed to expand at an alarming rate of speed. He’d switched pots four times so far. He didn’t have a clean pot for the pasta. That meant he had to wash one and risk splattering his clean shirt. The raincoat idea was looking better and better. The urge to give it a try was so strong, Dallas burst into laughter as he headed for the mudroom and one of the yellow slickers hanging on the peg near the door. He put it on, buckled it, sniffing appreciatively at the garlic- and basil-scented kitchen.

  The only pot for the pasta was the one the sauce was cooking in. Dump it out and let it finish cooking in the microwave. Oh, yeah. He carried the bubbling mess to the sink and poured. He flinched when the sauce splattered on the pristine organdy curtain above the sink. The white cabinets became one long smear of red. The sauce dripped down the yellow slicker onto the shoelaces of his new Nikes. “Oh, shit!”

  The electronic pad next to the door came to life. “The main gate is now opening. A vehicle is driving through. There are ten seconds left and counting. The main gate is now closing. No other vehicles have entered.” Dalla pressed the End button to cut off the transmission. The cell phone rang again. Answer it or not? It might be Nancy, Billy’s wife. He clicked the On talk switch to hear Sandi’s angry voice. “I thought you said you wanted to be alone, Dallas. Who was that? It was your Jeep. I recognized the license plate. Why did you lie to me?”

  “Because I didn’t want to hurt your feelings. I told you, Sandi, it’s over. Please don’t call me. Furthermore, it’s none of your business who comes to my house. Let’s leave it at that, or you’ll be looking for another job. I hate pushy people, especially pushy women. As I said earlier, it’s what it is. I never made you any promises. In fact I was very careful not to lead you on. There’s no point in prolonging this conversation. Adam will be in touch when it’s time. Just so you know, there’s every possibility I might break up the band and retire. Now, please, leave me alone.” For the second time Dallas broke the connection. He looked around, his eyes full of panic. Where to stash the phone? The moment he saw the headlights arc on the kitchen window he opened the freezer to stuff the cell phone down among the ice cubes. He thought he heard it ring. Maybe it was the ice cubes settling. He wondered if it would plug up the ice chute. Not that he cared. A stuffed ice chute was preferable to listening to Sandi Sims.

  Fright, unlike anything he’d ever experienced onstage, washed through him when he heard the sound of Sara’s heels on the concrete apron. God, she was coming to the kitchen door. He felt his feet take root on the tile floor. He was muttering his favorite expression when the screen door opened.

  “I thought you’d come to the side door or the front door,” he managed to croak.

  Sara’s eyes took in the raincoat, the red-and-white stove, the polka-dotted organdy curtains. Tongue in cheek, Sara said, “I can go back out and walk around to your front door. I think I understand everything but the raincoat.”

  “It’s a long story. I really do know how to cook. Sort of. For some reason this . . . got away from me. I think what happened was I used this really big can of tomato paste and I had to keep adding water because the sauce was like glue. I kept switching pots till I ran out of them. I think I ruined the microwave a few minutes ago. The reason I know this is because the sauce is oozing out under the door. I was going to have dinner catered, but decided to do it myself because I hate it when people hover. I love spaghetti.”

  He could cook. And sing. And he was going out of his way for her. Sara felt a definite head rush.

  “I wanted to impress you,” he said.

  “Oh. Why?” He wanted to impress me. Oh God.

  “I don’t know. I like you. You aren’t like all those other women I meet. You’re normal. You’re the kind of person my brother associates with. I guess I wanted you to like me.”

  “I do like you. I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t like you, Dallas. Is it safe for me to come in, or should I wait outside?”

  Dallas loved the smile in her voice. “I’m going to salvage this dinner if it kills me. My housekeeper has some stuff in the closet in the mudroom. It’s not glamorous or anything. That dress you’re wearing is much too pretty to ruin. You know how sauce splatters. I could get you a matching slicker, complete with hat if you want.”

  His and hers. His suggestion. Hmmm. “Okay.”

  “Okay? Are you kidding?”

  “Nope. I’m game. I have to tell you, though, I don’t clean up. You’re going to need those Disaster Master people. Your housekeeper might quit if she sees this mess. It smells heavenly, though. Spaghetti is one of my favorite foods. I love basil and garlic.”

  Dallas preened, his chest puffing out. “Get your raincoat while I try to salvage this mess. Dinner will be ready as soon as I cook the spaghetti. Be careful you don’t slip on the floor.”

  Sara laughed. “Where are the hip boots?”

  “In the garage with my fishing gear. Do you like to fish Sara?”

  “My dad used to take Carly and me when we were little. I haven’t gone in years. We used to go in a canoe. My mother cheered us from the dock.”

  “Would you like to go fishing with me?”

  Sara didn’t hesitate. “Yes I would.”

  “Do you rollerblade?”

  “I never tried it. Carly loves it and says it’s wonderful exercise. I like to hike.”

  “You’re kidding! I love to hike. Someday I want to do that survival thing. You know, climb the real mountains with ropes and pulleys and all that stuff. You ride the rapids, live in tents, eat off the land. I just never have the time. I also don’t like doing things alone. I’m the only unmarried guy in the band. When is your next vacation?”

  “The entire month of December. My contract is up at the hospital, and it will take that long to negotiate a new one. I’m not sure I want to stay at Benton Memorial. I’ve been thinking about going into private practice.”

  “What’s stopping you?”

  Sara buckled the yellow slicker. “Money. I’m still paying off student loans, and I don’t know if I want to go further into debt. It’s very expensive to become a doctor, even worse if you have a specialty. Malpractice insurance is prohibitive. The water’s bubbling. Can I set the table?”

  “Sure. We’re eating in my fancy dining room unless you want to eat out here in this mess.”

  “I don’t mind. I’m a kitchen person. Carly and I have this wonderful breakfast nook with a wraparound window. It overlooks a small garden. We have bird feeders and a few squirrels. I love to sit there on Sunday mornings with my coffee and the paper. Just tell me where the dishes are.”

  Dallas pointed to the cabinet to Sara’s left. He watched as she set the table, folding the napkins, placing them just so, arranging the silverware. “Root beer, right?” He nodded. “Glasses or do we swig from the bottle?”

  “I’m for whatever saves on dishwashing.”

  Sara’s voice was full of awe. “Me too. Carly and I use those plastic throwaway dishes. The shiny ones. Everything’s throwaway. Even though we have a dishwasher, you have to rinse off everything, load it up, put in the soap, clean up. That takes time.

  “Laundry takes time, housecleaning takes time. Mowing the lawn takes even more time. Then you have to go to the dry cleaners, the supermarket, the gas station, the auto body shop, the drugstore. Some days I can’t get everything done. You’re the lucky one, you have people do all that stuff for you.”

  “I never thought about it like that. Sometimes I’d like to do those things. Adam keeps me on a tight schedule and an even tighter leash. I really understand the time thing. Well, time is standing still right now for both of us. I love this mess. Just look at it. If I tried, I couldn’t have done thi
s. And all because I wanted to impress you. Tell me I impressed you.”

  Sara’s face was solemn when she said, “You did. You are. I will always remember eating spaghetti with Dallas Lord wearing a yellow slicker. I hope you have lots of garlic butter.” Maybe her purchases at Sassy’s weren’t a mistake after all. She blinked when she remembered the price. Did men really pay attention to women’s underwear, or was that a myth?

  “I made my own garlic butter. Sit down, Doctor, and I will serve you the best spaghetti you ever ate.”

  “What’s that noise?”

  “What noise?”

  “The noise coming from the freezer.”

  “It’s probably the cell phone. I would have thought the wires were frozen by now.”

  “I see.”

  Dallas propped his elbows on the table. “No, you don’t, but that’s okay. I had a short-term . . . thing with one of the singers in the band. Didn’t I tell you about that yesterday? It wasn’t going to go anywhere. I knew it. I thought she did, too.”

  Dallas’s announcement demanded she make some kind of comeback. Sara rolled her spaghetti on the fork, using the tablespoon to wrap it smoothly. Suddenly she felt uneasy, afraid for some reason.

  “How about you, Sara? Is there anyone in your life?”

  “No. I’m not sure I want anyone. When things don’t work out it hurts too much. I had that twice, actually three times. I don’t think I could handle it again.”

  “I never experienced that kind of feeling. What went wrong? If it’s none of my business, tell me.”

  “It wasn’t meant to be. I guess I loved too much, and they didn’t love enough. Now when I look back I don’t think it was love at all. They were party people. My idea of a party is four people for a barbecue in the backyard. I’m a home-and-hearth kind of person. I don’t know how you do it. Entertainers like you are so ... visible, so front and center. You have to be on all the time.”

  “I don’t know anything else. It’s all I’ve ever done. I’ve never gone to a four-person barbecue or sat in front of a fireplace with a girl. I guess you think that makes me some kind of jerk. Maybe I am.” At his devastated look, Sara wanted to reach out and touch him.

  “It’s a question of priorities. Your lifestyle doesn’t make you a jerk. You’re a jerk when you do stupid things. I don’t think you do stupid things. This is very good spaghetti. Do you ever see your old friends for get-togethers?”

  Dallas shook his head. “The guys in the band are my friends. Billy was my only real friend from childhood. Adam and I aren’t close. I’ve accepted the fact that we’re never going to bond. It’s what it is.”

  Sara leaned across the table. He looked so . . . needy in the candlelight. “I’m just surprised that you aren’t married. I think your phone is ringing again.”

  “Let it ring. Marriage isn’t for everyone. Do you want to get married?” It was Dallas’s turn to lean across the table.

  “I suppose if I met the right person. I like the idea of going to bed with someone and waking with him next to me, of sitting across the breakfast table with that person. It’s hard to be alone. I view marriage as sharing. You can have every advantage in life, megawealth, everything money can buy, and if you don’t have someone to share it with, what’s the point to it all? My mother always said if something is meant to be, it will be and nothing you can say or do will change things. Is your brother married?”

  “No. He’s always on the road. The sad truth is, I know very little about my brother. I had a nightmare once where I was in a hospital and in the dream I needed a kidney donor. The doctor asked Adam if he’d donate one of his. Adam’s response was he had to think about it. If it were the other way around, I wouldn’t have to think about it.”

  Sara didn’t mean to ask the question, but the words rolled off her lips. “Does your brother like you? Wait, don’t answer that. I had no right to ask such a question. It’s none of my business.”

  “It’s a reasonable question. I don’t know. In his own way I’m sure he has feelings for me. Adam’s a cold, clinical, analytical person. Billy said Adam’s assessment of me was that I didn’t have enough sense to come in out of the rain. That smarted for a long time. I try not to think about it. Adam has some very good qualities. The Canyon River Band wouldn’t be what it is without Adam. He’s a bottom-line person.”

  Sara sucked up a long strand of spaghetti, the sauce splattering on the yellow slicker. “I can do that,” Dallas said.

  “Yeah,” Sara tested, “but can you do it without splashing your raincoat? You’re right, this the best spaghetti I ever ate.”

  “There, what’d you think of that?” Dallas demanded as he sucked up not one but two strands of spaghetti.

  “I think you got lucky is what I think. Can you do that grass thing between your fingers or skip rocks on a pond?”

  “Nah. We were city boys. We can do those things when we go fishing. You have to pack a picnic basket with fried chicken, hard-boiled eggs, cheese, and all that stuff. They always do that in the movies.”

  Sara dabbed at her lips. “Did you ever go on a picnic, Dallas?”

  “If I did, I don’t remember.”

  “That’s so sad. Maybe it isn’t so sad. The only reason my dad taught Carly and me those things was because he wanted a son and got two daughters instead. He never seemed proud of our accomplishments. He yanked us both out of the Powder Puff League when we failed to hit home runs. I heard him tell my mother we embarrassed him. Sometimes I think it might have been better not to have done those things. We just never measured up. Feelings like that stay with you forever.”

  “Now, that’s sad. I’m taking time off. You’re going to be off the month of December. We can do some of those things together if you want. We can start off as friends and if anything develops, fine, if it doesn’t, we’ll still be friends. I think my problem is I was never a kid. In the early days I had to hustle. There was never enough money. Comic books and music, that was my life. Billy’s too. I probably would have ended up in a gang if it wasn’t for Adam.”

  “What about Christmas?”

  Dallas looked blank. “What about it?”

  “Don’t you do Christmas?”

  “I think you need to explain what you mean by the words, do Christmas.”

  “You know, cut down a tree, get out the heirloom ornaments, decorate the house with balsam, buy poinsettias for the whole house, hang a wreath on the front door, invite friends over, go caroling, buy presents and wrap them to put under the tree, cook a wonderful Christmas dinner to share with all your friends. Then when the day winds down you build a fire and talk about all the wonderful things that are going to happen in the new year. That’s what I call doing Christmas.”

  “That’s what families do. I’ve been on the road every Christmas for as long as I can remember. The hotels always have a tree in the lobby. It’s just another day. I give the guys checks for themselves and their families. We don’t do that present thing. Adam’s never around. What you just said, is that what you and your sister do?”

  “For the most part. We do it Christmas Eve, though. Both of us usually work Christmas Day since we’re single and it gives the married women time to be with their families. It’s a good feeling. I told you, I’m a home-and-hearth person. This year Carly is going to Austria with her ski group, and I’ll be off. It will be the first time in my life that I’ll be alone for Christmas. I’m not looking forward to it.”

  “I’m going to be alone, too. That means both of us will be alone. If you have no objections, maybe we could do the Christmas thing together. If you get a better offer . . .”

  “You might get a better offer. It’s something for both of us to think about. Maybe we should tackle Thanksgiving first. That’s just a few weeks away.”

  “Do you do that, too?”

  Sara laughed. “Oh yeah. We could give it a shot. I make a pretty good pumpkin pecan pie. There’s a downside to Thanksgiving, and every year it proves to be a bigger and bigger
challenge. What to do with the leftover turkey. I have seventeen tried and true recipes. That translates into seventeen days of turkey. Eighteen if you count Thanksgiving. Your place or mine?” Sara said boldly.

  “We’ll be safer here. I don’t want your privacy invaded. Once the press sniffs you out, your life will never be the same. Then we have a date for Thanksgiving?”

  “We have a date. I’ll bring everything. Some things like the stuffing, have to be prepared the night before, but not put into the bird. I like to do the pies the night before, too. I have a problem with this kitchen, though.”

  “It’ll be cleaned by then. I’ll call those people you suggested tomorrow.”

  “That’s not what I mean. This is so . . . sterile-looking. I have sterile all day at the hospital. You need color, plants, stuff. I could turn this kitchen into a room you’d want to hang out in all the time. If you’re a kitchen person, that is. Are you a cozy person, Dallas?”

  A flustered look appeared on Dallas’s face. “If I’m not, I could be. What makes for a cozy person?” He leaned across the table, his eyes intent.

  Sara moved back slightly in her chair but allowed Dallas to take her hand. “It probably means different things to different people. To me it means plain, simple, comfortable. You know, basics. I personally do not require a lot of what my mother called trappings. I’m not ostentatious. I’m what you see is what you get. That’s not to say I don’t like a little glitz and glamour once in a while. To me it isn’t real. Maybe it’s because I’m a doctor, and I’ve seen so much pain, suffering, and hardship. Your world seems so unreal to me.”

  Dallas laughed. “Your world sounds like a fairy tale to me. I bet if both of us tried, we could find a common middle ground. You have my permission to do whatever you want with my kitchen. What do you want to throw out?”

  “Nothing. That’s not what I meant. I’ll add to it. What’s your favorite color?”