Chapter 31
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
FINLEY
I haven’t been to the lodge yet so I’m super excited.
In fact, I rarely go anywhere that requires my dressing up.
But tonight is a special occasion. I pull out the dress I wore to my cousin’s wedding and hold it up to my body.
Then I stare at my reflection in the mirror.
It’s the most appropriate thing I own, but it’s not particularly soft, and I want to be comfy tonight.
I stand there in my towel for another five minutes trying to decide if sacrificing my comfort is worth the price of looking good. I decide it’s not. I’m going to be nervous enough being on a real date with Thomas that I need to make sure everything else is as calming as possible.
I hang the dress back up and then close my eyes. Reaching out blindly, I touch various pieces of clothing. I feel around for the softest thing I can find, which—surprise, surprise—is my favorite sweater, the fuzzy pink one. Then I dive back in for something for my bottom half.
Skirts and pants are never as satisfying as sweaters and blouses, so I pull out the least rough thing I can find.
Which turns out to be a dark green corduroy skirt.
Laying it next to the pink sweater on my bed, I stand back and stare.
I can’t decide if it’s an acceptable combination or if it’s awful. One thing is clear—it’s not the best.
I decide to put it on and see if it looks any better. Returning to the mirror I realize I look like a watermelon. But I like watermelon, so my immediate thought is that it’s okay. But what if Thomas doesn’t like watermelon? Could that be a deal breaker?
I’m driving myself crazy going back and forth about what to do when I glance at the clock and discover I only have ten minutes before he gets here.
I rush to the bathroom and put on my makeup.
Then I fluff my hair and spritz my wrists with my favorite perfume.
It smells like grapefruit. I’m like a fruit salad which must be why I decide on earrings with cherries dangling from them.
Apparently, I’m fully committed to this theme.
Looking out the front window, I see Thomas trying to parallel park between two cars. He’s doing an awful job, so I grab my raincoat and head out the door.
Once I reach the street, I see my dream car positioned at such an extreme angle there’s no way Thomas is ever going to park. I jump off the curb and knock on the passenger side window. He immediately unlocks the car for me to get in.
“Worried you’re going to get highjacked?” I ask, making fun of his locked doors.
“Always,” he assures me.
“This isn’t New York City,” I remind him.
“Maybe not, but you should never drive around with your doors unlocked. My grandmother did that once in North Carolina and a guy got in while she was waiting at a red light. He demanded she take him to the bank.”
“What did your grandmother do?” I ask in shock.
“She put the car into park, turned off the ignition, and then got out in the middle of traffic. Then she waved down a passing police car,” he tells me.
I redirect the heating vent so it’s blowing right on me before saying, “You’re making that up.”
Shaking his head, he assures me, “I am not. My grandmother was nothing if not sassy. That must be where my mom gets it.”
“What did the cop do with the guy?” I want to know.
“He ran his driver’s license number.” Thomas turns to me to give me a dramatic look. “He was wanted for bank robbery.”
“No!” I smack his arm before alerting him, “You’re about to hit a squirrel.”
Thomas slams on the brakes so hard I probably would have shot through the windshield had we been going any faster. But it turns out an abrupt stop at ten miles an hour isn’t that dangerous.
“Sorry about that,” he says before slowly letting up on the brake.
“Did you grandmother live in a big city?”
“She did not. That’s why you should always lock your doors when you’re driving.”
“I’ll remember that,” I tell him. “Although, I’m not convinced I’ll be driving any time soon. I can’t take drivers’ ed without my permit.”
“It’s amazing there are so many children getting licenses every day.” This sums up my own feelings quite accurately. Then he asks, “Did you even think about getting your license as a kid?”
I shake my head. “I’d just been diagnosed, and I thought that meant I wasn’t smart enough.”
“Did your parents encourage you?”
“They told me I could get it whenever I was ready, but they didn’t push me.” I explain, “Whatever confidence I’d had up to that point sort of vanished.”
Thomas turns onto the road leading to the lodge. “You know there’s nothing wrong with you, right?”
“I know that now,” I tell him. “I’m on the spectrum, not mentally handicapped.” Although perhaps I have seemed a little defensive about my diagnosis with him. I just really want Thomas to see me for me and not a label that’s been thrust upon me.
He turns left into the wooded entrance that leads to the lodge. “I’ve been thinking, what if people who are autistic are actually more evolved than everyone else?”
That’s an interesting theory, and not one I’ve entertained before.
But it might also be flawed. “There are people on the spectrum who cannot stand any sound or touch,” I tell him.
“They scream in agony when they’re overly stimulated and that can happen very easily.
How do you think they might be more evolved than other people? ”
Thomas pulls into a distant parking spot—I’m guessing because he doesn’t trust himself getting too close to other cars. He answers, “Maybe people like that are more spiritual creatures. You know, like they’re wired to a higher frequency that doesn’t resonate with the human body.”
I don’t hate that idea. In fact, I really kind of love it. But I want to know more. “What’s the point of them coming into a human body then? Why wouldn’t they just stay in spirit form where they’re comfortable?”
“I’m sure there are a thousand reasons. How about if they’re sent here to teach other people?”
“Teach them what?”
“Maybe to be more sympathetic?”
I think back to Joelle Stinger and realize that if Thomas is right, she missed a real opportunity with me. “Your theory is interesting,” I eventually tell him. “But I can assure you that if given a say in the matter, I would have not signed on for this.”
Thomas turns off the car before looking at me. “I’m guessing on the other side of the veil, when we’re in spirit form, we’re more inclined to make decisions based on the greater good.”
“Like you becoming a doctor,” I say.
“Maybe, but I made that decision here.” He adds, “I’ve seen how my sister’s life has impacted people and believe me when I say, she’s made a real difference.”
“Through her art.”
He nods his head. “I would love for you to see it sometime. Her pieces are giant, like twelve feet by twelve feet. When you look at them, you feel like you’ve been transported into another time and place. Another dimension even.”
“So, they’re abstracts.”
“Yes and no. There are dozens of smaller scenes within the bigger picture, but you have to really look to find them. You could stand in front of one of Vivie’s pieces for hours and still not absorb all the detail within.”
I’m getting cold so I wrap my arms around each other and tell him, “My pictures aren’t that deep.”
“You capture a lot of emotion,” he says. “Your pictures are full of love and hope. They bring fantasy to people’s lives. And we all need some of that.”
“That’s very nice of you to say,” I tell Thomas. “But I’m getting cold and I’d like to go inside.”
He jumps out of the car and runs around to open my door. I let him because unlike the other night, tonight we’re on a real date. Thomas offers his hand to help me out, but he doesn’t let go of it once I’m on my feet. Instead, he uses it to pull me closer to him.
As we walk into the lodge’s vaulted entry, Thomas declares, “This is nice. Rustic, but elegant at the same time.”
“Do you know who Trina Rockwell is?” I ask.
“Wasn’t she a presenter on television?”
“She used to have a show called the Midwestern Matchmaker,” I confirm. “They shot the last season in Elk Lake a couple of years ago and Trina never left. She and her boyfriend, Heath Fox, built this place.” I add, “They’re married now.”
“I’ve definitely heard of Heath,” Thomas says. “He’s a renowned philanthropist.”
We walk through the entrance and follow the signs to the restaurant. At the host stand, Thomas tells the hostess, “Thomas Culpepper, party of two.”
Her eyes light up, “Oh yes, Dr. Culpepper. We have your table waiting.” I don’t know why, but she seems particularly excited by our arrival.
We follow the hostess into the dining room, which is once again elegantly rustic, as per Thomas’s description.
There are elk horn chandeliers hanging high overhead.
The chairs are made of heavy wood, but the tables are covered with white linens that are already set with silverware and crystal wine glasses.
She leads us to a four-top right under one of the chandeliers.
Two chairs have been taken away and the remaining two are positioned side by side instead of across from each other.
Unlike the other tables, which only have small votive candles on them, ours has an honest to goodness candelabra with long candles.
There’s also a large vase with what must be two dozen long-stemmed white roses. My breath hitches.
“May I take your coat?” the hostess asks after putting our menus down on the table.
I slip out of my raincoat and hand it to her, then I sit down on the chair Thomas has pulled out for me. Once he joins me, I tell him, “I can’t believe you did all this.”
“Why can’t you believe it?”
“Because … because … No one has ever done anything this thoughtful for me before.”
“It’s their loss then.” The sincerity of his tone causes a shiver to radiate throughout my body.
“I love white roses,” I tell him. “They’re so pristine and pure looking.”
“White roses traditionally stand for new beginnings.” There’s a glint in Thomas’s eyes that makes me shiver. “And this is our first date.”
“Yes, but if you’re thinking about leaving Elk Lake, what’s the point of having a second date?
” It hurts to even ask that question, but not as much as it would hurt if I fell for the guy and he left me.
There’s no way I can live in a city like New York.
I don’t know how his sister manages it, but I know I never could.
“I thought we were trusting the right thing would happen between us,” he says.
I raise my left eyebrow to show my skepticism. But instead of vocalizing it, I tell him, “Prove to me that it’s the right thing to do.”