CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
The dinner is scheduled for the following Saturday. The days leading up to it pass uneventfully. I have shoots nearly every day that week and Gideon is still heavily involved in sorting out operational issues at his previous company. He makes it a point, though, to regularly stop by with Uno, even if it’s just to say hi.
The dinner on Saturday goes even better than I dared to hope. I make coq au vin, which I pair with mashed potatoes and roasted fennel. Gideon has two helpings and is effusive in his compliments. Even Lisset enjoys the meal, although she painstakingly picks out all the mushrooms in her bowl of stew and sets them aside. The expensive red Burgundy Gideon brought with him loosens the faint tension in my chest, freeing me to smile and laugh more, much to Lisset’s delight and Gideon’s quiet pleasure.
I’m not laughing, though, when Gideon finishes his meal and runs his finger slowly over the rim of his glass. And I am absolutely not imagining that same finger trailing an unhurried path over my bare skin.
I wonder if I’m coming down with something.
Much to my relief, Lisset is well behaved throughout the meal and a surprisingly good sport in the three rounds of Monopoly Deal afterward. And much to my disappointment, Gideon is also well behaved. The perfect gentleman. Of course, I want him to act like a gentleman, but maybe there’s such a thing as too perfect a gentleman. In all our interactions, he avoids any innuendo or knowing smiles or lingering glances. The only time he touches me is to tap his foot against mine when he suspects I’ve cheated (I toyed with the notion purely to see if he could catch me at it).
When we’re done with Monopoly Deal, Gideon grabs the toolbox he brought with him and retreats to Lisset’s room to build her desk, which he manages to finish in two hours with only one exasperated outburst. An overjoyed Lisset loops her arms around his waist to thank him and I have to look away.
It’s late and I instruct Lisset to brush her teeth and get ready for bed. When she skips away without a fuss, I suspect her plan is to dump dental hygiene in favor of organizing her desk.
I help Gideon gather up his tools, trying not to notice the way his muscles move under his skin, and see him to the front door.
“Thank you for an incredible meal,” he murmurs.
“Thank you for one very happy daughter.”
He shoves his hands into his jacket pockets. “I have an idea that might help Lisset become more comfortable with reading again.”
I straighten in the doorway. “What is it?”
“It’s better if I demonstrate it to you. Can you come round to my place tomorrow with Lisset?”
“You’re being mysterious.”
“Practical,” he counters with a smile. “It’s late.”
I tamp down my impatience. What idea has he come up with? Also, completely unrelated but still of appreciable significance, it will be my first time inside his house. I feel the spark of curiosity in my veins. “Is this simply an excuse to see me again?”
His body vibrates with laughter. “That’s one way of looking at it.”
[MESSAGES]
Tess: I heard Gideon had dinner at your house last night!
Kate: Yes.
Tess: You had a MAN over who wasn’t a plumber.
Kate: Correct.
Tess: Don’t bowl me over with all the details.
Kate: Okay.
Tess: Come on, Kate, I’m DYING here!
Kate: Even your metaphorical death is dramatic.
Tess: What did you cook for him?
Kate: Coq au vin.
Tess: You went FRENCH. Oh, my heart. How romantic.
Kate: It’s a stew, Tess.
Tess: But it’s a FRENCH stew.
Kate: Stop with the capitals.
Tess: SPOILSPORT. Seriously, did you enjoy yourself?
Kate: I did.
Tess: Do you think there’ll be another dinner with Gideon?
Kate: ... [ typing ]
Kate: ... [ typing ]
Kate: Yes.
Tess: Aaron here. What’s going on? Why is Tess crying? Never mind. She says they’re happy tears.
On Sunday, Lisset and I traipse over in the cool spring air to Gideon’s house. When he opens his door and his eyes meet mine, all I can think of is him standing next to me at my kitchen sink last night, his soapy hands washing my pots while I dried them, the casual familiarity of the two of us working side by side.
“Come in,” he says, opening the door wider.
We follow him down a bright, spacious hallway to his living room, an open-plan kitchen on the left. My eyes slowly soak up his personal space. Top-of-the-range kitchen appliances. A giant television mounted on the living room wall. Hardwood floors and neutral rugs. Bold colors for the throw pillows and lampshades. A mahogany bookcase filled with thrillers and non-fiction titles. The incredible collection of original artwork and photography.
No personal photographs.
I am shameless in my unhurried perusal of his home. Clearly, an interior decorator was given carte blanche to go wild. The furnishings are tasteful, but expensive. My mind continues to forget just how wealthy Gideon really is.
Lisset glances around the living room. “Gideon, where are your toys?”
“Toys?” He looks puzzled. “I don’t have toys here.”
“Do you keep them upstairs?”
“Uh, no, there are no toys.” He swallows. “Upstairs or downstairs.”
Lisset stares at him, aghast. I bite my lip, trying to contain my smile. My daughter is unable to fathom that a house can exist without a single plaything inside. Even my parents and Tess keep a box of puzzles and craft items just for her.
“Not even dolls?” Lisset asks at last, a little hopefully.
It seems to kill Gideon to admit, “Sorry, no dolls.”
She wanders away, a disappointed slope to her shoulders, no doubt lamenting the sad, toyless state of his house. She perks up, though, when she spots Uno sprawled out on the back patio. We watch her make a beeline for him.
“Looks like a trip to a toy store is now on my list,” Gideon says.
“You don’t have to do that,” I protest.
“I want to,” he corrects me. “I can’t have Lisset not feeling at home here.”
Pleasure blooms inside me at his words, at the implicit promise in them. A pleasure mixed with a fear that we’re moving too fast here. Time to grab the steering wheel and turn us in a safer direction. “You said you had an idea to help Lisset overcome her hostility to reading?”
He nods, accepting the change of subject with an amused twitch of his lips. “I think we can make it work with Uno and the Reading Dog Program.”
Disappointment pricks me. This is his plan? We tried it already and it didn’t work. “She doesn’t want to read to Uno.”
“She doesn’t want to read to Uno when there are other children around who might tease her,” he reminds me. “But she likes Uno and we can work with that.”
“How?”
He sighs at the skepticism on my face. “Do you trust me?”
“No.”
I don’t even trust myself. Why on earth would I trust him? Or any person, for that matter? Trusting someone feels like the Everest of mountain ranges.
“Let me rephrase,” Gideon says. “Do you trust me more than you did when we first met?”
I consider my answer. “Yes.”
“Good. Progress.” He offers me a half smile. “I want you to trust me to help you with Lisset. Okay?”
For so long, it’s been only me making the decisions, coming up with plans, shouldering the successes, as well as the failures. Now, caught in the tractor beam of Gideon’s calm, steady gaze, I realize it might not be the end of the world for me to loosen the reins for a while and let him take charge. I don’t have to do it all alone anymore. Not for today, anyway.
My throat is too tight for me to speak so I simply nod.
He winks at me, a hey, come on, it’s not all that bad wink, and says cheerfully, “Let’s get started, shall we?”
Confused and intrigued and a tiny bit nervous, I follow him as he strolls over to where Lisset is petting Uno.
“Hey, Lis,” he says, hunkering down beside her, “I wonder if you can help me with an important job today?”
She regards him solemnly. “Does this job have anything to do with picking up dog poop?”
Gideon raises his eyebrows, a gesture I’m almost certain is directed at me. Like daughter, like mother, is the thought I imagine going through his head. But I’m with Lisset on this. Who wants that job? Besides, a healthy dose of caution is a survival instinct.
“The task has nothing to do with dog poop,” he assures her.
“What is it?”
“I need assistance preparing Uno for his workday on Tuesday.”
Her lips set in an inflexible line. “I don’t want to read to him.”
My heart sinks, but Gideon says easily, “No reading is required. We just have to make sure Uno looks really good before he can visit the school. It’s one of the rules.”
She contemplates this. “You’re in trouble when you break the rules.”
“Absolutely. Do you think you can help me?”
She glances down at Uno, then back up at Gideon. “Okay.”
“All right, then.” Gideon stands, and Lisset and Uno follow suit. “The first part of our task is to bathe Uno.”
As Gideon leads the greyhound to the sunniest spot in the courtyard, he explains to Lisset that a bath helps to ensure there’s less of an allergic reaction and less of a smell.
I’m put in charge of hauling bucket after bucket of warm water, while Gideon and Lisset rub shampoo into Uno’s coat. Although Uno stands docilely under their ministrations, he appears so dejected I feel compelled to give him a quick pat every time I return with the bucket.
“He smells nice,” Lisset declares after they rinse him off and towel him dry.
Gideon hands her a dog brush. “Time to brush him.”
Sporting a huge grin, Lisset eagerly takes the brush from Gideon and brushes his black coat until it shines. Uno looks like he’s about to pass out from pleasure.
“Great job,” Gideon compliments her.
“What next?” she asks excitedly.
“Dogs should have fresh breath while children read to them, so here’s a dental chew to help with that.”
Uno takes the treat gingerly from her hand and makes short work of it.
Gideon scratches under Uno’s chin. “Okay, Mister, you rest a bit while we take a coffee break.”
Like he’s on some sort of canine catwalk, Uno preens and struts his way over to his dog bed in the living room. He circles his bed three times until he finally flops down.
While Lisset drinks her apple juice and nibbles the grilled cheese sandwich Gideon made for her, I lean against his spotless kitchen counter and sip my coffee.
“Do you go through this every week with Uno?” I ask him.
“Every week,” he confirms.
“Don’t you get tired of doing it?”
His eyes meet mine over the rim of his mug. “You make time for things you care about,” he tells me softly.
My body heats and I can’t blame the coffee.
“What next, Gideon?” Lisset asks, saving us. Rather, saving me, because I’m the one drowning.
He turns to Lisset with a smile. “Now we have to check the backpack to make sure we have everything we need.”
We settle on the thick rug in the living room. Gideon deposits a large red backpack in front of Lisset.
“Ready to run through the items with me?” he asks.
“Ready!” she responds in a loud voice. She’s so committed I’m half expecting her to salute.
“Blanket for the kids and Uno to sit on?” he asks.
Lisset rummages in the backpack and pulls out a checkered picnic blanket. “Check.”
“Stickers for the kids when they finish reading?”
Out comes a laminated sleeve of colorful stickers. “Check.”
“Uno’s work vest?”
“Check.”
“Spare books? There should be four of them.”
Lisset pulls out four children’s books from the backpack. Gideon explains that these are emergency books he keeps on hand in case the kids want to read something different.
Abruptly, he snaps his fingers, as though remembering something. “Hey, Lis, check page five of this book for me,” he says casually, not looking at her while he points to one of the books she’s holding. “Tell me if you think the monster is too scary for the kids. I don’t want to receive a call from the principal. My days of being in the principal’s bad books are over.”
I hold my breath. Will Lisset see through his ploy? But she’s so caught up in assisting Gideon she doesn’t think twice as she flips through the pages. This is the first time she’s opened a book in weeks. The beauty of it is, she doesn’t even realize she’s crossed a line she’s subconsciously drawn for herself.
Hats off to Gideon for his cleverness.
Small steps , he mouths to me above Lisset’s head.
I nod, a lump forming in my throat at the thought of this man giving up a large portion of his Sunday to help a little girl who’s lost her way. And a woman who’s trying to find her way back.
Small steps.
“Nope, the monster’s not scary,” Lisset concludes after she’s finished her examination of the page.
“All right, the book stays,” Gideon says. “Now we have to dress Uno in his work clothes. You ready?”
“Yes!”
Uno clambers obediently to his feet and stands still while Gideon helps Lisset to slip his bright red vest on. Even I’m forced to admit the greyhound looks outrageously handsome in his working vest.
“Now comes the most important part,” Gideon says to Lisset.
She stares up at him with wide eyes. “What’s the most important part?”
“I need you to check if Uno has these three things. If he doesn’t, he’s not ready. Okay?”
“Okay.”
“Number one, does he have his kind eyes?”
A smile pulls at my lips as Lisset peers into Uno’s face. She gives a vigorous nod. “Yup, his eyes are kind right now.”
“Good. Number two, does he have on his listening ears?”
Lisset gazes at Uno.
Gideon says, “Uno,” in a deep voice and Uno’s ears prick up.
She gives an excited little bounce. “Yes!”
“Last item on the checklist. Are you ready?”
“I’m ready,” Lisset responds.
“Does he have his wagging tail to show everyone he’s happy?”
We all stare at Uno, who stares back at us. I’m not sure if a dog can actually look confused, but this one certainly does.
“It’s your turn to call his name,” Gideon prods Lisset.
“Uno!” she singsongs.
Immediately, his tail starts wagging. “He’s ready!” she yells, clapping her hands.
He smiles at her. “Now you’re ready to be a volunteer handler.”
She beams, as radiant as the sun after weeks of rain.
And my poor, defenseless heart crumbles.