Ash #2
“You couldn’t remember that,” Eddie scoffs. “It was last year. You were only four.”
“I remember stuff from when I was four,” his brother rages back. “Plenty of stuff! Like the time you steered Gran’s kayak
into the—”
“Okay, that’s enough of that.”
I have no way of knowing if this boat has anything to do with Emma Bridle. But it, like Meg Boucher, has found me. And that
has to mean something.
“You want us to guard it for you while you go do girlfriend stuff with Dr. G?” Robby asks, his nose wrinkling at the word
girlfriend. “We’ll do it, but it’s gonna cost you.”
“Oh, yeah? How much?”
“Twenty bucks,” Eddie responds swiftly.
“And more of that gum,” Sammy adds.
I nod and look out at the water at the tangle of trees on Center Island like I’m seriously considering their offer. Curiously,
the leaves there are starting to turn. They’re a vibrant rainbow of autumnal reds and yellows and golds that shifts and shimmers
in the cool breeze. From the shore, it sure is pretty.
“You got yourselves a deal,” I say, reaching into my pocket for my wallet. “But I’m only giving you ten bucks now, and another
ten at the end of the day when you make your report. And remember what I said about your grandma: tell her I did not spend the night at Dr. Giovanni’s.”
Robby and Sammy agree, but Eddie takes a little more convincing.
“Most people think that it’s wrong to lie,” he informs me.
“Yeah? Well, it’s also wrong to kiss and tell—not to mention cock block a friend.”
This sends Eddie into chortles of laughter, which only gets worse when his little brothers start asking, “What’s cock block?
Eddie, what’s cock block?”
I tell the boys I don’t have any more gum on me at the moment but I’ll get some and stop by with it at the end of the day
when I come for their report.
“That’s okay,” says Eddie, the wise older brother, when he’s recovered from his giggle fit and can speak again. “We’ll spot
you.”
“Thanks.”
By the time I get back to Francesca’s, she’s already made the eggs herself.
“Hey,” I say, disappointed—although truthfully, her eggs look and smell delicious. “Thanks. Sorry about that. I owe you.”
“You don’t owe me anything.”
Is it my imagination, or does Frankie look even hotter than when I’d left? She seems to already have showered—disappointing;
I’d have liked to jump in there with her—and changed into a fresh T-shirt and one of those long cardigan things that women
love but men hate because it hides women’s shapes.
At least she’s got on yoga pants beneath it. They leave nothing to the imagination.
The morning sun is streaming in from the sliding glass doors, casting Frankie in the same golden light that’s shining across
Center Island and the rest of the lake. She looks like an angel.
“Why are you just standing there staring at me?” she demands. “Sit down and eat before it gets cold.”
I do, the advice I’d given to the DeLong boys about respecting women still ringing in my ears. I’m careful not to mention
the eggs could use a lot more cheese. I’ve got no complaints, really, since the coffee is good and the view is even better.
If only my search for Emma was going as well as my romantic life.
Frankie must have read my thoughts, since she asks, “So how are the boys? Helpful?”
“Maybe.” She’s made whole wheat toast to go with the eggs, along with a bowl of berries and Greek yogurt. There’s also a square
of French butter and a pot of locally sourced strawberry rhubarb jam. I’m beginning to think I may have died and gone to that
other dimension she was talking about last night. “They found an old runabout that they’re pretty sure used to belong to the
Blancos. They say they saw it tied to my dock yesterday morning. It could be how Meg got to my place.”
Frankie raises her eyebrows. “The Kraken? That boat disappeared ages ago.”
“It looks it. But it’s pretty weird for it to show up out of nowhere now . . . twice.”
“Your superpower at work?” Frankie gazes at me over the rim of her coffee mug. Her eyes are huge and dark and shrewd.
“I think it has to be. I just don’t know how . . . yet.”
She smiles and sets down her cup. “Are you still planning on going to the farmers market this afternoon?”
“Yes. Will you come with me? I know it will be packed, but that’s what I want. The more people, the more potential for information.
And I wasn’t kidding about picking up some steaks for dinner. Since you made breakfast today and dinner last night, that’s
two meals I owe you.”
“You don’t owe me anything,” she says. “You fixed my fuse box, remember?”
I glance at her sheepishly. “You heard that, huh?”
“I did.” She’s grinning. “Thank you for attempting to protect my honor. But it’s not necessary. Mrs. DeLong is a friend, and
I honestly don’t care what the other neighbors think of me—you’ve seen my yard.”
“Yeah, I have. And I like it a lot better your way. So . . . dinner tonight?”
“I’m sorry, I can’t. On Sundays I have to have a late lunch with my family.”
I’ve been wanting to go to Sunday dinner at the Giovanni household since I first heard Dr. Dick lying over the phone about
why he couldn’t go. The multicourse pranzo della Domenica, an all-day affair starting just after brunch, is one of Italy’s most enduring customs.
But Dr. Dick never wanted to do anything remotely interesting or fun with his lawn or his personal life.
Not me. I love fun, so I’ve been dying to go. The only problem is that Frankie doesn’t ask me.
“Oh,” I say when it becomes clear she has no intention of issuing an invitation. “Okay. Maybe tomorrow night for steaks, then?”
“That sounds great,” she says brightly, standing and lifting her empty plate, then reaching for mine. “You all through?”
“Yeah,” I say. “I’m all through.”
Look, I’m not a quitter. My dad often accused me of giving up when things got rough—lacrosse, tennis, sailing—but that was
never the case. I only give up when things are boring. Why am I going to waste time on some boring activity I don’t want to
do when I could be spending it doing something I like—or even trying something new?
Dad never got that.
But I didn’t get to where I am today by giving up.
“So are you not inviting me to Sunday dinner with your family because it’s too soon, or because I embarrass you?” I ask.
Frankie spins from the sink to face me, her expression shocked. “What? No! What on earth would make you think that?”
“Because I know I’m not the type of guy you’ve been with in the past. I met Dr. Dick. He’s supersmart.” I’m being generous.
I don’t think Dr. Dick is that smart, or he’d be sitting here with Frankie instead of me. “I know I’m smart, too, just in
a different way. And I recognize that this is all new, and if you’re not ready to introduce me to your family, I get it, I
can wait. But I want you to know . . .”
I take the plunge, because I’m never going to let what happened with Nicole happen again. I’m glad now that Nicole and I broke
up, because she’s got Henry and the kids, and that’s left me free to get to know Frankie.
But this time, I’m going to do everything right.
“I really like you,” I tell Frankie, who is staring at me like I’ve suddenly grown a second head. But I don’t let that deter me. “And
when I like someone, I go all in. I don’t like playing games. I had enough of that growing up. Maybe that’s not the most mentally
healthy way to be, but that’s just how I feel. I know I can be clueless, like with Mrs. Baumgarten and the speakers and the
muffler on my truck, but I swear to you that I’m trying to be better, and I think if you’d just give me a chance, you’d see
I can do more than lower your risk for heart attack through sex—although I’m more than happy to provide that service to you.
But when you’re ready, I’d love to meet your family, and maybe even introduce you to mine, if that’s something—”
She’s already crossing the kitchen to put her arms around me.
“Oh, Ash,” she says with a laugh, nuzzling up against me in a manner I could really get used to. “I’m sorry. I’d love to meet
your family. I didn’t ask you to Sunday Gravy because I didn’t think you’d want to go. Richard never wanted to go—”
I keep my opinion about that to myself, but it takes effort.
“And you’ve met my family,” she goes on. “They’re amazing, and I love them so much, but they’re . . . a lot. A whole lot.
Especially Mark. And my sisters. And my mother.” She takes a step away from me, then drops her face into her hands, embarrassed
again, just like with the DeLong kids. “Oh my God, my mother last night, with the grapes and sausage?”
I reach out and drag her back into my arms. “I loved meeting your mother last night. And I would be honored to go to Sunday
dinner with you. But only if you want me there. I’m happy to wait, if you’d rather.”
She looks up at me, and I see tears gathered beneath her long, dark eyelashes.
“Hey,” I say, alarmed. “Are you okay? Why are you crying? What did I do?”
“Nothing.” She’s shaking her head and smiling, but tears are sliding down her cheeks. “You didn’t do a thing. I’m not sad.
I’m happy. Maybe it’s the kittens. Maybe it’s oxytocin. But . . . Ash, I can’t believe how happy I feel.”
So what choice did I have then? All I could do was pull her close and kiss her.