A Shocking Request

“Hannah should not be using Cliffs Notes. She needs to read The Crucible. I read The Crucible in high school; you read it,” he heard himself babble. He stopped short, and took a deep breath. “Jenna, you want to go out to dinner Friday night?”

She glanced up at him, a soggy red paper in her hand with a name that resembled Anthony scrawled across it. She didn’t hesitate. “Sure. That would be nice.”

Jenna smiled and Grant relaxed. Hadn’t been so bad after all.

“Great,” he said. “Meet me at seven at that little French place you like?” He didn’t have the nerve to pick her up. That would, after all, make it a real date, wouldn’t it? “You know…separate cars in case I have to run home,” he explained.

“Sure. Works for me.”

The door to Jenna’s classroom opened, and kindergartners spilled out. “Oops, better get to the buses,” she said, getting to her feet.

Jenna went one way with her fifteen kindergartners, including his Maddy, and Grant went the other way. Only this time, his hands were in his pockets because he wanted them there, and he was whistling. He couldn’t remember the last time he had whistled.

Chapter Three

“Daddy’s got a date,” Becka chanted from her perch on a stepping stool at the kitchen counter. She stirred the brownie mix rhythmically. “Daddy’s got a date. Daddy’s got a date,” she sang.

“I do not have a date.” Grant pulled the homemade chicken potpie out of the oven. He hadn’t made the crust himself; it was refrigerator dough. But he still made a pretty mean chicken potpie, if he did say so himself.

“Daddy’s got a date,” Maddy repeated from the kitchen table. She was busy making a splint for a stuffed cat’s tail. “What’s a date, Becka?”

“I do not have a date,” Grant repeated, pulling the corn muffins out of the oven.

“A date is when a man takes a woman to dinner or to a movie or something. Dad’s going on a date with Aunt Jenna.”

“I am having dinner with Aunt Jenna so we can talk in peace.” Grant shut off the oven and slipped the flowered hot mitts off his hands. Jenna was meeting him at the restaurant, but if he didn’t hurry, he was going to be late.

“Daddy’s got a date with Aunt Jenna,” Maddy sang, ministering to the stuffed tabby that rested on her dinner plate in front of her. “Daddy’s got a date with Aunt Jenna.”

“Be quiet both of you,” Hannah said, coming into the kitchen. She was munching on a handful of celery sticks. “You’re making Dad nervous. This is his first date.”

“Does no one in this house hear me? This is not a date.” Grant whipped off the red chef’s apron he always wore in the kitchen to protect his clothing and hung it on its hook in the broom closet. All he had to do was grab his suit jacket off the dining chair and he’d be ready to go.

He had considered changing clothes after work, perhaps into a polo shirt and khakis. Something casual. But that would suggest this was a date, wouldn’t it? And he didn’t want to give Jenna the wrong idea. This wasn’t really a date. It was just…he was just…fulfilling an obligation to his dead wife. That was all.

“Homework. Showers…” Grant began to tick off his mental list of reminders for Hannah who was baby-sitting tonight.

“No homework tonight, Dad,” Becka said. “It’s Friday.”

“Okay. But only an hour of TV,” Grant said looking at Hannah again. “No matter what these imps tell you.” He gave Becka a squeeze as he walked behind her. “And no matter what they try to bribe you with.”

Becka laughed and licked chocolate batter from her finger.

Grant leaned over Maddy to kiss the back of her head. “Bye, sweets. Be good for Hannah or I’ll tie you up by your socks when I get home.”

“Bye, Dada,” Maddy said sweetly. “I hope you have a good date with Aunt Jenna. Don’t kiss her too much.”

Hannah burst into laughter. Becka giggled.

Grant looked wide-eyed at his two older daughters as if to ask, “Where did she get that from?”

His girls just shrugged.

Grant shook his head. He wouldn’t ask, else he would certainly be late. He took a deep breath. His stomach was nervous and his forehead was slightly damp. This was a bad idea. Going out to dinner with Jenna was a bad idea and he knew it. He shouldn’t be out with a woman. He belonged here with his children. But it was too late. He ducked into the dining room, grabbed his gray suit jacket and headed through the kitchen. He would just have to go through the motions of the dinner. Try to be good company and get out of there as soon as was reasonably possible.

“See you later, girls. Lock the door behind me. I have my cell phone if you need me,” he said, checking to be sure it was on his belt.

“Have a good time. Be safe. No alcohol. No drugs. Use your head. And call me if you need me to come get you, no questions asked,” Hannah said, repeating the same thing Grant always told her before she went out the door. “Love you!”

“Love you, girls.” The words stuck in his dry throat as he went out through the laundry room into the garage. Inside his Explorer, he laid his jacket on the seat so that it wouldn’t get wrinkled. Before he backed out of the garage, he took a tissue from the box between the two front seats and wiped his brow. As he wiped it, he caught a glimpse of himself in the rearview mirror.

Criminy, what was going on? Why was he so nervous? He looked petrified. He tucked the tissue into the garbage bag that hung behind the passenger seat and backed out of the garage and down the driveway.

It was just dinner with Jenna. Good old buddy Jenna. Jenna who he’d been friends with for a million years. Jenna who had been at his wedding. Been at the hospital for all his daughters’ births. Jenna who had stuck by him when Ally had gotten sick.

He was nervous because it wasn’t just dinner, no matter how he tried to convince himself otherwise. It was a date, and he hadn’t been on a real date in twenty years. He was nervous because he was scared to death.

Jenna parked her car on the street and walked up the sidewalk to wait for Grant in front of the small French bistro just off Main Street. She was looking forward to dinner because the restaurant was so popular during the tourist months that no locals ever attempted to get in until the crowds thinned. She hadn’t eaten here since spring and it was one of her favorite restaurants.

She spotted Grant’s dark-blue SUV approaching up the street. She waved and checked her watch. Two minutes until seven. She smiled to herself. It wasn’t like her to actually be on time, but it was just like Grant to be early.

She waited on the sidewalk for him to get out of his car, lock the door, then check to be sure it was locked—just as she knew he would. She pressed her hand to her stomach. She had butterflies.

Dinner with Grant was giving her butterflies?

She couldn’t fathom why. She and Grant had shared hundreds of dinners together, before he and Ally had married, after the wedding, after Ally died.

But this dinner was different, and not just because he had asked her out to a restaurant rather than having her over to the house. It was something else. Something she couldn’t quite put her finger on. Grant hadn’t acted like himself this week. Ever since the evening of his anniversary, he’d been acting oddly and it was somehow related to her.

“Hi,” he said, walking up the sidewalk, GQ handsome in his conservative gray suit, white shirt and red tie.

“Hi.” She smiled. She had changed from her school “uniform” of a long flowered skirt and blouse into a dress. After she had changed her clothes, she had wondered if that was mistake. Would Grant think she thought this was a date? Women only change after work for dates. They didn’t change for “just dinner with a friend.” In the end, she had left the dress on simply because she liked the green-and-blue floral pattern and the way the fabric felt on her skin.

“How are you?” Grant said, sounding awkward. He leaned over her and she turned her cheek for the perfunctory hello kiss. It had been a tradition between them for years and yet suddenly it seemed different. She felt her cheeks grow warm as he kissed her.

He was wearing cologne. She liked the scent that was musky, but not overwhelming. He normally only put cologne on after he showered in the morning. What was the cologne for? Her?

“Do we have reservations?” she asked as he opened the door for her.

“For seven, on the porch.”

She smiled. Of course they had reservations. Grant Monroe would never forget dinner reservations. Now she would forget reservations. She would show up fifteen minutes late because the cat got out. She would forget her purse. But not Grant. She had always admired his organizational skills. She had always told Ally that she could never live with the man, that he would drive her nuts, but she did admire him.

The hostess showed them to a table for two on the closed-in porch. There were fresh flowers on the linen-covered table and a candle. Grant pulled out Jenna’s chair for her and then took his seat across from her.

Jenna accepted the menu from the hostess and smiled up at her. “Thanks.”

“Your waitperson will be with you in a moment,” the hostess said, backing away.