Shaker Court
Started on 3/20/15
By Eric Kay


        Looking back now, I don’t feel betrayed. I see it for what it is worth. Trust is a fragile thing, but once earned, worth all the work. 
        It was after school on a Friday, and some colleagues of mine decided to go out to Zip’s Bar for a couple of cold ones. Nothing new, tradition really. After we were there for about 30 minutes, a woman who I didn’t know caught my eye, even in the dimly lit bar. She sat with a tall, plain looking guy in a booth while all of my friends were seated at the big table in the middle of the room. 
        She had long dark hair, but not too dark. She was light complected, but not pale. She had these amazing deep-set brown eyes however, almost black. She was about my age. And I couldn’t stop stealing glances at her. Yes, I was checking her out, but trying to at least be subtle about it.
        After another 30 minutes, the tall plain guy got up and left. Not toward the bathrooms in the back, but out the front door. The waitress returned, and I noticed that the woman ordered another drink. In an act of pure whimsy, I flagged down the waitress and paid for it myself. 
        I went back to the conversation at my table that began to quickly grow more and more boisterous. When I looked back, she was looking right at me. The power of those eyes struck me. On my second act of whimsy of the evening, I gestured her over to the vacant seat next to me as I mouthed, “care to join us?”
        I was pleasantly shocked when she smiled, stood up, and came over.
        “Hi,” I said as she approached. I pulled the chair out so she could set her drink down and sit easier. 
        “Hi,’ she replied with a smile.
        “My name is Ryan,” I stated, extending my hand.
        “Diane.”
        We proceeded to make small talk. I told her we were all teachers. I even stated that I hadn’t seen her in here before, as cliche as that sounds. (I was a couple in to the evening, after all.) 
        “I’ve never been in here before. I had to meet my accountant on this side of town, and he suggested this place. Earlier it was a bit quieter,” she said as she smiled at the noise coming from the other end of our table. 
        “Do you want to move?” I asked, actually realizing that I was glad the guy was just her accountant.
        “No, no, this is fun! I haven’t been out like this in a long time. All work and no play, they say!” she said, tipping up her wine glass. A minute later, the waitress returned, and we ordered another couple of drinks. We listened to the conversation around the table: politics, teacher shop talk, local issues. She and I talked about the area, the city, about music and what we liked.
        After a while, I looked around, and realized how quiet it was. Most of my friends had left, and the bar in general had really cleared out. I looked at my watch.
        “Holy shit! It’s 7:34. Where did the time go?” I asked, truly surprised.
        She smiled at my reaction as I realized I cussed. “Sorry,” I said.
        “No biggie! I’ve said worse. Time flies. I am hungry though.”
        I took the bait. “Should we get a booth? They have great burgers here.”
        “Sounds good.”
        We went back to the booth she had left earlier and ordered dinner. The conversation continued.
        “So, a teacher, huh?” she inquired. 
        “Well, I’m a junior high English teacher. I’m 34. I live right up the street in a tiny house, but I can afford the rent. I play the guitar. I love music. Pretty boring life. You?”
        Suddenly her whole demeanor changed. She crossed her arms and looked away for a long moment. I looked around the room, not wanting to make eye contact when she drew me back in. “I’m the same age. I work out of my home, mainly. I love music too.” She smiled then, back in the moment, and I didn’t push. 
        Dinner came and we ate. She asked me questions about school and my students, and I just rambled. I asked her if she wanted dessert as the waiter brought the check.
“No, I should probably be going.”
        “Are you ok to drive?” I asked.
        “How about a walk first? Up for it?” she asked, realizing I had a point.
        “Sure!”
        We walked around the Square, looking in the windows of the long-closed shops. We passed a firehouse, the firemen sitting out front enjoying the warm evening. We bought an ice cream, and just kept talking, sitting on a bench. Eventually, she said, “Okay, now I really need to get home.” We walked back around to her car. 
“Wow, nice car,” I stated, as I opened the door for her.
“Are you a ‘car guy’?” she asked.
“No, not really. I like cool old cars, I even own a ‘67 Mustang,” I said, trying hard to impress, “but I know little to nothing about mechanics. The internal combustion engine is basically the 8th wonder of the modern world to me,” I finished honestly. 
“Good. We’ll get along just fine.” 
“Yeah, if you know a good mechanic, send him my way.”
She smiled at that. “Will do. Ryan, I had a very good time tonight. Thank you for everything, especially the conversation.”
        “I really enjoyed it too. Can I call you?”
        She hesitated for just a second, then dug into the back pocket of her jeans and took out her phone. She took a picture of me all of a sudden, then with a smile, asked me for my number. I told her as she typed it in. Then suddenly my phone began to buzz in my pocket. When I reached for it, it stopped. “That was me.” She slipped easily into the car, waved once, and drove off. 
***
        I awoke the next day and immediately reached for my phone. I checked it and thought about calling her, but I hesitated. It was too early in the morning. Then about ten o’clock, I started thinking about calling her again. So I did. I asked her to dinner or maybe a movie. She accepted. 
        After the movie, we walked around the almost deserted mall. “So, I don’t mean to pry, but it seems like I’ve been doing most of the talking. Did you grow up around here?” I asked, changing the direction of the conversation. 
        “In Cincinnati. I grew up in a suburb on the West side of town. I went to school in the suburbs, but I ah, dropped out my senior year.” She stopped talking. She looked like she was deliberating what she wanted to tell me next. I waited patiently. I was happy with anything she had to say.
“My senior year was pretty rough. My mom was diagnosed with breast cancer right after I turned 17. She passed right before graduation, so I never graduated. I never finished the finals for Senior Comp. or Government. I never went back.” She looked off. It must have been hard to tell me that, especially since I’m a teacher, an English teacher at that.
“Did you get your GED?” I asked into the silence. She shook her head. “Shall we walk?” I asked, purposely changing the subject. 
She smiled, understanding, but didn’t reply, didn’t move. “It’s okay. I’m all grown up now, you know. Like I said, it was a tough time. Mom taught me a lot of things, and not giving up was one of them. She fought like a warrior. The cancer was the easy part. The chemo killed her. She just didn’t have enough to bounce back. I watched her day after day waste away in front of me, and I vowed to never compromise. Never to give up either. Life is too damn short.”
“What did you do after she passed? That must have been tough, at 17 and all.”
“Well, I lived with my step dad and little sister who now didn’t have a mom or a wife, so I cooked and cleaned, and I learned to work on cars,” she said, like Cinderella remembering the Ball. “My step-dad was a drunk, but a hell of a nice guy. We still exchange Christmas cards, you know? He taught my little sister and I some basic mechanicing. I took to it like a duck in water. I love getting my hands dirty, tearing down an engine or the challenge of rebuilding a carburetor. Dad gave me a ‘78 El Camino. It ran well but the body needed work, so I learned body work too. He had given my mom a nice ‘57 Chevy when they got married. She drove it everyday until she got too sick. I drove her to her appointments in it too.”
She stopped and took a sip of iced tea. She looked out the window for a long moment, then she looked into my eyes. She didn’t say anything. It was like she wanted me to know what she was thinking, but I didn’t. I just waited, wanting to hear more of the story. “So, I worked with my step-dad on cars and helped raise my little sister.” She finished, and I could tell that that was the end of the story, or at least as much as she wanted to tell me then. “Ready for that walk now?” she asked.
“Why didn’t you move out? Get a place of your own?“ I asked as we walked.
“I couldn’t afford it. Mouths to feed you know? Also, I think I was kinda into being the Mom figure. Taking care of things. I think I thought that my mom would have wanted me to do that.”
         She had church the next morning, so I had to end the evening earlier than I would have liked. We had met at the mall, so I walked her to her car. In the cool night air, the humidity had dropped since the rain earlier, I reached for her hand. She let me take it.
“When can I see you again?” I asked.
“I’m pretty busy this week. Maybe next Saturday?” she replied. She stopped, and I realized we were at her car, but it wasn’t the same as last night. She noticed my confusion. She smiled and said, “I work with mechanics, so I drive a lot of different cars. Call me soon, ok?” I nodded as she slid into the driver’s seat. She started the car, and I was taken by the rumble of the exhaust. With that, she was off.
***
We had seen each other off and on for over two weeks. In my limited experience, not to sound like one of my students, but I figured we were going steady. Actually, my students don’t even talk like that anymore. The thing was, I hadn’t kissed her yet. Now, I’m no Romeo, but I’ve kissed a few women in my time, no complaints either, but Diane made me nervous, like, I didn’t want to screw this one up.
***
It was a nice night as we walked through the parking lot. “Want to get a beer?” I asked, not wanting the night to end.
“Sure. You can drive.” We walked to my car and she asked, “This you?” pointing to my car. “‘67?” I nodded. “Looks a little past its prime, but it’s my favorite Mustang body style. I like it better than the fastback years.”
        “Me too. I’ve had it since college. I bought it for $2000 and thought it was the coolest ride! It’s held up well too. New alternator is about it, other than rubber and oil.”
        “Body hasn’t done well with Cincinnati salt. 289?”
        I nodded. “Nothing fancy. Someday I’ll have the time and money to fix her up.”
        “I understand that.”
        “You do know your cars!” 
        “Yeah, my step-dad taught me pretty well.”
        I was fumbling with my keys and then dropped them. As I stood from picking them up, Diane was suddenly right in front of me. Very close. The sun was setting and was full in her face, setting off the highlights of her dark hair, reflecting the world in her eyes. I took a deep breath, breathing her in, and asked, “Would it be ok if I kissed you?”
        “I seriously thought you’d never ask,” she replied with a warm smile, so I did.
***
  

We laid on a lounge chair in the growing dark, the only light coming from the streetlight above my front porch. I’d put Bob Seger’s Against the Wind on after Billy Joel’s Glass Houses. Solid classic rock. 
“What do you think he means by ‘He was afraid to cut the cake’?” she asked, laying her head on my shoulder.
        “Getting older, I guess,“ I replied after a moment. “Did you know that both Seger and Billy Joel left home and went to the West Coast for inspiration? Seger left Detroit and Billy left Long Island.” 
        “Funny you should bring that up,” she replied.
        “Why”?
        “Just brings back memories, that’s all. When I was 15, maybe 16, years old, my best friend Linda and I were inseparable. We did everything together. Our big thing was church. We were raised in a very fundamental Pentecostal church, and we had the same classes together, studied together, double dated, and slept over at each other's houses all the time. I was a little older than her, and I had really wanted to learn how to drive, so I took driver’s ed before she did. 
“Well, when she went through, she met a boy, and they dated for most of our sophomore year. He was pretty cool, and like I said, we doubled a lot, so I got to know him pretty well. Fast forward several years to after his first year of college. Long after he and Linda had broken up, I ran into him at a record store, and we started dating that summer. We had a great time together, having been friends from back in the day, you know? We went to concerts and hung out a lot. It was purely platonic. I mean, we made out, but that was about it. It was just good to hang with someone I trusted again. I needed that, that summer. His name is Eric, and he told me once that he hoped I’d find someone who treats me as well as I deserve. We were very open with each other. 
“So, long story short, he went back to school, and I was thinking very seriously about moving to the West Coast. At the end of the summer, he went back to college, and I loaded up my El Camino and went to find my biological dad. I had seen my sister through high school. I started a whole new chapter in my life after that summer.”
“West Coast, huh? Cool. I went to LA in college on a Spring Break trip once with some buddies. Tell me about your dad.”
“Well, in the end, there’s not much to tell. I knew his name and basic whereabouts from Mom. She’d send a school picture of me to him every year, I guess. A couple of years after Mom’s passing, I looked up everybody with that name in the Lake Tahoe area, and he was it. I wrote him a letter and told him about Mom. I didn’t expect anything from him. But a few weeks later, I got a $100 bill and his phone number back in a letter inviting me out. It took me a while to decide. My friend Eric helped a lot.”
“How long were you in California?” I asked.
“Two years,” she replied. 
“Wow,” I replied.
“But it wasn’t with Dad. He turned out to be a drunk too, and not a nice one. He didn’t hit me or anything, but I woke up one morning, and he had taken all of my cash and went on a bender.” She sat for a minute, thinking, then finished her beer. “I had been there for about a month. He had introduced me to his family. I didn’t know it, but I actually had three older brothers. They lived in Huntington Beach, so I called them in a panic. They weren’t surprised at all. By the end of the day, they were there at the cabin, got us loaded up in my El Camino, and I never looked back. I haven't talked to him since.” 
“So what did you do in SoCal?”
She smiled for the first time in the story. I couldn’t help but smile back. “I worked on cars with my brothers. I learned a lot. I really got into body work too, doing some custom stuff. I was a decent mechanic but never thought of earning a living doing it. I’m a girl after all!” We laughed, but the irony was that she was earning a living working with mechanics still.
“I’ve never met a chick mechanic before,” I said, wiggling my eyebrows. “It's kinda hot.” I pulled her in, and we kissed for a long time. Up to that point I was very comfortable letting her make the moves, but I got caught up in the moment. As I slipped my hand up the back of her blouse, she immediately pulled back. “I’m sorry!”
“No, no, it's okay. I just need things to move slow, that’s all,” she said, looking at the floor.
“Whew! That’s good! Works for me,” I said trying to make light of what I had done, but afraid that I came off sarcastic. I changed the subject. “Need another beer?”
“Yes, please. Mind if I change the music?”
I replied, “not at all,” as I left for the kitchen. 
When I returned I asked, “So why did you come back to Cincy?” I handed her a beer.
She sat back down, seeming happy with the line of questioning now. “Well, I basically got homesick. My sister Sarah was here, and I really missed her, and she still needed me, so I came back.”
“Does your sister still live here?”
        “Oh yeah. We, ah, work together,” she replied, taking a long pull of beer.
“I’d like to meet her.”
“Maybe,” she said cryptically. “Want to dance?”
“Sure,” I replied, knowing that the Q&A was over.
We danced. It was nice to just hold her and feel the music. “You’re a pretty good dancer,” she whispered in my ear.
“Thanks,” I replied. “It’s not exactly Prom, but my living room will have to do.” 
“I never went to Prom,” she said into my shoulder. “It was just another thing at the end of Senior year. I wasn’t dating anybody, not that the boys were breaking down my door to either.”
“Diane,” I said, completely on a whim, as I stopped dancing, took a knee, and held her hand in front of me formally, “Would you go to the high school Prom with me?” I was thinking fast. It was certainly doable. “My friends at the high school are always complaining about needing dance chaperones. Let me take you.”
        “Ok,” she said after a moment. Then she giggled.
***
        We had arranged to meet for a quick dinner the evening of Parent Teacher Conferences at a small diner for just a quick bite, and I arrived early. As I approached the front of the restaurant, I saw Diane, through the front window, leave a table walking toward the restroom. There was another woman at the table, and I knew immediately that it was Sarah, Diane’s younger sister. The resemblance was undeniable. I tentatively approached the table. Sarah had risen and was putting on a light jacket over denim overalls. “You must be Ryan,” she said, extending her hand in a firm handshake. 
        “I’m guessing you’re Sarah,” I replied and noticed her surprise.
        “I am. It’s nice to meet the mystery man, finally! Diane has spoken highly of you. What all has Diane told you about me?” 
“Ah, not much. Just that you’re a couple of years younger and that you two work together.”
“She’s a pretty private person. Work together, huh? Well, if she talks to you, it speaks volumes about how she feels about you. You got a good one. Don’t screw it up!” And with a good natured smile and a pat on the arm, she left.
I sat and within a minute, Diane returned to the table. “Ah, good timing,” she said as she sat, but immediately noticed the look on my face.
“Did you just get here?” I asked, testing the water for myself.
“Ah, no, I met someone here earlier and just went to the ladies room. Why?”
I hesitated for only a second. Her reaction had thrown me off balance. I don’t know why I was suspicious. I decided to just be honest. “I met your sister, just now.”
Diane’s head popped up from the menu, obviously surprised. “Oh,” was all she said.
“She seems cool,” I said, trying to be cool as well. After a moment, I continued, “Well, I gotta hustle back. Sorry I don’t have much time tonight, with conferences and all.”
Distractedly, she said, “Oh, that’s right. I have a work meeting tonight too. Tonight is Parent Teacher Conferences. You told me that.” And we sat in silence for a minute while we studied the menus. We ordered, made small talk, ate, and left. 
***
We had been dating for over two months, and had seen each other more and more. One Saturday afternoon she came over. She had to go to the bathroom upon arrival, so as she went to the bathroom, I sat and thought about the last few months. It dawned on me that I was pretty sure I was in love. I had stopped bugging her about her life. When she was ready, she would tell me things. For now, I just enjoyed our time together. 
        When she returned, still drying her hands, she had a twinkle in her eye. “It’s a beautiful day. Let’s go for a drive.”
        “Ah, okay,” I replied. 
        As we left my house, I saw a gorgeous rare Shelby Cobra parked at the curb. “Wow,” I said. Is this what you’re driving today?”
        “Yup, jump in. It’s a kit, not an original, but it does have a 427 Cobra Jet in it,” she said as the engine rumbled to life.
        As we drove away, I waved at a couple of old guys down the street whose jaws were open. I couldn’t help but smile. I looked over and saw the sunlight in Diane’s dark hair, pulled back in a long, tight French braid. She was wearing classic Ray-Ban sunglasses and a snug t-shirt. Nothing fancy, but very becoming. I smiled some more. “Where are we going?”
        “You’ll see,” she replied cryptically.
        We drove for a few miles slowly leaving the suburbs behind. As developments gave way to acreage, and acreage began to give way to farms, she pulled the car over. I thought she was going to let me drive. “Hand me my purse please.” I did, and she took a $50 bill from her wallet. She handed her purse back to me, and I put it on the floor at my feet again. She then took the fifty and closed the top of it in the glove compartment in front of me. She smiled. “When I say “go,” you can have that fifty if you can reach it.”
        “Ah, it’s right there hanging out,” I replied naively. Her eyes twinkled.
        “Should be easy money then,” she said as she pulled back onto the rural highway. No other cars were in sight along the long straight stretch of gray pavement. 
        As she was about to drop the Cobra into second gear, she shouted above the wind and engine, “Go!” as she stomped on the accelerator.
        My body slammed back in the seat so hard that my breath caught in my throat. I thought, This must be what astronauts feel at lift-off! I tried with everything I had to reach the fifty, but she quickly shifted into third, then fourth and we had to be going over 100 miles per hour! I had never accelerated that fast in my life. I gave up on the fifty and just let the rush of the moment pound through me. Wow!
***
        “So, you asked me once when we first met if I was a “car guy”. I get the impression that you’re not impressed with “car guys,” but you’re a “car gal,” making myself smile after using “air quotes” three times in the same sentence.
        Diane smiled back. “Is there a question there? Or is this like an English teacher writing prompt?”
        I could sense her instinct to avoid the question, so I just shrugged my shoulders and waited. 
        “I dated a guy who was the quintessential ‘car guy,’” she said, with air quotes, and we both laughed. “When I was young, and stupid, and living in California. He was damn good looking, with wavy dark hair to his shoulders, and that V shape you find in swimmers, but he was way more buff,” she looked up at me with that twinkle, but I just smiled back, not taking the bait. She continued, “What actually caught my eye was his ‘65 Vette. I have a soft spot for the ‘63’s but they’re so rare. The problem was that he was a chauvinistic pig. He was very charming when we first started dating, but when he found out that I was basically a better mechanic than he was, or actually that I was a mechanic with a vagina, he was a bit put-off. He started talking to me like I was a 5 year old in kindergarten.”
        “Gee, I bet that went over well!” I laughed.
        “Ah, no. Not really. After that, I started steering clear of ‘car guys’.”
        “No pun intended” and we both laughed. 
        “Ok, Mr. Johnson,” she said, using my teacher name. “Tell me about your first car.”
        I laughed out loud. “My first car was a 1978 Plymouth Volaire! It was gun-metal gray with red vinyl bench seats. It was a 4-door and looked like an unmarked police car. My friends even called it the Squad Car. It had a slant-6 225 that was quick off the line but useless after about 30 miles per hour. I tore the pushbutton AM radio out and replaced it with an AM/FM cassette player and 300 watt EQ/Amp with two four inchers in the firewalls up front and two six by nines on the back deck,” I said, sucking in my belly and running my hands through my short hair to tossel it. Diane laughed, probably more at my car than at me trying to look like her ex, which wasn’t all bad, I guess. “I got my first ticket in it when I turned a 4-door Ford Escort into a 2-door Ford Escort by slamming into the back of it. I bounced my girlfriend off the windshield and have been religious about wearing my seatbelt ever since.”
        “Was she ok?”
        “Yeah, concussion and some minor cuts, but it could have been much worse. You? First ticket?”
        “The El Camino my step-dad gave me. It was a ‘78. The body looked like shit but it screamed! I don’t know what he was thinking when he gave it to me. I got popped for 105 mph on I-275, this side of Tri-County. It took some sweet talking and a button or two to not get arrested. Of course I was only 16,” she finished, as she unbuttoned her blouse a couple of buttons, coming up to me, batting her eyes, and planting a deep kiss. 
        “I’m sure the cop didn’t want to have anything to do with you!” 
        “Not when he saw my driver’s license said I was only 16!” and we laughed even harder.
***
        She picked up on the third ring. “I have an idea. Some teacher buddies of mine from school have a band, and they’re playing at Zip’s Saturday night. Would you like to go?”
        “Yes,” she replied. “I love live music!”
***
 After the show, as we were waiting for all of the cars to exit, I asked, “Okay, since you love music so much. What’s the best show you ever saw?” 
“The summer that I left for Cali was a great summer of concerts. Remember that boy I told you about, Eric, who dated my friend Linda back in high school?” I nodded. “I scored a package deal to Riverbend Amphitheater for us. Eric and I saw Tom Petty, Rod Stewart, Jimmy Buffett, and Don Henley together, all that summer. I had never seen any of those guys before. All the shows were cool, but Tom’s concert was just one of those magical nights. Buffett was fun with all the Parrot Head stuff people wear. I even had a margaretta that night! Henley and Raunchy Rod played the old songs, but Tom was special. It was truly a magical night,” she repeated. “The temperature was perfect. There was no lead-in act. The Heartbreakers played for almost three hours, and we sang along to every song! We were hoarse after the show! The entire crowd just became one mass voice. When he played “Breakdown” he just let the audience sing the song to him! The band never missed a beat either. Damn, that was fun. What was your favorite?” 
I think for a minute. “There were a lot. I’ve seen some great shows. I saw BB King twice. Had great seats to Jimmy Buffett several times. Kiss, Seger, Billy Joel, Styx, Eagles. I love me some Classic Rock, you know.”
“Who haven’t you seen that you’d still like to?” 
“Wow, I would love to see The Kinks, The Stones of course, Springsteen...yeah, those are all bucket-listers.”
***
“So, I have a bit of a surprise for you tonight,” and with that a million things shoot through my mind. Diane has picked me up after school. It’s a Wednesday night, so it feels weird, and she’s been cryptic for about a week. We drive downtown and park the new Lincoln she’s driving tonight in a parking garage. “Ditch the tie, Mr. Johnson,” and I do.
We have dinner at a small but very up-scale cafe, but she won’t tell me anything about tonight. She asks me about school, my students, my day. Anything big coming up? I answer, waiting for a hint. Nothing.
“I really enjoyed myself the other night at Zip’s. Your teacher friends know how to play.”
“Yeah, I’ve sat in with them a few times too on guitar. They’ve been together for several years and it shows, I think,” I reply, sipping my beer.
“You asked me the other night about concerts. You said you’ve seen Buffett? How many times?”
        “Ah, like six. We were probably at the same show that you described the other night now that I think about it. The first time I saw him was out across from Kings Island amusement park at the old ATP tennis stadium. He played for about 30 minutes, took a short break,” I say, miming a snorting motion, “then came back and played for like three hours. It was epic. That was in the 80’s. When we left, the parking was a CF, so we just sat around waiting for traffic to clear out. I looked over and this old AMC Hornet 4-door is just rockin back and forth! All of a sudden, it stops, the back door opens and this naked ass guy slides out and pulls up his shorts, as his lady is pulling her halter back down. We just busted up. They got back in the front seat and drove away.”
During my story, Diane keeps checking her watch. When I finish, she pays the bill and asks if I’m ready for a walk.
We start to walk downtown, not back to the garage. As we come around the corner by the river, I see a huge sign lit up, announcing that the Rolling Stones are playing tonight. I’m about to mention the coincidence, when I see the look on her face.
She leads me inside, past the ticket takers and security, and down to the floor. We just keep getting closer and closer to the stage. I can’t believe it. 
“How did you score tickets, let alone this close? These must have cost a fortune!” She just smiles at me. We waited around for about a beer and the opening act took the stage. By the time the Stones finished that night, I was very pleasantly exhausted.
***
A few nights later, Diane came over to my house after work. I had been grading essays, and it was getting late, so I asked if she wanted to order a pizza.
        “No, that’ll take too long,” she replied. “What do ya have here?”
        “I make a mean omelet.” She nodded, and I began taking ingredients from the fridge. As I cooked, I started thinking about the day. It had been a rough one. I think Diane could sense my mood. 
        “How was your day?” she asked.
        “Honestly?” She nodded, so I continued. “Not the easiest I’ve ever had. We had an assembly about suicide prevention, and it opened up a can of worms with a couple of kids this afternoon. They stuck around after class, and we talked about what all they are going through. It’s just hard seeing kids go through some of that stuff. It’s hard enough on adults.” We sat that way for a while as I cooked. 
        “Ever wonder why bad things happen to good people? Like, the loss of a child. That just goes against the natural order of things,” I stated, thinking back to my conversation with one of my students.
        She thought for a minute before saying, “I think it's for two reasons. One, it makes us stronger as people, prepares us for the crap in life. It actually makes us better people, because, two, it forces us to keep things in perspective. Life is too precious to waste, and those kinds of things, more than old people dying after a nice long life, force us to remember that. My mom was only 37 when she passed. I’m almost that age now. Losing a parent though is one thing; a child would be devastating. I don’t even want to imagine. I was so young when Mom died, and I just went on autopilot for a long time. Your kids are even younger, right? What age did you tell me?”
        “Ninth graders, so 15 or so. Our school is seventh through ninth, so they’re freshmen, but they’re at the top of the heap grade-wise. Next year they’ll start high school, and that’ll be tough in and of itself.”
        Diane became very quiet again, and I sensed I shouldn’t push. I was getting to know her expressions and moods pretty well by this point. This time though, it was almost like she had more to say but didn’t want to or was afraid to. I finished up, dished up the meal, lit a couple of candles, and we switched to small talk.
***
On the night of Prom, Diane called and told me she was running late and would just meet me at the restaurant. I got to Antone’s a little early, but had the perfect table reserved. My friend Tony, who used to teach American HIstory and Government, realized that he could make more money waiting tables than teaching, so had quit about three years ago. He was the perfect waiter: attentive, but not overbearing, with an amazing eye for detail. 
When Diane arrived, he personally escorted her to the table. I stood as Tony helped her with her chair. He took our drink order and left.
“Wow,” I said. “You look stunning.” She blushed. “If I were a cop, I wouldn’t give you a ticket if you were wearing that,” I said. She got the reference, and we laughed.
“Sorry I’m late. I got called into work to put out a fire, and it took me longer than I expected. It's been awhile since I’ve worn a formal dress and all. You look very handsome tonight as well.” 
“Thanks,” and with that Tony came back with our drinks. 
The second Diane put her menu down, Tony returned. “Would you like to order?”
Diane ordered and then Tony turned to me. We had worked all of this out beforehand. “And Monsieur Johnson would like the usual, I assume?”
“Please,” was all I said.
“Very well,” he finished and left. 
I looked back, and Diane just cracked up laughing! She saw right through my efforts to impress her.
“What? I’m a regular!” I said, feigning innocence. “I’m just trying to impress you!”
“You should stick with Tony; he’s a good waiter, but his French is a little out of place in an Italian restaurant,” and with that we both started laughing.
We talked of school, and cars, the Stones concert, and whatever popped into our minds. We felt like two kids on Prom Night. We declined dessert and a second cocktail. As Tony left with my credit card, I pulled a corsage from a small bag. She offered her wrist, and I slipped it on. She smiled.
Diane had driven the Lincoln to the restaurant, so we took it to the high school. The gym was decorated with a huge old parachute that gave it a “ceiling” effect and allowed the lights to play off of it. The DJ played all of the music the kids wanted to hear at an ear blistering level, and we danced almost every dance. My favorites were, of course, the slow dances. 
When the DJ announced the last dance, a slow one, we came together on the outside of the dance floor. I wasn’t a very good chaperone that night because I couldn’t take my eyes off of Diane. 
She took my hand as we began to spin slowly. “Thank you for tonight. It was perfect. I don’t think I would’ve had this much fun my senior year.”
“For one thing, we couldn’t have danced this close,” I said, because we were really close.
She smiled and pulled me tighter. 
***
Later that night at my house, we sat there in the dark after making out for a while. I got up and put another log on the small fire in the fireplace. My place wasn’t much, but at least it had a cool old fireplace. The days were warm, but the evenings were still chilly.
“It seems like I talk about my exs a lot. I’m sorry,” she said.
“No, no, that’s cool. I enjoy hearing about your past relationships. It tells me a lot about you,” I replied. “Although, I’m glad to hear some of these guys are in your past! Sounds like you dated some pretty cool guys,” I said with a touch of sarcasm (and maybe a bit of jealousy).
        “Yeah, and some assholes too,” Diane said, missing my sarcasm. She took a deep breath and seemed to be staring through the wall into the past. “When I was in high school I didn’t drink or smoke. I watched my step-dad and the way that he was, and it scared me, but I dated boys who liked to smoke and drink. I guess I’m a lot like my mom.” She took another deep breath and looked at me. “One of those boys, Trey, and I had dated for over a year. One night, after we had broken up, he talked me into coming over to tell me that he wanted to get back together. I still sort of liked him, I guess, so I went. Mom had been diagnosed, and I was in a weird place in my head. I really just needed a friend and somebody to hold me, you know?” I nodded, sensing the intensity of her story. “I realized very quickly that he was high. The house was filled with smoke. His buddies were over, smoking, and I guess I got a contact-high. We went to his room and fooled around. My judgment was more than clouded, and we didn’t use protection. It was consensual; he didn’t rape me or anything, but I broke it off the next day for good. Several weeks later, I realized . . . that I was pregnant.”
I waited for her to continue, but she stayed silent. It was dark, so I couldn’t see her face. Finally, she said, “When I told him, he was petrified. He didn’t want to have anything to do with the baby, so I took care of everything. Telling Mom was the hardest part for me. She got pregnant with me at about the same age, and she already had a lot on her plate.” She went silent again. 
I didn’t know what “took care of everything” meant, so I didn’t say anything. I could feel the tension in her body, then I felt her crying.
“Heah, it’s ok,” I said into her hair as I pulled her closer.
“No, it’s not. Ryan, you’re a great guy, and I really like you.”
Holy shit! Was this going where I thought it was going? I thought we were good! I ventured, “Diane, I like you a lot too...”
“I need to tell you something that is big, but I’m afraid I waited too long to tell you. I do really like you, and I don’t want to screw this up, but I have to tell you. I’m sorry I waited so long. I wanted to tell you before, but now I’m afraid to lose your trust because I’ve waited too long.”
“Diane, just tell me. Get it out and let’s talk about it.”
“Ryan,” she hesitated. “I kept the baby.” I was confused. What baby? Then the enormity of it hit me.
“Oh,” was all I could initially manage. 
        We laid there for quite awhile in each other’s arms. “You need to say something,” she said, finally. 
        “You amaze me,” I started. “Your mother passed, you didn’t graduate, hell, you didn’t even get to go to Prom, you helped raise your little sister with a drunk step-dad, you pulled up all stakes to move to California to meet a family you knew basically nothing about...and you did it all with a baby! Wow! You are the gutsiest, strongest woman I have ever met,” I told her in the dark. “Was it, is it, a girl or a boy?”
        “A girl. She’s beautiful.”
         “I would love to meet her.” 
***
The last day of school for teachers was in the bag, so we all met at Zip’s again. Diane met me there when she finished at work. We had a couple of drinks then decided to just have dinner there. After that, we went back to my place. I put some music on as Diane opened a bottle of wine. A great breeze was blowing through the house, the air smelled like the lilacs from the yard, and the humidity wasn’t bad yet either. 
        “Want to dance?” I asked.
        “Sure,” she replied.
        After almost a whole song, she looked up at me in a way I had never seen. She held me very tight for a minute, then pulled back to kiss me deeply. She stopped, and we caught our breath. 
        “You know it’s funny, but I don’t know your middle name,” she said quietly as we began dancing again.
        “It’s William. Why?” I asked.
        “Because a friend of mine told me years ago to never make love to a man unless I know his middle name.” She paused to let that sink in. “Do you want to go into the bedroom?” she asked.
        “Is that a trick question in any way?” I asked, not even bothering to keep the grin from my face. She blushed, took my hand, and led me down the hall. Luckily I had cleaned my bedroom and made the bed that morning! She closed the drapes and sat on the bed, patting the spot next to her. 
        It was almost painstakingly slow, but so worth it. The anticipation alone about killed me. I let her make all the moves and take her time, but when we finished, I felt her pull away from my embrace.
“Are you okay?” I asked with concern.
        “Yeah, I’ll be fine,” she said as she climbed from the bed and went quickly to the bathroom.
When she returned, she sat at the edge of the bed, the moonlight from the window playing softly on her exposed skin. I heard her sniff. “I’m sorry if I hurt you,” I whispered gently.
“No, no, it's not that,” she said as she pulled back the sheet and returned to my side. “I, it's just,” she started, swallowed, reached for a tissue, wiped her eyes and nose, then continued. “It’s been a long time since I made love. A very long time. I was very nervous about it, but I really like you, actually, I think I’m in love with you. Just, suffice it to say that it was...I needed that. Not just physically either. More than I realized.” She smiled but started to cry again, and I held her close. “The last time wasn’t the best experience of my life.” 
We laid there for a while with her head on my shoulder, when I had a sudden thought. “Wait,” I said. “Trey from high school wasn’t the last time, was it?” I asked, completely floored. 
“Wow,” she replied, “You even remembered his name. Yeah, it was. It led to some very hard times in my life. I think I felt for a long time that I was just too busy for a relationship, but I really just thought I didn’t deserve to be happy. I just wasn’t sure if I could ever feel like that again. And you made me feel like that again. Thank you.”
I thought about her words for a long time, days in fact, and still do from time to time. I felt honored to help her heal, and to make love to her. She’s a woman who could have just about any guy, and she picked me. And not just to hang out with. Pretty heady stuff, having a woman cry after you make love to her. Having her pick you.
Later that night, well past midnight, I rolled over and saw the moonlight from the window reflected back from her eyes. Quietly, she asked, “When’s your birthday?”
I raised up on my elbow, growing more awake before I replied, “Two weeks actually. It’s always right after school gets out.”
She smiled at that and replied, “That doesn’t give me much time. Night, Ryan. Sleep well.” And with that, she rolled over and spent the night for the first time. 
***
  



        Diane told me she was throwing me a birthday party and gave me an address. It has to be wrong or some friend’s house. This place is huge!
        I ring the doorbell and a man answers. “Hello, is Diane here? Do I have the right place?” I ask.
        “Depends. What’s your name?”
        “I’m Ryan. Diane Temple is hosting a birthday party for me.”
        “Ah, you’re in the right place! Ryan, my name is Eric. I’m an old friend of Diane’s. Come in. Come in!” I enter and he closes the tall front door behind me. I look through the living room and what appears to be a dining room through the windows of the back wall of the house onto a huge swimming pool. There are scores of people already here.”
        “Mr. Johnson? What are you doing here?” comes a familiar voice from a side hall. I turn and look into a kitchen full of teenagers. The voice comes from one of my students.
        “Cassie, what are you doing here?” I ask.
        “Ah, Mr. Johnson, I live here. What are you doing here? “
        Awkwardly, I look at Eric. “Ah, Diane Temple invited me to a party here.”
        “Wait, my mom invited you? That means. . . you’re my mom’s boyfriend!?” Cassie bursts into laughter as several other former ninth grade students of mine come up behind her. Eric excuses himself to go find Diane. 
        “Wait, your Diane’s daughter?” My awkwardness turns to embarrassment. I feel my face flush, and I begin to sweat. I look around the house waiting to be invited in or kicked out or just to find a place for my eyes to rest. This house is huge. It’s a mansion. The antiques in the dining room must be worth a fortune alone. Wait, and this is Diane’s house? I missed a memo! She said she was a mechanic. For who, the Pope? 
        And slowly, my embarrassment turns to anger. I feel stranded, out of my depth. I turn and reach for the front door. Eric hasn’t returned and the kids are oblivious to me. 
        I hear a woman’s voice call me, but I just keep walking. 
        Finally, just before I reach my old Mustang, a hand grabs my arm and spins me around. “Ryan, stop,” Sarah’s voice pulls me from my headlong exit. “What’s wrong?”
        I’m surprised at first to see her. “She lied to me! She’s filthy rich! Look at this house! She’s not a mechanic! She lied to me! And her daughter! She was one of my students! How could I be so stupid and not see at least that!? Cassie Temple! She could’ve at least told me that!” My ears are ringing.
        “Wait, what? Cassie was your student? When?”
        “Sarah, it's beside the point! Diane has lied to me the entire time we’ve been dating. I’ve fallen in love with her, and she has done nothing but lie to me!”
“I have never lied to you, Ryan.” I whirl around to find Diane who has come up behind me. She has heard what I said to her sister. “I may not have always told you the entire truth, and I had good reasons, but I have never lied to you. I am sorry, but if you give me a minute, I can explain.”
I look at her in the evening sunlight. Her hair shines. Her beautiful shape throws a long shadow down the huge front yard. Her dark eyes hold a passion, a need to explain that stops the next words in my throat. “Let’s go for a drive. Your car,” she says.
Without thinking, I get in and start the engine. Before I reach the top of the street, Diane turns to me and begins talking. I take a deep breath, concentrate on traffic and just listen. ”Yes, I have done well financially. I have worked my ass off to earn every cent. I vowed the day that my biological father robbed me, that a man would never have the chance to do that again. My sister and I own and operate Temple Motors. Yes, that’s us. Just she and I. We’ve built it from the ground up over the last 10 years. We started by selling Mom’s ‘57 Chevy for capital. Ryan, first and foremost, you have to forgive me for not telling you that, although I’d thought you’d figured it out a hundred times. I had to know beyond a shadow of a doubt that you love me, not just my money.”
“But what about Cassie?” I plead. I want so much to believe her.
“Ryan, you have to believe me! I had no idea that Cassie was in your class. I did tell you about her. I’ve never told another man about her since Trey. I was afraid that when you found out I’m a package deal, you would run. You didn’t run then; don’t run now. I told you I work with cars, and I do. I’ve told you more about my past than ANY other man, any other person except my own sister! Please don’t run!” She hesitated, then said, “Ryan, I love you. What are you grinning about?”
“Diane, I love you too, but I’m almost out of gas. Where are we going?”
“Back to my house please.”
We sat in silence, each in our own heads, the rest of the way home. 
***
“Oh, my god!” Cassie exclaimed, running across the lawn as we pulled up. As I got out of the car, she ran up to me. I thought she was going to hug me. “Mr. Johnson, I am so sorry for how I treated you! I didn’t mean to laugh. I turned back to talk to you and you were gone. My Aunt Sarah said you and Mom had an argument! I’m so sorry! Mom talks about you all the time; I just didn’t know it was you!” It all came out in a near-tearful rush. 
“Cassie, Cassie, it’s ok, kiddo! Your mom and I talked, and I’m figuring some new things out, that’s all. We’re good. We’re good.”
At that, Sarah ran to us. She did hug me, awkwardly. “Ryan, don’t go! You’re so good for Diane.”
This time it was Diane who jumped in. “Sarah, Sarah, it’s ok. Ryan’s not going anywhere, right?” she said as she looked at me.
“Right, I’m not going anywhere,” I stated, maybe a bit too loud. “By the way, you guys, who are all of these people in the backyard?”
Everybody turned and laughed. It was a party after all. We went into the backyard, and I realized I knew most of the people there. Kids from Cassie’s class, colleagues, my mom, and several of Diane’s friends, even her accountant, who she and Sarah introduced me to. 
After about 30 minutes, Diane made an announcement. Everyone quieted as she approached what I had thought was a huge cake on a table. I suddenly realized that it was not a cake. Diane began, “Thank you for coming today. I realized just a little while ago that today has been a bit of a shock for our guest of honor. Mr. Johnson, please join me.” 
I approached her from across the yard, walking around the pool and through most of the guests. I definitely felt in the spotlight when I finally got to her. I did smile at the formal use of my name though.
“Ryan, it is a testament to you as a person that all I had to do was ask and all of these people showed up. You are an amazing boyfriend,” she smiled, “an amazing teacher, and an amazing friend. I wanted to get you a little something for your birthday.” With that, she pulled the cake decorated sheet from off the big table, but it wasn’t a table. It was a fully restored 1967 Mustang. And judging by the hood scoop, it didn’t have a little 289 engine in it either.
I was speechless.
***
That was a little over a year ago. Diane and I are still seeing each other, exclusively, but still going nice and slow, but I might be moving in soon. I gave my old Mustang to Cassie, who not only loves it, but is working with her mom and aunt on the weekends to fix it up to drive to high school. I think about my birthday from time to time. Within seconds I could have thrown all of this away. Trust is a fragile thing, but once earned, worth all the work.