A MATTER OF TIME BOOK II
BY
Mary Calmes
EXCERPT
I WAS GETTING BACK from having lunch with my friend Tran, who worked on the fourth in the same building as me, when my phone rang. I didn’t recognize the number so I answered figuring maybe it was Dane Harcourt, my boss and the one constant in my life.
“Hello?”
“Jory?”
It was Nick Sullivan the doctor who couldn’t decide if he loved me or hated me. “Hi.”
He cleared his throat. “Are you all right? I saw you running last night and I––”
“You’re only calling now?” I chuckled. “I could’ve been killed.” And I was being funny, keeping things light but I had been running from men who wanted me dead the night before. The night before it had been anything but funny.
“I––no I called the police last night but you were already gone by the time they showed up and––”
I smiled into the phone. “It’s fine. I’m fine.”
There was a brief silence. “I was a total dick last night as well as the time I saw you before and I’m so sorry.”
Last night before I had been running for my life I had allowed Nick Sullivan to serve me up a dish of just desserts. Weeks before he had confessed to being crazy about me but that was right before I had become an unwilling witness to murder. My life had turned upside down which had less to do with a contract being put out on my life and more to do with one of the detectives on the case, Sam Kage. I had fallen so hard and so fast for Detective Kage that everything and everyone else in my life had been forgotten, especially Dr. Nick Sullivan who had never been anything special to begin with. He would make someone a great partner someday but he would never be mine. When we had crossed paths at a club I felt that I should try and apologize for disappearing after he had confessed his interest in me. The venom I got back had been surprising.
“Jory?”
“Sorry,” I said quickly.
“I really am sorry.”
“It’s okay, I deserved it all so we’re good.” I had dated him and forgotten him and that was mean. In my defence there had never been a drop of chemistry or even a spark of attraction.
“Are we?”
“Yep.”
He coughed softly. “Okay.”
“Okay,” I said softly. “I’ll see ya around.” And I didn’t give him time to say anything more. I just hung up.
“Excuse me.”
When I looked up the man standing there smiled wide before he thrust out his hand.
“Hello there son, Truman Ward here for my one o’clock with your boss Mr. Harcourt.”
Being Dane Harcourt’s assistant and actually being good at my job, I knew that the smiling man was not in the right place on the right day. I squinted at him. “I believe you’re two days early sir,” I smiled slowly, shaking the offered hand. “You were scheduled for the day after Thanksgiving not the day before.”
His eyebrows furrowed. “Crap, was that what my secretary was trying to tell me this morning before I left?”
“Monica?” I dredged the name from my memory.
“Yes.” his face brightened. “That’s right.”
“Yeah we talked yesterday,” I informed him. “It’s Friday sir at this same time.”
“Well hell,” he grunted, taking a seat in the chair closest to my desk. “Well Friday ain’t gonna work––I’ll be in D.C. Could ya give the big man a call and see if maybe he might spare sometime today. I just have a few things to talk to him about, some changes my wife wants to make to the house.”
Dane Harcourt hated making changes but I didn’t say that. Instead I nodded and got my boss on the phone. He asked me if it was possible and I said I could rearrange for three but not before. He gave me the go ahead and hung up. Mr. Ward was very pleased and while we waited, we talked. Or he talked and I listened.
He started in about his wife because that was the reason he was there. They’d been married forty years and he was building her a new house in Highland Park to celebrate. I asked all kinds of questions and he showed me pictures of his family that he told me all about. He had two sons; the oldest was in business with him as a Tax Attorney/Corporate Lawyer and his youngest was a Plastic Surgeon.
“Got more women crawling all over him than I’ve ever seen,” he chuckled. “But he’s just playing the field waiting for the right one to come along.”
I nodded, asked if the attorney was married.
“Engaged to a paediatrician. Sweetest little gal you ever met. We’re having her and her family for Thanksgiving tomorrow. Got a huge spread––like twenty people coming.”
“Must be nice.”
We talked about architecture and art and for some reason music because he didn’t understand what was going on with what people were singing about “these days” and I played him some jazz remixes on my iPod. He got a big kick out of using the headphones and was impressed that I knew my world history. He had been in Vietnam Nam doing three tours before coming home to finish up his law degree, at the same time becoming a certified public accountant. I asked a million questions about the war and if he had been disappointed that neither of his sons had enlisted.
He nodded at me. “Very perceptive question son.” But he didn’t answer so I figured it was private.
He was intrigued by the assortment of pens on my desk and I explained that each one had its own special function. I took him with me to get my afternoon coffee from Starbucks and on my way back when I hesitated he asked me what I was doing. I explained about the scented oils that I was out of and needed to pick up. I laughed when he offered to go along to the head shop with me.
Mr. Ward looking at bongs and candles and watching people smoke from a hookah was hysterical. I let him smell the patchouli, sandalwood and amber oil I wore and he cocked his head back and forth giving me a look like it was okay. I couldn’t stop smiling. When we got back Dane was there and thanked me for entertaining our guest. I nodded and Mr. Ward draped an arm across my shoulders and said that he had not had such a lovely afternoon in he couldn’t remember how long.
After work Dane sent me to pick up wine for him to take to Thanksgiving dinner the following day at his friend Jude’s house. He invited me along for the fifth time and I turned him down for the last time. I assured him that I would be fine. While not convinced, neither did he push me. He knew me well enough to know the harder I was pressed, the harder I resisted.
On my way to the train I got a call.
“Jory?”
“Yes?”
“Jory, this is Truman Ward from this afternoon.”
“Oh,” I smiled. “How’re you sir?”
“I’m good thank you. I wanted to call and see if maybe you would like to join my family for dinner tomorrow night say around five?”
“Sir, tomorrow’s Thanksgiving.”
“Yes I know,” he chuckled. “That’s why I’m calling.”
“But sir, you’re having like twenty people you said and––”
“And one more won’t make a difference. I have to say I so enjoyed meeting you and talking to you and I would just love it if you showed up.”
“But––”
“It’s very casual son, no suits or that kind of crap just football and good food and family and friends––you’ll have a good time. Please say you’ll come.”
How could I say no? “Yessir.”
“Oh excellent. I’m really pleased.”
“You’re kinda weird,” I assured him.
And he laughed harder before he gave me the address.