After the Loving. Gwynne Forster

out of him. He knew that everybody in the restaurant was looking at them, but that seemed to make it all the funnier.

      When they managed to control their laughter, he found her staring at him. “What is it? Did I get some blueberries on my teeth?”

      “I never knew you to laugh like this. It is wonderful. Just…just wonderful.”

      He sobered then. “Drake likes to call me ‘old sourpuss.’ Is that what you think of me?”

      “That hadn’t occurred to me. In this context, I think of you as a serious-minded man who has a low tolerance for nonsense.” She lowered her head a little, and stole a glance at him. “Russ, I’ve been called a prankster, and I suppose you’d classify that as nonsense.”

      “Most of it is nonsense, but if it’s witty, if it’s clever, that’s different—then it’s a challenge. However, that’s not an invitation for you to—”

      She held up her right hand. “I know. I stand sufficiently warned. Still…” She let him wait for her next words, and he found himself anticipating them with heightened pleasure. “Uh…I can’t imagine myself not going to great lengths, if necessary, to make you laugh.”

      “Yeah. A prankster would do that.” He pondered her words, but didn’t wonder why she enjoyed seeing him laugh. As frank as he was finding her to be, she’d probably tell him without any prompting.

      Nonetheless, it gave him something to contemplate. “I never thought much about my personality or how it strikes others,” he said. “It’s who I am, and I can’t see myself pretending to be what I am not.”

      Her left hand moved toward him, and he thought she would reach for his hand or, at least, touch it. But she almost snatched it back, and he realized that what he’d thought was insecurity could well be an uncertainty as to how to relate to him.

      “Velma, I find that it never pays to try to figure out a person.”

      “You think I’m trying to figure you out?”

      “Aren’t you? You wanted to touch my hand, maybe even hold it to show the sympathetic understanding that you felt, but you weren’t certain how I’d react and you withdrew.”

      “What would you have done, Russ, if I’d held your hand?”

      “How many times tonight did I take your hand? Did I ask permission?”

      Her eyes sparkled like a dozen night stars, and her face bloomed into a smile. “Russ, what you’re saying is like dangling money and jewels in front of a thief.”

      He glanced at his watch, poured the remainder of the ginger ale into their glasses and took a sip. “Not quite. It means take a chance. Show me who you are, and I’ll reciprocate.”

      “But not necessarily in a way that I’d like.”

      He drained the glass. “True. But you have one thing going for you. We Harrington men respect women. Now, if we don’t get out of here, that busboy will know you handed him a line.”

      “Right.”

      When they stood to leave, the busboy appeared with a tray, cleared the table and let a grin take over his face. “Congratulations again, sir. This made my day.”

      “You’ve been very kind,” Russ said. He wanted to get out of there before he folded up in another laughing fit. As they walked toward the door, the other diners applauded, and he could feel his lower lip drop when Velma waved and blew kisses to the people.

      Deciding to play along, he slipped an arm around Velma’s waist, and while he didn’t succeed in keeping the grin off his face, he was able to resist howling with laugher until they got into the car.

      “I never had so much fun in my life,” she said. “My sister wouldn’t dream of doing anything like that.” She shifted her position until she sat with her back partly against the door. “Wasn’t that fun?”

      “Probably. I’ve never been tempted to do anything like that. I don’t know which cracked me up more, your arriving at the table with the busboy or blowing kisses at your fans.” He ignited the engine and headed for the highway. “Velma, you’re full of surprises. I had a very different picture of you, and I’m glad you agreed to come with me.” He shook his head in disbelief. “Neither Henry, my brothers, nor Alexis would believe I’d participate in any harebrained thing like that.”

      “Are you ashamed that we did it?”

      “Who, me? No, indeed. I don’t know when I’ve had so much fun.”

      “I’m glad, Russ. I’d like us to be friends.”

      He came within a breath of asking her what kind of friends, and he was glad he corrected himself before the words slipped out. He finessed a response. “Why shouldn’t we be?”

      When she didn’t answer his question, he considered it another point in her favor; she wouldn’t gainsay something was important to her. She stifled a yawn.

      “Sleepy?” he asked her.

      “Terribly. I was so keyed up when I went to bed that I was still awake at four-thirty this morning.”

      “I won’t feel badly if you sleep.”

      “But I will. If you talk, I’ll stay awake. What was it like being the middle of three boys when you were growing up?”

      “Now that’s a topic for a cold night. Growing up and being an adult…it’s all the same. Telford and Drake are closest, because Telford was protective of Drake. So was I, for that matter. That left me to my own devices, and I used it to my advantage. Strange thing is that Drake isn’t spoiled—he’s one hundred percent man.”

      “What did you do on your own?” she asked with such sincerity that he knew her questions sprang from a genuine interest in him.

      “I read the great philosophers, the leading writers of the Harlem Renaissance, Shakespeare, Richard Wright, newspapers, the funnies, whatever I got my hands on. And one day, I read about Frank Lloyd Wright. After that, I read everything about him that I could find.”

      “So he was your idol and the reason you became an architect?”

      “Partly. Telford’s the other reason. He had this dream of vindicating our father, and he talked about it so much that… Well, it fit with my passion for Wright’s work. Drake’s a born engineer. From childhood, he was always interested in how to make things work, and it is he and not Telford or I who fixes things around our home.”

      “The three of you work well together. I assume Telford is the project manager.”

      “Right. He negotiates contracts, purchases supplies, hires the workers and oversees them. He’s responsible for bringing the project in on time. He’s the boss, but we take a vote on everything important. If there’s disagreement, I always lose.”

      He heard himself say it, and knew it was true, but it didn’t much bother him and never had. When he wanted to get his way, he knew how to do it.

      Her reaction didn’t surprise him. “You don’t seem resentful. How’s that? I’d be after their heads all the time.”

      He slowed down to take a curve on a poorly lighted section of the highway. “Sure I’ve resented it, but only at the moment and only about the issue in question. When I seriously want to have my way, both Telford and Drake yield. We care about each other, Velma, and neither of us is ever knowingly going to hurt the other.”

      “All of you have strong, dominant personalities, what we call the alpha males. It’s a wonder you’re so close.”

      “Henry’s the best leavening agent three young Turks ever had. Even before our father died, Henry was the adult we looked to, because Papa was rarely at home, always off working himself to death.”

      He swallowed and ran the tip of his tongue over his lips, surprised at his dry mouth.