Page 48 of The Write Place

I turn toward him, and our faces are almost close enough to touch. “It was beautiful,” I breathe.

His eyes linger on mine, his expression gentle. “Would you like to meet her?” he asks softly.

“I would like that very much.”

He smiles and we join the line for book signings. We wait silently, but she sees Daniel at the back of the line and smiles broadly in a way that can only be described as motherly. She continues taking patrons in turn, but when Daniel approaches the table, she rushes around and embraces him in a hug. He is at least a whole head taller than her, but somehow, she’s the one folding him in a warm embrace rather than the other way around.

“Danny!” she exclaims. “I heard you were in town.” She pulls back, then shoves him. He’s forced to take a step back, and he rubs his chest as if hurt. “Why the hell haven’t you called me before now?”

Daniel looks at me and says, “I’ve been incredibly busy.”

“Too busy for me?” She’s incredulous, but then she follows his gaze and lands on me. “Oh.” She draws the sound out knowingly, and a corner of his mouth jumps up before he can force it back into place.

Before that can go where I’m sure it’s going, I extend a hand. “Hi, Ms. Anderson. I’m Mac. It’s so nice to meet you.”

She grabs my hand, but pulls hard, and before I know it, she’s hugging me. It is quite possibly the best hug I’ve ever had in my life. She is warm and welcoming, and I feel completely enveloped in her. She smells vaguely of sugar and vanilla. Of course she does, I think.

She releases me but holds me by my biceps at arm’s length. Her eyes are sharp, and she practically lays me bare as she studies me. “She’s a looker, Danny, but does she have any brains?”

If that question had come from anyone else, I would have been offended, but there’s something about her that allows for it. Daniel chortles. “What did you think of the reading, Mac?”

It feels like a pop quiz, but I look directly at Patricia and speak honestly. “Your poetry is easily the most beautiful poetry I’ve ever heard. Each poem was more breathtaking than the last. I especially loved how you wove the motif of flowers through them all. Even those that didn’t have floral imagery felt like soft, velvety petals or had the vibrancy of a garden. Thank you for sharing your words.” I’m afraid I’ve gone overboard even though I’m being sincere.

A Cheshire-cat grin spreads over Patricia’s face, and she squeezes my biceps with a deceptively strong grip. “Oh, I like her.”

“You should let her go before you leave a mark,” Daniel suggests, and she does.

“Are you a writer, too? Or another editor?” Patricia asks. I’m not sure what she means by “another editor,” but Daniel jumps in to clarify. “She’s the high school English teacher I’m shadowing out in Leade Park.”

“Oh, bless your heart. I taught high school English a million years ago. Made it two school years, and I was done for. Hardest two years of my life. You two coming to the apartment? I won’t take no for an answer.”

“Of course we are.” Daniel sounds as if he is truly talking to his mom who is pushing a meal on him that he can’t refuse.

“I have to finish up here, but you both head on over. Joey is there already, probably halfway through a bottle of wine. She’ll let you in. I’ll be there in a bit.”

Before we go, Patricia grabs her book from my hands, scribbles something in it, then hands it back to me. When we step out of the store, I open to the cover page and read.

May you plant your own garden full of vibrancy and softness.

I clutch the book to my chest again. “Wow,” I exhale. “What an incredible evening.”

“I would urge you to wait until the evening is actually over to make a final assessment,” Daniel cautions.

“Oh, there’s not much that can bring me down after that,” I say in all seriousness. Daniel seems content and at ease in a way that I haven’t seen since we met. Maybe getting away from New York really was what he needed.

We walk the few blocks to Patricia’s apartment. I can already hear the small crowd gathered inside before Joey opens the door. She is the antithesis of Patricia. She wears her shiny, blue-black hair in a glossy bun at the top of her head. Her lips are painted a severe red, which matches her skin-tight dress. She isn’t wearing any shoes, and her toenails are painted black. She holds a glass of red wine in one hand and pulls Daniel into a hug with the other.

“Oh, Danny! Pat said you’d be coming! It is so good to see you!” Her wine sloshes dangerously close to the edge of her glass, but Daniel just wraps his arms around her thin waist.

“Hey Joey.” When he pulls back, she leaves her arm around him. He holds a hand toward me, and I step forward. “This is Mac. She’s the teacher I’ve been shadowing in Leade Park. Mac, this is Joey, Patricia’s wife.”

I extend my hand but am again pulled into a tight hug. Where Patricia smelled like warm vanilla, Joey smells sharply of citrus, but her hug is no less welcoming.

“Thank you for having us,” I say into her hair. She waves a hand as if it’s nothing.

“Wine is in the kitchen. Hors d’oeuvres are on the table. Help yourselves.” She shuts the door behind us, then she rejoins the small crowd of people already gathered in her living room.

“Wine?” Daniel asks.