Faithfully Yours. Lois Richer
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she argued, sliding out of the seat as his hand went under her elbow. “If I’d been sleeping in my bed, Hope and I wouldn’t have been able to discuss the constellations or where God lives, or how the angels come to earth. Those things were just as important to me as a few extra minutes of sleep.”
She stared into his handsome face seriously. “My mom always told us that life is made up of little shining moments like stones in a necklace. They’re what make the everyday routine things bearable, because we can take out those stones and remember them with pleasure during the bad times.” She beckoned him up the stairs. “Come on in. Hope will have started something.”
But unfortunately Hope hadn’t. There was a note tacked to the phone informing Gillian that her aunt had gone shopping with Charity Flowerday.
“I’m sorry,” she murmured, frowning up at Jeremy, who towered over her, now that she had removed her shoes. “I guess we’ll have to find something for ourselves. Do you like tacos?”
His face was a study in contradictions. Gillian would have teased him about it except that he looked so unsure of himself.
“I—I don’t know.” His eyes met hers, and she was surprised to see uncertainty in their depths. “What is a taco?”
“Well,” Gillian began, matter-of-factly arranging the ingredients she would need on the countertop and trying to ignore the spark of electricity she felt fluttering down her sensitive skin whenever Jeremy Nivens came near. “There are two kinds—soft and hard. I like the hard ones, although they’re messy to eat.”
He watched her defrost a package of meat in the microwave and then dump it into a frying pan. His forehead furrowed.
“Ground beef,” he murmured.
“Hamburger, yes. With seasoning and spices. You put it into the shell and add vegetables and cheese to it.” She watched his long patrician nose twitch as he caught a hint of the savory cooking odors.
“I’m not sure if I can eat such food,” he told her seriously. “It smells as if it’s spicy and my stomach is rather queasy about those things.”
Gillian grinned at him, enjoying the look of uncertainty on his handsome face. For once Mr. Jeremy Nivens was not in control. She was going to enjoy this.
As the meat cooked, she shredded lettuce and minced tomatoes. She put Jeremy to work grating cheese. As they toiled side by side, she chattered a mile a minute, hoping to put him at his ease.
“I love tacos. Especially with hot sauce. It just makes your mouth come alive. Michael used to…” Her voice trailed away as she realized what she’d said.
“Michael was your fiancé?” Jeremy’s matter-of-fact voice inquired, eyes intent on the cheese as he carefully rubbed the slab of cheddar against her aunt’s grater.
Gillian realized that she had been talking about Michael naturally for once, and although the pain was still there, it had diminished to the point where she could talk about him with fondness.
“Yes. He died in a car crash. Anyway, he used to tease me for being a wimp.” Her mouth curved in remembrance. “He would load on the hot sauce until my eyes watered and I was coughing like crazy. Michael never even needed a drink of water. You know—” her eyes flashed to him and then looked away in embarrassment at the scrutiny she found there “—the Thai people clench their teeth together and then spread their mouth wide so they can suck air into their mouths, not blow it out. They claim it’s the best way to cool your palate.”
Jeremy was silent, steadily building the tower of cheese curls on the plate she’d given him. When he finally spoke, it was in a soft, careful voice that was totally unlike his usually brusque tone.
“It must have been very difficult for you,” he offered. “Was that why you decided to move here?” His blue-gray eyes met hers steadily, his face set in its usual stern lines.
“Partially.” She set the table quickly and scooped the browned meat into a bowl. “I just couldn’t stay in Boston anymore. It reminded me too much of him and of what I’d lost.” Carefully she removed the warmed tacos from the oven and placed them on the table beside the tomatoes and lettuce. A huge pitcher of lemonade and two large glasses completed the job.
“Ok, everything’s ready,” she grinned at him. As he gingerly set the cheese on the table, Gillian lifted a bottle from the fridge. “Now, for your first taste of tacos. Don’t forget the sauce.”
She murmured a short grace for both of them and then showed him how to assemble the items and bite off the end carefully so that the whole thing didn’t crumble in his hand.
“It is rather good,” he murmured, a surprised look on his face. “And not really hot at all.”
“That’s because you haven’t used this yet.” Carefully she spooned a small teaspoonful onto his taco. “Now try.”
He gasped, and Gillian giggled as his eyes grew round with surprise. Seconds later he was glugging down a huge glass of lemonade.
“Good heavens,” he whispered. “That was like fire.” His eyes were huge as he watched her slather on the sauce and then chew the mouthful with alacrity. “How can you do that?”
“Practice.” Gillian giggled. “Plus the fact that this is extra mild.” He raised one eyebrow skeptically. “Don’t worry. You’ll get used to it.”
Jeremy finished his first taco and started gingerly on a second, carefully avoiding her jar of sauce.
“You reminded me of a visit I once made to my aunt here,” he told her as they sat companionably sipping the icy lemonade. “She invited me to stay while my parents attended some teaching sessions at the college. They were anthropologists, you see, and in order to maintain their grant status, they had to return to the States every so often for a report.”
“Was that why you went to boarding school?” she inquired quietly. “Because they were so busy?”
He smiled, but his gaze was far away. Gillian wondered idly what kind of a childhood he’d had.
“Not exactly. They spent a lot of time on a dig in Egypt and then Israel. They wanted to make sure my schooling was uninterrupted.” He smoothed the tablecloth idly, his voice low. “Anyway, every summer I came to spend several weeks with Auntie Fay. It was like a whole different world for me. The food, the clothes. Even the children were different.”
Jeremy glanced up at her and grimaced.
“I’m afraid I didn’t blend in very well, and I must have been an awful nuisance to have around. My aunt took me to the county fair and let me ride on the Ferris wheel until I was sick. I think I must have tasted every flavor and color of cotton candy and sugar cone there was, but it was the candy apple that finally did me in.” His face had a wistful quality about it that tugged on her heart.
“I’ve never forgotten the pleasure she gave me in those days. Or the way she would tuck me in at night and kiss me.” Jeremy glanced at her apologetically. “There aren’t many people who will kiss anyone good-night in boarding school,” he muttered quietly, his eyes downcast.
“But what about during the summers,” Gillian demanded angrily. “Surely you lived with your parents then?”
She couldn’t believe it when he shook his head, his sharp gray glance telling her that he thought she should know better than to ask such a silly question. Her tender heart ached at the words.
“Gillian, an archaeological dig is no place for a child. There are valuable artifacts lying about and open pits around which it would be dangerous for a child to play. Not that there was much to play with, anyway. Besides, it was far too hot, as I found out the one summer I insisted on visiting them. I spent most of my time cataloguing their finds. A layer of sand covered everything.”
Gillian stacked the dishes into her aunt’s dishwasher with a snap to her wrist that boded ill for the stoneware.