Grace by Vanessa Smith

Author:Vanessa Smith
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Quattro Books
Published: 2011-01-15T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER ELEVEN

“I have to be honest, ” he says, “I was a little surprised you accepted my invitation.”

“Oh, why?”

“Well, most women – at least, most women I’ve dated – wouldn’t agree to come to a man’s house on a second date.”

“Really?”

“Don’t get me wrong, ” he says, “it’s great. Women have far too many rules about dating; but then, something tells me you’re different from most women.”

I blush. Smile.

“What?” he asks. “Does that embarrass you?”

“No, ” I reply, “it’s just that word. Woman.”

“What about it?”

“Nothing. It’s just...exactly how old do you think I am?”

“Ah, ” he says, “we’re playing that game now?”

“We have to eventually, don’t we?”

“Fine, ” he says. “I’ll go first. How old do you think I am?”

“I honestly don’t know, ” I reply. This is the truth. I know that Jack’s old – much older than me; but, when we’re together, we seem to find a way to meet in the middle – halfway between his years of experience and the waning shadow of my youthful expectations. I like the sympathetic understanding inherent in our silence on the subject thus far, and I don’t want to spoil it with speculation.

“I’m forty-five, ” he replies. “I’ll be forty-six in August.”

“Oh...” I say, trying not to betray my surprise. But I am – both by the number and by his candid response. I knew there was an age gap, but I hadn’t realized it was nearly twenty-five years wide. I try not to flinch. “And what about me?” I ask. “How old do you think I am?”

“You, ” he says, with another wink, “are twenty-two.”

“I am, ” I reply “How did you know that?”

“I didn’t, ” he says. “But you mentioned that you just graduated. I took a lucky guess.” He fills a glass with red wine and pushes it across the table, filling a second one for himself.

“Right, ” I say. Of course. I take the wine. Take a sip. Wonder why it seems that everyone but me can sound so self-assured when they take a shot in the dark. I envy it. I envy him; and, far from feeling superior in my youth, I admire him in his age.

“So, now that we’ve gotten that out of the way, can we enjoy this?” he asks, sweeping his arm wide to take in the sea, the sky and the slowly descending sun. “Best seat in the house, ” he says. “This is why I bought this house. This is what sold me.”

I glance over my shoulder at the flat-roofed system of tiers and terraces. Glass and gunmetal grey. Wood and windows. It has a certain rustic modernity that lends its cool lines and hard edges a softness and familiarity – allows it to blend seamlessly into the sandy rock-lined shores of the West Coast. “How long have you been here?” I ask.

“Almost seven years now, ” he says. “And you?”

“Since I was eighteen.”

“And you’re happy here?” he asks. “In Kitsilano? You like it?”

“For the most part, ” I reply. “I might move.

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