Story of Us Read Free Page B

person. Bet I can handle it.”
    He also had a long, slow way of eyeing me that made my spine tingle, I swear it did. “I bet you can, too.”
    But he didn’t say anymore. Instead he said, “Let’s talk about you, Grace.” And with almost embarrassing eagerness, I told him the sum total of who I was—born and raised in Edenville, the only child of parents who expected much of me, the only grandchild of a widow who expected nothing but love and honesty from me. Twenty years old, a business major at Trinity.
    In turn, he told me virtually nothing. This was surprising to me. Most men would be quick to whip out their most impressive credentials and most women, myself included, would be quick to be impressed.
    However, at that moment, I had nothing from him, nothing but that brand-new incessant tingling inside telling me to step through the door he held open.
    “Thanks for the help,” he said.
    “You’re welcome.” I racked my brain, trying to figure out a reason to linger.
    “Didn’t you say you lived near Bud?”
    “Right down the street.” I pointed out my house.
    “What are you doing tonight?” he asked.
    The girls and I planned to see the brand-new movie Back to the Future at the Lone Star Drive-In and stuff ourselves with popcorn and syrupy Dr Pepper.
    “Nothing,” I said.
    “Let’s go out,” he said.
    “I thought you were here to see Buddy.”
    That unforgettable grin flashed. “Not anymore.”

Chapter Seven
    As I got ready for our first date, my parents bombarded me with questions. They were convinced that I had ruined any chance I had at a decent future by dumping Travis Hunt, and they were determined to dislike anyone else I might bring home. I had no answers to the questions they fired at me, so I dodged them, saying simply that tonight’s date was someone I’d met recently and that they’d meet him when he came to pick me up.
    I worked for a good two hours getting ready. Shampoo, hot rollers, makeup, the works. After much internal debate, I settled on jeans, cowboy boots and a pink T-shirt from a Willie Nelson concert up in Luckenbach. I wanted to look casual, as though going on a date on the spur of the moment was nothing new to me.
    Steve looked wonderful when he showed up, freshly showered, wearing clean jeans and a cowboy shirt and boots. In fact, he looked so good I almost wished I’d dressed a little better myself. Like in a white organdy gown with a twelve-foot train, I thought fancifully.
    I was slightly disappointed to see he’d borrowed the Plawski’s Plymouth instead of bringing the Harley.
    During the overly long conversation in the parlor, where my mother served iced tea and the frosted lemon bars my grandmother had made that afternoon, I squirmed in my chair. My father opened fire with the questions at Steve Bennett.
    “Where’d you grow up, son?”
    “Houston, sir.”
    Everyone waited for him to elaborate, but he simply sat patiently while I squirmed.
    “And who are your people?” asked Gran.
    Oh, lord. My grandmother still lived in a different era.
    Steve gave a quick, enigmatic smile, though he looked Gran in the eye. “Ma’am, I have no family to speak of. I was a ward of the state and lived in a series of foster homes until I was old enough to enlist in the Navy.”
    A shifting, uncomfortable silence greeted this disclosure. Kids grew up in foster homes for a variety of reasons, none of them good. I felt an odd ache in the pit of my stomach as I tried to read between the lines of what he’d said. A person’s childhood defined him, didn’t it? I wondered how deeply those early years had shaped this man’s character. What was etched on his soul?
    Gran said, “How sad for you, having no family.”
    My mother was silent, but I could feel her disapproval growing and swelling like an invisible tumor.
    My father cleared his throat. “So you’re in the service.” He jumped right on that. I could tell he was toying with liking Steve Bennett.
    “Yes,