To be able to open a book of ideas. To find out what someone else thought about the world. Cole's enthusiasm for books revealing worlds she had yet to discover echoed through her mind. She wandered back into her bedroom. The room was dappled with color from the crystal hanging in the window. She stood transfixed, watching the rainbow of patterns dance across the room. Just as she had so many other times, she'd get another job, and she'd support herself. Of that, she had no doubt.
For the first time in years she had something more.
This time, she dared look beyond simple survival. And she loved the possibilities she saw there.
* * * Brenna surveyed her world with new awareness when Cole picked her up for dinner the following evening. The previous afternoon, the director of the literacy program at the library had told her, "You're reading at almost third-grade level." As she and Cole drove toward downtown Denver, Brenna watched passing stores, traffic signs, and billboards, searching each one for words she knew. The tests she had taken made her feel inept despite the director's patience and encouragement. Third-grade level sounded like a lot to her. Reading-really reading-was a far cry from recognizing a few words. Recognizing the wordsstop andexit without the context of their familiar shapes within a sign didn't seem that big a deal to her.
Even still, she found herself identifying words within billboards that she'd given nothing more than a passing glance to before.
"You look terrific," Cole told her, taking his eyes off the busy traffic of Sixth Avenue long enough to look at her.
The compliment pleased her, especially as she had fussed over her white eyelet skirt and camisole-style blouse, half convinced it was too casual. She'd been equally critical of her hair, and she had finally pulled it into a loose chignon.
"Thanks," she said. "You look pretty spiffy, too."
"Spiffy, huh?"
"I wouldn't want you to get a swollen head by telling you that you're gorgeous," she teased.
Besides, she thought, how did she tell a man she thought he was devastating without sounding like a girl with her first crush. She always appreciated his choice in clothes. Whether dressed in shorts or a pale gray suit like this evening, he always looked good.
"I admit it. I've never been called gorgeous," he said with a laugh.
She grinned in response. "So, Counselor, this is a first?"
"It is."
"Those firsts..." she murmured. "They ought to be memorable."
Cole took her hand and brought it to his lips, his eyes on the traffic. "I intend for this one to be."
Brenna felt as though a line of no-return had been crossed with that simple, sensuous promise. A line she
didn't fear half so much as she had yesterday.
"Promises, promises," she murmured, making him smile once again.
Chapter 13.
For his part, Cole was relieved that Brenna was teasing him. She had given him a quick hug when he picked her up, but until now he hadn't been sure things would be okay. Another layer of his worry fell away. Though he couldn't quite put his finger on why, she looked happier than she had since he'd known her.
Cole parked in a lot adjoining the Denver Center Theater, and they walked to a Japanese restaurant a few blocks away.
Brenna loved the atmosphere of the restaurant, the decor reminding her of the clean lines of traditional Japanese architecture. Of all the places her father had been stationed, Japan had been her favorite. The natural finished wood and opaque paper walls surrounding them gave her a sense they were the only two people in the restaurant even though she could hear muffled conversation nearby.
A kimono-clad waitress handed each of them a menu, bowed, and discreetly disappeared. Brenna scanned the words, searching for one she might recognize. The script typeface confused her. No matter how hard she stared at it, a maze of symbols as illegible as Japanese ideographs stared back at her. The waitress brought a carafe of wine, an interruption Brenna was grateful for.
"Do you come here often?" she asked after the waitress had poured the wine and left again.
"Not often enough," Cole said. "Japanese food is my very favorite."
"I've finally learned to like it, too," Brenna said, setting the menu aside. "When we lived in Japan, I hated it. I would have traded it any day for a hamburger."
Cole grinned. "I went through a similar stage myself. When did you live there?"
"When I was thirteen. It was the last overseas assignment my dad had before..."
Before I left home. Cole heard the end of the sentence as clearly as if she'd said it. Each time he thought of her leaving home so young, he hurt for her. A flash of memory clouded her eyes, and she looked down. As he had seen her do before, she straightened her shoulders and looked back up, her emotions
once again firmly hidden behind a wall of calm.
"Japan was interesting," she said, taking a sip of her wine, then met his gaze. "Strange and exotic. I liked it."
"What did you like best?" Cole asked her, wanting any snippet of her past that might help him understand her better.
"Japanese theater," she answered instantly, surprising him. "Have you ever seen Kabuki plays?"
Cole shook his head. "I've heard of them, but wouldn't know them from Punch and Judy."
Brenna grinned. "Actually, you're closer than you know. Punch and Judy are puppets. Kabuki plays are performed by mimes. Then off to the side of the stage, there's a narrator who tells the audience the story."
"An interpreter instead of subtitles?"
She chuckled. "Something like that."
Her eyes lit, and Cole sat back, smiling as she became more animated.
"It didn't really matter whether you understood the language. The plays are so dramatic, you get the gist
of the story just watching the mimes." She went on to tell him a couple of stories, one an ancient historical drama and the other a modern play about a merchant's family. "I would have thought you'd be more interested in the other kids than Ka ... what was it?" "Kabuki." "Kabuki," he repeated.
"It was better than the kids," she replied. "I was always the odd man out."
Her statement was said lightly, but the shadows were back in her eyes, the last thing Cole wanted to see.
He forced his attention back on the menu, then glanced at her.
"I've always wanted to orderyosenabe ."
"That sounds good," she agreed, closing the menu.
The makings for the meal arrived a little while later, an assortment of chicken, crab, scallops, shrimp, and
vegetables accompanied by sauces with mouth-watering flavors. They cooked the food fondue-style in a
clear broth brought to the table. Brenna's mask of calm gradually gave way, and Cole found her alternately shy and funny, and always articulate. Nothing in her speech hinted that she hadn't finished school.
Equally compelling was his need to know more about her. Over dinner, she told him that her father had been stationed all over the world. Everywhere they had lived, Brenna's overriding interest was in the legends and parables handed down from grandparents to grandchildren. Given her interest in those stories and the lost opportunities that came with her dropping out of school, Cole found her interest poignant. He understood better why she enjoyed volunteering for story hour at the library. In her own way, she seemed to be passing on legends to the next generation.
"You obviously love all those old folk tales," Cole said. "My grandmother had dozens of stories she told me as a kid."
"Like what?" Brenna encouraged.
Cole ducked his head. "At the time, I didn't pay that much attention," he murmured.
"Ah," Brenna said with a chuckle. "There are times when I wish I had paid more attention to my grandmother, too."
"I was too busy telling her what a hotshot I was going to be after I grew up that I didn't listen nearly as much as I should have," Cole confessed. When Brenna cocked her head to the side in silent encouragement, he continued, "About every other week I had a new career I was going to try. And it didn't really matter whether I wanted to be a deep-sea diver or a design engineer, she listened as though she really believed me."
Brenna nodded. "Mine, too."
"She also knew when to knock me down a peg or two, or ten, when I needed it. I was the first in my family to get a college education, and I remember being pretty smug about that. I remember the summer after I graduated, I'd come home to help my dad bring in the hay, and I didn't like the way he was doing anything. Grandmom sat me down and boxed my ears." He smiled. "Literally. Told me a little book learning didn't meandiddly without experience, sweat, and common sense." Cole met Brenna's eyes. "She was right."
Brenna swallowed. "Education is also important."
Cole nodded. "But, my grandmother showed me that other things are equally important. She was the oldest of seven children, and her papa made her quit school after her mama died so she could help take care of the little ones."
"Why are you telling me this?" Brenna asked.
Cole met her glance. "My grandmother would have boxed my ears again," he said, "if she'd heard our conversation the other night. I admire you. I respect you."
Brenna's eyes took on a sudden shimmer and she shook her head. "Don't say things you don't mean."
"I'm not." He wanted to tell her outright that her lack of education didn't matter to him. It's what Grandmom would have expected of him. But it wasn't the truth, and he did wonder why she had never worked for her GED.
He still found it difficult to believe she hadn't finished school. She was eloquent, listened intently when he had something to say, and asked thoughtful questions. Maybe she was one of those people without much education who was widely read, he decided. The apartment was certainly filled with books.
His gut instinct told him there was more to Brenna than met the eye. He didn't know what it was, but he had to find out.
"I'm not judging you," he said, taking her hand.
"I judge me," she returned.
He smiled and touched the side of her face. "Then maybe it's time to stop."
After they finished dinner, Cole and Brenna walked hand in hand the few blocks to the theater, pausing along the way to window-shop. Brenna couldn't have said what they looked at or talked about. Had it been within her power, she would have stretched those moments into hours.
After they were seated in the theater, she found the program nearly as frustrating as the menu. She searched for words she recognized, trying to read as she hadn't tried in years.The. A. To. Or. His, for, last, and, in, house, wife . Her recognition of those words came slowly, and she shook her head in frustration. The play,Paint Your Wagon , was a lighthearted musical that bore little resemblance to the movie she had seen years before. When intermission came, she and Cole followed the crowd into the lobby. Someone called Cole's name from across the lobby.
"Cole, hello," the woman said, extending her hand.
Dressed in a severe white suit with a sheer navy blue tailored blouse underneath, she was poised as anyone Brenna had seen in a long time. She was reminded of Sunday afternoon teas on broad expanses of manicured lawns, where the officers' wives had tried tooutdress one another. Children were to be seen and never heard, and problems were ignored with the same efficiency as dirty plates and glasses that were whisked away by white-coated waiters.
"Hello, Sandra.Frank ."
Brenna glanced behind the woman to the man Cole was shaking hands with. He wore a seersucker jacket and tweed slacks that were a definite mismatch. What an odd-looking couple, Brenna thought.
"Are you enjoying the play?" Cole asked. This is it, he thought suddenly. The first time he and Brenna had ever been with any of his colleagues.
"It's a bit much," Sandra replied. "But it is fun, isn't it? I think I would have preferred a good drama."
Cole touched Brenna's arm. "This is my friend, Brenna James. Brenna, Sandra and Frank Wilson."
Sandra tipped her head in a slight nod. "Hello."
Frank clasped both of Brenna's hands in his, and a smile creased his tanned face, deep smile lines making his eyes just about disappear. "We're both glad to meet you. My wife may prefer a good drama, but I like this a lot."
"Me, too," Brenna said with a smile. She glanced back at Sandra. Brenna had the feeling that, despite her pleasant expression, Sandra was a woman who was good at hiding her feelings beneath a chic exterior. Frank, however, seemed as relaxed as Sandra was formal, as warm as she was cool.
"Have you and Brenna been dating long?" Sandra asked Cole.
"Long enough," Cole replied, wrapping a hand round Brenna's and slanting her a warm smile. "Sandra shows the same aggressive style in court. She gets right to the point."
Sandra's mouth curved in a surprisingly friendly smile. "And guess who I took lessons from?"
It was the kind of small talk Brenna knew how to do even if she didn't like it. "If you're referring to Cole, I believe it. I've seen him in action."
"Are you also an attorney?" Frank asked. "Because I'm really going to feel outnumbered here if you are."
Brenna laughed. "Good heavens, no."
"Thank God," he said with real feeling. "I'm safe. You get three lawyers together, and it's a convention." He took a sip of wine from the clear plastic glass he held. "So, Brenna, what do you do when you're not keeping Cole out of mischief?"
The sixty-four dollar question, Brenna thought. Why was it people decided who you were by what you did to earn a living? She squeezed Cole's hand and looked at him with wide eyes, giving her best imitation of a woman completely beguiled by a man. "Who says I'm keeping him out of mischief?"