know we were scheduled for eight fifty.”
I nodded.
Mom took up the story again. “We tried to call you while we were waiting for the plane to unload, but there was no answer. We tried again—quite a few times.”
“My fault,” I said. “I got called in early and forgot my cell phone at home.” Putting my hand up to forestall further conversation, I ran over to my bedroom and rescued the little gadget, noting on my way back that I had seven missed calls and two messages. Undoubtedly all from Mom.
Back in my seat, I dug into my meal again. “Go on.”
She exchanged a glance with Nana before continuing. “We were making our way to the baggage claim when we saw this really handsome young man—”
“In a suit,” Nana added.
“Tom?” I asked.
Mom nodded. “Tom.”
My heart swelled. When I told him my dilemma, he’d gone down to Dulles himself to meet my family. And after being on duty for so long. He must have been exhausted, and yet he still did this for me. What a sweetheart. I bit my lip. What a guy.
“In a suit,” Mom continued, “holding a big white card that read ‘Paras Family.’ As soon as we saw it, we headed his way. It was funny, because even though we saw the sign, it seemed like he’d picked us out of the crowd and he was headed right for us.”
“I must have described you both very well.”
“Or we were the only two women ‘of a certain age’ disembarking together,” Nana said with a wink. “Looking lost.”
“Tom brought you here?”
“He did. Drove us the whole way in a big black car that had a phone and a TV in the back seat.”
Almost finished eating, I sighed, feeling relief settle over me. “I’m so glad.”
Nana tapped my forearm. “I noticed he had keys to your apartment.”
I chanced a look at Mrs. Wentworth, who had grabbed another biscotti and seemed to be in her own little world.
My face flushed again. Having my mother and grandmother know that my boyfriend had keys to my apartment was a small price to pay when that little fact had saved them from being stuck at the airport for several long, boring hours. Mom and Nana had always been go-to-church-every-Sunday-and-sometimes-more-often Catholics. They attended rosary meetings, baked for fund-raisers, and brought casseroles to grieving families. The church—and in particular, our parish—fed their need to be needed. I expected them to chastise me—sharply—for what those shared keys represented. “As a matter of fact . . .” I began.
Nana stopped tapping and now gripped my forearm, hard. “Good,” she said. “I worry about you alone out here. It’s a big city and there are dangers everywhere. I’m glad you have Tom to keep an eye on you.”
I turned to Mom, who gave me “the look.” “Yes,” she said. “I’m sure he keeps a very close eye on you.”
Blood flushed upward into my face, again. “He and I are—”
I couldn’t say we were just friends, because that was patently false. But we were more than just lovers. We’d reached a level of comfort and intimacy that I wasn’t quite ready to share, but felt compelled to defend.
“Ollie,” my mom said, mercifully stopping me, “he’s a very nice young man.”
“You think so?”
Mrs. Wentworth saw fit to chime in. “He knocked on my door and asked if I would mind spending a little bit of time here. He said something about having to get back because of a situation.” She glared at me. “He wouldn’t tell me what it was.”
I rose to his defense. “You know he’s really not supposed to talk about anything that goes on at the White House.”
Nana hadn’t let go of my arm. “Is he really in the Secret Service?”
I nodded.
“Are they all as handsome as he is?”
I grinned. “Just about. And they’re all really, really nice.” I remembered my recent interrogation with Craig, then I thought about the recalcitrant Guzy brothers before amending, “Well, most of them, at least.”
“Any of them my age?”
“I want to
I nodded.
Mom took up the story again. “We tried to call you while we were waiting for the plane to unload, but there was no answer. We tried again—quite a few times.”
“My fault,” I said. “I got called in early and forgot my cell phone at home.” Putting my hand up to forestall further conversation, I ran over to my bedroom and rescued the little gadget, noting on my way back that I had seven missed calls and two messages. Undoubtedly all from Mom.
Back in my seat, I dug into my meal again. “Go on.”
She exchanged a glance with Nana before continuing. “We were making our way to the baggage claim when we saw this really handsome young man—”
“In a suit,” Nana added.
“Tom?” I asked.
Mom nodded. “Tom.”
My heart swelled. When I told him my dilemma, he’d gone down to Dulles himself to meet my family. And after being on duty for so long. He must have been exhausted, and yet he still did this for me. What a sweetheart. I bit my lip. What a guy.
“In a suit,” Mom continued, “holding a big white card that read ‘Paras Family.’ As soon as we saw it, we headed his way. It was funny, because even though we saw the sign, it seemed like he’d picked us out of the crowd and he was headed right for us.”
“I must have described you both very well.”
“Or we were the only two women ‘of a certain age’ disembarking together,” Nana said with a wink. “Looking lost.”
“Tom brought you here?”
“He did. Drove us the whole way in a big black car that had a phone and a TV in the back seat.”
Almost finished eating, I sighed, feeling relief settle over me. “I’m so glad.”
Nana tapped my forearm. “I noticed he had keys to your apartment.”
I chanced a look at Mrs. Wentworth, who had grabbed another biscotti and seemed to be in her own little world.
My face flushed again. Having my mother and grandmother know that my boyfriend had keys to my apartment was a small price to pay when that little fact had saved them from being stuck at the airport for several long, boring hours. Mom and Nana had always been go-to-church-every-Sunday-and-sometimes-more-often Catholics. They attended rosary meetings, baked for fund-raisers, and brought casseroles to grieving families. The church—and in particular, our parish—fed their need to be needed. I expected them to chastise me—sharply—for what those shared keys represented. “As a matter of fact . . .” I began.
Nana stopped tapping and now gripped my forearm, hard. “Good,” she said. “I worry about you alone out here. It’s a big city and there are dangers everywhere. I’m glad you have Tom to keep an eye on you.”
I turned to Mom, who gave me “the look.” “Yes,” she said. “I’m sure he keeps a very close eye on you.”
Blood flushed upward into my face, again. “He and I are—”
I couldn’t say we were just friends, because that was patently false. But we were more than just lovers. We’d reached a level of comfort and intimacy that I wasn’t quite ready to share, but felt compelled to defend.
“Ollie,” my mom said, mercifully stopping me, “he’s a very nice young man.”
“You think so?”
Mrs. Wentworth saw fit to chime in. “He knocked on my door and asked if I would mind spending a little bit of time here. He said something about having to get back because of a situation.” She glared at me. “He wouldn’t tell me what it was.”
I rose to his defense. “You know he’s really not supposed to talk about anything that goes on at the White House.”
Nana hadn’t let go of my arm. “Is he really in the Secret Service?”
I nodded.
“Are they all as handsome as he is?”
I grinned. “Just about. And they’re all really, really nice.” I remembered my recent interrogation with Craig, then I thought about the recalcitrant Guzy brothers before amending, “Well, most of them, at least.”
“Any of them my age?”
“I want to
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