The Air We Breathe by Christa Parrish Read Free Book Online Page B

a firm specializing in not-for-profit building projects), his church duties (a deacon of more than ten years), and his son (some J name, still a preschooler)—each question constructed to give Claire all the basic dating profile information. This is a good one, this one has it together. You need someone like this.
    She finished the croutons and started on the grape tomatoes, then the cucumbers, which she sliced in half because somehow a round of cucumber bulging in her cheek seemed unattractive and piggy, even as she told herself she was in no way interested in impressing this man.
    As Claire scraped the last bit of lettuce from her plate, she watched Andrew’s feet through the mesh top of the café table, one brown loafer bent against the green metal leg, the other jiggled on the sidewalk, tassel wagging, a leather dog’s tail. The toes of the shoes were scuffed nearly white. The shoes of a widower.
    Heidi pushed her chair back, said, “I’m going to pay,” and when Andrew stood and took out his wallet, she added, “No, my treat. I mean it.” So he sat again, tearing off the white strip wrapped around an extra napkin and rolling it into a thin paper cigarette.
    “Heidi didn’t tell you she invited me,” he said.
    “No.” Claire sipped her water, catching a wafer of ice in her mouth. She swallowed it whole; it slipped down her throat, the cold sensation melting away, disappearing into her stomach but leaving a slowly fading trail.
    Andrew creased the paper in the center, creating a V, opened and closed it between his thumb and forefinger like a duck’s beak. “I’m really sorry. I had no idea she was going to spring me on you like this. And then leave you alone with me.”
    Claire managed a small smile, finally looked up. “That’s Heidi.”
    “Well, I’m sorry.” He flicked the paper on his saucer, hesitated. “This is going to seem absolutely ridiculous and rude, given the last twenty minutes, but can I give you my card?”
    “I don’t understand.”
    “Just a thought.”
    “I’m not going to call you,” Claire said.
    “I know. And I won’t hold my breath or anything. I’d just like knowing you have my number, in case you change your mind.”
    “I won’t.”
    Andrew smiled. “I don’t expect you will, Claire.”
    Her name curled off his tongue, and she liked it, a man saying her name. When was the last time she’d felt wanted? It had been so long.
    There was a neediness that came from being abandoned by a husband, a desire to know that it wasn’t her, but him. That she wasn’t defective or unlovable. Yes, she knew Christ should be enough, but sometimes in a cold bed, He wasn’t. She’d take the card as a reminder. Someone else could want me . “If you feel the need to give it to me, you can, I suppose. I’ll make every attempt not to lose it.”
    Now he laughed. “I don’t expect you’ll do that, either.”
    He tucked the card next to his coffee cup. “Tell Heidi she owes me,” he said, “and you, too, I bet,” and walked with extra-long strides across the painted pedestrian crossing without looking back. Heidi came out of the café and said, “Don’t hate me.”
    “How could you do that?”
    “I know, I know. I just figured you wouldn’t agree if I asked.”
    “Of course I wouldn’t have agreed,” Claire said.
    “He’s nice.”
    “So what?”
    “You need someone nice. It’s time.”
    “I think I’ll know when it’s time, thank you very much.”
    “Will you?” Heidi spun her teacup. “You’re lonely.”
    “No I’m not.”
    “Yes. Lonely and alone.”
    Claire bit the inside of her cheek. “Speak for yourself. I don’t see you out there.”
    “I was married to the love of my life. There’s no one else for me.”
    “I could say the same for myself.”
    “If he was the love of your life,” Heidi said, “he wouldn’t have left.”
    “Don’t do that,” Claire said. “It wasn’t Daniel’s fault.”
    “It wasn’t yours.”
    Heidi had sought out