A Different Kind of Forever(7)

“I’m divorced.”

“Okay, your date. I wouldn’t expect you to take teenage girls to a concert unprotected.”

“That would be wonderful.” Diane was taken by surprise. “You have no idea what that would mean. They’d clean their rooms for months.”

“No problem. Do you have a pen or something? Write down your address and I’ll get them to you.”

She turned and rummaged through her purse, dragging out a pen and note pad. She wrote her name, address and phone, and handed it to him.

“Diane Matthews,” he read. He stuffed the paper into his pocket. “So, tell me, Diane Matthews, are you a fan, too?”

She opened her mouth to lie, then caught the glint in his eye. “No, actually, I’m not. Nothing personal - I happen to think you guys are really talented. I was a big Motown fan. I never liked rock and roll.” She grinned. “Except, of course, the Beatles.”

“Of course. So who was your favorite?”

“Paul. Naturally. I had his picture everywhere. I was devastated when he got married. I spent years obsessing over the fact that I was too young for him. Who knew I’d end up being too old for him?”

Michael laughed in delight. “God, that’s great. I have to remember that for my sisters. They all loved Paul too.”

“How many sisters?” Diane sat back on the picnic table top, propping her feet on the bench.

“Three, all older than me. The youngest was ten when I was born.”

“You must have been spoiled rotten,” Diane said. “I bet you had them all wrapped around your little fingers.”

He sighed. “Oh, you are so right. I can’t believe some of the things I got away with. They are such great women.” His face changed. “My mother died when I was a kid. They all raised me.”

“I’m so sorry. But I bet they loved it, raising you.”

“Yeah.” He nodded his head. “My oldest sister, Marie, she used to get so upset when people would mistake me for her son, instead of her brother. She would yell at them, you know? But when she got home, we would all laugh about it.”

They were silent a moment, Diane staring at the tips of her shoes, and when she looked back over to him he was staring right at her, and she once again caught the force of his personality. A second later he shrugged and smiled.

“He’s still living here, my dad, in the same house we all grew up in. It’s great coming back.”

Diane was surprised. “You’re from here? I thought the band was from over in Hawthorn.”

“The rest of the guys, yeah. But I was born and raised right here in West Milton.”

“Wow. Did you go to Carver Mills High?”

“No. Fabian’s.” Fabian Academy was a very exclusive, private prep school. He noticed her raised eyebrows. “Before that it was Catholic school,” he added, shrugging. “For all of us. Saint Kate’s. Those nuns were ball-busters, I’ll tell you.”

“Me too. Catholic school, I mean. Not Saint Katherine’s. I’m from Ohio, originally, but I think Catholic School nuns all come from the same planet.” Michael sat next to her on the picnic table. “Did you have a Sister Elizabeth Immaculatta?”

“No, but I had a Marie Celeste.”

“Moustache?”

“One eyebrow and the mole on the chin.”

“Yes, yes!” They were laughing again.

Diane cupped her chin in her palm and looked hard at him. “You’re not what I expected in a rock and roll god.”

“Ouch.” He made a face. “Rock and roll god? Please. I’m a guy from Jersey who took piano lessons from a lady named Mrs. Foster and wore a uniform to school. I put together model cars.”

“Oh, my God. You were a geek.”

“Yes,” he said grinning ruefully, “and you must swear to never tell.”

“Might ruin your image?”

He snorted. “Are you kidding? I’d never get laid again.” He glanced at her and shrugged. “Sorry. That was a very stupid, rock-and-roll-god kind of thing to say. Hey, would you like some lunch?”

“What?”

“Lunch. We could go to Weatherby’s, it’s right on the other side of the park.”

“What about Max?” She looked down at the dog, who lifted his head at the sound of his name. “Besides,” she said, looking at her watch, “I have class in about an hour and a half.”