By the time Sam returned home from school that afternoon, Darrin and I had gotten to know each other a little better. Just sitting on the couch, chatting, I began to feel more comfortable around him. He was a genuinely friendly guy; very charming and funny.
"I find it almost ironic that I was hired to photograph a wedding," he told me.
"Why is that?"
"Well," he said, leaning forward, his voice dropping to a confidential tone, as if he were about to share a secret he did not want anyone - not even my turtles - to hear. "I have sworn off love." He smiled and sat back.
I laughed. I didn't believe him.
He laughed as well, but then said, "I'm completely serious."
"You swore off love?" I chuckled. "Why is that?"
Darrin stopped laughing. His mouth set in a straight line, he answered, "For several reasons." A wistful smile. "Maybe I'll tell you later, when we know each other better."
We sat in silence for a moment. I stared at my sweater, picking off non-existent lint. It was obvious this was a sensitive area for him, and I felt bad for having pressed the matter, even if he had been the one to bring it up.
When he spoke again, it was on a similar subject. "Tell me about your fiance."
"What do you want to know?"
"I don't know. The basics, I guess. He's a teacher, right?"
I nodded. "He teaches English Literature at South Glen South. He also teaches one class of ninth grade English this semester. They had a teacher shortage at the school."
Darrin got up off the couch and wandered over to the shelves built into the wall. He examined the pictures. "Is this him?" he asked.
I joined him at the shelves. "No," I said, after seeing the picture he was asking about. "That's my brother, Rob. This is Sam." I pointed to a picture taken last summer, when Sam and I visited Disney World. We were both wearing mouse ears incribed with our names.
Darrin smiled. "You make a cute couple."
"Thanks."
He picked up another framed picture. "She's not yours, is she?"
It was a picture of a smiling two year old.
"Oh no. That's Sam's only neice. He dotes on her."
"She's adorable. What's her name?"
"Anais," I said.
Darrin looked at me. "After Anais Nin?" he asked.
"I think so. You know Anais Nin?"
He set the photo back on the shelf. "She's one of my favorite writers. Very sexy stuff, her books; the diaries in particular. Have you read them?"
"No," I said, which wasn't entirely true. When I was a freshman at Northwestern, I checked out the first of her diaries. The content so embarrassed me, I couldn't get past page 17. I hid the book in my closet, forgot about it, and then had to face the librarian to pay the $12.00 fine after returning it 16 weeks overdue at the end of the semester. I tried now to remember those 17 pages. I doubted I would be so quick to blush all these years later.
"She's really brilliant," Darrin was saying. "I don't suppose you've read any Miller either. I mean Henry, not Arthur," he said, smiling again.
"No, sorry."
"It's okay." He was scanning the books on the shelves now. "A lot of Shakespeare," he noted. "A lot of poetry."
"I'll read almost anything."
Darrin pulled a book from the shelf. It was "Merlin's Gift" by Ian McDowell. The cover looked like something off a romance novel. A pouty-lipped redhead with gravity-defying breasts was clinging to a robust knight with a strong jaw and flowing blonde hair.
"What's this?" Darrin asked playfully. "She won't read Nin or Miller, but she'll indulge in Harlequin schmoop?"
"It's not schmoop," I exclaimed, "whatever schmoop is. It's a book of Arthurian legend."
That really made him laugh. Reading over the synopsis, he said, "This is about as accurate a tale of Arthurian legend as, say, 'Dutch' is an accurate Regan biography."
I yanked the book from his hands. "I would like to see your book shelf, Mr. Discerning."
He was still grinning as he noticed the other books on that particular shelf. He began reading titles. "Mary Queen of Scots, My Lady of Cleves, Lady of the Lake, The Wives of Henry." He turned to me. "You have a genuine interest?"
It was my turn to laugh. "Yes!" I said. "I'm fascinated with English history, particularly Arthurian legend and the House of Tudor."
"Both very interesting periods of time. Have you ever been to England?"
I shook my head. "I would love to go."
"Maybe your fiance will take you for your honeymoon."
I shrugged. "I don't know where we are going. It's a surprise."
"Ah," Darrin said. "If you do get to England, be sure to visit Glastonberry. Arthur and Guinevere's graves are at the Glastonberry Abbey."
"Really?" I asked, fascinated. I had never heard that before.
Darrin nodded. "And in Tintagel, or Cornwall as it's officially called, you can visit the ruins of the castle where Arthur was born. There is even Merlin's cave, hidden in the side of a cliff."
"Wow," I breathed. I tried to imagine what it would be like to stand among the ruins, maybe in the very place Arthur's mother, Igraine, gave birth. "You should be a tour guide," I told Darrin.
"I could be. They make quite a bit of money from tourists. You know, when you're raised in a place, you tend to take it for granted. Oh yeah, there's Merlin's cave. Oh, Buckingham Palace, no big deal. Big Ben, whatever. It's nice to have the tourists around to remind you of what an amazing place you live in; particularly places like Glastonberry and Cornwall, places with so much history and magic."
"Were you born in England?" I asked.
"No," he said. "I was actually born in Los Angeles."
"Were you?"
"I was. My father was there for a year on a research project. After Los Angeles, we moved to Seattle for another year, and eventually, my parents returned home to London, where I was raised. Are you a native Chicagoan, or whatever it is you call yourselves?"
I laughed. "Born and bred."
"And you like it here?"
"Compared to what?"
"Compared to elsewhere, I guess."
I thought for a moment. "I love Chicago. I haven't been to too many other places, but where I have been hasn't bested Chicago."
He nodded. He was about to ask me something else, when we heard a key in the lock. At that moment, I realised just how close together Darrin and I had been standing. I took two steps back. A few seconds later, the door opened and Sam came in.
"Hi sweetie," I said, overly cheerful.
Sam didn't seem to notice my tone. "Hi honey," he replied. Then he saw Darrin. Sam stared ay Darrin for a moment, then looked at me questioningly.
"Sam, this is the photographer Mr. Rigfort hired for our wedding."
Darrin extended his hand. "Nice to meet you. I'm Darrin Vendu."
Sam shook his hand. "Sam. Sam Coulson. Nice to meet you."
Darrin ran a hand through his hair. "I was just thinking about getting a bite to eat. Would you two like to join me?"
I looked at Sam, who seemed to be considering the idea. He turned to me.
"Are you hungry, Josie?"
"Sort of. You?"
"Not really. I was really just looking forward to a relaxing evening at home. School was not much fun today." Sam sighed. "But you should go, hon. You haven't been out in awhile, and it will give you two a chance to bond, work out a schedule, or whatever it is you need to do."
I looked at Darrin. He raised an eyebrow.
"Would you like to come, Josie?"
I touched my hair self-conciously. I was in no condition to go out, yet something inside me was urging me to go.
"Let me get changed," I said.
* * *