A Matter of Trust: Follow Your Heart Read Online Free Page A

“
    “You’re a saint, Doug, to be doing all this for me. 
The least I can offer you in return is my best. I don’t know if my best is good
enough, but it’s all I’ve got.”
    “I’m no saint, Allison; I’ve got as much stake in this
as you do.”
    “Maybe. But if you weren’t a saint, you wouldn’t.”
    The lunch at ‘Damn Goode Pies’ was a perfect way to
begin. It was packed with shouting college students celebrating the end of
their Winter Quarter exams. It was too noisy for any serious conversation.  They
just sat across from each other at a table only just  big enough to prevent
their knees from touching, enjoying the pizzas, conversing with sign language,
body language and facial expressions.  Maybe it was the pheromones or
something, but without any significant words passing between them, there was a
melding going on. Freed from the need to think carefully about what to say,
Allison could watch, and learned a lot about Doug, just from the way he handled
the situations that came up.  He dealt with his mistake at choosing the place
at that moment with self-deprecating humor.  He was gracious when the waitress
made a mistake with the drink orders, and didn’t ogle her breasts, which were
remarkable and half on show.  As Allison began to relax and enjoy herself, Doug
was able to get glimpses of the real Allison underneath the Allison she
presented to the world.  He could see that she found the challenge - trying to
get acquainted without being able to hear more than 2 words of 10 – as
intriguing and enjoyable as he did. There was a quirky humor in there that she
rarely let people see.
    Watching Doug making his way back from the men’s room,
Allison actually experienced a twinge of desire.  His body was just about movie
star quality, but it wasn’t that, that touched her; it was the way he held
himself, and the grace with which he maneuvered along the tortuous path back to
their table, waiting without any sign of impatience when somebody was in the
way, and insinuating himself into the slightest sliver of light between people
without bumping anybody.  It showed her a grace and intuitive understanding
that wasn’t in the least feminine, but certainly wasn’t part of her stereotyped
ideas about macho men. 
    He was dressed with taste, too. She actually hadn’t
noticed what he had been wearing in their previous encounters; she’d actually avoided looking.  But today, with no need to make a comment, she could approve of what
he was wearing: chinos, snug but not tight, an almost white aqua green
boat-necked T-shirt, and a light jacket of a subdued shade of brown. 
    After they left the restaurant, she actually said that
she liked his clothes, and he returned the favor by remarking that he
appreciated that she had avoided the absurdities of the current fashion –
underwear masquerading as outerwear, which you might expect a fashion person to
wear on principle - for materials, colors and lines that suited her.
    As they strolled in the sculpture garden, they
discovered that they had similar likes and dislikes.  She had more tolerance
than he did for the minimalist art which was high fashion, but she was relieved
that he wasn’t contemptuous.  “You know, I tried a bit of painting when I was
at the U, and discovered that a lot of what looks easy isn’t at all.  To depict
a character in a single simple line takes talent, even if I wouldn’t want it on
my wall at home.”
    When they tired of being on their feet, they sat on a
bench, discretely apart, and enjoyed ice cream cones bought from a cart. This
was the first moment when the conversation might turn more intimate, and
Allison asked about his youth.
    He described growing up in a rather dysfunctional farm
family not far out of Little Rock.  “My father was a bully, but he knew how to
get his own way without violence. My mother was completely cowed and got her
emotional strokes from us kids and gave us all the support she could.  When