“I’ll make a few calls. It’ll be fine.”
I had to wonder if he was going to call in a few Wilcox favors to have someone hexed into stomach flu or what-have-you to make sure a room was available. Did I want to know? Probably not, but I was going to ask anyway, once Connor and I were back at the house.
Then the pizza came, and we ate and chatted some more about the various bars and clubs in downtown Flagstaff, and which ones were the best. Or rather, Connor and Sydney and Anthony participated in that particular conversation, since I didn’t have much to contribute on the topic yet.
After we were done eating, it was still not that late, so, rather than ending the evening, we headed for a bar on the opposite end of the old town section of Cottonwood. It was more or less packed, too, especially since the cold weather prevented people from using the patio outside, but we grabbed a booth as another group was leaving, and put in our order while the table was being bussed.
Even as crowded as the place was, we were able to manage the noise level a little better. I’d mentioned to Connor that Anthony worked at the Fire Mountain wine-tasting room, and so he asked about that. Anthony, who was fairly quiet — especially compared to Sydney — really opened up on the subject, talking about how he was taking the viticulture course at Yavapai College and wanted to work at a winery one day as a winemaker, and maybe someday in the future have his own vineyards.
As he talked, his dark eyes glowed, and Sydney seemed to glow, watching him. I could already tell Anthony was different from all the other guys she’d dated, partly because they’d made it past the two-month mark and seemed to still be going strong, but it was more than that. Some of her past boyfriends I’d liked and some I hadn’t, but none of them had had Anthony’s drive, his passion for something beyond watching sports or playing video games or even working on their cars. And I had to shake my head at Sydney’s father for not liking Anthony just because he wasn’t some white-bread kid who went to high school with us, or whatever.
Stupid prejudices. I allowed myself a quick glance up at Connor’s fine profile, dimly highlighted by the frosted glass fixtures overhead. He was amazing in so many ways, and yet my family couldn’t seem to see past him being a Wilcox. Maybe in time they’d come around, but it frustrated me that I had to tell myself to be patient. What was so hard about seeing someone for who they were, and not where they had come from?
I was still brooding on the subject after we’d said our goodbyes and gotten in our respective vehicles. Sydney and I had finished most of the second bottle of wine, since the guys were driving. I wouldn’t say I was exactly tipsy, but I wasn’t as steady on my feet as I could be as Connor helped me up into the Cruiser and then went around and slid into the driver’s seat.
We were heading back down Main Street when he said, “You’re very quiet.”
“Am I?” I watched the shops and restaurants passing by outside the window. “Just thinking about Anthony and Sydney. Her dad doesn’t like Anthony because he’s Native American. How stupid is that?”
“Pretty stupid.” He slowed to let someone cross Main Street from the public parking lot to Bocce, which had a line out the door, even though the thermometer on the FJ’s dashboard indicated that temperatures were already down into the upper 30s. “Do I keep going on this street?”
“Yes, until you get to Clarkdale Parkway. Then turn left.” I readjusted the seatbelt, which suddenly felt too tight, too constricting. “Just about as stupid as everyone in my family looking at you like you’re a leper or something just because your last name is Wilcox.”
“Well…”
“Well what?”
Since he was concentrating on the unfamiliar road, he couldn’t turn to look at me, but I caught a quick sidelong glance before he focused ahead once again. “It’s not as if the Wilcoxes are exactly blameless. I’ve tried to lead as good a life as I can, but it hasn’t always been easy. So your family’s reaction is….” He trailed off, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel, as if he wasn’t sure of the right word.
“What?” I demanded. “Justified? Okay, I could kind of see them feeling that way if I’d showed up with Damon in my pocket. They have every reason to dislike and distrust him. But you haven’t done anything wrong!”
“You know that, and I know that, but they don’t. Angela, you’ve had time to get to know me — ”
“ — intimately,” I put in.
He did crack a smile at that. “Yes, intimately. We’ve gotten to know each other, learn things about one another. You know I only went along with Damon’s whacked-out plan because it would bring you to me. You know I didn’t go on that raid on your house. You know all these things, but they don’t. So I’m not sure you should be judging them as harshly as you are.”