by April | Jul 22, 2012 | Love, Short Stories, Writing
A sharp horn sounded behind Mary as she headed up the steps to her duplex in the hot May sunshine. She turned towards the older model Buick, unable to see who was driving the car, but gave a friendly wave. As a rule, she waved to anyone. Fairly certain the father of her grandchildren belonged to a gang, she wanted to stay on good terms with everyone in the neighborhood.
Tossing her keys on the antique stand near the door, she entered the kitchen and opened the freezer. Inside, she found a frozen glass mug that she filled with ice and edged with a lemon slice. She stepped through the back door and retrieved a large jar of sun tea off the back stoop. It’d been brewing since 4AM, when she’d left for her job at the Dollar Mart—just about ten hours of steeping. The heat from the glass burned the tips of her fingers as she carried the jar back to the counter. As the liquid poured in over the crackling ice cubs, cooling the concoction, a sense of peace filled her. Mary’d been looking forward to this all day. She held the golden-brown drink near her nose and let the earthy scent of tea, sunshine and citrus draw her mind to easier times.
After flipping the switch on the oscillating fan sitting on the Formica counter top, she pulled up a chair at the kitchen table, directly in its path. Giving the crumbs from her hasty breakfast a sweep off the table, she drew the pile of mail toward her. She saw several envelopes addressed to Tina with ‘final notice’ highlighted in red letters. Mary clucked her tongue. What would ever become of that girl? She’d raised her better than this.
Sure that the tea had chilled long enough, she sipped it, letting the strong brew energize her from the inside out. It was just as good as she hoped it would be. She clucked her tongue again and sighed.
She couldn’t say that about much in her life these days.
Glancing at the clock, she saw her grandsons would be home any time now. Really, Jimmy was supposed to pick them up from school and take them home with him for a few hours, helping them with their schoolwork and spending ‘quality time’ with his sons. The social worker’s idea was a good one—and if Jimmy had been a good man, it would have worked. Knowing him as Mary did, he’d last about an hour with the boys and he’d be dragging them home to her instead. She’d be the one helping them with homework, fixing them dinner, giving them baths. Then Tina would saunter in and give them kisses goodnight, declaring once again how the day got away from her. Got away from her while she was having drinks at the bar near her work, most likely.
Best laid plans. That phrase had tumbled through Mary’s mind more than once in the past six years. Her daughter had shown up pregnant on her doorstep, and Jimmy made one false promise after another. As soon as he got a good job, they’d get married and he’d bring her and the baby home. Now there were two babies, and they weren’t babies anymore. How could Tina be so blind to mix her life up with that lazy, no-good man?
Mary shot a look at the ceiling. “Just like her mother, then, isn’t she, Lord?” As if Tina had written down Mary’s life story, her own life followed her mother’s map of failure—almost item for item. Except Mary only had Tina, and she certainly didn’t have any family to rely on in the early days. There wasn’t any escaping for Mary after work.
Even now—it was as if her day never ended.
Mary filled her mug with ice once again, and then with tea. This time, she grabbed a couple cookies from the package on the counter and sat down to enjoy the silence of her home for a few more minutes. Soon enough those boys would tumble through the door, and the house would fill with the sounds of laughing and arguing. She glanced at the wall covered with signed handprints and other artwork the boys had made her in school.
Pride nudged her as she remembered them giving those gifts to her on Mother’s day and holidays. They’d stopped making such things for their mother a long time ago. They knew who took care of them, who fed them, who could be counted on.
A sudden sadness washed over her. It wasn’t right, not any of it. Tina should be the one they came home to. Tina should be the one rocking them to sleep when they were scared, or reading them bedtime stories.
The newspaper on the table caught her attention. Mary flipped it open and began scanning the apartment section. There was a small two-bedroom four blocks away. She glanced around and took in the books, the papers, the toys strewn from one end of her house to the other. It’d take a whole lot of packing to move Tina and the boys from her place—and Tina wouldn’t want to help. Four blocks?
Mary flipped through the paper again, scanning, her mind forming a solid plan. It was time for change around here. Something had to. There it was, ten blocks away, a furnished one-bedroom. They could stay here, she’d leave. She picked up the phone and called. It was still available. A large Victorian, cut up into manageable units. She’d seen the place—it was in a quiet neighborhood on a dead end. Ten blocks. Perfect. She called back and made the arrangements. She needed boxes. The boys would help her pack. Tina could have her own room, and she and Jimmy could finally get married. Or not. Maybe when Tina forced his hand she’d see him for what he was and tell him to go for good.
The front door screen opened with a screech. Mary fixed a smile on her face to greet the boys, but instead of the boys, Tina came around the corner.
“I’m home early tonight. You happy?” Tina headed towards the table, a sour grimace on her face.
Mary took a deep breath to steady herself. “Before you sit down, grab a glass of tea. I’ve got some news for you.”
Copyright by April McGowan 2012
by April | Oct 9, 2011 | Short Stories, Writing
“Well, you can’t have it!” She screamed loud enough for the whole neighborhood to hear.
Jimmy slammed the door in Macy’s face as she tried to follow him into the front yard of his mother’s house. He felt her eyes on him as he approached the aging swing hanging sideways off the old oak.
“Why does that old thing matter to you anyway? You were never here to use it.” She stood on the other side of the screen door as the accusing tone in her voice raked over him. Macy didn’t seem understand his penchant for keeping everything. Or at least his trying to. Did she forget how he’d owned nothing for years?
“I’m doing my best to clear out this house, and all you want to do is pack everything away.” Macy pushed open the door, stood on the steps and put her hands on her hips, a stance that told him he was on her last straw. Some things never changed.
Jimmy wiped his eyes and pretended to ignore her. He turned over the swing seat and saw the initials carved there. His finger followed their outline, bumping over rough, cracking wood. He glanced back at his wife.
“I don’t expect you to do anything. I just want it.” Taking out his pocket knife, he cut the single lasting rope that held it suspended over the ground for the past twenty years. Satisfied, he tucked it up under his arm, ignoring the splinters that poked through his shirt and into his flesh.
“Fine. You keep whatever you want. Go rent a truck and haul all that garbage out of here by Monday. Whatever’s left is being donated to the poor.” She pushed past him towards her car.
Jimmy grabbed her as she moved by, pulling her towards him. She swung around, wrenching her arm away. He put his hands up and took two steps back. “Listen, I appreciate your taking care of everything all this time, Macy.” She wouldn’t meet his eyes. “I know you did a lot.” Her head snapped up, eyes blazing at him. That got her attention.
“I did it all.” The last word ground out past her teeth.
“I’m sorry I wasn’t here.”
“That was your doing.” The bitterness in her tone didn’t shock him. The accusing looks didn’t either. He deserved her wrath.
“I know it was.” But, there was something he didn’t understand at all.
Glancing back at the old house, the only home he’d known really, he decided the question had waited long enough. “Why’d you stay married to me, Macy?” He didn’t look at her. Rather, he hoped she was already driving away in her car.
“We made a covenant.”
Jimmy closed his eyes at the pain he heard in her voice to avoid seeing it in her face. “I broke that, didn’t I?”
“No. You never did. Least ways, I don’t think you did.” She sounded strange. Regretful?
“I’ve been in jail for twenty years. That’s not enough to break it?”
“No.” Resentful.
“I robbed a bank and that man died because of it. That’s not enough?”
“No.” Macy’s voice was just above a whisper.
Jimmy moved away and sat down on the front step. He slipped the swing seat from under his arm, tracing the dedication. “Did they use it?” He heard her step closer, then stop.
“Yes.” Her voice choked. “They’d push each other and pretend you were pushing them.”
Pain. Clear and bright it tore through him. He’d missed his children’s growing years. He’d missed being married to the most amazing woman he’d ever known. He’d missed taking care of his mother in her aging years. Missed Christmases and birthdays. Flu’s and chicken pox. First days of school, first dances, first dates and first broken hearts. He’d missed his mother’s funeral. For what?
“There’s nothing I can do to set things right. God knows I tried.”
“God knows?”
He glanced up at her face, wondering at the tone she’d used.
“I think so. I talk to Him about it.” Jimmy shook his head in shame. “Those men I was with. They knew they had me. They found a stupid desperate kid who wanted nothing more than to take care of his wife and new twin babies. They promised him things, things deep down he knew they’d never deliver on. And that stupid boy agreed to drive their car for them.” He shook his head at the memory. Even now he could feel the fear and excitement that had welled inside. He’d gripped the wheel, ready to make their escape as soon as they climbed in the car. He’d gun the engine and they’d make off with everything he needed to take care of his family. No working sixty hours a week at a minimum wage job could give him that kind of security. Their bills would be paid in minutes. They’d be set for months until he could find another job. And then the next one.
He would have never stopped.
“I thank God the police caught me, Macy.” They hadn’t caught the others. He’d been honest at the trial, he didn’t know their names, didn’t know where they lived. There was a public outcry. Someone had to pay for that security guard getting shot. Jimmy paid.
“Did I hear you right?”
Tears welled as his eyes met hers. “Yes, you heard me.”
“You had to suffer for what those men did. You lost everything for them!”
How could he make her understand? “If the police hadn’t caught me, I’d have gone right on taking the easy way. The kids would have grown up with a father who was a criminal.”
“That is how they grew up.”
He shook his head. “No. They grew up with a father who paid for the crime he committed.”
“You didn’t commit that crime.” She sniffed. “Robbery. You should have been out in five. You paid for someone else’s crime.”
That was the rub. The very thing that opened his eyes to God. “I needed that time to turn my heart around. If I hadn’t got caught, who knows what kind of man I’d have become.”
She shook her head at him. She probably thought he was crazy. “You haven’t become any kind of man.”
Macy’s words cut him. She hadn’t let the kids come by more than once a year to see him. She blamed it on the prison atmosphere. She only came to see him three times a year, claiming it was too hard to see him in there. None of it was true. She was punishing him, over and over again for the mistake he’d made.
“Are you ever going to forgive me for being weak?”
“I don’t know that I can.” Tears streamed down her cheeks.
He glanced down at his hands, rubbing his thumbs over the seat. “You know why I made this?”
“I have no idea. But your mother insisted we put it up in the yard.”
“So part of me would be here.”
She tried to snort, but it ended in a sob.
“Sometimes it takes a man a long time to realize what’s important to him.” He held out a handkerchief to her. Taking it, she dabbed her eyes.
“You had to go to jail for twenty years to see what’s important?” Anguish laced her every word.
He shook his head, unable to make her understand. She would stay married to him forever, because of a vow she made before God. But, it’d be like they were strangers. He didn’t think she’d let him live in the same house with her. There was nothing he could do to change her mind.
His gaze traveled over the porch, stopping on a looped rope he’d intended to use to secure the boxes on the trailer they were pulling. Standing up, Jimmy grabbed the rope and headed towards the big oak in the front yard. He tossed the rope high, slung it over the branch, and then he did it again. Fall leaves rained down over his head, showering him with the dust of passing time. He secured the swing seat and patted it.
“Let me push you.”
Macy shook her head at him. Then her eyes went wide. He could see almost see the light turn on in her mind. She’d finally remembered.
“We used to swing together, in the park.” Her voice was just above a whisper.
“That’s right. You said you felt free when you were swinging; lifted up, the ground rushing by, but you were safe. You said you’d always want to swing with me. That you felt like nothing could touch you when I was pushing you. Invincible.”
Tears streamed as she clenched her eyes closed. “We were kids.”
“We were in love.” He patted the seat. “Let me push you.”
Macy crossed her arms over her chest. She shook her head at him.
“Please. Then you can go.”
Jimmy didn’t know if it was the word please or the promise he’d let her leave. Whatever it was, she gave in. Walking slowly towards the swing, she turned her back to him and slipped down onto the seat, the ropes creaking against her weight as she settled back. He put his hands over hers, gave them a squeeze and stepped back, pulling her on the swing with him. Then, he let go.
He pushed her, again and again, and watched her legs instinctively go out and back, pumping. He gave her a harder push. She let out a quick gasp and laughed. Ten years fell away.
“Not so high.”
“Swings are meant to go high. That’s the whole point,” he repeated the same words he’d used all those years ago. Fifteen more years stripped off. She was above him now, head tipped back, looking through the branches.
“What do you see?” He took a quick peek past the orange and yellow of the dying leaves.
“Blue sky.” Her voice came in a wisp to him as she swung away.
He smiled as joy met and mingled with bittersweet regret. They’d never be the same, but he’d always have this. He pushed her again, but he didn’t need to. She was on her own, pumping higher and higher, laughing now. Then, as if someone blew a whistle on the playground, she slowed her legs and came back to rest in front of him. He stood behind her, once again putting his hands over hers. She didn’t move away. Instead she leaned back, her head coming to rest against his chest.
“I missed you.”
“Me, too.” This was it. Goodbye. He braced himself for the pain he knew was coming.
Macy stood and stretched in front of the swing. Her hair was mussed and interwoven with tiny bits of leaf and moss. She ruffled her hair, shaking out the lose pieces and gave him an embarrassed smile. Then she came around behind him whispering in his ear, sending a shiver of hope down his side. “Your turn.”
Holding his breath, Jimmy met her eyes and found warmth there.
“You going to get on, or what?”
He nodded and squeezed his body in between the ropes. Again, they groaned. He put his feet up, feeling like a little boy. He felt her hands wrap over his.
“Ready?”
“I’m set.”
Her hands pulled him back, and then she gave him a heaving push. He was much bigger than she was, but she got the job done. He began pumping his legs back and forth. Laughter bubbled up from his chest. The ground swung away and back, his stomach pulling down with gravity at each pass. Her hands pushed, her voice laughed and then he heard a thud. Turning behind him he saw Macy sprawled along the ground, shaking. He jumped from the swing, out of instinct. Landing hard, he felt his ankle give a bit. He’d pay for that tomorrow.
Racing to her side, he saw her shuddering was from laughter. He knelt down and began pulling bits of earth and tree from her hair and clothes.
“Are you okay?”
“I tripped over the root.” She kept laughing, drawing him in to share her joy with him. As their smiles faded, she focused on the sky above. “Thank you for the swing.”
“I’m glad you liked it.”
Macy’s locked her eyes on his. “We need to take it with us. I want you to put it up in the back yard.”
“For the grandkids?” A hopeful confusion washed over him.
“For us.” She took his hand. “For us.”
Copyright by April McGowan 2011
by April | Nov 9, 2010 | Short Stories
As the owner of a floral shop, Hua knew that people gave flowers for every occasion: marriage, birth, celebrations and loss. Today, as she walked around straightening the displays and dusting the vases, everything in the shop reminded her of loss. Especially the roses.
Hua wiped a tear escaping from the corner of her eye and faced the door as a customer entered her small shop. She forced a smile when she saw Mrs. Lee. The sweet old woman came in every Tuesday to buy the same small bunch of flowers for her husband’s grave. Hua already had it prepared, but out of respect for Mrs. Lee, she waited until she asked for it.
“Good morning, Mrs. Lee. What can I do for you today?”
“Ah, Hua, I’ve come for an arrangement for my husband’s grave.”
Hua listened to Mrs. Lee’s selection of flowers, then went to the back of the shop and puttered around for a few minutes before opening the floral case and taking out the prearranged bunch.
“I hope this will be good enough.” She offered the grouping of narcissus, white daisy and baby’s breath to Mrs. Lee with a slight bow and smile.
“Perfect. As always.” Mrs. Lee bent her arthritic fingers with painstaking care and extracted a ten-dollar bill from her wallet. But, instead of leaving, as she usually did with a wave, she stood there.
“Was there something else I could help you with?”
“How are you?”
Taken aback, she said, “I’m well.”
Mrs. Lee looked at her with skeptical eyes. “And your husband?”
Hua didn’t know how to answer that. She wasn’t accustomed to lying. “He is well.”
“Ah.” Mrs. Lee tottered past the ferns and other live plants to the small café table in the waiting area and motioned for Hua to follow. “Come and sit.”
“I don’t have a lot of time right now, Mrs. Lee. I just got several new shipments in, and they need to be refrigerated.”
“Give a few minutes to an old woman, will you? Do you have any tea?”
After bringing a pot of jasmine tea and two small cups out to the table, she sat down across from Mrs. Lee.
Mrs. Lee poured the tea into the cups and watched the steam rise. “I have not seen your husband in the shop for some time.”
Neither have I. “He’s often gone. Business is good for him.”
“I thought you owned the shop together.”
“We do, but he was offered a job two years ago in the sales department of one of our suppliers.” It was supposed to secure their future. Tears threatened, but she blinked them back.
“He’s a hard worker.”
Hua just nodded, afraid of what she might say if she spoke.
“And how long have you been married?”
“Twenty-five years.” Today. Not that he’d bothered to call her. She wasn’t even sure which town he was in.
“Ahh. You are just beginning.” Mrs. Lee’s eyes grew wispy. “I was married to Mr. Lee for sixty-five years. We met at the immigration office. Then, in citizen class, he would come and sit by me. I didn’t want him to, so I would always move to the most uncomfortable section with the worst view of the teacher, hoping he would not follow, but he didn’t stop. Once I actually saw him give money to another person so that they would move and he could have their seat near me.” She clucked her tongue. “Even though he was very handsome, it wasn’t proper to encourage such actions.
“Finally, on the day we were granted citizenship, he asked me to lunch. As soon as I heard his voice, the gentle tone, I knew I would say yes.” Mrs. Lee let a happy sigh escape. “We were married just two weeks later.” She extracted a crumpled tissue from the sleeve of her coat and dabbed at her eyes. “And how did you and your husband meet?”
Hua stiffened in her chair. “I don’t want to keep you, I’m sure you have many things to do today.” She began to rise, but Mrs. Lee stilled her with a wrinkled, gentle hand on her arm.
“Please, honor an old woman with a quick story.” She smiled encouragingly at Hua.
Hua relented. “On the subway. I was working in this same shop, but back then I had to travel across town to get here. One time I looked up and saw Joseph sitting in the seat across from me. He was very tall.” She remembered feeling small and alone on the train—his size seemed to amplify her feelings. “The next day, there he was again. Later that week, I looked out of the window of the shop and saw him walking up the street. The day after that he was at the newsstand on the corner. The following day he was getting coffee from a vender, then sitting in the restaurant next-door.
“He started to come into the shop, every day, to buy just one flower. As soon as he’d see me working in the back, he’d leave. This went on for three weeks.”
“He was following you? I would have been afraid.” Mrs. Lee made a tisk sound with her tongue.
“I was. My boss didn’t take it seriously, and he chalked it up to cultural differences—but I didn’t think anyone from any culture would like to be stalked. One morning I took a later train, hoping to avoid him, but when I got off, there he was. As soon as he saw me, he turned away and bought a newspaper, hiding his face behind an article. My fear turned to anger and I confronted him.”
Hua remembered the shocked look on Joseph’s face.
“Just what do you think you are doing?”
“I’m sorry. I just…” Joseph stopped, his face flushed pink with embarrassment.
Her hand balled into a fist and she shook it at him. “You leave me alone. Quit following me.”
She caught herself smiling at the image in her mind, her tiny Asian form threatening his six-foot frame.
“I wasn’t. I mean, I was, but,” he paused, hands up as if she held a gun to his chest.
“If you continue, I’ll call the police.” Hua began walking away, but he ran ahead, blocking her path.
“Please. I’m sorry. Let me explain.” He held out a bunch of flowers, dried to perfection, arranged so that the colors blended yellow, gold, red, pink and white, one into the next. They were all roses, perfectly preserved. The aroma was sweet, but it was the adoring look in his eyes that took her breath away.
“I’ve been trying to get the courage to talk to you, but I didn’t know how.”
“So instead you follow me?”
“I work down the street. I started to see you every day on the subway and then I saw where you worked.” His eyes searched her face. “I didn’t know how to approach you, or if you even spoke English.”
She kept her eyes narrowed at him.
“I brought these hoping to catch you.” He held up the flowers again, but she didn’t reach for them. “Will you tell me your name?”
“Hua.”
“Hua?”
“It means flower.”
A pleased smile grew across his face. “Flower.”
She felt her cheeks go warm under his gaze and decided to change the subject.
“You did this?” She motioned to the bouquet.
“I made them for you.”
Hua let the memory of it work through her. She could see his boyish face, so handsome and fair; his green eyes reflecting worry and hope as she’d finally accepted his flowers.
She finished the tale to Mrs. Lee. “And five months later we were married. Three years after that, we pulled together our life savings and got a loan to buy this shop.” She shrugged and smiled in spite of herself.
“A lovely story. Thank you.” Mrs. Lee finished her tea and stood to leave. “May God bless your marriage.” She took her flowers and left the shop.
As Hua cleared the table, she looked out the window, and saw Mrs. Lee stop by a man on the corner. He leaned down, bowing to her and she walked past. The man strode up the street towards the shop, his coat collar up against the cold, but she couldn’t see who he was. She put the tea things away and looked up over the doorway. The sign Joseph painted for her hung there. It read, “A flower fades, but true love remains.” She shook her head, wondering how she could have ever believed that.
Just then, the door opened, jingling the bell above it, and in walked the man she’d seen. As he turned down his coat collar, revealing his face, she froze. Joseph. Once again, he stood before her with worry and hope in his eyes. His face was more lined than it used to be, his hair sprinkled with gray at the temples. Yet he still took her breath away.
“Hua, my flower.”
Joseph hadn’t called her that for some time. In fact, she hadn’t seen him in weeks, or heard from him in days. Every call grew more distant, every conversation more strained. All they’d dreamed and worked for was fading away.
“What are you doing here?” She hadn’t meant to sound so accusing, but her anger had gotten the best of her.
“These are for you.” He held out a bouquet of dried roses, twice as large as the one he’d given her all those years ago. “One flower for every year.”
Taking the bouquet, she recognized some of the flowers that had been grown in their private garden. Some of the plants weren’t there anymore. “You must have been collecting these for a long time.”
“Not everyone gets to be married for twenty-five years.”
“What did you say to Mrs. Lee?” She could see the surprise in his eyes. His face fell, like a little boy who’d just been caught breaking the neighbor’s window with a baseball.
“I asked if she would come in today and remind you of how we met.”
“Why?”
“I quit my job.”
Shock and relief rushed through Hua, but did she dare hope?
“I know we decided I should take that job so we’d have a solid retirement, so that in the future our days would be secure.” He took a few steps closer. “But I realized as I put this bouquet together, that soon I would be financially secure, but I’d also be alone.”
He put his hand under her chin, tipping it up to look into her eyes. “I would rather work hard every day by your side, than retire early and have no one to share it with.”
She felt the tears in her eyes spill out, washing away her anger as he brushed them away with his fingers.
“Did the Tuesday shipment come in?” He used a business-like tone, but she could see joy in his eyes.
“Yes.”
“Let’s get it unpacked.”
She nodded and started toward the back of the shop. Instead, he blocked her path and pulled her into his arms, his eyes locked on the sign over the door. A flower fades, but true love lasts forever.
She followed his gaze. “Mrs. Lee says we are just beginning.”
“I hope she’s right.” He kissed the top of her head. “Happy anniversary,” he whispered.
Copyright by April McGowan 2010
by April | Oct 24, 2010 | Short Stories, Writing
Liz straightened the napkins around her place setting for the fourth time, aligning and realigning the silverware, whispering a mantra to herself. “It’s just for dinner and then I can go home to my family. It’s just dinner.” She tucked the fork down, pulled the spoon up and slipped the package snugly under the edge of her plate. A new group of people entered the restaurant, but there was no sign of Sherri.
A glance at her watch told her Sherri was twenty minutes late. All that rushing to get here for nothing. She shouldn’t have agreed to meet her in the first place. She had finally cast Sherri out of her life three years ago, shaking her friendship off like dust from her sandals. The moment had been the most freeing and refreshing she could remember. It was like the spring breeze blowing in over the ocean on the first warm day at the coast, sweet and salty, cold but not bitter. She wasn’t sure where she ever got the courage to do it, but she hadn’t regretted it once.
The waiter interrupted her thoughts. “More water?” His calm demeanor didn’t match the irritation in his eyes.
She shifted in her chair, guilt building around her for tying up a table during the dinner rush.
“Yes, thank you.”
“And more breadsticks for madam?”
Liz locked her eyes on the empty breadstick glass, not recollecting eating the last one.
“That’d be nice. You know, I’m sure my friend will be here soon.”
“Of course.” He turned his back on her and went to another table, his tone now friendly and light as he filled their wine glasses and offered them coffee and desert.
He probably thought she was one of those people who ate the free bread and left without buying a meal.
There were a hundred reasons she shouldn’t be here waiting for Sherri, but when she’d invited her for dinner, she’d caved and said yes. Liz could never stand up to her. Well, except that last time when she cut off communication. Sherri, apparently having not noticed Liz wiping her hands of their friendship, insisted on this meeting, and was now probably standing her up and making her look the fool once again.
Liz reached up and tucked a straying clump of black unruly hair behind her ear, and fiddled with her earring back, twisting and twisting. Panic set in—was her earring right side up, or upside down? Flustered, she extracted her spoon and covertly looked at her cockeyed reflection. She was upside down, so was left still left, or was it right? Before she could wrap her brain around that confounding bit of physics, she heard voices near the entry of the small restaurant.
Loud, cheery talk drew everyone’s eyes towards the seating host, and the lovely woman who engaged him. Liz noted the cut of her maroon dress, high up the leg, low in the back, and her perfectly styled hair before she realized she was admiring Sherri. The bite of breadstick she had nibbled two seconds prior solidified in her throat and she grappled with her glass of water, gulping it down, in attempts to push it along. She swallowed hard, realizing too late that she had taken in too much. A resounding ache filled her throat and chest as it dislodged the plug, and her eyes teared in sympathy.
Sherri flipped her auburn hair, laughed at something the host said, and touched him on the arm before leaning in to whisper something conspiratorially. Liz tensed as she remembered Sherri giving her orders as if on some kind of training mission, “If you want someone to like you, to do things for you, get them on your side. Empathy and touch do nicely.”
She had always felt Sherri had been quoting from some early Fifties self-help manual, but it appeared the advice still worked. She was never one to reuse an unsuccessful technique. The host personally walked her over to Liz’s table and pulled out Sherri’s chair for her. He offered her a complimentary bottle of their house wine.
“Aren’t you kind?” Her voice overflowed with silky warmth.
Liz’s stomach clenched into a tight knot. He hadn’t pulled out her chair, he had only pointed to the corner and said, “how about there?” He hadn’t offered her wine. On the contrary, the only thing he’d given her was accusing looks.
After tucking Sherri into the table, as if into bed, he handed her a menu with a flourish and a wink before leaving them alone.
Sherri’s rapt attention swung away from the host and settled gently on Liz, like a dove lighting on a newly budding tree.
“Liz, darling.” She reached her perfectly manicured hand across the table and squeezed Liz’s arm. “You look wonderful.”
Liz heard the forced compliment, felt the touch, saw Sherri lean as the empathetic shift of her attention enveloped her.
She knew very well how she looked: tired, haggard and frazzled. Jason had misplaced the iron, so the black blouse she wore was wrinkled; there was a run in the toe of her stalking, creating a large hole encircling her middle toe and cutting off the circulation—it was most unfortunate that she’d worn open toed shoes. In the end, she had barely made it out of the house without food on her slacks when the twins rushed her, their hands encrusted with peanut butter and crackers, to hug her goodbye.
Despite the truth, she sat up a little taller, and felt a surge of pride at being honored by Sherri’s attention. Within seconds, the fallacy of those feelings was realized and replaced by a familiar tickle of tension. Duped again.
The waiter returned with house salads. “May I recommend the scampi?”
“Sounds lovely. What about you?” She pointed the waiter in Liz’s direction.
“Steak and cheddar potatoes.” She had meant to order the low-calorie vegetable soup, but her brain had locked in on the cheddar potatoes and couldn’t seem to let it go. To cover for her mistake, she tried to make small talk.
“Sherri, you look lovely.” She fought the urge to squeeze Sherri’s arm and lean in. Was her smile forced or natural? Did she sound as convincing as Sherri had? She had only been in Sherri’s presence for one minute and already she had begun to second-guess herself.
“Oh, I’m all right I suppose.” She shrugged. “It’s been ages. I’m so glad you could come. I’m sorry it can’t be for a longer visit—I’ve so much to do while in town.”
Liz nodded in mock understanding. Sherri was an attorney, very busy and dedicated to her clients. But, Liz also knew she wasn’t in the middle of a case. She wasn’t home to do anything but visit with her family. It was her parent’s fortieth wedding anniversary. To some, this would be a large affair, but not in Sherri’s family. Blood was always thicker. No, setting aside a few hours for Liz was all she could manage.
Liz caught her thoughts. She hadn’t wanted this meeting at all, and now she was grousing because Sherri didn’t ask to spend even more time with her. Why do I care?
The waiter returned with their food, placing the dish before Sherri with a flourish, and plopping Liz’s down with a thud. As Liz unfolded her napkin, her silverware ratted against the plate, drawing looks from those nearby their table. Ignoring them, she began cutting her steak into small bite-sized pieces before she realized what she was doing—there were no tiny mouths to save from choking hazards here. She pushed the meat around on her plate, to mask what she’d done. Since Sherri didn’t have children, she probably wouldn’t notice.
“So, tell me,” Sherri began, drawing out the word me, “how have you been?” Her brown eyes blinked slowly and she settled her chin on her hands, giving Liz her complete attention.
“Oh, well, fine.”
“Come on now. How are your twins? The last pictures you emailed me were adorable. They could be models, absolutely.”
Email? Oh blast that fool address book. She must have mistakenly sent Sherri the last set of photos. No wonder she was calling her. Wait, did she just say models?
“Oh, thanks. You know, they’re both so quick to learn. Lila is reading and Lucas is so spatially gifted. He remembers street names and people and places months after we’ve visited. For five, they really are amazing.” Liz could hear herself gushing, but couldn’t seem to stop. “They did the funniest thing the other day,” Liz paused feeling self-conscious all of a sudden.
Her companion smiled and nodded before taking a bite of her salad, breaking eye contact as if she were bored to pieces. Liz grumped. Sherri could always get to her, drawing her out and then shutting her down just as she was beginning to feel comfortable. She felt seasick from riding the wave up and down so rapidly.
It was then she noticed Sherri had quit eating; in fact there was little evidence she had eaten anything at all—except perhaps from the gloss of oil and vinegar residue on her forgotten fork.
Liz peered down at her own mostly empty plate and swallowed the bit of cheddar potato she had been enjoying but which now lay like dust on her tongue.
“Anything the matter?”
“Oh, no—just getting full.” Her lips thinned into a smile and she moved her napkin to the tabletop signaling the waiter to remove her plate.
The food was delicious and Liz hardly ever got to eat out without the kids. It was heavenly not to defend her meal from tiny invaders, to eat in peace—or at least relative peace. And yet, she couldn’t eat another bite. Even now she could feel the waist of her size fourteen slacks digging into the skin of her stomach.
Well, that’s why she’s a size six and you’re a fourteen. She knows when to stop. Six and fourteen? Am I really over twice her size? Does it work that way? No it couldn’t be; our wrists are practically identical.
“Liz?” Sherri’s voice broke through her thoughts.
“What?”
“I asked how your husband was.”
“Oh, he’s fine. Business is good.” Liz kept her guard up. She knew very well that Sherri didn’t like Jason. He was the first decision she had made without asking Sherri’s opinion—permission rather. She changed the subject.
“How’s Henry,” Liz countered.
“Oh, I’m sure he’s fine.”
Liz frowned. “You’re sure?”
“Well, he’s moved on you see, so there’s no way I could really know. I suspect he’s fine.” Sherri sipped her wine.
“Moved on?” Her voice echoed in the cozy restaurant. She lowered it. “Do you mean he’s left you?” Liz was aghast—in part shock that her friend was divorced, and in part out of a strange respect for Henry.
“Yes. His secretary was spending more time with him than I was, so he decided he should just be with her instead. It was much more—convenient.”
“Convenient?” Liz laughed at the idea, then sobered when she saw Sherri wasn’t joking. “You’re serious?”
“He’s into efficiency.” She shrugged as if she had just said he was into football.
Liz imagined Henry letting Sherri go, as if he were firing an employee. She could picture it easily, Henry dry and pragmatic, all angles and ugly, smiling down his nose at Sherri. “It makes more sense, it’s much more convenient.” And then his handing her a severance check and a letter of reference for her years of dedicated service.
“The lousy,” Liz stopped herself before she said how she really felt. Sherri didn’t deserve what he’d done, no one did. Then she heard something she hadn’t heard since they were girls. Sherri laughed—loud and long and real. Liz wasn’t sure if she were having a breakdown or not.
“Sherri?”
“I’m sorry. I was just picturing Henry proposing the arrangement to his secretary.” She cleared her voice, lowering it an octave, “By the way, I’m replacing my wife with you because you’re more efficient,” she paused, “he always was a romantic.” She burst into laughter again, blotting the tears away with her napkin.
“And she said yes!”
“I know, can you believe it? Oh good heavens.” She took a deep breath to stave off another attack of the giggles.
“What settlement did you get?” Liz leaned towards her in anticipation.
“I got the house and his car.” She nodded back.
“And you never liked either!”
“No, they were horrible! I sold them the next day to the first offer I got. I lost thousands.” The laughter had returned, and Liz joined her.
“I bet that killed him.”
Sherri could only nod. Liz watched the glimmer of joy in her eyes fade away.
“I’m sorry.” Liz really was. Sherri was better off without an unfaithful husband—but that didn’t change the facts. The dream of a long, fulfilling marriage had ended in betrayal.
For several seconds Sherri said nothing. “I wanted to call you, you know.”
“You did?”
“But we’d lost contact.” Here her eyes locked on Liz’s. So, Sherri had noticed after all. “I know I’m not the easiest person to get along with. Some people say I’m calculating.”
Liz couldn’t argue with her.
“Henry always said he admired that in me. Considering the source, you can understand why I no longer take that as a compliment.”
All Liz could do was nod.
“When you posted those pictures to me, I guess I took that as an olive branch.” Her voice lifted at the end, as if she’d posed a question.
Liz could hardly admit the email had been accidental. She now wished she’d dealt differently with the situation. “I’m sorry we grew apart and that I wasn’t there for you.”
“You know, I’ve never asked you about your faith.”
“It’s your faith, too. You go to church.”
“I occasionally went to church. You go to worship. There’s a difference.”
“Oh.” Liz had never thought of it that way.
“Anyway, I’m not very good at such things, but I thought you could pray for me. Henry’s leaving was such a surprise—and I really despise those kinds of surprises.”
“Of course.” Not once in her life had she ever heard Sherri say the word pray.
“Good.” She laced her fingers together as if she’d closed a deal. Just then the waiter came by to check on them and showed them the desert menu. Liz was about to tell him no, still feeling the pressure of her pants cutting into her skin, when Sherri grabbed it.
“The brownie sundae with extra fudge, please, and fast.”
Liz’s eyes lit up. “Make that two.”
Copyright by April McGowan 2010
by April | May 26, 2010 | Short Stories, Uncategorized, Writing
Alexia refused gifts and thought family events were like emergency-room visits, painful and preventable. As another guest strolled by and squeezed her arthritic hand in greeting, she envisioned herself out in the garden of her old home, the aroma of jasmine wafting about her on the warm spring day. Instead, she sat in the over-sanitized dining hall of an assisted living home, barraged by well meaning, but quite annoying friends and family.
She turned ninety-five today. The day marked an anniversary of another kind as well, it was three years ago today they moved her into this place. She’d wanted to die in her own home, but her family thought otherwise. They wanted her to die amongst the care of strangers, those paid to pretend they wanted her there.
With a sigh, she leaned back and put the most recent unwanted gift on the table nearest her. Her family, she supposed, meant well in their own way. She glanced out the window onto a concrete courtyard framed by aging, brown arborvitae and dying irises.
“Grandma?” A voice boomed near her head and she started in her chair. “Sorry there, Grandma. There’s a visitor here for you.”
She stared at the balding attendant dressed in yellow scrubs with a puppy-dog print stretching over his expansive stomach.
“I never gave you permission to call me Grandma or anything else, for that matter.” She gave him her best scowl, a look that would have brought him to his knees in her younger days as an English teacher.
“She’s a feisty one.” He spoke to a young woman—well she looked young to Alexia, but everyone did. Alexia noted that she was quite attractive as she watched her pull up a metal folding chair.
“I didn’t know it was your birthday.” Her confession came in hushed tones as she looked around the room at the balloons and guests milling about, speaking overly loud to the other aged attendees.
“Then what in the world are you doing here?” Alexia looked at the woman again, and couldn’t place her. That was nothing new today. Relatives came out of the woodwork for this birthday. Many of them told her where they lived and what their financial status was, making her wonder if they were putting in a last-ditch effort to be added to her substantial will.
“Well, I wanted to see you. My mother told me so much about you, that when I moved to the area, I thought I should stop in and say hi.”
“Who is your mother?”
“Lilly Sampson.”
The name floated through her memory until it found purchase. “Lilly. How is she? She was my best student!”
“She’s passed away. But she spoke of you so often, I felt I knew you.”
Dear Lilly, gone. She’d written so many wonderful articles and even a few books over the years. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know.”
“It was recent. Cancer.”
“It’s taken many of my friends and family.”
“Mine too.”
“So, what do you do?”
“I write. Novels. I’m not published yet, but I’m working on it every day.”
“Good. Don’t give up. If it’s your gift, then that’s what you should do. I’d love to read your work. Although, these days, with my old eyes, you’d probably have to read it to me.” Alexia knew in this busy day and age, young people had too few moments to stop in and visit, let alone read to an old woman.
“Would you really? That’d mean so much to me. Mom said you were the best editor she ever had.”
“Oh, that’s lovely.” She reached over and took the young woman’s hand in hers.
“I’m sorry I don’t have a present with me.”
“Don’t worry about it.” Alexia glanced at the growing stack of gifts and felt relief. What would an old woman sharing a two hundred square foot room do with all those things anyway? Most would probably be knickknacks soon knocked off her solitary bookcase by the inept staff and swept into the dustbin. She looked at her new friend as she moved to leave.
“Will you be back soon? With your novel?” She watched the woman’s eyes sparkle.
“Yes. How about tomorrow?”
“Perfect.”
She leaned down and gave Alexia a kiss on her cheek. It was the most sincere thing she’d received all day.
“You haven’t told me your name.”
“Alex. Mom named me after you.” Unshed tears filled her eyes as she waved goodbye and left.
What a lovely gift.
Copyright by April McGowan 2010
by April | Dec 19, 2009 | Short Stories
Second Chances
The cold wind bit into David’s skin as he grappled with his coat collar and maneuvered up the crowded sidewalk. Common sense said to go home and get warm, but it was hard to do that in a mostly unfurnished apartment with a worn out furnace. Besides, for the past two years there hadn’t been anyone to go home to, no one making dinner, no one holding their arms out in welcome to him. The ache it created forced him to sell his dream home and take a job in the city. He knew he would adjust, at least everyone told him he would. But tonight, the night before Christmas eve, when all around him people were making merry and buying last minute presents, the ache fed and grew.
And it waited for him in that cold, drafty apartment.
Just then, a woman hustling four children and more packages than he could count engulfed him like a fishing net. As he untangled his briefcase from their presents, he received five “Merry Christmases” and a candy cane from the littlest girl. They moved on past him, through a river of people searching for that perfect gift, on their way to one party or another. The woman tossed hasty apology over her shoulder as they jumbled their way up the street against the current tide.
David felt a smile on his face and reached up to touch the unfamiliar shape. Despite the cold, it melted away under his fingertips as his thoughts turned once again to his current dilemma. Some days he could convince himself he was simply on a business trip and he would soon take the train home to his wife. The fantasy just wouldn’t hold up around the holidays.
Sounds of laughter pulled his attention to his left, where he saw the well-worn oak door of a local pub. Music and waves of warmth escaped every time someone entered. The heat made it appear inviting, and although it was the last place he should be it was better than facing the ache, so he went in.
The dark and heat enveloped him, and a sinking feeling in his stomach told him to run before it was too late. He stood stiff in the doorway for just a moment and then turned to go. Just then a group entered and blocked his way. A stream of people from outside forced him past the entry and before he knew it, he was sitting in a back booth, hiding away in the dark, hoping to remain unnoticed. A waitress appeared at his table, chewing on a red plastic straw.
“What’ll you have?” She smiled past the straw, revealing a set of perfectly white teeth, center-capped with small diamond studs. Amazed by their sparkle, he couldn’t think of what to order.
“They’re great, aren’t they? My old man got them for me.” Her grin gleamed in the darkness.
What ever happened to giving flowers? “Just coffee please.”
She flashed her smile again and returned a few minutes later with a steaming cup. She waited for him to try it. He did. Steaming was about its only redeeming quality, but it would do the trick.
“Most people order it Irish to cover the taste.” She gave him a knowing wink.
“It’ll be fine.”
Her eyes were skeptical, but when he didn’t change his mind she shrugged and walked away. He would finish his coffee and get out of there as fast as he could. Just as he forced down the last swallow, the waitress reappeared with a tinkling glass of something brown.
“I didn’t order that.”
“No honey, she did.” She pointed to a woman sitting at the bar, but in the haze, he could see little of her features. The waitress leaned down and whispered to him, “Don’t worry, sweetie, it’s only a Coke.”
Even the waitress knew he shouldn’t be here. He really needed to leave. If someone recognized him, he could lose his job. What was he doing sitting in a bar and accepting drinks from strange women? Carrie would laugh if she could see him sitting there sweating. Then again, if she were alive, he wouldn’t be there at all. He reached for his coat and was about to stand when he sensed another presence.
“Hi.” She wore a dark blue professional’s suit and had well manicured hands—he didn’t dare look up to see anything else.
“I hope you like Coke.”
“Uh, thanks.” He cleared his voice. “I’m just leaving, really. I didn’t drink any of it, so why don’t you take it?” He winced at the high, nervous tone of his voice.
“That’s okay.” She slid into the booth, sitting across the table from him. “I actually wanted to congratulate you on your award.”
She knows who I am. With trepidation, he tilted his head to take in her face. She had a tanned complexion, gently angled cheekbones and dark brown eyes.
“Thanks.” He coughed and rubbed the back of his neck in attempts to release the pressure building.
“You’ve come far, David.”
“Do we know each other?” The muscles in his neck knotted tighter.
A crooked smile crossed her face. “We used to.”
His eyes focused more intensely. It couldn’t be. “Rebekka?”
“Hi Dave.”
He never expected to see her again, especially not in the city.
“Bekka, what in the world are you doing here?”
“I live here now. About ten blocks north. I work just around the corner.”
“For how long?”
“A while.” She shrugged.
“You look great.” Great was an understatement. Twenty years faded away before his eyes. He ran a hand through his graying hair, down along his stubbled chin and doubted he passed muster.
“You, too.” She laughed and shook her head at him. “I expected a little surprise on your part, but you look down right shocked.”
“It’s just,” he paused searching for the right words, “I didn’t ever expect you to leave home.”
Her eyes dulled. “Well, things change. It was time to leave.”
“How are your folks?”
“They passed on.”
“I didn’t know.” David’s grandparents died years ago, and there was no one else in town to give him any news.
“It’s okay. Mom got cancer about five years ago, and it was quick. Too quick for Dad. It pulled him along with her. His heart went a couple years later. He missed her too much.”
Until he had lost Carrie, the idea of a spouse dying from grief had seemed foreign. But now, some nights he wished for it.
“I’m sorry.”
“I sold the farm off, and started a new life.”
He nodded, understanding the need.
She took a sip of her drink. “I heard about your wife. I’m sorry.”
“Yeah.” He cleared his voice. “It’s been hard.” They were three simple words that never could convey how hard it had really been. Over the months, then years, he got tired of explaining his pain. Most people didn’t really want to know anyway. They wanted him to move on, which didn’t make sense to him. Why did it bother other people if he grieved the loss of his wife? That was the other reason he moved to the city—there were less people to disappoint.
She reached across the table and squeezed his hand, holding it tight for a moment before letting him go. He couldn’t remember the last time someone touched him. He searched for something to say.
“So, you come here often?” He heard the empty tone in his lame query as he attempted to change the subject and inwardly winced. Small talk had never been his strong suit.
“No.” She hid a smile behind her hand. “This is my first time. I recognized you on the street and followed you in. Is this your regular hang-out?” He could see from the twinkle in her eyes that she knew it wasn’t. He shook his head anyway.
“You want to get out of here?” She motioned towards the door.
“Very badly.”
“Good. Come on. I have an office party I have to attend. You can be my date.” She was pulling on her coat, getting ready to leave, but David’s stomach clenched around the word ‘date’.
“I’m not much for parties.”
“Come on.” She put her hand out towards him. “We’ll show up, make the rounds and then go some place for dinner. We can catch up on old times.”
Still self-assured, still in control. How did she do it?
“Okay.” He took her hand.
****
David wandered behind Bekka for what felt like forever, nodding and shaking hands with strangers and pretending to be interested in what they were saying. Then she excused herself to her office. When people all about her were stored in cubicles, she had privacy, complete with view. She was doing very well.
“Hey buddy,” a large hand clamped down on his shoulder. “How’s it going?” David drew back, his nose insulted by the dense garlic and whiskey emanating from the wrinkled, over-stuffed suit addressing him.
“Fine.” He tried to back away, but the grip of iron held him fast.
“Good, good.” He leaned over. “So, I won the pool and I have you to thank for it.”
“Pool?”
“Yeah, I bet that she liked men all along. Some of them guys thought she was a man-hater, or it was a race thing, but you’re as white as they come.”
David bent away from the stench. “What did you just say?”
“You know, ‘cause she’s an Indian.” He laughed. “Sorry, I meant Native American.” He mashed a finger up against his lips. “Shush, don’t tell.” He listed to the side, and came aground against a nearby cubical wall.
David, under most circumstances a non-violent man, felt the muscles in his arm tense. He was nineteen all over again and this guy was insulting Bekka. His long dormant anger bubbled close to the surface as his fists clenched. He didn’t know what he was going to do, but he couldn’t let this happen, not again. Just as he was about to make a decision, Bekka looped her hand around his bicep.
“All ready to go?”
David was having trouble hearing her with the blood rushing through his ears.
“Come on.” She pulled him aside, handed him his coat and continued hauling him to the elevator.
A vein pulsed at his temple. “You shouldn’t have gotten in the way.”
“Sure I should have.” She patted his arm. “Where are we going for dinner?”
“What?” He spun on her. “Dinner? I almost clobbered that guy, and now you’re on to dinner?”
“That guy is my boss’s brother. He’s made several attempts to ask me out—all of which I ignored. I like my job. It’s not your place to defend me. So, what sounds good? Chinese?”
David continued to stare at her. “It’s like twenty years ago all over again.”
“So let’s not make the same mistakes. Let’s go have dinner.”
With every blink, his blood pressure lowered. “Okay. Chinese it is.”
As they ate, the years continued to fall away and they were once again best friends, sharing laughs and insights. How he had missed her. He partially listened to her story about a client and thought back on their days together. And what broke them apart. His desire to leave and start a new life, away from his grandparents, and her ties to her farm and her parents were a large part of it. She couldn’t leave them, and he knew it—and he had to leave and she knew it. If only that was all.
“Are you listening to me?” She waved a hand in front of his face.
“No. Actually I was listening to the past.”
“What did it say?” Bekka fiddled with her chopsticks.
“It reminded me how foolish I was.”
A slight smile crossed her face. “No regrets, David. Things work as they’re supposed to.”
“You still believe that?”
“And you don’t? You’re a pastor.”
Dave shook his head at her. “Not any more.”
“You still give sermons.”
“Speeches. Old speeches to new crowds.”
“You won an award.”
He had nothing to say to that. The award was a fluke. He was working as a counselor in a drug rehab clinic. Having thrown himself into his work, he won an award for working with alcoholics in a program for drinking and driving offenses. How could he tell her how little it meant? It was all about the work. While he worked, he couldn’t think, and if he couldn’t think, he wouldn’t miss Carrie. Or their baby.
“It really didn’t mean much to me, I guess.”
“Well, it means something to those men you helped.”
The ache descended over him. “I help them so they won’t climb into a car drunk and run down a pregnant woman on the sidewalk while she’s on her way home.”
“I’m sorry, Dave. I didn’t know she was pregnant.”
“Yeah, well, in our society it seems to mean little anymore. He was only convicted of stealing one life, not two. He’ll be out in five years.” He crumpled his napkin on the table.
Bekka reached across the table and put her hand out to him. He stared at it, but it didn’t go away. He relented and put his hand in hers. Being with her brought down all his defenses.
“It’s going to be okay. Some how. Trust God.”
“You can’t say that to me. You can’t.”
“I know it doesn’t make sense right now, but it will. Trust him. Let him take this from you.”
“He’s already taken too much.”
“If you give this to him, He’ll make something good out of it. He’s already using you to help hundreds of men. Keep your eyes open.”
His glance snapped to hers. His grandmother used to tell him that when he was a kid. “Keep your eyes open,Davie, and you’ll see what God can do.”
“What if I don’t want to look?”
“Do you like where you’re at?”
“No.” He didn’t have to give that one any thought. He didn’t like the growing ache or the loneliness that accompanied him everywhere he went. “How do you do it?” She had been through so much. She was the only daughter of a bi-racial marriage. She was the brunt of racism in their small community. She had lost everything she loved—friends, family, opportunity. And yet…
“I pray. I grow. I don’t let the world stop me, because I’m not of the world. I belong to Him. It takes practice.”
“Practice?”
“Yeah.”
“Maybe you should be the counselor.”
“Couldn’t pay me enough.” Her eyes twinkled at him.
“Me either.”
They sat in silence as the waitress cleared the table. “Where do you live?” Her soft voice broke through his sadness.
“Why?”
“I wondered if you’d like to share a cab.” Her eyebrows pinched together, as her eyes tried to read him.
“Sorry. Not far. On Tenth andMonroe.”
“Let’s walk then. I don’t live far from you.”
He helped her on with her coat and paid the bill.
“You should let me pay half.”
“Consider it payment for the session.” Giving her a partial smile, he ignored her further protests. It was the least he owed her. His mind drifted back to the senior dance. The school jock, who never looked at her once until then, wedged in between them and took over their dance. Her eyes pleaded with him not to walk away, but he had. Fear won out. Again. And she had paid. A ring of girls blocked his way to her, but he could still hear the racial slurs, the curses spat at her from a group of angry young men. He could see her terrified look through a part in the crowd, the tears streaming down her face. He should have fought to get to her.
They walked out into the cold and she took his arm. The streets, normally empty by this time of night, were still alive with frenzied last-minute shoppers.
“Ready for Christmas?” he asked, more out of habit than real interest.
“I’m ready. Not hard to get ready, really, being on my own. But I have a wreath and I’ve been invited to Christmas Eve dinner at a friend’s house.”
He couldn’t do much right lately. “Sorry.”
“What for? You don’t know me anymore, Dave. You don’t know if I have a one friend or twenty. Or a boyfriend for that matter. Don’t be so hard on yourself. I’m happy.”
“Do you have one?”
“One what?”
“Never mind.” He couldn’t believe he was asking. His mouth clamped shut as if to prevent him from more blunders.
The blocks passed by and they stood at her apartment building. “Do you want to come up for some coffee?”
“No. Thanks. I’d better get going.” He stared down at her, seeing her as the girl he’d let down. Helpless and alone. Abandoned by the person she trusted to protect her.
“What is it?”
He tucked a straying piece of hair behind her ear. “I’m sorry, that’s all. All those years ago. I didn’t stand up for you. I was a coward.”
Her eyes filled with understanding. “You were young and scared. So wasI.Don’t worry, I’m okay.”
“But,” he couldn’t finish his thought. Life wasn’t what he expected it to be.
She took his hands in hers. “Come upstairs. Have some coffee. Don’t go yet.”
“I shouldn’t have let him cut in. I sure shouldn’t have let him take you outside.”
“I’m over it.”
He let out the breath he’d been holding in a puff of frozen steam. “I’m not.”
She looked away, but he tipped up her head to meet his eyes. Tears were there, but she blinked them away.
“I’m so sorry Bekka. I should have been there for you.”
“I forgive you.”
“Things were never the same.”
“No, they weren’t. But that was you, not me. I made it. It wasn’t easy. God gave me peace. Let it go, Dave.” She squeezed his hands. He couldn’t seem to let anything go. He took responsibility for everything. Even Carrie’s death.
He looked out at the snow-covered street, and watched the occasional car drive by. “I was working, you know? It was late and she had brought my dinner down to the church for me. I had so much to prove, so much to accomplish. She couldn’t wait to tell me she was pregnant,” he choked back tears. “We had this really nice dinner and she said she would see me at home. I didn’t even look up when she left. I was so busy with my paperwork. She walked out. There was a scream and the squeal of tires.”
“You were there?”
“I held her until they came to take her away.”
“Davie.” She pulled him close. It felt good to be comforted. He had been alone for so long.
“Spend Christmas with me,” she whispered into his ear, the warmth of her breath wheedling through him, thawing him from the inside out.
He pulled away to see if she meant it. What he saw in her eyes wasn’t pity, nothing close to it.
“Here?” He glanced at her building.
“With my friends. It’ll make them happy to see me out with a man.” She laughed. The same Bekka, straight forward, funny, strong. “They’re always trying to fix me up, but I keep telling them I’m waiting for someone special.” She caught herself and looked away.
“I’d like that.”
She looked up into his eyes. “You would?”
He caressed her cheek with his thumb. “Yeah.”
“Okay. Meet me here at six, we’ll share a cab.”
“I’ll be here.” He kissed her cheek, before heading up the street. When he turned back a moment later, she was still standing there, watching him, a soft smile on her face.
Instead of dreading home, he practically raced the rest of the way. Inside his apartment building, the elevator doors closed, and he watched his reflection in the golden metal doors. There was a silly grin on his face and his eyes, instead of being full of fear, twinkled with something. He drew closer, nose to nose to his reflection, reading the stranger in the door. Instead of the ache, he saw something new. There it was.
Hope.
Copyright by April McGowan 2010
