Another Stab at Life

by Anita Higman

  I headed to the bathroom, thinking of my next, and final, blind date. A lunch date with a man named Lee Yorker. Dedra said he was a nice Christian guy who loved eating out in many of Houston’s finest restaurants. Hmm. Yorker rhymes with Porker. Hope that isn’t some kind of sign.

  So with a leisurely tempo, I showered and slapped on what I’ve dubbed my “number two painted face.” Applying makeup is mostly a waste of valuable time, but I discovered in today’s society it’s a necessary evil. So I’ve conformed. And over the years, for speed and convenience, I’d developed three faces for going out. A number one face is my makeup job for everyday routines like going to the grocery store, clothes shopping, or running out for a quick bite of lunch. My number two face is the next level up, used for generic dates, church functions, and business dealings.

  My number three face. . .well, it rises to the maximum primping level and is only brought out for very special occasions. I had to think about it. Didn’t do many of those number threes. It took extra time, such as eyebrow plucking, dramatic and dimensional eye shadow application, and sparkling bronze powder on all exposed upper body parts. This dusting procedure sets my face like a Mardi Gras mask, but hopefully not including the nightmarish expression.

  I guess since I’d been in Houston, the only date that merited my number three face was. . .Max. Once again, my mind drifted over to his house, but after a moment of lingering there, I tucked my dreams away. . .for now.

  Even if I chose never to marry, I knew God could show me ways to fill my home with love and ways to share that joy with others. I wasn’t there yet, but somehow God saw potential in me like a precious stone stuck in the dirt. I felt a prayer coming on. Oh God, whatever it takes, I really need You to show me the way. Could Max possibly be my one and only? Knowing God has a sense of humor and remembering how He’d put me on quite an eye-popping roller-coaster ride recently, I wondered what my prayer might unleash.

  After completing my number two face, I headed down to the row of hard chairs in my living room. I flipped through a magazine. It was like living in a doctor’s office.

  Then suddenly the wet chamois of reality slapped me across the face. The doorbell had rung, which meant Lee Yorker was now waiting for me on the other side of that door. He’d come early. I raised an eyebrow. Anxious, I guess.

  I made my peek, flipped the deadbolt, and opened up to the world of my third blind date. Mr. Lee Yorker anointed me with his dashing good looks and killer smile. Dresses well. Doesn’t have a goofy grin. Major points for that one. Okay. What’s wrong? There has to be something wrong with this guy. Probably the only thing wrong is. . .he isn’t Max. I offered my hand to him. “Hi. I’m Bailey. It’s nice to meet you.”

  Lee smoothed his blond hair back, looked at me, and then took my hand. He brought my fingers up to his mouth and kissed them with warm lips. The gesture was so immediately intimate, I shivered with concern. Was he from another culture where this was acceptable? Was he being theatrical for fun? But why? What was the matter with this guy?

  Then another tremor of a different kind coursed through me. Was there such a thing as déjà vu with touch? If so, this was it. Amazingly, the contact with Lee felt familiar somehow. The way he kissed my hand. And those eyes—I somehow knew that startling color of ocean blue. Who was this stranger? I had the feeling it was not Lee Yorker. My hand shriveled away from his grasp. “Who are you. . .really?”

  “I’m sorry,” the stranger said. “I didn’t mean to scare you. I’ve come so far—”

  “You must not be Lee. Who are you?” My eyes narrowed.

  “Who’s Lee?” The stranger sounded offended.

  “I’d say under the circumstances, it’s none of your business. Please tell me who you are. Do I know you?”

  “Bailey. Don’t you recognize me? Your old fiancé?

  I know it’s been a long time, and well, my hair’s lighter now, but I haven’t changed that much. Have I?”

  My hand flew to my forehead. I gasped. “Sam. Is it you?” I felt lightheaded.

  16 – Loose-Tongued Lily

  “It’s me.” Sam tried to pull me into a lover’s embrace. “No,” I said. “Please.” What a nightmare. I only wish I could wake up from it.

  Sam pulled back. “Aren’t you glad to see me?” He appeared stunned at my reaction.

  I winced and shook my head, not for any dramatic effect, but from his audacious behavior. The moment was like a hard fall—sharp pain mixed with shock. “To be honest, the last time I saw you. . .it was a bit strange. I was watching from a parked car as you escorted your new bride to your limo.”

  “You were actually watching us?” Sam chuckled. “Pathetic, isn’t it. . .what love does?”

  Sam lowered his head. “It must have been rough on you.”

  I stared at this male figure who’d once been a big part of my life—the man who’d wrapped his heart around mine, promised to marry me—only to break that same heart when he ran away with my best friend, Annie.

  Sam Hunter had changed some. He’d grown older, but he was still striking. Tall and tanned and always flashing those baby blues of his around like he ruled the world.

  “I’ve missed you, babe.” Sam gave me a glance up and down. “And look at you. You haven’t changed a bit. Maybe a little crow’s-feet, but you’re still looking trim and pretty.” He snapped his fingers as he hit his fist into his palm.

  I remember Sam used to make that gesture when he felt as if he’d won at something. “This conversation is not only insulting, it’s inappropriate. You’re married to Annie. Your choice has been made.”

  “No. It’s been over for a while now. Actually, I think it was over the day we married.” Sam frowned as he stared at me. “Annie and I have been divorced for six months now.” He shuffled his feet. “She left me for another guy. Somebody with a political future. I think she fancies herself becoming a senator’s wife someday. She always liked the limelight. Remember? Always up on stage wanting all the attention. I should have seen it coming.” He let out a chuckle, but it faded into a choking sound.

  “I’m sorry. I know how that can hurt.” I wasn’t going to lower myself by mentioning how he’d sledge- hammered my heart to bits. Although every pore of my body wanted to.

  “Yes. I guess you would know,” Sam said.

  “I thought I’d heard you were out in California. Did you move to Houston?” I certainly hoped that wasn’t the case.

  “No. I came here just to see you. One of those

  Realtors where you used to work in Oklahoma City told me you were moving to Houston.”

  “Oh.” Probably Loose-Tongued Lily.

  “Listen. Do you mind if we take this little reunion inside? It’s kind of steamy out here. By the way, how can you stand this humidity? And what are you doing in this ugly old house? This is so not you.”

  I straightened my shoulders. “Sam, I don’t think coming in would be wise. . .under the circumstances.”

  “Why not? I’m not married.”

  Sam tilted his head and raised one side of his lip. An expression I used to think was endearing. “I moved on, Sam. I had to find a way to make a life for myself. One that didn’t include you. But I suppose I should thank you, because when I ran away from the pain, I ran toward God.”

  “Come on, now. I was never big on all the redemp- tion stuff. Whenever I’ve been delivered from anything, it was by using my own wit. I just sort of went along with you back then, but I’ve determined over the years it’s a waste of time. There’re so many more important things to do.”

  “Like what?”

  Sam leaned in on the door frame, trying to look amorous, but appeared sleazy instead. “Well, now that you bring it up.”

  I got a whiff of his cologne. Musky, but overpower- ing enough to make my nostrils burn. I coughed. Not the reaction he’d hoped for, I’m sure.

  “And as I recall,” Sam said as he leered at me, “you always had other qualities that took up my time. That never changes, babe.” />
  No more! I will not get sucked into this guilt trip. The intimacies I’d shared with Sam were long since forgiven. Transgressions tossed away as far as east was from west. It was His promise, and so if God Almighty wasn’t going to make me wallow in the muck, then neither was Sam. Now, I just pitied him. Sam seemed lost in so many ways. I wondered when his cheerful confidence had turned to such cocky behavior. Had Annie done this to Sam, or had he always been arrogant and I just couldn’t see it? But I saw him clearly now as he destroyed all illusions I’d ever had of seeing him as my champion. I said a quick prayer for courage. “I want you to leave. Please.”

  “Come on now. I don’t have time for these games,” Sam said with an edge to his voice.

  I decided not to respond to his bullying and simply raised my chin.

  Sam raised his chin higher than mine. “I’m not leaving.”

  “It would be a shame to call the police, especially since you’re an officer yourself.”

  Sam shook his head. “I left the department. I’m a private detective now.”

  I softened my frown. “Sam. This isn’t going to work between us. Surely you can see it.”

  “Please.” Sam reached out to stroke my arm.

  I pulled away, hoping he’d finally get the message. Then Sam slipped past me into the entryway. “Just

  let me have a peek inside.”

  “Sam. No.” I stayed in the doorway, waiting for him to come back.

  He circled the front rooms, mumbled something derogatory, and then strolled back to the front door. “There. That wasn’t so bad. I just wanted to see how you were living. To be honest, I’ve seen you with better accommodations.”

  “Well, this house certainly looks better than my apartment after it was trashed.” I wasn’t going to get pulled into the past, and yet it bubbled up in spite of my resolve.

  “Oww. Bailey, sweetheart. You do still care for me, or you wouldn’t get riled up so easily.”

  “You’re taking it the wrong way. I wish I hadn’t brought it up. I don’t want to argue with you. Or even to discuss the past.”

  “I’m disappointed in you. I thought you’d at least invite me in for some coffee. You’ve lost all your warmth and kindness.”

  “I’m sorry I let you down.” I tried to keep the sarcasm out of my voice.

  “Won’t you ever forgive me?” Sam said with fake sweetness.

  “I don’t think that’s why you’re here. To ask me for forgiveness.”

  Sam let a slow grin spread across his face. “You still know my ways. You’re what I really need. In fact, babe, it’s difficult being so close to you like this and—”

  “Please stop.” I remembered just after Sam and Annie became engaged, I’d still believed Sam would come to his senses. I’d waited for a moment just like this one. But now we were truly worlds apart. Oh Lord, forgive me for making such a foolish choice back then, and thank You for Your hedge of protection. I wanted Sam to be very clear about my intentions. “I’m sorry you’ve come so far, and I’m truly sorry about Annie, but what I felt for you years ago. . .is gone. So I’m asking you one more time to please go. Now.” Did he notice the little shake in my voice? Was someone coming up the walk?

  Sam suddenly looked around and frowned.

  The man, who must certainly be Lee, moved in cautiously. “Hi. I’m Lee Yorker. I hope I’m not inter- rupting something here.”

  Sam narrowed his eyes. “Well, as a matter of fact—” “Actually, Sam had stopped by. But I think we’ve covered everything we needed to cover,” I said in a businesslike tone. I turned back to Sam. “I wish. . .no, I pray the very best for you.” I stuck out my hand to Sam, but this time he backed away. I saw genuine sadness in his eyes. And something else. A somewhat restrained but palpable look of vengeance.

  17 – The Grisly Spectacle

  “Okay. I’ll go,” Sam said as he brushed by Lee and off the porch. “But I will be back. . .Bailey. Do you hear me?” He shot me another loaded look and strode to his car in silence.

  I let out the breath I’d been holding. I wanted to end the farce and tell him once again the relationship was over, but I figured hollering that kind of soap- opera language to Sam might not be the best way to start my date with Lee.

  “I’m sorry I broke up your conversation,” Lee said. “I do apologize.” I looked at Lee. He appeared kind, his green eyes warm and merry. And what was the word? Guileless. Yes, I was in need right now of some guilelessness. He smelled clean and fragrant like a grove of pine trees. Not bad. His only flaw was his hair, which was gelled within an inch of its life. It reminded me of the molded plastic hair on the dolls I played with as a girl—the kind of mane that was never meant to be disturbed. Ever. Sort of hair with rigor mortis. But Lee seemed like a saint compared to Sam, so I filed my critical nature away and pulled something out of the Bailey-needs-to-lighten-up drawer.

  “This was totally unexpected,” I said. “Sam just showed up. I’m so sorry.” “Old flame?” Lee asked.

  “Yes. I’m afraid so. Very old. And the flame is out.” How odd to share such personal data with a stranger.

  I smiled at Lee as we trotted down the sidewalk to his blue sedan. Just as he pulled out, I saw a huge black bird on the street hopping around and picking at something. The bird shot a piercing glance my way and then went back to his meal. The vulture, a rather prehistoric looking creature, tore at the flesh of a dead squirrel. His head appeared bald but radiated the same color as the intestines he was eating. I thought a dry heave might be in order but decided to look away and cringe instead.

  Lee seemed oblivious to the grisly spectacle, so I didn’t bother pointing it out. If you could bottle this feeling, it would do well on the market as an appetite suppressant. I tried to dismiss the scene, which, oddly enough, felt a lot like my episode with Sam.

  Later that afternoon, I arrived home in one piece physically but not emotionally. No matter how deter- mined I was not to think about Sam, the incident still left an unsettled place in my spirit.

  Lee had been great and indeed guileless. As fine a man as Dedra had promised. But even if I’d agreed to have another date with him, we both knew our time together hadn’t truly clicked. Lee was handsome and witty and sane. That last one was always a real plus. But there’d been no enchantment. No parallel passions. No sense of eagerness and wonder. I knew he felt the same. People can just sense these things.

  My excursion into the dating scene had once again felt like being on a merry-go-round. When I was a kid I wanted to throw up after going too many rounds, but now I didn’t feel nauseated, just weary. Interesting about dates. Witty things can be said, scrumptious food can be shared, fun can be had, and the entire experience can even appear textbook perfect. . .but still not satisfy. Not like Max. I hated to compare, but it was impossible not to. Even good men didn’t hold up well when put side by side with Max.

  I puttered around the kitchen for a while, putting on a pot of coffee. As the water began to drip through the grounds, my musings filtered back to Sam. So much time had passed. So much pain and betrayal. Why would he think he could start back up with me as if nothing had transpired? Was it a macho thing or just a human thing? I simply wanted Sam to leave. Leave Houston and go back to California where he could live out his sad, sorry life, making someone else’s life miserable. Oh God, make my thoughts pleasing, because I’m certainly not feeling very compassionate right now.

  But I couldn’t help wondering why I’d been so enamored with Sam. So utterly captivated, I was no more than an android waiting for instructions from the mother ship. I’d been blind, and my loss of discernment troubled me.

  Could I somehow be blinded again? Could Max be another Sam, only I wouldn’t realize it until it was too late? These were the complex truths rising to the surface of this scum-covered day. Sam certainly didn’t make me want to run into his arms. And now that I thought more about it, Sam didn’t make me want to run into Max’s arms either. The whole episode just made me want to run.
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  Oh God, how can bringing Sam to Houston be a part of Your plan to show me the way? I know You’ve taken care of my house, my finances, and my friends, so I should be trusting You. . .but Sam is just muddying the water and messing with my head. I guess the Bible speaks truth when it reads, “His ways are not my ways.”

  After pouring myself a large mug of French roast, I loaded down my brew with heaping tablespoonfuls of sugar and whipped cream. I needed the extra reinforce- ment. The mixture must have awakened a sixth sense, because I suddenly made a connection I hadn’t thought of before. Sam said he’d left the department to become a private detective, but had he really been dismissed from the force? And would all the sudden rejections in his life make him eager for revenge? On anyone?

  As I turned toward the back door, an image caught my attention. There on my largest kitchen window was a shimmery w drawn on the pane of glass. As fast as a bullet from a rifle, I thought, “I’ve seen this image before.” A lowercase w, reminding me of the top of a pitchfork. The icon on the window glared back at me as if issuing a challenge. But then maybe Woody G.’s crew had to scribble the w on the window as some kind of instruction to the crew. Or was the perpetrator of this gibberish the same person who destroyed the cat, impaled the butterfly, and left the two-way radio in my backyard?

  I ran my hand over the glass and was relieved to find that the drawing had been made from the outside. No one could get in now. I had accomplished my goal with my tight security. But still someone out there lingered, wanting to tell me something. Wanting to tease me, or scare me, or worse.

  I leaned in closer to the design and noticed it didn’t really look drawn on, but actually etched into the surface. So, I wouldn’t be able to just wash it off. I’d actually have to replace the pane of glass. I knew now Woody G.’s men wouldn’t have deliberately damaged the window. Max had recommended them highly, and they’d already done a great job.