“Chandler, this is a nice story...,” Zelda started but was interrupted.
“Ms. Fitzsimmons, my parents were killed by what is now called Boko Haram. Early in Nigeria, when the group was getting started, they were nothing more than terrorist thugs. My father spoke out against them and in retaliation, we were forced to watch adult men...,” his words trailed off. “My sisters never made it to London with us.”
“For years, the nightmares never left me. My parents fled to England to give us a better life, but of course, the men who still considered him to be a threat found us. They took my mother back to Nigeria and tried her as a common criminal. My father disappeared one night, which left me alone. They came for me as well, but I escaped. You cannot imagine how afraid I was alone in Italy, not speaking the tongue. Everyone looking down on me. This...strange place has been my home,” he told her.
Zelda processed all the information being given to her, trying to make a whole pie from the slices. The information was meaty, but her nightmares had no correlation to what he’d just shared. Her teeth were sunken in, taking hold, but all of it was too tough to swallow. Her eyes went to Chandler.
“Ms. Fitzsimmons. We are three people with horrible memories. Two of us have faced the monsters over our beds, the things which go bump in the night and piss poor parents who made bad decisions which cost us our innocence. Happiness is attainable once you let go of the assholes who took away your ability to believe in adults that do the right thing. You are now an adult. Move your life forward to take hold of your happiness. If not, you will spend the rest of your life running from things which bump your bed,” Chandler said. “I will escort you to the kitchen. We have guest rooms downstairs and I will take you to the airport in the morning should you so desire.”
Guiding her back to the kitchen, he pointed to the door for the guest room, then freshened her tea.
“Sleep well, Madam,” he said, leaving her alone in the kitchen still wearing his robe, a pair of pants, no drawers, and sneakers with no socks. The dark which surrounded her every time she smelled liquor on a man’s breath at night was tied to a memory she had repressed.
A nasty memory.
A vile memory.
A haunting memory of a man touching her thigh with liquor on his breath.
“Zelda,” Scott called her name. He stepped around the corner into the kitchen. “I am tired and going to bed.”
Rising slowly, she took her cup to the sink. His back was rigid as he climbed the stairs, not looking back to see if she was following or not. He’d changed into bed clothing. His energy consuming day had won, he was completely drained and out of arguments, he slid between the covers ready to end a bitch of a day. Bunching the pillow under his arm, his head sank into the feather down headrest, settling around his head as he closed his eyes and exhaled deeply. Minutes later, her scent wafted across his nose as the warmth of her body sidled in beside him.
His arm, strong and powerful draped over her waist, pulled her close. “You are safe with me, Zelda,” he whispered.
“Scott, I don’t know what to say,” she said.
“Say goodnight, say you trust me to help you, say that you will not run from us,” he said.
“I will not run from us,” she told him, her fingers rubbing the fine hairs on his arm.
“I want to trust you to help me,” she added.
Scott said nothing, only squeezing her slightly.
“Goodnight, Scott,” she said.
“Goodnight, my spectacular lady,” he said, drifting off to sleep.
*****
Sleep for Chandler didn’t come so easily. He recognized the sound of the scream. The fear in her eyes was real. The thudding heartbeat which nearly drowned out the sound of all reasoning, forcing the body to shift into flight mode was too familiar to him.
His first night in the Berger house he’d done the same.
Only when he stopped running from his invisible demons, he found himself outside nearly drowning in the pond. Flailing his arms around trying desperately not to drown as Scott’s strong hand reached out, pulling him up from under the dark murky water. It took years for the nightmares to leave his brain. Still, to this day, on dark rainy nights, the sounds of his sister’s cries haunted him. Even with his eyes closed, the hiss of the last breath she took when she stopped begging their father for help etched itself in his brain. Try as he might to save her, his father held him close, unwilling to allow him to go to her side or fight off her attackers.
Stupid man.
All he had to do was mind his own business.
“Passionate men never think about the toll of their desires on those around them,” he muttered as he looked at the empty tea cup.
His mind went to Jacob Berger. A nice man with no clue about life. Jacob had been very kind, but Chandler also understood the man’s inability to relate to Scott was the only reason Chandler had a home.
Scott had not mentioned Ms. Fitzsimmons’ parents, only her brother. It was not his place to ask questions. Her reaction tonight told him almost everything he needed to know.
A monster took pleasure in late night visits to her bedroom. A memory she tried desperately to hide. The only issue in suppressing memories, it also suppressed character.
“I wonder what she would be like if she no longer lived in fear?” He asked himself. Chandler was tired. The intervention was not totally altruistic. Martha Welton, his lady friend, was rapidly becoming much more. Several nights during the week he stayed over at her house. Last week she asked him to move in.
Friday.
Friday would tell me everything he needed to know.
Zelda Fitzsimmons was going to meet all of Scott’s friends. If she could fit in with those zany characters, then she truly was the right woman for his boss. He prayed it would all go well.
Chapter 8
Thursday
Scott lay awake, listening to the gentle sound of Zelda’s breathing. Fear touched him several times during the night, whispering in his ear that she would freak out on him again. It didn’t take a genius to understand what that reaction was about. He didn’t need to know the details of her trauma.
Not today.
Not ever.
Unless she wants to tell me.
Bones of skeletons from horrors past filled a downstairs closet in his own home. He wasn’t one to judge what random bones hung about in someone else’s house. I want a life with her but I need to see the whole woman, not the sexy one who enjoys making love to me. Building a life with her means knowing who I am in bed with. The last thing I want is to not wake up because she’s freaked out and slit my throat in my sleep.
He shifted his legs, stretching to his full six foot two frame. Zelda felt his movements, slowly opening her eyes to look at him. She blinked a few times. Waking up next to him was still very new to her reality.
“Question,” he said softly, his index finger coming up to gently stroke her cheek.
“Nope. Too early. Not lucid enough to answer anything which requires deep thought or introspection,” she mumbled, pulling the covers half across her cheek.
“Simple question. Name something you can’t do,” he said to her half-shielded face.
Zelda turned her back to him, snuggling closer. There were lots of things she couldn’t do but most of those things included stuff she didn’t care to do. One of her biggest fears and darkest memories were of fresh water and swimming. Swimming in fresh water to her was worse than swimming in a pool.
“Swim. I can’t swim,” she told him. “I am scared of swimming in fresh water.”
Her words energized him. In his head he believed he’d found a way to show her he could be trusted. He was a great teacher and he was going to teach her to swim.
“Good! Today, I am going to teach you how to swim in fresh water,” he said.
“No. No you are not,” she told him, rolling over to her belly and pulling the pillow over her head.
“Yes, Zelda. Today, you will face all your f
ear, learn something, and trust your man to keep you safe. At the end of the morning, our relationship will enter a new phase and we can see the whole of each other,” he said with bass in his voice.
“Lowering the octaves on your voice ain’t gonna make me change my mind about jumping in a lake and trying to swim,” she said.
“That may be, but allowing yourself to be in a vulnerable state gives me a chance to see the entirety of you. Just as you wanted me to tile a back splash so you could determine what type of man I could be under pressure, I want to see what you are like when your guard is down and you are exposed,” he told her. “I need you to lower the wall and let me inside your self-imposed fortress.”
“Scott, inside my fortress, you can’t sink to your death laying tile. In an open body of water, I can drown,” she said.
“Do you trust me?”
“That is not a fair question especially before my morning coffee,” she murmured.
“It will be like us taking a bath in a bigger tub. I will move back in the water and you can float your way over to me for hugs, kisses, and a rub on the fur chest of love,” he said chuckling.
“Whatever,” she said, looking at him out of the corner of her eye. Damn, he was sexy to her.
I really like him.
My freak-out with Pretty Boy Rodney ended with him asking me a million questions that I could not and would not answer and he left me. Scott hasn’t asked any questions, but wants to help me heal. I don’t know how swimming in a pool of fresh water where fish, frogs, and other minute creatures float about shitting in the water is going to help me be better, but I have to try.
“I want to try,” she said to him.
“That’s all I need to get us started,” he said, rolling over to kiss her on the nose.
“I don’t have a suit,” she told him.
“You don’t need one,” he told her. “It’s my pond, no one can see us.”
*****
Enjoying a light breakfast with only the two of them, Zelda, in a pair of shorts and tee shirt, rode alongside Scott in the golf cart, clutching a towel as if it were her only weapon in a battle of wills. Her will to try to learn to swim was waning. She wanted to jump out of the cart and run back to the safety of the crazy house with a pod that could launch into space.
“Relax, it will be fun,” he told her.
“I’m so excited,” she said through clenched teeth.
The pond in the rear of the house was a postcard image waiting to be snapped. Lush blue grasses touched the landscape as if a painter took the time to capture the image of Eden in his mind. Grabbing her phone from the bag, she took several photos of the scenic landscape, sending the images to her brother.
Scott stopped the golf cart, parking it in a gravel drive next to a soft landing spot which had been made into a beach. Reaching into the back seat, he pulled a large colorful blanket under his arm, smiling at her, nodding his head for her to follow him to the small patch of sand at the water’s edge. Gently, he spread the blanket on the soft grass, kicked off his shoes, and then pulled the tee shirt over his head. The fur on his back was gone.
His back was smooth as a baby’s bottom.
Why hadn’t I noticed that before?
Scott turned on his heel walking backwards, he kept going until the water came up to his knees. A wistful grin sat on his lips as if he knew a secret that no one else did. The cool water lapped at his ankles, then his shin and up to his knees when he stopped.
He asked,“Zee, have you ever seen Dirty Dancing?”
“Yes,” she said, still sitting in the golf cart, clutching the towel for dear life.
“Let’s recreate the scene in the lake. Come on, kick off your shoes, run to me and jump in the air and I will catch you,” he said.
“And nope,” she said, clinging tighter to the towel.
“Come on, Sweetie. A big bad girl like you isn’t afraid of a little water,” he said softly.
“Oh yes I am,” she said,
“Trust starts here,” he said.
“Trust is overrated,” she replied.
Scott fell back in the water, swimming deeper, wading, and watching her. He swam forward, diving in the water, touching the bottom with his hands, his feet in the air clapping together like a big hairy seal. Flipping, he went to his side, floating along the surface of the water as if he were one with the pond. Ripples in the water followed him and he rolled to his back, treading with ease as his big powerful arms sliced through the pond. Stopping, treading again, he initiated a butterfly stroke coming back to the edge of the beach, standing in the same spot where he’d begun, his feet planted firmly in the bottom of the pond. The water cascaded down his body as he held out his arms to her, silently encouraging her to come forward and join him.
She didn’t move.
Fear kept her rooted to the seat watching him in the water.
As much as she wanted to join Scott and trust him, a shiver of an old memory held her fast.
I have to try.
If I don’t move now, I will never be able to let go of a past holding me prisoner.
I want to be free to live, to love and to trust.
He is asking me to trust him.
Scott is going to catch me if I fall.
He will not let me fail.
I am going to be free.
Zelda dropped the towel, kicked off her shoes, and ran towards him at full speed. As she reached the water’s edge, she launched her body towards him as hard as she could into the air and he caught her, lifting her slim form, holding her high above his head. Her arms and legs splayed wide, her body light as a feather, fear leaving her as the gentle touch of the early-morning sun kissed her face.
“Wow!” she yelled. “I feel so free.”
Lowering her body slowly until her toes touched the water, he slid her along his torso as if they were melding into one body, his arms around her waist. Leaning back until his bum touched the water, he ended on his back, Zelda lying face down on his upper body as his legs gently scissoring in the water, floating them out into the pond. His heart beat slowed as she lay on his chest, her heartbeat matching his own.
“Absolutely spectacular,” he said as he floated about the water, his lady love on top of him.
*****
Chandler watched from the kitchen window as the two floated about like an otter mom preparing to teach her newborn the power of the water. A slick idea hit him as he grabbed the phone, making a call to Scott’s office. Carolyn answered immediately.
“Scott Berger’s office, this is Carolyn,” she said, seeing the phone number from the Berger home line.
“Good morning, Carolyn. This is Chandler,” he said.
Very seldom did she receive a call from Chandler, unless Mr. Berger was not coming in, which was rare or he was under the weather, which was also a rarity. “Morning, Chandler. Is all well on your end?”
“Yes, it is. I have some changes to Mr. Berger’s calendar. He will not be in today. The Vent Club meeting tomorrow afternoon at the pod has been pushed back until 5 pm. Please notify the members they are meeting here at the house an hour later,” he said.
“Certainly. Chandler, is everything okay?”
“Of course, Carolyn. Mr. Berger will be in the office in the morning,” he said to her.
He disconnected the line and checked the freezer and the meat content. Since returning from Texas, his boss had been spending a great deal of time and meat earning and perfecting his grilling technique. Something, he was really ready to show off.
“This will never do,” he said, grabbing the keys to go to the market. A smile was on his face at his clever ploy.
*****
“Okay, Zelda, time to float,” he told her. Her athleticism kicked in as her strong legs, opening and closing, moved the water as she propelled her body forward. Proud of how fast she learned to get the leg actions correct, he upped the ante.
“Move your legs like you are making small cuts with a pair of scissors and grab a
handful of water pulling it behind you, good, again, again,” he instructed.
She took to the water with ease, swimming small distances until he pulled her out further, where the water came up to his neck. Letting her go, he taught her to tread water in place.
“You are such a fast study. I am going to turn your body to face the shore. Keep your eye on the blanket, kick, pulling the water behind and don’t stop until your hands hit land,” he said.
“Whaaaa?”
“Go Zelda,” he said to her.
Eyes wide, she started kicking, pulling handfuls of water behind her, pushing her body forward. Her gaze focused on the blanket. Get to the blanket, get to the blanket. I can’t believe I am in a damned pond of water, trying to frickin’ swim. What was I thinking? What was I thinking? What was I thinking?
“Holy crap! I’m swimming!” she said aloud. Her hands hit the dirt of the beach and she stood up. “I just swam!”
His large body moved through the water, swimming quickly to shore and standing next to her. “You sure did, Baby!”
“That was amazing! Oh my goodness, that was better than sex!”
“The hell you say,” Scott said, lifting her in his arms, kissing her neck. “I beg to differ.”
Lowering her feet to the ground, his hand in hers leading her to the bright blanket sewn together with fabrics of many colors, he took a seat. Lying back, the sun warmed him as he stared upwards, enjoying the beauty of an almost perfect morning.
“I like it here,” she told him.
“I’m glad,” he said. “If you like to ride, we have horses. Fresh eggs are available at the hen house, just ask Chandler if you want more than a dozen at a time. There is a milking cow for fresh milk and cream. The Berger Estates are self-sustaining. I know it may seem nuts, but this is home. You will have carte blanche to redecorate some of the living space in the house.”
“Starting with the crushed velvet blue walls of the foyer and the blue shag carpet?”
“Good God, yes, please start there,” he said, laughing. One knee was bent as he flung the back of his arm across his forehead.
“The orange dining room would be next, but I am not certain about the kitchen. Do I need to find a manufacturer who makes products capable of space flight?”
A Frickin' Fantastic Friday (The Zelda Dairies Book 3) Page 6
