Run Delia Run

by Cindy Bokma

  The weight of Leo’s illness was heavy on my mind and I woke up with a terrible headache Sunday morning, the feeling of a vice gripping my head made me queasy and Will and I spent the day watching Planet Earth on the couch.

  “I was sick.”

  The office was still, quiet. My senses were heightened. I heard the sound of cars on the road, a plane flying overhead. A dog barked, a car door slammed. A feeling I didn’t recognize bubbled up inside me and I suddenly needed to do something. Keep my hands busy. Again I was holding my breath. The drawer to my desk was open slightly so I pushed it closed, then tidied up the mug full of pens and straightened the stapler so everything lined up.

  “So...” Vincent gestured and pointed around the room. “Where do you think the carpet needs to be fixed? Is there a piece you keep tripping on? I can tack it down.”

  I crossed the room, peering at the carpet, what did Clem need? I didn’t see anything wrong.

  Vincent stood next to me, then got down on his knees and began feeling the edges of where the carpet met the hardwood floor. “You think this is the area she wants fixed?” he asked. “I feel something sharp here. Wouldn’t want anyone to hurt themselves.”

  I nodded. What was going on? My whole body was full of static. I couldn’t help the attraction I felt toward Vincent and it made me uneasy.

  “I have to go get my tools, I’ll be right back.” He stood up and when he reached the door, he turned and paused.

  “Maybe, I don’t know . . .” He took a deep breath and leaned in the doorway. “Maybe, ahh . . . I wanted to see if we could have dinner together this week.” Vincent quirked his eyebrow questioningly. His eyebrows were thick and black like his eyes and hair, but his skin was radiantly light with healthy pink cheeks. Stop! I didn’t move three thousand miles away to fall for someone.

  Nervously I moistened my dry lips and then remembered the lipstick I applied that morning. Clem had brought in some cosmetics that came free with her perfume purchase and offered me a couple of pink glossy lipsticks and facial moisturizer made from rose oil. I rarely bought makeup for myself but liked the luxurious feeling as I applied it. I had to remember I was wearing lipstick; it had been so long since I wore makeup or cared how I looked. Mascara on my eyes, I worried I’d rub it off without thinking.

  “I don’t think I can... but thank you.” I offered a tight smile. Will, I had to think of Will. He was my priority.

  Vincent gave a sharp nod and looked away then pushed the door open, poised to take a step out.

  “You know, I have son. I don’t go anywhere without him,” I replied quickly, taking a few steps toward him. I brushed the bangs from my forehead.

  “He can come too. I don’t mind.” Vincent’s voice had a compassionate tone. “I love kids.”

  “Why? I mean, why are you interested in going to dinner with me?” The words slipped out before I could monitor what I was going to say. Upfront I wanted to know, why me? I had gone months without the company of a man; why was this guy coming into my life now? As soon as the words were out of my mouth, my face grew red from the roots of my hair on down to my neck. “I’m sorry, I mean . . .” I shook my head. “Sorry. The words just kind of came out without thinking.”

  How stupid! What a ridiculous thing to say!

  Vincent gave the impression of being amused. “You know, news travels fast around here so I’m going to assume you know about my ex-wife. And then you’ve gotta realize that I’ve heard all about you. When I ran into Midge she told me a little about your husband and you moving up here. I sense something in you, sadness, maybe? I can relate. I know all about that. I could be totally wrong, though.”

  He let out a long breath. I was surprised at his willingness to express his thoughts. Again I thought of Leo and the distinction between the two men. Leo kept his feelings bottled up inside until he was ready to erupt. And when he finally let his anger come out, it was like a geyser, exploding with cruelty. I shuddered inwardly.

  I quickly attempted to organize my thoughts before I spoke again. I patted my hair, smoothed down the ends.

  “Yeah, lots of therapy helped me get in touch with my emotions,” Vincent said with a laugh.

  “Therapy is good.” I thought back to Dr. Hiller and all the sessions with the domestic abuse counselors. “If I can bring my son, then yes to dinner. That would be nice.” I offered a smile and our eyes met.

  “I need to work on that carpet. I’m going to grab my tools. Shouldn’t take too long.”

  He went to his truck to grab whatever he needed and while he was outside, I placed a hand to my chest and did some deep breathing exercises to calm myself down.

  Was I a fool to entertain the idea a man might be interested in me? And as always, my concern was for Will. Would dinner with a new friend be confusing to him?

  Maybe I should cancel? Or maybe I should go.

  Vincent picked us up two nights later in his work truck, the rusty cab full of tools and cans of screws and bolts.

  “Who is this guy?” Will whispered, wrinkling his nose. “Why are we going out? Where are we going?”

  I attempted to fix my hair, newly trimmed by a young woman named Kate at the salon next to Will’s favorite ice cream place.

  “Ugh!” she shrieked when I sat in the chair with the black plastic cape around my shoulders. “Who cut this? It’s in terrible shape and it’s totally uneven.” She ran her fingers through my hair, shaking her head. Kate was the daughter of Boyd Miller down at the bank, the man who helped me open my account. When I mentioned that I was starting over, he studied me for a good minute then said, “My daughter is a hair stylist . . .” My hands flew to my unruly, overgrown mop. I had let myself go and it was time to do something about it.

  Kate had a sprinkle of freckles on her upturned nose and her golden hair was long and thick. “You need new color, a deep conditioner, the works. Are you up for it?” She rubbed her hands together, eager to make me over.

  I hesitated and then thought of Vincent. “All right.” A haircut done with a pair of cheap drugstore scissors wouldn’t work any longer, no more boxed dye either.

  For two hours I sat in the salon, having my unbalanced, dehydrated, damaged, uneven hair repaired. I breathed in chemicals until I couldn’t stand it any longer.

  “So, I hear Vincent Donovan’s interested in you,” she said smoothly.

  “What? Why do you say that? What do you mean?” Wow, news did travel fast in a small town. Did everyone really know everyone else?

  “Well, he’s single, you’re single. Have you heard about his wife, I mean, ex-wife? He hasn’t been out with another woman since she left him and he’s a real catch. There’s not a woman in this town that wouldn’t want to date him, I mean, seriously, have you seen him? That hair, that body. All those big muscles from carrying his heavy tool box all day.”

  She chuckled to herself and I was stuck on the fact that people were talking about me. I hoped it wasn’t a mistake moving to a small town. Perhaps I would have been better off in a large city. I convinced myself that this place would be better for Will. A safe, little town where Will could finish growing up and enjoy nature and see all four seasons and have good friends.

  Would I have to consider moving? People noticed me, they were getting too close. I loved this quaint, seaside town but if people were talking about me and Will, if they began to have suspicions, I’d have no choice but to pack up and leave. My stomach swirled. Where would we go? I swallowed hard. I loved this town. But maybe a big city would be better. It would be easier to blend in. New York. Boston. Atlanta. We had options. The thought of starting all over again, of endless days in the car didn’t appeal to me. And Will was settling in and making friends. He no longer had nightmares and he seemed happy all the time. When we lived with Leo, I noticed how he flinched and ducked when Leo got close to him. He stuttered. Since moving, all of that was gone. He was happy and he slept well.

  When Kate was finished, my hair was shorter but perfectly cut, tousled in a
messy fashion and a deep auburn shade. I thought of my long blonde hair with the expensive highlights and glossing treatments and realized I didn’t resemble a phantom of my previous self. The darker hair brought out my eyes and my skin looked clear and smooth.

  As I got dressed for my “date” with Vincent, I pulled out a suit from my closet. I had worn it to a luncheon in Hollywood. Leo chose this pin striped silk suit for me in a deep rich color. Trying it on, I held my breath, luckily it still fit. I had not weighed myself in months. I thought I gained weight recently with all the German pastries and lobster with butter sauce I had been consuming.

  I looked in the mirror and immediately discarded the suit. Vincent wouldn’t care about a suit or any other designer outfit. In fact, why did I have it at all? It was one of the only nice things I kept and for what? I didn’t need to wear something elegant and expensive. I changed my clothes three times before I decided on simple black pants and an embroidered Mexican blouse with a silver necklace. My mind skated to Camille, in her silver jewelry and bright clothes.

  “Ready?” I asked Will. I had to repeat all the “rules” with him, a light reminder. He knew his name was no longer Will, now he was Ethan. He knew not to speak of his father or life in California. My stomach cramped each time I needed to run down this list of precautions when we met someone new, but I was not taking any chances of a slip-up. I constantly quizzed him, knowing full well I wasn’t there in school when kids asked him questions.

  Vincent picked us up at five-thirty on the dot and we drove over to the Crab Queen, a fish shack a few miles away. During the drive over, Vincent asked Will polite questions, putting us at ease with his gentle demeanor and kind heart. He spoke to Will like he was an old friend, not a child. He lavished plenty of attention on my son and I was amused. Still, my antenna was up. I didn’t trust anyone, not even handsome Vincent.

  I watched his rough, calloused hands on the steering wheel and was embarrassed to find myself thinking of how they would feel on my skin. When he talked, I looked at his lips, wondering what it would be like to kiss him. Instead of being a commanding, forceful kisser like Leo, I imagined Vincent would kiss with a tender passion. I could feel the color rushing to my cheeks and I cleared my throat. I turned my head toward the window so I didn’t have to look at Vincent.

  He eased the truck into the gravel parking lot and apologized for the rough exterior of the restaurant. Paint was chipped off the door and the shingles on the side were battered. A neon sign flashed in the window blinking FISH! FISH! FISH!

  “What is this?” Will inquired, wrinkling his nose and turning down the corner of his mouth. “It says fish. Yuck!”

  “Don’t worry, there are burgers too.” Vincent looked over Will’s head and winked at me. “Come on.”

  He held his hand out as if it was the most natural thing in the world and I hesitantly took his grasp. His hand was coarse and warm. Will smiled from me to him and skipped ahead. “Watch out for cars,” I called, even though the old battered cars in the parking lot were not going anywhere.

  The interior of the place was loud and excitement was almost tangible. Casually dressed waitresses hurried by, frothy pitchers of beer in hand. Families crowded around tables laughing and smiling. An antique jukebox played an old song; the wood paneled walls were covered in photos of fisherman showing off their catches.

  “What do you think?” Vincent raised his dark eyebrows and grinned. Immediately I thought of Leo’s favorite place, a stark restaurant with sleek tables and black walls serving slivers of gourmet foods on square white plates. The contrast could not have been greater.

  “I love it.” I yelled above the noise of the clinking utensils and loud voices.

  In the booth, Vincent sat on one side of the shabby table and Will and I on the other. The menu was simply photo-copied on pieces of paper, as casual as could be. Fish specials were scrawled on blackboards hanging on the walls. Will happily colored in a picture of a lobster while Vincent and I talked over glasses of house wine.

  “Where did you grow up?” I asked, feeling the wine go right to my head. I eagerly dug into a piece of bread that the waitress placed before us in a tattered basket. Everything about the place was weather-beaten, old and relaxed. It was boisterous and bustling but in a familiar kind of way, like we were dining with a big family. A fleeting memory blew through my mind of my parents and brother, all of us on vacation in Pennsylvania one year, eating at an Amish restaurant. I tried apple butter, my father ate scrapple. I shifted my eyes to Vincent and let the memory evaporate.

  “I grew up here, on the coast. Spent two years as a salmon fisherman up in Alaska. Other than that I’ve been in this town my whole life.”

  “I would love to go to Alaska,” I said dreamily. My life with Leo brought me to Cannes and Paris, Venice and London, but I longed for a place full of wild beauty and tranquility. “I love forests, trees, nature.” I absentmindedly toyed with a napkin.

  I flashed back to camping trips in Canada with my parents and David when I was much younger—pitching the tent, cooking over the camping stove, and splashing in the lake. My parents used to sit in lawn chairs, reading and talking, while David chased me and teased me, pretending to have seen a bear or mountain lion. I believed him every time and always got scared out of my wits then went crying to my mother.

  “I planned on going back someday, but Jessica was never interested. She wasn’t much for camping. Sorry, I don’t like to drag her name into the conversation.” He blushed.

  “Who’s Jessica?” Will asked, tilting his head.

  “That’s my ex-wife.” Vincent shrugged and raised his eyebrows at me.

  “Hey, that’s all right. She’s a part of your past, right?” I smiled. “Do you want to talk about her?”

  “Who, Jessica?” Will inserted himself in the conversation.

  “No, no. She’s a part of my life that is finished. We’re divorced; it’s over and done with. I’m onto the next chapter, know what I mean?”

  “I know.” Will sighed and put his face in his hands.

  I rolled my eyes toward him and gave him a light poke. “I have things that I want to remain in my past too; I know exactly where you’re coming from.”

  “Like my dad.” Will piped up, staring straight at Vincent. “We left—”

  “Hey,” I cried. “Enough of that. We don’t want to talk about your dad right now.”

  “But . . .” Will wrinkled his nose. “I was just going to say—”

  I caught Vincent’s eye. “It’s a sensitive subject. Let’s talk about something else, please.” I glanced nervously around the room.

  “It’s okay. We can talk about that some other time. Tell me, Ethan, have you been fishing lately?”

  I couldn’t get used to the name Ethan. Every time someone called him by that name, I had to stop and think who is that? Each time I was referred to as Grace, I forced myself to respond. I was Delia. Would the names ever just roll off my tongue?

  “I have never been fishing. I want to go. Want to take me sometime?”

  “Ethan!” I said, horrified at his manners. “Don’t ask him that. That’s not polite.”

  Vincent grinned. “I would love to take you fishing with me if your mother says it’s okay. I have my own boat, it’s small, but I like it.”

  I swallowed. Take him fishing? Without me? What would Will say, would he let anything slip, would he talk about life in California? Tell Vincent about Leo? It was too risky.

  “Maybe.” I took a long sip of water and the waitress came over and placed our food in front of us. “Maybe we could all go. I don’t really allow Ethan out of my sight. Overprotective, what can I say?” I threw my hands in the air.

  “No, you can stay home.” Will said to me. He turned to Vincent. “When? Tomorrow?”

  “How about this weekend? We can get up early and make a day of it.” Both of them looked at me expectantly as I busied myself with heavily salting my fish and chips.

  “Oh . . . I don’t kn
ow . . . someday. Not this weekend.” I looked up to catch them both staring at me with hopeful looks in their eyes.

  “We have to do some homework. Ethan needs help with his reading,” I explained. “I was hoping to work on it this weekend. Another time.”

  “Great. I’ll bring some books and we can work on it together while we fish.” Vincent and Will smiled broadly at each other and I felt like I was being ganged up on.

  “I don’t think it’s such a good idea.” I killed the moment when I announced I didn’t want this fishing trip to happen. Yes, I was being overcautious. But I could not trust Will’s life with Vincent, a man whom I hardly knew. What if something happened, what if that was the moment Leo sent someone to take Will? Vincent wouldn’t be nearly as cautious with Will as I was. No one in this world would take care of him or look out for him like I did. Or another scenario, what if Leo sent Vincent here to spy on us? Though it was far fetched and unlikely but still, I didn’t trust anyone. Most of Will’s playdates took place at our house or we met at the park. Various scenarios moved through my brain. My heart raced. I sipped cold water and willed my hands to stop shaking.

  “Why don’t you come too?” Vincent offered. “We can make a day of it. I’ll pack a lunch, we can hang out and help Ethan read, do some fishing. Then we can go back to my place and I’ll make some dinner. What do you think, would that be all right with you, Grace?”

  Will shrugged then sighed, “I suppose if she has to tag along . . .” He tugged on my sleeve and I ignored the splotch of catsup he left on the fabric. He took a bite from his hamburger and looked at me with a grin on his sweet face. “Say yes, mom. Please? Say yes.”

  “I guess I have no choice, do I?” I licked my lips and fiddled with the edge of my napkin. The noise of the restaurant roared in my head.

  Vincent and I locked eyes for an instant and time stood still. Then Will began to tell a funny story about something at school and I stared down at my half eaten food. Was this a good idea?