His Sleeping Beauty

by Carol Grace

  “I’m from nowhere and everywhere,” he said at last, tilting his chair back from the table and looking out the window toward her aunt’s rose garden. “We moved around a lot, my mom and dad and I.” He glanced up at her as she set a cup of coffee in front of him. “I know what you’re thinking.

  “That I’m a divorce lawyer, because I’m a child of divorce. Not so. My parents should have gotten divorced, they were at each other’s throats constantly, bickering, fighting, but they never did it. God knows why. Maybe they were too poor. Or they did it for me. I’d like to think it was for my sake, but I doubt it. They barely noticed I existed. They probably wished I didn’t.”

  She gasped in horror.

  “Believe me, I would have been better off without the arguments, without the strife, without the sacrifice on my behalf. I kept wanting to tell them, ‘leave, take off, one of you, get rid of each other, this is no way to live.’ But I never said anything, and they never did anything. They stayed married. They continued to fight. About everything. About nothing. Believe me, it was enough to make anyone believe in divorce.”

  “So that’s why you became a divorce lawyer,” she said, taking the chair across from him, “to spare others the pain of your unhappy home life.”

  He laughed mirthlessly. “Yeah, that’s me, I’m only in it to help people out.” He shook his head. “No, sorry. I have to admit, I’m in it for the money. I won’t lie to you. Sure, I help people out of difficult situations, but divorce pays well, especially when you’re talking large settlements. Money, along with love and affection was in short supply when I was growing up. The reason we moved around so much? The rent was due. We’d pack our suitcases and leave in the middle of the night and leave no forwarding address. If it left me with anything it was a desire to make money, to have a place to live that nobody could throw me out of.”

  “And to avoid marriage.”

  He nodded. “That, too.”

  Sarah couldn’t imagine a life on the run like that. It certainly explained a lot about him.

  “Not like your childhood, then?” he asked.

  “Just the opposite.” She stirred cream into her coffee. “I was coddled, spoiled, doted on, treated like an invalid. You talked to my mother, maybe you got a sense? No, well, she’s the ultimate in overprotectiveness. I’m surprised she didn’t call the police that night you answered the phone. They don’t want me here. They never wanted me to move out of their house when I did, even though I only moved three miles away in the city.”

  “I didn’t explain myself to your mom very well,” he admitted. “I didn’t mean to set off any alarms.”

  “She’ll get over it. My parents have to realize I’m a woman now. That I have a job, I’m responsible, I’m even learning to swim, and that I don’t have to call them every night to tell them I’m okay.”

  “Sounds like you’ve got your work cut out for you.” He reached across the table and took her hand in his.

  Such a small gesture. Such a little thing. He didn’t mean anything by it. Just a token of support. But just the touch of his warm, strong fingers and her stomach was doing flip-flops, her heart hammering in her chest.

  He turned her hand over in his and studied the lines in her palm.

  She held her breath, waiting.

  “Long and clear life line here,” he said, moving his thumb across her palm. Her skin was hot, shivers ran up her spine. “And this.” He held her hand up. “See this wavy line above the head line? You know what that is?”

  She shook her head. Unable to speak. Good thing she was sitting down, her knees were so weak, she would have collapsed.

  He answered his own question. “It’s your heart line. And it’s very long and deep. Indicating strong and warm feelings. What it means is you’ve got deep love to give, that will last a long time. You’re either in love now or you will be soon. Make sense?”

  She cleared her throat. “Not really. How…how do you know all this?”

  “An old gypsy told me her secrets. No, I read a book on it once. Actually what I told you is all I know. That’s it. Enough to get by. But so far, I’ve never been wrong.”

  She drew her hand away and changed the subject.

  “I guess most divorce lawyers have been through their own divorces,” she said.

  “That’s right. But not me. I have no intention of getting married. Why put myself through the agony? I’ve seen it first hand and I don’t want any part of it. What about you? Any serious boyfriends?”

  “Me?” How had the subject come back to her so fast? “No. And I’m not looking.”

  “That’s when they turn up, when you’re not looking. Are you sure there are no men in your life? I can’t believe that. Not with your heart line.”

  “I didn’t say no men. There is a man in my life. His name is Secundino Robles. Maybe you’ve heard of him?”

  Max shook his head.

  “No? The family is well-known around here. I’m afraid Secundino has spoiled me for anyone else. No one can compare to him. He’s six foot three, a blue-eyed native Californio, born in Santa Cruz. A horseman, the best rider in this whole county, a hunter, a miner who struck it rich and a rancher who owned all the land from here to the Bay.” She noted the puzzled expression on his face and continued with her tongue-in-cheek and a half smile on her face. “Yes, I’m afraid I wasn’t the only woman in his life.” She sighed. “But he was the one true love of my life.”

  “Was?”

  “He’s dead now.”

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “When did he die?”

  “Um, 1890.”

  Chapter Six

  “Did you say 1890?” His jaw dropped. “Don’t you think you’ve had enough time to get over him?”

  “Easier said than done,” she said with a sigh. “If you’d known him, you’d understand.”

  “Did you?”

  “I think so. At least as well as anyone in this century. I wrote my dissertation on the early Spanish settlers so I’ve studied his life pretty intensely.”

  “So you’re a real romantic at heart. I knew it. Your palm doesn’t lie.”

  “You could say that. Or you could say I just don’t want to face reality, which is what my parents say, my aunt says it, as well as my boss Trudy. Trudy’s interested in history, but she’s happily married to a great guy and has a life outside the office. She wants to find me someone, but how can anyone compare with Secundino, in his satin jacket, velvet breeches and knee high buckskin boots? Even his horse had silver studded tack.” She gazed dreamily off in the distance, as if she listened carefully she’d be able to hear the hoofbeats as Don Secundino galloped across his land toward the foothills.

  Sarah didn’t know if Max believed her or not. She was half serious about being in love with the past, and especially those swashbuckling heroes from out of history. She didn’t blame Max if he thought she was a complete nutcase, but she’d held his interest in any case. He was still there, sitting across the table from her, drinking coffee, his gaze fixed on her, and making no move to go. It was fun to tell stories of the past to someone who’d never heard them. He was a good listener.

  “I never would have survived during those days,” Max said. “I don’t ride or shoot and I’ve never worn a satin jacket.”

  “But in other ways you would have fit in perfectly. You have a lot in common with the rancheros. Take your party yesterday. They would have loved it. Like you, they were incredibly hospitable. They were always throwing a feast, a fandango or a barbecue. Guests would party from dusk to sunup. Don’t tell me you wouldn’t have enjoyed it?”

  “I’ve never turned down a good fandango whatever that is. What about you?”

  “I’m not sure if I’d fit in or not. At these parties, the women got together to sew and talk. Of course everyone danced all night and partied till dawn. But I’m not much of a sewer or dancer.”

  “You’re a good talker, though,” he said.

  She blushed. “I’m talking too much, aren’t I?
I don’t know what’s gotten into me. It’s your fault for acting so interested.”

  “It’s not an act,” he assured her.

  She looked across the table at Max in his dark, form-fitting black T-shirt and tried not to stare at the muscles in his upper arms and the abs she knew were there just under the fabric. She was trying to picture him in a wide-brimmed cowboy hat and a satin shirt, but she couldn’t. He was macho enough to fit the picture of a ranchero just the way he was. All the more reason that he was out of her league. Way, way out. So she had to stop dreaming. That way she’d never get hurt, dumped or depressed. The best thing for her was to stay away from macho men who lived next door.

  If she ever did find someone to share her life, it would be someone as bookish and studious as she was. She could never be interested in someone who helped people get divorced. She’d been brought up to believe that divorce was wrong. That people should take their vows seriously. She could understand why he felt the need to make money after his childhood, but surely there was a more savory profession.

  No, she was content to fall in love with someone from the past who she’d never really know. Men in the present, the ones at the historical society meetings who had so much in common with her, just didn’t appeal to her. Sure, they were alive, but just barely.

  “There’s the question of making a living,” Max said. “I might fit into the social life, but what about supporting myself. I don’t suppose there were any divorces in those days.”

  “Actually yes. And women sometimes got big settlements. Like half a ranch. So maybe you would have found a niche for yourself. On the other hand, most rancheros took the law into their own hands to protect themselves. And when a man saw something he wanted, like a woman or a parcel of land, he staked a claim and just grabbed it.”

  Max leaned forward, his elbows propped on the table, his eyebrows drawn together. “Are you telling me you would have liked living then, without law or order?”

  She shook her head. “I never would have survived. The men were tough, but the women were even tougher. As well as cooking and sewing, and giving birth every year, they rode herd with the men. Then there were the raids, the Americans fighting the Mexicans. California was a crazy place. I’m a wimp at heart. I think it’s better I’m where I am, square in the twenty-first century, with a car and a job and no wild bears at the door.”

  “No Secundino, either,” Max said with a grin.

  She gave a dramatic sigh and a little smile. “That’s right. But I’ve come to terms with that. I know I can’t have everything,” she said. “If I can’t have Secundino, I won’t have anybody.” In fact, she’d been reconciled to having no man in her life. No marriage, no kids and no divorce. Nothing to cry over.

  Max stood and stretched, giving her a glimpse of a washboard stomach. She tore her eyes away. Standing there, full of sizzling male presence, he made the kitchen shrink to child-size. Her aunt had custom counters made for her five-foot-two petite self and cabinets that were eye-high just for her. The room always looked small, but tonight with him in it, it looked like it was meant for children. Certainly not for six-foot-something macho men.

  He glanced at the calendar on the wall. “Your aunt certainly has a full social schedule,” he said. “I admire her for being so active at her age.”

  “So do I,” Sarah said, standing and looking at the calendar. “Oh my gosh, the opera. I almost forgot. She left me her tickets, box seats for Friday night. I was supposed to give them away or use them. But I…would you like to go? I’m sure she’d want you to have them. You could invite one of your clients or give them to some couple who are breaking up, because the opera, I think it’s something by Strauss, might be just what they need to bring them back together.”

  Max shook his head. “You are naive, aren’t you? If only it was that simple. Strauss made happy music, but I doubt even he could bring divorcing couples together.”

  “And if they got back together, you’d be out of a job, right?”

  “I hope you don’t believe I want to see couples split up,” he said, his jaw clenched. He turned to leave. “Good night. Thanks for the history lesson.”

  “Thanks for the dinner,” she said, standing and suddenly ill at ease. She shouldn’t have said anything about his job. She hadn’t meant to malign his profession or give him a history lesson. She just blurted out what she was feeling. Up until then, he seemed to be having a good time, but maybe he was just doing his duty. Just keeping her company as Aunt Mary had requested. “Don’t feel you have to stay up on my account. I’m going to lock the doors and sleep downstairs. I’m sure I won’t walk tonight.”

  “If you do, I’ll know what to do,” he said. He gave her a long, steady look, then his gaze dropped to her lips and she knew exactly what he meant. A kiss. Would he kiss her again? Would she mind? Mind? She wanted him to kiss her. She wanted to be wide awake this time. She wanted to feel his lips on hers. But he didn’t kiss her. A few minutes later he was gone. She was alone. And she didn’t want to be.

  Standing there in the kitchen, she wondered if the first kiss was real or not. She rubbed her lips with the back of her hand. Then she stared at her palm looking at the lines. The life line and the heart line. Was he serious? Did he know anything about palmistry or was he making it all up? She could still feel his thumb brushing her sensitive palm. She could hear his words, love to give, in love now or will be soon.

  It didn’t mean anything. He didn’t know what he was talking about. It was a parlor trick, nothing more. But it worked. He had her believing for a few minutes. Only because she wanted to believe. She really wished she hadn’t opened her mouth and said what she’d said. What could she do to make it up to him? Insist he take the opera tickets? Yes, that’s what she’d do.

  That night she stretched a thread across the guest room where she slept and in the morning it was there where she’d tied it to the doorknob. She breathed a sigh of relief. It meant she’d slept peacefully and dreamlessly through the night. Nobody called. She had no attacks of any kind. She was surprised her parents didn’t call to find out if she’d drowned. Hopefully they’d gotten the message.

  That morning nobody ran a chain saw. Birds twittered outside the open window. The scent of roses and jasmine and grass wafted in. It was a beautiful day.

  Sarah tied her hair back from her face in a scrunchie, in her usual slapdash manner, then took a second look at herself in the mirror. New freckles on her pale skin, thanks to falling asleep in the hammock yesterday. She thought about all those glamorous women at the party yesterday and she went up to Aunt Mary’s spacious master bathroom with the pale peach walls and the ivory stone tiles.

  There in the cabinet behind the wall-to-wall mirror, was a selection of makeup that rivaled any department store cosmetic department. Too bad Sarah didn’t know how to apply the stuff. Nevertheless she smeared some beige liquid makeup over her face. At least it covered her freckles. Then she brushed some blush over her cheekbones which she thought made her look a little more healthy. Then the eyes, blue mascara and eyeliner.

  She stared at her reflection. Ridiculous. She looked like a painted doll. What was she doing this for at nine o’clock in the morning? Who was she doing it for and most importantly, why? Max was a flirt, a man who took nothing seriously except his job. He had no intention of getting married or getting serious about a woman. And even if he did, that woman would not be her. She was not his type. It would take months, maybe years before she was ready for a relationship. But even then who would marry her when she told them she had to avoid the stress of pregnancy?

  She stared at her face in the mirror. She was an idiot. She scrubbed it all off and went back downstairs.

  Then she made a cup of tea and took her laptop out on the terrace with her. She deliberately didn’t even glance at the house next door. He said he worked at home, so he was probably inside in his office. But she, who usually worked in a windowless office at the historical society, suddenly couldn’t bear to stay indo
ors on a day like this. She craved the sun and the breeze and the smell of the grass.

  On the other hand, when she opened her file to the chapter on the missions of California, she couldn’t remember what she was going to say about them that hadn’t already been said. Something had happened to her concentration. Something had disrupted her work ethic.

  In this lush garden, under the leafy trellis, with the sun slanting through the trees, she replayed the scenes of the last two days over and over.

  When she got tired of that, she gave up on her idea of pretending the man next door wasn’t of interest to her and got up and went to the fence between her house and Max’s. She leaned over to see if anything was happening, but all was calm, including the surface of the pool which was smooth as glass. She admired the expertly landscaped garden with the huge hydrangea bushes flanking the walkway and the stately eucalyptus trees at the back with their white, peeling bark. She hadn’t been able to appreciate it the day of the party when it was crowded with guests or during her swimming lesson when she was full of anxiety. What different lives they led. He liked bunches of people around. She liked solitude. He was fearless, she would like to be, but probably never would be. His parents argued, hers were in agreement on everything. Especially on how to treat their only child.

  She glanced up at his house, hoping he wasn’t watching from a window, thinking how desperate for company she must seem to be, leaning over and gawking like a tourist or a lovesick neighbor. Of course if he did see her there, and he came out to see her, she’d just say she was watering the flowers. Fortunately the watering can was right between the rosebushes. It didn’t have any water in it, but there was time for that.

  She heard a car pull up in his driveway and the car door slam shut. She was so rattled she forgot what her excuse was for hanging over his fence, and jumped back. Oh, yes, the watering can. She picked it up and stood there, holding her breath, waiting and watching and practicing what she was going to say. Something about the weather or her swim lesson.