Raquel's Abel

by Leigh Barbour

  I searched through the papers in my office. I’d left it right on top of my work area, but it wasn’t there. Where was that list? The day before I’d talked with the editor and she’d given me some feedback on the first few chapters of my biography. I needed that list of changes to make. I should have taken the notes on my laptop. Abel didn’t know how to delete things in there—yet. But hiding a piece of paper would be easy for him.

  After he’d taken my car key the first time, I made another copy and attached it to a magnet that I kept underneath my car. He could hide the keys I kept in my purse all he wanted.

  “Good ma-a-ahning.”

  I looked up to see my grandmother wheeling into my office.

  “Good morning, Grandmother.” I hurried over to kiss her on the cheek.

  “Tell me, Dear. What have you done to get that Abel Rollins so upset?” Her green eyes angled up at me and her upper lip stretched down the way she used to do when I’d misbehaved as a child.

  “That man is so arrogant. He thinks he can tell me what to do.” I took a deep breath and let it out slowly. I already missed him, but I wouldn’t think about that. He just thought he could pop in and out of my life as he pleased.

  “You just have to learn how to handle him.” She gave me a smile that looked devilish on her elderly face.

  “How do you know he’s so upset?”

  “Why, he’s right there beside you, can’t you see him?” She pointed to my left side.

  My heart jumped. I turned my head and looked all around. “He’s not there, Grandmother.” If he were there, I’d have demanded he give me my paper back.

  “How could you not see him, dear? He’s standing close enough for you to hear him breathing.”

  “I’m glad I can’t see him,” I said in a loud voice. “I don’t need someone meddling in my affairs.”

  There was a loud bang behind me. I looked down to see a glass paperweight rolling across the floor.

  “Throwing things will not make me change my mind,” I called out to nothingness.

  My grandmother reached her frail hand out and caught mine. “My dear, a man needs to feel like he’s in charge.”

  “I live in a different era than you, Grandmother.”

  She let out a deep laugh. “I don’t believe men have changed in the last thousand years.”

  I heard a whooshing sound and papers fell to the floor all around me. “What is he doing now?”

  “He charged out into the hallway. He’s much too proud to sulk in here.”

  “If you could see him in here, then why couldn’t I?”

  She squeezed my hand. “Be patient with him.”

  “How can I be patient with a man that hides from me?”

  “I don’t believe that he intentionally hides from you.”

  “Then why was he letting you see him and not me?”

  She grabbed my other hand and leaned forward in the wheelchair. “I believe that deep inside he’s scared, and he can’t be here for you all the time until he feels his love is returned.”

  I gently pulled my hands back from my grandmother. “I appreciate your trying to help, but I am too liberated a woman to accept a man’s trying to run my life.”

  “Every man needs to feel like he’s in charge, even when he isn’t.”

  My grandmother was from another generation. How could I make her understand that in today’s relationships, the man and woman were equal?

  Her arthritic finger pushed the reverse button on her wheelchair and she backed into the hallway. Her head rose and her eyes caught mine. “True love is very hard to find.”

  I was about to respond, even though I didn’t know what to say when she put her wheelchair in overdrive and sped down the corridor.

  The following day, I put on a new pair of slacks and marveled at the person who looked back at me in the mirror. My thighs no longer bulged, instead they were smooth and my neck had thinned so much the outline of my jaw was visible. I tried to ignore the apron of skin over my waistline. That would need to be cut off, but I had no idea when I’d have the money to pay for that surgery.

  The house needed a lot of repair work, in fact, I was almost sure the roof would need to be replaced soon. There was no way I could afford that. I wondered how much longer I’d be able to stay in the mansion. 21,000 square feet and thirty bedrooms cost too much. The only thing I could do was hope one of my biographies became a bestseller, and maybe then I could make this house as grand as it used to be. All these rooms and all of this space for just the three of us seemed absurd. Then I thought about Abel. What would he do if I sold this house? Would he haunt another family? Would he fall in love with next inhabitant of this house? I felt a twitch in my heart. Would Abel do that?

  That afternoon I got ready for a meeting for local published authors. We met quarterly at a bookstore downtown and talked about the trends in the book market and what was selling and what was not. Some people were even willing to share their secrets of how they were publicizing their books while the rest of us listened intently. I needed to learn a lot more about selling my books. I looked up at the old plaster with chips, water stains, and buckles through out it. I really couldn’t bear to part with this big old monstrosity, even though every wall in the house needed paint or something else. What I needed to was work harder and smarter so I could afford to stay in this old house.

  The bookstore was in an old Victorian building in the Fan District. The books were on the first floor and meeting rooms were upstairs. I walked in and saw familiar faces turn toward me then look away. They hadn’t recognized me. I tapped the shoulder of a girl I’d known for years. “Hi, Rhonda,” I said.

  She turned and squinted her eyes at me as if she needed glasses. “Raquel?”

  “How are you?” I asked glad to see her.

  Rhonda wrote children’s books. We usually sat together at these meetings and shared our trials and tribulations of the writing life.

  Rhonda’s eyes ran up and down me then turned to the person sitting next to her.

  “How is your latest book coming?” I asked.

  “It’s coming all right,” she said without looking at me.

  “I’m working on a new one.” I felt stupid talking to the back of her head. “It’s about Teddy Roosevelt…” I stopped since my words were clearly falling on deaf ears.

  The literature I’d read before I’d gotten the surgery said some people wouldn’t have anything to do with you after you’d lost the weight. I’d known that. It had happened to many other people who’d had the surgery, but I guess I just didn’t think it would actually happen to me. I’d always liked Rhonda.

  I took a seat on the other side of the room and decided not to dwell on her. I’d just make new friends.

  A few minutes later, Mitch Draughan sauntered into the room. He was a local author of self-help books. I’d heard he’d been very successful at promoting his work. He was tall and thin with dark brown hair and hazel eyes. Today he had on a black polo shirt, snug jeans, and bright white Nike tennis shoes. I think every single woman that ever came to these functions had been interested in Mitch at least once or twice. Of course, he’d never looked in my direction.

  He crossed the room and chose the chair next to mine. I froze. Mitch Draughan was sitting so close to me I could touch him if I wriggled in my seat.

  He let his head fall so he was right next to my ear. “Is this your first time at one of these?”

  He’d seen me a million times before but had never spoken to me. I didn’t want to remind him that I’d been at the meetings before and had even sat next to him.

  “Yeah, I thought so. I’ve never seen you around here.” He sat up straight and turned toward me. He held his hand out. “Mitch Draughan, and you are?”

  “Raquel Blankenship,” I said in a low voice. I wondered if the other people that had trickled in hadn’t recognized me either. I held my hand out far enough so he could shake the end of my fingers.

  “Raquel Blankenship, Raquel Blank
enship. Aren’t you the one who wrote about Eleanor Roosevelt?”

  I smiled, flattered he knew at least one of my books.

  “You’ll like our meetings—a good group of people.”

  The speaker entered and stood at a small podium and began to speak on the usefulness of blogs. I could hardly keep my mind on the topic of discussion as I sat so close to Mitch. I’d seen the way he looked at me. As the speaker droned on, out of the corner of my eye, I saw him admiring me. Deep down inside, his attention made me feel beautiful.

  The speaker shuffled through some papers looking for the next topic.

  “Hey.” Mitch nudged me with his elbow. “Let’s say we go out for a latte after this.”

  My heart thumped so loudly I thought it would come right out of my chest. What was I doing? I couldn’t drink coffee after the operation. “Tea,” I whispered.

  He smiled making his ruddy skin wrinkle in a perfect weatherworn way. “I think they’ll make you some tea.” He winked.

  Sitting in a coffee house, me with my hot tea and Mitch with his tall latte with a mound of whipped cream on top, we talked about the books we were working on. Well, really Mitch did most of the talking. He told me about every one of the books he’d written. I knew about all of his books, but I felt special sitting with him. As women walked by the shop, I noticed the admiring looks they aimed at Mitch.

  This was incredible. I’d never even allowed myself to dream about a guy like Mitch. And here I was sitting right next to him—with him.

  “Hey, would you like to go to dinner some time?”

  I felt my lips tremble so I pressed them together. “Sure,” I squeaked out.

  “What about Friday?” He reached in his pocket and pulled out a Blackberry. “Let me get your number.”

  I carefully voiced the numbers, afraid I’d say something stupid or say something so he’d realize I was that elephant-sized woman that used to come to the meetings.

  “Great. I’ll give you a call.” He stood up. When he got to the door, he turned around and winked at me again.

  Would a guy like that actually call me? And if he did, would I be too tongue-tied to say a word?

  The next few days, I could hardly sleep wondering whether Mitch would call. I felt giddy when I thought about him calling, but then when I imagined going out with him, I wondered if I’d be too awestruck to make intelligent conversation.

  I walked into the kitchen to eat some yogurt. When I opened the drawer, I saw that all of the spoons were gone. That’s odd, I thought. There weren’t enough of us to use all of the spoons. I looked in the dishwasher that we rarely used.

  Empty.

  I knew who the culprit was. I wouldn’t let him get to me. I snatched a fork out of the drawer and stuck it into the yogurt. It might take a little more time, but I’d be able to eat this yogurt without a spoon. I grinned to myself.

  “I see you have a twinkle in your eye.”

  He expected me to spin around to see him, but I stayed facing the French doors.

  “What has given you such a spring to your step?”

  I continued to eat my yogurt. Truth is, I wanted to turn around and see him.

  Finally he stepped in front of me. Today he wore a short-sleeved fitted shirt and baggy pants with a cap on his head. His cheeks looked like they’d been touched by the sun as if he just stepped out of a convertible.

  “You’re in solid form today, I see.” It was supposed to be a jab, since lately he’d been invisible while harassing me.

  “If I had it my way, I’d be with you all the time.” I saw his chest heave and his arm muscles were straining against his short sleeves.

  “Well, you aren’t,” I quipped, knowing he came and went on purpose.

  My cell phone rang.

  “Raquel,” Mitch’s melodic voice said.

  “Hello, how are you?”

  Abel straightened himself as if he were bracing for an officer’s visit.

  “I was just wondering if you’d possibly be free this Friday.”

  “I think so.”

  Abel’s eyes narrowed.

  “I’d like to take you to dinner in Shockoe Slip.”

  I felt tingly all over just thinking about him taking me out. “That would be nice.”

  “Great, I’ll pick you up at six this Friday.”

  I told him where I lived then clicked the cell phone off, wondering what I’d wear.

  “Who was that?” He clasped his hands angrily in front of him. “You look like you just spoke with Winston Churchill himself.”

  I washed off the fork in the sink. “I guess you aren’t going to tell me where you’ve hidden all the spoons.”

  His lips tightened as if he’d just bitten into a lemon. “Don’t change the subject. Who was that you were talking to?”

  “It’s no one.” I threw the yogurt container into the trash. I looked into his deep eyes that had turned the color of charcoal. “I’m sure you have to dematerialize or whatever it is you do.” At least Mitch wouldn’t turn into smoke and vanish on me.

  Thinking about going out with Mitch, I ate even less this week, hoping I’d fit into something really tiny by week’s end. On Thursday, I went shopping and I picked out a pair of tight-fitting lavender slacks with a glittery poncho top to go over it. As I dressed for dinner the following evening, I looked at the rolls of skin that had no fat underneath to hold them up. If the wind blew too strongly, my extra skin might act as a sail.

  I walked down to the first floor wondering where Abel was. I hadn’t seen him in a few days, and if he’d hidden things from me, I hadn’t noticed. I already missed his impromptu visits and the way he praised me with his archaic speech. He’d been so thoughtful that day we’d gone on the picnic, and his protectiveness over my grandmother was touching. Still, I needed a real man.

  The doorbell rang. Mitch was standing there with a bright red shirt over black slacks and shiny black shoes.

  A whiff of his expensive cologne made me smile.

  “You’re ready, I see.” Mitch didn’t drawl when he spoke so I assumed he wasn’t a native Richmonder.

  “Yes, just let me get my purse.” I walked into the living room where I’d left my evening bag. I glanced around fully expecting Abel to show up brandishing bowls full of salad to dump on Mitch’s head.

  Mitch was driving a navy blue BMW with little gray stripes up the side. “Let me get that for you.” He pulled the door open and I smelled brand new leather.

  As we headed down the driveway of old pines and magnolias, he asked me about the house and I told him the story of how I’d inherited it and how much money it was costing to keep it up. He laughed and told me about his modern condo he’d purchased downtown and how much he liked being adjacent to everything—restaurants, cafes, and nightlife.

  Mitch parked on a cobblestone street right across from the restaurant he’d chosen. As I waited for him to open the door, I pulled the visor down to repaint my lips. Someone was in the back seat!

  I turned around. “What are you doing here?” I whispered angrily hoping Mitch wouldn’t hear me.

  Abel raised his eyebrows. “I thought I’d come along for the ride.”

  “Did it occur to you that you weren’t invited?”

  “An oversight, I’m sure.” He leaned forward in the seat. “You know this chap isn’t good enough to wipe your boots.”

  “Don’t worry. I’m not going to ask him to wipe my boots.”

  The car door opened and Mitch reached for my hand and helped me walk across the round-topped cobblestones. I refused to turn around for fear Abel was behind us. I was so angry I could scream at him, but never before had I had two men interested in me.

  Mitch had made reservations at a trendy restaurant that had a large brass elevator to take us up to the first floor. As we rode up, I saw Abel’s reflection in the glass. He was standing behind Mitch with a Cheshire cat grin on his face. What was he going to do?

  The waitress sat us at a table right beside the balcony, wh
ich gave us a bird’s eye view of the large oak bar and two musicians who strummed guitars and sang country rock.

  “Great place, huh?” Mitch said as he opened the menu.

  I nodded then looked down at the menu. I wondered what the restaurant had that would be all right for my tiny stomach. The waiter poured water in my glass. I raised my head to say thank you and saw Abel sitting next to me.

  I felt my temperature rise. I must have blushed because Mitch let his menu fall.

  “Is it too hot in here? I’ll have them turn the air conditioning up.”

  “No, I’m fine really.”

  Mitch raised his menu again.

  I pinched my lips together trying to give Abel the nastiest look I could.

  He spread his lips out in a sarcastic smirk and reached over knocking my fork to the floor.

  I lifted up the tablecloth.

  “Oh, don’t worry about that. I’ll have the waiter…” Mitch waved.

  “It’s right here.” I knelt down to get it.

  Abel was on his hands and knees. He put his forehead up against mine. “You shouldn’t be so clumsy.”

  “You,” I hissed. “You see how you’re always trying to control my life.”

  “I am merely acting as your chaperone.” His eyebrows lifted. He was actually enjoying this.

  “You need to leave.” I let the tablecloth drop over his face.

  Mitch put his arm across the back of my chair. “I have this idea that you don’t like this place.”

  “No, I…”

  “If you don’t like it, we can go somewhere else.”

  “I insist. I really like it here.”

  “Good, because after we order, I want to tell you about my new idea for a book.”

  “It’s a good thing you’re a good listener.” Abel was back in his seat with his top hat on. He had laid his cane and gloves across the table.

  I ignored Abel and told Mitch what I was going to eat.

  The waiter came and Mitch told him our orders.

  “I guess he assumes you couldn’t possibly order for yourself.”

  I refused to look at Abel.

  Mitch handed the menus back to the waiter and turned back to me. “So, tell me, are you into racquetball or tennis or jogging?”