Taking her hand in his, he felt the delicate bones engulfed in his much larger hand and held it gently. The warmth that he felt when in her presence now moved from his hand throughout his body. Seeing her expectant face, he cleared his throat and said, “It’s nice to meet you too, Penelope. I’m Asher.”
Introductions finally out of the way, they sat and chatted about favorite books, and he found that there were no uncomfortable pauses in their conversations. Before he knew it, another half hour passed, and he needed to get back to finish some work on the apartment. Standing, he looked down, wishing he could spend more time with her. “I hate to leave. Would you like me to escort you to your car?”
With a small shake of her head that sent her silky hair swinging about her shoulders, she declined. “Thank you, but no. I’m going to sit here a little bit longer before I head home.”
Assuming that was her way of making sure she was not stalked to her car or home by someone she did not really know, he acquiesced. Before turning to jog away, he asked, “May I see you again?”
Ducking her head, she smiled and said, “I’m here almost every day…as long as it doesn’t rain.”
Knowing the forecast was supposed to be beautiful again the next day, he grinned. With a wink, he added, “Then I’ll see you tomorrow.”
9
And so, the next week of beautiful afternoons continued. Asher went about his remodeling during the days with a light heart and a smile as he worked. He continually checked the time, no longer willing to skip his trip to the park. He even began rising earlier so that he could get more work completed. By three o’clock, he was changed and ready for his run. By four o’clock, he was sitting on the bench with Penelope.
They talked of books, quotes, and what they meant to them. They talked of the weather, both loving the warm autumn. They watched the children feed the ducks and the geese, watching as the birds would snap at each other, trying to get to the corn.
Today’s weather was humid, and as he walked toward the bench, he realized sweat was pouring off his face. He grabbed the bottom of his T-shirt, jerked it up, and used it to wipe off his face. As he settled it back down, he found her eyes firmly glued to his torso. She had never mentioned the tattoos on his arms or his neck but wondered what she thought of the tattoos across his abdomen.
Still staring at her, he watched as her eyes dragged slowly up until they landed on his face. He had witnessed a lot of tattoo prejudice in the last several years, and his breath halted in his lungs, wondering what she was thinking.
She sucked in a deep breath before admitting, “I’ve never told you that I thought your tattoos were beautiful, but they are. Do they mean anything special, or were they just something that you liked?”
He tried to let his breath out slowly but was unsuccessful when it came rushing out. “The flowers are a tribute to my mom, who always loved gardening. The words have meanings.”
“And the angel wings?”
His hand automatically moved to his now T-shirt-covered abdomen, and he said, “They’re for someone I lost a long time ago.”
“Oh, Asher, I’m sorry for your loss,” she said, her voice full of sincerity. “The wings are a beautiful tribute.”
He was stunned at her words, having never heard them from a woman before. Hot. Sexy. A turn on. Those were the words that had been used to describe his tattoos. Words that irritated him because they were empty when his tattoos were full of meaning to him.
Instead of sitting down on the bench several feet away from her, today he settled closer with a small space between them, still not wanting her to feel crowded. “Thank you for that, Penelope. It means a lot to me that you understand that they’re special.”
Sitting this close to her, he could see a few freckles dotting her cheeks, compliments of the sun reflecting off the pond. Her dark brown eyes definitely had flecks of gold around the edges, giving them even more warmth than he had imagined. Her chest rose and fell underneath her sweater as though breathing was more difficult with him being close, but he noticed she did not shift away. Instead, she leaned ever so slightly closer to him. Her lips were still tinted pink with gloss, but now he was able to see a pale, slight scar on her upper lip.
Neither spoke about books today, seemingly satisfied to sit close to each other and just enjoy the afternoon. His arm rested on the back of the bench where he forced it to be still but reveled that with every breeze, the silky strands of her hair blew across his hand.
Once more, the children played in the fall afternoon, feeding the birds on the pond as the parents looked on.
Growing up with Miss Ethel and a houseful of boys, he always had to make time for solitude. Miss Ethel understood, allowing him to go off by himself, where she knew he craved time to read and be alone with his thoughts. As an adult, he found that not many people seemed to understand that need. Sitting on the bench with Penelope, he was struck with the similarity between them, and he hoped whatever was growing between them would continue.
* * *
As with each visit, Penelope waited until Asher left and was out of sight before she placed her book into her bag. Her fingers searched down toward the bottom of her large purse and pulled out the folded cane. With an effortless movement, the three sections snapped together, and she used it to steady her as she stood. She was careful as she walked over the grass, but she had almost created her own path, having walked it so many times. Once she reached the sidewalk that meandered around the pond, her steps were steadier.
Several children, chasing each other, darted along the path in front of her, causing her to falter slightly. Their parents immediately chastised them, sending her an apologetic look as their glances moved to her cane. She smiled, not minding the children at play, wishing she had had days like that when she was their age.
Two women jogged past her, their svelte bodies showcased in tight sports bras and shorts, their long, tanned, muscular legs moving in unison as they continued down the path. She sighed, her thoughts moving to Asher and his perfect body. She had finally gotten to a place in her life where she no longer looked at every beautiful woman with envy. But now, knowing that was the sort of woman he would end up with made her heart ache. But if the only thing I can have of him is friendship and the love of books, I’ll take it.
Penelope made it to the street that ran by the park and walked the three blocks it took to get to her apartment building, her cane tapping a staccato as she moved along. Her apartment was not in the best neighborhood, but neither was she concerned about her safety. It was simply an older section of town that was more rundown than anything else. She often wished she could live on a higher floor so that she might be able to see some of the park from the window, but since the building did not have an elevator, that was an impractical wish. Instead, she lived on the first floor, a front window staring out onto the street and a side window staring out into the alley.
Pushing open the building’s front door, she immediately turned to the right where her own apartment’s front door was located. Using her key, she entered and immediately locked the door and the deadbolt, also latching the chain. She had never had a problem in the neighborhood, but habits born from long ago had her always bolt her door.
Flipping on the light switch next to the door, the two lamps in the living room illuminated the space. A tan sofa adorned with bright green and forest green pillows sat between the two end tables with lamps. A comfy chair sat at a right angle to the sofa, next to a tall bookcase crammed full of paperbacks. The original apartment had held a fireplace which the management had long since put out of use. She had purchased the fake logs that held cans of gel-flame so that on cold winter days, she could heat the room and have the ambiance of a fire.
The kitchen was on the other side of the space, the table right in front of the window overlooking the street. Green curtains and kitchen chair cushions brightened the area. She moved into the kitchen and opened the refrigerator to see what she could fix for dinner.
P
enelope enjoyed cooking but found cooking for one was not a lot of fun. She had long since discovered that when she cooked, she would make enough that she could divide and freeze the leftovers. Closing the refrigerator door, she opened the freezer and pulled out a plastic container marked ‘chili’. Nuking it to thaw, she then placed the serving of chili into a small pot and heated it on low until it was bubbly and aromatic.
Pouring it into a bowl, she added a piece of garlic toast to the side and set it on her small table. She often had her meals at the table, even though she lived alone. She would stare out the window at the people passing by and wonder about their lives. Some she recognized as living in the neighborhood, coming home from work. Others were strangers, and she wondered what brought them to this street. Sometimes, she would even make up stories about the people she observed. A foolish habit, perhaps, but it made her feel less lonely.
Tonight though, there was no one that she saw that held her interest, as her thoughts were full of Asher. Finishing her meal, she washed the dishes, cleaned up the kitchen, and moved to her living room, settling on the sofa. She did not turn on the television, nor did she reach for a book. Her mind was still firmly on Asher…and the tattoo of the angel wings on his abdomen. It was not as though that particular tattoo was unusual or unique. She had certainly seen many people with angel wings tattooed on their bodies, but right now, she only cared about the one that was on his.
Who was it that meant so much to him that when they died, he needed to have that constant reminder? What must it feel like, to have that kind of devotion?
The evening brought no answers, but she pondered the questions all the same. For the life of her, she could not imagine why a man so beautiful and handsome was spending his afternoons with such a shy mouse as she. At first, it had seemed so simple, but as their time together grew, her secrets would be harder to keep. And when he discovered them, he would turn away in disgust like those before him.
The sun had long set while she had pondered these thoughts. Pushing up from the sofa, she reached for her cane and made her way down the short hall to her bedroom. Her apartment only had one bedroom, but that was all she needed. It was a decent size and had the same hardwood floor that ran throughout the entire apartment. She had warmed the floor with a deep, forest green rug that complemented the green and blue bedspread.
The window in this room only looked out onto the side alley, so she kept the window locked and the blinds down. She found the lack of sunlight to be somewhat depressing but dreamed of one day having a place to live where she could enjoy the sunshine all the time without having to worry about someone staring in at her.
Moving into the bathroom, she got ready for bed. She typically avoided staring at her body when she stripped out of her clothes, but tonight, she allowed her gaze to drift slowly over her reflection. Her upper body was unblemished, although unremarkable. Straight hair that would never hold a curl. Average looks that caused most people to stare right through her or pass right by her. She had neither height nor luscious curves to capture men’s attention.
A thin scar started on the left side of her lower abdomen, running down toward her hip where it became larger and uglier. Her thigh was missing some of the muscle underneath the crisscrossed, deep pink scars. The same affected her calf. Her left leg was ever so slightly shorter than the right, not so much that someone would notice right away, but was one of the reasons her limp was so pronounced.
A scarred body that was a reminder of a horrific accident that nearly took her life. So, while she lived, everything else that she had ever known changed.
A fleeting thought of Asher looking at her like this had her pinching her lips together in irritation. Pulling the nightgown over her head to cover her nakedness, she shook the thought from her mind, brushing her teeth with vigor.
That night, after she slid under her sheets, she pulled out another book and begin to read. This time, Jane Austen’s Sense and Sensibility was what she needed. She so admired the character of Elinor, the oldest Dashwood daughter, whose sensibility kept her from refusing to wish for things that she could not have. While the younger sister, Marianne, dreamed of love above her station, Elinor was steadfast in her practicality.
As her eyes grew heavy and sleep was pulling at her, Penelope laid the book onto her nightstand and turned off the lamp. As she drifted off to sleep, she knew that in truth she was a combination of both Dashwood girls…she dreamed of a love that would not come her way and tried to keep her heart from being broken at the same time.
In her sleep, where practicality could be washed away, she dreamed of Asher.
10
Penelope was in her tiny office every day by seven o’clock in the morning, as usual. Calling her space an office was actually a stretch of the imagination, considering it was also a supply closet that simply contained a desk shoved into one corner. No window, but at least the door remained open so that she had some view of what was going on outside the world of supplies on shelves.
She had worked for years while attending night school, taking bookkeeping classes. Business and managerial classes would take longer, so she went for the easiest certification that she could get until she had more time and money to devote to more education.
She had been working for Weatherby Real Estate for five years. She started out in fast food service, a low-paying job she procured as soon as she turned sixteen years old and continued when she moved out. It had not been easy convincing someone to take a chance on a girl whose pronounced limp was so noticeable. Large companies would have employment offices that knew the laws prohibiting employers from discriminating, but many small businesses could get away with those practices. Never having anyone in her corner to fight for her, Penelope had often given in.
So, when Mr. Otis Weatherby agreed to take her on as a newly-certified bookkeeper, she was thrilled to be able to leave her minimum-wage job. He owned the real estate business, running it with a hawk-like eye to details. Dealing in high-value real estate, he expected his agents to dress and act in a way that would engender confidence in the wealthier clients in Richmond and the surrounding area. His top agents had opulent, private offices, and the newer agents shared a large office and conference room.
Always wearing long pants, she was able to keep the horrific injury from her coworkers’ prying eyes, simply telling them that one leg was a little shorter than the other. That always seemed to make people breathe a little easier when hiring her, as though any other reason might be contagious. Mr. Weatherby had looked askance at her sneakers, but as long as she did her job well and stayed behind the scenes, he had never said anything.
As the bookkeeper, Penelope was never seen by the clients, therefore he set up her desk, computer, and file cabinet in the large supply closet. She actually felt quite lucky; after all, she had a job that paid enough for her to have her small apartment, health insurance, and a little left over each month to save. She knew she had to pay her dues before moving to an office manager position, so having a space where the other employees would drop by to give her their receipts was fine.
She just learned to ignore their sympathetic glances when they came in to get paper for the copying machine or a roll of toilet paper for the employee bathroom.
When she first began working in the professional office, she discovered that people were the same everywhere. In fast food service, there were coworkers who were kind, some indifferent, and a few cruel with their jokes or taunts about her limp. Thinking she would never have to face that again, she was surprised to learn that negative personality traits are shared by those in all professions and socioeconomic classes.
While some of the real estate agents were polite, there were a few that either ignored her completely, averted their eyes when they saw her walking in, or, to her great embarrassment, laughed when one of the male agents asked her on a date as a joke. Glad that that agent no longer worked at Weatherby’s, she was determined to do her job to the best of her ability with as little interaction
with others as possible.
So far, she had impressed Mr. Weatherby with her diligence, and she was hopeful that when the office manager retired, he would hire her for that position. She had spent her evenings taking classes at the community college in business management, but every time she brought it up to him, he always made an excuse, saying that they would discuss it later.
Pushing those thoughts to the side, she began her day’s work, now with an eye toward the end of the day. She prayed for sunshine, hoping the chill of winter would hold off indefinitely. Meeting Asher in the afternoons at the park had given her something to look forward to. It was so foolish to hope that he could ever be anything more than just a book buddy. She snorted out loud at the idea of calling him a book buddy but really could not come up with another name.
Refusing to worry about what label to place on him, she was just thrilled that she had something to look forward to every day. Not having a window in her closet office, she found herself constantly checking her weather app on her phone, always praying that it would not be a rainy day. Today, the weather prediction was nerve-racking because they called for possible rain later in the day. Just hold off until suppertime, and I’ll get my afternoon with Asher.
By the afternoon, the office was quiet. Most of the agents were out in the field, and when she walked down the hall, she noticed Mr. Weatherby was alone in his office. Knocking on the doorframe, she watched as he looked up and smiled.
“Penelope, come in. Is there something that you need?”
She walked in, attempting to limp as little as possible before sliding into one of the leather seats in front of his large desk. Clasping her hands in her lap, she hoped that he would not be able to see the evidence of her nerves. “Mr. Weatherby, thank you for taking a moment to see me. As you know, I finished taking more business management classes, and with Ms. Robberson getting ready to retire, I wanted to officially apply for her position—”
Asher: Heroes at Heart Page 7
