by Teddy Hester
“Lukas?”
“Yes. He came to us through a psychiatrist. He loves the horses and anything having to do with the horses. So now he’s a permanent employee.”
“What about Willi and Walli?”
“People think Walfrid is shy, but it’s more than that. He has Asperger’s. He had so much fun with you in the vineyard, I almost cried. I wouldn’t be surprised if that doesn’t make him want to be a permanent employee once he leaves the school. Until then, he’ll continue to work for me several days a week. I don’t pay him a salary. I pay the school something in his name. They bank it for him and teach him what to do with it, let him make purchases in their canteen. I understand this work-release, which we call an internship, is quite an incentive for teenagers who need to get their life on track.”
“I bet. It’s very impressive, Menuett.” Lackluster comment for what I’m really feeling. My skin is too small over my skeleton right now. If it didn’t sound so damn patronizing, I’d tell her how proud of her I am.
This woman is just one amazement after another. The things she’s done in twenty-two years would shame most corporate suits with their fucking A-type personalities. I can’t believe she doubted her ability to take over from Alfred for even one minute. “I believe your parents would be very proud of you.”
To my horror, she drops her sandwich and crumples in front of me. Her hands cover her face, but they don’t fully muffle the sobs that rack her body.
The chair can’t hold me. I drop to my knees beside her. “Menuett? Angel?” If anything, she sobs harder. “I’m so sorry. What did I say?” I reach for her, and she falls into my arms, gripping my shoulders tight. I hold her as she cries years of pain onto my neck.
Eventually, the cascade slows, and she sniffs. Without letting her slip out of my arms, I snare a napkin for her so she can wipe her nose.
“After my parents died, Birgitte would sing me to sleep every night. Brahms’ Lullaby. The lyrics have something about angels watching over you while you sleep. From that song, I’ve always believed that my parents are those angels looking down from Heaven, and I pray that they like what they see.”
“Oh, baby.” My hand glides down the softness of her hair, its floral scent filling my nostrils.
“Mick.”
“Yeah, Angel?” Even watery and unsure, the sound of my name on her lips sends a tremor through me.
“You answered my prayer.”
No. That’s too much. “I didn’t do anything.”
She raises up off me, and her eyes travel all over my face, like she’s seeing it for the first time. Her hand cups my jaw, the soft pad of her thumb rubbing back and forth over the ridge of my cheekbone as we stare at each other. I know in that moment, I’m falling.
I’m falling hard.
It’s a shitty thing to do to her, because I know jack about relationships.
This woman is destined for somebody like Dieter.
But somehow that’s not as persuasive a reason to let her go as it used to be.
Emotions are ramped into the stratosphere, and desire is feeding on it. The need to kiss her pulses through me. Nourishment for a man who’s starving for the connection.
“Angel?”
A forefinger to my lips stifles whatever was about to be ripped from my soul.
Haltingly, staring at my lips, she lowers her head. Her breath tickles as she hovers, and I wonder if she’s going to change her mind. Every fiber of my being stretches taut, waiting. Anticipating. Yearning.
Her mouth grazes me, barely connecting. I fight the urge to smash our mouths together and let her lips explore mine. The lip Braille is nerve-wracking, her lips like fingertips, touching every curve, every point, the fullness, the junctures. It’s a unique experience for me: my angel making love to my mouth.
Goodness pours through her and into me, where fledgling hope, too long denied, blooms.
Maybe I can earn the right to have this.
With her help, maybe I can be the kind of man she deserves.
CHAPTER 13
Mick
Installing grab bars for Alfred in the caretaker’s cottage downstairs bathroom, I let my mind wander as the electric screwdriver does its thing.
I can still feel Menuett’s lips on me from last night. Her delicious, nibbling kisses sent my neuroreceptors into overdrive, electricity zagging through every body system. When she breathed my name, she pierced me. I’ll never be the same. Right now, the idea of letting another woman touch me feels like defilement. After an angel’s held my face in her hands and breathed her sweetness into my mouth, why would I ever endure another’s touch?
That’s all well and good, but the reality is that nothing in our situation has changed. I’m still the playboy pilot with wings where other men have good, solid roots. I’ve never been in love or made a commitment to any woman. Hell, I can’t even follow through on promises made to my best friend’s widow.
That’s why I didn’t take things further than kissing in the kitchen last night, even though I knew Menuett wanted to. She’s not a girl you seduce one night and leave behind the next. I suspect she’s a virgin. When she finally shares herself with a man, it’ll be forever. She’s babies’ breath and orange blossoms. I’m not in a position to give her the life she deserves, even with the feelings I’m having for her.
It hurt her when I peeled her hands off my face and kissed her palms. The shadows that skittered across her beautiful face told me how the subtle rejection affected her. Telling a woman the timing’s not right doesn’t make a difference when she’s smarting from the act.
I jam in the screw to a new bar and press the start button on the power tool a little too hard. The screw tilts and shunts across the room.
Good move, asshole.
I locate the little devil under the wall-mounted sink and try again. Gently this time. No time for fuck-ups. This needs to be done right. For Alfred.
With him coming home this afternoon, my time here will be short. After a couple of days to get everybody settled into their new routines, I’ll be able to fly home and fulfill my obligation to Nina.
I’m being torn in two. Part of my heart is back in the States, and part of my heart is here. I’m going to honor Moon and go to Nina until she’s on her feet again. No question, no debate. But since no one has any idea how long that will take, can I honestly convince Menuett I’ll be back?
But we need to have the conversation. And we need to have it soon. I can’t leave with her feeling bad about me. About whatever chance we have for an “us.”
In conscience, I can’t ask her to wait. Just because I’m willing to put my life on hold doesn’t mean she should do the same. We haven’t ever talked about the future. Until last night, there wasn’t much reason we needed to.
But for me, last night was a game-changer. She deserves to know that. She deserves to know how I feel about her. That she hasn’t been just some pleasant diversion during my convalescence.
A last whir of the power screwdriver, and this job is done. Installing grab bars in several areas doesn’t take long when you have as nice a home tool kit as Alfred’s collected over the years. I heft the tool, appreciating the weight and contour of it in my hands. I miss working on a plane, checking things, tightening, wiggling, polishing. Gives a man a sense of control. Pride in accomplishment.
Shit, who am I kidding.
Men like tools because tool plus hand equals manly. Whatever the tool, including the one that gets all worked up whenever Minnie’s around. I grin at my own cleverness as I clean up my workspace.
In the next room, I hear Birgitte giving Lukas commands about where to place the bed I disassembled and he carried down yesterday. Poor kid. Menuett and Birgitte wouldn’t hear of my carrying anything heavier than the farm cat. I pointed out that I’d done manual labor on the estate since my operation. But they argued that vineyard work was mostly legs and shoulders, and Alfred had given me the lighter tasks of straightening, sweeping, and hosing things down in the stab
les. So poor Lukas was drafted for all the heavy lifting and toting in this bedroom makeover, and I volunteered for bathroom duty.
Happy to have contributed something useful, I pick up the toolbox—which is certainly heavier than the farm cat—and go see if I can help Lukas.
“Look what you’ve done to Alfred’s man cave!” I say, in awe of the changes.
What had been his office has been transformed. The bulk of the generously-sized room is now a bedroom with the bed, a nightstand, and plenty of walking around space. The office space is now confined to one corner by a window. A small table with two chairs is on the other side of the window.
Menuett doesn’t look up from organizing the office. Her eyes stay fastened to the papers she’s sorting like they contain answers to the riddles of the universe. I’ve got quite a climb to reach her.
But Birgitte, all atwitter because her man’s coming home tonight, beams. “Isn’t it nice? It reminds me of our first flat. Only with more stuff.” She giggles and tucks a sheet around the mattress.
“Very nice. Alfred will still go stir-crazy, but he’ll be comfortable. How about you, Birgitte? Will you be comfortable here, too?”
She pats the pillow with its fresh case. “If Alfred is here, I am comfortable.”
Ask a silly question…
*****
The hospital van brings Alfred home late that afternoon. His physical therapist comes with him to assess the safety of his patient’s living quarters. Other than a throw rug in front of the fireplace in Alfred’s room, the house passes muster, and the hospital personnel leave.
When Birgitte stops fawning over her husband long enough to put together a light supper with Menuett’s help, Alfred motions me over to his bedside.
“It’s good to be back in my own bed, even though it’s not as convenient for conversation.” He adjusts the pillows supporting his back and sits up a little straighter. “Tell me about the week.”
I sit down in the chair by his bed. “Nothing major to report. Menuett’s kept a diary, and I know she has items to discuss.”
“I can see that. What’s bothering her?”
On a sigh, I look at the floor a sec. “Oh, I’ll take the blame for that one.”
It’s so silent in the room, I can hear the buzz of two women chattering in the kitchen on the other side of the cottage, through several stone walls.
“Our situation is…complicated.”
“I’m sure. You’re leaving soon?”
“The day after tomorrow, probably.”
“Is that the problem?”
I reel in the urge to squirm. “Indirectly. It’s definitely a complication. Let me just say I’ve dug myself a pretty deep hole, and it’s going to take me some time and effort to climb out of it. Can we just leave it at that?”
He studies the blanket as if memorizing its weave. “Have there been any more nights of consolation?”
“None.”
“Then I’m going to guess that her pout is because she asked for something you didn’t give, and her resignation is because she believes you never will.”
“Something like that.”
“Is that what you want?”
“No.”
The shaggy heads nods. “What are you going to do?”
“Unpack my life, one complication at a time.”
“Including the fence around her heart?”
“Yep.”
“Fences around the best properties require constant tending and mending.”
Damn. If I were a woman, I’d needlepoint that on a pillow. Does every country and every era have its Yoda? There’s one with a bushy, white beard sitting in this bed, for sure.
“But you have an engineering degree and, I trust, all the right tools for the job. What will you do about Dieter?”
“He’s on the list, too.”
“He’ll be here while you’re gone.”
“Yes.”
His lips twitch. “It’s good to be back home. I’d hate to miss the show.”
*****
I volunteer for KP duty after supper, but Menuett wants time with Birgitte, so I’m waiting for them to finish so we can walk back over to the main house together. “It’s good to have Alfred home. He looks like he always did, just not mobile.”
She’s looking down as if watching her step. “Yes. He’s nearly seventy now, but I think he’s going to be fine. Hopefully six months of forced inactivity won’t permanently affect his leg.”
“Oh, that PT looks like he knows what he’s doing.”
“I think so, too. Thank you for staying until we got Alfred home. We’ll be fine. I can take you to Frankfurt tonight, if you like. If there’s not a flight now, you’ll be there to catch the first one tomorrow.”
“How far away is that?”
“About an hour and a half.”
A chuckle rumbles out of me. “You’re an hour and a half from everything.”
“We’re centrally located. We get to have our privacy, with all the amenities a short drive away.”
“Short drive?” I run a hand through my hair. “With the way you’re running back and forth, you’d do better with a helicopter.”
Her gaze snaps to mine. For the first time tonight she seems interested in more than polite drivel. “I looked into that once. A flight over the estate and over the Mosel would draw in more tourists. But German regulations are overwhelming.”
“Really? Like what?”
“Like we’d have to hire a commercial pilot, for one.”
“What else?”
“A private airfield on our property.”
“That’s not a problem for you, is it?”
“No, we have the land. That’s the least of our worries.”
“When I come back, I’d like you to show me where you considered building one.”
She stops in her tracks, that slim body carrying all that angel hair, to turn and face me. “Don’t do that.”
We stand, almost toe to toe, the night creatures singing their songs around us, their eyes sparkling in the dark. “I am coming back, Menuett.”
Her body pulls up stiff and proud, but the hard swallow I trace in her throat shows me her distress. “What you said last night was true. Our timing is off. What you didn’t say, but I will, is that it may always be off. Our window may have come and gone, for all we know. It feels like my whole life has been waiting. Waiting for my parents to return. Waiting for Alfred to get home. Waiting for Dieter to get back. Waiting for the man in The Dream. Waiting for—”
“Hold on. What did you say?”
She turns her head to the side and looks off in the pitch-black distance. “Nothing. Never mind. The point is, I’m tired of waiting.”
I want to hear more about the man in her dream, but once again, the timing’s not right. I need to get through this first. “You’re right. You shouldn’t wait for me. I can’t ask you to. There are too many dominoes that have to be lined up, and I’m determined to do that. All I ask is that as you go on with your life, running the estate, even seeing other men—” I almost choke on those vile words—“don’t slam the door on me. Not yet. Let me come back to you when the time is right.”
I can’t see her clearly enough to read her face, so I step close and wrap my arms around her.
She shakes her head. “Why? That’s just another way of asking me to wait for you. For what? All I know for sure is that you like to kiss me.”
“Oh, Angel, I’m so bad at this.” I crook my neck to rest my forehead on hers. “Menuett von Sternau, I’ve fallen for you. I’ve never felt for any other woman—ever—what I already feel for you. You make me want to be a better person. To do things right. To make you as proud of me as I am of you. Every day recently, I’ve been thinking about our fake fiancé status. I’d like to see if we can make a go at a real relationship. Please don’t shut the door on me.”
She’s as closed and silent as a bank vault. But she’s not pulling away. And her body has lost most of its rigidity. She’s
not leaning into me like I’m her rock, but she’s here and warm and smells better than the spring flowers growing all over this big expanse of land her ancestors passed through the ages down to her. I can’t believe what I’m about to say.
“Don’t wait for me. Come with me.”
Her gasp is so deep it should have depleted Earth’s atmosphere. “Don’t be absurd!”
I’m suddenly so in love with this idea, I could kick myself for not thinking of it sooner. “Is your passport up to date?”
“Yes.”
“Come with me.”
“I can’t. Birgitte and Alfred need me. The estate needs me.” She breaks away to pace back and forth like the little targets at an old-time shooting gallery.
“Birgitte and Alfred are settled and fine. You already set up the estate to run pretty much on autopilot through Richart, Lukas, Ms. Schmidt, and I don’t know who else. Come with me.”
She halts her pacing as suddenly as she began it. “You know that’s not true. You’ve worked hard to help me keep things running. There’s nothing automatic about it.”
“I oversimplified. It did take us both at first. But I’ve seen you collaborating with the others, delegating responsibility, sharing decisions. You don’t think they could do that for the time we’d be gone?”
Her arms cross over her waist. A sign of rejection. Things aren’t looking good. “What I’ve seen is how you work your charm on people to get what you need or want from them.”
That blow staggers me. Sucks the air from my lungs. She sees me. For what I am. And she doesn’t like it. Doesn’t trust me.
Why should she? I don’t like or trust myself. She would be crazy to consider coming with me anywhere, much less to another continent, amongst people she doesn’t know.
So puffed up with joy and excitement before, I feel it all bleed out of me. I really hoped she’d give us a chance. So much for declaring my feelings. “You’re right. You should believe I wasn’t trying to charm you just then. But that is who I am.”
