Something To Dream On

by Rinella, Diane

  The stairs of Jensen’s duplex are nearly defeating, thanks to me bringing two, overfilled, paper grocery bags. The weight in one shifts, and I am barely able to twist and stop cans from toppling onto the hood of the car in the driveway below. It’s the one I saw while helping Jensen—a nineteen seventy Dodge Challenger that is in the most unfortunate color of bile green combined with urine yellow that has been diluted with muddy water. That poor thing looks so sick that I feel as bad for it as I would an ill uncle.

  Behind the door, Etta barks. Aw, she sounds happy! Jensen answers before I can knock and darts to grab a ripping bag. “Did you rob a pet food store? You didn't have to do this.” He takes the second bag and invites me in.

  “I was serious about helping. You should be set for a while.” Etta hangs out on the floor. Her jumbled blanket makes me suspect she’s had company while watching the Sharks game on TV.

  He’s a hockey fan? Oh dear God, yes!

  Lord, please don’t let him be a Kings fan.

  I join Etta, and she nuzzles against me like she did to Jensen in the clinic. “How are you both holding up?”

  A beat-up copy of Beowulf, a couple of textbooks, and a stack of CDs sit on the coffee table. Beowulf? That book is way over my head. Why couldn’t he have a copy of Steppenwolf? Then I could make a joke about the band.

  Would he get that? My family would never accept him if he didn’t.

  My eyes flash back to the CDs and catch an Aerosmith logo. Whew! If it was Bach, we’d be doomed.

  “We're good,” he says.

  We sure are.

  Oh, he was talking about him and Etta.

  In the corner of the sparse room sits a practice amp. Just beyond that is a nook of a kitchen. Inside it sits a six-string electric guitar along with a Marshall half stack. I’ve heard that many musicians are cold-hearted and bad news for women, but they aren’t all sex-starved pigs who only bang models and keep notches in their bedposts, right?

  Jensen joins us on the blanket, and Etta sticks her head between us. “Aw, that is so sweet. I just love this girl. I’m so glad to hear you say it is going well.”

  “You know, I always wanted a dog. There may have been a reason why I never made this place too much my own. Now she can help me fill it.”

  “That is such a sweet answer, but I can’t help but still feel a smidgen guilty. I didn't mean to pressure you.”

  I can feel my eyes deepen in warmth. “You didn't pressure me. If anything, you reminded me of what I want out of life.” It feels so good to be honest, but man, I sound like a chick. Am I okay with that? There are so many changes for me to digest. It would probably be easier if I could get past worrying about how I come off to people. I am a good, responsible person now. I can do this. This dog thing, it’s totally going to work out.

  “That is such a sweet thing to say. You two are going to be great together.”

  “I hope you are right.”

  “I’m certain of it.” Lizetta checks out the room again. I should have cleaned more. She doesn’t seem to be judging though. She’s probably looking around because that is what you do when you enter someplace new, but what if she thinks my place isn’t good enough for Etta? You need to childproof a home, but do you need to dog proof it? Why didn’t I think of this before she got here? Maybe I should ask her.

  My lips start to move, and then I realize my question is foolish. What do I expect, that I am supposed to put plastic plugs in the outlets so Etta doesn’t zap her paw? That’s ridiculous!

  It is ridiculous, right?

  What kind of guy gets this nervous over taking care of a dog? The Man Club is going to yank away my balls and cancel my membership.

  I should say something. Now would be the prime time to ask questions about caring for Etta.

  This man gives some of the sweetest, most amazing answers. It makes me feel like he should be easy to get to know. However, he seems a little apprehensive when it comes to conversation. Do I make him uncomfortable? Honestly, he seems distracted. He does have textbooks on the coffee table. I’m probably interrupting his studies. I don’t want to be rude and overstay my welcome.

  Since my hopes for an offer of a glass of water, a soda, or a drawer to put my belongings go unanswered, I stand and grab my purse. “Well, call if you need anything. I'll see you in two weeks for that follow-up appointment.”

  “Uh, yeah. Okay.” He says it like he is surprised that I am leaving, and then a look of realization crosses his face. “I’m sorry. I’ve been a terrible host. Truthfully, I have too many things on my mind, and I’m worried about giving Etta all that she needs. I didn’t mean to come off as ungrateful for what you have done.”

  “It’s fine, Jensen, but are you really okay? Do you need me to take her? I can give her a good home.”

  His answer jumps out quickly. “No, we will be fine. I am absolutely certain of it.”

  I smile. “I am too.”

  Just short of reaching the door, a glimpse at a photo locks my feet in place and nearly takes the breath out of me. A boy and a woman stand next to a painting that makes me dizzy with disbelief. Patches of trees and flowers sit among the desert. Midnight blue embraces the earth. Stars fill the sky, yet a cluster of them dominates the center. They remind me of The Star Tarot card. “Wow! Where was this taken?”

  “My mom’s old house. My brother took the photo about fifteen years ago, not long after she finished the painting. That’s her and me next to it. Eddie tried to get as much detail as possible.”

  “Seriously? She painted that? Did she copy it from something?” This painting is a perfect match for my dream—the same dream the psychic saw in the cards—except I’ve never seen it from this angle before. The patches look more like paths. Is it that I am freaked out, or is there something in this painting that makes my eyes drift left?

  “No. Why?”

  “Maybe I’ve seen it before, like in a gallery or something.”

  “I doubt it. Are you much of an art lover?”

  “No, it just seems familiar.” Part of me wants to share the craziness of how, but can I tell him it matches both a recurring dream and a Tarot reading without sounding nuts? A lot of people roll their eyes at even the notion of Tarot cards and psychics. Also, the only person who knows about that dream is Griffin. It’s always felt too personal to share.

  But there must be some reason that Jensen has this painting. Is he the thing that shakes up my world?

  No, that Tower sounded more like an event than a person. Besides, Jensen seems too sweet to cause me problems. If he were dangerous, Etta wouldn’t have warmed up to him.

  I’ve got to find out what this all means. Unfortunately, Jensen has given absolutely no indication that he would ever be interested in seeing me outside of Etta’s appointments. How could I change that?

  I leave with a simple good night and a determined resolve. I may have to get creative, but I will find a way to draw this man into my life!

  CHAPTER TWO

  Wednesday, April 19

  Self-confidence is everything—or so they say. When it comes to my job, I have it in abundance; however, when it comes to men …

  I tell myself I am pretty, which deep down I think I am, but I don’t feel attractive. When you don’t feel attractive, you often see yourself as ugly. When you have spent years hearing you are ugly and that no man would ever want you, it is hard to believe elsewise.

  Today is Etta’s two-week follow-up appointment, so I spend the morning fidgeting with pens, my ID tag, my nails—anything to keep my hands busy. I need to give Jensen the right impression. At least my scrubs are pretty pink ones that complement the green in my eyes and bring out the rose tones in my skin—and they are clean. Even if I’m having a bad day, these scrubs make me look like I’m little Miss Sunshine.

  Dr. Leopold calls me into an exam room. What exactly do I say to Jensen? I can’t turn into a giggling mess again.

  The doctor keeps asking me to take care of just one more thing before I head o
ff. Doesn’t she know I have important work ahead? Sure, I’ve had two weeks to figure out my words, but I’m still clueless.

  Each tick from the clock adds another flutter to my nerves. Rats! Etta’s appointment is now. I have to be the one to see her. If I miss Jensen today, I’m hosed for a few more weeks.

  Five minutes after the scheduled appointment time, I manage to break free and dash to the lobby with hope of being greeted by Etta. The room is empty.

  Griffin slips up and gives me a hip bump. “Saved him for you. Sugar Booger’s in room two.”

  “Sweet!” I shoot him a quick smile of thanks before hightailing it back. Just shy of turning the knob, I halt in my tracks. I’m still without a plan. Why does the dating game play so easily for some?

  No time for wallowing. I will not let this guy know that he has control over my emotions. I will not turn into a giggling fool.

  My words come out before I even finish turning the knob. “Hi! How's everyone feeling?” Etta is already on the table and playing keep away with Jensen and a squeaky toy I gave them. Jensen certainly looks happy—not at all like the guy who was freaking out over never having a dog before.

  Etta sees me and tries to stand. Jensen and I both race to ask her to sit. She obeys, and then pants happily with her tail wagging to her right, over the edge of the table.

  “We're great, though I think Etta’s going a little stir crazy. I borrowed my neighbor’s wagon the other day and took her out for some fresh air. All the kids came out to pet her. Etta’s going to be the hit of the block once she's active.”

  The thought of this gorgeous man pulling a huge dog in a little, red wagon warms my heart. No matter how many kitten pictures I see on Facebook this year, nothing is going to compare to that image.

  “Of course she’ll be a hit!” I go about my routine, which includes the ever-embarrassing taking of Etta’s temperature in a rather private place. Etta’s a trooper, but Jensen’s eyes stare widely as I lift her tail and insert the thermometer. His demure squirm makes me giggle. So much for not letting him know that he has an effect on me. “Well, she seems great.”

  “So, things are going well? I’m taking good enough care of her?”

  Wow. That’s too sweet. “You are taking excellent care of her. I never would have suggested you adopt her if I didn’t know you would.” Jensen turns his head towards Etta. His sigh of relief is actually visible. He’s just so lovable. “Well, the doctor will be with you in a moment.”

  His brow scrunches. “Yeah, okay. Thanks.” I hope that doesn’t sound like I am brushing them off, but I want to save myself from further embarrassment.

  Etta laps at my face when I bend over to pet her. I giggle, and Jensen follows along.

  A guy just giggled? That’s so freaking cute that I am not even angry with myself for slipping. Dating games suck!

  I wish them a nice day and leave. Part of me kicks myself for not having more nerve, and part of me is proud as a queen bee for not turning into a drooling fool.

  The door closes and …

  Wow. Was that really the same girl? I’ve spent two weeks thinking about how to impress her with how well I am taking care of Etta, and then she walks in looking like that. I’ve been telling myself that I couldn’t get her off of my mind because I was seeking approval—that I needed to know I was doing all the right things—but she just made my nervous system hum like an ungrounded mic.

  She also put me in my place. I mean, she was so generous with Etta that I thought she might like me at least enough to chat. Maybe she is just a thoughtful person, which makes me all the more fascinated.

  I shrug at Etta. “Some chick magnet you’re turning out to be.” She whimpers and sets her head on the table. I massage her cheek with my thumb. Damn, how I have come to adore this sweet girl. “Sorry, honey. You know I didn’t mean it. You gotta get used to me though, because if I can’t banter with a woman, even a canine one …” I kiss her head and cuddle it into my shoulder. “You know I love you, right?”

  A warm tongue licks slobber onto my face, and I laugh. “Hey, Etta. Did I really giggle?” I look to the door that the girl I am now realizing I have spent two weeks pining for closed on me. “What is it about her?”

  This situation has made me feel awkward, giddy, hopeful, and disappointed all at once. What did I expect? That Jensen would drop everything to run over to kiss me?

  I need to learn more about him and that painting. If it were a reprint, I could totally justify that I’d seen it before. But his mom painted it? She must have copied it from something.

  Maybe if I continue to play it cool, it won’t seem fangirly if I talk to him at the next appointment. I don’t want to come off as an idolizing dork. I only want a real chance.

  Would trying to start an actual conversation be so bad?

  “Hey, can someone get the door please?” Jensen yells from around the corner.

  The paperwork I hold is dropped on my desk when I dash for the door. So much for playing it cool. Jensen turns around and his smile almost makes my hand forget how to turn a knob. Lord, I want to run my fingers through his silky hair and yank him down so he can smother me like gravy on mashed potatoes. “Everything okay?” The words choke their way out. Embarrassing!

  “So far, so good. Etta’s amazing.”

  An adoring “Aw!” slips out of me. My embarrassment makes me giggle. Seriously, I have to get a grip on the giggling. “She's sweet. I just adore her.”

  A familiar tinkle of tags coming from behind the reception area grabs my attention. Oh, no. Not Socrates. Not now.

  A hound that is as lovable as a cartoon mutt tromps and slobbers his way out of the exam area and drags his mom toward my desk. The dear thing always wants to say hello. The only problem is, he often gets a little too personal. This is not the most ideal time to run into him.

  Socrates comes out and puts his paws on Jensen’s legs so he can sniff Etta while his owner heads to the counter. Jensen smiles down at him, but his attention quickly returns to me. “I’m going to drop Etta off at home and head back to work. Tonight we are going on another wagon walk. You would have the most beautiful smile if you saw how happy she gets.”

  Socrates shoves his nose deeper into my crotch. Is he trying to bore his way inside? This is totally embarrassing and a dead giveaway that I am fully enamored! “I’ve got to get back to work. Call if Etta needs anything.”

  “Yeah, okay.” Jensen shrugs to Etta. She gets droopy-eyed, and her ears flatten as I hold the door open and Jensen carries her out. As soon as they are out of earshot, Griffin tromps over, smacks me on the arm, and shows no mercy. “What the hell is wrong with you? I thought you liked that guy?”

  “Majorly!”

  His words whip out like he wants to slap me with them. “Really? Then why did you blow him off when he was asking you to join them for that walk?”

  “Yeah, right! Why would he ask me?”

  Lord, I must be in trouble something fierce because his hands just flew around and smacked on his hips. “Please, girl! Why wouldn't he like you?” Griffin points a finger at me and continues to shoot out finger after finger to add a dose of sass to each point. “You're fun to be around. You hooked him up with a friend he obviously loves. And you are totally beautiful, which he was subtly trying to point out.”

  “He was?”

  “Yes! He mentioned how beautiful your smile would be while you were walking together. Think about it.”

  My face warms in hope, but Griffin is like a girlfriend, and girlfriends are supposed to tell you you're beautiful and be encouraging. It’s what we do.

  “I dare you to go get that man. This pretending you are not interested is going to bite you in your pasty ass. Go for the kill!” Griffin flicks his hand at me as he heads off to tend to a patient. I don’t know what in the Sam Hill just happened, but I may need to rethink my strategy.

  I spend the afternoon pondering my choices; show up on Jensen’s doorstep like an obvious stalker, hide in the neighbor�
��s bushes and then pretend to just happen to be in the area like a crazed stalker, or look up his number and call like a sane person.

  On the sixth digit, I stop. He didn't actually get around to inviting me, so am I crashing his walk? This is weird.

  No wussing out! Just go the half-chicken route and send a text.

  “Hi. It's Lizetta. I can't stop smiling over the thought of Etta in that wagon. Mind if I join you on that walk tonight?”

  How long is considered non-obsessive to wait for a reply? A minute? Ten minutes? Three days? My stupid lack of self-esteem tells me to pack it up and go home. My shoulder dips at the weight of my purse just as my phone buzzes. “Sure! Head on over.”

  Seriously? Not only was the response positive, it was fast—and he did it with an exclamation mark! Maybe Griffin was right.

  Hold up there, Lizetta. You're about to walk a dog, not get wined and dined. Keep those expectations realistic.

  Oh, screw you, brain! Is it so wrong to allow a little hope for once? I swear, once one person damages your self-esteem, it’s a slippery slope to Stupidville.

  Without giving it another thought, I head out.

  Although the distance between work and Jensen’s apartment isn’t great, the difference in the environment is vast. It doesn’t take long to go from modern shopping centers and tall office buildings to dry hills and outdated strip malls. A quick trek up a hill later, and I’m on a long stretch of road that may not have been paved since the automobile was created. This town is strange. On this end it is practically desert, then you shoot through a mini-Metropolis and land in the lush canyon where I live. Though it is not far from San Francisco, Fremont is like a mirage in the middle of nowhere.

  This … This is … Okay, this is just weird.

  I’m in a lawn chair, staring at Etta in a little red wagon that barely fits her, and waiting for a girl that makes feedback run through my nerves. “Seriously, Etta, what is it about her? You know she’s not my type, right?”