by M. Leighton
Still, she says nothing as she crosses the room. Not until her footfalls stop near the door. “Will you sell this when it’s finished? I’d be interested in purchasing it, whatever the cost.”
“I’ll let you know if I do,” is my noncommittal answer.
There’s a pause before her footsteps resume and I hear her tell Cherelyn that she can let herself out.
I sag back onto my stool, undeniably bothered by her visit. I mean, God, who wouldn’t be?
Moments after the front door closes, I hear the hurried scamper of my roommate heading in my direction.
“Who the hell was that?”
“Julianne Pine.”
“Pine? As in the Pines that own half of Louisiana’s real estate?”
“One and the same. I had the scary, funhouse, clown-with-sharp-teeth pleasure of sharing a table with them for about fifteen minutes last night.”
“And you didn’t tell me?”
“I was kinda focusing on the better half of the evening, thank you very much.”
“Wow. She’s just…wow.”
I slump. “Awwww, don’t tell me that!”
“Tell you what?”
“That she’s gorgeous.”
She didn’t really have to, though. I already knew. A guy like Levi wouldn’t be interested in anything less.
Which is why I have good reason to worry when it comes to Levi and me. I’m Plain Jane in his world, I bet. Hell, I can’t even put on lipstick without five minutes and complete concentration.
“I didn’t say she was gorgeous.”
I sigh loudly. “You didn’t have to.”
“You didn’t let me finish. Let me spin you a tale, Evian de Champlain style.” She clears her throat before she continues. “You know those fish? The ones with the teeth and they eat people in like two seconds?”
“Piranha?”
“Yep. That’s the one. Imagine one of those with bubba teeth and hair like one of those trolls that you used to put on the end of a pencil. You know the one I mean? That fuzzy red hair that sticks straight up?”
“Yeah, I know the ones.”
“Okay, so she’s like a piranha with buck teeth and troll hair, but on really skinny legs.”
I nod. “You’re definitely giving me a mental image.”
“I suck at this, don’t I?”
I laugh. “Maybe a little.”
It’s her turn to sigh. “Fine. She’s beautiful. Is that what you wanted to hear?”
“No! That’s not at all what I wanted to hear. But I knew it anyway. I can just tell.”
Cherelyn walks across the room toward me, not stopping until my hands, paint and all, are enveloped in hers. “I’m being one hundred percent completely honest when I tell you that you’re even more beautiful, though.”
“Don’t even try to—”
“I’m serious,” she interrupts vehemently. “She’s beautiful in a cold fish kind of way. No pun intended. She’s put together like she’s ready for the red carpet at a moment’s notice. She’s just…fake somehow. She pales in comparison to you, even with that red hair of hers. Evie, you’re gorgeous inside and out. Even if you didn’t have hair that looks like honey and eyes the color of cocoa, even if you didn’t have the most perfect skin I’ve ever seen and an ass that I’d need surgery to achieve, the light that shines from you is positively breathtaking. If I didn’t love you, I’d hate you. I’d be so jealous I couldn’t stand myself. And she is. That woman knows she has nothing on you. And she’s pissed. I could tell by the way she walked. She was really having trouble with that stick up her ass.”
That makes me grin.
Sometimes I try to imagine what my life would be like without Cherelyn, and I can’t. I just can’t imagine it. And I don’t want to. She is more like family to me than my own blood. I just hope that one day, I’ll be able to be the rock, the support, the constant in her life that she’s been in mine. I owe her everything.
“I love you.”
“This, I know,” she says, pulling me in for a hug. “Don’t let her get to you. She’s just jealous. Probably never heard the word ‘no’ before.”
“Especially not from a man.”
“Yeah. But she’s never had to go up against Evie de Champlain either.”
“Oh, right. Because I’m such the catch.”
“You are a catch. Being blind doesn’t detract from all your other million and one qualities. It’s just one thing.”
“But it’s one huge thing.”
“The right people don’t see it that way. I don’t. And I don’t think Levi does either. That guy… He’s got a thing for you.”
“How would you know? You just met him!”
“I’ve seen enough smitten men to know what that looks like. And lemme tell ya, he’s smitten.”
My belly warms at her words. It should probably worry me how much I want that to be true. “Cher, Levi, uhhh, he asked me to go to New Orleans with him.”
“What?”
I nod. “So he can take me out on the bayou and we can get to know each other better. He has business down there Friday.”
“What did you say?” She’s holding her breath. I can hear the way it changes her words, shortens them.
“I…said yes.”
“Eeeeeeeee,” she squeals, but lowers the volume when I cover my sensitive ears. “Evie! Ohmygod, this is so great! I’m so happy for you!”
“I just don’t want to make a mistake.”
“I know, babe. I don’t want you to either. Unfortunately, there’s risk in everything. We just have to hope they pan out to be worth it in the end. And I think this will be. I think he will be. I’ve got a good feeling about him, E.”
Relief, warm and soothing, washes through me. “I hope you’re right. I’m so tired of being disappointed.”
“I know you are. But the right man won’t disappoint you. You just have to find him. And maybe you have.”
“I’d just about given up.”
Until Levi.
Honestly, I thought I had. I thought I’d resigned myself to living out my life alone, without a mate. But Levi makes me want to try one more time. To have hope one more time.
“You can’t give up. Promise me you’ll give him a real chance. Promise me,” she demands, giving me a light shake.
“What about what Julianne said?”
“She’s a vicious, jealous whore who came here, to where the competition lives to work her devil magic. To tell you lies. Put that bitch right out of your head.”
It does reek of suspicion that she would make such an effort to come here and dissuade me about the man she wants for herself. It’s not like we’re friends or something. For her to seek me out that way, only to fill my head with doubts… Yeah, that’s bullshit. It has to be.
“That’s a good point, too.”
“Don’t let her ruin this for you, Evie. That’s what she wants. That’s why she came here.”
I’m already on the fence, leaning toward Levi, but knowing that my friend, who loves me and wants nothing but happiness for me, thinks I should give it a shot, too… Well, that is like the green light for me.
“All right, all right, all right. I’ll give this…him a real chance,” I concede with a half-laugh. Quickly, I add, “You realize there’s a penalty for roughing up a blind woman, right?”
As though she just now realizes that she’s shaking me, Cher stops.
I hear the mischief in her voice. “Just what would that penalty involve? I might be willing to suffer the consequences.”
“You’re awful, you know that?”
I hear the smack of her lips as she blows a kiss in the air toward me. “Mwah. You love me. Don’t lie.”
“Fine. I do,” I agree with artificial aggravation.
“I know because I love you the same way. Even though you’re a filthy roommate. My God, look at your hands!”
I tap my thumbs to my index fingers, and they’re both tacky. “Yeah, I guess I should probably think about cl
eaning up.”
“I think that would be wise. Evidently unexpected visitors are gonna be a thing around here. Probably best to wear pants at all times.”
“Ugh!” I groan. I’d forgotten that I’m still in panties, socks, a Gun N’ Roses tee, and nothing more.
Damn.
********
The rest of the day, I think about Levi and the trip to New Orleans, and whether I’m nuts for even considering it. I’ve thought about the potential for pain if I get any more involved with him. And I’ve thought about how little that seems to matter when I compare it to the way simply thinking about him makes me feel—happy, excited, optimistic. Worthy.
And then there are his kisses…
Phew! Thoughts like those are enough to overheat me. He definitely tugs on the strings of my libido.
He tugs hard.
The problem is, he also tugs on the strings of my heart. The things he says, the way he treats me, the way he seems to get me almost… It seems like something special. He seems like something special.
I don’t know what it is. It’s not like I haven’t met wealthy, charming, suave men before. But he’s not like the others, though. Not in the ways that matter anyway. I’d be willing to bet my teeth on it, and we all know how I feel about them.
No, there’s definitely something about Levi that draws me, something I can’t put my finger on. Like an unspoken promise that he really is different.
Am I a fool for believing something so vague? Probably.
But am I believing it anyway? Evidently.
After ordering in and scarfing down an order of General Tso’s chicken with Cherelyn before she left to meet with a client, I make myself comfortable on the couch. I’m content to just sit in the quiet and think.
When the doorbell rings, my pulse speeds up. I wonder if I’ll always feel this way when I hear it—this fluttery excitement that it just might be Levi. It’s intensely pleasurable—the idea that it might be him, that he might be surprising me, that I might get to spend a few more unpredictable minutes with him. It’s exhilarating. Liberating. Addictive.
That alone should scare me.
I get up and make my way across the room. I never need my cane at home. I’ve got every fine detail of this space memorized. As long as Cherelyn doesn’t get a wild hair to move furniture, which she did once and I ended up with six stitches to my temple, I’m good.
“Who is it?” I call through the wooden panel, all three locks still firmly in place.
“Flowers by Desiree delivery for Ms. Evianne day Champagne,” the youngish male voice replies, butchering my last name.
I slide open the chain and snap open the deadbolt before twisting the knob to open the door a crack. “I’m Evian de Champlain.”
“Oh, sorry,” he says sheepishly when I give him the correct pronunciation. “I thought it was a pretty cool last name—champagne.” I smile and he fumbles along through the rest of his speech. “I have a flower delivery for you.”
The moment he moves the bouquet, I smell it. The sweet scent of roses and lilies—maybe rubrums?—floods my nostrils and wraps itself around me like an embrace. And Levi knew it would. These are from him. I know it. I don’t need a card to know. He can’t give me things I can see, so he’s giving me things I can smell.
I open the door further and hold out my hands. Silence greets me for a few seconds until I take pity on the poor guy. “I’m blind,” I whisper. “Would you please put the vase in my hands?”
“Uhhh, sure, but you need to sign for them.”
“Oh, okay. Just show me where and I’ll try not to use up your entire page with my scribble.” I’m teasing, but I somehow doubt that it’s helping. His laugh is the very sound of discomfort.
A moment later, a clipboard is placed in my hands. I resituate it and hold my fingers for the pen, which the kid kindly places between them.
“Right here.” I feel the pressure of him pointing to a place on the sheet. I use the backs of my fingers to figure out where he’s indicating and put the point of the pen as near to that spot as I can get.
“Close enough?” I ask before I start writing.
“Yeah, that’s fine.”
I scratch out my signature in what I hope is a straight line and hand both clipboard and pen back to the delivery boy. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. Enjoy your flowers,” he says, nudging the vase into my waiting hands.
I push my nose into the bouquet and inhale, answering him as I breathe out, “Oh, I definitely will.” Before I close the door, I stop the delivery boy. Even though I know instinctively who they’re from, my curiosity still gets the better of me. I have to know what the card says or it’ll drive me crazy, and I can’t wait for Cherelyn to get home. “Wait! Can you tell me what the card says?”
“There was no card, but the guy who ordered them said if you asked to tell you that he didn’t want to use up one of his four dates. He said he doesn’t want you to back out on those grounds. He said don’t forget about him before tomorrow.”
I grin.
Levi.
Oh, he’s good. He’s very good.
“Okay, thank you.”
Later, I’m still smiling when I crawl into bed, my entire room scented with the aroma of Levi’s sweet playfulness.
“Doesn’t want me to back out on those grounds,” I mutter into the dark. With a giggle, I shake my head, and that’s the last thought I have before falling into a deep and restful sleep.
********
The first thing that goes through my mind when I open my eyes Wednesday morning is crimson—the velvety crimson of a rose petal, its beautiful sheen dotted with drops of dew; the waxy crimson veins of a rubrum blossom, the center open wide to the sun. In my mind, I can see them perfectly, the rich color even more so. And with my fingers, I can reach out and touch them. So I do.
Last night, I set the flowers on the nightstand so they’d be within arm’s length of me, as they are now. I carefully adore each fragrant blossom in the bouquet, inhaling, drawing the luxurious scent deep into my lungs. Memorizing every sensual detail.
Levi couldn’t be any more here with me without being physically here with me. Like in the bed beside me. I smell him, his thoughtfulness, on every side. The worrisome part is, I think he’d be just as much “here” if he hadn’t sent flowers. He’s on my mind almost constantly. He’s here with me, it seems, wherever I go.
I realize with a sigh, that’s probably a very bad thing at this juncture. I’m far too infatuated.
I drag myself out of bed, thankful that Cherelyn had an early meeting this morning. I’m grateful for the quiet, the time alone with my thoughts before I get out of my own head long enough to go paint something with the kids of my class.
My heart pulls me toward my studio as I pass the door on the way to the kitchen. That’s what I really want to spend my day working on—my Levi portrait—but I can’t. The kids and Healing Art are more important, so it’s with them that I’ll wile away the morning hours.
Less than forty minutes later, I’m pushing through the main door of the Boyd Center building, tapping my way along the hallway toward my classroom. I drop my things off in the tiny adjoining space that serves as a place for the teacher to leave personal items or grade papers or get some privacy for one reason or another. For me, it’s where I keep my painting shoes.
It’s as I’m slipping on the speckled, splattered shoes that I hear the tittering of voices next door. I pause, listening, wondering what the commotion is all about, but then I hear music. The beginning notes of a song that sounds vaguely familiar.
I’m pushing my foot into my other shoe when I hear the chorus of “I Want It All” by Queen roar from the next room. Surprised by the odd intrusion, I think back to my conversation with Levi the day we had lunch, when I mentioned that he’d just be another one biting the dust. This was his response. This was his song to me. This is his taunt, his way of saying “touché”.
I smile. With my face, with
my lungs, with my whole heart, I smile, certain that my chest is going to explode with happy.
God, this guy…
As I stand, ready to make my way into the adjacent room, I shake my head, feeling lighter than I have in years.
I open the door and stop to let the music and the sound of conspiratorial chatter and muted giggles flow over me. I can feel the excitement of the kids almost like the buzz of electricity. The air is thick and alive with it, pulsing over my skin with the beat of the music, washing over my face with the sound of the lyrics. It fills me, forcing an elated laugh up and out of my curved lips. I feel considered. Wanted. Treasured even.
And I haven’t felt any of that since I woke up in the hospital thirteen years ago with bandages on my eyes.
“What’s going on in here?” I ask, raising my voice above the level of the music.
“We have a message for you, Ms. Evie,” yells Alana, her high pitch practically vibrating with enthusiasm.
“You do?”
“Play the next one,” she whispers to another of my students.
Seconds later, after some shuffling sounds, another song comes on, right in the middle of the chorus. “Don’t You (Forget About Me)” by Simple Minds. I throw my head back and laugh, perfectly picturing the ending scene from The Breakfast Club as I listen.
Impulsively, I throw my fisted hand into the air and sing along with the la-la-la-laaaaas. The kids in my class whoop and holler, the ones who can clap do so. I feel silly and I feel happy, and it feels awesome.
I only squeal a little bit when arms encircle me from behind and swing me in a wide arc before setting me on my feet and spinning me around. Hands cup my face for a chaste kiss that somehow doesn’t feel chaste at all. It sears me all the way through.
When Levi finally raises his head from mine and releases me to back away, I’m breathless and giddy.
“Are you saying you don’t want me to forget about you?” I ask, stating the obvious, unable to stop grinning while I do so.
He gives me no answer, and something about the way the space directly in front of me feels empty now tells me that he’s gone, that he came here to sing to me in his way, to take me in his arms and remind me not to forget about him until I see him again. And then to leave. Before he can use up one of his four big dates.
