Lovin' Blue

by Zuri Day

  “Baby, protecting the one you love is about as romantic as you can get. I checked out the area around where you work and found that crime is very much a part of the landscape. I’ll feel a lot better with your having that on your key chain. I also want to show you a couple defensive moves, as your carrying a gun is probably not an option.”

  “Not at all.”

  “So that’s my compromise. Look, don’t even think about it as for protection, if that will make you feel better. Think of it as just another girlie thing you have in your purse.”

  Eden’s look was sarcastic even as she had to admit that the jeweled case the spray came in was quite attractive.

  “Thanks, Jansen, but . . . I don’t know how comfortable I’d feel carrying this around. It’s almost as if in consciously protecting oneself, you’re subconsciously saying there will be a need to in the future.”

  “That’s a bunch of BS, baby, seriously. Do you lock your doors at night? Well, do you?”

  “Of course.”

  “And does that mean a burglar is waiting in the bushes, or is that just good common sense?”

  Eden stared at Jansen for a long moment. He didn’t blink. “Okay, point taken.” She put the spray back into the gift bag and placed it near her purse.

  “Why don’t you go ahead and put it on your key chain.”

  “I’ll do it later.”

  “Humor me and do it now. Please.”

  Eden huffed and puffed before pulling her keys from her purse.

  “Here, baby, I’ll do it.” Jansen easily attached the spray to Eden’s chain, placed the chain back into her purse, and pulled her into his arms. “You know I’m only looking out for your best interests, right? That I don’t know what I’d do if anything ever happened to you?”

  “Nothing is going to happen to me, Jansen.”

  “I know, baby. As long as you’re with me, which I hope is for a very long time, I’ll make sure of it.”

  They retired to the master suite where Jansen relayed an abbreviated version of the day’s events. They’d arrested Terrell Ford, the man who’d assaulted Mayleen “Sassy” Smith, but Jansen didn’t feel they had evidence sufficient enough to hold him long.

  “It’s one of the things that frustrates me about the system,” Jansen concluded. “There are innocent men behind bars and guilty ones walking free. I’ve met dozens of Terrells—master manipulators, skillful liars.”

  “He denied breaking into that neighbor’s house?”

  “Of course he did. Denied ever having committed a crime in his life, even though we have the rap sheet to prove otherwise.”

  “Turn over. Let me give you a massage.” When he complied, Eden straddled the small of Jansen’s back and began to work on his tense neck and shoulders. “Even Superman couldn’t save the whole world, Jansen. We have to feel good knowing we’ve done the best we can. That’s all that’s required of us.”

  They fell silent then, Eden kneading, sending subliminal love rays to Jansen’s body, Jansen moaning his appreciation. Shortly thereafter, she was the one moaning while Jansen massaged her body from the inside out.

  Later, back in the living room, Jansen was making his argument for her delayed departure. “Baby, it’s late. You can spend the night, leave here when I do, around six, and have plenty of time to get to work.”

  “No, I won’t.”

  “Yes, you will. You said your hours are nine to five.”

  “On paper. But I’m normally there from eighty-thirty to six.”

  “Why? Who are you trying to impress?”

  “Myself. I plan to be fully up to speed on everything concerning the center within six months. Then I plan to plug into the national network and work my way into the upper eschelons of the holistic community’s movers and shakers. I love this job, Jansen, helping people live better lives.” When he continued pouting, she added, “I love you, too.”

  Ten minutes later, Eden was in her car headed home. She let out a yawn and, to keep herself awake, turned the satellite radio to a station playing upbeat tunes. Jansen had that way about him—he sexed her with such an intensity that afterward she could fall asleep straight away. It would have been nice to spend the night, she mused. And then, I wonder if he’d be willing to get rid of all except his service revolver, and even place it in the garage for the night. Eden switched lanes, turned up the volume, and bobbed her head to a song about airplanes and making wishes. Even for the fairies Ariel adored, Eden felt her desire would be a tall order. Jansen, ridding his home of weapons at her request? Eden yawned again, glad that she was less than fifteen minutes from home. “I doubt it.”

  43

  “Why don’t you just tell him already?” Ariel suggested in the ethereal, singsong voice that was her style. After a busy couple days, she and Eden were finally sharing girl time during a lunch break.

  “Because I don’t want to argue,” Eden replied. “Jansen loves his guns, and if I suggest he get rid of them, he’ll say he can’t because, one, weaponry is a part of his job, and, two—well, two is that they are a part of him.”

  Ariel eyed her friend, green eyes boring into brown ones. “Then if that’s true,” she said softly, “you’ll have to learn to love that part of him, too.”

  “That’s easy for you to say; you don’t have to see one strapped to your man’s hip.”

  “No, but I’m no stranger to guns. I actually have fond memories of them.” Amid Eden’s dubious expression, Ariel hurried on. “Back in Nebraska my grandfather was a huge hunter and farmer. My brother and I spent summers on his and my grandma’s one-hundred-acre spread. He taught me how to shoot, and for fun we’d knock cans off fence posts or blast pop bottles. I can handle anything from a .38 to a rifle, and I have the county-fair blue ribbons to prove it!

  “Because of our different experiences, guns don’t hold the energy for me that they do for you. Sometimes,” Ariel continued in a manner wise beyond her years, “the universe places us in situations to help us grow, help us love from a totally giving, totally selfless place. There’s a reason you love Jansen so fiercely, why your lives are so inextricably linked.”

  “So I can accept violence?”

  “So you can accept a person’s choices and point of view. Tell me this—besides the obvious reason of what they generally represent, why do you dislike guns so much?”

  “Besides the obvious, I have an especially strong dislike of guns used by the police.” Eden told Ariel the story about her ex-colleague, Renee Newton, and how her brother had been gunned down by law enforcement.

  “I’m so sorry about your friend’s brother,” Ariel responded. “It makes it totally understandable for you to feel as you do. But have you ever considered trying to change your position on Jansen’s chosen profession instead of trying to make him change who he is?”

  Eden reared back and almost went sistah-girl. But she kept her neck from rolling and her hands off her hip as she responded. “Why in the devil would I do that?”

  “Because inanimate objects—anything, really—only has the power we give them. Yes, guns are weapons that do great harm. But that is only because of the choices made by the person who owns them. In and of themselves they are simply masses of energy held together to form a unit used for destruction. The truth of the matter, Eden, is that that mass of steel is harmless. It has no power. Those weapons don’t have to make you feel the way you do about them. You could simply change the way you feel and look at Jansen’s guns the way you look at him—with unconditional love. Love overcomes hatred and fear. And in the end, love always wins.”

  Eden sat back, folded her arms, and tried not to look at Ariel as if she’d grown a second head. “I will never love guns.”

  “Well,” Ariel said with a shrug after she’d finished the last of her garden burger, “I guess you’re ready to get back into the dating game. Because Jansen is a police officer, officers carry guns, and you’re unable or unwilling to reconcile yourself to that fact. Because of that thought vibration, you
’re sending a message to the universe that you don’t want to be with him. And sooner or later, whether you tell him or Spirit does, Jansen is going to get the memo.”

  For the first time since their meeting, Eden had not left Ariel’s presence in a better mood. In fact, when she returned to the office, she felt a headache coming on. She thought about attending the next yoga session but then remembered the to-do list on her desk, the one she wanted completed by the end of the week. Eden hastened her stride to her office, determined to bury all thoughts of Jansen’s guns and why she should love them under a mountain of work.

  “Oh, excuse me, Om.” Eden had rounded the corner and almost knocked their diminutive shaman over.

  “No worries, dear one.” Om started to walk away but then noticed Eden’s countenance. “You are troubled.”

  “Just preoccupied,” Eden quickly responded.

  “It is more.” He stood there, his eyes fastened intently on Eden, and waited for her response.

  “I’m fine, really.”

  “There is nothing more satisfying than to give to one who is always giving to others. Would you like to come into my office for an energy healing?”

  Eden had yet to experience what others in the office had raved about. Ever since he’d shocked her with his handshake, Eden had been leery about succumbing to his energetic influence. Still, his was one of the center’s offerings she had not tried. At the thought of not being plagued by the icky feeling her conversation with Ariel had caused, she found herself nodding and following Om into his space.

  She couldn’t keep the smile off her face as she entered. Office was the last word she’d use to describe this eclectic space. For starters, there was a patient, or “client,” table where a desk would have been. The walls were painted a soothing blue, the lighting was subdued, candles burned, and the subtle smell of citrus filled the room, and the table between them was filled with crystals and healing stones. Completing the decor were various statues of spiritual masters and a large original picture of the sun.

  “Please take off your shoes and lie over there,” Om said quietly. He walked over to a table, picked up a few stones and a couple vials, then walked over and placed them on the table near Eden. She followed Om’s instructions and lay on her back.

  “Is there a specific issue involving energy you wish to dissipate, any pain or illness?”

  Eden took a deep breath and decided to be honest. “My boyfriend is a police officer, and I have a problem with the guns he keeps at his house. I need to change the way I feel about them and about his choice for career.”

  Om nodded. “Have you personally had a negative experience involving guns?”

  “No, but I’ve been close to those who have.”

  “I see.”

  “I don’t like guns, and I feel that if people didn’t own them, no one would die from being shot.”

  “I will work to release the negative energy caused by the memory of your friend’s unfortunate incident and open your heart chakra to the art of allowing your boyfriend the right to live his own authentic life. Is this in line with your desire?”

  Eden nodded and fought the tears percolating near the tips of her eyes.

  “Believe that all is well, Eden, because it truly is. Please close your eyes and take three deep breaths for me—in through your nose, out through your month. That’s it, good. And another.” Eden complied. “Excellent. And one more, this time holding for eight counts and releasing for eight.” Eden heard Om rubbing his hands together. “I am going to place a little peace and calming oil at your temples and forehead.”

  Om’s touch was featherlight. He lightly massaged her forehead and temple, and Eden began to relax.

  “I’m now going to harness the healing energy and direct it toward your body,” Om almost whispered. “I will not touch you, but you may feel itchiness or goose bumps. Don’t be afraid. Everything is divine energy, and that is what you’re feeling.”

  Om moved soundlessly, but Eden correctly guessed he was near her head when a wave of heat began at the top of her skull and coursed downward, like lava, inside her veins. She relaxed more and more, continued to breathe evenly, at one point almost falling asleep. When the twenty-five-minute session was over, Eden left Om’s office both energized and serene. She walked toward the front in search of Ariel to tell her she’d been right about two things. One, Om was amazing, and, two, she needed to tell Jansen how she felt about his guns and find a way to make her peace with them.

  44

  Jansen sat at the traffic light and watched a woman cross the street with her three children. One was in a stroller, while a second one, a little girl who appeared to be around four years old, helped her mother push it. The son, who Jansen guessed to be around six, ran in front of them, dashed back to tickle the baby in the stroller, and then turned and once again raced toward the curb on the other side.

  I wonder what my children will look like? Ever since learning of Michael’s pregnancy, Jansen had pondered his legacy more and more, and with whom he’d create it. Eden seemed the perfect choice. Like him, she wanted children. She was smart and would make a great mother. And he was madly in love with her. But only if I’m married to their father. Eden’s comment from their conversation on the matter had stayed with him since she’d made it. Maybe that was why he’d been researching wedding rings online for the past couple days. Because, for Jansen, that minor detail could definitely be handled.

  The beep of his cell phone interrupted his thoughts. He immediately recognized the Chicago number. “Nicki! I thought about you and Cameron just this morning. How’s life in Chi-town?”

  Her audible sigh was the first clue that all was not well. “Cameron got picked up last night, Jansen.”

  Jansen’s jaw clenched. “Why?”

  “He was hanging out with a group of friends when a fight broke out. Some of the kids involved are gang members, and when the cops found that out, they took in everybody.”

  “Is he still in detention?”

  “No, I called Terry. He went with me and helped get him out without me having to pay any money.”

  “Terry’s a good man,” Jansen answered, remembering that one of Chicago’s premier defense attorney’s was also Nicki’s cousin. “What did they charge him with?”

  “Unlawful gathering, disturbing the peace, and possession.”

  Jansen was so thrown by the last charge he almost hit the car in front of him. “Possession of what?”

  “Weed.”

  “You have got to be kidding.”

  “I wish I were.” Nicki sighed again. “At least it was that and not crack. Then we’d really be in trouble. As it is, Terry thinks because this is a first offense, he can get the charges dropped.”

  “Cameron and I talked about this all the time. He promised me he’d stay away from drugs.”

  “Cameron has changed a lot since you saw him, what, a year and a half ago? He isn’t that cute, precocious little boy anymore. He’s turned into an angry young man—been that way since he visited his father in Denver.”

  “The one he hadn’t seen in ages?”

  “Yeah, Daniel’s wife guilt-tripped him into calling Cameron and paying for his visit down there. Guess she seemed it only fair that because he was taking care of her sons that he should try to make peace with his own.”

  “I take it the trip didn’t go as planned.”

  “Cameron definitely did not come back with warm fuzzies, if that’s what you mean. He resents the fact that her boys get to grow up with his dad—couldn’t stand the way Daniel doted on the daughter they had together. It didn’t seem fair to him, and it isn’t. Of course I told him life isn’t always fair, but what twelve-year-old wants to hear that? That’s when he started changing, after that visit, and I think that’s when he started smoking. Terry does what he can, but he’s got kids of his own, plus he and Cameron have just never been close. Not like the two of you were. He looked up to you as a true father figure. In fact, one time he told me h
e wished you were his dad.”

  Jansen’s gut clenched. “I feel bad, Nicki. I should have kept in better touch with him.”

  “Yes, you should have,” Nicki said without rancor. “But everybody’s got their lives to lead. He was sick when he came home from visiting his cousins in Kansas City and found out he’d missed your visit.”

  “How can I help? What do you want me to do?”

  “I don’t know what you can do from LA. Cameron needs a firm, guiding hand through these teen years— a male hand. Maybe just calling and talking to him on a regular basis will help. Maybe he’d think twice about his actions with you back in his life.” They were silent a moment, thinking how quickly time had passed. It seemed only yesterday that Jansen was taking Cameron to the mall and playing video games. That bright-eyed, energetic kid had been full of promise. Jansen didn’t even recognize the boy Nicki described. “I don’t want my child to end up a statistic,” Nicki continued, her voice near a whisper. “It’s rough for a boy here in the streets of Chicago. I don’t know how to keep him safe.”

  They talked a few more moments, and Jansen made sure to get Cameron’s cell-phone number before they ended the call. Even after hanging up, the conversation stayed with him—while he picked up his dry cleaning, went through a fast-food drive-through for dinner, and even after he’d arrived home and eaten the meal. Jansen couldn’t help but compare what Nicki had said about Cameron’s anger to the anger he’d felt when his father had died. But for his uncle, Jansen could have gone down the same ugly path. The path Terrell Ford had chosen, and so many others like them. By the end of the evening, a plan began formulating in his mind. He reached for his phone and dialed Kathryn’s number.

  “Mama, I need your advice on something.”

  “Well, good evening to you too, son.” Kathryn chuckled. “What’s on your mind that’s more important than a greeting?”

  “I’m thinking about having a friend’s son come stay with me for a while, a boy I used to mentor in Chicago. He’s growing up and needs a man to teach him how to be one.”