BOMAW 1-3

by Mercedes Keyes

  “Will you miss me while I’m gone, Sylvia?” he asked her again.

  Sylvia smiled up at him. “Yes, I’ll miss you.”

  That answer satisfied him. “I’m going to miss you, too. Be careful on the drive home.”

  She smiled. “I will. You have a safe flight. I guess I’ll see you when you return.”

  “We’ll chat tonight, 8:30…remember?” he reminded her as the line moved forward pretty fast.

  “Tomorrow night's soon enough. I already talked to you today,” she simpered.

  He gasped. “Woman, you best be online at 8:30. Don’t stand me up.” He was serious.

  She sighed again. “Okay…8:30.” They were two away from the ticket clerk. He pulled her up to him for a kiss. Sylvie blushed, but didn’t back away to stop him. The kiss was quick, but complete with tongue and all. Too soon for him, and truthfully, her as well, it was his turn to pass over his ticket and board the plane.

  “Talk to you tonight,” he reminded her again.

  “Yes, tonight,” she confirmed, stepping away to let the people behind her board. She watched him until he passed through the door, then turned and headed back the way she came. His scent still strong, lingering in her head.

  “Aaaah god, this man is going to change my life. Please let it be for the good. Let it be for the good."

  Chapter 13

  It was frightening.

  Here she was pulling into her driveway, with no memory of having driven the seventy-five miles back home. No memory of her taking her exits, making speed changes or watching for road construction…nothing! She vaguely recalled walking back through the airport, the parking lot, getting into her vehicle, and then merging onto the highway. One minute she was watching him step through the gate at the airport, and the next thing she knew she was pulling into her driveway.

  Parking her car, she sat there stunned and truly afraid. “Oh, my god! I could have killed myself, or someone else! Arrrgh! Shawn Everett Styles—McPherson, whatever your name is…you will not do this to me! You are not going to just invade my peace and turn my world upside down over you! No way! And I’m not going to be online at 8:30, either! This is crazy…I have just lost all sense and control!” she reprimanded herself, getting out of her sage-colored Ford Taurus and slamming the door. Her actions caused another exclamation of anger, as it dawned on her that she wasn’t going anywhere else that day. She turned back to the car and got in. Restarted it, clicked the garage door opener and sat shaking her head as the door opened to allow her entrance. She was scared, truly frightened.

  “Oh my goodness, it’s already too late. I just know it is. Look at me…already! How can this be? You have to get a hold of yourself! He’s going to end up breaking your heart and you—stupid fool—you’re going to keep going until he does!” She pulled into the garage, killing her engine once she pulled in far enough for the doors to close.

  Closing and locking her kitchen door, she stepped out of her boots before going further into the house. Twenty minutes after her arrival home, she was out of her clothes, having hung them up and was in her favorite casuals. Sad, scared, and for the first time, noticed the absolute emptiness of her beautiful home. The silence…the quiet growing pregnant as she stood in her bedroom door looking out at it; everything was as she left it, but nothing was the same. Her mind drawing a blank, she stood for minutes longer than made sense. It was 1:45 in the afternoon and she couldn’t for the life of her, think of what to do now that she was home. Alone…by herself, in the isolation and solitude that she had always wanted. Well here it was…there she stood in the center…in the very midst of it, and could not move. Could not think of what to do with herself next.

  “This is crazy! I need to finish that query letter!” she scolded herself, and marched off to her office room to do just that. She went through the motions of turning on her computer; finding the remote to the TV that served as background noise, clicked it on and flipped to the Discovery Channel. With that done, she leaned over her keyboard, entering her password that brought up her Windows desktop. She walked out of the room to get her necessities for working on the computer; A tall tumbler of ice water, a can of cocktail peanuts—in case hunger struck, and her cordless phone. She enjoyed the luxury of having DSL connection; it kept her phone line free. And last, a trip to the bathroom.

  With everything set within reach, she settled in and started opening all of her programs she’d be working with. She checked her website's email, her personal email and the other one that collected her junk mail, emptying it before it was full.

  Now, to that query letter.

  Fifteen minutes later, nothing was happening. She wasn’t even interested in it. Her head fell back and she sighed. Turning it sideways, she looked out the crack in the blinds to see snow falling. Beyond that, to his house sitting there. The longer she gazed at it, the louder it beckoned her. Even though she decided against being online for him, just in case she changed her mind, she would load his ID into her instant messenger panel box. Pushing her chair back, back on her feet, entering the kitchen, she stood looking for her purse. Finding it, she searched to find the keys he gave her to his house and the paper with his contact information. Returning to her computer, she brought up Yahoo Instant Messenger and clicked on the file to add him to her contact list…mcharley60…

  Smiling at his choice of ID, which was also his email for Yahoo, she typed it into the form that popped up and sent it out. It came back and added him with a message to her, awaiting his acceptance. Now to burn time until 8:30…If I change my mind to chat with you, that is. Looking to her right, there were the keys to his house. Inhaling with acceptance, she grabbed them and her jacket off the coat tree at the kitchen door. With keys in hand, she headed to his place. The air was crisp, damp and dreary, the snow picking up and layering deep on the ground. At his door, she hesitated only a moment, then entered his home. It was cool inside; he must have turned down the thermostat. She looked for it on the walls and found it in his dining room, turning it up to take the chill out of the air. That done, she turned, looking around. Reaching beside her, she switched on the lights, again noticing how clean his place was. She liked that about him. He was tidy and practical, with a perfunctory style in his décor, definitely masculine simplicity. “Hmm...where to begin?” she asked out loud. Walking from the dining room, she went into the kitchen to get herself something to drink and stopped, noticing a sheet of paper on the kitchen table. She walked up to it, then smiled. Picking it up, she read…

  Hello Lady,

  If I’m lucky, you’ll find this note because you came to my home in my absence, which is what I’m hoping you’ll do. First off, thank you for doing so and second…as you read this, I’m thinking of you. No matter when it is you come in to find and read it, I’m thinking of you. Well, go on, do whatever it is you came to do. Make yourself comfortable, get yourself something to drink, or eat for that matter. And, ummm…futz around, and miss me a lot—a whole lot. It’s only right that you should miss me. If I have to suffer with our separation, then so should you.

  Shawn

  Before her mind registered the act, Sylvia brought the note to her heart, laughing out girlishly as she spun in place as if floating above ground. Coming to a stop, she detected a scent in the air. It was his cologne. With her brows drawn in bafflement, she brought the note to her nose and took a sniff. He had dabbed it with his cologne. She smiled as a soothing calmness settled over her. Sighing, she folded the note in half and put it into her pocket. At the refrigerator, she opened the door to find something to drink. Another note was attached to a six pack of seltzer water. It said, Aren’t these your favorite? She stared at it, then pulled it out from between two of the attached bottles. “Yes, they are my favorite,” she answered as if he were there, then pulled one from the pack. Closing the door, she leaned against his counter and opened it, taking a satisfying drink. After bringing the bottle from her mouth, she looked at the second note. “Why are you doing this, Shawn McPherson?
Why?”

  Because of his absence, there was no answer to her question. Now that she was there, time to get busy. Another drink and then onward, continuing by heading towards the hallway and one of the back bedrooms. She stopped in the last room, where she found it filled with boxes set against the walls. She clicked on the light and counted 24 boxes, small, medium and large. Laying on the floor behind a few boxes were the pieces of a bookshelf that needed assembling. “Oookaaay, I guess I’ll start there,” she muttered out loud. First, a little music to work by. Turning back to the living room, ten minutes or more were spent turning on his stereo system and going through his music. Sylvie was stunned to find in his collection Stevie Wonder, Anita Baker, Sade, Frankie Beverly and Maze, B.B. King, Al Greene and Vanessa Williams - amazing dusties of classic R&B - funk, soulful sounds mostly found in black homes. What the heck? Oh my goodness, this white man got some taste in music. As she continued to inspect the stack, the more impressed she became. Aretha Franklin—all the old stuff. Marvin Gaye, Miles Davis, Herbie Hancock…Sara Vaughn; many others of old jazz greats. She spent fifteen minutes more there realizing what an exceptional music collection he had, and the majority of it, was what she enjoyed as well. She also loved Barbara Streisand; he had all of her music. Rod Stewart, Rolling Stones, Steve Miller Band, Bad Company and Phil Collins; Kiss, the Beatles, the Eagles, Bob Seger and so many more that she was in music heaven. Opening his 25-disc CD player, she inserted a selection of jazz, blues and soft rock, placed it on shuffle and let the music begin, turning it to a volume she could hear in the back bedroom and went to tackle the boxes.

  “Hmph.” First song, Anita Baker…You bring me-e-e jo-o-oy, when I’m down… shaking her head she sang along, opening every box first to inspect the contents, transferring them to where she thought they might go. The small, and many of the medium boxes, contained books. She set them to the side. Two she opened to more music. She carried them to the living room to unpack and put away in there. The next few medium boxes contained VHS tapes of movies. Some self-recorded, others he purchased. Quite a few Walt Disney movies, animated and otherwise. Those also went to the living room. A couple of his larger boxes contained old art and art supplies, all of that she took to his painting room. She found a couple of boxes with bathroom items and medicine cabinet goods. That, she carried to the bathroom. Back again to look through more boxes, she found shoes, old decorative bottles of cologne, socks, shirts, and gift trinkets that were made by his daughter. Those boxes, she carried into his bedroom. Setting them down before his dresser, she turned to leave and saw another note. This one lay on the pillows of his made bed. She smiled and slowly approached the bed. Sitting down, she picked up the note, it read…

  Phew, tired yet? If so, feel free to lay your head here and rest a spell. With the chill in the air, by all means, snuggle in under the covers. I’d love to return and find the scent of you here in my bed. If not your scent, then you…maybe?

  She threw her head back and laughed. “Not this time, Shawn McPherson, not this time.” She grinned, then on impulse she sniffed the note and there his scent lingered. She smiled; rose from his bed and added that note to the others in her pocket. Back in the room she put the bookshelf together, which took up the entire wall it was laying before. With that done, she began unpacking his books. He had old books with tattered bindings as well as new. His reading material was mostly of authors like Larry McMurtry, Tom Clancy, Ed McBain, Ken Follett, Sidney Sheldon, Andrew M. Greeley. A lot of Sports Illustrated—hardback additions. Self-help books on fitness, weight lifting and equipment catalogs. Tons of hardback books on various artwork. A collection of old encyclopedia editions. A library of children's literature and reading. Books filled with fairytales of old, from famous authors. To her surprise, there was even a collection of very good cookbooks. This made her smile as she set those aside to put in the kitchen. She ran across two ancient volumes of Shakespeare; these two books were huge. She set them aside for later inspection. Following the discovery of them, there were books upon books of poetry. Books on history and biographies. Time volumes on historical events in America up to the present. And last, in a small box of books, she opened to find a collection of romance novels. “No way!” she exclaimed, laughing out loud. But then stopped, noticing something familiar about them. Then it occurred to her, the pictures were familiar. These were books that he’d painted the covers for. “Wow,” she breathed, following that discovery. With a gentle gesture, she stroked her fingers across the covers. Placing them back in their boxes and closing them over, she placed the whole box on the bottom shelf. By the time she emptied all of the boxes of books, the shelf was full, leaving very little space for any more.

  After breaking down the boxes from that, she carried the cookbooks to the kitchen and decided to take a break. She’d worked up a bit of a sweat, and prepared herself a sandwich and emptied another bottle of water. Wasting no more time, she continued on until she emptied every box and put things away in whichever place she felt it made sense to put them. Arranging all of the cute, little self-made gifts his daughter did for him, putting them out on display. Some in his room, the living room, the kitchen and his art room, depending on the purpose the gift was intended, or the personal application of it. Among his personal boxed items, she found several photo albums. Those she laid on the bed to also go through. Now the mess from unpacking…balled-up newspaper and other packing material lay littered about with the boxes.

  She found garbage bags, pulled one out and started stuffing it with the littered paper and foam wrapping. Next, she collected all of the boxes that she flattened and cut to break down, piling them up at his back door. Putting her jacket back on, she carried them all out to his garage. Leaning them against the wall, she placed two buckets in front of them to keep them standing. Before leaving, she gazed at his dark-blue SUV, a Lincoln Navigator. His Ford truck, the same color blue, and his two Harley Davidsons. One maroon, black, and chrome; the other blue, silver, and chrome. Shaking her head at herself, she left closing the door, wondering how someone could be so absorbed in another person—as she obviously was. Why else would she be standing admiring his things, things that were a part of him? Taking her jacket off, she was surprised to see that it was already 6:00pm.

  It was on her mind, that in another two and half hours, it would be 8:30. She was already fighting with her earlier decision not to be online when he would be expecting her to. She wondered, where had the day gone so quickly? Back in his room, she lounged across his bed and started looking through his photo albums, choosing the oldest first. Opening it, within the cover she found pencil art sketching of various shields, action heroes, high school symbols, a drawing of its mascot—a wolf—and other signatures that were drawn around. This was obviously a photo album of his high school days. The first picture, an 8x10 of himself in cap and gown, his graduation picture from the '70s. “Look at all that hair,” she muttered aloud, smiling and feeling silly. Sylvia studied every feature of his young face. Though he was quite a striking young man, the way he looked today was much more to her liking. Time flew with Sylvia looking through his albums. Finding pictures that she figured were his parents. Pictures of him with a black man, there were quite a few of them, she figured he must be a good friend to be in so many, she also noticed, they were all of him at a much younger age, nothing current with the man. Moving on from them, baby pictures of his daughter and her mother. A very elegant blonde with amber-gold eyes…she was beautiful. “Wow,” Sylvia breathed softly.

  Her eyes were burning. She’d gone to sleep late last night, and rose early to get ready to take him to the airport. She looked at her watch, it was 7:15; she would lay her head down for just an hour and then run home. Who was she fooling? She knew she would be on that computer at 8:30…hey, no matter what.

  Chapter 14

  Shawn hated flying! It never failed…a queasy feeling would settle in his gut halfway through the flight. Take-off didn’t bother him much and he’d grown accustomed to the tu
rbulence, but as landing drew close, his stomach reacted. He felt a headache coming on. He brought his laptop along, but couldn’t focus on doing anything on it. His mind was trapped with thoughts of Sylvia and the flight. Thoughts of Sylvia, if he survived the flight. He’d never seriously dated a black woman before, nothing like this and wondered if this attraction for her was out of bordom? Was he truly going through a board/curiosity phase? At 42 years old, maybe he was feeling midlife and was seeking her out as a stimulus. Erica had been so patient with him, giving him the time he needed to free himself completely from Deidre. He felt pressured and smothered by her at times and had expressed this feeling to her. Not happy with what she was hearing, she accepted it and backed off. They’d made the long drive on his bike to St. Paul, Minnesota after he’d moved into his new home. He’d stayed most of the night with her and pulled out at four in the morning, returning home in time to catch Sylvia Payne on the last leg of her morning jog.

  What was it about her? Maybe it was the townfolk's fault that he was intrigued by her? He’d moved into the house after having purchased it years before. He and Deidre had planned to move there and raise a family. It never happened. She didn’t want to leave the security of her family, nor California and all it had to offer. Her life was there, not in a small farming community where he thought they could grow closer in a marriage that was doomed from the start. Growing up on a farm himself in Hillsboro, Wisconsin, left little room for him to adjust to the life he tried in Palm Springs. While he'd gotten into everything available to him there, he just couldn’t quite find his niche. I wasn't long before it was abundantly clear that after so many excuses…and reason, after reason, after reason why she couldn’t yet make the move - that she wasn't going to, one fight following on the tail of another, it all soon got old. He remembered vividly her leaving to go on a so-called vacation with her mother. On the day of her return, instead of her coming through the door, he’d answered—to find papers handed to him. He’d been served his divorce papers. Standing with them in hand, stunned, he knew right then that when it was final; he was out of there. Earlier that same year on a flight to New York, he’d met Erica. Noticing his nervous agitation with the upcoming landing, she made it a point to check on him for the remaining time of the flight.