Sight Lines

by Michelle DiCeglio

  As I thought about this being our one and only official date, I started to feel the twinge of regret. Normally, I was elated when the date came to a screeching halt. But tonight was different. I was actually having a good time until about five minutes ago.

  “You can come with me,” she added.

  Dumbfounded by her invitation, I couldn’t believe she was offering to keep this date going. As I tried to think of a reason I couldn’t go with her, I thought about Dr. Winston’s advice again. I asked myself: What do I want to do? And I wanted to go with Ali.

  “Okay,” I slowly answered. And I could feel my lungs burning for oxygen. Had I been holding my breath this entire time? “But maybe just for an hour or so. I can’t stay out too late.” I let myself start to breathe normally.

  “Okay,” she repeated. “Do you want to follow me?”

  “That would be best,” I said, already starting to work on an emergency escape plan. I knew it was only a matter of time before I let my irrational actions get the best of me again, and I didn’t want to have to sit in her passenger seat while she drove me back to the fairgrounds to retrieve my car—or to the psych ward, whichever she deemed more appropriate.

  As we walked back to the grassy lot, I carried the bag of cotton candy, and she carried the frog. I looked into the night sky and felt a chill in the air. It was half past ten, and the full moon that had lit the sky earlier was now hiding behind heavy clouds. Had we not left when we did to attend to her dog, we would have had to call it a night soon anyway. It was about to storm. Judging by how quickly the clouds had rolled in, it was going to be a heavy rainfall.

  “I’m two rows over,” Ali said as we got near my car. “I’m on Juniper Street, in case you forgot, Detective,” she added, alluding to my visit to her house earlier in the week.

  “Just…” I paused. “Just ride with me,” I said, without thinking it through. “I have to go past here anyway to get home.” Before she could answer, large drops of rain fell from the sky and mercilessly landed on us, instantly soaking our clothes. I took two large steps toward the driver’s side and unlocked both doors with my remote. We got into the car and sat in the dry silence for a few moments, the rain beating down on the roof of the car.

  “Are you sure?” she asked as she wiped the rain off her face.

  “Yeah, I’m sure.”

  Chapter Seven

  “There are some napkins in the glove box,” I offered. We were both drenched.

  Ali lifted the latch and began riffling through old maps, latex gloves, and clear plastic bags. “What’s this?” she asked and pulled out a small handgun.

  “My BUG,” I told her. “Backup gun.”

  “Oh.” She quickly but gently placed it back in the glove box. “And these?” She pulled out a box of tampons. “Is it that time?” She smiled and put the box back after she found the napkins.

  “No,” I laughed. “I use them on gunshot victims.” I watched her pat her face dry. “It absorbs the blood and slows the bleeding when we have to wait for the ambulance.”

  “Wow.” She slowly nodded her head.

  I hoped that I had impressed her with my unconventional life-saving skills. She handed me a few napkins so I could dry off too.

  “That’s really smart,” she said. “I never would have thought of that.” And she laughed quietly to herself.

  Before I could even put the car in reverse, heavier rain started to fall, and I turned on the wiper blades as fast as they could go. Rain drops began to pool alongside the blades as they vigorously went back and forth, trying to clear the windshield so I could see where I was going.

  Ali occupied herself with putting her seatbelt on and closing the vents that were blowing cold air on her from the A/C. When we first arrived at the fair, it was close to a hundred degrees outside. But now, in this torrential downpour, it was a cool seventy, maybe less.

  Backing out of the parking space, I put the car into gear and slowly drove through the field. Most of the grass was submerged under deep puddles, and I could feel my tires clinging to the mud beneath us. Knowing how poorly other people drive in the rain, I wasn’t hopeful that it would be a smooth ride to Ali’s house. The drops sounded like marbles being thrown onto my car, and I was tempted to pull over to wait out the storm.

  “Is your dog afraid of the rain?” I broke the silence once we were out of the parking lot.

  “Yeah, he’s probably hiding under my bed.” Ali laughed. “Thanks for driving,” she added as we passed two cars stopped on the side of the road with their hazards on. A State Highway Patrol vehicle had just arrived on the scene where a black Ford Focus had rear-ended a silver Dodge Ram—and although the Focus sustained more damage, the owner of the Ram didn’t look like he was going to be too forgiving.

  “Sure, no problem,” I answered, not really knowing what else to say. Thankfully, the radio was on just loud enough that I didn’t have to try to fill the ride with small talk.

  As I tried to concentrate on the road, I felt the urge to put my hand in Ali’s hand or to rest my arm gently across her lap. Until this point, I had forgotten how awkward my own limbs could feel when confined in a tight space with someone I was attracted to. But for now, I wasn’t going to let my hands leave the ten-and-two position no matter how tempted I was to reach for her.

  “Turn right,” Ali said as we approached Juniper, although I already knew the way. I pulled my car into her driveway and parked parallel with her front porch. There was a good twenty feet between my car and her front door, and there was no way around it: We were going to get soaked.

  “Is your power out?” I asked before turning off the ignition. Every room in her house was completely dark, and the street lights were out.

  “Yeah, it looks like it,” Ali said as she started to open the passenger door. She looked at me and grinned before quickly getting out of the car and running toward her house. She was fumbling in her front pocket for her keys while trying to juggle the stuffed animal in her other hand. I couldn’t help but smile; she actually wanted to bring that frog inside her house.

  Following her footsteps, I tried to dodge the pond-like puddles that had formed in her driveway and walkway. Tall bushes stood beneath the front windows on either side of her door, and the black railing that lined the right side of the three cement steps leading to her open porch was cool to the touch with the rain sliding down. We’d been outside for less than thirty seconds, but we were both soaked. Ali’s tank top clung to her body, and the loose hairs that had escaped from her braid were glued to the side of her face.

  As she opened the door, I could feel the raindrops glide down my nose and dangle off the tip before dripping off. I pushed my hair out of my eyes, and I could feel sections of my hair clumping together. I wrung out my hair before walking inside, although it was rather pointless. Our dripping clothes instantly left puddles of water on her hardwood floor.

  “I’ll be right back,” Ali said. She was still holding the frog. She closed the door and walked toward the back of the house where I could hear whimpering. Looking around her living room, I wasn’t able to see much. Not wanting to be intrusive, I stood by the front door until Ali came back into the living room. This time she wasn’t alone.

  She lit a few candles along the mantel above her fireplace, and I could see a tiny ball of fur—with the stuffed frog between its teeth—wrapped in her arms.

  “This is Viggo,” she said as she set the dog down. His tiny toenails made a clicking sound as he pranced across the hardwood floor toward me, dragging the stuffed animal alongside him. Kneeling down, I let out a soft squeal of excitement and began to pet him. “Sorry,” Ali said, gesturing toward the frog. “He won’t let go of it.”

  “It’s fine,” I laughed. “How old is he?” I picked up the white terrier, who couldn’t have weighed more than ten pounds.

  “He’ll be four at the end of the year.” She seemed to appreciate how quickly I took to him.

  “He’s adorable.” I held his warm body clo
se to my chest. He whimpered again before dropping the frog to the floor and nuzzling up to me, resting his head on my shoulder. “Does he have to go outside?” I asked, not really wanting to put him down.

  “No, he won’t go out in a storm. He went on the puppy pad in my room.” Ali laughed. “The joys of having a dog.” She smiled. “Can I get you anything?”

  “A towel?” My clothes were still soaked.

  “The bathroom is the second door on the right,” she said. “Towels are in the closet. I’ll try to find you something dry to wear.”

  I was tempted to decline, but my clothes were really wet, and I didn’t know how long I was going to be here. I had hoped the storm would have let up by now, but it seemed to be raining harder. I set Viggo on the floor and he trotted back to Ali, waiting to be picked up again. Walking toward the back of the house where Ali had pointed, I headed into the bathroom and closed the door behind me. I tried to turn on the light, forgetting that the power was still out. I heard a soft knock on the door followed by Ali announcing she had a candle for me. I opened the door and saw her standing in the small hallway, holding a lit candle.

  “I’ll go get you some clothes.” She walked back into what I assumed was her bedroom.

  Leaving the bathroom door slightly ajar, I looked around and waited for her to return with dry clothes. The white pedestal sink and coordinating claw-foot tub rested along the exterior wall of the bathroom. The candlelight reflected in the oval mirror above the sink added a glowing ambiance to the space. I saw Ali’s reflection walk up behind me, dry clothes in hand.

  “Let me know if those don’t work. You’re a medium?” She handed me a white tank top, a dark gray thermal shirt, and black yoga pants. We were about the same height and build, so I assumed these were her clothes.

  “Yeah,” I answered as I took the clothes.

  “Are your socks wet?”

  “No,” I answered nervously. I had to compose myself. If I was this nervous putting on clothes for her, how nervous would I be taking off my clothes for her? And then I felt my entire body come to a halt—as if frozen, not because of how cold I was but because of my thoughts. Taking off my clothes for her? I laughed to myself. That was jumping the gun a bit.

  Ali headed back toward the living room, and I softly shut the bathroom door. As I draped my damp clothes on the side of her tub and slipped on the tank top and thermal, I took a deep breath and could smell Ali. It were as if she was in the room with me, her body pressed against mine. I put on her yoga pants and looked in her mirror. Her clothes were a little big on me but felt comfortable. Taking one last glance at myself, I towel-dried my hair and pulled it into a low ponytail to hide the wet mess it had become. I had never looked more terrible on a first date, and I was in complete disbelief that she still wanted me to stay.

  “Oh good—they fit,” Ali said as I walked into the living room. She was sitting on the couch wearing a similar outfit: black leggings and a gray sweatshirt. The living room was illuminated by a fire she had made in the fireplace across from her. She still had the candles lit on the mantel above, and Viggo was sleeping peacefully in the middle of the couch. In front of her on the coffee table, I noticed an open bottle of wine and two half-full glasses. “I hope you like cab. It’s all I had.” She gestured toward the bottle of cabernet—and what was presumably my glass—in front of the vacant seat on the couch.

  “I do, thanks.” I walked around the coffee table to the far right side of the couch and sat down. Viggo stretched out his paws and yawned as the couch cushion sank under my weight. He did not appreciate being disturbed.

  If it wasn’t for the crackling fire, the room would have been silent. We both reached for our wineglasses at the same time and took a small sip in unison before setting the glasses back on the table. The rain continued to pelt against the windows with loud pings, and the thunder shook the house so hard I thought the roof might cave in. Then, more silence.

  “How’s work?” Ali asked as she reached for her glass again.

  “Good,” I replied quietly. “Well, not good, because people are dying. But it’s fine. I mean, in a perfect world, it would be good. But if it was a perfect world, there wouldn’t be crime, so—”

  “Lacey,” Ali said, interrupting my rambling with a soft laugh.

  “Work’s good, thanks.” I sighed and laughed along with her. I was completely falling apart right in front of her, and all she could do was smile. “You?” I asked and reached for my wineglass.

  “Do you really want to hear about my job?” she asked and turned her body toward me. The glow from the fireplace highlighted her features, and I stared at her perfect lips, fighting the almost uncontrollable urge to lean in and kiss her. I brought my wineglass close to my chest and used it as a shield against her hypnotic stare. I knew that looking into her eyes was perilous, but I couldn’t look away.

  “No,” I slowly answered as I felt myself being drawn closer to her. Thankfully, Viggo was between us. Otherwise, there would be nothing stopping us from turning this into one hell of a first date.

  “Get down, sweetheart,” Ali said and picked Viggo up from the couch with one hand and gently set him on the floor.

  Damn.

  As she scooted herself closer, I could feel my heart banging inside my chest. The beating was as loud as the thunder, and a big part of me was convinced I was going to throw up any second. Ali looked away, breaking our stare. She set her wineglass on the coffee table then reached out her hand to take my glass. But I wasn’t going to let her take my shield. It was the only thing I had to protect myself.

  “Refill?” she asked as she took the wineglass from my hardened grip and set it next to hers on the coffee table. I was absolutely defenseless now.

  As she sat in the middle of the couch, refilling our wine, I watched her closely. Even the simplest of tasks, like handing me back my glass, was done with complete grace. She didn’t bother moving back to her original spot on the couch; she stayed right there in the middle, leaning back as she looked at me over the rim of her wineglass. It would have been the perfect moment for her to kiss me. I was completely enamored by her.

  As if reading my mind, she leaned in.

  I breathed in deeply, allowing myself to fall prey to her lips. I had forgotten how good it felt to be kissed, to feel the warmth of someone’s mouth pressed against mine, the way her hands caressed my side. I looked deep into her eyes as she pulled back slowly and smiled.

  “Wait,” I said and gently held Ali back. I sighed and licked my lips, tasting the remnants of wine. “I can’t do this.”

  “I’m sorry,” Ali said as she scooted back to her original spot on the couch. “I-I shouldn’t have been so assertive.” But that wasn’t the problem.

  “No.” I tried to smile, wanting to casually laugh it off. “It’s not your fault at all. I shouldn’t be here.” I stood from the couch and looked down at what I was wearing—still in her clothes—and let out another sigh.

  “Is everything okay?” Ali gave me a confused look. But I couldn’t answer her. “I don’t think you should leave,” she said and glanced toward the windows covered in rain. “Stay here. You can take my room. I’ll sleep on the couch.”

  I looked out the window and saw the trees across the street bent almost completely in half from the gusts of wind. Only an idiot would try to drive in this storm.

  “Okay.” I sat back down and tried to relax. “But I’m sleeping on the couch.” I ran my fingers through my hair and finished my second glass of wine in two large gulps.

  “Do you want to tell me what that was all about?” Ali finally asked.

  “Not really.” I felt the wine land hard in my stomach and start to work its magic. “But I probably should.”

  “Do you have a husband I don’t know about?” She chuckled—but I could tell there was a hint of seriousness in her voice.

  “No.” I laughed. “If only it were that simple.”

  Without saying a word, Ali poured the rest of the bottle in
to her glass and listened intently as I told her about Tara. I didn’t go into too many details about her murder because I didn’t have many details. That was the hardest part of telling the story: not having the answers to the simplest questions.

  “Losing someone before you’ve finished your time with them is…” I paused, trying to find the right comparison. But I couldn’t.

  “Is something no one should ever have to go through,” Ali finished the sentence for me.

  “Yes,” I politely agreed and looked away from her.

  Everything I expected Ali to do, she didn’t. She didn’t give me a generic sympathy statement, or try to play detective and solve Tara’s case with whatever cable TV knowledge she had about crime investigations. Instead, she just listened to my story. When I finished, I expected her to show me out. Storm or no storm, no one in her right mind would want to get involved with someone like me. But she didn’t do that either. She simply placed her left hand on top of mine and traced her thumb over my knuckles.

  “I kind of wish you did have a husband,” Ali said, trying to lighten the mood, but a part of me knew she was probably at least partly serious.

  “Me too.” I laughed.

  “I’m really sorry, Lace,” she said.

  “Tara used to call me that.” I don’t know why I said that.

  “I’m sorry.”

  “No, I like it.” And in that moment, even with all my dirty laundry stinking up the room, I felt really good about being there with Ali.

  “Am I the first?” Ali shyly asked. “Since Tara?”

  “I’ve been on a few dates, but they didn’t make it very far,” I answered honestly. “So you’re kind of the first.”

  “I can’t even imagine what this must be like for you,” Ali said after a few moments of silence. “We can take things slow if you need to.” She looked right at me. “If you still want to,” she added.

  “That’s not fair to you,” I said.

  “Let me decide what’s fair for me.”