by Nikki Larson
Appalled at his audacity, Jaxton held the girl tightly and turned away from this man who was still groping, still reaching for her.
The shorter, stocky man managed to grab ahold of the little girl’s flowing blonde hair and pulled, making her cry out.
“Not your daughter,” Jaxton retorted angrily as the mother dropped her phone onto the floor and just stood there, frozen, mouth agape. “Can somebody grab them?” Jaxton yelled loudly. He felt like he would erupt from fury and indignation.
His outburst drew the attention of the crowd, but no one sprang into action. The shock of the moment had paralyzed them, he gathered. It would have to be him, or no one. Shoving the little girl into her mother’s arms, Jaxton body-checked the tall man, making him fall onto the floor and crash low into the wooden display while his accomplice booked it towards the exit.
A woman screamed as chaos ensued.
“Call 9-1-1!” somebody shouted.
Jaxton crouched on the floor, shocked to actually be holding onto the collar of one of the near-kidnappers. He’d never been this close to a criminal before, and it was certainly unsettling to look into his cold, dark eyes.
A stock boy dressed in a green shirt which read “White’s Grocery Store” peered over them, asking in a shaky voice, “Do you need any help here?”
“No, I got it,” Jaxton said, taking note of the young man’s scrawny frame and his fearful tone. “Just make sure the police are called and the exits are blocked off.”
“Will do,” the young man said as he hurried off.
Sylvia came running up just then, her eyes wild with confusion. But they lit up with recognition when she saw him, and he could have sworn he saw a measure of admiration there. “Was he trying to kidnap her?” she asked, her tone full of astonishment.
“Yeah,” Jaxton answered, trying not to let his heart swell with pride at her starstruck reaction.
“No, no, no,” the man protested. “My daughter.”
“She’s not your daughter. Don’t even say that,” Jaxton said, pulling tighter on the collar to constrict the man’s neck. How deplorable. How could this person even try to deny what had just occurred? Stupid man. It took all of the restraint Jaxton had not to punch the guy in the face.
“I saw a white van,” Sylvia offered, gesturing towards the parking lot while holding her grocery bags in her hands.
“Go get the license plate,” Jaxton urged her. She’d be safer outside than in, he assured himself. Unless there was another accomplice waiting in the van. Oh, shoot. Maybe he shouldn’t have advised her to go out there in the parking lot. Maybe he was just putting her in greater danger.
When the police finally arrived minutes later, Jaxton was still holding fast to the criminal, and worrying about Sylvia. Perhaps he should be tired from holding the guy down but instead his veins were buzzing with adrenaline. The man put up quite a fight there on the floor of the market, and it took just about all of Jaxton’s strength and concentration to hold him down. Certainly, he’d had plenty of anger to sustain him. And thankfully there was a burly gentleman, who appeared not too long after the young clerk left, who helped hold down the guy’s legs and stop him from kicking.
“Can I drive you home?” Jaxton asked Sylvia once it was all over.
Chapter 3
Sylvia was shaken, yes – but even so, she declined Jaxton’s offer. The would-be kidnapper had been arrested. The accomplice had escaped but likely the authorities would soon catch him, since they already had his friend and his phone. It was kind of Jaxton to offer to give her a ride, she knew, but she just couldn’t accept. Sitting next to him in a car was not Sylvia’s idea of comfort. He was too handsome, too familiar. She would feel like she was dating him all over again.
Yes, he had some kind of power over her, a strong allure, even now. But she had to resist. They were no good together. She needed someone less inclined to constantly tease her. Someone who would respect her need for space.
Jaxton seemed to always appear wherever she was, no matter how hard she tried to avoid him. His blatant flirting with her was intrusive. Of course, it was also undeniably flattering. Apparently, her constant rebuffs hadn’t quenched his desire for her in the least. The thought of that made her chuckle nervously as she put the car into gear and began to drive home.
She was now running late for lunch. Her mother might be perturbed. But at least Sylvia had a good excuse.
At the stoplight of Fifth and Main, she turned on the radio in the hopes of finding a song to add to today’s video. It had to be something upbeat, positive, inspiring. Something with a distinctive beat that would go along with the moves. Rhythmic, and fun.
Though she was still reeling from the traumatic events at the store, she forced herself to concentrate on the music, put her feelings aside, and press on. There was work to be done.
By the time she pulled up in the driveway fifteen minutes later, she’d made her decision. The last song she heard before she shut off the car would be perfect – Cali Girls by Nevada. It was just hip enough to please her young fans, and also seemed to have the perfect beat to match the crunches. Maybe, just maybe, it would line up right with the exercises she had done. If not, she’d choose a different song, because there was no time re-shoot. Daily posts were necessary to keep herself high in the rankings, so she did what she had to do, no matter how late she had to stay up to finish it.
Her mother was lying on the couch when Sylvia entered the house. She didn’t even realize she was humming until her mother scolded her.
“Sylvia, shush, can you please not?” Fiona Oscar lifted her head from her pillow and gave her daughter a weak smile, then groaned as she changed positions, holding her hand to her head.
“Sorry, Mom,” Sylvia said, grateful her mom was trying to be somewhat pleasant in spite of her pain. “Do you need help?”
“I’ve needed to go to the bathroom for the past half hour,” Fiona said, throwing off her blanket and attempting to sit upright.
“Here, let me help you,” Sylvia offered, rushing over to give her mother a hand. “There was an incident at the grocery store, or I would have been home sooner,” she explained apologetically.
“An incident?” her mother asked. She stood and leaned on Sylvia for support, groaning quietly with each step as Sylvia led her to the bathroom.
“Yes, a near kidnapping,” Sylvia said, her eyes growing wide as she recalled the disturbing occurrence.
“What?” her mother said loudly, then had a sharp intake of breath.
“Hurting?” Sylvia asked.
“This surgery stuff isn’t for sissies,” she commented wryly as she pinched her eyes shut and leaned on the bathroom sink.
“I’m sorry, Mom,” Sylvia said. “You’ll be okay? You need help?”
“I’m fine,” she said. “Just shut the door.”
Doing as her mother asked, Sylvia’s heart went out to her. “Did you take your pain pill?” she asked through the closed door.
“I forgot,” her mother snapped in reply. “That’s why I need you here,” she complained. “To help me. You’re supposed to be helping me.”
The pleading tone made Sylvia’s heart go out to her, though it also put her on edge. Criticism was hard to take, even though it was understandable from someone who was hurting. “I’ll get it,” she offered.
She turned on her favorite music, but kept the volume low. A little boost in her mood was just what she needed right now, she thought as she grabbed the painkiller out of the kitchen cabinet. She set it on the kitchen counter, along with a glass of cold water as she began to prepare lunch. Singing quietly, she was halfway through making a sandwich when her mother came out of the bathroom.
Sylvia set down the knife she’d been using to slice a tomato. “Here, take this,” she said, pushing the pill and the water closer to her mom.
“I’m right here; I’ve got it,” her mother snapped, then looked at her apologetically. “I’m sorry, I’m just not feeling well.”
“Well, if you would take your medicine, you would feel a little better.” The words were out of Sylvia’s mouth before she could decide voicing them was not a good idea. “Actually, here, why don’t you eat first?” she hoped the softer tone would be enough of an apology. “You’re never supposed to take pain pills on an empty stomach.”
Fiona Oscar slid her body onto the stool and, sitting stiffly, looked at Sylvia like a forlorn puppy dog. “This hurts,” she moaned sadly.
“Worse than you thought it would?” Sylvia asked her. Her mother had fibroids and had needed a hysterectomy for quite some time, and she’d finally relented and done what the doctor had advised.
Fiona nodded, and Sylvia noticed the crescent-shaped shadows beneath her eyes. “But it had to be done.”
“I know,” she said, patting her mom’s shoulder before she resumed making lunch. “Here,” she said when she was finished. “A turkey and provolone sandwich, just like you wanted.”
Her mother stared at it and frowned. “I don’t know if I can eat it,” she said.
Sylvia could hear the frustration in her mother’s voice. She needed a pick-me-up, some kind words of encouragement. “You’re going to be okay,” Sylvia told her, using the most cheerful tone she could muster and giving her a generous hug. “I’ll give you some fruit to go with it so your digestion doesn’t get stalled.”
“It’s already stalled,” her mother said with a wry laugh. No doubt she was embarrassed by her condition. Normally she was groomed to perfection and went on daily refreshing walks along the beach, but now she was wearing her blue robe and her fuzzy slippers and hadn’t showered. She was confined to the house, at least for a few days. “So, tell me more about what happened today. A kidnapping, did you say?”
Chapter 4
“So, how’s your mom doing?” Jaxton asked Blaine as they sat together that evening eating filet mignon and shrimp.
“Good, not too bad,” Blaine said. “She’s kind of crochety, but that’s to be expected.” He dipped his steak into a huge puddle of steak sauce.
“Oh, you’re ruining it, man,” Jaxton protested.
Blaine paused with his fork in midair as the thick brown sauce dripped onto his plate. “What?”
“The steak sauce,” Jaxton said, gesturing. “You’re ruining a great steak.”
Blaine only laughed and put the morsel into his mouth. “I like it,” he said with a mouthful.
“You’re disgusting, man,” Jaxton replied happily. “You think I bought that so you could ruin it?”
“Can I get you anything else, sir?” the waiter asked Jaxton.
“Ah, no thanks,” Jaxton said, minding the interruption but trying not to be impolite. “We’re good.”
The waiter filled their waters, then nodded and left.
“Hey, you were kind of rude to the guy, don’t you think?” Blaine chided his friend.
Blaine sure knew how to push his buttons, Jaxton thought wryly. “No, I wasn’t,” he objected. “I was completely kind.” He stabbed a piece of shrimp and devoured it in one bite.
“Easy there, fella,” Blaine said with a laugh. “Getting a little violent there with that shrimp, aren’t you?”
Jaxton let his mouth drop open in false annoyance. Well, actually, he was a little bothered by Blaine’s mindless accusation. But Blaine didn’t need to know that. So Jaxton tried to play along with his game as good-naturedly as he could.
“Someone who spends his life trying to promote love and good deeds should not be treating the wait staff as less-than.” Blaine’s grin reached his blue eyes, making the corners crinkle with sardonic amusement.
“I wasn’t treating him as less-than,” he said, trying not to let his irritation show.
“Oh, come on, buddy,” Blaine continued. “We all know you are a dastardly dude at heart.”
“A dastardly dude?” Jaxton echoed with a tone of disdain, slicing through his tender filet as if it were butter. “Um, delicious,” he said as he took a bite. “I’m trying to be a good Samaritan here.”
“Well, you’re not succeeding,” Blaine kept on.
Jaxton gave up with a loud sigh. Usually he enjoyed this friendly banter but tonight it just wasn’t setting right with him.
Blaine narrowed his eyes and regarded Jaxton warily. “Hey, what’s up with you tonight?” he asked. “Something bothering you?”
“Yeah, sort of,” Jaxton admitted. He wasn’t sure now was a good time to share.
“What is it?” Blaine’s concern was evident on his face.
“Something weird happened today,” Jaxton began. He regarded his friend with suspicion. “You wouldn’t want to hear it.” Like Sylvia, Blaine wanted everything to be clear-cut, logical, obvious. Jaxton continued digging in to his meal, savoring every bite, and following it with a long drink of cola.
“What makes you think I wouldn’t want to hear it?” Blaine replied, his tone bordering on hurt as he shifted in his seat and leaned back, securing his hands behind his neck. “Try me,” he dared.
“I don’t know,” Jaxton was reluctant to say anymore. But he had been the one to bring it up.
Blaine threw a hand up in the air in frustration. “Come on; just tell me.”
“Okay, okay,” Jaxton relented. He went on to tell his lifelong friend all about the events that occurred at White’s Grocery Store and how he’d had to hold the man down until the police came and took him away. “The little girl was only four years old,” he said, shaking his head. “And her mom wasn’t even paying attention. That’s what bothered me the most. If I hadn’t have been there….” He let his words trail off as he stared into the distance. He blinked and shook his head. “I am not saying this to praise myself,” he continued, “but I’m just really glad I was there. I think I was supposed to be there.”
“Well, yeah,” Blaine agreed, leaning forward.
“No,” Jaxton said, scanning the room, trying to explain. “It was the weirdest thing….” He shrugged his shoulders, at a loss for words.
“What?” Blaine asked. He lightly thumped his fist onto the table.
Blaine always did know how to pull the truth out of Jaxton when necessary.
“I dreamt it beforehand.” Confiding in Blaine was maybe not the wisest decision but Jaxton needed to get this off his chest, to sort through all that had happened.
“You dreamt it?” The skepticism on Blaine’s face was undeniable. He didn’t even try to hide it, much to Jaxton’s chagrin.
“Yeah, I think so,” Jaxton replied.
When Blaine shot him another questioning look, Jaxton reiterated. “Yeah, I dreamt it. I’m sure of it.” He searched Blaine’s eyes, to see if he was at all convinced. At least Blaine was open to listening. That would have to be enough. “When I first left the store after the guy was arrested, I wasn’t sure, but as I drove home, it all came back to me. All of it – the little girl, the blonde mom, Sylvia being there, the angel holding the man’s legs.”
“The angel holding his legs?” Blaine repeated the words with incredulity and a touch of disgust.
“Now you really think I’m crazy,” Jaxton replied with a chuckle. If only Blaine had a little more faith, though, it would help a lot. The support Jaxton craved from him was definitely lacking.
“Well, sort of,” Blaine admitted, taking a big gulp of his club soda water. He preferred it to cola, strangely enough. He said it was healthier. Whatever.
“Maybe it wasn’t an angel,” Jaxton allowed. He squinted his eyes as he weighed all the possibilities.
“Yeah.” Blaine gave him a hard stare to pressure him in to retracting his outrageous statement. “Ya think?”
“Always a skeptic,” Jaxton said darkly. “You should try looking beyond what you see. You have to consider what might be going on behind the scenes,” he continued, shifting in his seat and taking a moment to look out the tinted window. Blaine was far too much like his sister, Sylvia. Never looking beyond the surface. “Look, I don’t know what exactly happened,” Jaxton allow
ed, meeting Blaine’s dubious gaze. “All I know is I had this dream beforehand. And then each part of it actually happened – the shady men walking into the store, me pretending to be interested in the strawberries but keeping an eye on the guys who were trouble, that one guy reaching out to grab the little girl’s hand, the mom distracted by her phone, then me pulling the little girl into my arms, pushing the guy over – body checking him and tackling him and holding onto his neck – the burly man holding down the man’s feet, and Sylvia coming over to see what was going on, and her looking all impressed and grateful.”
“Wait, Sylvia was there?” Blaine asked, as if somehow her presence added credibility to Jaxton’s statements.
“Yeah, she was there,” Jaxton said.
“She got to see you be a hero, man,” Blaine enthused and again pounded a fist on the table, harder this time.
“Yeah, I guess so,” Jaxton said, unable to hide the fact that he was pleased. “But there’s more.”
“There’s more?” Blaine echoed, and Jaxton noticed he finally sounded interested.
“Yeah, so the other weird thing is,” he continued, “I didn’t even realize I’d dreamt all this until I saw the little girl’s face – all full of fear and wonder and relief. It was then that it started to hit me. Like a fog lifting, bit by bit.”
“You sure it wasn’t déjà vu?” Blaine asked him.
“Not déjà vu, man,” Jaxton told him.
“Strangest thing I ever heard,” Blaine said with a satisfied grin as he took a bite of his shrimp dipped in steak sauce.
Chapter 5
It was late when Sylvia finally took her seat at her desk in her home office. Finally, her mother had been able to sleep, after the two of them had a long talk about the attempted kidnapping, the pain of surgery, and her mother’s latest career ambitions. She’d always wanted to be a writer, and now, she’d said, it was time to write her memoir. Sylvia was supportive. She was actually proud of her mom’s writing skills and thought it was time to put them to use. Maybe all the trials and traumas Fiona had been through could help someone else now. Her mom was an overcomer, just like she wanted to be. Of course, they had different interests, different talents, but Sylvia had to admit that her mother had taught her what it meant to be a strong woman and take challenges and troubles in stride. Making lemonade when handed lemons – something like that.
