Take the Trophy and Run

by Gail Sattler

  “There he is,” Andy said as he reached for the door handle.

  This time Amber prepared for the shrieking. She covered her ears with her hands and followed him outside. The parrot also went outside, where he flew up to a perch on the back porch, then flapped his wings and screeched at the open door. At the exact moment the door closed, the parrot silenced and folded his wings.

  She looked up at the quirky bird. She could have sworn the bird winked at her. “Aren’t you afraid he’s going to fly away? Or are his wings clipped?”

  Andy reached forward to tickle the bird’s bright yellow belly, now at shoulder height, or at least shoulder height for her, even though it wasn’t for Andy. She would never do that in fear of having her fingers nipped.

  “Nope. None of the above. He’s more than happy here, guarding the backyard. Maybe the colored flowers remind Murray of home.”

  She narrowed her eyes and glared at the bird. She didn’t have any experiences with parrots or birds of any kind, and didn’t figure this was the time to start. The only thing she knew was that birds liked to sit on anything that could serve as a perch.

  She stared at Gnorman’s raised hand—the hand that should have had the trophy strapped to it.

  She didn’t want bird poop on her gnome. “You’re sure he won’t leave his perch on the porch?”

  “Absolutely not. When we go back to the house, he’ll follow me in because he knows he’s supposed to. Just like when I tell him to go into his cage, he will. Parrots are very smart.”

  She’d also heard pigs were smart, but she wouldn’t put one to the test, or have one in her home.

  But she wasn’t here to learn about Andy’s parrot. However, while she was here, she couldn’t help but check out Andy’s yard. Like the front, his backyard was set up nearly to the point of meticulous. He’d arranged all his plants and bushes by height, so the smallest stood at the edges, and everything grew taller toward the fence or the house. It was so organized that it was nearly perfect except for a spade and a fork leaning against the small garden shed that looked like he’d forgotten to put them away.

  Gnorman had been placed on the grass, fortunately not in the flower bed, next to something with purple blooms that clashed horribly with the red Santa suit.

  “I need to check and see if Gnorman’s got a note somewhere. Every time he’s moved, he gets a new note with a—”

  Without warning, Murray screeched, again flapping his wings. This time, without Andy beside him, he extended his wings fully, which had to be a wingspan of nearly five feet. She’d never realized how big the bird was. Being so big and nasty, just as Andy said, Murray really could be considered a watch parrot. She certainly wouldn’t want to tangle with him.

  Amber ducked and covered her head with both hands, just in case he decided to launch and take whatever was annoying him out on her.

  Just as suddenly as he started, the parrot silenced and folded his wings, once again sitting on his perch like nothing had happened.

  “Murray hates the gate opening even worse than the door.”

  A different male voice echoed with the quick taps of footsteps. “What’s going on? When did Gnorman get here?”

  Amber lowered her arms to her sides, stood, and spun around. “Stan? What are you doing here?”

  He stiffened at the mention of his name. “I came to see Gnorman and check out the new note.” He paused, and his voice lowered. “And to find out why you didn’t want me to come.”

  “It wasn’t that I didn’t want you to come, I just . . .” She let her voice trail off. She truly hadn’t wanted him to come. But not for the reasons he thought. Not that she could know exactly what he was thinking, but judging from his expression, it wasn’t good.

  This was not a conversation she wanted to have in front of Andy.

  Stan’s eyes narrowed, and he crossed his arms over his chest.

  Amber sucked in a deep breath and held it. Stan was angry. Really angry.

  This was definitely not a conversation they were going to have in Andy’s backyard, with Andy and his parrot watching and listening. She could trust Andy, but she didn’t know much about parrots, except that they repeated words. She didn’t want the parrot repeating anything discussed between her and Stan.

  “How about if we get the new note, and talk about this later? I think—”

  Her words caught in her throat as a wave of nausea washed over her. Past the point of pain from being overly hungry, she now felt like she might vomit.

  “Amber? What’s wrong?”

  She pressed her hand into her stomach and forced herself to breathe deeply, hoping the feeling would pass. For a second her vision blurred, and the world started to spin. Even if she managed not to vomit this time, she would any minute, even though there was nothing to expel, if she didn’t get something into her stomach right away. As she looked up at Stan, her vision started to narrow, like looking into a tunnel. The center went bright, her knees went weak, and the world began to fade to black.

  Without knowing how she got there, she found herself seated on the ground with her knees up, her arms around her shins, and her head lowered between her knees.

  A hand pressed firmly against her back, keeping her steady. “Breathe deeply. Slowly. Like that. Easy. In. Out.”

  Slowly, everything settled back into the right colors, and the world came back into focus. A cross between a buzzing and a ring pierced her ears.

  Stan knelt to her right with one arm reaching behind her and his palm splayed on her back. Andy hunkered down to her left.

  “Are you going to be okay?” Andy asked, while Stan continued to steady her. The ringing settled to a dull roar, then faded.

  “I think so,” she mumbled, unable to raise her head. “But I feel all shaky. I see stars.”

  Andy’s fingers touched her throat. She knew he was feeling her pulse but couldn’t move her arms to push him away. “Do you feel chest pains or numbness in your arms or legs?” he asked.

  “No. I think I just need to eat something.”

  Andy stood. “I’ll get her some juice. I’ll be right back.”

  From down on the ground she saw his boots turn away, then more of him came into her field of vision as he jogged into the house. The parrot squawked as the door opened, so she knew she wasn’t dead or hallucinating.

  “What’s wrong? Say something,” Stan’s voice came out a little shaky and scared. She hated to have done that to him.

  “I’ll be okay. I haven’t eaten all day, and I think it just caught up with me.”

  “What do you mean? Have you been sick?”

  “No.” She shook her head, but as she did she knew she made a mistake. Her stomach rolled again, along with her head. She gulped and held herself stock-still until it started to pass. “I just got busy and didn’t have time to eat. Then I thought I would come here before supper. That’s all.”

  The momentary squawk sounded again, and she soon saw the boots beside her head. Andy hunkered down and handed her a glass of red juice. She used two hands to steady it while she drank. Andy kept one hand hovering close by, probably in case he had to grab the glass fast, and Stan’s hand remained against her back.

  She tried to keep her hand from shaking as she gave the glass back to Andy. “That was just what I needed. I’m going to be okay. Thank you. I’m so sorry.”

  Andy remained hunkered down. “You should stay down like that for ten to fifteen minutes, just to be safe. I’m also going to make sure you’re okay before you leave, and you shouldn’t be driving.”

  She may not have been back to her 100 percent fine self, but there was no way she was sitting like an invalid lump in Andy’s yard for that long. Besides, her butt was getting cold, and she felt sure she now had a damp spot on the seat of her pants from sitting so long on the cooling evening grass. She
put her hands down on the grass and pushed herself up. Before she got all the way to a standing position, Stan’s hands wrapped around her waist, and he pulled her the rest of the way.

  “She’s not going home, and she’s definitely not driving. I’ll take her and get some good food into her. But first I’ll move her car onto the street so you can get yours out of the garage in the morning, if it’s okay that we leave it here on the street.

  “That’s fine with me. If you’re going to be on your way, you’ll probably want this.” Andy handed the envelope to Stan, like she didn’t exist. “Phone me when you get home, just so I know everything’s okay.”

  Stan nodded. “We’ll do that. Thanks.”

  Stan released her waist, but only for a millisecond. One hand went around her back at her shoulder blades, and he bent over, reaching for the back of her knees.

  Even though she still felt shaky, she shuffled to the side. “No. Please don’t pick me up. I feel embarrassed enough as it is. I’m going to walk, and then I’m going to get in my car and drive home.”

  “If you walk, you’re walking to my pickup, and you’re going to get inside and stay there while I move your car, and then I’m going to take you home. If you have any thoughts about moving your car yourself, or driving it, I’m going to pick you up, whether you like it or not, caveman-style, and plunk you in my truck and drive away, and let Andy move your car. Your choice.”

  That didn’t sound like much of a choice at all. Amber opened her mouth to tell him exactly what she thought of his tyrannical behavior, but no words came out. His eyes narrowed, his cheeks tightened, and his brows knotted. She’d seen pictures of friendlier grizzly bears. She had no doubt he meant what he said and that he would carry out what he promised, or threatened. For now, she’d let him have his way. She still felt weak and shaky. But as soon as he left and she felt better, she would walk back to Andy’s house, get her car and drive it home, and life would go on as normal.

  Yet, even with the Neanderthal attitude, she couldn’t be mad at him. He was obviously worried, no less than she’d been the time he’d got knocked over when a cyclist ran into him when they’d been walking through the park at college. In the end, just like this, it had been nothing, but at the time she’d been terrified, watching him hit the ground and bounce, then remain unmoving for those very long seconds, getting his breath back and waiting for his world to stop spinning as he lay face down in the dirt.

  Truly, she felt better after drinking the juice. When she got home she would make herself some toast, and she’d be good.

  Because she’d promised, once Stan made sure she was seated in his pickup with the seat belt fastened to his satisfaction, Amber watched him move her car out of Andy’s driveway and park it on the street. He pocketed her keys, got in, and drove away.

  “Stan? Where are you going? You missed the turn to go to my house.”

  “I’m not going to your house. You’re going to my house. Don’t bother complaining, because this is nonnegotiable. So sit back and enjoy the ride.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  It took all Stan’s strength and concentration to hold on to the steering wheel, and to keep holding on, when he really wanted to hold Amber.

  He’d never been so scared in his life as when all the color drained from her face, her eyes rolled back, she swayed, then collapsed.

  Being a firefighter, Andy was trained as a first responder in an emergency, compared to Stan’s rudimentary level first aid certificate, which, come to think of it, had expired. Fortunately, instead of his mind going blank with panic, Stan had kicked into autopilot as he helped Andy ease Amber to the ground and put her head between her knees.

  Then, he’d felt terrified. Now that the crisis was over, he just felt angry.

  But he had to hold it in. At work, he could bang a dozen things to get it out of his system. Here, he had Amber.

  Soft, gentle, and for now, frail, little Amber.

  Of course, once he got some food into her system and had her all fueled up, she’d again be a fighting machine, ready to take on her corner of the world. But for now she needed someone to take care of her, and that someone was him.

  She remained silent the whole trip to his house, which was a good thing. He didn’t want to start a conversation, because he didn’t trust himself not to say something stupid.

  And speaking of stupid, Amber wasn’t. When they got to his house, she stayed in the seat and waited while he ran around the truck and opened the door for her and helped her down. Even though he didn’t have to help her keep steady, he put his arm around her anyway, just because he wanted to, and walked with her like that to his door. And, not being stupid, Amber didn’t say anything; she just let him have his way.

  He knew her acquiescence wouldn’t last, so he took advantage of it while he could.

  He guided her to the couch and helped her to sit down. When she looked comfortable, he dragged the ottoman in front of her and sat on it to face her.

  “We need to talk,” he said, even though he wasn’t good at that talking stuff. That’s why he ran a business fixing cars instead of working in an office or doing a sales job. He wasn’t a talker. He just liked to do things, especially when it didn’t involve words.

  He waited for a response. Something. Anything. Right now, his mind whirled a mile a minute. He’d been through so many ups and downs that he didn’t know where to start. All day long his thoughts had returned to Amber, about how much fun they’d had the previous night, but not the usual way they had fun together. Last night he’d seen another side to her, the side of Amber that she didn’t always show him, at least not on purpose—sweet, funny, smart, and even though she would never admit it to him, feminine. It truly had been a real date, even with the disguises. He didn’t know why it had taken the disguises to make everything so obvious. It had been there all along—they were soul mates—and all these years, he’d missed it.

  Most of the morning he’d waited like a besotted idiot for her to call, but she hadn’t. He’d spent all day making sure he could hear his phone. He’d even checked it multiple times, just in case he’d missed her call and it had gone to voice mail. He’d wanted to hear her sweet, melodic voice, even in just a message, maybe saying she’d missed him too.

  But that hadn’t happened.

  During the day she’d obviously received a note with another clue, figured out where Gnorman was, then gone to see Gnorman and get the new note. When he figured out what happened and the chain of events, he’d lost it.

  He’d gone storming over to Andy’s house, about to tell her what he thought of her ignoring him, and arrived just in time to see her crumple to the ground like a deflated balloon. Even though it felt so clichéd, he’d almost blurted out to Amber that he loved her as she tumbled into his arms.

  She looked at him, and her eyes went wide, wider than he’d ever seen. “Did you want to ask me something?”

  Stan swallowed. Hard. “Yeah. Now that we’re here, what would you like for supper?”

  Amber struggled to keep her relief from showing. A wide range of expressions flittered across Stan’s face, but she couldn’t tell what he was thinking. It would be a relief if he scolded her for fainting like a seventeenth-century lady-in-waiting with her girdle on too tight, but he didn’t. Instead, Stan simply wanted to help her. Again. Still.

  He was the best buddy a woman could ever have. Somewhere out there was a woman who would be perfect for him, someone who could love him the way he deserved to be loved, because he had what it took to love a woman back. One day he would meet such a woman. Amber might even like that woman. If she could stop herself from scratching the woman’s eyes out.

  She cleared her throat. “I don’t know. Something light. What have you got?”

  He glanced over his shoulder toward the kitchen, then back at her. “How about a grilled cheese sandwich, wi
th three kinds of cheese and onions. On whole wheat bread.”

  Fried in lots of butter, no doubt. Her stomach lurched, just thinking about it.

  “When I said light, I meant something like an apple.”

  “An apple isn’t supper. How about leftover spaghetti?”

  “That sounds great.”

  She followed him into the kitchen and sat at the table, watching as he spooned a massive portion onto a plate, drowned it with sauce, and sprinkled it liberally with grated parmesan cheese. “Here you go,” he said as he put it in the microwave and pushed the button.

  “I hope you’re going to eat that with me. That’s enough for three people.”

  He grinned, no doubt thinking she was kidding. “Don’t worry. I’m going to make a plate for myself too.”

  The volume of his leftovers could feed her for three days while, for her, leftovers were a thing of the past. After contracting the orders for the flamingos for both the florist and the garden club’s banquet, she had to buy the materials to make them. Her wholesaler had offered a discount if she paid for everything at the time she placed the order, and since she had to make every penny count, it was a deal she couldn’t refuse. She couldn’t take the money off her lease, she’d just paid her insurance, her car was running on fumes when she couldn’t walk to where she needed to go, and she certainly had to make the current payment to Uncle Henry on time.

  The only place left, the last place where she could get money, was her grocery budget. For the last few weeks she’d been living pretty much on macaroni and wieners, minus the wieners, or toast and peanut butter, and she’d gotten to the point of scraping the bottom of the jar.