by Brinda Berry
Now, I realize she’s smiling at me. “Leo, I was just wondering…want to go to a concert with me tomorrow night?”
I give her a regretful smile. “Sorry. Poker night.”
“Come on. You can play poker anytime.” She tilts her head and raises her eyebrows in a beseeching pose. “I have a friend who can come along. She’s really freaky, if you know what I mean.”
Freaky. I must be waving a freak flag lately. “Well, that’s sweet and all, but I have to pass.”
“I’m anything but sweet,” she answers with a glint in her eye.
Dane’s lips quirk at the corner and he points toward the back. “Delivery is waiting.” After the waitress leaves, he leans on the bar. “You turned down a threesome. Are you insane? There’s something seriously wrong with you.”
I take an extra-large bite of burger and turn to watch the musician on stage.
Dane’s not deterred by my lack of interest. “Leah’s never asked me to get it on with her and a friend. You have that whole sensitive thing going on. Girls love that shit. You probably read them poetry while you—”
“Ignoring you now.” I grab my plate in one hand and my drink in the other. “I came in to eat, not be lectured by the guy who woke up last week without his wallet and keys and called me to pick him up at a strange girl’s house.”
“Touché.” He says. Then he adds, “You need to get laid. Obviously.”
“Whatever, man. See you tomorrow night. I won’t be in for lunch.” Then I turn and scan the room for an empty table. There’s a table for two far from the blonde, so I make my way to it.
From the corner of my eye, I’m aware that she watches me. I can feel her gaze prickling along my skin like a sunburn. I’m tempted to look at her and raise a confronting eyebrow.
I make sure I’m seated facing the door where I won’t miss my sister when she arrives. She finally enters at half-past noon. I’m taking the last bite of my burger when she plops into the seat across from me and grabs a few french fries from my plate and dredges them through my ketchup.
“What’s up, brother o’ mine?” Josie says around a mouthful of food.
“Are you on time anywhere?” I push my plate to the middle of the table so she’ll stop reaching across to grab more fries.
“Customer kept chatting me up at the store. Couldn’t get away.”
“I don’t believe that for a minute.” Josie’s the most talkative person I know. Her customer at the bookstore was probably trying to get away from her.
As far as twins go, we couldn’t be more different physically or socially. Her hair is dark and mine light. She makes friends with strangers everywhere, and I don’t like people much. Josie’s life is one happy ride with the wind blowing through her hair.
Mine’s been filled with the wind knocking me down.
“What do you have to do to get a waitress around here?” Josie frowns as she grabs my glass and takes a drink. “Be right back. I guess it’s self-serve.”
Josie makes her way over to Dane, who’s standing behind the bar. I watch them flirt with each other in the comfortable way they’ve been playing at all year.
The place has filled with lunch customers and I wonder about the girl in the corner. I casually turn to see if I can catch her in my peripheral view, and see the table is empty. She’s always popping up and then disappearing when I look for her.
* * *
A week later, I’ve given up on seeing the girl again. It’s odd that I’ve found myself looking for one particular blonde in this city’s sea of beautiful women. But really, it’s only curiosity because I like to figure out people’s motives.
Did she want a one-night stand? Do I look like her last boyfriend? Is she planning to stab me in a dark alley and harvest my organs for a black market price?
I walk into the Letter Express store where I rent a post office box and there she is. I stare at her as she turns the key to her box. She’s wearing shorts today. My gaze slides from her legs up to her hair pulled into a little perky ponytail.
The door opens again and a little boy runs inside with his mother chasing him. The toddler squeals and smacks into the back of the blonde’s legs, pushing her against the metal mailbox wall.
Her stack of mail avalanches to the floor. The mother pulls her kid away. “Sorry about that.” She drags her kid away by the arm without even offering to help pick up the mess.
My box is on the opposite side of the store, but I make my way over to her before I can question my own motives.
Curiosity has always been my strongest and worst personality trait. “I’ve got it.” I bend to pick up the envelopes. There are at least twenty bills strewn around her feet.
She tucks a strand behind her ear and kneels to pick up the nearest mail. “Oh, thanks. This is crazy. I just moved here and all my mail must’ve forwarded at once.”
I reach for a large manila envelope and she’s grabbed for the same package. We don’t say anything for a second.
She hasn’t looked up at me yet, and when she does, there’s a blush to her cheeks.
I glance at the name on the envelope as I pass it to her. Mrs. Wesley Wade. “Here you go.”
“Thanks.” Her voice is low and husky and shy.
“Anytime.” We’re both still kneeling even though we’ve picked up the mail. At this close proximity, I notice all the things I couldn’t see from across a room. Amazing eyes, full bottom lower lip, creamy skin. Too bad she’s married.
What an asinine thought. It’s a good thing she’s married. In fact, the Mrs. in front of her name is a stabbing reminder that I’ll be staying far away from her.
I get to my feet after staring into her eyes far longer than acceptable. I blame it on the incredible flecks of green in her eyes that make me think of cool water running over the rocks of a spring creek. I hold out my hand to help her to her feet and give her a friendly smile.
She takes my hand and rises. Her touch is silky but her grip firm. “Thank you. Have we met before?”
Is that a pickup line? Because she’s been stalking me. Or watching me, maybe. “I don’t think so.”
“Oh.” She hugs the envelopes to her chest. “Are you sure?”
I get an uneasy feeling in my gut. The kind of intuition private investigators must have when something isn’t quite jiving. “I’m sure. Have a good one.” I turn and leave without even checking my box or offering my name. She’s married and might be interested, since she seems to be wherever I turn. In my book, married is equivalent to carrying the black plague.
My apartment building is a good mile from Letters Express. I could have mail delivered to my building, but I keep the box for business purposes. The walk always starts my workday with a way to clear the morning fog in my head. My routine gives me the illusion that I’ve walked to work when I return to my home office.
I skip the coffee this morning. The married blonde has wrecked my routine.
My loft apartment is located in what was once the old fire station. It’s a historic renovation, part of an initiative to keep buildings alive through the decades.
The outside of the fire station looks much the same as it did a hundred years ago. Weathered red bricks on the outside have been carefully restored instead of replaced. I know from talking with the contractor that restoring costs a lot more than replacing. The bottom floor houses a pastry shop owned by a couple of guys who moved from Rhode Island earlier this year.
I enter the back stairs that lead to the two apartments on the upper floor. The heavy metal door to the apartment squeaks as I open it, and I make a mental note to add WD-40 to my shopping list for the week. The smells of vanilla and cinnamon waft up through the vents and I’m glad I don’t have a sweet tooth. Otherwise, living here would be insane.
Tossing the mail onto one of my few pieces of furniture, an antique architect’s desk, I walk to the kitchen to make a drink. Since I’ve missed my mandatory coffee run, I grumpily search through a cabinet to find my coffee press and a tin of cof
fee.
I’m so wrapped up in putting a tea kettle of water on to boil and measuring out coffee that I almost miss the sound at my door. The door literally dings like a bell when anyone raps on the steel surface, the acoustics sending sound high into the hallway ceiling.
“Coming.” I stride over and open the door, hoping my new stereo speakers have arrived. Instead of the delivery person I expect, it’s the woman from this morning.
I stand speechless as I take her in. Did she actually follow me home?
“Can I help you?” My automatic response is a stupid thing to say, like I’m offering her customer service.
The blonde licks her bottom lip and smiles nervously. “You’re Leo Jensen.”
“Yes.” An unpleasant feeling jabs me in the gut. Dane probably gave her my name after all. I can’t really be upset at him since he doesn’t actually think she’s stalking me. But showing up at my place crosses the line. Of course, stalking does too.
She looks past me into my apartment. “Can I come in?”
“I’m sorry.” I cock my head to the side and squint at her. She’s a piece of work. I step outside into the corridor and close my door behind me. “I don’t mean to seem unfriendly, but is there a reason you’re here?”
“Oh, I’m…well…” Her cheeks flush a deep pink. “James and Erik told me your name. I’m Harper.” She holds out her hand.
I stare for a second, but good manners prevail. “Nice to meet you,” I say and give her hand a quick shake. “What can I do for you?”
“I wanted to meet you before I move in.” She tucks the same strand of hair behind her ear and points across the corridor to the door opposite mine. “Here.”
“I didn’t realize they intended to rent it. So, you…” Actually, I’d assumed my bakery owner landlords wouldn’t rent to anyone after the year of complaints they’d had about the thugs who lived in the apartment across the hall. They’d even mentioned using it for storage.
There’s a good ten seconds of holy shit silence while I wonder what to do about this situation.
She gives me a tight-lipped smile. “Well, I should let you get back to work. Just wanted to say hey to my neighbor.”
“Oh yeah. Neighbors.” I nod. The teapot on the stove begins to whistle and my cell phone rings in a duet of interruption. “Sorry, I—”
She raises a hand in a wave. “No, it’s fine. I’ll talk to you later. I’ll be right,” she points across the hall, “there.”
Harper pivots and takes four steps across the hallway. Throwing one glance over her shoulder before she twists the knob, she beams at me. Like she has my number and can tell she’s freaking me.
She’s attractive and scary as hell at the same time.
Fuck my life.
4
Catching a Tailwind
Harper
After introducing myself to Leo, I walk across the hall, and throw a glance over my shoulder. I beam at him in an encouraging way. A trust-me-I’m-harmless face. This is no time to fall prey to paranoia. He can’t know I’ve been in his apartment.
He’s watching me with these cute wrinkles marring his forehead. If I didn’t know better, I’d swear he’s absolutely terrified of me—a comical thought. When I pilfered through his belongings, I left everything in place, but maybe…just maybe, he’s noticed me watching him.
I’ll have to back off from the overly friendly thing if I ever want to get a hold of my postcard.
Thoughts of my postcard are quickly replaced with what I admit is a gleeful thrill.
I enter my apartment and tread softly, as if I’m going to disturb the real owner. Because I still can’t believe this is my new home.
Not only is this apartment the most beautiful empty space I’ve ever seen, it has the sunniest windows on God’s green earth. And there’s the perk of its location, right next to Leo.
My happiness is marred by the knowledge of how I’m able to pay for this place. I get a hollow feeling when I think of the money that Wesley left me. Not even his real wife, I nevertheless inherited money he earmarked for me. I puzzle over why he bothered.
I shake off the ghosts as I always do when the negative thoughts spill into my consciousness.
Instead, I spin slowly in the center of the room before I sit cross-legged on the hardwood floor. Sunshine streams in, forming a circle exactly around me. My cell rings, breaking into the stillness and helping me feel less alone.
Daddy.
I hesitate, but only for an instant since I know he’ll call back if I don’t answer. He’s not one for leaving voicemail.
“Hi Daddy.”
“Angel?”
“Someone else calling you Daddy?”
“Funny. Of course not. You don’t sound like yourself. Are you doing OK?”
“Sure. I’ve moved into my new apartment.” I wait for the impending argument with a leaden feeling in my stomach.
“So you are staying.” He speaks the words slowly, in a way that invites discussion. This is new. Although I’m twenty-two years old, he and Mama have questioned all my decisions since I ran off with Wesley.
“For a while. I like the weather here. The people are nice.”
“You thought you liked it in Tacoma, too,” he says.
Daddy wouldn’t say this if he knew I actually wanted to move back to Texas for most of my time with Wesley. I never voiced those thoughts to my parents. They were already unhappy Wesley had moved me across the country, away from my family and friends.
“Well, I like Nashville better,” I say.
“You’re all alone, Angel. It’s not right. A girl your age needs family nearby.”
I give a long-suffering sigh. “I’m not a girl. I’m a woman. I can live on my own.”
“We know that. But you would be happy here. You could meet a nice young man.”
I rub my forehead. “Daddy, I know you mean well, but you have to quit. You have to accept that I can make smart decisions that work for me. Do you think I can’t take care of myself? That I need some ‘nice young man’ to take care of me?” He can’t see the air quotes, but I still do them with my free hand.
Of course, I’ve made horrible, impulsive choices. Running off to marry Wesley when we’d only dated a few weeks ruined their opinion of me forever.
There’s silence and the seconds tick by as I wait for him to respond. “Daddy?”
“Your mother and I worry about you. We want you to be happy. We pray for you every day.”
“I know.” I can only imagine the sermons Daddy’s given, alluding to his prodigal daughter.
“Will you make me a promise?”
“Sure.”
“That if you change your mind and want to move home, you’ll call us. We’ll rent a truck and move all your things for you. You can stay in your old room. And there’s a group of singles at the church that you can join. We have a new member of our congregation that has a lot in common with you. She’s a little older, but she lost her husband after twenty-two years of marriage.”
I’m silent, my eyes closed, and my heart cold.
“Angel?”
“I’m here.” If only they knew the truth. I hadn’t been legally married for the past four years. It was all a farce and the joke was on me. “Listen, I have to go. Someone’s waiting for me,” I say, hoping he can’t hear the lie in my voice. Mama believes everything I say, but Daddy always knows. I visualize his narrowed eyes though the phone line.
He doesn’t call me on the lie. “OK. Call tomorrow?” he asks.
“If I get a chance.” I get to my feet. “Bye Daddy. I love you. Tell Mama I love her, too.” I end the call and stick my phone into my back pocket.
I make my way to the parking lot behind the building. My vehicle is filled with everything I’ve hauled from Tacoma. Anything I couldn’t bring ended up in a donation bin at the local Goodwill store. I unhook the tarp that covers the cardboard boxes in the truck bed. There are only five boxes of various sizes and shapes, a suitcase, and one duffel bag.
One medium-sized box contains the lightest items, so I grab it first. It takes only minutes to walk the flight of stairs at the back of the building and store my belongings inside. I return and do the same with the second and third box, each one slightly heavier than the last.
I struggle with the fourth box. The awkward shape only lets me put my arms around three-fourths of it. This box should’ve been the first to go upstairs while I still had lots of energy. Planning ahead has never been my forte.
I creep up the steps blindly, since the box blocks my view. Ten more steps, maybe? My foot hits the edge of the step and slides off. “Ah!” I grab the box tight, an error in judgment on my part since the box isn’t going to save me from free falling down the remaining steps.
“Wait,” a female voice behind me demands. Footsteps pound on the metal stairs as she ascends. Two hands rest on the center of my back to brace me. “What do you think you’re doing?”
I twist to see Josie behind me. “Trying to make it up these stairs before I drop this box like a Donkey Kong barrel.”
She laughs. “So you decided to go for the apartment. I’m so glad. Have you met my brother yet?”
“Can we talk after you push me to the top?”
She chuckles and pushes lightly on my back. “Go, woman. You have to work with me here. Don’t go fast and knock me down. If I fall, I’m taking you with me.”
I step cautiously to the top of the stairs and put the box down at the landing. “Made it.”
“My brother should be helping you. I’ll get him. He should be home if he isn’t doing his volunteer tutoring at the library. He’s teaching a guy how to read.”
Ah. It takes all my willpower not to quiz her about this. “No, really. I only have a couple more.”
But she’s already walked around me and opened the door at the top of the stairs. “I’m going to get him,” she says without turning. “Don’t lift anything heavy. Leave this,” she says, nodding to the box at my feet.
“I don’t think he’ll want to—”
She pauses and gives me a quizzical look. “What? Leo will rush out here. He’s old-fashioned like that.”
