Rescued by that New Guy in Town

by J. L. Salter

  Ryan didn't call that evening either. I started thinking Aynette was right; it had been a terrible mistake to let him sleep over — whether on my couch or elsewhere on the premises.

  I checked my e-mail and perused other postings. Nothing from Ryan. In fact, he wasn't even on my friend list yet. That's how much I knew about this stranger. But I'd let him sleep in my house! Good grief.

  When the phone finally rang about eight o'clock, I nearly jumped out of my sweatpants. I knew from the number it wasn't him. "Hi, Ellen."

  "I've heard that woeful tone before, Kris. What's wrong?"

  I sighed heavily. "Isn't a man supposed to call after he spends the night?"

  "He did what?" Ellen sputtered so much that several of her words didn't transmit. "…and then didn't have the decency to call?"

  "Oh, wait. No. It wasn't that kind of night. I mean, yeah, he spent the night. But on the couch."

  The counselor was right on it. "The specific location of sex hardly minimizes its significance in a relationship."

  "No, not with me. I think Elvis did a lot of snuggling, though. I was tucked away in my own bed, behind closed doors."

  "You'd better start from the top, Kris. And don't get me all riled up like that."

  I covered everything from the entire weekend and ended with Ryan's abrupt departure and rather peculiar apology.

  "Hmm. That apology throws me too. Wonder what he was sorry for."

  "No clue, Ellen. I've thought of everything from A to Z."

  I could tell my friend's counselor brain whirred because she was silent for so long. "Kris, what's the worst result you could imagine — of him staying overnight in your house. What's your absolute biggest fear?"

  It took me only a few seconds to realize it, and I teared up. "That he'd steal me blind, just like Wally did."

  "And that didn't happen, did it?"

  "Well, I didn't actually check, but all I have in the house is a few twenties, an emergency credit card… uh, plus Momma's string of pearls and my snow globes."

  "Listen to me, Kris. You didn't check because you knew you didn't need to." Ellen paused to let that sink in. "You knew Ryan Hazzard wouldn't steal from you. You knew you could trust him."

  Trust. That's a word I hadn't leaned on lately.

  "Okay, I've got to run in a minute. Mack and I are going out. Late movie." She very nearly added a "wooo-hooo" to the end of her announcement, but that wasn't like Ellen. "Now listen carefully. What is your second worst fear? I mean, after you've settled the trust issue." Ellen muffled the phone briefly as she spoke to Mack. "I'm back, Kris."

  Hmm. I was still thinking. The second worst thing? I might need a while to mull that over. "My next biggest fear…" At the instant I realized my answer, tears fell, "That he wouldn't come back."

  Ellen sniffled too, and I already knew why. She'd told me of that time she and Mack had a huge fight and he stormed out of their house. Ellen had experienced the same fear — that Mack might not return. But he did come back. And Mack never stormed off again.

  What about Ryan Hazzard, the mystery man nobody knew anything about?

  Ellen had a movie date with her husband, lover, and friend. I wondered if she realized how fortunate she was to have all three of those treasures in one strong, handsome man.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  After losing my entire weekend and spending Monday in a haze, Tuesday felt like some sort of cosmic purgatory. I hated being off my regular schedule, but at least I left my house on time.

  It didn't happen often, but sometimes I'd get pulled from the mall branch back to our bank's HQ in downtown Verdeville. It was usually when three of their regular tellers were out at the same time. Sometimes they'd call the night before, but on Tuesday Miss Zachery-Pickle-Puss gave me the news before I could put down my purse at 8:27 a.m.

  Now I'll have to find a parking place downtown! I'd been spoiled working at the mall, which had hundreds of empty spots nearby.

  I'd still received no contact from Ryan Hazzard since I dropped him off at his truck some twenty-five hours before. After a man has slept in your house, that's an eternity.

  I walked from my distant parking place glumly, on the firm belief I'd never see my pirate again.

  On the plus side, I got a cordial greeting from my former supervisor and remembered how much I wished he worked at the mall branch instead of Miss Z. He listed the tellers who were out, told me why (though he was not required to), and checked my memory on the locations of things. Then he watched me count my drawer and wished me luck. He expected to be busy all day at the other end of the same long counter.

  ****

  We got through the morning and it was hectic! So different from the often sleepy atmosphere of our mall branch. I clearly remembered why I'd asked for transfer when the newest outlet opened.

  Since there were no extra tellers to cover, I only got a half-hour meal break, so I had to choke down a cold sandwich from the tiny lunch counter in the basement of that three story building.

  Back at my window after lunch, and probably with tuna and celery still stuck between my teeth, I looked up and saw Ryan!

  Just walked in the first floor bank lobby, in broad daylight.

  But not alone — with Vanessa!

  Without thinking much, if at all, I actually ducked below the counter. The next customer in line looked startled, stood on her tiptoes to peer over the counter, and then inquired, "Are you all right?"

  "Yeah. Thought I saw a bee."

  "Bee! Where? I'm allergic! They kill me dead with one sting."

  "Then you better run because this booger's big as a golf ball!"

  As the customer fled, I raised into a crouch so I could see over the top of my counter. Ryan with Vanessa? Everybody said they'd had a big blow-up. So, what was he still doing with her? Reda, who knew everything, had assured me that whatever was going on had stopped cold. Hmm. Looked pretty warm as he walked that close to the blonde viper.

  Ryan wore a navy blue sports jacket and tie, plus neatly pressed khakis and brown bucs. Looked awfully nice… for a two-timer. When he turned, I could see he still had a small bandage on the back of his head. No doubt that's where his brains had spilled out all over my lap as I pulled him back from the brink of death. Well, you know.

  Ryan and Vanessa conferred with one of the bank officers and then headed to the elevator. Shortly after, the door opened and the arrow indicated they went up. In a building with three floors and a basement, there wasn't much above us, besides the bank's executive suites on the second floor and several unrelated offices on the third — including attorneys, a title company, and whatever else.

  I wondered what they were doing. Marriage license? No, that'd be in the courthouse. Buying a house together? Yeah, they'd need the title company for that.

  Wherever they went, I never saw them again. Maybe they spent the night up in some third floor trysting suite which I'd heard was one of the bank president's perks. Rumors.

  ****

  When my downtown shift was over, I made my way — three full blocks — to the parking spot and saw another note on my vehicle. Small piece of paper, folded once like the earlier message.

  Courthouse business… not what you think.

  Not signed, but it had to be from Ryan. How did he know what I was thinking? How'd he find my vehicle?

  I unlocked my car and sat inside. Too agitated to drive yet, but I could call Ellen. It was shortly after four-thirty, so she was likely home from school. When she answered, I hurriedly explained everything.

  "The reason he said 'not what you think' is so you wouldn't think what you're thinking."

  Sometimes I wanted Ellen just to agree with me in a comforting way, but not wear her counselor hat. "What am I supposed to think when that skinny skank prances in, practically draped on his arm."

  "Define 'draped'."

  "Well, they were side-by-side." When I explained, I understood Ellen's point.

  "Any actual contact?"

  "Well,
she gripped him?"

  "Gripped him where?" Ellen's voice sounded like her eyes had bulged slightly.

  "Right in the middle of the bank lobby!"

  She sputtered. "I mean what part of him did Vanessa grip?"

  "Oh, his elbow, or just above there. Arm-place." I demonstrated as though Ellen could see me through the phone.

  "Maybe Vanessa was steering. Men usually need that."

  That's true. At times, men were incredibly directionless. "Yeah, maybe." I pounded the steering wheel a couple of times just to let off negative energy. "So what should I do?"

  "Don't do anything, Kris. He left you a note so you wouldn't worry. So don't worry. Give him a chance to explain."

  I hadn't told Ellen all the details, like when I saw Ryan twist his arm out of Vanessa's grasp. That was the only part he didn't need to explain.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Back at my regular mall branch, the entire Wednesday morning became a blur. I felt angry at Ryan and furious at myself for having had any expectations. We'd shared some enjoyable moments — mainly Saturday afternoon, our pizza that evening, and Sunday until the accident. He'd been so loopy afterwards that I couldn't tell much of anything. Then all the abruptness and tension of Monday morning. Afterwards, no call or contact.

  Tuesday, seeing him with Vanessa again, just confirmed my initial view: that handsome charmer was bad news and ought to be avoided. If Ryan hadn't served his court service in that same facility with me, I surely could have kept him completely out of my mind and my life. Except for his smile — difficult to forget. But I planned to try really hard.

  I'd just left my shift for lunch and hadn't even ordered chicken nuggets yet, when I checked my phone for missed calls.

  Hazzard called! When? Mid-morning, over two hours before. Crud! If not for the domineering Miss Z and her medieval workplace rules, I could have spoken with Ryan. Maybe he'd called to explain everything. Maybe he wanted to ask me out. Or, more probably, it was something really stupid like he lost his ball-point pen and wanted me to check between my couch cushions. I stood in front of the chicken place and played his message.

  Kris… Ryan. It's uh, Wednesday morning… nearly ten. Again, I'm sorry about Sunday night. I'm, uh… well, I wanted to talk with you, about… stuff. You know, what I wanted to explain in the note. I hope you got my note yesterday. It took me fifteen minutes to find your car. Good thing there's only one other little British car in town and it's a different color. But anyhow, I don't really care for these voicemails, you know. Uh, plus, I'm out of town actually anyway. So, I hope we can …

  "Can what? What happened to the rest of my message?" I shook the phone like the remainder of Ryan's spiel might tumble out. A nearby diner looked at me strangely and scooted her chair around to face the other way. Then she hurried to finish her salad. I left the area of the chicken place and found a more secluded spot near an empty kiosk.

  I played his message again.

  Again with the "sorry". What on earth was Ryan sorry about?

  Why was he out of town? Where did he go? When would he come back?

  Would I ever see him again?

  Tears invariably killed my appetite. I hurried to the restroom and tried to repair my face enough to meet the banking public with a tortured smile.

  Later, my hunger returned.

  ****

  I was a zombie for my afternoon shift. Fortunately the bank traffic was light and Aynette discreetly redirected our few customers over to her window.

  At one point, Aynette whispered, "I got three words for you, Kris: Zee's watching."

  Miss Z was indeed in full recon mode, but thankfully didn't lean on me. I figured she was saving up for my dismissal, which surely was forthcoming. She'd probably wait until Christmas Eve.

  ****

  Before I drove home, I sat in the mall lot and brooded for a few minutes. Wanted to call Ellen but I knew she'd try to fill my head with baloney about looking on the bright side, suggesting Ryan might have a legitimate reason — unrelated to me — for being out of town. Blah, blah, blah. But I knew the real story. Ryan ducked out of town because he couldn't face me after caving in to his lust for the artificial D.A. slut… and whatever. I couldn't even finish listing the bad news which I knew was behind his message-that-was-no-message. What was it about men that they couldn't just get to the point? And they say women can't be succinct. I could play this message for any jury of women and convict Mister Hazzard on premeditated blathering.

  No, I didn't have the stomach for Ellen's Pollyanna gibberish. I needed to talk to a real expert on males. I'd call Eric!

  But I'd have to wait until he got off work.

  I reached home a little after five, so there were nearly two hours to kill before Eric got away from the parts store in East Nashville and drove home to Marrowbone.

  I checked e-mail. Nothing from Ryan, of course. I piddled with posts and updates, but my heart wasn't in it. I even thought about planting some crops on Farm-Planet and watching them die without harvest, but couldn't rouse sufficient inertia for that either.

  While I waited on Eric to get home, I got to thinking about my baby brother. Besides women, Eric's hobbies were beer and mowing, which he sometimes mixed unwisely. When he got his first zero-turn-radius mower — in a fantastic trade involving someone who assumed he was a future brother-in-law — Eric thought he'd died and gone to Heaven.

  Eric was definitely the go-to guy for insight on men.

  ****

  It was about seven o'clock when I finally reached Eric.

  "Hey, Sis. This is a surprise. Don't hear from you much. You're not mad about something are ya?"

  "No. Why? What did you do?"

  Eric thought for a moment. "Uh, nothing… don't think. I mean, you had a few extra and it saved me stopping on the way home."

  "What on earth are you talking about?"

  "Your beer. Isn't that what you called for?"

  I hadn't inventoried my beverages lately. "No, Eric, that's not why I called. If you took a bottle, that's just fine and dandy…"

  "Uh, what if it was more than one?"

  "Well, how many stinkin' bottles did you steal, you cheap bum?" Eric could do this to me. I didn't even call about beer, but suddenly we were fighting about it.

  "Good grief, Sis. It was just a six-pack and I left out one for ya."

  How generous. I wondered when his theft had occurred, but didn't even want to go there. "Look, Eric. Forget the beer. That's not why I called." I took a deep breath. "I need a man's advice about something."

  "You need me to whip somebody's butt?" Eric sounded too eager.

  Actually I hadn't thought about siccing Eric on the money order creep. But that would certainly get him out of my hair. In case Miss Z's intercession was not ultimately effective, that is. "Uh, no, Eric. No need to accost anybody. Not yet anyway."

  "Well, you just say the word. I got some buddies who'll mess up anybody for a case of beer."

  "Eric, will you focus? I don't want a contract with any of your belligerent pals. I called for some advice."

  A long silence from Marrowbone. "Advice?" There was background noise including a loud television. "From me, Sis?"

  I was already aware that my atypical call had zapped us both into an alternate universe. No wonder Eric was surprised; I couldn't recall any previous instance when I'd sought advice from my younger sibling. What had made me think he could help? "Well, I'm confused about this guy and I thought if I bounced it off you, maybe I could understand things better."

  "Is this a joke, Sis?" Eric started chuckling in advance.

  I didn't reply.

  "Well, slap my keester on a hot grill! This must be a doozy."

  It was a doozy and I still didn't believe I was asking Eric. "Okay. This guy who rubbed me the wrong way from the git-go…"

  "You still on that pirate fella?"

  "Yeah, Ryan Hazzard. Well, we ended up working the whole weekend together at the animal shelter." I explained everything
and Eric listened as carefully as he could, considering Velma interrupted twice to ask questions about his dining preferences. I learned that Eric thought dirty rice was rice which had fallen on the ground because there was a hole in the bag. I also picked up a tasty new dish idea: stewed squirrel over dirty rice.

  Eventually I maneuvered him back to the point of my call. "So, why wouldn't Ryan thank me for letting him sleep on my couch? And what did he mean, he was sorry?"

  Eric took a long sip of something, probably one of my purloined beers. "Well, I'm stuck on that first one, too. Either he appreciates what you did, or he doesn't. And ya can't change it either way." He paused, probably to rehearse the next part through his brain quickly. "But I think I've got the other one. Guys usually throw the apology out like a ref tosses a penalty flag."

  "Not another sports analogy!" Why do guys always do this?

  "You know how those zebras will spot something on a play and yank that yeller flag and send it flyin'. About the time it finally hits the ground, they've made up two or three possible fouls. Then they huddle together with a couple other officials, usually including the head ref, so they can guess which foul will stick the best."

  "Eric, I'm asking you why Ryan apologized and you're playing highlights from the Monday night game."

  "Did you see the Titans Monday? That wasn't even them. Some other team showed up…"

  "Eric!"

  "Oh, yeah. I was gettin' to it. Just like the refs toss a flag and then figure out what the foul really was — that's what your pirate guy did. He just figured he'd screwed up somehow, so he threw the apology flag. Now he needs a few days to figure out what he's s'posed to be sorry about."

  It was just idiotic enough to be plausible. "You mean it might have been a generic apology rather than Ryan being sorry for anything in particular?"

  "Well, I think the ref version works better, but yeah. That's about it. Unless…"

  "Unless what?"

  "Unless he's kinda like me." Eric chuckled softly.