Half Blind (The Technicians #13)

Chapter 14- Fascination

S unday morning, Mustang was awake, lying next to Helen and feeling better than he had in years. A calmness washed over him as he watched her sleeping. This was his woman. She would be his wife. He took his finger and gently stroked the side of her face, a lovely face that was perfect without makeup, eyes that observed everything, and lips which didn't spew poison.

“I'm going to make you my wife,” he whispered.

“So, you've told me,” Helen replied, her eyes still closed.

“Funny, I've mentioned it several times, but you've never asked me when or suggested a timeline,” he said.

“Neither have you, my fine stallion. Any reason why you haven't, if I may ask?” she said, fully opening her eyes to look at him.

On the nightstand, she had left a few breath mints for early morning encounters. She popped one in now before turning back to speak with Mustang. Her eyes met his as she waited for the nonsense to roll off his tongue. This was what she was waiting for, the letdown and him wanting her to be something she was not while servicing his needs. Helen blinked a couple of times, girding herself for the words which she prayed wouldn't end the beautiful thing they were trying to build.

“We aren't ready,” Mustang said. “You are healing and finding your way. This new direction your life is heading has a steep learning curve. The last thing you need in the middle of all that is happening in your life and in that head of yours is what to make me for dinner. Helen, you sure as hell don't need the constant interruption of your journey with me barging in with my needs and dick and muscles, screaming, ‘Look at me’ while on the path of your success.”

Helen sat up in the bed, looking at him with fresh eyes. “I wasn't expecting you to say that at all.”

“When the time is right for us to become husband and wife, we won't need to discuss it. You'll let me know if you want a church wedding with Bunny and Michelle as flower girls or if you want to do a cheesy thing and jet off to Vegas to get hitched by an Elvis impersonator. I figured, you'll let me know when you are ready,” Mustang said. “Until that time, we’ll work our way through, gently finding our path.”

She smiled at him. “You're trying to make a chick fall in love with you, aren't cha?”

“Dunno, is it working?”

“Yep,” she said, winking at him. “Breakfast or sexy time?”

“Breakfast. I’ve got a lot on my mind since I’m starting a new job tomorrow. New people in a very homogeneous workplace,” he said.

“Don't matter,” Helen said. “You're the best at what you do and they moved you across the country to come and teach what you know. It doesn't matter because you're rich. If you don't like it, fuck em. Walk out the door. Come to our nice home and make furniture full time and travel all over Indiana and sell it.”

Mustang burst into laughter. “Come here, darling,” he said, pulling Helen into his arms. She was refreshing and crazy as a loon who made more sense than all the people who made big bucks to make big decisions. If she was falling in love, he wasn't far behind. “Let's get the day moving.”

The day progressed slowly, and the hours ticked down to Helen leaving to return to Ohio. It pained him to think of waking up in the morning and starting a new journey of his own without her to see him off and wish him well. He refused to mention it to her, fearing he'd seem needy. If he were honest with himself, which he often tried to be, he was needy. He needed someone to remind him of why he was doing this shit.

“Helen, what time are you heading out tonight?” he asked, concerned with her being alone on the road at night. “Wait, what am I thinking? I'm more afraid for whoever comes up on you in the dark.”

“I heard that,” she told him, ending the evening snuggled in his arms. “I’ll let you know when I’m rolling out.”

She didn’t want to tell him she was staying to greet him when he came home from the new job, to listen at how his first day at the academy fared. She didn’t want to ruin the surprise of staying until Tuesday morning. His focus needed to be on the task in front of him.

The next morning, just as she had at his place in Oregon, she was awake before him. Breakfast was on the table, his lunch was packed, and the thermos was filled with his favorite coffee. Helen drank the remnants in the pot after filling his thermos and a mug to start his day. She didn't talk as he prepared himself mentally to begin a new leg of his life. Second thoughts and doubts were showing all over his face. This was why she had stayed. He needed someone in his corner.

She asked, “How good are you?”

“How good am I at what?”

“Tracking. Who is better, you or Mr. Yield?”

“Yield relies on blind luck, I rely on clues, trails, evidence. I look for patterns in behavior, changes to routines, and things that stick out like a sore thumb. My success rate is pretty much on point. I find what I'm tracking, alive or otherwise,” he said, looking Helen in the eye. A spark was there as well as a smirk on her lips.

“Might I suggest, Trooper Instructor Neary, those words be your introduction to the team or your first class or anyone who looks at you side-eyed this morning,” she said, holding up her hand for a high five. “You go give them hell and show those people what you're made of. Take no prisoners. You've got this, Jay!”

Mustang smiled widely at her, pressing his large hand against hers. “Yeah, I'mma marry you.”

“Promises and wishes, neither gets you kisses,” she told him, snapping her fingers. “Off with you. Go make my money.”

“Aye, Aye,” he said, rising to kiss her fully. “Drive safe. See you soon. Text me when you get in.”

Helen only nodded as he left for the day. Wrapped in one of his terrycloth robes, she stood on the back deck, waving as he pulled off. He tooted the horn and went off for his first day on a new playground with a different set of bullies. She smiled and went inside to get her own day moving. On the counter was a set of keys for the house. The master bathroom needed rugs and not that slate stone he liked to step out of the shower onto, which she detested. There were other tiny touches she needed to add and one was a second photo on the shelf above the fireplace of the two of them in his canoe she'd taken in Oregon. One photo was of the two of them snuggled up on the couch, which she already added in a small frame inside his lunch box. It was presumptuous, but thoughtful.

Thoughtful stayed with them both as Mustang met with his team. It would be another week before a new class started the trooper course, which gave him time to get settled. An old timer with shifty eyes, who was passed the retirement age, gave him the once over, huffed as if he didn't approve, and made a snide comment.

“Hmm, DEI all the way, huh?”

Helen's image flashed before his eyes, making a smirk come to his lips. “Clyde, is it? Clyde, you've worked in the Trooper division for nearly thirty years and have not progressed past proctoring exams for the Academy,” Mustang said. “I, on the other hand, have advanced degrees in criminology and am the number one ranked tracker in the U.S., and you want to consider me as the DEI, versus yourself, who seems the only one around here being included for age diversity. Stand down and let's work as a team, okay?”

“Uppity one,” Clyde gruffly muttered, but Mustang wasn't buying it. It was his first day. The Clydes of the world would not ruffle his feathers. Besides, as Helen reminded him, he was rich and could quit and go make furniture full time. That thought alone got him through the first day.

In his heart, he hoped she’d left notes around the house again for him to find. Instead, he arrived home to find her still there. The dinner table was set, red meat was cooked and still partially bloody, plus potatoes and a veggie he actually liked. She had also opened a bottle of red from the vineyard where he used to live, allowing the wine to breathe. He entered the back door just as she began a sample pour for his approval.

“Hey Baby, how was your first day?” she asked.

He was happy she was here. She was a thoughtful woman who spent time to understand the people around her, making a connection. He wondered if Helen had stayed an extra day to focus on him. Had she stayed to ensure he was okay on his first day on the job? Over the steak she had cooked just the way he liked it, Jarius Neary had a revelation he felt compelled to share.

He asked, “You stayed an extra day, for me? I love you more for it.”

“We don’t walk this life alone. You want me to be your wife, you want us to share a life,” she said softly. “You’re giving me room to complete this journey, but I want you to understand the work isn’t as important as us. As you. I see what you need. I shall take care of you as best I know how.”

She smiled at him. He thought he heard angels singing. He’d never met anyone like Helen McDaniel and this slip of woman had him wrapped so tight, he couldn’t see anyone or anything else.

“Helen, I thought I was in love once, and it nearly broke me, but now I know that's not what it was,” he said.

“How do you know that, Jay?”

“Because it feels nothing like what I have with you,” he said. “Thank you for caring enough to take the time to help me sort through how I feel about this life change. It matters. It matters to me.”

“You matter to me, Jay,” she told him. “This life change is unfamiliar territory for us both. You always manage to get us to arrive at a happy ending simultaneously. I trust your lead. I shall follow.”

She offered him a smile so warm and so pure that his chest began to expand. If the woman was blowing a Native American sized smoke signal up his keester he didn't give a shit. Helen told him exactly what he needed to hear, and he was grateful. His woman plainly stated she trusted him, and he wouldn't let her down.

“I won't lead you astray,” he said, feeling more emotional than he realized.

****

T UESDAY MORNING ARRIVED with the departure of Helen. He didn't need to be in the office until 9 a.m. and the drive was relatively short. While she was away, his first plan was to take up the bathroom rugs that he simply hated. Nothing irked him more than going to the bathroom and the rugs were still damp from the drippings off a wet body.

As Helen rolled out the front gate, a delivery truck rolled through. A frown covered his face since no one, except two people, knew where he lived. The frown turned upside down at the thought of Helen sending him a sexy package, so tonight he wouldn't be sad and missing her too much.

“Yeah, I'm marrying that woman,” he said, taking the brown unmarked box from the driver and giving the man a ten spot.

Mustang took the box inside the home to open it. Excited, he cut through the tape of the outer box, lifting out an inner box. The moment it touched his hands, the contents inside of the box began to ring. Exhaling loudly, he opened the box to find a Technician phone.

He was no longer a Technician.

He'd turned in his shop, the keys, and his phone.

He’d walked away from crawling into dark caves and discovering the worst of human nature.

He had a nine-to-five job with an office with a door that had a desk and a picture of him and Helen sitting on the corner of said desk next to a little dish of peppermints she’d slipped into his lunch box.

He didn't want to answer the phone, but he did.

“Hello,” he said, not using his Technician handle.

A voice he knew and met once spoke to him. “I don't know if I will need your unique services or not, but you're in my bowl. Keep the phone just in case.”

“Don't want to be in your bowl of fruit. I turned in my equipment and have a nine to five every day, boring job. I like it like that,” he replied.

“I know, but she told me that if I did need to you, and I called, because of who you are, you'd help. I won't take advantage and will only call if it is a last resort. She's good, I may not need you, but I prefer to play it safe,” the voice said.

Mustang didn't respond. He had nothing to say to the voice. He sure as hell would not agree, accept, or mumble a concurrence with her thought process.

The voice said, “She tracked and closed down three Fields of Flowers in one night. It earned her a bonus. She shared it with folks that didn't even know she got it.”

“Okay,” he stated.

“Are you planning to marry her, and if so, when? I want an invitation to the wedding and none of that Archangel paperwork shit. She deserves to walk down the aisle, looking pretty with flowers in her hair,” the voice said.

“And how is any of that your business?”

“I made the call to let you know that it is,” the voice said, then ended the call.

Mustang held the phone. He stared at the device, wondering what the hell that was about. Checking his watch, he saw that he needed to get ready for work. After finding the charger for the new phone he didn't want or need in his life, he was about to plug it into the wall when it rang.

“What in the world,” he said, taking the call. “Yes, hello?”

“This is the operator,” the lady said. “I have a request to connect from Mr. Yield; will you take the call?”

“I guess,” Mustang said, wondering what this was about as well. A click was heard, then silence. “Hello?”

“Hey,” Yield said in the line adding a growl.

“Hey back. How can I help you?” Mustang asked.

“Uhm, this is awkward, but can I be your best man at the wedding? I mean, you are marrying our girl, right?” Yield said.

“Excuse me, what do you mean by our girl ?”

“Yeah, the Cranberry. You know she got a bonus and shared some of it with me! A nice chunk of change too,” Yield said, “I like her. Are you taking care of her? You planning to do right by her? None of that Archangel paperwork shit. She needs a pretty white dress and a bouquet with, you know, some cranberries in it.”

Mustang held the device. His inner dialogue made an outer appearance. “What in the entire fuzzballs? You're asking to be my best man at me and Helen's wedding?”

“Oh, her name is Helen! A nice name. I like that. I like her,” Yield said. “Let me know the colors and if it will be a regular tux or long tails.”

“Go away,” Mustang said and ended the call.

He tried again to plug in the phone, but it rang in his hand. He shook his head in disbelief. Never, in all of his years as a Technician, had he received this many calls back to back. Mustang's finger slid across the glass. “Yes?”

“This is the operator,” the lady said. “I have a request to connect from The Bad Apple; will you take the call?”

“Do I want to?” he said as the line clicked, then silence. “Hello.”

“This is the Bad Apple.”

“I know. How may I help you?”

The silence in the line meant this call was going to be about some bullshit too. He held the line and waited for the tomfuckery. Mustang blinked several times, ensuring his brain was processing what he was hearing.

“Yeah, Cranberry, she shared her bonus with the kids I have. She set up a high interest money market CD for each of the boys. Ricky even got a finger,” Bad Apple said.

“Who is Ricky and why is...Cranberry giving him the finger? What is a finger? Did she shoot him a bird?”

“No, a thousand dollars man! She gave Ricky and all the kids a thousand and me too, from her bonus,” Bad Apple said. “We all want to come to the wedding. I know Oscar will want to be a part as well. He loves her.”

In the background, he heard a man's voice which sounded a great deal like Barry White. Mustang thought he was hearing things. The man was shouting how much he loved Helen too.

“Who is that in the background?”

“Ricky; he is infatuated with all things Cranberry,” Bad Apple said. “If you guys have no plans for Thanksgiving, we'd love to have you here. Stephen has been working on cranberry recipes and can make a cranberry souffle.”

Mustang's eyebrows arched as if he were straining to hear what was being said, “And who is Stephen?”

“My ward,” Bad Apple said. “He wanted fuchsia walls in his bedroom and he likes hats. Cranberry gave him her chapeau the first day they arrived and he thinks she's his surrogate non-Asian Auntie.”

Mustang said, “I'm hanging up now.”

“Can we come to the wedding?” Bad Apple said, “If she needs someone to give her away, I'll be happy to. I mean, if her dad can't make it down from New York to do it.”

“I'll let her know. Mustang out,” he said, ending the call. He pondered Bad Apple knowing about Helen's father. Did he know about Helen's father? She'd mentioned her mother living in Chicago...

He stood in his office staring at the wall. For a moment, he was dumbfounded by it all. Finally, he plugged in the device, ready for it to charge, when in the other room, his personal phone rang. The device showed the face of his adopted brother, Mr. Slow.

“Hey,” Mustang said.

“How's it going?” Slow asked.

“Odd and getting stranger by the minute; what's up?” he asked.

“Just checking in,” Slow said. “The wife is missing Helen. We haven't seen her in a while. I know the last time you were here, you guys spent some time together. You planning to make that permanent?”

“What in the actual pitstop is going on?”

“Whaddya mean? I was just wondering,” Slow said. “Daddy said, if you do marry her, he wanted to be the one to give her away. Yeah, and I want to be your best man. Cherry didn't get a wedding, just that paperwork bullshit the Archangel does with name changes and crap. Helen should have a wedding. Daddy said one of his kids should have a wedding and you're up next. Are you planning to pop the question, and are you coming home for Thanksgiving this year or for Christmas?”

“I'm going to be late for work,” Mustang said. “Please let Dad know that Helen's father may want the honor of giving his own daughter's hand in marriage.”

“Her Dad is still in the picture?”

“There are a lot of things you don't know about the lady, Michael. Back it off and turn it down, please.”

“Okay, let me know,” Slow said. “Later.”

“Yeah, later.”

Try as he might to comprehend what was happening, he couldn't. If he had a Scrabble board, none of the words floating in his head would be acceptable. He needed to get to work. Then his cellphone rang again.

“Oh, for Pete's sake,” he said, looking at the phone and seeing no caller ID. He yelled in the line, “What?”

“So angry, so early,” the Archangel said. “Are you okay? Did you meditate this morning?”

“Yes, I'm fine. How may I help you?”

“Checking in, checking on you,” the Archangel said, pausing. “Did she like the house? I ordered high end finishes with the granite countertops. That backsplash is amazing. Did she like them?”

Mustang turned to look at the window to check for his reflection. He wanted to make sure he wasn't dead and living in an alternate universe. The spook which covered the upper half of Ohio for the CIA was calling him to see if his woman liked the finishes for the countertops and backsplashes in the home.

“Yes, she did,” Mustang said. “How did you know she'd been here?”

“Your heart rate,” Archangel stated.

“Excuse me. My what?”

“Belial, your former handler, transferred your transponder to me for the time being since you're still implanted for safety purposes,” he said. “Your heart rate spiked, then dipped to near death on Friday, Saturday afternoon, Sunday morning, twice on Monday evening, and then again, this morning. Man, you are a stallion! That poor woman. You aren’t abusing her, are you?”

“I think I hate you,” Mustang said, “and that is creepy and preternatural. Stop it.”

“Whatever and nice word choice. Does she know how smart you really are? I hope so, you make a nice couple. When is the wedding?”

“What?”

“She needs a wedding,” the Archangel said. “I don't want to marry you guys on paper. If you don't have a best man, you can sign me up to stand at your side. Bleu had a nice church wedding, and I got to be a groomsman. We brought guns in the church and everything, it was fun to scare his wife's ex, who had the nerve to say that baby was his.”

“I'm dead. This can't be my real life,” Mustang said. “Hold up, you pulled guns in church?”

“Yeah, me, Zeke, Daddy, ha, that preacher yelled out, ‘ Ish just got real.’ So much fun,” the Archangel said, chuckling. “Anyway. Helen needs a wedding. We also need it as a family to come together and celebrate. Plus, I'll get to dance with her. Can she dance? I bet she can dance really well. Also, it will help her heal and bring you full circle. Will you take any kids?”

“No, so to be clear, this is my refusal statement on your offer to accept kids,” Mustang said. “Don't send any either because I will send them back.”

“Just as a heads up, the boy Oscar, he loves her,” the Archangel said. “She received a bonus for shutting down three of those nasty warehouses in Milwaukee. She even shared a portion of it with Bad Apple and Yield, did you know that? She's different. I think I'm falling for her too, but don't tell my wife. I know you love her to make the changes you have, so do right by her. She deserves it. You deserve it. Initially, I didn't see it, but I do now. You guys will do well together. She'll make a cool mom.”

“I'm hanging up now,” Mustang said.

“Wait,” the Archangel stated. “How is the new job? Do you like it? I mean it's a pretty homogeneous workplace. Any trouble?”

“Just an old fart who needs to retire who bemoans the old days with just the ole boys,” Mustang said, “plus the little lady gave me some advice. She reminded me that I was rich and didn't need the job. I could quit and make furniture full-time.”

“She knows you make furniture?”

“Yes, we made a few pieces when she came to Oregon,” he said, leaving the line quiet. “Hey! Want to know how to keep a busybody in suspense?”

Mustang ended the call. For once, in a conversation with the Archangel, he got to be the one to end the call first.Being a gentleman, he couldn’t confess to the Archangel, even though the man was also his cousin, that Helen made a love potion, which was the reason for all the activity over the weekend. He had a healthy libido, but today, his butt cheek still hurt as well as his lower back. Neither of them expected once she showered, the oils would seep into her skin and bind to her pheromones. Each time Helen sweated, it started all over again. His pupils would dilate, the blood would rush to his junk and he was a goner.

“Hanging up on him first felt good as hell. Now I need to get to work. Helen, whatever you're putting into the universe to build this fascination around you, keep it up.”

He found himself smiling as well as making a mental note for future conversations with his woman. Soon she would be back in training with Lemon. Another smile came to his face. Since she was in Ohio, it would be mighty fun to have her track the Archangel and show up on his doorstep with a Bundt cake or some shit she made in her craft room. He had no idea what she crafted and looked forward to the touches she would add to their home. The curtains were nice as well as the rugs.

“Yeah, scary,” he said, laughing.