Tuesday, December 27 #3
Garrett eased onto a stool, unaware of his lingering backache, and grinned. “I’m never going to complain, Angelica,” he replied. He’d never have anything to complain about while in her company.
“Beer, soft drinks, and coffee are on the menu today.”
Angelica might not fit his previous preference for statuesque women, but Garrett’s new desire didn’t come in liquid form.
“I’ll have a soda. I’m saving the beer for later.”
“Okay, Sir, your barmaid will bring you a Coke. I accept tips, too.” She winked. “Particularly from my best customer.”
The wink just about caused him to fall off his stool. Was Angelica flirting or just joking around? Garrett didn’t want to try to figure out where that side of her came from. He decided just to enjoy every second of it. Forget being attractive; she was beautiful.
“Sorry, Miss, I’m not tipping ...”
“That’s too bad. I’m a starving artist, and this is my second job ...”
He laughed. Was she this happy because he installed the new door? If so, who knows what might happen if he replaced all the others in the house? He wouldn’t mind finding out.
The plate slammed down in front of him with a loud clatter. “Just what you ordered, leftovers, Sir. I forgot to tell you. Tips are mandatory today and must be pure gold,” she teased, a sparkle in her eyes.
What was going on with Angelica’s eyes? Were they mischievous? Were they flirty bedroom eyes? Was she playing with him? There was a lot Garrett didn’t know.
Hopeful, he tried to play along. “Will you take an IOU?”
“Only from you, Sir.”
Garrett shook his head once more and smiled across the island. “I’ll tip you tomorrow.”
* * *
Garrett set his empty plate in the sink. “I’d like to go back to my house—”
“You’re leaving?” Panic swept across Angelica’s face. Her eyes reverted to that ‘deer-in-the-headlights’ look.
“I’m not leaving. Let me finish.” He raised his hand. “I want to go to my place for a change of clothes. I didn’t realize I’d be staying here tonight. It’ll be dark soon. So, if you’d like to come along for the ride, I wouldn’t mind the company.”
Angelica closed her eyes and sighed.
Being alone frightened her so. He wanted to say, ‘I love you. Come home with me. I’ll protect you forever,’ and whisk her away. Instead, he asked, “Is that a yes, Ms. Whitely?”
“That’s a yes, Detective Fitzpatricks. Let me get Daisy out of my bedroom before I leave.”
“I’ll pull my truck up front. You can come out when you’re ready,” Garrett said, winking. “And you won’t need your jacket. The warm front has rolled in.”
Angelica winked back and gave a quick salute. “Aye, aye. No jacket. I’ll be out in a few minutes.”
All these winks—was something going on here? Take it slow, he told himself. She’s on the rebound, but he’s not far behind.
Under the darkening sky, Garrett stood next to his truck, wondering whether he had scored enough points today to reach the top of the ladder. Angelica interrupted his pondering as she skipped toward his truck in her lopsided way, the gentle breeze ruffling her hair.
“My goodness, it must be close to seventy degrees,” she said as she approached the passenger door, tugging at her long-sleeved blouse. “Your truck is pretty high. How am I supposed to get in?”
“Give me your hand, and I’ll help you up onto the running board.”
Angelica placed her petite hand in his. “I hope you have oxygen masks and have contacted air traffic control for clearance?”
Crisp, clear, and spot-on, her delivery of one-liners was all it took. Garrett flipped out, bellowing with laughter, and fell against his truck. Angelica tumbled into him, not quietly. Her contagious laugh rang out through the steely dusk, echoing off the evergreens.
As they cackled together, the sky unzipped a cloud, unleashing a downpour and making good on its threat. They both glanced up at the heavens, shrugged, and shrieked even louder.
Angelica moved away. As if it were just a typical summer rainy day, she stepped into a quickly forming puddle on the driveway and started stomping and splashing water with her left foot.
Garrett’s brows knitted over the bridge of his nose as he grew more confused and wetter by the second. “What are you doing, woman?” he asked.
“I’m dancing in the rain,” Angelica hooted, unfazed as the tepid rain swirled over her.
Rain or not, the chance to step outside his comfort zone suddenly appeared. To be bold without crossing the unspoken, assumed boundaries that held him back. Nothing could stop Garrett as he seized the moment.
“If you want to dance, why didn’t you say so?” He extended a wet hand, gathering raindrops. “Will you dance with me, Miss?”
“Certainly, Sir.”
Angelica didn’t look like a girl across the gymnasium floor at a school dance, nor did she resemble the stylish, elegantly dressed woman she often was.
Soaked from head to toe, her hair plastered to her head, she looked as if she had just run through a car wash.
Garrett saw only the woman he loved, who accepted his invitation to dance.
Every bit the gentleman, rain or shine, he met her by the muddy puddles across the driveway. He took her in his arms, and her rain-soaked cheek rested against his saturated shirt.
Garrett sighed. Angelica seemed just as comfortable under the open sky in a monsoon as she did when he held her on the side of the road or on the sofa.
Was it him, or the fleeting moment carried on the unforeseen, heated wind?
For now, he wouldn’t question it. He would seize this moment, simply for itself.
Hand in hand, drenched chest to drenched chest, he held her tighter, savoring and surrendering to it.
Angelica began to hum a song about holding someone’s hand.
“You’re a woman of many talents. Can you sing, too?”
“That’s like asking me if I can cook. Just dance, Sir.”
“I won’t be expecting a home-cooked meal, then, Miss.”
Garrett’s smile couldn’t be any brighter as his heart pounded, fueled by the adrenaline of love. He gazed down at the pixie who had unwittingly broken through his defenses, melted his emotions, and shattered his hardened soul.
They danced as raindrops choreographed over them, hammering on the truck’s hood.
They danced beneath the blackish heaven, illuminated by the truck’s headlights rather than by candlelight or moonlight.
Unbothered beneath a canopy of dousing clouds, they danced before an audience of swaying, soaring hemlocks and pines to an impromptu rhapsody understood by the two alone.
Garrett didn’t believe Angelica had ever appeared lovelier as the beams of light shimmered off the beads of water on her face, framed by dripping, glistening hair.
Garrett couldn’t be happier or more ecstatic. Angelica was in his embrace, and the whole night was still ahead—an evening with the woman he loved. Who knew what the night might bring?
* * *
Nicholas was on the verge of losing it, wandering east to west and back again. His anxiety spilled into heavy footfalls, creating a pounding rhythm that dulled the floor’s shine with each step.
As for the ballad, the sound system crooned out; he never heard a word.
“… I guess my lies called your bluff…”
Why had he waited so damn long to make love to her? Nicholas had wasted all those years after the accident; she had been right here. Feelings. Damn feelings got in the way. Nicholas ran his hands over his face and through his hair.
But then he couldn’t make any advances toward her. Angelica was so frail, having lost so much weight. Barely there. Sex was the last thing on his mind.
“… Why did I expect you to still be in the crowd?...”
Every day she lay in the ICU, he paced, thinking, what if she didn’t make it? What would he do without her? He couldn’t give her up; she was all he had left.
Life had a way of slapping him across the face. Slugged him so hard it knocked him to the ground, bringing him back to his senses. He’d been so reckless, so selfish.
“… While I performed under the lights at whim …”
Nicholas tasted her lips and smelled her damn perfume, recalling what they had shared.
His shirt soaked up a fresh wave of sweat.
He fought the urge to go into the guest bedroom.
It didn’t matter—Nicholas never went into that room again.
That was her room. It would always be her room, a harsh, constant reminder that she was no longer here.
The walls whispered her name. Loving her that much seemed unfathomable, just as losing her did.
“… I stood on the stage cocky and reassured …”
Many nights, he came close to losing the fight. Standing with his arms stretched across the dark doorway, the moon and the silence played tricks on him. “Don’t go in there. She’s asleep.”
The fresh scent, clean and sweet like a new day, drifted through the air, leaving its presence everywhere. On the bed, the pillows, the drapes, the chair cushion, and the rug beneath the tips of his shoes. The rippling beams of moonlight hauntingly played her favorite tune on the boombox.
“… Singing the best of the oldies love songs …”
Nicholas went to his bar, opened the wine fridge, and took out a bottle. He must restock. Was running low. He was drinking more now, but not as much as back then.
Heartache can do that to you. The bottle solved nothing, but it warmed the hollow place within him and felt good going down.
When he woke the next morning, it might have been a day later, but everything else remained the same.
Except for being sober, he was still living a nightmare.
Then his hair started to turn gray. Gray at thirty-five!
His hairdresser wanted to color it, but he didn’t have time for that. Reality did a number on him.
“… Playing your strings like a violin …”
Filling his goblet to the brim, Nicholas took a sip. It all started to taste the same now. Fifty or two hundred dollars a bottle. It also failed to numb his senses. Should he switch to scotch? It would offer more kick.
“… Spinning my endless apologies …”