Chapter Eight #3
I refused to dawdle. I strode to the rental car with purpose, my head filled with a sour kind of pain akin to taking a shiv to the liver.
I’d been an old, smitten fool. Is there any kind of fool worse than an old fool?
No, there is not. I dug into my front pocket to find the key fob and pressed the unlock button.
The loud beeps echoed down the still quiet street.
Small towns truly did roll up the sidewalks.
Dumping my sad sack self behind the wheel of the blue Subaru I stared at Main Street, at the traffic light casting the damp roadway—it must have sprinkled overnight and I’d not known but given I’d been tangled up with Haider all night a shower would go unnoticed—in green, then amber, and then red.
“Dummkopf,” I mumbled to myself as I cranked the engine over.
The stereo was still set to a local station that pumped out silly classic pop songs.
I snarled at the one playing now, a moronic tune about giving someone the best of your love.
The Emotions, the DJ announced as the song ended.
Stupid. Stupid name for a group. Emotions.
What had being emotional, or giving someone your heart, ever done for anyone other than cause pain?
Nothing. You would think at my age I would have been hardened against such nonsense.
I slammed the car into drive, the wet road solid under the four-wheel drive, and I left Caldwell Crossing and Haider Gray behind.
At the red light—of course it was red—I changed to another channel searching for something more fitting of my mood.
There were no listings for channels for men who had made fools of themselves over younger men.
So I settled on a station that played old-time country music.
Not one of my favorite genres but the songs seemed to lean to heartache and misery.
A tune from Reba McEntire played as I pulled away from the light.
“Consider Me Gone” the sleepy disc jockey had said before the song had started.
It fit my mood perfectly. Perhaps I should give this kind of music another chance.
The inn appeared before I realized I’d even driven that far, a sure sign of how distracted I was.
I parked in the guests slot, closed and locked the car, and made my way inside.
There was no one at the desk but a cup of coffee with the inn’s logo sat beside the desktop.
I climbed the carpeted stairs, not taking time to stop to admire the paintings on the wall, my steps taking me to the second floor where I found my factotum at his door.
Edgar glanced up, saw me, and dropped his key card.
I walked down the corridor, getting close enough to pick up the aroma of delicate French perfume. The kind that Capucine Aubert wore.
“Guten Morgen,” I said as my gaze took note of the dark plum lipstick smudge on his collar.
That, also, was the same shade that Capucine wore.
I may not be Hercule Poirot but I could put obvious clues together.
“Ich denke, wir müssen uns unterhalten.” I needed to speak to him about this situation with Capucine.
“Ja, Phillip.” He bent to pick up his card then followed me into my suite. I tossed my corduroy coat to the bed, toed off my loafers, and turned to meet his stoic look. We fell into German as it was just the two of us here.
“Are you sleeping with Capucine Aubert?” I asked point-blank as I folded my arms over my chest. A chest coated with semen and spittle, a small point I needed to keep in mind.
“I am not,” he replied with candor. “She is a lady and I am a gentleman. We did exchange an embrace and a kiss. Or two.” His sharp gaze raked over me. “May I ask the same of you?”
“I am not sleeping with Capucine Aubert.” His left eyebrow dropped. “I did sleep with her grandson though.”
“The smell of sex and strawberry is strong on you.”
Oh lovely. Well, at least the strawberry lube helped hide the smell of less enjoyable scents that had dried on me.
“Do you have feelings for Ms. Aubert?” I enquired of my most trusted confidante.
“I do, yes. And you?”
I let out a long, sad breath then sat in a lovely old stuffed chair in the corner.
“I am not sure what I am feeling right now. We should not be in this predicament, old friend.” I rubbed my face so hard my lashes were close to combusting.
“I care about him more than I should but we are at odds still. And now I fear he thinks I am using sex to get him to sign over his shop.”
“Are you?” he asked. I bristled instantly.
Edgar nodded. “I had to ask. I’d not think you capable of doing such a thing as I know you were raised properly.
” Yes, he should know, he was one of the people on staff who had done most of my parenting.
He took a seat on the edge of the bed, his hands coming to rest on his thighs.
“It seems we are in a pickle, as the Bard says.”
“No, I do not think so. You and Capucine are free to date as you wish. I will protect you from anything Opa has to say. As for myself and Haider, there is no real future for us. He has said he wishes no repeat performances as he fears I am seducing him to get his signature on a bill of sale.” I would not say how that hurt me.
I considered myself an honorable man. I may be ruthlessly competitive when it comes to closing deals but I always handled myself and my business dealings with respect for all involved.
The thought of bedding a man to get him to accept a proposal was ludicrous.
More than that even it was slanderous and painful.
“You care for him,” Edgar said softly.
“I thought I did, but it was lust speaking. Obviously he thinks poorly of me, and perhaps part of that is my doing. Coming over here to pressure him into giving me his shop may be considered high-handed. I can be controlling at times. I think I have handled this wrong. I need to take some time to clear my head.”
“Perhaps a jog would help?”
“Yes, it generally does.” I pushed to my feet as did Edgar. “Please, do not fret over your friendship with Capucine. I will stand between you and my grandfather’s ire.”
“I do not fear your grandfather, Phillip.”
Yes, I did know that as a fact. He had gone toe to toe with Opa on many occasions in the past, mostly to fight for me as a child. Someone had to. Mother was never around to take my side against the old toad. Wonderful. Now I was using Capucine’s terms. Well, if the wart fits.
“We’ll sort this all out. I am happy for you, even if Capucine is a virago with a tongue as sharp as hard candy slivers.” His lips twitched.
“She is a handful but I have fallen for her despite my best efforts,” he confessed then offered me his hand. “We will sort things out together.”
“Yes, we will.” I clasped his hand then gave his other bicep a sound squeeze. “Now go shower. I am going to go for a run to see if I can unravel the mess inside my head.”
He gave me a nod, gave my hand a pump, and then left me to my ruminations. I thought to shower but that seemed a waste of water if I was going to take a run. I splashed around in the sink a bit, pulled on clean running clothes, laced up my sneakers, and left my room.
The morning was cool with a touch of humidity, probably from the showers overnight.
A low fog hung over Harmony Lake, and I decided to forgo running the perimeter of the lake to avoid the memories of paddleboat rides.
After a stretch I headed off into the woods, following a rather nice hiking trail weaving into the lush forest. The air here was even cooler, damper, but incredibly fresh.
I fell into the steady thump-thump-thump of feet hitting ground.
My hamstrings were a little tender this morning due to the gymnastics I’d performed in Haider’s bed.
And there he was, popping up in my head.
I guess I could have run around the lake after all since he was following me everywhere.
I pushed those soulful blue eyes and auburn curls from my mind.
I should have brought my Bluetooth ear buds but they’d been left behind on the charger so there was no using music to purge the slim candy man from my head.
Just the sounds of nature waking up was available.
The twitter of songbirds floated past, the huff of my breathing, and the strike of my feet on the hardpacked trail.
It was not enough. Haider, and his sad gaze clung to me like a bad habit as I pushed myself to run faster.
I couldn’t shake him. I wasn’t even sure that I wanted to if I were being honest, but what choice did I have?
He mistrusted me and what kind of relationship could we have without trust?
And why the fuck was I even letting that R-word into my thoughts?
What kind of glutton for punishment was I?
My phone buzzed in my back pocket. I rounded a corner in the woods, pausing to catch my breath beside a large wallow of wetlands.
A pair of mallard ducks took to wing, leaving the boggy marsh water rippling.
Sweaty and reeking of strawberry still—my skin must have absorbed gallons of the stuff—I wiped at the perspiration clinging to my lashes then saw who the incoming call was from.
“Himmelherrgott,” I muttered as I debated accepting the call from my grandfather. I did not need his shit this morning but if I declined he would merely hound Edgar. So, being a stouthearted fool, I tapped the green button. “Guten Morgen, Opa.”
“It is midday here,” he barked in German. “Tell me… that you have Harmony Chocolates signed.”
“Why yes, Grandfather, I am fine. Thank you for asking.”
His snort of derision arrived in my ear with startling clarity. Pity the signal wasn’t poorer or even nonexistent.
“You always did… take after your mother with needing to be coddled… all the time. That is why the younger generations… are so weak of mind. They need to be petted… like one of those insipid dogs your mother… totes around.”
“Yes, silly of me to expect some sort of civility from my family,” I snarled, my sour mood growing more and more rancid with each passing second.
“If you want civility and praise from me …you will tell me that the Aubert bitch… has signed over that store of hers to me.”
I leaned against a craggy pine tree, the ground under me thick with spent needles and little cones that hadn’t made it through the winter.
“What exactly led to this animosity between you and Capucine?” I asked, since the vehemence he displayed for the woman and her grandson was over-the-top. This acquisition was personal for some reason and I wanted to know why.
“She is a liar… a woman of the worst caliber. Now get that …shop signed. We are waiting on you… to wrap this up so we can announce… our four stores in every state on the eastern seaboard.”
A liar? I would call Capucine many things—tart-tongued and waspish at the top of the heap—but a liar? No. She was brutally honest. Painfully so at times.
“Perhaps we should simply look for another artisan candy shop elsewhere, given how strong the animosity is between you and Capucine? This one is proving tricky on a number of fronts. There are at least three other small candy shops in New Hampshire that would work well and be eager to sign over their holdings to us. I personally feel that—”
“I do not care what you feel. I want that shop… and I want to see that bitch broken. Now do it…stop milque-toasting around.”
The line went dead. Milquetoast. Did he truly think me a timid man, or was that a jab at my bisexuality?
“Du alter Bastard,” I growled then chucked my phone at the bog.
It hit the ground with a rancid splat and I was instantly mad at myself for letting that man push my buttons so easily.
The anger raging inside me withered as I stood there, heaving, staring at a brand new iPhone lying face down in the muck.
“Motherfucker,” I added in crisp English then took four steps off the path towards my phone.
The soil here was marshy. Mosquitoes buzzed past my ears.
Water oozed from the ground to run over the tops of my running shoes.
A rank smell of decaying plant life bubbled up out of the marsh.
“I am over this day,” I muttered as I yanked my left foot from the mire then felt a rush of moist air hit my face.
I glanced up from my shoe still stuck in the mud and came nose to blubbery nose with a moose.
Anger was quickly replaced with fear. They were huge things with very unpleasant breath.
Long strands of mossy plant hung from his short stubby antlers.
He was not happy to bump into me in the bog.
“Hallo Herr Elch,” I whispered as I balanced on one foot like a stork.
He began to wave his head side to side. Oops.
Perhaps he did not understand German. I immediately switched to English.
“I mean you no harm. If you do not mind, Mr. Moose, my phone is lying by your hoof and…no, yes, that is fine. You can move your little antlers—that is not a jab at your masculinity for I am sure they will get very big over the summer—so I will just grab my…no, okay, yes, no is good. I am walking backwards now. See me go. Yes, you are handsome indeed. Backwards I go. Who needs a shoe or a twelve hundred-Euro phone? Yes, so handsome with your buggy eyes.”
I eased away, the moose swinging his massive head to and fro while making a deep grunting sound until I was hidden from sight behind a fat spruce tree, my heart hammering.
I hid there, with one sock foot resting atop my sneakered foot, for the longest time.
When I dared to peek around the tree the moose was gone.
Thanking God and all the cherubs, I went to fetch my shoe and phone.
Both were covered with moose poop. And not firm pellets like a goat.
No, this was squishy like a cow patty. Herr Elch or Mr. Moose had been eating far too many water plants.
“This day and all moose can go fuck themselves,” I shouted then hurried to wipe off my phone and retie my sneaker in case the moose returned after hearing me cuss him out.
New Hampshire was quickly losing its appeal.