Chapter 5
ABIGAIL
Toll roads are boring. Elias was anything but. He rattled off random facts about the area he currently lived in and mechanical concepts that have evolved. I listened intently, not for the information, though it was interesting and telling about him. No, I listened because I liked how his mouth moved with his beard. I liked the crinkles at the corners of his eyes and the rise of his ears when he smiled. His laugh, well, you know that already.
”How many tattoos do you have?” Wow! That was random.
He looked at me oddly since he was presently informing me how the telegraph system evolved similarly through the high-tension lines bordering the tollway.
”Uh, seven, I guess. Some connect to others, but I”ve only gone to one artist, and only that many times. Do you have any tattoos?”
”Seven. That”s a lot.” I pointed to the one that peaked from his long-sleeved shirt to his hand. ”How far up does that one go?”
Again, he shot me a look. What did I say? Inquiring minds wanted to know.
”You ask a lot of questions.” He smirked and pointed to his shoulder. ”Satisfied?”
I bit my lip, ”Very.”
I was disturbed to see my hidden ingénue emerging. I shifted forward again and willed my mouth shut. He swallowed hard, and that tick in his jaw reappeared again.
”Sorry. Impulsivity is a problem for me. Stop me if I make you uncomfortable.” Why couldn”t I think first and speak second? My aunt chastised me for doing that often, which was another reason for giving me a hard time. What do you know? She was right.
He pursed his lips, thinking while cows, fences, and windmills whooshed by our windows. Sometimes, time flew by on our drive, and others were slow and awkward. Here we were again, being awkward.
”Why don”t you tell me where we”re going and what you plan to do when you get there?” I saw what he was doing. Mr. Brickner did the same thing when I got amped up.
”I don”t know all the details, only that a lawyer called to inform me that a family inheritance was left to me, and I had thirty days to claim it in Mystic, Connecticut. He said there were one hundred and sixty acres, a mansion, and a pool. Why did he think telling me about the pool would clinch the deal? I don”t know. I don”t even swim.”
Elias tapped the steering wheel with his thumbs to the beat of the country music playing low on the radio. ”You don”t swim?”
I twisted in my seat, throwing my arms forward in annoyance. ”That”s what you took from my story? Seriously?
Elias, you missed the whole point of this trip!” He sounded like me.
He chuckled. ”Continue.” His smirks were patronizing, and I wasn”t a child to be mocked. I snarled my upper lip at him and continued.
Sitting up straight, I placed my hands in my lap and primly repeated what Mr. Brickner described to me.
”The inheritance (cough, cough) was created in a heritage trust handed down through my family”s female line, dating back to 1832. I have no idea how this was possible because on the days I did pay attention in history class, only first-born men usually received the lion”s share of an inheritance. The attorney said it wasn”t important at this time to know, but I should hurry up and claim what”s mine.” I drank from the water bottle I stashed on my door, recalling the conversation from a month ago.
”I”m curious,” he inquired, ”Why did you wait so long before starting this trip? You said you had to claim this by tomorrow but had a whole month.” His forehead scrunched up, and his lips pressed together—another sexy look to file away.
”Did I mention I had ADHD? P-R-O-C-R-A-S-T-I-N-A-T-I-O-N.” I spelled out each letter like a nail in a coffin. ”Time is elusive to me until a hard deadline becomes evident, and even then, I perseverate on failing and then fall behind again. It”s a cycle I can”t seem to break. A therapist years ago recommended medication to help, but my aunt vetoed it, saying, ”It isn”t affordable, and I will do just fine without them.””
”Wow! Your aunt didn”t give this the attention it deserved.” He hummed to himself.
”Nice pun. Again, Elias, you missed the point. I did procrastinate, but once I finally got around to notifying both my bosses, at least I thought I told both my bosses and then my landlord, it was almost three weeks later. That”s why tomorrow is my drop-dead date. Understand?” I sounded patronizing, but I was annoyed.
ELIAS
We drove in companionable silence for the next hour, playing a game called Truth or Lie. Abigail chewed on the inside of her cheek, pondering my answers. She twisted her fingers around one another, making tiny sighs that made me too aware of her proximity. The toll road was busy this time of day, and the cops were everywhere. I knew Abigail had a deadline, yet paying fines for speeding wasn”t part of my plan.
”Lie!” she blurted out. There is no way fortune cookies aren”t Chinese!” If she had nuts, she”d have busted one by now.
”It”s the truth. On my honor, I hope to die. It was the Japanese. Look it up.”
I loved being right about Abigail”s unabashed reactions. She ripped out her phone and searched for ”the real truth.” She cracked me up.
”Unbelievable. My whole world has shifted. Don”t tell me anything else. I might explode or fall into a coma. I”m not sure which.” She yawned, massaged her scalp with her fingers, and curled herself tighter; sleep was the winner.
She looked adorable and vulnerable, with her head resting on her arm on the center console. Whisps of silky black hair fell from her braid, and I fought the urge to rub those strands between my fingers while she peacefully slept. My luck, she”d wake up freaked out and feeling violated. Oh God, Elias, who wouldn’t? I did notice a slight dusting of freckles that adorned her nose, cheeks, and corners of her eyes. She looked ethereal. How could such an angelic sleeping beauty one moment transform into Vesuvius the next? She told me about her condition. I wasn”t naive to her plight. I had my own bag of tricks that I dealt with, namely, not being a clear communicator under pressure, which was a big reason I got out of mechanical engineering. The higher the stakes, the higher the pressure, which equaled more erratic communication on my part. When building bridges or buildings, precise instructions and execution are critical to the excellent health of its future occupants or travelers. People”s lives were in my hands, and although I was talented, my ability to share my vision, issues, and the rest was, well, incomplete. After ten years of battling myself and my bosses, I chose ”Door #2” and left the corporate world for a quieter life, limiting how many people I worked with in one day.
Nature called, and I pulled into the next rest stop, parking next to an elderly couple struggling to get out of their car. I couldn”t open my door, so I passed the minutes giving all my attention to Sleeping Beauty drooling on my leather. I succumbed to my better senses and stroked the top of her head under the pretense of trying to wake her up. Her head settled into my palm when she shifted her weight, and another jolt of electricity ran through my body. The fact that she wasn”t trying to entice me didn”t go without notice. My imagination had built a whole life of its own around her, and it didn’t matter that I had no idea who she was, whether we were compatible, or if I could live with her drooling like a baby on all my stuff. It was worth trying.
”Abigail,” I whispered. Do you need to use the bathroom?” I stroked her cheek with my knuckles. Her skin was so soft that I did it again. ”Abigail, wake up.” Nothing. Only a snort. I was afraid if I used more force, she”d throat-punch me in her panic to wake up—or, worse, scratch my eyes out. I tried once more and pulled back on the defensive. ”Abby! Wake up!”
She snapped to attention, screaming, ”What? What”s happening?” She whipped her head to the left, but when she whipped back to the right, she yiped. ”Ah. Ouch. Oh my God, I can”t move my neck.” She whimpered, and I felt her pain.
My hands smacked onto my head, and I wondered what to do next.
”What can I do to help? You must have slept on it funny. Here . . .” I looked out the driver”s side window, and, finally, it was clear to open. I jumped out and ran to the other side, jerking her door open. I stepped up onto the running board, hoping to support her head.
”Can you turn toward the driver”s side? I”m going to release your neck, okay?”
”As long as you can make this pain stop, do it.” She daintily shifted to her left thigh while dropping her right off the side of the seat. I pulled the jean jacket she wore over her shoulders and down her arms. The idea of undressing her was erotic, giving me questionable confidence in relieving her pain. I sealed my mouth so as not to make any untoward noises. Next, I stroked my left hand down her arm while gently putting pressure on her neck to lengthen the tendons and muscles that were in spasm.
”Lift your shoulder if you can, then drop it again gently. I”m going to apply light pressure to lengthen the area. There, that”s good again. Exhale each time.” I continued the process until I could feel the tension recede. Unfortunately, as her breath evened out, mine became labored.
”How are you doing?” I asked, hoping we could be done. I needed some relief, and my time was running short.
”Better. Would you mind rubbing my shoulders for a few minutes? Maybe up my neck?” She asked innocently enough, though she moaned when I began squeezing her shoulders. I pressed my fingers lightly into her scalene muscles, eliciting a slap on my forearm.
”Ouch! There! That”s killing me.”
”I can feel it. You have to breathe and let me get it to loosen up. Put your head on my chest here and let me try to work you from this angle.” That sounded provocative, but she leaned back without being pressured. ”Better?”
”Yes.”
”Okay. Close your eyes and concentrate on breathing. I should have this worked out in a few minutes.” If only the smell of her hair wasn”t floating into my nostrils. A soft peach perfume unsettled my nerves, and I carefully dug my fingers along each tendon”s ridge until they relented. A few minutes of attention on each of the three adjoining muscles brought an audible, ”Yes!” from Abigail, and I almost blew my wad. Christ! She had no idea what she did to me. Being the responsible adult, she wasn”t going to know either.
”Excellent. You did well. Let”s hit the head and get back on the road. We have a house to claim.” I took her hand and helped her up. Alarmingly, she looked strange and perplexed. Did I say something wrong again?
”What?”
”We have a house to claim? You mean my house, right?” Her hands were on her hips, my help long forgotten. “Yes, of course. Your house, madame.” I bowed slightly at her high-handed statement.
”Just checking.” She bit her lip, reminding me she was a teaser, and I fell for it again.
I took her hand, ”Let”s go, princess.”