Chapter 17 Lonely
I could not believe what I was reading at first. It was as if there was some mistake. I had never had Ms. Debbie ask me about anything financial except in regards to the ownership of the store. Even then, I had not shared my personal information. But maybe I was misremembering. Yes; in fact, I had when I first went to work for her. She had asked for my bank account and social security numbers to put me on the payroll. Now, after all those years, the numbers stared back at me from beneath my name.
The next questions, however, were why this information was sitting around and why the man was looking for it. I scanned the document closer, but indeed it appeared to be the same paperwork from years ago, either misplaced or purposefully stored in Ms. Debbie’s desk for safekeeping.
“I’m not sure who he was, just some guy. He didn’t seem dangerous, though,” I replied to help assure Lauren. “I’m just curious as to why he came back for this.”
“Maybe he knows something that we don’t.”
“Possibly. Did you check the bacon?” I asked, suddenly remembering the first round of burnt pork.
With a slight grimace, Lauren bolted toward the door. A few moments later, she yelled to confirm she had saved the second batch just in time.
If any more questions were to be sorted out, an empty stomach and tired eyes would not help. I hoped the man would be gone for the night, but there was a chance he would return. The lingering possibility of him sneaking in again left me a bit paranoid, but I had locked the window that had been left unlatched from the inside... The inside...
“Lauren,” I called, placing the paper on the desk.
“Yeah?”
I padded my pockets to ensure I had kept the hidden key on me, then walked out to the kitchen. “Are you okay with staying here tonight?”
Worry took hold of her face, but at the same time, she did not admonish the idea. Instead, she left the decision to me. “I mean, I’ll go wherever you stay.”
“Well, I believe we won’t have to worry about the strange man, for now at least,” I said, still trying to convince myself.
“Why’s that?”
“For one, he spooked easy, but for another, something tells me he was more acquainted with Ms. Debbie than we might think.”
“Oh, how so?”
“The glass in the office window wasn’t broken, and when we came in, I did not notice any signs of a forced entry. Which means the window in the office was unlocked from the inside.”
“I guess it would be too hypothetical for Ms. Debbie to have left the window ajar after opening it for some fresh air.”
“That’s always plausible, and I suppose he could have been watching her for days or weeks, but what if he knew her well enough to know where the hidden key was, or perhaps they were friends?”
“But I thought you were her only one.”
“Yeah, I thought the same thing, but obviously not.”
My thoughts soon trailed from the man back to Lauren, who continued cooking, seemingly undeterred. The manner in which she swayed from side to side, dancing between biscuit-making and preparing the skillet for gravy, was adorable.
“It won’t take long,” she said, reading my mind. “The oven is already hot,” she continued, placing the pan inside. As she bent over, I walked closer, placing my hands along her hips. She closed the oven door and straightened her back, leaning into me.
“You know I would never leave you like that,” I whispered into the softness of her ear, addressing the elephant in the room.
“Why did you act like you were?” she mumbled.
“The same reason you got upset for thinking I would leave—being afraid of getting hurt.” Lauren’s body fell into mine, seeking a deeper embrace as she turned her face toward me. “I want you,” I finally admitted.
Lauren raised herself on her toes and pressed her lips to mine. For an instant, there was a smile of pleasure, but soon the compelling thought was replaced with another.
“I’m not sure that’s really best, though.”
“What do you mean?”
“My life’s a mess, and you don’t need any more trouble in yours.”
“You keep saying that, Four-Thirty Girl.” I was hoping to draw out an explanation, but instead, she fell silent as she refocused her attention on preparing the gravy. I wanted to search for an answer, but at the same time, I also wanted to enjoy the meal she was making without bringing her to tears again. So instead of pushing Lauren further, I anchored my arms around her hips and held on to her while I could.
My presence never seemed to bother Lauren, as she only pulled away when it came time to move the biscuits to the top rack. Patiently, I waited for her to return into my grasp and enlighten me, but instead, she busied herself with pulling plates from the cupboard and orange juice from the fridge.
“The date is still good,” she said with an affirming smile.
“Is that how you go about not answering a question?” I posed.
“Yes,” she grinned. However, I refused to appease her by doing the same. “Look, Joshua, I just have a lot going on, and this has been wonderful.”
“Has?”
“Is,” she corrected. “But can’t we just enjoy ourselves and put the worries of the world to our backs for the time being?”
“Alright,” I conceded. “We can, but under one condition.”
“Oh?”
“I want you to promise that you will never leave me without saying why.”
“I promise. And for the record, I would never do that anyway.” The accompanying charismatic smile helped ease my mind as every logical strain within me was anchored to her sincerity.
“Good.”
“But while we are on the topic, I need you to promise something in return.”
“Consider it done.”
“You haven’t even heard what I want,” she jested, giving me a shove to the shoulder.
“Does it matter? I’m not going to hurt you.”
“I suppose not,” she said, rethinking her request.
We sealed the agreement with a brief kiss, then considered that the timing was right for us to eat. Lauren grabbed a plate, placed two biscuits on top, then reached for a ladle of gravy.
“Do you prefer the gravy on the biscuits or on the side?”
“Either is fine, but tonight I think I’m going to enjoy them separately so I can taste test each.”
With a confident grin, Lauren scooted the biscuits over to make room for the gravy, then handed the plate over to me as she reached for the bacon.
“I can fix mine,” I offered.
“I know that, but the cook wanted to fix the plates, and the cook gets what she wants.”
“I see... and what happens if the cook doesn’t get her way?”
“She always does, so I don’t know what you possibly could mean.”
Tracing my hand across her back, I thanked her for making us a breakfast dinner, then went to the table as she fixed her plate and poured the orange juice. I watched and waited until she finally joined me before taking the first taste. Biting into the soft cloud of baked flower dough, I gave a growl of satisfaction.
“Umm... these are delicious,” I mumbled, taking another bite.
“Thank you. I’m glad you like them. Would you want some butter or mustard to go with it?”
“And mess up your work? No, these are perfect the way they are.”
“Thanks,” she whispered.
“Where did you learn to cook?” I mouthed before taking another bite.
“My mother...” Her words dwindled before I could inquire further about her mom, leaving a silent plea to not revisit the earlier conversation.
“Well, she did a great job.”
Dipping the other biscuit into the gravy, I sopped the two together before taking a large bite. Again, I declared my liking for her cooking and continued to lap up everything on my plate before rising for seconds.
“I can get it,” she said, pushing back her chair.
“You’re still eating. I’ll handle it.”
“But I’m the chef; remember?”
“I guess the cook isn’t getting her way... this time,” I teased.
Hesitantly, Lauren slid her legs under the table and continued eating as I helped myself. This round I opted for the gravy on top, soaking the bread thoroughly. Pleased with my choice, I pivoted around, stopping as my eyes fell upon the table. Through the soft light of the room, I could see Lauren clearly, but the dim glow had me second-guessing what I noticed. Raising her shirt over the navel of her belly, Lauren observed her stomach before allowing the shirt to fall back to her waist. As odd as this appeared, I took it that she was concerned that she might feel bloated. However, I could not get past the fact that her hand lay on the table, fidgeting nervously with her napkin.
With my eyes still on Lauren, I walked back to my chair, at which point she withdrew her hand that was gripping the napkin and placed it underneath the table. As I sat across from her, I watched the expression on her face change in an attempt to smile. However, it was obvious that her will to cover any worries was not convincing.
“What is it?” I asked.
“I’m just a little nervous is all.”
“About what? The strange man visiting us or being in Ms. Debbie’s house?”
“Not so much either of those,” she admitted.
“Oh? Is it something you’d want to talk about?”
“Umm,” she said, clearing her throat. “I guess...”
Intrigued that Lauren was actually open to speaking about her feelings, I eased back into my chair, hoping to negate any pressure she might be feeling.
“I... Ugh, guess you could say I’m a little nervous about tonight.” I looked at her, puzzled, as I could not see what other issues the evening might bring. “It’s been a while since I’ve been with a guy,” she finally whispered.
“You seemed fine last night,” I offered, trying to assure her that there was nothing to worry about.
“Yeah, but nothing happened. Remember, we fell asleep.”
“I see... But I wasn’t planning on making any moves... well, anymore,” I joked. I could not tell if my words were helping or hurting because Lauren seemed to slump back in her chair without giving any indication of relief. “For the record, I’m not one to read minds either,” I teased, provoking a slight laugh from Lauren. “But also, it’s not because I don’t want to.”
“Oh?” she questioned with curiosity instead of hope. “Then why weren’t you planning on sleeping with me then?”
Hearing her voice quiver gave my ears pleasure, yet I refrained myself. “I thought you would rather take things slow.”
“I do, but—” she stopped, catching herself just before admitting the real cause of her concern. I knew exactly what it was, but I still wanted to hear her say it.
“But what?”
“Being with you makes me nervous, not because I don’t trust you; it’s just the feelings that you evoke.”
I smiled, almost pleased with my ability to make her experience those emotions. In the same moment, however, I had another thought. I would have to be careful, because she was opening up to me and it would not take much for her to shut down again.
“There’s nothing wrong with that. It just means we should—what was it you said, enjoy our time together?” I teased before turning serious. “I know it’s hard to let someone into your life. I initially avoided you at all costs. I had finally gotten back on my feet, and here you came, looking all pretty. I told myself you were just seeking attention, and I needed to stay away.”
“I know,” she said timidly.
“Sorry. It’s just I didn’t want to get hurt.”
“But you thought I was looking for attention?”
“Well, honestly, yeah. Maybe you weren’t, but one thing is for sure: when you dress as sexy as you do, you’re going to get looks, whether you want them or not.”
Lauren looked down at her outfit, reconsidering her choices. “I just wanted to make myself feel better, prettier,” she admitted.
“Clothes or not, you’re beautiful in my book.” Another smile cracked across her face. “You know what I mean—those clothes, not in general,” I laughed.
“Sure... And what else did you think when you first saw me?”
Here we go again , I thought, but before I could choose to sugarcoat or tell a small lie to cover up my initial impressions, the hope in her eyes to remain truthful caught my attention. “I mean, it’s no secret...” I began.
“Was it that bad?” Lauren asked, folding her arms across her chest.
“Not particularly,” I said, easing into my thoughts. “But regardless, I thought you were just an average, run-of-the-mill, basic white chick.”
“But why? What made you think that?”
“You were just predictable, I guess.”
“Wow,” she exhaled.
“That’s not predominantly a bad thing. People have their own schedules, routines, and styles.”
“It was enough to turn you away, though, wasn’t it?” she asked, the question tinged with almost a trace of hope that I would say no.
“I’m here now, aren’t I?”
“That’s only because you got to know me.”
“Exactly, which is why you shouldn’t judge a book by its cover.”
“Hmm...” A long pause ensued as she became deeply entranced in her thoughts, probably mulling over everything that had taken place since we first met. The longer the pause, the more I considered that what was to come would likely not be good until finally, she spoke up. “So, Four-Thirty Girl was just your way of tagging a basic name for me?”
“Actually, yeah.” The rawness of my answer seemed to take Lauren by surprise. With no remarks about my insensitivity, she remained quiet long enough for me to continue. “But now it’s kind of a cute pet name. Don’t you think?”
Lauren winced upon my mention of her being cute, yet she did not scold me for doing so. “Kinda. I mean, I guess it’s adorable that you noticed exactly when I came in, to the point that you kept track of it.”
“See, you just proved why I subconsciously liked you before I ever liked you.”
“Ha. You’re ridiculous,” she said with a soft punch to my shoulder. “Do you even know why I come in at the same time every week?”
“Yeah. You said you don’t take lunch and leave work early.”
“Right, so you were listening, but why would I do that?”
Lauren had a point. All this time, I failed to really question how peculiar that was. Sure, a normal work schedule, unlike my own, usually ended when the person walked out the door. But then again, that’s also where everyone’s personal life began.
“Uhm...” I said, but in truth, I was at a loss. Lauren had not shared anything about her personal life. In fact, she had kept as much of it a secret as she could. “You never said anything more about it. And honestly, you haven’t been the most open when I started asking questions.”
“Exactly . . .”
“Wait, what?” Now I was the one confused, and yet again, Lauren was not offering answers. “What is it going to take for you to tell me?”
“Time,” she said.
“Like four hours and thirty minutes of interrogation time?” I laughed, but Lauren was not as giggly now.
“No, just enough time to fully gain my trust.”
“And how long will that be? I’m beginning to think this week won’t be enough.”
“However long it takes,” she said.
I could see Lauren starting to close up once again, despite my efforts. Just as I was hoping for a change of subject that might lighten the mood, I heard a crack of thunder in the distance.
“So, we are staying here tonight, which means we need to figure out sleeping arrangements. Would you like the couch or the bed?”
“I would prefer the couch; the bed is just too creepy.”
“That’s understandable, and I’m not particularly sure I want to stay in there myself.” I let her ponder my response, but she gave no invitation for me to join her on the couch or even in the living room. Instead, she merely looked at me to see what I had in mind. “Would it bother you if I slept in here too? I could stay on the floor, or we can share the couch.”
“Honestly, I would prefer if you took the bed, but...” she said, casting her eyes about the dim room. “I don’t want to be left alone either.”
I let out a huff, unaware of how loudly my irritation resonated. “I’ll sleep in the hallway then. That will give you your space, but I’ll be close enough that you won’t feel alone.”
“You would do that for me?”
“Yeah, of course.”
I turned to leave Lauren momentarily while I found some blankets and pillows. Leaving Ms. Debbie’s room untouched, I checked the hall closet where she had stored old quilts and knitted pillows. Neither looked to be comfortable, but then again, tonight would not bring much sleep as I would be on alert for another break-in.
“These were the best I could find,” I said, offering Lauren the nicer of the two pillows and an unaired-out quilt. “I’ll be down the hall if you need me.” Picking up the gun, I retraced my steps, then unrolled the blanket like a hallway runner.
As I flipped the light switch and lay down beneath the seemingly still glowing bulb, I perked my ears for any sign of Lauren stirring in the living room. With no indication of her struggling to sleep, I looked toward the kitchen, where the fixture over the stove provided the only remaining light. Then, finding the gun beside me, I closed my eyes and tried to ease my mind.