And then she walked into the room and stopped me in my tracks.
It was a wave of emotions I wasn’t prepared for, like one of those indie movies, where the director zooms in on her face, the lost love, the one that got away. The moment where the ambient, shoe-singer guitar sings like a glorious ethereal creature of its own right, making a grand entrance fit for a far away galaxy queen. The entire scene slowed down in my mind and my world stood still as the very woman I’d dreamt about year after year, fought so hard to forget, walked back into my life and now stood two people away from me. My sister Claire and her mother Madie softened the distance.
I caught her profile, zooming in, everyone else disappearing. She lifted her sculpted chin with a tender care before engaging in a smile to the stranger before her, receiving the handshake. She didn’t know these people. But she stood there with the grace of a queen. My eyes lasered in on her full lips dressed with a deep pink stain, lips I wanted to cover with my own, jumping this line right now and taking her in my arms, to let a long overdue welcome reveal to her not only just my feelings, but my own deep sentiments in this receiving line.
I shook my head lightly. I didn’t want to mess this moment up. I hope I didn’t just murmur something absurd.
That smile.
That always-pleasant, diplomatic smile that dazzled, warming the coldest of strangers. It had briefly aided our family so well back then. Her compassion that dressed her countenance, the genuine softness that cared about others. She never knew a stranger. She shook someone’s hand with such care and attention in the receiving line, as if they were the only person in the room. She was just the type of woman a man would want by his side.
I followed the limb with a sideways glance and took her in, head to toe. Damn, she looked good.
She looked so much…older. Refined. Her young beauty had blossomed into a gorgeous womanhood. I didn’t think it was possible for someone to become that much more attractive. Dressed in a conservative black dress, there was no hiding those curves, ever. How could someone I hadn’t seen for so long invoke such strong emotions, physical emotions? I wanted to jump this line, take her in my arms, and let a long overdue hard kiss reveal to her my feelings, relaying that I was sorry. Telling her how much I missed her.
Her long, tumbling curls shined beneath the sky lights and just the smell of her; the light fragrance of cotton with a hint of French lavender made me want to drink her in. Claire and Madie were barely enough buffer for my raging heart pounding out of control.
As she tossed her golden locks, she made that life-changing, scene-altering locking with my eyes and I went weak in my knees. If it weren’t for Peters standing in front of me waiting to receive his sentiments, I would have buckled and fallen.
“Whoa, easy there.” His firm hand steadied my near fall. “I know how these things can be. Make sure you don’t lock your knees, son. And oh, here. Add some of this to your coffee, why don’t you.” He winked and slid the flask inside my suit pocket.
I took a fresh breath of air.
“Certainly. Thank you for that tip,” I said with weary eyes.
Fuck, she looked hot.
I stole sideways glances here and there, careful to never make eye contact with her. But, oh I was looking. Hell, everyone looked at her. I didn’t think it was possible for a woman to become any more beautiful or any more desirable, but she had.
“Would you take a look at Madie’s daughter? She’s a looker.”
“I wonder if she has a boyfriend. Give her your number. Later, of course, at the wake, when it’s more appropriate.”
I caught and overheard all of the suggestions of mothers to their sons, hell, even men in their retired years. She was like a light in the midst of a very dark hour. A light I was thankful to lift my spirit, just barely. But, words, face to face? I hadn’t the strength yet to face her and obviously from the way the rest of the day went, neither did she, nor did circumstantial duties allow.
But later, as the casket dropped in the cemetery, it wasn’t just a February chill that traveled down my spine, it was the brevity of life and the meaning of it all. How quickly a man can be buried, but his legacy—that was something different that could carry on and would carry on forever.
What would mine be?
How would I be different from him?
He was a good man. Yes. But his judgment had gotten the best of him in his later years.
By the time we made it back to our home, the morning and afternoon felt like a week’s worth of activity and I felt like disappearing before the hundreds of people, many of whom were strangers. But I was now the patriarch. I needed to at least save face for a full hour. And I was able to disappear in the crowd. I didn’t feel like mingling. I felt like disappearing. The eerie howl of the outskirts of the winter hurricane was the last thing I heard before I fell asleep.
I woke up and the chatter had stilled and light taps of sleet greeted my pounding head.
God, what time was it?
I grabbed my cell phone from my childhood bedside table. 2:33 AM.
For real?
Shit.
I sat up and ran my fingers through my hair. And then realized the electricity was out. Fuck. How was that possible with our top-of-the-line generator?
Feeling freezing as hell, I changed my clothes and wrapped a terry cloth robe around myself. Feeling a little dizzy still from my let’s-not-remember-anything-right-now moment, I was thirsty as hell and anxious to see if I’d actually see her again. Right now.
There I was, walking the familiar hallways of my home, passing the great room, when she stopped me in my tracks again.
She was pacing, saying phrases out loud as she held a candle in one hand. The other hand held chocolate with dripping syrup that fell down her shirt on accident.
It was torture enough the way her body made me respond like a crazed animal, but that syrup dripping down her shirt between her breasts, and watching her in the dark was enough to push me over the edge. I was feet away from ripping her shirt off and licking the syrup off of her.
Chapter 5
KATE
* * *
I sat there in the chair tapping my pen against the desk in sudden onset writer’s block. Only 10,000 more words to go. Why oh why did I have to get sick with a God awful flu? I could barely eat or drink for a whole week, and I was set way back on my paper.
I was in the sitting room closest to the deck, the more natural side of the property. The pools and outside kitchen were around the corner. My papers, notebooks and books were scattered across the table. Never did I ever imagine writing the most important paper in my pre-doctorate career in this moment and in this place. And not just in this place, in this place that just lost electricity.
“Fuck.” I buried my head in my hands. “I thought this place was supposed to freaking be high tech enough to house the president himself,” I murmured.
Just in case, Miss Kate. Mr. Fox’s kind gesture came to mind and into my sight. He had left me a flashlight, which I thought was sweet. Now I was totally thankful.
I quickly reached for it, totally freaked out by the darkness of the mansion. Only the light of white foam from the waves seemed to come in sight. Outside the waves were angry, and the icy sleet hammered against the window. Oh, it was coming: the storm.
The storm that would… “Fuck!” I called out again. I knew what this meant. The electricity was no doubt down.
I refreshed my browser. I had my school’s digital library up and had a book I was citing and needed the next page to finish the quote. Heck, I needed every page.
“Come on…come on….” Panic flooded my chest. The browser remained completely stoic and unmoving as a stubborn cat happily curled up by a fire.
“Ugh!” I cried out a little louder than I intended as the noise ricocheted off the high ceilings.
Feeling small, I wrapped a nearby blanket around me and surveyed with the flashlight the hijacked table. Only the light of my Mac and phone lit up the dar
kened night with neon hues.
My word document cursor blinked at me, waiting for the next direction.