Guardian's Patience, page 7
part #5 of Guardians of the Race Series
He looked at her as if she’d said something profound and then began to help her gather up her things. One of the food bags was empty and he looked around for a place to throw it. A low cinder block wall topped with a plywood cover, stood to the right of the back entrance. A wooden gate formed the wall of the narrow end. It was the perfect size to hold two large garbage cans. Broadbent lifted the top to throw the bag into one of them.
“Don’t throw it in there. That’s my garage.”
Broadbent was already examining the motor scooter within. “It looks like a toy.”
“It isn’t a toy. It’s an economical, environmentally conscientious mode of transportation,” she told him before she started to laugh. “Okay, it was cheap. It’s ten years old and the insurance costs next to nothing. At a hundred miles to the gallon, it not only gets me where I need to go, it’s cheaper than the bus.”
Broadbent opened the gate and wheeled the little scooter out. Next to his big body, it did look like a toy. It was pink, bright pink, and something about it was familiar.
“Do you own a pink snow suit with white, fluffy fuzz around the hood?” He demonstrated the position of the decoration with his fingers pinching around his face.
Pinkie’s eyes sparkled. “That fluffy fuzz is genuine faux fur, I’ll have you know. How did you know?”
“Tea and Thoreau,” he said thoughtfully. “You were dressed in pink. It was during a snow storm and you thought I was a stranded motorist. You brought me tea, Earl Grey if I remember correctly, and quoted Thoreau.”
“Who’s Thoreau?”
“What do you mean who’s Thoreau? I distinctly remember you quoting him.” He repeated the quote.
“I know the quote, but I never knew who said it. Want to go for a ride?”
“Where?”
The other Guardians owned motorcycles and would sometimes take them out for a spin, but Broadbent had never seen the sense in wasting gas and time with no destination in mind.
She shrugged. “Just around. How about down to the park and back?”
“I’ve seen the park and I don’t think this little contraption will hold me.” While he didn’t mind riding on the back of one of the huge motorcycles, this little bike was hardly in the same class.
She laughed at his concern. “It’s sturdy enough. Come on, it’s a nice night for a ride.”
She looked so happy with the idea he didn’t want to tell her no. It would make it so much easier if he could lead her to reason.
“The pizza,” he said, sounding a little desperate. “It will go cold.”
She waved off his concern. “That’s the great thing about pizza. You can rewarm it in the oven. Come on, Broadbent, it’ll be fun.” She picked up the boxes. “I’ll run in and get the key.”
Fun? There was nothing fun about it. For him to ride on the back of such a ridiculous vehicle, with no purpose or destination in mind was impractical and illogical. Broadbent took great pleasure in many things, but fun was something he associated with children, or Dov and Col.
He searched for a childhood memory of something he’d done just for fun. There wasn’t one. And then he remembered what Patience had said about a logical life. He had, indeed, led a very dull one.
When she came out, he climbed on the back without complaint even though he had to spread his knees uncomfortably wide to accommodate her arms and the room she needed to steer.
The little tabby cat came from its hiding place and leapt to the top of the scooter bin where Broadbent had thoughtfully closed the lid. The cat purred and swayed from side to side, happily awaiting their return.
~*~
Nardo was in the park, quizzing a pair of recruits about the best tactics to use when battling a demon on uneven ground. The distinctive buzz of a small engine had the three looking across the park’s pond to watch two people pass by. It was an odd sight for this time at night, but odder yet were the riders. The man on the back was so large the tiny scooter disappeared beneath his bulk. The woman in front looked like she was engulfed in a cloud of rainbow colors, mostly pink. If it weren’t for the puttering noise, the two would look like they were flying low to the ground.
“Hey! Doesn’t that look like the Professor?” The first trainee asked.
“Don’t be stupid. That guy was laughing,” said the second.
“They’re not demons and that’s all you need to worry about. Let’s get back to work.” Their Guardian instructor sounded impatient, but had the recruits looked more closely, they would have seen his smile.
~*~
The couple returned from their ride happy and smiling. After warming the pizza in Pinkie’s small oven, they spent a quiet, cozy few hours eating pizza and watching her last minute choice of High Noon. They spoke very little. Broadbent watched the movie with rapt attention.
When she moved a little closer to him on the old and tattered sofa, he made no move to slide his arm along the back rest and down over her shoulders, but he didn’t move away either. Her pretty nightgown and undies were a wasted effort. Still, it was a date and that counted for something.
Chapter 6
Broadbent surreptitiously watched the little fortune teller from the corner of his eye. He wasn’t sure why he kept returning to her tiny apartment night after night. Other than the fact that she kept odd hours for a human and therefore had no difficulty with his nighttime visits, they had little in common. She had none of the qualities he would seek in a companion.
Her dress was outlandish, though he had to admit it suited her occupation and gave her an air of mystical intrigue. And yes, when she turned a certain way and her skirts swirled out above her trim ankles and tiny slippered feet, he found it rather fetching. Her breasts were a delight as well, and displayed in a thoroughly enticing manner by the blouses she chose. Peasant blouses he thought they were called.
Embarrassingly, he often found himself staring at those plush pillows of perfection and wondering what they would be like once fully exposed. He’d thought he was above such crass and carnal displays of attraction, yet here he was acting no better than the twins.
She wasn’t well read, in fact she didn’t read at all as far as he could see, and her occasional quotes of great works were learned from the movies she watched. He’d always taunted the twins with their obsession with the large flat screen. Now, it was he who was constantly anticipating her choice for the evening’s entertainment. He quite enjoyed the Westerns. Their stories were clear cut; good versus evil, and the heroes were always honorable men of action.
Most of the comedies were ridiculously silly and revealed what should have been an annoying trait in the woman. She giggled uncontrollably and sometimes snorted when she laughed. Instead of being repulsed by the unladylike behavior, he thought it charming. It was infectious and he often found himself smiling along with her at the inanity on the screen.
She demanded that he relax, but her insistence on removing his tie and shoes was anything but relaxing. His physical reaction to her touch was immediate and disconcerting and would soon become painfully obvious. Thinking of accidently walking in on his ancient, and very naked, Aunt Mildred having her way with the gardener no longer worked to alleviate his desire. And his desire was something that must be kept secret.
Women had never found him sexually attractive; a circumstance he’d grown used to over the years. With the exception of dear Faith, his few attempts to connect with women he found attractive were met with cruel and sometimes laughing rejection. He was as much a failure in the world of lovemaking as he was in so many other areas of his life. Guardians were known for their prowess with women and he’d thought his tide might turn with the blossoming of the skull and tears over his heart. It didn’t, and he would not risk divulging his attraction to this enchanting creature only to suffer rejection once more. He couldn’t risk losing her friendship and the pleasure of her company.
The movie ended and Broadbent looked down at his companion with a cozy feeling of contentment until he saw the tears streaming down her face.
“Patience, my dear, what’s wrong? What have I done to make you cry?” he asked as he passed his handkerchief to her. He couldn’t have stepped on her toes. Her legs were curled beside her on the sofa.
“Did I ignore you when you spoke?” He didn’t think so. He was much too aware of her warm body so close to his. But his concentration had been on the movie, a rather good one he thought, about a widow who falls in love with the ghost of a sea captain.
He’d been chastised for his obliviousness before. He hadn’t thought she was the type to take offense, but then again, women were often giddy or tearful without logic. “Whatever it is, I do apologize.”
“It wasn’t you. This movie always makes me cry.” She dabbed her eyes and sniffed.
He was relieved her tears were not on his account, though baffled by her statement. “Why would you watch it then?”
Her giggle and sniff collided. “Because it makes me cry.”
“That doesn’t make sense.”
“The head should make sense, Broadbent. The heart doesn’t have to.”
“Of course it doesn’t. It’s an involuntary muscle meant to pump blood.” He saw her frown and amended his statement. “The emotional center is in the limbic system of the brain and primarily involves...”
“Broadbent,” she interrupted while she placed two fingers against his lips, a habit of hers he was learning to enjoy. “I’m sure there’s some scientific explanation for why that movie makes me cry, but I don’t want to hear it. All I need to know is that when I watch certain movies, my heart seems to swell in my chest and tears come to my eyes.”
Her soft fingers against his lips distracted him and the argument he was formulating in his mind was suddenly gone. All he could think of was tasting those delicate digits and drawing them into his mouth. His heart didn’t swell, but other, less gentlemanly parts of him did. It wasn’t the first time he’d had this reaction to a woman, but it generally took more than the touch of two fingers to his lips. He leapt from the sofa and crossed the room to the old tape player.
“It makes no sense,” he said gruffly and not referring to her comment. He removed the tape, returned it to the box that was worn with age and use, and replaced it on the shelf where it belonged. He looked at her. “Surely, you have no reason to cry.”
Pinkie’s sigh was heavy. “People see me and they see a gypsy and a storybook gypsy at that,” she said, indicating her brightly colored and flamboyant attire, “They believe my readings and trust my potions because they believe the gypsy myth. If you ask around, they’ll tell you I’m a very good neighbor, but only Bernice will be able to tell you my name and that’s only because she delivers my mail.” Pinkie laid her head back against the sofa and closed her eyes. “Those movies are my friends. I suppose I laugh and cry over them because I have no one else to laugh and cry over.”
The look in her eyes when she opened them was enough to make Broadbent doubt what he knew of the brain’s limbic system. His chest tightened with the strangest sensation and his heart began to pound. His voice was barely a whisper.
“Charles Darwin, the English Naturalist, said that a man's friendships are one of the best measures of his worth. I would count myself a wealthy man if you, Patience Delecourt, would deign to call me friend. I would be honored to have you laugh and cry over me.”
“Oh, Broadbent,” she sighed, “I’ve called you friend from the first moment I saw you.”
Her smile did nothing to relieve the pressure in his chest or the pounding of his heart.
~*~
Grace plucked another pair of jeans from the basket at her side. Her feet were propped up on a footstool and from this position, folding the long legs neatly was difficult. But she wouldn’t give it up. Taking care of the family was her domain. Old fashioned as it might seem, she loved her titles of Housekeeper and Cook. Having a family to care for was all she ever wanted and she’d found that and more in her mate’s House of Guardians. She worried and fussed over each and every one of them whether they were permanent members or trainees passing though on their way to other Houses. It grated that she’d been forced to relinquish some of her duties because of her pregnancy.
“I’m worried about him. He didn’t eat much supper this morning.” Their household ran the opposite of human ones, with supper in the mornings when the house was closed up tight against the dawning light and breakfast in the early evening, before the men taught classes or went out on patrol.
Manon sat across from her, crochet hook flying at an astounding speed as she created yet another little outfit for the coming baby.
“He does not seem to be wasting away. Perhaps he ate out earlier.”
“Broadbent doesn’t eat out. He’s always suspicious of how the food’s prepared.”
“He ate out last night,” JJ said as she came through the door with another basket of laundry. “See, I told you the purple would come out.” The contents of the basket were snowy white. “I used bleach like you said. About a quart of it.”
“Too much bleach will rot the cloth,” Grace sighed. “You only need a cup.”
JJ sucked in her cheeks and released them with a smack. “Would you rather I cook?”
“No!” Grace and Manon shouted at the same time. If there was a domestic bone somewhere in JJ’s long and lean body, they hadn’t found it yet. Her idea of supper was three gallons of canned soup and grilled cheese, all burned black on one side. Guardians had massive appetites, so the men would all be hungry an hour later and send out for Chinese. Rather than starve, Hope had taken over much of the cooking. It was either that or pay for the college educations of Mr. Wong’s four sons.
“Then shut up and fold the damned clothes.” JJ picked up a tee shirt and carelessly folded it into a square.
“How do you know the Professor ate out?” Grace asked, refolding the tee JJ laid in the pile.
“Same way you know the twins are screwing around with their cheap women. The laundry.”
“Hey! She was not cheap. That date cost me almost two hundred bucks,” Col protested as he followed his brother through the door.
Dov snickered. “Why’s that? Did she raise her rates?”
Col pushed his twin hard enough to make him stagger. “Fuck you. I don’t have to pick up pros. I leave them for you.”
“Which is why I come home smilin’ for fifty bucks and you come home to the tender loving touch of your right hand.”
“Boys!” Grace reprimanded, “No one wants to hear about your sexcapades.”
“Which are largely fictional anyway,” JJ muttered.
Col opened his mouth to retaliate, but Grace stopped him with her hand. “JJ? The Professor?”
“His shirt smelled like a pizza joint. A garlicky one.”
“You see?” Grace said to Manon.
Garlic interfered with the Guardians’ sense of smell, a sense that was essential when tracking demons. Though they all loved its pungent flavor, they never ate it when on duty and Grace was careful with it in her cooking. The Professor preferred to avoid it and while he ate pizza when they ordered it, it wasn’t something he was likely to order for himself.
Manon shrugged and pouted in a way that was distinctly Gallic. “Ordering a pizza does not qualify as strange. Perhaps he ordered another meal, but the smell clung to his clothes.”
“Not unless that meal came with pepperoni and sausage.” JJ laughed at their looks. “What? I got my father’s Paenitentia nose. I can smell a dead rat at twenty yards.”
“Eeuw!”
“Tell me about it. Do you know how many we found in the attic of the house next door?”
“Add pizza to the VCR and you’ve got weird,” Dov added, much louder than he needed to. He was afraid the women would get off track and the next thing they knew, they be discussing what color the walls should be at Nardo and JJ’s new place. “Of course, we’re talking the Professor here, but still.”
“Did you say VCR?”
Col nodded. “He asked us where he could buy a VCR, you know, one of those old tape players for movies. Who uses a VCR anymore and why would he want one? He reads. He listens to music on vinyl. He doesn’t watch television and I don’t think he’s ever stepped foot in a movie theater.”
“It gets weirder,” Dov continued, “He was on the computer. That’s strange enough, but when I checked his history, he was looking up Gary Cooper.” Dov threw up his hands. “Go figure.”
JJ put her fists on her hips. “Do you two spy on all of us like this?”
Col looked at his brother who returned his grin. “Only when we have to.”
Chapter 7
Pinkie’s business day was a strange one. It started on an eerie note when Mrs. Prashad banged on the door of Good Fortune at a quarter ‘til one. Her knock was hard and insistent, and at first, Pinkie thought something was wrong, particularly since she wasn’t three feet from the door and the woman could have beckoned her over.
But no, Mrs. Prashad was simply rushed. She had to get back to the store before one.
“I have brought you a small gift,” she said in the lilting accent of her native India. “You were such a help when Ravi was injured and I never said a proper thank you.” She held out the brown paper wrapped package she carried.
“After the other night, I should have stopped by. I’m so glad it worked out okay.”
Mrs. Prashad blinked as if Pinkie had disrupted her train of thought. She stuttered and started again. “I have brought you a small gift...”
Mrs. Prashad’s English wasn’t as good as her husband’s and Pinkie thought she might have memorized her little speech. She let her finish without interruption and took the package from the woman’s offering hands with a solemn nod.
“Thank you.”
Pinkie carefully removed the wrapping and almost let its contents fall. It was a mirror, old and worn. The frame, hand carved and gilded, was scuffed and chipped. One corner showed evidence of amateur repair work. She stared at the mirror and then at Mrs. Prashad.
