Hard, Fast and Madly, page 2
He blinked for a couple of seconds. “Uh, yeah.” Then rubbed his chin, his stubble making a raspy sound against his hand. “How’s your head?” I watched as his eyes raked my body from head to toe, a small smile playing at the corner of his mouth.
“Fine,” I replied and then immediately looked down at my feet. “Thanks.” Something about him was flustering me. I hoped we weren’t sitting together. Who smells like cinnamon? Was that his natural smell, or was it in his body wash? I shook my head to dislodge the cinnamon-scented cobwebs and blinked a couple of times. Meanwhile Handsome Harry or whatever his name was continued to stare at me.
“Sir, Miss, could you please board the plane?” the flight attendant interrupted.
She’s very pretty. I wish I was able to do my eye makeup like that. And she’s so little. Men love short and tiny women.
“Oh, sorry,” we both say. He let me go ahead of him, but the entire time I led us down the aisle I could feel his eyes on me, past all the annoyed glares from the other passengers who were forced to wait for us.
“I’m right here,” I whispered, stopping at row seventeen and scrunching in so he could hopefully move past.
He looked down at his boarding pass again and grinned. “Looks like I am too!”
Chapter 2
We landed without issue, and when the light came on for everyone to grab their bags, thankfully my seat companion avoided making eye contact with me and immediately headed toward the door.
Good riddance!
It was still light out, so after getting in my car I decided to stop off and grab some grocery store sushi and then head over and see my dad at the assisted living home, taking him his candy and filling him in on my trip.
“Hi, Dad,” I said, finding him just finishing up what looked to be fruit salad and ice cream. I kissed the top of his curly, gray head. I’d have to take him to get a haircut soon. Things were getting a little unruly.
“Hello,” he murmured, not looking up from his dish but instead chasing a grape around his bowl with a spoon, the Parkinson’s interfering with his success.
I put the box of maple candy next to his elbow. “I brought you something.”
His bright brown hawk eyes shifted to the box, and his face lit up. He abandoned his grape and instead tore into the box with childish enthusiasm. I watched as his gnarled and liver-spotted hands trembled, but even with arthritis and now with the Alzheimer’s and Parkinson’s, he was determined and swift, opening up the box to reveal the candy inside with the speed of a kid on Christmas.
“You went on a trip?” he asked, twisting open a wrapper and popping one in his mouth, eyes closing as he savored the sweet treat. “Where did you go?” he tucked the candy into his cheek to continue talking. “I just got back from Anchorage, was a visiting professor for a semester. Former professor of mine went on sabbatical, asked me to fill in for him. Incredibly cold but breathtaking in beauty.”
“You haven’t been to Anchorage in years, Dad,” I said softly. “Remember, I told you I was going to Edmonton to meet Stacey?”
He nodded absentmindedly. “Must have forgot, must have forgot.” A dining room attendant came over and took his bowl away. “She smells like smoke!” he muttered.
I rolled my eyes. “You say that every time.”
“Well, she does. Filthy swine!”
“Dad! You can’t say those things.”
He glared at me, bushy eyebrows furrowing. “I’ll say whatever I want to, young lady. And that woman smells like smoke. Don’t ever let me catch you smoking.” A deep growl in this throat made his neck skin jiggle.
I smiled at him, laughing through my nose. “I know, Dad, you’ll be so disappointed in me, and disappointment is much worse than anger, because it means I’ve lost your trust, and trust is one of the hardest things to rebuild once it’s been broken. Trust is the foundation of all relationships, and when it cracks or crumbles, it compromises the integrity of the whole structure. If you can’t trust me to behave, then how can you trust me at all?” I recited his lecture verbatim as I’d memorized it many years ago, after the first time I’d misbehaved when I was five or so.
It was the same thing every time. He’d sit me down on his lap in his giant tweed recliner, with a big stack of books perched on the desk next to it, and then he’d hold my hand and look at me with such sadness that tears would well up in my eyes and I’d beg him to trust me and I’d promise to never misbehave again.
I wasn’t sure if that kind of manipulation and guilt is now recommended by today’s parenting experts, but I’ve got to say that it worked. I was rarely disobedient as a child; I toed the line and did as I was told. Maybe because it was just the two of us and I knew how hard things were for my dad, so being bad would have just made it harder, but I strived to please him. To excel and succeed and make him proud, make him trust me. And he did. We were best friends until the day I moved away, and even then, we spoke on the phone nearly every night, talking about our day and watching Jeopardy and Wheel of Fortune together over the phone.
He went to reach for another candy, but I gently grabbed his hand. “Let’s pace ourselves. Maybe just one more for tonight and then you can have some more tomorrow. Looks like you already had some sweets. Was that ice cream?”
Giving me a petulant scowl, he batted my hand away and snatched the box. “Yeah, vanilla. I keep asking for mint chocolate chip, but they don’t have any.”
I smiled. “I’ll bring you some mint chocolate chip tomorrow.”
“Have you seen your mother?” His big hands fumbled with the wrapper, so he brought it to his mouth and opened it with his teeth.
I shook my head with a big sigh. “No, Dad, I haven’t. Mum’s been gone for some time now, remember. She died when I was six.”
“You should really go see your mother,” he said, ignoring me and reaching for another candy.
“Want to go watch Jeopardy?” I asked cheerfully, hating when he would ask about my mother, forgetting that she’s been gone for twenty-four years. Oftentimes, it would end with him getting upset and crying or denying that she was dead and throwing a fit.
His eyes came alive and he nodded. “Yeah, Jeopardy. And then Wheel of Fortune.”
I let out a small sigh of relief that he was able to move on to a new topic so quickly this time. I helped him from his chair and tossed the box of candy in my purse before looping his arm through mine and shuffling the two of us off to his private room.
Like most nights, my dad fell asleep halfway through Wheel of Fortune, while I mindlessly ate my dinner and muttered the answers to the puzzle far sooner than the contestants were able to solve them. After the show was over, I made sure that he had a full glass of water on his nightstand, hung up his robe and put his slippers next to his bed, pulled the blanket up over his arms and kissed his forehead before I turned off the light and quietly slipped out.
Once I got home, I hung my purse on the hook behind my coat closet, tucked my shoes into their rightful place and rolled my suitcase into my bedroom, heaving it onto the bed and unzipping it.
I hated unpacking.
As I threw all my clothes in the laundry hamper and mindlessly put away all my toiletries, my thoughts started to wander back to the weird and awkward flight. Who the heck was that Jake guy? Was he from Victoria? Was I going to have to worry about running into him? Was he on some kind of medication besides the cold medication he said he’d taken? He didn’t seem like a threat, though. He just seemed like a cocky weirdo. Terrified of flying and willing to do anything to take his mind off his fear. The man had been so rude. However, he’d also called me hot. I was so confused as I stripped off all my clothes and climbed into the shower. I’d never been called “hot” before. Did he mean it? Or would he have made out with a dust pan, had it been available and willing?
I welcomed the warm water as it beat against my skin, a tad too hot, just the way I liked it. A much-needed cleanse after the crazy week I’d just endured, not to mention the weird flight. My life had never been eventful. Sure, my mom had passed away when I was six but after that, life with my dad had been pretty even-keel. He traveled a lot, leaving me with family and friends, but I’d always felt safe, cared for and tended to.
And then in the first year of my master’s, I’d met Ted, a respectable and nice, albeit plain man. He, too, had cared for me and never given me any reason to worry. Our life together was predictable and pleasant, if a tad boring, and the days and weeks he’d be away from work, I’d find myself itching for entertainment and a purpose. But he always assured me that my place was in the home, to make sure that the china cabinet was dusted and dinner was on the table, so that’s what I did. It didn’t seem to matter to him that I had a master’s degree in education and was a certified teacher. Ted said I didn’t need to work.
He didn’t want me working.
But I wanted to.
I hadn’t gone to school all those years for nothing. So, going against my husband, I signed up for the on-call teachers list. I taught a bit when we moved to Victoria, substituted every now and then, but nothing was steady, and Ted was adamant that I stay home when he was in town. So for seven years my life was easy, predictable and bland. And then in a matter of three months, my entire world blew up.
I was just getting out of the shower when I heard my phone ringing from the bedroom and haphazardly tossed a towel around my body before I raced out to grab it.
“Hello?” I panted, not bothering to look to see who it was on the call display.
“Hey, Freya! How was your trip?” It was Emma, my new friend, well really my only friend since Ted and I had moved to town.
“It was good. How’re you and the girls?” I could hear the coo and babble of one or both of Emma’s twin girls in the background. “Who do I hear right now?”
“You hear Claire. I’m nursing her. Grace is with her dad upstairs, getting ready for bed.”
“I’ll tell them apart one day.” I sighed.
“What are your plans for dinner tomorrow night?”
“Nothing that I can think of. I’ll probably go see my dad at some point. Why?”
“You want some baby snuggles?”
“Always.” I smiled as my biological clock punched me in the ovaries at the sound of Claire guzzling and humming.
“Then be here at five. I’ll be sure to send you away with a care package for your dad.”
“Deal!”
“Okay, gotta go.” She made an irritated groan. “I think she just shit herself … again!”
I laughed. “Okay, bye.”
After I got off the phone with Emma, I tossed on my favorite ratty old Backstreet Boys T-shirt and a pair of pajama shorts, popped some popcorn, poured on way too much butter, decanted a bottle of very cheap “red wine” as the label indicated, and flicked on Netflix. I was halfway through the second season of my newest obsession, a zombie romance thriller where the female main character was a hybrid zombie and the male main character was still full human and they went back and forth between being in love and needing/wanting to kill/eat each other.
It was nearly three o’clock in the morning when I finished season three, and I finally decided to call it a night and head to bed. My head hit the pillow, and all that flashed through my mind was that idiot Jake from the plane and his handsome and cocky smile and those Caribbean-blue eyes that seemed to look right through a person and see their very soul. I tried to push him out of my head as hard as I could, but in the end, I wound up falling asleep to the images of me saying yes when he asked me to make out with him, and visions of the two of us locking lips and heavily petting while still belted into our airplane seats. Why'd I have to go and notice how the yellows in his checkered shirt brought out the flecks of gold in his eyes, like the Caribbean at sunrise? Why?
Chapter 3
The following day I found myself in a perpetual state of unrest. I hadn’t been able to sleep very well the night before, despite my late bedtime and how drained I’d felt from my trip to Edmonton. I’d tossed and turned until nearly seven o’clock in the morning when I finally decided to call it and get up for the day. I made myself a double shot of espresso in my super fancy coffee maker before I headed out on my morning run.
Ted and I had moved to Victoria around nine months ago, so I was still learning the city, choosing to drive out to a different neighborhood each time I went for a run, to explore and decide—if I ever had the chance—where I’d like to raise a family. I’d park my car in a safe and open area, like a church parking lot or next to a busy playground, and then wind and wend my way through side streets and foot paths, up and down hills until I either made my way back to my car by sheer fluke or found myself completely and utterly lost and had to whip out my phone and ask Siri for help.
But today I didn’t really feel the pull to venture off into suburbia. The vision of families walking down the sidewalk pushing a stroller with a dog on a leash made me want to toss up the oatmeal I’d had for breakfast. Because now, more than ever, I felt as if that dream, that life, a husband, a house, kids and a dog were so far out of my grasp, it was darn near impossible.
Instead I decided to head down to the water and run along Dallas Road, immerse myself in the throngs of people while not having to interact with a soul. I tossed on a pair of navy capri tights and a turquoise tank top before slathering on some sunscreen. Then, wrestling my untameable mane of fire into a white hat, I pulled it down low over my eyes, put my earbuds in and headed out the door.
Ted had opted to live right downtown. He said he liked having everything within walking distance and that it eliminated the need for two cars, and after moving from a small town in rural B.C. to the quaint but bustling Victoria, I had to agree that being downtown was pretty great. Once you learned how to tune out the din of the endless street noise, sirens and crazy people bellowing nonsense at all hours of the night, it was a wonderful place to live. Lots of culture, fantastic restaurants and tons of kitschy little shops to spend an entire Sunday perusing with a latte in hand. When Ted would go away for work, I’d often take an entire Sunday to just wander up and down the one-way streets, buying myself a smoothie or a coffee when I felt like it or some sushi or a box of noodles, while aimlessly drifting in and out of antique stores, shops in Chinatown, and one-of-a-kind clothing stores. I’d never been in a city like Victoria before, and after nine months, I quickly realized that there was nowhere else I’d rather be. This place had it all.
It was just a five-minute jog to Dallas Road, the sun was hot and high, and I was quickly cursing myself for not packing a towel as the sweat dripping into my eyes was starting to sting. But I loved it nonetheless. It was a picturesque place for a run, with the ocean on one side, sparkling with millions of diamonds, cargo ships blotting the view of the Olympic Peninsula and a beautiful beach for exploration and fun. And then a park on the other side, complete with a petting zoo, zany ducks with a death wish who’d dart in front of your car, and noisy peacocks who flashed their plumage like a creepy naked man in a trench coat, and always when you least expected it.
I stopped for a second to catch my breath, wiping my face with the hem of my shirt and bending down to tie my shoe. Only when I was popping back up, blue shorts and orange sneakers came into view, and before I knew it, I was bulldozed over and sent flying into a bush by a freight train made of muscle.
“Agh! Ouch!” I cried, as branches scratched up my face and arms and I struggled to right myself, my legs kicking up in the air.
“Oh my God, I’m so sorry, are you okay?” came a deep masculine rumble from behind, followed by the faintest smell of cinnamon. Strong arms gripped my waist and hauled me out of the shrubbery. I turned to face my clumsy assailant, but the sun was in my eyes, and he just looked like a shadow with the sun haloing his big head. “Hello,” he said, humor and surprise in his voice. “We meet again.”
Tilting my head up, I shielded the glare with my hand and came face-to-face with my flight-hating, make-out propositioning jerk of a plane companion. “YOU!” I exclaimed. “What are you doing here?”
His eyebrow quirked up. Clearly, he was over the sickness from the plane and was back to being completely insufferable. “I live here.”
“Oh!” was all I could think of to say. “W-well … next time, watch where you’re going!” And without any further need for chit-chat, I took my scratched and bruised body and headed off in the opposite direction toward the breakwater.
“I wasn’t the one who decided to bend down in the middle of the path!” he called back with a chuckle. “Maybe move over next time, Sandy.” But I refused to look back. The man was an absolute jerk, more brawn than brain. A Neanderthal with nice biceps and a cute face. Sexy pond scum. I wasn’t about to waste any more time staring into his eyes, no matter how fathomless and hypnotic they might be.
My run was not nearly as restorative or therapeutic as I had hoped or intended it to be. I kept my eye out for Jake or whatever his name was, but thankfully he was long gone, and hopefully for good. By the time I got home, I was a hot mess and decided to jump in the shower, only not even the thrumming of the warm water could soothe my temper. This child, because that’s what he was, a child in men’s clothing, was occupying my every thought, and he had no right to. He was nothing, nobody and he never would be, so why couldn’t I stop thinking about him?
I made myself a lunch of spinach salad with cranberries, pecans, goat cheese and Cajun chicken. Then, I googled a sweet and spicy vinaigrette that wound up being one of the best things I’d ever tasted, so much so that I licked the bowl when I was done. I lived alone. No one was around to judge me.
