by Taylor Dean
It was the stranger—the husband. Again. As if he’d been lying in wait, like a stakeout.
He brought his car to a sudden stop at her curb, threw the door open while leaving his engine running, and rushed towards her like a quarterback about to make a tackle. Instinctively, Chloe took a step backwards, feeling as though he was about to yell the words, “stop, you’re under arrest!”
“What for?”
“Not tending to your wifely duties.”
“Oh that. Guilty as charged. Take me away and lock me up.”
Chloe shook her head to clear it of silly thoughts. At her reaction, he stopped short a few feet away, his hands in the air.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.”
Really? Could’ve fooled me. “What do you want?” she asked, her heart suddenly pounding in her chest wildly. Was this man stalking her? Was he crazy? Is this why his wife left him? With her gone, had his attention turned on her?
Her crazy thoughts came to a halt as, standing in the morning sunlight, she took in his features for the first time. Now that the mask of anger had been removed from his face, she found that he was a handsome man, tall and lean, with blond hair—overly long, but neatly combed back on his head—and blue eyes, slight stubble on his chin; reminding her of the proverbial golden boy beach bum. Only he wasn’t a boy, he was all man, with an air of authority around him in spite of his casual attire. Instead of business apparel, he was dressed in shorts, a t-shirt, and flip-flops, with sunglasses pushed onto the top of his head. His tanned skin made him look like the typical Arizona poolside sun worshipper. A jeep idled behind him, the top off. Who drives an open jeep in this heat? The vision made her think he was ready for a lazy day at the beach. It was a weekday morning when most people were on their way to work. Didn’t he have a job? Maybe he lived off of his wife. Maybe that’s why he was so upset that she’d just left him. Without her, he had nothing.
Stop with the ridiculous imagination, Chloe. She’d seen too many outlandish TV movies lately.
His eyes looked fixedly into hers as if he could see into her soul. His close scrutiny made her feel uncomfortable. It suddenly felt as though he was studying her for telltale signs of despair.
And seeing them clearly.
“Perfect timing, I’ve been trying to catch you. I wanted to apologize for the other day,” he said. His voice was deep, succinct, and clear—incongruent with his appearance. “I was out of line and I’m sorry for what I said. I didn’t mean it and I didn’t want to cause you any more pain and…”
“Thank you,” she interrupted, or she was pretty sure he’d still be apologizing. He was a man who could admit when he was wrong. Impressive. Her opinion of him changed swiftly, the judgment pendulum quickly swinging in the other direction. He seemed sincere and…sweet…
“I just wanted to make sure you were okay.”
…and gentlemanly. “I’m fine.”
“You don’t look fine.”
So much for hiding the dark circles under her eyes. “Thanks,” she muttered, not cloaking the sarcasm buried in that one single word.
“Wait, that didn’t come out right. You look beautiful, but I can tell you’ve been crying. Are you sure you’re okay?”
“Are you?” she tossed right back at him.
“Not really.”
“Me either.”
“Touché,” he offered with a small smile. A bird flew by, cutting across the yard in the space between them and, concentrated as he was, he actually flinched and ducked slightly.
This was awkward. “Thanks for coming by. I appreciate it. And the flowers. And the chocolates.” Chloe moved closer to her car, hoping he’d get the hint.
“I’m sorry for what I said to you,” he reiterated.
“No big deal.”
“I think it was.”
She shrugged, trying not to show that she hurt so much she could barely breathe. No one noticed inner pain. A broken leg, a broken arm, yes. Outward signs of pain were obvious. Inner turmoil, not so much. And she was broken, just like a leg or an arm, only worse. She was bleeding, gushing from a huge, nasty, open gaping wound.
But no one knew it.
With his unwavering gaze, however, the husband seemed to sense it, maybe even see it. And it made her uncomfortable.
“I-I thought maybe we could have breakfast together or something and, I don’t know, commiserate. Misery loves company and all that. What do ya say? Can I take you out to breakfast? Let me make up for my rash words.”
Goodness sake, the only one unable to forgive him for his impetuous words was himself. The last thing Chloe wanted to do was spend time alone with Mr. Volcano. He’d obviously lost his temper on that fateful day their spouses had run off with each other, and had come looking for a fight. That meant he was probably easily agitated, maybe even volatile. Unstable. When the signs are there, you can’t ignore them. Right?
Yet, somehow, she didn’t feel as though he was a threat. As a matter of fact, he seemed quite courteous.
She simply had no way of knowing if he was sincere or a loon. Her uncertainty concerning him made her respond accordingly as she stammered, “Oh. Thank you, but no. I have so much to do today. So, so much. I’m not even sure I can get it all done in one day. Errands and more errands.” She paused. “Lots of errands.” She sounded like a bumbling idiot and a liar—the lady doth protest too much. She waved in the general direction of her car as she slowly backed away from him. “So much to do. I’m swamped. I have to go.”
“Your country's 500th anniversary to plan, your wedding to arrange, your wife to murder and Guilder to frame for it. You are swamped,” he mumbled.
“Excuse me?”
“Nothing. Sorry.”
“Did you just quote The Princess Bride?”
“Oh, you know it?” he said with surprise. “Yep. Sorry. It’s a nasty habit of mine.”
“Quoting The Princess Bride?”
“No, movie quotes in general.”
“Oh.”
For a moment, she studied him curiously, her interest piqued. Any man who quoted The Princess Bride couldn’t be that bad. Chloe felt herself warm up to him, but he was a total stranger to her and she wasn’t about to jump in his jeep and go for a ride with him just because he knew about true love.
“Thanks for apologizing. I appreciate it,” she said. He’d gone to great lengths to make up for his unkind words and she was impressed with his tenacity. He felt badly, that much was obvious. It was, perhaps, indicative of his true nature. However, she didn’t need to dig any deeper and learn more about this man’s apparent compassionate side. It was enough already. “I have to go,” she blurted.
“All right,” he answered amiably, a hint of both disappointment and acceptance in his tone.
She turned to unlock her door, dropped her keys with shaking hands, and bent to pick them up. Chloe took a deep cleansing breath, trying to calm herself down. By the way she was acting you’d think a handsome stranger had never once tried to speak to her in her entire life, for heaven’s sake. It wasn’t as if he was trying to pick up on her, he was simply extending a hand of friendship. That’s all.
She needed a friend. Desperately. This man was offering. It would be nice to talk with someone. He’d understand. He was experiencing similar emotions. What the heck? She had nothing to lose. Absolutely nothing.
But he was a stranger, she argued with herself. It’s not safe. Maybe he was some kind of psycho or pervert.
I have nothing to lose.
Chloe turned just in time to see the husband taking his seat in his jeep. Not exactly the behavior of someone out to commit nefarious activities.
“Wait!” she yelled.
Surprised at her outburst, he slowly stood, one hand resting on the door of the jeep. He looked like he could be in a commercial promoting outdoor life. Yet, his expression was slightly intense as he looked upon her.
“I don’t really have anything to do. As a matter of fact, I have nothing to do and n
owhere to go.”
He nodded, politely not commenting on her lack of a life. “How about breakfast?”
“I’d like that.”
A smile spread across his face, revealing perfect, white teeth. Even if he was a psycho, at least he’d be easy on the eyes.
So was Ted Bundy.
Chloe ignored her inner voice.
“I’ll drive. Hop in,” he invited.
Chloe took a few steps toward him.
“So what were you going to do today? If you don’t mind my asking,” he queried.
It was time for payback. “Go buy a wrench.”
“Why? Is something broken?” he asked, seemingly concerned. Would he consider it his responsibility to help her?
“No. Just because we don’t have one.”
The husband threw his head back and laughed out loud, surprising her. “I know that one. Beaches.”
Surprising. “How do you know that? I mean, these aren’t exactly guy movies.”
“I have four sisters. I’m the baby. No X-Men for me.”
“Say no more. That explains everything.”
He extended his hand. “I’m Jack. Jack Alexander, by the way. Guess it’s time we introduce ourselves.”
Chloe grasped his hand, his grip firm and strong. “I’m Chloe Brennan.”
“Chloe,” he repeated. “I like it. It’s an unusual name.”
“Alexander seems like an unusual last name.”
He shrugged. “Had it all my life.”
“Good answer.”
Jack smiled broadly and her worries washed away.
“Shall we go?” he said, his hand motioning toward his jeep as if it were a grand carriage.
It rather felt like a portal into a new world.
Coffee, syrup, and the low hum of conversation permeated the air as Jack and the dark-haired beauty sat down in the booth, facing each other.
Chloe, Jack corrected himself.
Now that he knew her name, he had to stop thinking of her as the dark-haired beauty. Her loveliness came naturally, without her having to work very hard for it. Frankly, she didn’t need any of the usual trappings to be beautiful. She had long, dark brown hair and matching brown eyes. Her hair was stick straight, but thick, and layered at the bottom. Her nails weren’t polished, her hair wasn’t curled and hair sprayed to perfection, and she wore little make-up. Her clothing was stylish, yet simple, nothing that screamed for attention.
So, why was it that he couldn’t stop thinking about her?
It was her eyes. They told a story. Her inner beauty seemed to radiate out at him from deep within her soul.
She was pretty, soft, and sweet, almost angelic in appearance and nature. She was calm, and moved with slow, graceful movements. Even the blink of her eyes was exaggerated, as if she lived life in slow motion.
There was more to it than that, though.
Her eyes captured his attention because of the raw emotion he saw inside of them. There was a certain sadness contained within their chocolaty depths that bespoke anguish. It seemed obvious to him after one glance.
This was a woman hanging by a thread. Yet he sensed a quiet strength within her that kept her intact. She was holding onto the thread for dear life, refusing to let go.
As he’d stood on her doorstep the first day he’d met her, he felt her pain. Literally, he felt it as if her sorrow was tangible, like he could pick it up and toss it away.
If only.
He’d never felt that before around anyone he’d ever met. An air of distress seemed to surround her.
Then, in frustration at the events of the day, he’d gone and said the rudest thing he’d ever said to a woman—or anyone—in his entire life. His sisters would’ve eaten him alive for such a chauvinistic comment. He knew better. The agony in Chloe’s eyes had completely taken him aback and he’d felt like a world class heel.
Now, as he sat across from her, he felt as though she was hidden behind a glass wall, observing life, but not participating in it.
Everything about her intrigued him. He wanted to reach out and hug her, to tell her everything was going to be okay, to wipe the sadness from her eyes. She brought out all of his protective instincts.
He’d gone home that night—after seeing her for the first time at her doorstep—and had a disturbing dream.
He’d dreamt that the dark-haired beauty—Chloe—had closed herself in a small cardboard box, curled up inside like a pretzel. She’d decided to stay in the cardboard box until she died. The box wasn’t sealed; it was merely her own will that held her within the confining space. Even more alarming is that the box was located in his living room of all places, and he was there, sitting on the couch, watching TV, and eating dinner, while observing her actions as if nothing was out of the ordinary. Technically, it was just a box sitting in his living room, an inert object with no emotion attached to it whatsoever. Any sentiment concerning it should’ve ended there.
Instead he could feel her angst from inside, he could feel her torment, her utter determination to simply lie down and die. The feeling alarmed him. Nonetheless he’d gone about his life, all the while knowing she was in the box waiting to die, as if he’d agreed to comply with her outlandish wishes. The box sat in his living room even as visitors had stopped by to say hello. She didn’t make a peep and he’d felt as though he could feel her troubled spirit seeping out through the folds of the box as she drifted away.
A dream had never been so disconcerting. It unsettled him so greatly; he had to act upon his feelings, to do something—anything. He’d stopped by her house to check on her every day since. He couldn’t shake the feeling that she needed help. It was pure luck that she’d been outside today as he’d driven past the house. Then he’d overreacted and scared the poor girl half to death. She’d tried to hide her fear, but it was obvious to him. He’d been a little surprised when she’d agreed to have breakfast with him.
She hadn’t said much as of yet. Driving in the open jeep made conversation difficult, hence they’d only shared idle chitchat at stoplights.
I love your jeep.
Thanks. Would you like me to put the top back on?
No, I love the wind in my face.
Hot day out today.
Yep. Supposed to be even hotter tomorrow.
Looking forward to monsoon season.
The rain will be nice.
Scintillating conversation.
They both ordered pancakes and as they waited for their order, Jack knew he needed to put her at ease.
“I love this place. They have the best pancakes around.” Such a clever thing to say, Jack.
“I’ve actually never eaten here before,” she replied, looking as though she’d rather be undergoing a root canal than be here with him. “That’s a good thing though, I hate running in to people I know.”
Odd. While reserved, she didn’t strike him as the anti-social type. Maybe just the sweet and shy type. Why wouldn’t she want to see friends? It was somehow telling, he just wasn’t sure how as of yet.
Time to just blurt out what he really wanted to say. “Look, can I just say one more thing about that day at your doorstep? Then I’ll shut up about it.” Beat a dead horse, Jack.
“Okay.”
“Marriage takes two people, trying their hardest to make things work. When it doesn’t work, it’s rarely, if ever, the fault of just one person. I’m sorry if I made you feel as if it was all your fault. I know that’s not the case. I can’t believe I said such a thing.”
Her huge brown eyes looked upon him with doe-like innocence, her essence seeping into his heart. “Jack, I know you said it in anger and hurt. I didn’t take it literally. Please don’t worry about it anymore. Thank you, though. I appreciate your apology.”
Yep, she was a sweetheart all right. Why on earth would Brennan ever leave her? “Thank you for being so forgiving.” Her long hair her was parted to one side, and fell down over one eye, a veil that protected her from the outside world. With one hand she re
ached up and flipped her hair over her shoulder. He wasn’t sure how to help her feel more comfortable.
“Can I ask you something?” she said in her soft voice.
“Sure. Anything.”
“What would you have done if Mark had been home that day?”
“Was I there to beat him to a pulp? Is that what you’re asking?”
“Yes,” she said.
“I just wanted to give him a piece of my mind. That’s all. Nothing more. Stealing someone’s wife is an uncool thing to do. I wouldn’t have resorted to violence, though.”
“May I ask what happened between you and your wife?”
Talk about cutting to the chase. She didn’t want to mess around, she wanted to get right to the point, the very thing that had brought the two of them together. Truth be told, it’s what he wanted to talk about too. “Honestly, I married Taryn impulsively after knowing her for one month. I believe that’s at the root of all the problems between us. From the beginning, we didn’t really know each other.”
“Taryn?” she questioned, as if the name was painful.
Ah, she didn’t even know the name of the woman who had stolen her husband. “Yes, Taryn is my wife’s name.”
“I-I haven’t heard that name before.” Her fingers absentmindedly toyed with the utensils. Nervous tension, perhaps.
“It’s unusual. I like the name Chloe better.” Over the top, Jack. Dousing her with flattery will not make everything better.
She didn’t respond to his compliment. “One month? That was awfully fast.”
“Yeah, my sisters said I wasn’t thinking with my heart or my brain.” He sighed with disgust. “They were right.”
Chloe cringed and he hoped that hadn’t been too crude of a thing to say.
“The truth is it hasn’t been a good marriage from the get-go. But I married her, so I decided I needed to try my best to make it work. I owed her that much. The consequences of our choices are sometimes tough.” Did he miss Taryn or had their life together simply become a habit? Yes to both. Change is never easy.
“You tried your best though. That’s significant,” she offered.
Jack nodded, appreciating her attempt to make him feel better. They were on the same wavelength, both trying to console the other. He could tell she was listening to every word he said and deciphering the unspoken meaning behind them. “When she announced she was taking off with Mark, my pride was hurt more than anything. The other part of me felt relieved it was finally over.”