“Don’t let him fool you. He’s already eaten two full bowls of Purina dog chow,” I said. Sean’s eyes sparkled in the lantern light. “I was talking to you, Maeva. Are you hungry? And would you care to join me?” He waved at the patio table, where he’d set a plate for himself with a fork, steak knife and napkin. Very tempting.
Without thinking, I answered, “Yes, as a matter of fact, I am hungry. I couldn’t bring myself to eat the dog chow.”
Sean laughed a deep, sexy chuckle. “Join me then. How do you like yours? He fanned the fork at the grilling steaks. “These are medium rare, but I can cook yours longer if you like.”
Before I thought better of it, I answered, “Medium rare is good, but...”
“Also I have salad. What kind of dressing do you like? Vinaigrette, Italian, oil and vinegar? The French is past the drop-dead date.”
“I prefer Vinaigrette, but I don’t know...if I should...” “There’s plenty, and I’d love your company.”
I took a breath and considered his invitation, which felt rushed and a little too spontaneous, giving me queasy butterflies in my stomach, but I didn’t have a legitimate excuse to refuse him until I remembered the generator. “Some other time, maybe, right now I’m trying to get this thing out and operating, but thanks for asking me.”
“Let me help you.” He placed the lantern and the large fork on the table before picking up the big box containing the generator.
I took that opportunity to get a good look at him. His arms, chest and legs were muscular with tight, six-pack abs, striated like a swimmer or a runner who lifts weights for strength. I’d never seen a more perfect male body.
Sean set the generator next to my French doors. “This okay? You shouldn’t run it inside.” True. Last year, during hurricane season, several people died from carbon monoxide poisoning, because they ran their generators inside their homes. “Yes, I know. Thanks for helping me.”
Sean touched my shoulder. “You’re welcome. Now surely you can take a moment to eat.”
Prior to meeting Sean, I imagined him as the type of man who enjoyed expensive restaurants and fine wine, finer women and frequent partying, not the sort of guy who celebrated alone, fixing his own dinner, enjoying his own company with no one around to share it with him except me, a beach neighbor he’d met yesterday.
As if reading my mind, Sean said, “I do like going out to a nice restaurant. Maybe while you’re here, I can take you. If we can find one open. The hurricane seems to have chased everyone out.”
It sounded too much like a date, but not knowing for sure, I let it pass, grabbed Onyx’s collar, then touched my waist pouch to feel the Magnum.
Chapter Thirty-seven
Ellen Langley, Tallahassee
Geneva’s hubby gave Ellen a zombie stare and sat with his hands clutching his knees. He reminded her of a statue, trapping her, with no possible way to get away and call Geneva until much later than the designated time.
He’d requested tacos. Ellen knew they’d be easy to make from the instructions on the box.
She’s found everything she needed in the kitchen: Twelve taco shells and sauce. Ground beef was in the freezer. All she had to do was thaw the meat in the microwave, brown it in the skillet. Add spices. Then warm the taco shells.
However, she saw a problem: The packet of taco spices contained, “Monosodium Glutamate.” “The spices for the tacos have MSG,” she told Loughton VanSant, who sat at the dining table, as if waiting to be fed. “What?”
“The taco spices have Monosodium Glutamate, which causes brain damage in rats and gives me headaches. Are you allergic?”
“Are you comparing yourself to a rat?”
This man has the social skills of an orangutan. “Heavens no, I’m just saying, I’ll leave the spices out. Add something better, a little salt. Maybe some red and black pepper if that’s okay with you.”
He nodded, as if in agreement.
Instead of the MSG, Ellen added red pepper, salt and a little curry powder to the cooked ground beef. Then she chopped up some lettuce, a tomato and a slice of onion. Next, she grated a cup of cheese and placed everything on the table in front of VanSant.
He didn’t waste any time stuffing a taco shell with all the fixings. In fact, he consumed half of the taco in one bite. “Good,” he said, with his mouth full.
“I’m glad you like it,” she said. “Will you excuse me for a moment?”
VanSant nodded.
Ellen walked back to her suite and dialed Geneva’s cell phone. It was 8:25 p.m., almost two hours past the agreed upon time.
Ellen wasn’t surprised when Geneva didn’t answer. “Hi Geneva,” Ellen said after the beep. “I’m sorry I didn’t call you at 6:30 as promised, but your husband was here. I didn’t have a private moment. Also, reporters have been calling all day. Your mother has called a zillion times, but I didn’t talk to her. I’ll send you e-mail tonight. Please reply when you get a chance. I received the address you gave me for our get together. Don’t worry. I’ll make it there somehow.”
After Ellen hung up the phone, the doorbell chimed. She raced down the hall toward the front of the house to answer it.
Loughton VanSant had opened the door before Ellen got there. They faced a barrage of reporters with flashing cameras and microphones.
While waving at the commotion, VanSant turned to Ellen and said, “You stay in here. I need to make an appearance. Might help us locate Geneva.”
Chapter Thirty-eight
Maeva, Paradise Isle
I finger-combed my pixie doll do, that’s what Jeffrey, my hairdresser, called this particular style when he chopped off my hair. When Adam was alive, I wore my carrot-red locks below my shoulders to please him, because he liked long hair.
After he was murdered, Jeffrey at Cut up and Barber talked me into the pixie. “Maintenance free and draws attention to your fabulous face and eyes,” he claimed.
I wasn’t convinced of the fabulous part, but I had to agree the style was easy to maintain. I could wash, finger comb and go.
As if Sean could read my thoughts, he said, “I love the way you wear your hair. It’s very becoming.” I doubted his compliment. I hadn’t checked myself in the mirror since early that morning. No idea what I must look like after my horrible day, but I could imagine. It wasn’t pretty.
“Would you like a glass of wine?” Sean offered.
“Might as well. Thank you.”
Sean grabbed a bottle of Merlot, uncorked it and poured me a glass.
I swirled the red liquid as I’d learned to do when Adam and I went on that wine-tasting trip to Napa Valley. “Lovely,” I said, after tasting it.
Sean plopped a filet on my plate, then went inside to get a bowl of tossed salad and the vinaigrette dressing. From where I sat, I could see him in the kitchen arranging the food on a tray. He poured a glass of water for himself from a gallon jug.
“Aren’t you having wine?” I asked when he returned to the table.
He handed me a paper napkin and sat down. “If I have as much as one sip, I won’t be able to stop until I get drunk and black out. I’m an alcoholic.”
“That’s terrible.”
“Yeah, tell me about it. Worse than terrible when I can’t remember a damn thing, where I’ve been, or what I’ve done.”
“Scary.” I ate a bite of the steak and wondered why he kept alcohol around when he couldn’t drink it. “Tastes great. What did you marinate it in?”
Sean speared his salad. “Soy sauce, Worcestershire, minced garlic, a little honey and olive oil.”
“Where did you get the filets? I had to drive forever today to find dog food.” “I keep them in my freezer.”
I poured the vinaigrette dressing on my salad and glanced inside his town home. “How do you keep everything from spoiling? Do you have a generator somewhere?”
Sean speared his meat with the fork like a chef then carved off a piece of steak with the knife. “I should have installed one when I remodeled, bu
t I didn’t.” He placed his right hand over my left hand, a gesture I considered too intimate. “But I have a battery-operated cooler that works well. Speaking of batteries, I have a CD player that works, would you like some music?”
I swallowed a bite of salad before answering. “That would be nice.”
Sean went back inside, walking with the grace of a self-confident man. Soon the first stanza of a tinkling piano began to play, “When a Man Loves a Woman.”
He left the French doors open, allowing the music to filter out. “I love this CD. It has ‘Yesterday,’ ‘Blue Velvet,’ ‘Moon River,’ ‘Had to Be You,’ ‘Love Is A Many Splendored Thing...’”
“It’s lovely,” I said, feeling the warmth of the crystal on my chest.
He smiled, showing his dimples.
We ate in silence, listening to the music, the wind, and waves until Onyx broke the mood with his whimpering. To appease the dog, Sean gave him a piece of steak.
I started to protest, but the dog snapped up the steak with such relish I decided one bite wouldn’t kill him. As if satisfied, he sat down between us on the patio while Sean and I continued to eat in silence. Filmy clouds slid over a new moon, and I had the sensation the piano music orchestrated it. When I finished my first glass of wine, Sean poured me another, and I wanted to ask him about his problem with alcohol and blackouts, but I didn’t quite know how to broach the subject. Adam had a college buddy who refused to admit he was a drunk until he blacked out, got a DUI and woke up in jail.
Rather than share this story with Sean, I used the straightforward approach. “When did you first realize you were an alcoholic?”
“Hard to say.” Sean dabbed his month with the napkin. “I was in denial for a long time. During my college days my drinking didn’t seem to interfere. After med school, I signed up for the army, went to Iraq, served in the first Gulf War. By then, I was sneaking booze every day, made me feel good. I thought I didn’t have a problem, because I felt great most of the time. Like other alcoholics, I inherited the tendency and tolerance for it, but my excessiveness began to take its toll after I married.”
“You’re married?” I felt a pang of disappointment.
Sean smiled and squeezed my hand. “I was married. We divorced a year ago.”
“Sorry.” I pulled my hand from his, and reminded myself he was a stranger, though a charismatic one.
“Don’t be sorry. We shouldn’t have married to begin with, but I thought it was the right thing.”
“The right thing? What do you mean?”
“Bunnie, my now ex-wife, was pregnant at the time. I didn’t want my child to be illegitimate. As I was. I never knew my father. Never met him until he came to my first book signing. He showed up out of the blue, an Irishman with a puffy boozer’s face.” “How did you know for sure he was your father?”
“He told me enough. My mother later verified it. Also, it was clear I’d inherited his eyes.”
“I wondered where the blue eyes came from. Your bio on the book jacket said you’re an American Indian.”
He laughed. “I’m a half-breed who inherited my eyes from the Irishman who charmed my mother until she came to her senses. But getting back to why Bunnie and I married. She was young. I was her first. We lived on the same reservation. It was one of those things and just one time, but she got pregnant. It was my fault. I knew I needed to assume the responsibility of raising our child.”
I remembered the boy’s photo in Sean’s living room. “How old is your child now?”
Sean massaged his eyes. “Jonathan would have been ten last July. He died two years ago.”
I thought of Dad, Mom and Adam, and the long grieving process that never ended. How horrible to lose a child. “I’m so sorry. How did your son die?”
“Heart problems, complicated by multiple birth defects. Jonathan had a hole in his heart. His doctors wanted to wait until he grew older and stronger...” Sean whistled a sigh. “Jonathan was my life. And the reason Bunnie and I married. After he died, there was nothing to hold us together. Unfortunately, Bunnie blamed herself for what happened to him when it was actually my fault.”
“Why do you say it was your fault?”
“After I came back from the war, I had physical problems, the cause of which may have contributed to siring a defective child. Also, my drinking got worse.”
“What kind of physical problems?” “For one, my skin began to streak like a zebra’s.” “Your skin looks fine to me.”
“It’s okay if I don’t try to tan. I’m dark anyway so I stay out of the sun or use sunscreen, but the skin problem was not my only symptom. My fingernails stopped growing.” He held up his hands. “I experienced some memory loss and coordination problems. I have occasional flashbacks of the war. However, my symptoms aren’t as severe as other soldiers who developed Amyotrophic Lateral Sclerosis.”
“I’m very familiar with Lou Gehrig’s Disease,” I said, studying my fork filled with salad. I questioned how much I should share with Sean. “My Dad died from ALS.”
Sean touched my cheek, tenderly. “Terrible, I’m so sorry.”
“Do you really think there’s a link between the Gulf War and ALS?”
“I do. There’s an excess in the rate of ALS in veterans who served.”
“How do you explain that?”
“Neurotoxic exposures.”
“Dad served in Vietnam. He once said he thought there was a link between Agent Orange and ALS, but he wasn’t sure.”
“As you may know, the chemical companies who produced Agent Orange, which is dioxin, admitted guilt when they settled that class-action suit.”
I nodded in agreement. “I know, but I’d rather not talk about that.”
“What would you like to talk about, Maeva?”
“I’d like to know how you’re feeling now. What are you doing to treat your health problems?” “I follow the adage, ‘physician, heal thy self,’ which is the main reason I went to chiropractic college. I favor holistic remedies more than traditional medicine. That’s not to say traditional medicine isn’t necessary.”
“I see, you’re saying you prefer taking vitamins and herbs and eating more veggies and less red meat.” I smiled, impishly. I made a point of cutting off a piece of steak and placing it in my mouth.
Sean laughed, as if he enjoyed my sarcasm. “Good source of protein, low in fat.”
Onyx barked, demanding more steak.
I expected Sean to give in to the ravenous dog, but he stroked Onyx’s head instead. “I could never be a vegetarian and as far as drugs go. I’ve done my share, Xanax for alcohol withdrawal and anxiety, all kinds of over-the-counter stuff. For the most part I’ve stayed on the wagon, though I’ve had my relapses.”
I became aware of a painful throbbing in my head. I’d had only two glasses wine, and I felt fatigued. By now, the Tylenol had worn off. I massaged my temples to ease the pain.
Sean leaned in close, with concern on his face. “Are you okay?”
I couldn’t lie. Sean’s a chiropractor. He might help me. “I had a stupid accident today.”
Sean scooted his chair closer. “What kind of accident?” “In my truck...”
Sean grimaced. “What happened?”
I pointed to Onyx. “This guy ran out in front of me. I swerved to miss him and hit a palm tree.”
Sean ran his fingers along my upper back and neck. “You’re definitely out.” He walked behind me and began to massage my neck and shoulders. “Try to relax.”
“I don’t think that’s possible.” I touched the crystal, now hot, resting on my breastbone. “Why don’t we do this some other time?”
“You’re just tense,” he whispered. “Let go. Let your arms drop. Take deep breaths. Focus on your breathing.”
I tried to follow Sean’s instructions, but my breathing became shallow rather than deep as Sean positioned his hands on both sides of my head. He jerked it to the left.
I jumped when I heard the loud cracking noise in my n
eck. “Ouch.”
“You okay?” he asked.
“I don’t know,” I answered while trying to monitor my body.
Sean jerked my head to the right, making another popping sound. This time, I felt my face turning red. How do you feel?” he asked.
I rubbed my neck and took a minute before I answered. “Sore, but my headache seems to have disappeared.”
Sean sat next to me and sandwiched my hands in his. “That’s natural. I’ll give you another adjustment tomorrow. Meanwhile, you need to apply ice to your neck.”
I freed my hands. “I don’t have ice unfortunately.”
“I’ll get you some.” He stood up. “And put it in a sock for you?”
“A sock?”
He laughed. “It’s a clean sock.”
I laughed with him, and marveled at how well I felt as Sean walked inside and disappeared from view. A moment later, he returned with a lumpy gym sock filled with ice. After he handed it to me, I said, “Thanks for everything. Dinner was great, and I appreciate your cracking my neck. I think you got rid of my headache. The massage was helpful, too.”
He smiled, showing his dimples. “I’d hardly call what I gave you a massage, but hey, if you’re looking for a good one, I’m your man.”
It sounded like a definite pass. Not knowing how to respond, I stood. Onyx got up with me. I grabbed his collar and directed him toward my patio. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
Sean grinned roguishly. “Please do.”
At the French doors of unit five, I turned to wave goodbye before I entered.
Sean looked handsome, standing there, staring at me. It was one of those deja vu moments, the way Rhett looked at Scarlet maybe, or the way Adam looked at me. Whatever the memory, I chose not to dwell on it. “Goodnight,” I said.
“In case you need anything, I’ll leave my door open.”
I didn’t know what to say to that, but I wondered if he expected me to sashay up to his bed all hot and ready. Thinking he was probably used to women behaving that way, I walked inside the townhouse, it looked dreadfully dark, and I wished I’d hooked up the generator, but I didn’t have the energy to do it then.
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