Secrets & Admirers

by Allie York

  I went back to the notebook, trying to decide how to approach the situation. He wasn’t really stalking me as much as admiring from afar so I wasn’t creeped out. It was actually really cute. No one had ever put any energy into me, much less enough to write it all down. I slowly came up with a plan as to how I would proceed. He may have been a coward, but I wasn’t, and I planned to find out who the man was without him even knowing. Maybe my new life came with a new relationship too? I texted Jovie to tell her I was working through lunch and settled down in front of the small black notebook to pen my response.

  Dear Creepy Coward,

  I stood from my usual seat on the bus today only to step on a small black notebook. Freudian slip? Since you failed to fill in the contact information on the inside cover of your over-priced notebook, I have no way to return the book to you except to leave it on the bus. You have obviously been watching me for some time, 17 days to be exact. But have only kept track of me for my short ride, so it hardly counts as stalking. If you were to follow me home, we would have a legal issue. The longer I have reflected on this, the more flattered I am, although a lesser person may be scared as hell. So, if you are watching anyone else, keep better track of your journals. You seem to have questions about me and I am going to answer them one at a time. In exchange, I get to ask questions as well. The H on my bag is for my first name. My turn. Do you have any habits that one might find offensive or objectionable? I.E. illegal substances, prostitute habit, etc…

  Sincerely,

  H

  Once I was satisfied with my response, I drew a flower in the top corner of the page in my purple pen. Then I drew some other swirly doodles in the blank spaces just like I did with my lists. The black notebook was boring just like his black pen and tame handwriting. So, I spiced it up. My “stalker” even said himself that he was boring and straight-laced. Maybe the man only needed some color in his bland life.

  Jim approached me just after lunch and handed me an envelope with my name scribbled across the top. “This was on my desk for you.” He patted my shoulder and left me to my letter. The paper was unlined with red marker in big angry letters. “Go home, bitch.” I flipped the envelope over and checked the name. It clearly said my name in black ink that matched the writing inside. I didn’t even know what home meant, so where the hell was I supposed to go?

  During the bus ride home, I scanned the faces from behind my book, trying to pick a few likely subjects, but then I realized that was stupid. He only saw me in the mornings, so I would only see him in the mornings. Thank the Universe that no one could read my thoughts. I had the next morning planned out to the second and wrote it down so I would remember. He was on the bus when I got on but got off before me, so I would ride one stop and then get off to walk the rest of the way, making a big show of leaving the book.

  I lit a few candles as I came in and gave Morticia a rub down where she was basking on my futon. My sleek black cat was the first thing I put in my new apartment and a gift from Jovie. My place was small and cozy, especially once I got it decorated to my liking. I had to buy plants for the balcony and windows, but I brought my own tapestries and beads. Then I painted a few new pieces for the walls that didn’t have something else hanging from them. I bought second-hand furniture as soon as I secured the apartment and painted a few of the furniture items on a whim. Local shops surrounded my tiny apartment building so finding handmade candles was a breeze. It was colorful, cozy, and home. I could have upgraded considering the money I had, but something about using the money still felt wrong. I liked paying my own way.

  I made a salad, settled on the couch, and polished off my book, trying to decide why the man was a coward. Was he ugly? Or maybe disfigured? Was he homeless? Maybe he was just genuinely shy. Maybe he had been hurt in the past. I had my fair share of that. My only serious relationship had been Blake and that ended with me not being enough, again. My ex and I worked in the beginning, or I thought we did, but I had no hopes of long-term commitment. The idea of settling down with a soulmate was never one that crossed my mind until I stayed with Rae and met Jovie. Everything lined up perfectly for them. I had dated a few guys right out of high school, traveled with a few of them to see the country, but stayed out of the free-love beliefs. Blake obviously wasn’t my person, but maybe someone out there was. Call it vain, but a man out there thinking of me as beautiful made butterflies take flight in my chest. The sensation was new for me, and I liked it. A lot.

  Chapter Six

  Briggs

  I made it to my office and sat down before I realized it was even gone. Panic hit me like an oncoming train and I beat my fist on the desk like a caveman. How could I be so careless? I checked my pockets a millionth time, still no book. I was completely distracted by the injury on her leg and just watching her that I didn’t notice missing my pocket. How was I supposed to get it back? It was simple. I wasn’t getting it back. I was stalking the woman, had made a log of said stalking, and then lost it. Shit. Like my life couldn’t get any worse. I set my elbows on the desk and rested my head in my hands, tugging at my hair. The events over the last few months had teetered between blessing and curse to the point of dizziness. Ma getting her diagnosis was terrible, but having an excuse to move out of the condo I shared with Penny was nice. The downside was that Beck moved in with her too. The place was big enough for the three of us, but adding his ego made it a tight fit. My brother was a walking complex with an ego as big as our home state. Going home, even after Dad died, was a painful reminder, but Ma needed me and I would always be there.

  “Still saving the planet, loser?” My thirty-two-year-old brother still called me a loser. So not only was he an ass, the guy was mature about it. “No wonder you can’t get laid; you read all day and ride the bus.” I grunted an acknowledgment, hoping he would go bother someone else. “Pussy requires a car when you’re over thirty, Briggs.” Or in your case, a nice crisp twenty, dear brother. “We are doing lunch with Nick and his wife Saturday. Man, I would love to get my hands on Rae. Have you seen her tits? Maybe the friend she’s bringing will be hot and single. Or at least hot.” Beck patted my shoulder and finally left me to my work. Rae was really pretty. Curvy and red-headed, but also married to a close friend.

  Before I pulled up the waste treatment plant plans on the computer, I slid another notebook from my shelf. It was tan and had an entire list of H names in it. I was crazy. Like get arrested and committed crazy. Hannah, Hailey, Harley, Helen, Hazel, Heather. None of those fit the way she looked, but people never look like their name. Hope, Harper, Harmony, Haven. I jumped like a guilty man when Nick came by to check on me. He was a long-time employee, and took care of most of the IT crap at the office. He also had the honor of showing me the ropes. I liked him quite a bit. Nick was a big guy, taller than my six-foot-three with the best personality. It hadn’t taken long for him to tell me how much he liked me more than Beck. Maybe because I didn’t go out of my way to be a dick. I had to admit that the guy was better at dealing with my brother than I was. Nick just let it all roll off, acting like nothing rattled him at all. He confirmed lunch the next day, claiming to need me to buffer my brother, and went on his merry way.

  H was at the back of my mind all day. The way her nearly black hair fell down her back and was newly streaked with chunks of white. She seemed so free and unaffected and was effortlessly gorgeous. Warm, glowing skin, golden-brown eyes, and pouty lips. In the two weeks I had been stalking her, she had never worn makeup, never been anything but cheery, and even Sal seemed to like her. Sal the bus driver hated everyone, or at least he hated me. It was probably because he knew I was a damn stalker. H breezed in that first day and I was done. No woman had caught my eye like that, ever, not even Penny. Penny and I met at a bar of all places when Beck picked up her friend. Beck leaving with the other girl left Penny and me stranded, so we shared a cab home, and I bravely, and drunkenly, asked for her number. Once we started dating, I knew it was a mistake, but that drive to settle down was so strong tha
t I overlooked things I shouldn’t have. The main thing I overlooked was how Penny acted around Beck. After thirty years, I still hadn’t learned that my brother always comes in first. I’d never be that stupid again.

  The day dragged to the point of making me tired as hell. So, I pulled out my phone and looked up the author H was reading on the bus. Hugh Howey was a sci-fi author; I downloaded the book to my phone and fell in. The book was like a damn rabbit hole. I read between jobs, read during lunch, and then while Beck drove home. Beck talked incessantly about some girl he had coming over. By the time we got home, I knew far more about Lucy’s body than I cared to, and I readily agreed to take Ma to dinner so he could “get some ass”. Beck never had a shortage of ass, but it was never enough. Maybe it was his need for conquest, or he had some serious self-validation issues. I did, but I owned it. Beck, on the other hand, buried his under layers of sex, drugs, and booze.

  Ma and I loaded into my Prius and headed to The Bistro by the Tracks. It was her favorite. She was ill, but not stupid, and told me as much pretty quick, “If he is going to have women in my home, he could at least come out and say it. I know my sons have sex,” my mother grumbled from the passenger seat as I parked and walked around to help her out. I did not want a sex talk with my mother. “Why don’t you ever have dates?”

  “Beck doesn’t have dates, Ma. He has sex that he sometimes pays for. Dates mean you have to take a lady somewhere nice and treat her like a human.” I took her arm and we walked in, me steadying her. The cook greeted us from the open kitchen with a wave and we took our usual booth.

  “Maybe you should be more assertive.” Ma eyed me casually over the top of her menu. She would study it for at least fifteen minutes and order the same thing she always ate. Sweet tea, BLT, and sweet potato fries. “You seem so lonely.” Ma wanted grandkids and to see her sons cared for by a good woman, but I truly doubted it would ever happen for either of us.

  I huffed indignantly, “I’m not lonely. I work, I read, I eat with you. Not having a constant stream of women coming in does not mean I’m lonely. I’m having lunch with some work people this weekend. Don’t worry about me.” I patted her arm and smiled to solidify my lie. I was lonely as hell, but not lonely enough to stoop to Beck’s level. Getting a woman talking was not a problem, intimacy was the problem. Dating meant sex, and sex meant being judged by the scars marring me. It was not something I was willing to deal with again. I could look at myself with disgust, so I didn’t need a woman doing it for me. It was just safer to leave women out of the equation.

  We ordered and chatted about work and her friend Ruth from the library. Ruth was a serious blessing to my mother. She ran the library and let Ma work behind the desk a few days a week. They also played cards with Ruth’s two sisters on weekends. I thought about H while Mom complained about the people who tried to overstay their welcome on the computers during her watch. Maybe Ma was on to something, maybe being more assertive wouldn’t hurt. I could plop down next to H and introduce myself. I wanted to walk up and say, “Hi, I’m Briggs, and after watching you for three weeks, I decided I had to know the beautiful woman who I can’t stop thinking about.” The thought alone made my stomach churn. I was not bold, or even confident, so it was all just a dream. I would admire from afar, but that was all I would ever get from H. She was the beauty to my beast.

  I flew through the book H had inadvertently recommended and downloaded the next in the series. That was one author I would read all of. Instead of reading the next book, I laid back on my bed, pondering life and the universe and crap. I knew I had been dealt the shitty hand from a young age, but the last few months had just rubbed it in my face. Beck was right—we were getting older, and while I had the whole stability thing down, I was nowhere close to satisfied. It wasn’t living with my mother; it was the lack of anyone important to me. I was used to being the second choice. It was that way from day one, even before the wreck and the scars. Teachers overlooked me for Beck, my brother was chosen for sports while I watched, and even our parents viewed him as superior. He was. When we went out, I was the Goose to his Maverick and he swept in and took the ladies. The only place I came in first was with my father’s drunken wrath, but that was because I felt the need to put myself in the way of him beating Ma and Beck. My brother had that charm that made people gravitate to him and a silver tongue to match.

  I paid Sal the next morning, took my seat near the back, and waited the few minutes for her stop to come up reading the paper. H walked slowly to the bus, not hurried like the day before and patted Sal on the arm as she swiped her card. Something about everything she wore was perfect. Her grass green skirt and “beware of the hippies” shirt made me laugh to myself. I focused out the window when she panned the bus like she was looking for someone. When I peeked up, her brows were drawn, but she sat down, pulled my notebook from her bag, and flipped through it casually. My stomach turned to liquid and bile burned my throat. The woman had my book; she had my book and she knew what kind of terrible, creepy person I was. What kind of sick joke was being played on me? God had a fucked-up sense of humor. H dropped the notebook in the seat next to her, opened a Douglas Adams book and slouched back in her seat, smiling like she as really clever. Two stops before her usual, H stood up and breezed off the bus, waving at Sal as she went. Once H stepped off, the second her foot hit the concrete, I bolted from my seat and dove for the notebook. No one was paying me a bit of attention, not even Sal, so I eagerly opened the book thumbed through it. The next page had loopy, graceful cursive and purple doodles all over it.

  Dear Creepy Coward,

  I stood from my usual seat on the bus today only to step on a small black notebook. Freudian slip? Since you failed to fill in the contact information on the inside cover of your over-priced notebook, I have no way to return the book to you except to leave it on the bus. You have obviously been watching me for some time, 17 days to be exact. But have only kept track of me for my short ride, so it hardly counts as stalking. If you were to follow me home, we would have a legal issue. The longer I have reflected on this, the more flattered I am, although a lesser person may be scared as hell. So, if you are watching anyone else, keep better track of your journals. You seem to have questions about me and I am going to answer them one at a time. In exchange, I get to ask questions as well. The H on my bag is for my first name. My turn. Do you have any habits that one might find offensive or objectionable? I.E. illegal substances, prostitute habit, etc…

  Sincerely,

  H

  The woman was obviously my soulmate. If only I knew her name. We would get there even if it took me filling hundreds of notebooks. I would tell her whatever she wanted. The only foreseen problem was that the next day was Saturday and I would not be on the bus. “Uh, Sal?” I tapped his shoulder and he grunted, or growled maybe. “That woman who just left, the one that talks to you. Is she on the bus Saturdays?” Sal nodded, giving me a sly smirk. Yeah, Sal knew my game. With that, I pulled a fifty from my wallet and a pen from my pocket. I wrote her a message as my stop got closer and tucked the money inside. “I need you to give this to her tomorrow, please. This is for you as an incentive not to point me out this week.” Sal nodded once, took the notebook, and pocketed the fifty. Totally worth the money if he followed through.

  Nick and I had lunch, ordering some Chinese, and talked about the new Douglas Adams book I downloaded. He had read the whole series so he was well versed in the world and characters. We talked so long, we were almost late getting back to our desks. Nick clapped me on the shoulder. “I don’t wanna sound like an ass, but Rae’s friend that moved to town has similar interests and is going to lunch tomorrow.”

  I shook my head. “I’m terrible with women.” I was worse than terrible with women, especially after Penny. I had serious trust issues. Then there was the physical aspect. Few women could look past the scars to get to the good stuff.

  “Eh, me too. We met because Rae hit me in the jewels with a lightsaber. I am the epitome of nerd
and my wife is hot as hell. At least keep an open mind. She’s cool, and really pretty. Like, as different as you two are, you’d be great, but don’t tell Rae I suggested it. I don’t want another lightsaber to the boys.” I nodded and Nick went on to build a computer from scratch or something. He was good at his job, that’s for sure, and he was right—his wife was beautiful so the guy had good taste.

  I whittled away at Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy as the day went on, picking at my work and gunning for the weekend. I would make sure to not be at home unless I had to. Beck would have women in and out, screwing them and sending them on their way. It made me sick. Casual sex was fine and respectable, but he treated all women like prostitutes, whether they were or not. I rode home, staring at my phone, and ignored Beck’s weekend plans.

  Murphy accosted me when we got in so I took him out back to throw the ball while Ma watched from the patio. Even getting older with a gray face, Murphy was still in great shape. Maybe Nick was on to something with introducing me to someone. Maybe finding someone would be good for me. But I didn’t want anyone. I wanted her.

  Chapter Seven