Strangers

by A. L. Parks

  Strangers

  By A.L. PARKS

  Strangers

  Copyright © 2013 A.L. Parks Published by A.L. Parks

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form, including electronic or mechanical, without written permission from the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return it to the seller and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the author’s work.

  Published: A.L.Parks 6th September 2013: almparks2012@gmail.com

  Editing: Arianna Katherine from Arianna’s Editing Services

  Cover Design: Kari Ayasha at Covertocover Design:

  http://www.covertocoverdesigns.com/

  Proofreading by: Stephanie Shivers

  SKYFALL, 007 Gun Logo and related James Bond Trademarks are trademarks of Danjaq, LLC. All Rights Reserved.

  “Smile,” by Uncle Kracker; Happy Hour; 2009; Top Dog/Atlantic Records. All rights reserved.

  Dedication

  This book is dedicated to my husband, who spent hours reading and discussing a genre that he has very little interest in; my children, who would let me have my space when I needed it; my best friend and Beta-reader extraordinaire, Leigh Ann; and Lori Clark, who encouraged me to self-publish.

  Chapter One

  The city streets were bustling and alive with people moving quickly, gliding around each other with ease and grace, as if in an orchestrated ballet. The soft, swaying tones of Adele crooning about a love lost seemed at odds with the fast-paced dance that was occurring outside the window of the small café where Abby sat drinking her cappuccino, in no hurry to go anywhere or do anything. It was Valentine's Day, but the day meant nothing to her. Well, that was not altogether true – it meant nothing good to her. It meant reliving the worst day of her life.

  It should have been a day overflowing with reminders of vows, pledges of love, and exchanges of rings. Instead, it was a jumbled mass of incoherent visions of wreckage, and blood, and goodbyes that came too soon. She recalled standing with her father in the Bride's room, knowing the church was filled with friends and family. She was ready to go, the time had come, but the wedding planner had not opened the door to usher them out. So she stood, holding her father's hand, trying to envision Trevor standing at the altar waiting for her.

  The door creaked open slowly. The wedding planner poked her head around, and motioned towards her. Abby let out her breath and started to leave the room. Her father was asked to come out into the hall for a moment, leaving Abby standing alone, in her white dress, with her bouquet of white roses, and her red satin garter discreetly hidden away.

  Her father returned; a grim look on his face. Even now, Abby struggled to recall exactly the words he spoke to her; only able to remember the rush of emotions they evoked that propelled her out the door, down the steps of the church to the white Rolls Royce limousine that made its way hastily to the emergency room. She went to him, over the vehement objections of the doctors and nurses. She grasped his hand covered in his blood, looked into his beautiful blue eyes, and demanded that he keep his promise to love her forever, to marry her and spend their lives together. Trevor returned her gaze, looked past her eyes, deep into her heart and settled into her soul. His hand grazed her cheek, a sweet simple smile on his face. He told her she would be okay. He whispered that he loved her. And then closed his eyes forever.

  She had tried so hard over the past four years to remove the snapshots in her mind of the black limousine that was transporting Trevor to the church, the deep imprint of the tractor-trailer that had run the red light mutilating the space where her love had once sat in anticipation. The pictures in her head of the wedding dress, covered in his blood after she flung herself over him when they told her he was gone. She had refused to allow anyone to come near him; she was going to hold him and protect him and bring him back.

  Shaking her head of the images, she glanced back out the window, as her mother's words rang through her head, "You have to let him go, and you have to move on." And Abby had tried. She had dated, met new people, and tried to start a new life. She had almost succeeded in transforming her existence into something that resembled normal and happy. But grief was a shroud she could never fully remove. It too often wrapped itself around her, consumed her, and refused to let her move on.

  Dating was the one area she struggled in the most. Her friends had set her up with this "great guy" or that "perfect match." Yet, Abby had never felt anything past an initial interest in another person upon meeting each of them. So far, she had a long list of first dates, a handful of second dates, and a bunch of "great guys" and "perfect matches" as friends. No one had captured her attention. No one had ignited a spark. No one had provided that overwhelming feeling of "I cannot wait to see you again" with the accompanying butterflies to the stomach. None of them was Trevor. Moving on was something everyone wanted her to do, but it seemed to remain just out of Abby’s grasp. Or had she been refusing to even reach for it? Grief was familiar – as familiar as Trevor’s arms around her had been. She was not sure if she knew how to let it go.

  She had been so lost in her own reverie; she had failed to notice the door of the café open. The cold wrapped around her, forced her to look up. A man walked to the counter and glanced at the board, taking in the variety of coffees, espressos, and lattes, as well as a myriad of delectable pastries, rolls, cakes, and muffins.

  Abby watched as he took off his long, black dress coat and draped it over one of the bar stools. He was wearing a navy blue suit that must have been tailored just for him. His wavy, jet black hair barely touched the collar of his stark white dress shirt. He was tall, probably 6'0, with strong, broad shoulders. He stood with confidence; and for some reason, Abby could not drag her eyes away from him. She was intrigued by him; he was distracting, and she was captivated.

  He placed his order with the young, ponytailed blond, and though she had been listening, Abby had not paid attention to what he actually ordered. The stranger sat suddenly, turned in his seat to look out the window, and caught Abby staring at him. The rush of heat hit her cheeks. She was unable to look away from him. With great effort, she finally pulled her eyes from him and they fell on her now empty cup of cappuccino. She considered leaving, but had nowhere of importance to go. Every year since Trevor’s death, she had taken the day off. There would be an endless influx of long stem roses and bright, happy bouquets into the office that would adorn everyone's desk - except hers.

  In the afternoon she would make the trip to see Trevor, knowing she would end up spending more time with him than planned. She would brush the dirt from the heavy stone bearing his name, vital statistics, and announcing that he had been a "loving son and brother" but not "husband." She would leave frozen; externally from the brisk February wind and the cold of the ground she sat on while updating him on things that had occurred since her last visit; and internally, as she tried to sustain a love that was now unsustainable.

  "Mind if I join you?" Abby turned her head suddenly, and looked into the eyes of the stranger. He stood in front of her, two over-sized coffee cups in hand, smiled, and tilted his head to the side slightly. Flustered, Abby clea
red her newspaper out of the way.

  "Please, have a seat," she said, as her eyes followed him.

  "I hope you don't mind – I asked the waitress what you were drinking, and ordered you another," he stated, and slid one of the mugs across the table to her.

  "Oh," Abby responded. She glanced into the cup, and recognized the familiar design in the frothy milk. "Thank you," she added, took a sip, and glanced up at him inquisitively. There was something familiar in his gray eyes, and his smile, but Abby could not place it.

  "I'm sorry," the handsome stranger began, "But have we met? You seem familiar to me."

  "I was just about to ask you the same thing," Abby smiled. "I'm Abby Clark." She reached her hand across the table to him.

  Taking it, he gave it a slight squeeze. "Bryce Holden."

  "Does not sound familiar," Abby said. She noticed that he still had a hold of her hand, and that she was not anxious to withdraw it. A tingle went up Abby’s arm, and reminded her of something in her past, but that had been locked away for too long.

  "Hmm," Bryce murmured, "not to me, either." He finally let her hand go, and Abby laid it on the table, instead of in her lap. "Still," he continued, "I cannot get past the feeling that I know you. Something about your eyes, and your smile...," he continued to look into her blue-green eyes, assessing her, and absentmindedly moving his finger across his bottom lip.

  "Sorry," he said, and sat back in his seat, inhaling deeply. "I guess you remind me of someone I once knew." His eyes traveled out onto the street, glazed and fixed.

  Abby watched him for a moment longer, taking advantage of his diverted attention to figure out what about Bryce seemed so familiar to her, as well. There was no resemblance to anyone she had known – not the men she had dated over the past few years, and definitely not fair-haired Trevor. Except, when she considered Trevor, while looking at Bryce, she felt the same familiarity; the same sense of comfort ease and...contentment.

  "So, without this sounding incredibly cliché, do you come here often?" Bryce asked as he took a sip of his coffee, and turned his gaze back on her.

  "Yeah, I actually do. You?"

  "No, I just happened to find this place. I moved over to this side of town a couple of weeks ago. I'm just now venturing out, after finally unpacking."

  "What brought you over to this side of the city?" Abby asked, taking a larger drink of her coffee than she had intended.

  Bryce chuckled, and something nearly forgotten flickered in Abby as he moved his thumb across her upper lip, removing the remnants of the frothy milk. Once again Abby felt heat rise in her cheeks. There was an excitement brewing in her that she had not felt in a very long time. This stranger was evoking emotions that she had locked away, and until now, had made sure remained isolated when she was in the company of men. But Abby wanted to know more, wanted more. Not romance, necessarily, just a deeper connection to another person. Something that had been absent from her life.

  "I needed to start over, I guess. Get a new start, a fresh perspective. I've been in a bit of a funk for the past few years. I guess I just needed a change of scenery, or a diversion from the constant barrage of memories." He sat quietly for a moment while Abby watched him. She knew what it was like to get lost in thought, especially when trying in earnest to let things go, and focus on the future.

  "I'm sorry," Bryce interrupted his own thoughts, and gazed at Abby while fidgeting with the cuffs of his shirt. "I don't usually go on and on like this..."

  "No worries," Abby leaned in and whispered. "I have the same affliction, actually. I moved over here two years ago for similar reasons. And that thing you do, where you start talking, and then get lost in thought – I have that problem, as well. It typically causes people either to stare at me in complete confusion, or, if it’s one of my friends, I get 'Abby...hello...you're doing it again!'"

  There was an undeniable draw to this sad stranger, and Abby recognized the look of loss etched into his handsome features, and reflected in his stunning gray eyes. Abby had seen this same look in her own mirror, and felt if she could help this stranger, maybe she could obtain a sliver of relief from her own broken heart.

  She paused for a moment, reached her hand across the table to his, and gave it a squeeze. "It's not something that you even realize you're doing, until it is too late, huh? And by that time, you've offended someone." She paused briefly, and then added, "If I can offer one consolation – I understand, and I am not offended. In fact, I will probably do the same thing at some point."

  Bryce stared at her for a moment, not moving, not speaking. Finally he took her hand more firmly in his. "Feel free. It's nice to meet someone who gets it...and is patient. And listens."

  Abby made a quick assessment of the café. Ponytail girl was at the back of the bar, near the kitchen, talking to someone out of sight. Three women sat at a table in a back corner of the restaurant, ostensibly as far away from the door as possible to avoid the cold. No one else was in the café. Confirming their conversation would not be overheard, she asked, "Want to talk about it?"

  There was a glint in his eyes, wary, uncertain of her intent, or his ability to remain unemotional. "I'm a great listener, and I understand feeling lost. I am also a little selfish," Abby added. A blank stare met her gaze, so she continued, "I’m hoping it will distract me from my own memories, especially today." Bryce nodded and looked down at his hands, absentmindedly stroking the back of her hand that he had not yet released. The simple act of someone she had just met, which normally would have been odd and made Abby uncomfortable, had the opposite effect. It calmed her, allowed her to provide comfort to him – a stranger that seemed all too familiar to her.

  The next hour and a half included two more coffees for each of them, and Bryce's tale of love lost, in a quiet, non-violent manner, but no less heartbreaking. One year after he married his high school sweetheart, Emily, she was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer. They spent the next three years going through periods of treatment, remission, hair loss, hopefulness, and desperation. When it was clear that she would not win the race, they had decided to take all the money they had in savings and investments, and travel. Bryce had promised in his vows that she would see the world before they were parted by death. He just never figured it would be so soon. When she was unable to travel any longer, he rented a beach house in North Carolina, where Emily sat on the front porch taking in the sights and smells of summer. He held her tightly as she took her last breaths, promising that he would finish their journey around the world.

  Bryce had made it through his tale without breaking down. Abby had not. She wanted to go to him, wrap her arms around him. She wanted to find a sense of peace within her and offer it to him. She knew better than anyone that there were no words that would ease the pain. So she sat, wiped the tears from her face, and let him hold her hand tightly.

  They sat there for another fifteen minutes, not saying anything – not needing to. It was past the time for talk. It was a time to gain strength. And in those fifteen minutes, the two strangers were gaining strength from each other, attempting to make it through another day.

  They exchanged numbers, and even made a "friendship" date for the following Saturday morning, in the same café, sitting in the same booth in front of the window. Bryce took her coat from her hands, and held it open for her while she guided her arms into the sleeves.

  "Well, thanks for all the coffee," Abby chided, and watched as a small smile formed on Bryce's face.

  "Anytime," he responded, and they stood outside the cafe for a moment longer. "Okay, I'm going to go," Bryce finally spoke up. "You have things to do. I'll see you Saturday morning, though, right?"

  "Absolutely. I'll be here."

  ***

  Abby trudged into her apartment, and dumped her purse on the counter. Her normally tall 5'9" stature was slumped over, and she felt the weight of the world crush her. She ached – everywhere. Every muscle seemed to scream at her with the slightest movement. Her head pounded loudly, causing
her to wince. Cold permeated her entire body, and she had moved past shivering, sure that a blue hue clung to her lips.

  She had spent three hours with Trevor; talking, reminiscing, but mostly crying. Just when she thought she had cried herself completely out of tears, another memory would surface, and thrust her back into the depths of depression. Their first kiss at the conclusion of the blind date neither of them had wanted to go on; Trevor brushing her long auburn hair while they sat watching The Amazing Race, discussing how, when they got on the show, the million dollar prize was locked down. Sunday mornings in bed; both on their laptops trying to find the most interesting news stories to read aloud to each other. The long awaited proposal. The unexpected rainfall as Trevor bent on one knee in front of the fountain where they spent Saturday afternoons "people watching."

  Dragging herself into the bathroom, she sought comfort from the chills. She turned the hot water on high in the shower, and slowly started to undress. Under the steaming, near scalding cascade, she pleaded with it to relax her tense muscles. With a towel wrapped around her head, she pulled on the fluffy bathrobe and went in search of her slippers.

  Four open bottles of wine stood expectantly along the interior door of the fridge as Abby played a mental game of eeniemeenie-miney-moe. Landing on a half-empty bottle of Moscato, she pulled it out, closed the door with her foot, grabbed the wine glass off the counter, and made her way to the couch. Filling her glass, she flipped through the stations, and hoped for something mindless to watch on the large screen TV. She needed mindless; she needed something to get her mind off the thought that she had left Trevor, cold and alone – just as she was. She needed a distraction from the memories of what happened, and the visions of what could have – what should have - been their life together.

  Her cell phone beeped, and she picked it up from the coffee table in front of her.

  **Did you make it back home safely?** read the text message from Bryce.

  Quickly, Abby typed a response, smiling slightly at the thoughtfulness of her newest friend.