Strangers

by A. L. Parks

  **Yes, thanks**

  **Good. Get warmed up after your bath?**

  She shook her head, amazed he had remembered her annual Valentine's routine of bath, wine, and horror movie. Of course, of all her friends, he was the one who would have internalized that information. Abby guessed Bryce had his own routine every July 17th, the day Emily had passed away.

  **Decided on shower. Was really cold. Didn't want to wait for tub to fill. Have wine. Trying to decide on movie. Suggestions?**

  **I get to pick the movie tonight?**

  Abby let out a small laugh. She was more than slightly astonished that this stranger, whom she had met only hours before, could make her smile on this of all days.

  **As long as it’s not exorcist**

  **I don't do devil takeover flicks**

  One more thing they had in common. She hated those movies.

  **Blair Witch?** he responded after a moment.

  **We have a winner**

  They texted the remainder of the evening, and into the night, until Abby finally fell asleep. Bryce's final text came in just as her eyes were closing, and sleep was trying to find her.

  **Text me if you have nightmare. No matter what time**

  She didn't text him when the nightmare wrenched her from sleep, screaming Trevor's name, her pajamas soaked with sweat. But Abby was thankful she had found a friend she could have called at two-thirty in the morning; one that would not have been upset – one that would understand.

  ***

  “Yes, Mom.” Abby’s tone was exasperated, and she no longer cared if her mother knew it. She walked quickly along the sidewalk towards the café. She was supposed to have met Bryce for their first Saturday morning coffee date five minutes ago. And she was late. Her stomach was twisted in knots, afraid he had decided that she had stood him up, and left.

  Yanking open the door, she hurried inside. Bryce sat with his back to her, at the same booth they had occupied three days earlier. She breathed a sigh of relief, as she glided onto the seat across from him. His eyes met hers, and they matched the smile on his face – but there was something else there, as well. Relief, maybe? Abby was unsure, and it disappeared nearly as quickly as it had appeared.

  “Sorry,” she mouthed, and rolled her eyes. A slight chuckle escaped his lips. He turned his attention towards blonde ponytailed waitress, while Abby tried to wrap up her phone conversation. She watched Bryce as he talked to the young woman. He was sweet, sincere, but not flirtatious. And for some reason, that made Abby happy.

  “Okay, Mom. That’s sounds fine. Listen, I have to go. I’ll give you a call later.” Abby pressed the end button before her mother could lecture her more. Charlotte Clark was a master of the guilt trip, and Abby had become adept at avoiding it as much as possible - which meant she was selective when answering her calls, and rarely returned them.

  “I am so sorry,” Abby said, and placed her cell phone on the table. “My mother caught me this morning, and I could not get her to shut up.” Bryce smiled, and slid a cup of coffee across the table towards her. She reached for it, and her hand brushed his, sending warmth up her arm, and she was momentarily stunned. Grabbing the cup handle, she said, “You are my hero!” and took a sip.

  “If buying you coffee makes me a hero, we need to take a closer look at your definition of ‘hero’,” he responded, and took a drink from his own cup.

  “Hey, don’t sell yourself short. There is great power associated with morning caffeine. It can make or break people – and by people, I mean me. So, this – right here – hero status attained; as far as I’m concerned.” She took a longer sip of her coffee, and set the cup back on the table.

  Bryce laughed, which made his eyes sparkle, and his face light up. And it brought a huge smile to Abby’s face. It had been so long since she had felt this relaxed around a man, and had made him laugh. And it had been even longer since someone laughing had made her smile so broadly.

  “So, how are you doing, aside from the disturbing phone call this morning?” Bryce asked her.

  “You mean since your last text at midnight, when I promptly fell asleep? Pretty good.” Abby kidded. “How about you? Did you get the pictures hung up?”

  “Yea, all the ones I am going to hang, anyway. Although, I am not sure my neighbors appreciated me banging nails into the walls at one-thirty this morning.”

  “Ah, making friends, I see. I wouldn’t use that as the opening when you go around to borrow a cup of sugar. ‘Hi, I’m your new neighbor, the one that pounded on the walls until the wee hours of the morning.’” Abby snorted. “Just sayin’.”

  “Smartass,” Bryce snickered. He gazed at her over his coffee cup, and Abby felt her heart skip a beat.

  “Okay, so you didn’t put up all your pictures?” she asked, finishing the remainder of her coffee. She caught ponytailed girl’s attention, and motioned for two new coffees for them.

  “I have a few that I am putting in storage. They’re just too hard to see every day.” Bryce looked out the window, and rubbed his finger across his chin. Abby watched him, waited for his attention to return to her. This was how it was when memories hit. They were instantaneous, and all-consuming, and Abby was patient.

  Finally, Bryce looked back at her, realizing he had drifted, and was about to apologize when Abby said, “So, I have these framed pictures of Trevor, that I keep in a box under my bed. There is one in particular; it was my favorite. It was an individual picture we had taken during the photo shoot for our engagement pictures. Oh my God – we had the coolest photographer. She did the usual, formal posed shots, mostly for my Mom so she had something to put in the paper. But the rest of the time, she just let Trevor and I do whatever we wanted, and snapped pictures of us. I loved those pictures!”

  Ponytailed girl delivered the coffee to their table, and Abby glanced at her and smiled. Bryce whispered “thank you,” as she passed him, and turned his attention back on Abby. “The one of Trevor by himself, though…that was my favorite of all of them. I had three or four of them framed. One for my desk at work, one for my desk at home, one on my bedside table, one on the mantle…he gave me such a hard time for it. But I didn’t care – I loved that picture!

  “Unfortunately, so did everyone else. His family had that picture blown up to an obscene poster-size, and set it on an easel next to his casket at his funeral. Since that day, I haven’t been able to look at that picture. I packed them all away as soon as I returned home from the funeral.”

  Bryce reached his hand across the table, grasped hers, and held it tightly. Abby smiled at him. She knew what he was looking for; he was waiting for her to break down. But that wasn’t the point of her telling him that story. Abby needed him to see that she understood, and that it didn’t break her to talk about Trevor. Especially to him. Because she knew she was safe; that he could relate, and that made all the difference in the world.

  He lowered his eyes for a moment, and when he raised them, Abby saw a new strength that had been absent a moment before. “Emily loved art as much as me. She would find the most interesting pieces, buy them, and bring them home. While I was hanging them - wherever she told me to,” he chuckled and raised his eyebrows, which made Abby giggle. “She would make up a story about whatever was in the picture. I guess that’s what I can’t deal with…remembering the stories every time I look at one of those pieces. Usually they were indirectly related to us.”

  “Wow,” Abby exclaimed, her mouth gaping. “Tell me one of them.” She knew if she could get him comfortable retelling Emily’s stories, at some point it wouldn’t take such an emotional toll on him.

  Bryce paused, his thumb moving across the back of her hand. “Hmmm, well, there was one of a girl dancing. It’s black and white, and she’s wearing a long dress. She looks like she may be twirling, or something. Her arms are over her head, sort of like a ballerina. Anyway, the story goes that the girl found an old trunk in her grandmother’s attic after her death. The girl rummaged through it and found a wedding dre
ss. When she tried it on, it fit perfectly, as if it was made for her. A melody ran through her head, and seemed to get louder and louder, until it filled the attic. She danced, and twirled to the music, until she caught a glimpse of a man in the mirror. He was standing behind her, watching her. She stopped dancing, and turned to him, and he walked towards her. Without a word, the two danced around the attic until the music was over. Every year after that, they celebrated their anniversary by dancing in the attic.”

  “Holy creativity!” Abby exclaimed. “I could never be that creative. Of course, in my line of work, creativity with numbers – especially ones that get reported – is frowned upon.”

  Bryce chuckled. “Yeah, you should probably leave the creativity to others, Abby. I would hate for our Saturday morning coffee dates to be during visiting hours, with thick glass between us.”

  “Eww, prison coffee.” She scrunched up her nose. “You’re right, I’ll leave the creative genius to others.”

  Chapter Two

  The Saturday morning coffee dates began to include afternoons at the theater watching the new releases. When there was a rare sunny day, they would walk through the park before heading back towards the café, just around the corner from Abby’s apartment. There they would part ways until the next Saturday.

  By the end of March, the weather was beginning to turn warmer, and spring was trying to chase away the gray dullness of winter. Abby and Bryce had made it halfway through the park, when storm clouds rolled in and huge drops of rain fell on them. By the time they made it back to the coffee shop, both were drenched.

  “Come on,” Abby said, and pulled on Bryce’s arm. “We can hang out at my place until the storm passes. You can dry off, and get warm. I’m not going to be the cause of you getting pneumonia. Who will I have coffee with next Saturday, if you’re sick?” A crooked smile crossed her face.

  “Right, we can’t have you put out,” Bryce chuckled. “Especially since the world revolves around you and your coffee addiction.” Abby laughed, as they made their way into the foyer of her building, and climbed the stairs to her apartment. The building was a renovated warehouse, so the apartments had an industrial feel to them, with exposed brick, and ductwork.

  Abby tossed her keys and cell phone on the kitchen counter, and made her way into her bathroom to grab towels. Returning, she tossed one at Bryce, while she placed a kettle on the stove. “Back in a flash,” she stated, and went into her bedroom to change into dry clothes. “So, I have an extra-large sweatshirt and sweatpants, if you want to change out of your wet clothes.” She called as she pulled the items out of the bottom dresser drawer.

  She walked into the kitchen where Bryce was drying his hair with the towel. He looked at her, his eyes slightly narrowed, as she set the clothes on the counter next to him. Her eyebrows squished together trying to figure out what was bothering him. Then it hit her – he thought the clothes had belonged to Trevor.

  “They’re my brother’s sweats. I borrowed them one day and never gave them back.” The kettle whistled, and she moved to the stove, and turned off the burner.

  Bryce picked up the clothes, “Bathroom back there?” he asked, and pointed towards Abby’s bedroom.

  “Yep,” she answered. “Feel free to take a shower, if you need to get warm.” Her back was to him, as he passed by her and brushed against her. Small tingles ran over her skin where he had touched her. She turned her head and watched him walk into her bathroom, and a forgotten feeling reawakened within her. It both excited and disturbed her. She and Bryce were friends. Period.

  Abby opened a drawer, grabbed a stack of menus from local restaurants, and tossed them onto the counter. Filling two cups with hot water, she placed a tea bag into each. Bryce sauntered up to the high counter, and slid onto one of the bar stools. Grabbing the stack of menus, he looked at Abby and raised an eyebrow.

  “You pick dinner, whatever you want, as long as they deliver. I am NOT going back out in that mess. Where are your wet clothes?” She placed the cup of hot tea in front of him. “Cream or sugar?” she asked.

  “No, just like this is fine; I put my clothes in the dryer in your bathroom - hope that’s okay. And don’t you ever cook?”

  Abby smirked. “Not if I can help it. I know how to make a couple of things, marginally edible. But I would never put you through that. I like you. If I cooked for you, you would probably

  call the police and have me arrested for attempted murder, or something.” She took a sip of her tea, and winced as it burned her tongue.

  Bryce got up and walked to the refrigerator, as Abby’s eyes followed him. Bryce was exceptionally good-looking. She had not missed that, even though they were just friends. She marveled at how the sweats sat low on his hips, teasing her with a glimpse of his toned stomach and firm ass. For a split second, she wondered if he had thrown his boxers into the dryer as well. Her breathing ratcheted up slightly, and heat surged through her at the thought of him walking around her kitchen commando. She shook the thought from her head. He made a “tsk” sound, peering into the nearly empty fridge.

  “There’s nothing in here but wine, Abby.” He turned his head to look at her. “Should I even bother seeing what’s in the freezer?”

  “Vodka and ice cream,” she answered, blowing on her tea. She was unapologetic. She couldn’t cook, and had absolutely no desire to learn when there were a dozen fabulous restaurants nearby that would bring her food for a nominal fee.

  Sighing heavily as he closed the refrigerator door, Bryce turned to Abby. “Where is the closest market?”

  “You are not going out in this mess. You just got dry. We can order whatever you want – from wherever you want. I’ll eat anything. I’m easy.” Abby said.

  “I’m cooking. End of story. So, either you tell me where the market is, or force me to wander around until I find it.” He grabbed his wallet and cell phone from the counter, and shoved them into the front pocket of the sweatshirt. “Oh, and don’t tell men you’re easy. Sends the wrong message.” He winked at her, and smiled.

  “You’re a funny guy,” she said, punching him in the arm, as she gave him directions to the market. Twenty minutes later, he returned carrying more bags of food than had ever been in her apartment at one time. They emptied the contents, and filled her fridge with enough fresh vegetables and meat for a week. Bryce set about finding pots and pans, and other utensils. Abby had all the best kitchen supplies, but had used hardly any of them.

  “So, what can I help with?” she asked, as he filled a large pot with water and placed it on the burner to heat.

  “I don’t know; what can you help with?” They stared at each other for a minute, as Abby tried to find something she could do in the kitchen, and Bryce waited to hear it. Finally, Abby shrugged her shoulders, and shook her head. They broke out in howls of laughter. “I think you should open the wine, pour us each a glass, and then sit your ass on one of those stools, and stay the hell out of the kitchen.”

  “That is an excellent plan.”

  Abby watched Bryce as he moved effortlessly through the kitchen. Every action was so easy, as if he had been cooking in this kitchen forever. His hands seemed to have a mind of their own, washing, cutting, placing things in pots and pans. All the while, he was busy explaining that he was stuck in the planning stages of an annual charity event at the museum – one that was close to his heart.

  Emily and Bryce had started a non-profit organization that raised money for cancer research before she died. Bryce had wanted to name it after Emily, but she was dead set against it. So they had compromised, and named it “Curing Through Caring: The Emily Holden Foundation.” The museum had hosted the annual gala every year since Emily’s death, and Bryce spent countless hours planning every detail, with a singular goal in mind: to raise more money than the previous year. So far, his hard work had paid off.

  He had been struggling with a theme for this year’s event, and was becoming increasingly stressed as the September date drew nearer.

 
; “So, what themes have you done in the past?” Abby asked.

  “Uh, last year was a Monte Carlo casino theme. The year before that was a circus theme – that one was my least favorite. Let’s see…there was also a Harry Potter theme one year. That one went off better than I thought it would.

  “Harry Potter for adults? That was ambitious. Who normally comes up with the themes?”

  Stirring a deep pot that contained various types of shellfish, Bryce answered, “My staff and I. We have a round table, people throw out ideas, we vote on them – then start brainstorming. Luckily, nothing has flopped, but I need something that will keep people talking about it after the gala is over – in a positive ‘I can’t wait until next year – let me see if I can get you an invitation’ sort of way.”

  “Right,” Abby agreed. “Maybe generate some donations from people that weren’t even there, in the hopes of being on the guest list the next year.”

  “Exactly.”

  Abby continued to ask Bryce about the Foundation. He admitted that the daily running of it was somewhat of a mystery to him. He had hired someone to run it, and they provided financial reports to him quarterly. The woman in charge was named Sheila Mercer, and had been one of Emily’s friends. “I’m not really a numbers guy, so some of it looks like Greek to me. We seem to be in the black, and donating most of what we pull in, but beyond that, I have no idea how it’s really going.”

  “I could take a look at it for you – if you want. Maybe break it down for you so you have a synopsis of what’s being done,” Abby offered. She filled her bowl with a second helping of paella, and decided Bryce needed to spend more time in her kitchen. It was the most amazing dish she had eaten in a very long time.

  “Thanks, I would love it if you could look over the reports for me. I trust you to tell me the truth – not just what I want to hear.”

  ***

  Cinco de Mayo was celebrated every year without fail by Abby and two of her best friends, Rob and Becca. Abby had insisted Bryce come along this year, even though he stated he didn’t want to intrude on their annual tradition. But Abby could tell by the glint in his eyes, Bryce was excited to be included. Becca had been relentless in querying Abby regarding the status of her relationship with Bryce, and Abby had stated over and over again, “just friends.” But Bryce was anything but “just” a friend. Their relationship had blossomed into the closest friendship Abby had ever had, or could ever dream of having. She had spent an entire evening wondering if Bryce knew more about her than Trevor had, but she didn’t want to dwell on that. That seemed to diminish the depth of Trevor’s love, and Abby was not ready to face that potential.