Women of Washington Avenue

by Linda Apple

  “Not at all.” I relinquished my hold on the handles.

  “And what do you plan on doing with all of these pumpkins?”

  “I have a craft idea to raise money for the shelter at the Fall Festival.”

  “Oh you do, eh? How ’bout some help?”

  “Gathering pumpkins, or the craft?”

  “Both.”

  “I’d like that. How are you with a glue gun?”

  “A what?”

  “A glue gun.” I swiped my hand across the air. “Oh, never mind. I’ll show you tonight. Supper at my place first? Then we can work.”

  “I’ll be there.”

  We stopped in the middle of the patch. Bright orange pumpkins of all sizes and shapes lay among wilted, yellow vines.

  Levi set the barrow down. “What size are you needing?”

  Scanning the field around me, I spied the perfect pumpkin. Moving a few feet forward, I took my knife, cut it from the vine, and held it up. “Just like this one.”

  “The size of a soccer ball, then?”

  “I guess. Never paid attention really.”

  “It is. Trust me.”

  I found another pumpkin a little larger, the size of a basketball and cut it free. “And this size would do, too.”

  “For sure.” He turned and wandered through the patch gathering pumpkins. In no time I had all I needed. Before we left, I chose Cladie’s and my pumpkins. Levi hefted them on top of the others and pushed the load home for me. When we reached the garage, he took my hand. “See you around six?”

  “Yes. And come hungry.”

  “I already am.”

  By the look in his eyes, I had the distinct feeling he wasn’t referring entirely to food. Our relationship was moving forward at an astonishing rate. Was I being foolish? Or maybe after being invisible, as Molly so aptly put it, I was enjoying being seen. Not only seen, but admired. Truthfully? I was as hungry as he was.

  Oh, stop analyzing everything, Jema.

  I watched him walk back to the greenhouse. Things would just have to fall where they may. For now, my plans were to indulge myself while I could.

  At straight-up six, Levi tapped on my door before walking inside. “Something smells good.”

  “Hey there. Supper is almost ready. Why don’t you pour us some wine?”

  “What are we having?”

  “Curry chicken, rice, and veggies.”

  He thought a moment. “Riesling would be good with that, then. Do you have any?”

  “I do. In the fridge. And don’t get alarmed when you see how many bottles of wine are in there. They’re left over from our last Whine Wednesday.”

  “Maybe you girls can have the next one at my place, eh?”

  “You’d kick us all out after thirty minutes of our griping.”

  “I’d just drink more wine.” While he poured, I wondered how he knew Riesling paired with curry chicken. All I knew was red went with red meat and white went with white meat. The mystery about Levi continued to deepen, and tonight I was determined to get some answers. For heaven’s sakes, I was falling in love with this man, and I knew nothing about him.

  Emotions swirled so loudly in my head I didn’t hear him walk up behind me. When I felt the heat of his breath on my neck and the soft brush of his kiss I turned to face him.

  He handed me the wine. “Here you are.”

  “That was nice.”

  “What? The wine?”

  I set my glass down and wrapped my arms around him. “No, this.” On tippy-toe, I lifted my lips to his.

  He placed his glass next to mine and picked me up in his arms as if I were a child. At first our kisses were gentle as we explored, but soon we were both lost in the intensity of our craving. Everything melted away. Time and space? Gone.

  I ran my hand up the back of his head and tangled my fingers in his hair as he carried me to the couch. Our kisses grew ravenous. In our ardor all kinds of thoughts ran through my mind. Was he going to make love to me? Was I ready to take that step? Did I have on my granny panties?

  I knew I should stop this, but I couldn’t. Wouldn’t. When he laid me on the couch, I pulled him on top of me. His body’s desire pushed hard against me. And then, as sudden as our passion flared, he stopped and rolled to the floor.

  What just happened?

  He sat with his back against the couch and sucked in a deep breath. I didn’t know what to think. Insecurity flared inside me.

  “Levi? Did I do something wrong?”

  He locked me in his gaze and smiled. “No.” He blew out a breath and shook his head. “No, you did too much right.”

  I rose up on one elbow. “Then what? Why did you pull away?”

  “Jema, a long time ago, I learned the hard way how relationships built on passion have foundations made of toothpicks.” He stroked my face with his finger. “You are so lovely. So interesting. I want to know you, not just your body. And I can’t help it, I’m a man. If we make love now it will cloud my mind to everything else. I want to get to know the real you, your heart, your personality, your interests. I want to know what you love and hate, what makes you laugh. When I know these things, then I want to know your body.”

  Well. That’s different.

  I’d never heard any man say anything like that. And you know? I liked it.

  “Thank you for being stronger than me.” I leaned over and kissed his cheek.

  “Stronger, eh?” He ran his fingers through his hair. “Let’s not make this a habit or it may have to be you who is strong.”

  I got off the couch, still shaky with desire. “I can’t promise anything. But I’ll try.”

  He stood and drew me close. “Jema, you are unlike anyone I’ve ever known. And I’ve known a lot of people. I hope you realize how incredibly special you are.”

  “I’m just a southern woman.” I kissed his nose. “A southern gal who’s famished.”

  We sat down to eat and chatted while eating, but all through our meal my mind wandered back to the couch. My visceral reaction to Levi’s kisses still surprised me, and I had to smile to myself. This old girl still had it.

  When we finished eating and cleaned up the dishes, I put the pumpkins and crafty stuff on the kitchen island. Then I introduced Levi to the glue gun. It took a while for him to get the hang of squeezing the trigger and applying flowers to the hot glue. I hate to admit it, but I was way too entertained watching him jump every time his thumb made contact with molten glue. His gentlemanly manners gave way to murmured expletives.

  “You get a boo boo?” I tried to hide my smile.

  “Boo boo? More like a skin graft. This thing is vicious.” He smirked at me. “Go ahead and laugh. I know you want to.”

  A few giggles escaped before I reeled them back in. “Need some ice?”

  “No, I’m fine. It may come in handy one day not to have fingerprints.”

  In a couple of hours we finished crowning all the pumpkins with silk mums, leaves, dried pods, and raffia bows.

  Levi leaned back to admire our work. “These are nice, eh?”

  “Lovely. I’ll bet they’ll be gone within an hour.” I stood and stretched. “How about some coffee?”

  “I’d like that.”

  While I pulled out cups and plates, he cut a couple slices of apple pie. The feeling of home glowed in the room and in my heart.

  He handed me pie, and I gave him coffee. We strolled to the living room and sat on the infamous couch which still made my heart beat a little faster. However, a comfortable silence soon settled between us. Sitting there with Levi reminded me of long-ago evenings with Ray. Comfortable. No weird or awkward feelings drove us to fill the air with words.

  I cradled my mug with both hands and held it close to my chest. This would have been a good night to build a fire.

  Levi glanced at me. “Cold?”

  “A little.”

  He put his arm around me and drew me close. “It is getting chilly. Makes me think about all my homeless friends. Camping wasn
’t so bad when the nights were warm.” His voice dropped. “But with winter coming, it will be hard on them. I worry about the children.”

  “I can’t imagine.” The thought of cold little ones made my throat constrict. “Maybe we can set up cots at the shelter. I’ll talk to Ricki.” I glanced at the pumpkins. “I hope we make enough money to buy washers and dryers. Maybe even install a few showers.”

  “That would be nice. I remember wanting nothing more than a hot shower and clean clothes. I haven’t taken feeling clean for granted since Miss Cladie hired me. Bathing off in a public restroom is awkward at best.” He stared at his cup with a gaze so intense I dared not interrupt his thoughts. Lord, what I would have given to be able to read his mind. I wanted to know everything about Levi Smith.

  ****

  The day of the festival arrived, and I arrived early to our assigned spot in order to help Ricki set up our booth.

  “Morning, Jema.”

  “Morning. Wait until you see the pumpkins Levi and I made.”

  “Levi huh?”

  “Oh, stop it. He works for Cladie Mae now.”

  “Uh huh. And you still know nothing about him.” She shook her head. “Anyway, here are my contributions.” Several boxes brimmed with pies and cookies wrapped with clear cellophane and tied up with gold, orange, red, and brown ribbons. She also had a huge bowl of candy.

  “Are you selling the candy, too?” I picked up a peanut butter cup and unwrapped it.

  “No. This was left over at the shelter after Halloween, so I thought I’d bring it for the kiddos at the festival to fill their pockets. I sure don’t want it around me anymore.”

  “I know the parents will appreciate your generosity. Especially when the kids are pinging off the walls at bedtime.” I picked up another piece.

  Grinning, she shrugged. “Not my problem. Besides, if you keep nibbling, there won’t be any left for the kids anyway.”

  I tossed the wrapper in the trash. “Keep reminding me, okay? I seemed to have misplaced my self-control when I turned fifty. That was seven years ago, and I still haven’t found it.”

  Levi pushed a wheelbarrow loaded with decorated pumpkins to the booth. “What’s not our problem?” He set it down and brushed his hands against his jeans.

  “The sugar rush we are about to give the children at the festival.” I resisted another piece of candy.

  He snapped his fingers. “Oh, by the way, Miss Cladie called and said she sent Felix with a load of mums for you to sell. He left them at Lifesource. How about riding back there with me so we can load them up and bring them here?”

  “Sure thing.” I waved to Ricki. “Be right back.”

  She folded her arms, stuck out one foot leaned back on the other. Without saying a word, she spoke volumes.

  At the shelter, an autumnal rainbow of mums filled two parking places. Between these mums and our decorated pumpkins, I had no doubts we would be the first to sell out.

  “Wow, these are beautiful. I want some for my house.”

  Levi grinned. “Felix told me Miss Cladie said you would and for you to come by the nursery and get what you wanted.”

  “She’s such a dear.”

  We picked up an armload and carried them to the truck. He set his load on the bed and turned back to get more, but he came to a sudden stop. His face blanched.

  “Levi? What’s wrong? Are you sick?”

  He shook his head. “No. But I just remembered something I needed to do. Would you mind finishing? I’ll walk.” He tossed me the keys and spun around. Without waiting for me to answer, he jogged down the sidewalk and disappeared between neighboring houses.

  I stared after him a few seconds, bewildered. When I turned back around to the truck, I saw something I’d never seen before in Moonlight. A black stretch limousine. It crept along the street to our parking lot and pulled in.

  What on earth?

  A stocky man, dressed in a suit stepped out and surveyed the building. His shock of white hair contrasted against his tanned skin. He pulled his dark sunglasses off and tossed them on the limo seat.

  With a high and mighty attitude, he strolled over and glared at me. Even though it wasn’t polite to size him up before speaking to him, I did just that. I didn’t like the man. Not at all.

  He pointed his stubby finger at me. “You there. I need some information.”

  Not a please would you help me or even a hello. How rude. “About?”

  “I’m looking for Matthew Abrams. He’s been kidnapped, and I have reason to think the person or persons responsible are somewhere around this area.”

  A kidnapper? In Moonlight? Not possible. My stomach turned to stone. My voice felt unsteady, so I swallowed before I answered. “I don’t know anyone in this town by that name.”

  “I have a photo.” The stranger reached inside his jacket and let go with a string of curse words while he patted all his pockets. “Look, I’ve misplaced Mr. Abram’s picture. But he’s six-two, around two hundred pounds, maybe two-twenty. Salt and pepper hair?”

  “No. Sorry.”

  “Have you noticed anyone new in the area?”

  “Sir, you are at a homeless shelter. There are a lot of transients.”

  My interrogator grunted, then handed me a card. “If you see someone fitting that description, give me a call.” He turned to leave but swung back around. “And if one of your transients, as you call ’em, acts suspicious, like he or she is hiding something, I want to talk to that person, too.”

  He pivoted, returned to the limo, and got in. After he slipped on his sunglasses, he tipped his chin at the driver and they drove away.

  My mind whirled with disturbing uncertainties and fear as I finished loading the truck. While I drove back to the booth, nagging thoughts kept buzzing around my head like an annoying fly. Why did Levi act so strange? And that man—who was he? Detectives didn’t ride around in limos. What bothered me the most was his last statement before he left. “If one of your transients as you call them acts suspicious, like he or she is hiding something...”

  As much as I tried to push them away, my doubts about Levi resurfaced with a vengeance.

  Chapter 15

  LEXI

  Saving Face?

  As much as I hated to admit it, Nathan Wolfe was right. Every day more and more emails poured in from women complaining and whining. I even began to sympathize with some of their husbands. My problem now was how on earth I could use his suggestion and still save face?

  I scrolled through my archived emails and reread my reply to him hoping it wasn’t as bad as I remembered.

  Dear Mr. Wolfe,

  Well, if you are not the master of decorum and rationale. Oh, wait, you aren’t. No, you are the very type of man I wrote about in my column. I find you insipid. And your insinuation regarding my sexual life is laughable.

  Laughable? Unfortunately, it was more than laughable. It was the absolute truth. Darned him for being right—again. I propped my face in my hands and continued reading through squinted eyes.

  So take care of yourself and find that eager twenty-something who only has sex with you because of the more important people she will meet while hanging on your arm.

  One other note, I read one of your articles. You really need to learn the proper use of commas. Or is your editor a dolt? (That’s southern for idiot in case you didn’t know)

  Sincerely,

  Lexi Lowe

  Good heavens. It wasn’t as bad as I remembered. It was worse. When would I ever learn to keep my mouth shut and my fingers still? On the other hand, since he probably didn’t read my column anyway...probably? Who was I fooling? There was no chance in hell he had read my column. I decided to follow his advice. No face saving necessary. I loosened my shoulders, held my head high, and began typing.

  MOONLIGHT MADNESS ~ For Women too Old to be Young but too Young to be Old and it Drives us Mad!

  Okay girls, after hundreds of emails from you, let me just say, I hear ya! I’ll allow there are som
e pretty sick cookies out there. Sounds like most of those fellows haven’t got the good sense God gave a goose.

  On the other hand, griping about these jerks doesn’t do much to help us, does it? What we need to do is take a hard look at our circumstances and determine if there is anything we could or should do to improve ourselves.

  Yes, ladies. Even when we have been wronged, and I include myself because I’ve been in some of your shoes, there is always room for an honest look within.

  Recently, I received advice from a very unlikely person who writes for the New York Times (are you impressed?). This person suggested my readers not just tell their story, but also how they got through their pain.

  By sharing our journey to healing we help each other. Pretty good idea, right?

  So, how about it? Tell us the steps you took to rebuild your lives. Another thing. I want to hear from men who have left their wives for younger women. I want to know why it is okay for you to let yourself go but expect your wives to look like models. Maybe I’m wrong about this. I’ve been wrong a few times. Very few, mind you.

  Heck, while I’m at it, how about all of you mistresses? Let me hear from you, too. Why have sex with married men? Maybe you didn’t know he was married? Perhaps you did? If so, why did you do it? What was there to gain? The betrayed women of America want to know. We really do. Perhaps we will learn something about ourselves. And while it may be painful, it will help us when we risk a relationship again.

  So how about it? Do you men and mistresses have the rocks in your pocket to answer this column? I guess I’ll have to wait and see.

  Until then, the Madness continues.

  I sat back in my chair and blew out a long breath. Well, Mr. Wolfe. We will see if your suggestion works. I never liked it when any of my columns bombed. But this time I secretly hoped for flat out failure so I could shove it in his face. That is, if I ever got the chance. Which I wouldn’t. But it was still nice to think about.

  My stomach grumbled, and I looked up at the clock. One. Wow. I’d written through lunch. That rarely happened. Chicken salad and an orange roll from the Magnolia Tearoom sounded divine, but I didn’t want to face Molly’s wrath. So I decided to go to her place and see what was on the soup menu for the day. After sending the column to Vince, I snatched my purse and hurried out before he cornered me with a lecture on typos and how much unnecessary work I caused him.