Love Me If You Must apam-1

by Nicole Young

  “Here it is,” she stammered. “Twenty-five red roses. Tea roses, to be exact, which appropriately stand for remembrance. Wired through central ordering. No information on the sender. To be picked up by David Ramsey, 306 South Main.”

  She pushed away from the counter, putting distance between us. “There you go. Hope that helped.”

  “Thanks.” I watched her squirm a minute. Then I left and climbed in my car.

  I pulled into traffic and drove to the supermarket. The flower lady’s attitude was no big deal. Reputation wise, I’d gone from being the twin of Dietz’s reject to being a slayer of old people and maybe even the zoning lord. Definitely a lateral move.

  I shopped at full speed, dumping items into my cart without checking prices or expiration dates. Never once did I look into a pair of eyes. Even the checkout girl got the brush-off.

  I bolted out the door, positive I could sense haughty looks and vicious whispers on my tail.

  I wanted to climb up the nearest lamppost and scream down at those arrogant people, “Don’t you know how hard it was? You would have done the same thing if you had been me!”

  But what was the point in defending myself? Everyone sat in judgment over me. I could scream ’til I was blue in the face, and nobody would ever understand why I’d done what I had. If only they’d been there. If only they’d been me. Then they would know how hard a decision it was. Then they’d quit condemning me for what I’d done. Because they would have done the same thing.

  31

  I parked in the garage and pulled the door down. I never wanted to go out again. Starting right now, I would be a hermit for the rest of my life. I didn’t want to deal with people, look at people, get mad at people, or fall in love with people. I just wanted them all to go away. Leave me alone. Disappear.

  I rounded the back of the house and jerked to a stop.

  Brad. Standing on my back porch.

  He stared. I stared. Apparently, neither wanted to be first to break the silence.

  My foot tapped.

  I caved. “Are you here to arrest me?”

  I knew from his winter coat and blue jeans that he wasn’t on duty, but the brat in me wouldn’t be polite.

  From where I stood, Brad’s eyes looked all shiny or watery or something.

  “I stopped by a couple of times this week. Why don’t you answer the door?” His breath made white puffs in the frosty mid-morning air. One hand rested on his hip, one leg stretched in front of the other.

  I clenched my jaw. I wasn’t obligated to answer. I could simply brush past him and lock the door behind me.

  I started for the porch, intent on doing just that. The sidewalk had a crackly white design from the frost. The porch steps felt slick under my tennies from the same sparkling layer.

  Brad’s brown leather boots entered my circle of vision and I steered to the left. The boots cut me off. I stopped.

  Against my better judgment, I ratcheted my neck up a few notches and met his eyes. “Move.”

  He stood his ground.

  “Move, please.”

  He reached for my arm. “Are you okay? I just want to know.”

  I pulled away. “Of course I’m okay. I’m always okay. Now let me in.”

  “Here, I’ll hold that for you.”

  I handed him my groceries.

  He stepped aside and I unlocked the door.

  “I can take that now,” I said, reaching for the sack of food.

  He swooped it out of my reach. “Let someone help you once in a while.”

  My hands landed on my hips. “You’ve gone over and above the call of duty in that department. Thank you for all the unasked-for assistance. I think I can handle my own groceries.”

  He made no move to relinquish them.

  “I’m sure you can. Listen, Tish. You’re a beautiful young woman. I hate to see you shut up in this house day after day. You should be out having fun. Living life.”

  My nose squeaked as I drew in several seething breaths. “My life is none of your business. I happen to renovate houses for a living. That means I’m shut up at home day after day. Occupational hazard.”

  “I think you take it to the extreme. Especially after the whole Dietz thing.”

  I cocked a loaded finger at him. “You have no idea what the ‘Dietz thing’ has done to my life. I can’t go grocery shopping without people staring and whispering about my past mistakes. Why would I give them more opportunities to point fingers?”

  I looked at my weapon and tucked it in my pocket.

  “People might talk about you for a while, but pretty soon you’ll be old news. Don’t let them get to you. You’re entitled to a life, you know.”

  “Am I? I think most people would disagree. Eye for an eye, tooth for a tooth. A life for a life.”

  “You did your time. You paid the price. Now grab hold of your second chance and make it count.”

  “You make it sound as if I’m some kind of loser, like I’m not doing anything worthwhile with my life. I disagree. Entire neighborhoods benefit from my efforts. Historic homes are saved from utter ruin. What I do is important to communities.”

  “Don’t you ever want to get married? Have a couple of kids? I have a hard time seeing how that’s going to happen with you hiding out in there.”

  My head felt like it would explode. My heart skipped a couple beats. I forgot to breathe. Then everything rushed out at once. Loud.

  “Give me my groceries and get out of here. There is nothing wrong with my life. How dare you come over here and imply that there is! You better focus on fixing your own flaws before you start nitpicking mine.”

  I may have come off a bit demon-possessed. I didn’t care. I was right and he was dead wrong.

  I wrenched the bag of groceries out of his grip, ran inside, and slammed the door. Tears started to flow. By the time I unloaded the perishables, my sleeve was a gooey mess.

  Brad had no business butting into my life. Maybe I did want to get married one day. Maybe I did want to have a kid or two. But all that was on hold now. The one man I cared about lived two houses down and hadn’t even tried to see me this past week. Then I find out the stupid roses he had given me were hand-me-downs from some vindictive female.

  I looked at the drooping arrangement that still graced my countertop. Twenty-five dead red tea roses. David didn’t have to worry. I’d remember.

  With all my whimpering and sniffling, I barely heard the knock on the door. I peeked through the glass.

  Brad just couldn’t figure it out. I didn’t need him. I didn’t want him. I was fine. He could just go away and leave me alone.

  I opened the door and stood there without saying anything.

  “Can I come in?” His voice was all raspy.

  “What do you want?”

  “I just want to know you’re okay.”

  “I already told you I’m fine.”

  “Lie to yourself all you want. Don’t waste your breath lying to me.”

  I probably turned three shades of purple before I pushed the door closed. Brad’s hand got in the way. One rock-solid arm kept the latch from catching.

  “Talk to me, Tish.”

  “I have nothing to say.”

  “Come on. Let’s go somewhere, get a cup of coffee, and talk.”

  “I can’t. I’m taking a quick lunch break and getting back to work.”

  “Let me buy you lunch.”

  “I just bought fresh turkey. I don’t want it to go to waste.”

  “Eat it tomorrow. Come on. There’s a restaurant uptown you’d really like.”

  Uptown? I didn’t know Rawlings had such a place. “I don’t know. I’m already behind schedule.”

  “Great. Then I’ll have you back here in an hour.”

  The second I relaxed pressure on the door, Brad pushed it open. He took my hand and led me onto the porch, closing the door behind us.

  “I’ll drive,” he said. I pulled my hand from his grasp and followed obediently on the outside, gru
dgingly on the inside.

  We cut through my side yard to the walk that led past Brad’s house. The crisp air cleared my stuffy head. I sniffed, and realized I hadn’t even looked in the mirror or freshened up before going back out in public. With all the crying I’d been doing, I must look like a two-by-four had connected with my face. Brad hadn’t seemed to notice, so maybe my eyes weren’t as puffy as they felt.

  We angled down his driveway. Just past the back door was his one-car detached garage. Too small to add any value to the property. If he were smart, he’d build a two-car attached in its place. That would give the home half a chance of ever selling.

  He lifted the overhead door by hand, reminding me that I, too, lacked an automatic opener. I’d have to shop around Flint for a bargain brand one of these days.

  The clouds parted and the winter sun glinted off the hood of the most hunky metallic gray SUV I’d ever seen. With barely an inch to spare, the vehicle filled the door with its silver grill and monochrome bumper. Dual headlamps were protected by clear glass, giving the front end a clean, hi-tech look.

  “Wow. Is that yours?” I couldn’t keep the awe from my voice.

  “Yep. Hop in.”

  I squeezed past the bumper and opened the passenger-side door. The smell of leather greeted me. I sank down in cool luxury. The door closed with a pleasant thunk. Next to me, Brad turned the key. The engine turned over, then faded to a bare purr. He pulled out and turned right onto Railroad Street.

  “You left your garage open,” I said, knowing I’d never enjoy lunch if I had to worry about his tools the whole time we were gone.

  “No one will bother it. I’m a cop, remember?”

  How could I forget that fact? I couldn’t believe Brad talked me into lunch. We came to a stop at the intersection. I glanced over at my Victorian. My head jerked. David stood on my back porch, watching the SUV as Brad turned onto Main Street.

  “Oh.” My hands pressed against the glass as David disappeared from view. He must have come to see me. I felt an urge to jump out the door and race to him. Yeah, and I could kiss his feet too, and thank him for finally noticing I was alive.

  Brad must have sensed my inner struggle. “Do you want me to go back?” he asked. His voice sounded strained.

  “No. Thanks.” I hadn’t thought about David when I’d agreed to Brad’s invitation. If David really had watched Rebecca slip away into Brad’s clutches, how did he feel watching me ride off next to Brad now?

  I tried to relax. I looked into the shop windows as we drove, glad I could enjoy the view for once. I couldn’t worry about David’s reaction. Besides, I was probably giving myself too much credit. I turned to Brad. “So how long have you lived in this godforsaken town?”

  He chuckled. “There’s nothing forsaken about this place. Believe me. God pays close attention to Rawlings.” Brad stopped for a traffic light. “Maybe you can’t tell at first glance, but if you look closely, you’ll see all kinds of miracles happening.”

  Up ahead, a youth in baggy clothes strode across with the signal. He shook his fist at the car in front of us for encroaching on the crosswalk. “I must need a magnifying glass, then. All I’ve seen so far is murder and mayhem.”

  Brad cracked a smile. “It’s all in your perspective.”

  I put on a look of surprise. “You mean Martin Dietz didn’t really die? I didn’t get booked for the crime? I didn’t spend three days in the slammer?” I humphed. “You’re living in some kind of fairy-tale world.”

  The light changed and Brad drove ahead. “You’re not seeing the good that’s coming out of all the crud.”

  “What good?” The car closed in around me, like a tent collapsing.

  “Well, you got your furnace fixed, didn’t you?”

  My hand tightened its grip on the door handle. “That’s pretty minor when you look at what I had to live through.”

  “Not at all. You had a warm place to sleep and your pipes didn’t burst while you were gone. It could have been pretty ugly this time of year, you know.”

  I wondered how bad it would hurt to jump out of a moving vehicle. “Like I said, thanks.” I crossed my arms and glared at the dashboard.

  “I bet you had a lot of good happen in your life, and you just never realized it.”

  “Yeah, right. My mom died when I was seven. Where’s the good in that?”

  “You went to live with your grandmother and got to know her.”

  Brad just couldn’t take a hint. I swung to face him. “Yeah, and I got to go to prison when she died. Where’s the good in that?”

  “You decided to fix up houses for a living when you got out.”

  “And what’s so good about that?”

  “You came to Rawlings.”

  “Please. I’m beginning to think that’s the biggest mistake I ever made.”

  “No it’s not. You met me.”

  I drew a sharp breath and looked out the window. Brad couldn’t mean what I thought he meant. He was merely being cute with a pompous comment.

  He couldn’t possibly be serious. Brad and me? No way.

  32

  The SUV pulled into a vacant space in front of the same strip mall that housed Goodman’s Grocery. I’d never noticed the café before. A rectangular lighted sign said Sam’s Coney in red letters. A hot dog wearing a diner hat and holding a cane danced beside the words.

  “How often did you say you ate here?” I had a hard time imagining I’d find any reasonably healthy items on Sam’s menu. It was bad enough I splurged on pastries at the Whistle Stop. I didn’t need to clog my arteries with dancing hot dogs.

  “Couple times a week.” Brad opened his door. “Come on. I want you to meet someone.”

  I followed him past the plain brick façade and into a dimly lit interior. Square tables cluttered the center of the room, each one accented with a tiny white vase and a fake red carnation with a sprig of pine needles. Someone’s interpretation of Christmas decorations, I supposed. A row of red-upholstered booths lined the perimeter. Stark white walls held art that commemorated dead movie stars.

  The title on one poster caught my eye. boulevard of broken dreams. I stared at the drawing. Elvis Presley, Marilyn Monroe, and Humphrey Bogart were among those that huddled at the far end of a diner bar. I swallowed, surprised to find myself fighting back tears and battling a lump in my throat. With a few brushstrokes, the artist could add my mother, grandmother, and one day me to the scene. Boulevard of Broken Dreams. Yep. I lived there.

  “What do you see?” Brad asked.

  I shook my head and cleared my tears. “Nothing. Sorry about that.”

  He put an arm loosely on my shoulder and looked at the rendering. “That’s all of us, Tish. We’ve all got dreams we’ve set aside or given up on. It’s part of life. You get a new dream and keep moving ahead.”

  “I thought you went to school to be a cop, not a psychologist.”

  “Same difference. It’s all about what makes people tick.” He dropped his hold and moved toward the counter. “Let’s sit over here.”

  We sat on retro red stools. He ordered a Coke. I ordered the diet version.

  “Tell Sam we’re here, would you please?” Brad said to the waitress. She scurried off to the kitchen.

  “To answer your question,” he said with a smile, “I’ve lived in Rawlings all my life. The house I live in now belonged to my grandmother. She died when I hit my early twenties. I moved in and fixed it up over the years.”

  So Brad lived in a family heirloom. That explained his lousy choice of location. “You’ve never wanted to leave Rawlings? You know, shake its dust off your feet and move on?”

  “I owe a big debt to my hometown. It’s why I am who I am today. I love giving back to the area a little bit of what it gave me.”

  “You must have had a good childhood experience to say that. Most people can’t wait to get out of Dodge.”

  “Too many roots. Here’s one of them now.” Brad stood for the arrival of a stunning, tall brunett
e wearing a tight T-shirt with the diner’s logo across the chest. She leaned over the counter, held Brad’s cheeks between her hands, and kissed him on one eye.

  “Hey, bro,” she said with a grin.

  Brad pretended to wipe spit out of his eye. “Sam. I want you to meet my neighbor, Tish Amble.”

  She extended her hand and gave me an unwavering gaze. “Nice to meet you, Tish. I’m Samantha Walters, Brad’s adorable little sister.”

  Samantha’s adjectives for herself fell far short of an accurate description. I came up with beautiful, leggy, lippy, sexy, funny. Adorable and little never made the list.

  Her grip felt firm but not stifling. I liked her. “Hi.”

  “So what can I get you two for lunch?” She pulled a pen and pad out of her apron pocket.

  “I’ll have the usual, please,” Brad said.

  I hated to think of the fat content in something called “the usual.”

  “I’ll have a tossed salad, ranch dressing on the side, and a cup of the chicken noodle.” Sometimes you had to show by example the right way to eat, regardless of how hungry you really were.

  “Comin’ up.” Samantha sashayed to the kitchen, leaving Brad and me in awkward silence.

  “So . . . is she the Sam from the sign?” I asked.

  “Sort of. This was my dad’s diner. Believe it or not, when I was in high school, I used to flip burgers and dogs back there on the grill.”

  I smiled at the picture he brought to mind.

  “When Dad died, Sam Junior there took over the restaurant.”

  “How does she do it? Didn’t she have plans of her own?” I thought of my own plans that had been forever boggled by my grandmother’s illness and eventual death.

  “I’ve never seen anybody happier. She runs the diner, plays in a band, writes songs. She has more friends than King Solomon had gold. Life always looks good to her no matter what she’s going through.”

  I swallowed. “I could sure use some of her outlook. Does she sell that here in the diner?”

  Brad grinned. “No, but she could probably tell you where to get some.”