Just One Look

by Dara Girard

  Near the end of the evening, Caryn flopped into a chair, amazed she’d been able to pull it off, when she noticed her earring underneath a chair. She got down on her knees and reached for it, but before she could straighten, she felt a huge weight jump on her back and cry, “Horsy!”

  She knew by the tone that it was her four year old nephew, Dean, who was sweet, talkative and twenty pounds heavier than he should be, since his parents indulged him with sugary treats.

  “No, now is not the time to play,” she said.

  “I want to play.”

  “Get down.”

  “Horsy.” He nudged her on the sides as if she were a horse. “Get up.”

  “Don’t make Aunty angry.”

  Before she had to get too stern with him, she suddenly felt the weight lifted. She turned and saw Dean being carried by a man, but only saw the man’s back. He carried the child with ease, which was an amazing feat, and had whispered something in his ear that made the boy’s dimples show, before he set him down and the child ran off. But that wasn’t the only reason she stared at him. There was something familiar about him. The shape of his shoulders, the cut of his hair, the scent of his cologne. That scent reminded her of warm autumn nights and candlelight; cold beer and hot hands sliding down her body.

  Caryn swallowed, resisting the urge to fan herself, her cheeks burning. Where had that thought come from? This feeling was completely unlike her. She hadn’t had such a strong reaction to a man since…but no… It couldn’t be him.

  In seconds the helpful stranger was gone and she almost felt she’d imagined it. A silent hero. She hadn’t gotten a chance to thank him.

  “You’re a miracle worker,” her sister, Ella, said. She wore a saucy little hat, which matched her pink dress that was poised daintily on her perfectly styled hair. Caryn had helped her sister shop for the perfect mother-of-the-bride dress so she wouldn’t be out done by Louis’ first wife, who’d arrived in a striking, lace-patterned dress. They both shared their father’s medium build and dark toffee colored skin, but Ella had their mother’s trim figure and dainty nose, while Caryn inherited her grandmother’s square jaw and wide mouth.

  Ella glanced up. “Should I even ask about your hair?”

  “No.”

  “It doesn’t matter anyway. You’ve done so much,” Ella said, her hand shaking as she adjusted her hat.

  “What now?” Caryn asked, noticing the motion and the worry in her sister’s eyes.

  “He’s here.”

  Caryn put her earring back in place. “Who’s here?”

  “At least, I think it’s him.” Ella bit her lip. “It might not be.”

  “Who?”

  Her sister waved a dismissive hand. “It’s probably nothing. He probably just looks like him. Never mind. It likely wasn’t him. It’s been so long and he had a goatee.”

  “Who?” Caryn asked, losing patience.

  Ella glanced around then lowered her voice. “I thought I saw…Adrian.”

  “What!”

  “But it was just a brief glimpse so I could be wrong,” she said in a rush. “It’s been so many years. Caryn please don’t look like that. I’m probably wrong. I’m sorry I even brought it up.”

  Caryn felt blood drain from her face. “You think he’s here?”

  “I’m not sure. I’m sure it wasn’t him. Forget I said anything.”

  How could she forget? Adrian? Could he be here? Would she see him again after eight years? She thought of the man who’d helped remove Dean. Was it him? No, it couldn’t be. He probably would have laughed and said it served her right.

  If she hadn’t run out on him they would have been married eight years by now. Maybe have a child or two. But she had and there was no point looking back.

  “You know you’ve only dated losers since…it happened,” Terri said when Caryn told her about the reception, since Terri hadn’t stayed after helping Caryn set up, and the end of her relationship with Peter. Caryn sat crossed legged on her bed while Terri trimmed Caryn’s wig.

  “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “Peter was a loser in a long line of losers. It’s as if you’re punishing yourself because of…” she let her words fade away, but her silence spoke volumes.

  Caryn stretched her legs out. Even since college, Terri hadn’t been one to beat around the bush and the trait served her well as the executive manager of CCQ—Clutter Cleanup Queens—a female owned company that helped put together teams to help hoarders. “My mistake with Peter has nothing to do with what happened in the past.”

  “What would you say if you saw him again?”

  “I never want to.”

  “But what if?”

  “Besides ‘I’m sorry,’ what is there to say?” And I may have seen him again, but she didn’t feel comfortable admitting that. What if she was wrong? What did it matter now?

  “You have to forgive yourself.”

  “I have.”

  “By dating a jerk like Peter?”

  “You never met him.”

  “I didn’t have to meet him to know what he’s like. All that you told me was enough. This last fiasco just proves it. Before him was DoughBoy.”

  “His name was—”

  Terri covered her ears. “I don’t care.” She let her hands fall to her lap. “All I remember was that he was boring and dull, and did I say boring?”

  “He was just intellectual.”

  “And I’m not?”

  “You know I didn’t mean that.”

  “That jerk put you down every chance he could.”

  “Let’s not talk about my past. I’m taking a breather from men for a while. I have a new client and opportunity.”

  Caryn looked forward to expanding the reach of her business, Simple Life Services, which helped people get organized. She’d passed the crucial five year mark and was starting to get more business through referrals rather than having to constantly drum up new business through her popular blog and column in a local Home and Garden ezine.

  Terri styled Caryn’s wig. “Maybe you should reschedule.”

  “Why would I do that?”

  Terri set the wig down. “I just don’t think the stars are aligned for you.”

  “I don’t believe in that.”

  “It doesn’t matter. You’ve had two major things happen this week and a third one is coming. I really think—”

  “If bad things happen in threes then they’ve already happened. My hair fell out, my boyfriend turned into a toad—”

  “He was already a toad,” Terri mumbled.

  “And my niece’s reception was nearly a disaster.”

  Terri shook her head. “I have this strange feeling that something big is going to happen.”

  “I’ll be fine.” Caryn put on another wig.

  Her friend looked at her and frowned. “You’re not wearing that.”

  “What’s wrong with it?”

  “It looks like a wig.”

  “Probably because it is one. I got a two for one deal.”

  “And you’re bragging about it?”

  “I thought it was nice of the sales clerk.”

  “She was just unloading stock. Why didn’t you wait for me to go with you?”

  “You’re busy and I thought I could get this taken care of. And hey!” she cried when Terri yanked the wig off her head.

  “You’re not wearing this—ever.”

  “Fine.” Caryn said, trying the first one on again. She stared at herself in her closet mirror. “This looks good.”

  “I wish you’d listen to me and cancel. I really have a bad feeling about this.” She paused. “Okay, maybe it’s not a bad feeling exactly but that something major is about to happen to you.”

  “It’s just a new client. What could possibly go wrong?”

  Chapter Three

  It wasn’t the first time Caryn had fallen in love. But it was the first time she’d fallen in love with a place and so quickly. Within seconds of being in her new clien
t’s apartment her heart raced, her palms felt hot, her breathing quickened. Her body responded to every corner and wall. The apartment burst with warmth and personality. The location, in one of Maryland’s most expensive zip codes, and size—a living room the size of an Olympic pool—alone told her the occupant made a lot of money and could afford her most exclusive services. Caryn eagerly looked around the apartment, her mind already bright with ideas, as she gathered clues about the occupant. Her gaze scanned over the yellow and black stripped piano that stood in the main room and the saxophone case in the corner, the scattered music sheets on a side table, the music stand, and books on music theory, top performers and music history made it clear the instruments weren’t just for show: They were a passion.

  The occupant also liked martial arts. She noticed a black belt folded on a bookshelf next to a book on akido and silhouettes of a jai alai master in four different stances. The space was more cluttered than filthy, which made her job easy. She could organize it in no time. The only thing that surprised her was that the muted colors of the room and heavy furniture seemed to suit a more masculine taste than the pretty woman sitting in front of her in the living room. Nothing seemed to fit Caryn’s impression of Roberta Johnston, a reserved and calm woman wearing dark rimmed glasses, a prim dark green blouse, and dark blue jeans.

  Caryn knew Roberta was a top videographer, so she evidently had a creative side to her, but her personality didn’t seem to be in the place. Not even the collection of teddy bears, taking up an entire side of the apartment, which seemed to have swallowed the space as if they’d been carried in by a tidal wave, appeared to suit her. But she wasn’t one to judge. People had many different sides.

  “Let me guess,” Caryn said with a smile. “I’m here about the teddy bears.”

  “Yes. This is my boyfriend’s place and his sister’s the cofounder of an organization that donates these items to shelters, hospitals and nursing homes.”

  So that’s it! Caryn felt relieved, but the feeling didn’t last long. “This isn’t your place?”

  “No, but it’s okay. He’s very laidback about these things. He told me that I could help him get organized and since I don’t know much, I thought I’d call in the professionals.”

  “That’s admirable, but I really think he should be here to make the decision.” Plus she wanted to meet him, just out of curiosity, to see if her impression of him was correct. In her mind she’d already created a picture of him. As a default, she imagined he was black, like his girlfriend, and fit, with long fingers. He preferred T-shirts and jeans over suits and ties, but could clean up well. Unlike some clients, he would be malleable to change and from the sight of the piano had a quirky sense of humor and style.

  “He’s busy,” Roberta said, making it clear Caryn wouldn’t get a chance to see him. “And he trusts me.”

  Caryn tried another tactic. “But I’d like to know more about him. It’s a wonderful space and if it reflects him in any way I’d love a chance to meet him.”

  Roberta glanced around the apartment with affection. “What you see is what you get, really. He shouldn’t have taken on this extra job, but he hates letting people down. He owns a bunch of businesses.”

  “Did you say businesses?”

  “Yes,” Roberta said with a nod, “but he’s not a workaholic.” She nodded to his saxophone. “He likes to jam with friends and is very easy going. There’s nothing you could do to make him angry, so don’t worry. The only thing that gets him nervous are small spaces.” She rolled her eyes. “It still takes me forever to get him to use elevators, but he’s improving. Anyway, just tell me what you think we should do. I’d really like to surprise him.”

  He sounded wonderful. Perfect. Even his little eccentricities. Plus his place seemed to fill all her senses, the bright grayish-green of the succulent on his windowsill, the smell of wood, the soft feel of the cloth covered couch. There was something warm and familiar about his place. She felt an odd sense of déjà vu, although she’d never been in the apartment before. She envied Roberta, wanting to ask where she’d found her boyfriend. Did he have friends? A single brother? But after Peter, any new relationship would be rebound hell, so she pushed her curiosity aside and said, “Okay, then we can get started.”

  Before Roberta could reply the loud wailing of a rock guitar solo drifted in from another room. She rolled her eyes, “I don’t know why he keeps doing that.”

  “What is it?”

  She stood. “It’s his alarm. He always sets it wrong. I don’t know why. He’ll set it for evening instead of day, or seconds instead of minutes. It’s real strange.”

  Caryn laughed. “I used to know someone who did that.”

  “Did they ever improve?”

  “No.”

  Roberta sighed as a heavy drum beat met with the sound of a wailing guitar. “I’ll be back in a minute.”

  Caryn sat back and looked around the apartment again. She was about to stand when Roberta’s cell phone rang. She sent it a cursory glance, then paused and looked at it again in disbelief. She saw an image on the screen that made her freeze. A face she hadn’t seen in eight years. A handsome male face smiling: Adrian.

  What was he doing on Roberta’s phone?

  The phone quickly went quiet. Caryn swallowed. What should she do? Tell her about the call? Pretend it hadn’t happened? Get out of there?

  Roberta sat back down then noticed a message on her phone. “Oh damn. I’ll call him back in a minute.”

  Oh no. Caryn thought, looking around the room with new eyes. Now she knew why everything seemed so familiar. It was his place. The décor had changed from the struggling entrepreneur he’d been, but the essence was the same. And now she remembered that book on music—the tiny black and white photo of a suspension bridge, the martial art silhouettes.

  “Who, uh, called?” Caryn asked, knowing it was none of her business, but hoping Roberta would tell her that the man on the screen was a work colleague or a relative or someone else completely. Maybe he was just a lookalike.

  “My boyfriend. Adrian.” She held up the phone. “Isn’t he handsome?”

  Caryn could only make a strangling noise in her throat. Terri had been right. She’d warned her not to take the job. Why hadn’t she listened?

  Soon they heard footsteps and a key in the door. Roberta swore. “That’s him. He wasn’t supposed to be home yet.”

  Caryn’s heart began to race. She had to disappear. She couldn’t see him. But there was nowhere to hide. “Um…where’s your bathroom?”

  “Down the hall and—”

  Caryn didn’t give Roberta a chance to finish. She grabbed her purse, raced into the bathroom and closed the door. Why was this happening? Why did it have to be his place? Why did she run? She should have stayed and said hello and then made her exit. It would have been awkward, but more mature. She still could behave like an adult. She could fix her makeup, take a deep breath, then face him again.

  Caryn opened her handbag and pulled out her lipstick. She went to the mirror and started to apply it then stopped. No, she couldn’t face him. Not looking like this. Suddenly, her jacket looked tired and old fashioned, her makeup bland. In comparison to Roberta, she looked…dull, and that was saying a lot.

  A square bottle of cologne peeked out the side of his medicine cabinet. Her heart began to pound at the sight of it, triggering memories that sent her senses spinning. She knew how the earthy, woodsy scent on his skin could drive her wild. She put her lipstick away, grabbed the bottle and opened it then closed her eyes and sniffed it, remembering one fantasy she’d had of soaking her finger inside the cologne then rubbing it all over his body. His beautiful, brown, body.

  Her eyes flew open, her heart pounding even faster than before. What was she doing? Why was she thinking this way?

  She quickly replaced the bottle, nearly dropping it, and shut the cabinet. She’d be adult another day. Not now. Not when she wasn’t thinking straight.

  But what should she do? S
he looked around annoyed by the faint scent of his cologne that now clung to her fingers; that she noticed he still bought yellow toothbrushes. “If I want a bright smile, I’ve gotta use a bright color,” he used to say. And he would smile at her and make her heart melt every time. Caryn inwardly groaned. She didn’t want to remember that. She didn’t want to remember how much fun they’d had together.

  She had to get out!

  She saw the window near the shower. A window! That would be her escape. She lifted it and looked down. Two floors. She could make it.

  Caryn tossed her handbag out the window then crawled out. She grabbed the ledge, said a small prayer then let go. The ground met her faster than she’d expected, and she felt stabbing through her ankle as it twisted at an odd angle, but that was it. She was still in one piece. She was free. She just needed to make it to her car.

  Caryn rose to her feet, limped over to the parking lot and stopped when two worn sneakers came into view.

  “What are you doing?”

  She knew that voice. That deep, low rumble. A voice that reminded her of whiskey over rocks and a low tide. She hadn’t heard it in eight years, but it hadn’t changed.

  Fate. I hate you. Why hadn’t his apartment been higher up? Then she would be dead and she wouldn’t have to face him. She wouldn’t look up at him. She’d pretend he was a stranger. She didn’t have to explain herself to strangers.

  “A neighbor called because she saw someone sneaking out of my apartment,” he continued.

  Somebody saw her? She quickly lifted her head and to her horror saw a small gathering of people—a small group of preschoolers linked hand in hand, and an older couple in matching jogging suits, a teenager on a skateboard, an expensively dressed woman with a cell phone. Why hadn’t she seen them before? Had they taken pictures?

  “I’m sorry,” she said, being careful not to look at his face. She kept her gaze lowered, which was a mistake because it focused directly on his chest. His fit, wide chest. His fit, wide, muscular chest. The white T-shirt seeming to emphasis every contour. He was beautifully made and that hadn’t changed. She shifted her gaze to the ground again. That was better. His shoes. She’d stare at his shoes. His big, well worn shoes. There was nothing sexy about a man’s shoes, except that she used to tease him about his big feet and hands. She’s learned to stop teasing him about them in bed when he showed her how well he used them…