He pushed himself away, loosened his clasp. “Is that what you want?”
She could say honestly, “I think you should do whatever it is that would make you happy. Help you find your place. Wherever that is.”
“Right now, my place is here with you, in the enveloping dark of an enchanting rose arbor.” His normal bantering tone had returned.
At his plain but unspoken invitation, she turned her face to his and accepted his lingering kiss. She couldn’t resist.
“I will give it some thought,” he said into her ear. “I will give a lot of things some thought.” His lips found hers again, but lightly and caressing, not insistent. “And leave you now to have sweet dreams of me.” He let go of her and moved away.
She collected herself again, feeling herself dismissed. She pushed her rising desires into a corner of her mind and tried to close her heart. She asked, in spite of her better judgment, “Why are you leaving so early?”
“I’d stay,” he said lightly “for a long, enchanted evening holding you, but I have a very early work call. I don’t know why some things have to be done at three in the morning. I guess that’s when those computers are resting or something and I can get into them. Or maybe that’s when all the bugs show up.”
She digested that. “So why did you come? Just to talk about the orchestra?”
“Partly, but I had told you I would. Didn’t I? Before I got this work call.” He paused, “And to play my flute for you. So you’d understand, maybe. But mostly to see you, to tell you, to know what you might think.”
“And did you find out?”
“I don’t know. I have to think about it.”
She had no answer for that. She looked up at him but couldn’t really see him in the darkness. “Think about what?”
“You. How lovely you are, how wonderful a long night with you would be. But not now.”
He bent, kissed her forehead, and said, “Goodnight my Bonny Thea. I’ll be back. I promise.” He picked up his flute and was gone into the now total darkness behind the hedge.
She sat for another few minutes, denying the tears that threatened, and went home to her empty house. Maybe I should get a dog. Something.
IN THE THUNDERSTORM
It was Tuesday afternoon, and a weather warning had been issued for a fast-moving thunderstorm that was approaching from the west. It was expected to bring heavy rain, high winds, and hail with possible power outages, even the possibility of an isolated tornado, but would only last a few hours. Althea left work early and stopped at the stand as Connie was moving baskets inside.
“I got worried,” Althea told her. “But I probably don’t need to.”
“Always worry about the weather,” Connie said practically, “you never know. Since you’re here, I’ll go see what Ed’s doing. He sometimes forgets to pick up the cushions on the porch chairs.”
Althea laughed.
Connie collected her purse and jacket from behind the counter. “And the old dog panics when he hears thunder. Somebody needs to be there to hold his paw. Poor old thing.”
“Run along. I’ll take care of everything.”
She watched her cousin back out of her parking space, waved to her as she left, then surveyed the patio to see what else needed to be moved to safety before she closed and barred the two big doors.
A car pulled into the parking space behind her and stopped. She watched Miles climb out of his Jeep and approach her. She had never seen him on a weekday. But, then, I’m not usually here.
He was smiling tentatively, as if unsure, and glanced at the sky, which was growing darker. The wind had risen a little, blowing handfuls of grit across the parking area.
She waited, wondering what he wanted, also genuinely happy to see him.
He stopped a few steps away from her but didn’t meet her eyes. “I just wanted to thank you again for coming to the festival on Saturday. I always play better when I’m playing for somebody special, not just the general crowd.”
“I really enjoyed it, Miles. You guys play very well, even if what you do is a different version of the old songs.” She laughed. “At least you have the beat and the rhythm right.”
He shrugged, grimacing a little. “Yeah. We want to do it right, the old way, but young people want it a little jazzier or something.”
“I don’t think you’re all that old.” She raised her eyebrows in his direction. “Are you?”
“Haven’t made thirty yet, but there are days . . .”
“I know.”
She decided not to mention her own age. It was none of his business. “But I enjoyed it, really I did. And you do keep the right words.”
He smiled a real smile, not his usual smug grin or superior smirk. “Thanks. We try. Trying to fill a niche somewhere I guess.” He hesitated again, still watching the darkening clouds. “Thanks for listening to me about my music and all. How it is.”
She regarded him silently for a long moment. Is this the real Miles, the musician who wants his work to be appreciated, not the Miles who is always on the defensive? She sat down in one of the patio rockers and motioned toward the other one. “I think you’ll fit in very well.” She paused, waiting, but he didn’t comment. “Where did you get the name Musical Madmen?”
He shrugged and sat awkwardly in the chair, seeming to have lost his usual litheness. “Andy came up with it. We kind of wanted to use Musical Mayhem, but somebody already has that one.”
She chuckled. “I don’t think you commit mayhem.”
He smiled in her direction. “You aren’t at any of our practice sessions. Sometimes we go hog wild. Trying out different things, just for the fun of it. And it is a lot of fun, us just being ourselves.”
She could picture that, and wished she could have taken part in such sessions, that she had the ability to do so. “That must be something to hear.”
He shrugged. “We’re all different.”
In the distance, she heard a rumble of thunder. The sky had grown noticeably darker. “I guess we’re going to get that storm they’re predicting after all. I was hoping we wouldn’t. I worry about hail, what it can do to the gardens. To say nothing about the apples.”
Miles stared into the west where the sun had disappeared behind purple-black towering clouds. There was a flash of lightning, a distant roll of thunder. He winced, and his hands closed convulsively around the chair arms.
Surprised, she asked, “Is something wrong?”
“Thunder. Lightning. I . . .” he turned toward her, his face was ashy white and he was trembling. “Could we go inside?”
“Yes, of course, but . . .”
He struggled to his feet. “Althea, please.”
She got up slowly, nonplussed, suddenly concerned. She had never seen such a reaction before, and recalled their first meeting in a storm, his hand clenched around his phone, his desire to get away. She had attributed that as a reaction to the accident. “Sure. Come inside.”
As she brushed past him, a sudden flash of light illuminated the stand, followed almost immediately by a loud crash. His arm tightened around her, pulling her close to him. He buried his face in her shoulder murmuring, “Oh, God. Oh, God.”
She disengaged his arms and put her hand on his, turning him toward the open doors and pushed gently. “Miles, take it easy. It’s all right. Just come inside.”
He stumbled after her, following where she led, still almost moaning.
She switched on the lights. “Sit down here, Miles.” She pushed him toward a bench beside the door. “Everything is okay.” She wanted to add the storm won’t hurt you, but she could see that he was frightened, terribly frightened like a small child. Unreasonably. What on earth happened to him?
He shuddered and collapsed on the bench, his head bent and his arms clasped around his
chest. He stammered, “I’m sorry, Thea. I didn’t mean to do that. I keep trying to get over it.”
She sank down beside him, offering her arms for comfort, for warmth since he was shaking. He leaned against her, hiding his face in her shoulder. “Just relax. The storm is going away.”
But it wasn’t. One crash followed another as the storm approached quickly and passed overhead. He cowered against her, obviously trying to control his shivering and not succeeding.
She held him close, felt his trembling gradually subside and his ragged breathing calm. “Just breathe deeply. Take it easy.” She wanted to ask what had happened, but didn’t quite dare.
He released a long breath, swallowed hard, and said weakly, “I’m sorry. I didn’t intend to do that. It’s usually not this bad and I can handle it.”
“It will be all right.” His vulnerability was touching her, making him much more human and much more likeable.
He said raggedly, in not much more than a whisper, “If I hadn’t had such a bad day at work . . . I started too early and I was tired. Nothing went right. I couldn’t please anybody and I was upset. The storm just finished it for me and I lost it.”
She could understand that. A bad day could ruin everything.
“I’m sorry, Thea. You weren’t supposed to see me like this.” He inhaled deeply several times and straightened up, still within the circle of her arms, leaning against her.
The storm seemed to have moved away, now with just a few rumblings to the south. If it doesn’t come back as a second wave . . . His distress was somehow endearing, made him more loveable. Vulnerable. She asked gently, “Would you like to talk about it? Sometimes that helps.”
He turned his head enough to meet her eyes. “I’m sorry. This isn’t my image.”
“Your self-image. What you try to project.” She wondered if that was too brutal, but maybe something he needed. “We all have our weak spots.”
“Yeah. But I’m supposed to be the big macho man.” He seemed to be in control again. She waited, not commenting, watching, and silently applauding his efforts to regain his poise and his self-esteem.
He slipped an arm around her waist and held her close. “I’m so glad you were here. I really needed somebody right then.”
What did it cost him to admit that? “And if you had been driving?”
“I could have made it home. I think.” He closed his eyes. “I would have made it home. If I had to.” He sighed again. “Nobody knows why I’m like this except Ted.”
She recalled that Glo had mentioned it.
A sudden brilliant flash of lightning was followed by an unusually loud crash.
Miles flinched and held her tighter against him. “Oh my god, that hit something.”
“There’s a granite ledge that gets hit regularly. It never does any harm. Just a lot of noise.” She tried to sound unconcerned, but the noise had startled her as well.
“When it hits it always harms something.” His voice filled with dread and certainty.
“Not always. There are a few cracks in the ledge, that’s all.”
He shuddered and lost what control he had regained, shaking all over.
Suddenly sensing a deeply buried reason, she said gently, “Something bad happened when you were young.”
He didn’t answer for a long minute. “I don’t talk about it, try not to even think about it. I have to forget it.”
She wondered if he was crying and trying not to. “Maybe it would help if you did.” She hesitated. “You can trust me, Miles.”
He didn’t answer, swallowed convulsively, and then said hesitantly, little more than a whisper, “I was five, maybe six. We were living in a village in Connecticut where my father had a factory job. We had a big old house.” He stopped, swallowed again and obviously forced himself to continue. “There was a terrific storm in the middle of the night, lightning everywhere, really loud.” He drew in a big shuddering breath. “My mother made us get up, me and my Dad. I saw the lightning strike the house across the street. There was a big bang and then the whole house exploded into fire. Like a huge ball.” He stopped, again engulfed in a fit of shuddering. “Nobody got out. My best friend, Timmy, lived there.” He stopped again. “That’s what I see, what I feel, when there’s a storm. That awful fire.”
She impulsively closed her arms around him, holding him tighter. There was nothing she could say.
He said haltingly, “A couple of therapists tried to help, but they didn’t. Not very much. I can usually hide it enough to get inside. If I could just get away from the awful sounds . . . I can’t get away from it.”
She thought of Ed’s old dog. He needs somebody to hold his hand. And I can do that for him. If he’ll let me.
A sudden flash of light signaled the return of the storm, the usual second wave, but it was farther to the south, and the sound of the thunder much less than before. She felt him tense, his body grow rigid, but he relaxed again when the sound faded. “Are you all right now?”
“I think so.” He straightened and pushed himself away from her, then raised his eyes to meet hers. “Thank you, but that’s not what I wanted you to see. Ever. I’m not like that. Really.”
“It’s nothing to be ashamed of. It’s not something you can help.”
He went on as if she hadn’t spoken. “I can’t accept that weakness. I can’t have you thinking less of me. I’m supposed to be the big hero.”
She said gently, “All heroes have a flaw somewhere. To me, it makes you more human.”
“I don’t want that.”
She met his eyes and held them, for once feeling the stronger of the two of them and wanting to find a way for him to get his self-assurance back. The self-assurance that had so irritated her. But she knew now it was an important part of him, his defense against the world that was trying to defeat him. “What is it you do want, Miles?”
He sighed. “I don’t know.”
Seeing that he was calming down, regaining his composure, she said practically, “You have so much. Your talent and a place to display it. You have a lot of abilities, like fixing my water pump. You have a job that pays you well . . .”
He pushed her arms away and got to his feet, keeping his back to her.
She asked, “What more do you want?”
He turned and gazed down at her, reached for her hand, pulled her to her feet, and then enclosed her firmly against him, his face in her hair. “Maybe somebody to understand me?”
“You have to trust somebody with your inner self to get that.” She wanted to get out of her therapist mode, back into the role of lover. She pulled back enough to look deeply into his eyes and was startled by his anguish, his exposed soul.
He didn’t answer, just found her lips with his, and kissed her gently.
She gave in to the moment. Maybe this is how I can help him. Somebody needs to.
He released her suddenly. “The storm has gone, at least for now. I have to get home.”
“Where it’s safe?”
“Yeah. Ted will be wondering where I am. He knows how I am in thunderstorms.”
“At least you have him and Glo to care about you.”
“I do.” He moved away from her to stare outside. “I can get home before it comes back. It’s only a few minutes from here.”
She stopped beside him, close but not touching.
He glanced at her, slid an arm around her shoulders and squeezed lightly. “Thanks, Thea. I’m sorry for all this.”
“Don’t be.”
He sighed again. “But now you know too much about me. It can’t ever be the same.” He stepped away. “Goodbye, my Bonny.”
“Goodbye?”
He didn’t answer, ran through the rain, and climbed into his Jeep.
She watched him drive away wit
h a mixture of concern and regret. He wouldn’t just leave me now, would he? After all this? Is that why he always moves on, to keep that part of him secret?
She closed and locked the stand door and went home to supper. All she managed to eat was a piece of toast with her tea. Her heart ached, for herself as well as for Miles. Of course he’ll come back. He keeps saying he will.
But she wasn’t sure. Of anything.
THE SECOND APPLE FESTIVAL
Connie said she found the poster for the apple festival in the neighboring town tacked to the stand doors when she came in on Thursday morning.
“It had this sticky note stuck to it,” she told Althea when she arrived. She held out a neon green square. “I’d guess that Miles left it.”
The scrawl on the paper said “Will you come? I’ll be gone till then.” Althea shrugged. “I’d say it came from him, since that group of his is playing.”
“You had supper with him at our festival, didn’t you? Met him afterward, after they played? I left after we packed up our booth and didn’t stay for supper. They were still playing.”
“I did.”
“And?”
Althea knew Connie was fishing, wanting to be enlightened, and it really wasn’t fair to be so secretive. “He’d asked me if I’d have dinner with him. The group he plays with, these Musical Madmen, are quite good. Different.”
“And?”
Althea laughed. “He stops around once in a while over the weekend, usually on Sunday afternoon when I’m through work.”
“That’s what Ed said. He’s seen that old Jeep of his parked up the road. Why doesn’t he come into the parking lot like ordinary people?”
“It’s a thing he has. He doesn’t consider himself ordinary people and likes to walk through the trees to the back of the field.”
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