Acts Beyond Redemption

by S. Burke

  He rejoined his guest and smiled at the impeccably set table. She was a perfectionist, as the cutlery was laid with surgical precision. Exact distances apart, and precisely one inch from the edge of the table.

  “Something smells mighty good.”

  “I hope it tastes that way. How do you like your steak?”

  “Medium/rare thanks.”

  “Great, me too. The salad vegetables are so crisp and fresh, like they’d just been picked.”

  “They were. Picked just this morning. I have a large vegetable garden out back, Selma never has to buy fruit or vegetables, and she pops over here and helps herself, and stocks me up whenever I’m due home.”

  “So you both benefit from the relationship, that’s good.”

  “Yeah, it works well. I take her to weddings and things as my partner, and she does the same with me. It stops people trying to set both of us up with blind dates.”

  Sheila grinned at the statement and walked past him into the kitchen brushing briefly against him as she did. She felt him recoil as if he’s been zapped by a Taser. Good, very good.

  “Quentin, do you have any wine? A red would be lovely with this.”

  “I do, I’ll open it and let it breathe a little. Do you prefer a rich red, or I have rosé if you’d prefer?”

  “Please tell me it’s the Portuguese Rosé, Mateus.”

  “Good guess.”

  “Good taste.”

  They both laughed. Sheila found two crystal glasses and Quentin uncorked the Mateus.

  “Dinner is about done.”

  Sheila busied herself serving the vegetables onto heated platters, the steak seared and cooked to perfection.

  She put everything on the large dining table and smiled as she noted that candles had been added and lit. Quentin returned to the room and the soft sounds of ‘Begin the Beguine’ flowed through the room.

  “I surely didn’t think I’d be sitting down to a candlelit dinner with a beautiful woman tonight.”

  “In her pyjamas.”

  He laughed with pleasure. “In her pyjamas.”

  Sheila raised her glass. “A toast. To knights that drive Chevrolets, and drink great Rosé … and have a kitchen to die for.”

  They touched glasses. “A toast to damsels in distress driving Porches, and have no spare tyres and look great at my table.”

  Sheila noted that he didn’t drink the rosé.

  They both grinned, then helped themselves to the steamed potatoes with sour cream and crisped bacon, the mushroom caps with diced capsicum and onion sautéed in a touch of garlic and basil, and the baby carrots cooked with honey and slithered almonds. A crisp green salad and a touch of Balsamic vinegar finished it off.

  “This is Cordon Bleu cooking, Sheila.”

  “Yes, the folks insisted I attend a six month course.”

  “Smart folks. Good teachers, in California?”

  “Paris. Pop couldn’t see the sense in me wasting all those years of studying French. So it was decided that I may as well learn the art from the artists.”

  “Paris, eh? Where else have you travelled?”

  “I did the mandatory Europe thing when I finished college, you know, the London, Paris, Rome route. I went back on my own about a year back, and still haven’t satisfied the wanderlust. I had so many people asking me about different parts of the States, and I had no idea. So I planned on doing this trip, I just hadn’t planned it quite so soon. And you, have you travelled widely?”

  He hesitated for a fraction of a second. “Not outside the States.”

  “You’re joking!”

  “Nope.”

  “Quentin, that’s not good for you. You obviously like quality in your life; you’re short-changing yourself by not exploring. At least your own country.”

  “I never wanted to do it on my own.”

  “Why don’t you ask your friend? You get along well, that should work.”

  “I get along fine with Selma for a limited stretch of time. More than a few hours in her company drives me crazy.”

  “Why?”

  “Because she’s … damn it, I guess I hadn’t given it much thought.” He smiled and continued. “She’s a nice person.”

  “Oh, dear. Boring as all shit, huh?”

  “You got that right.”

  “Oh, well. You could ask another friend, someone you know really well and get along with. Surely there must be someone whose company you enjoy.”

  “Hmm, there is. I’ll have to think on it though. Can I top up your drink?”

  “Mm, please. I’ll not be long out of bed after the meal and the wine. I’ll help you clean away everything and then hit the sack. What time does the mechanic open in the morning?”

  Quentin looked startled, and then laughed. “You know something? I had completely forgotten that was the reason you were here. Joseph opens up at around seven or eight o’clock, depending how much he’s had to drink the night before.”

  “You gotta love small towns, doncha?”

  “Oh yes indeed. Gotta love ’em or hate ’em.”

  “What’s it with you, love or hate?”

  “I never really thought about it. I guess it fluctuates between one and the other.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Well then, let’s get this mess cleared away, shall we?”

  Quentin stood and stretched his six foot three inch frame. Sheila was tall for a woman; it was kind of nice being able to look a woman in the eyes without having to bend too far. And what eyes they were, sparkling sapphire blue. He’d never seen a woman with eyes that colour before. He’d never seen a woman remotely as beautiful as she was either. He felt the sudden rush of adrenalin again and moved away before she could see his arousal.

  “I’m just gonna pop outside for a smoke before we start. Join me?”

  Sheila reached for her open packet and nodded her agreement. They sat in companionable silence and smoked several cigarettes each. Then they cleaned up the kitchen, loaded the dishwasher, and without saying more than a brief goodnight, headed off to their respective sleeping areas.

  Quentin couldn’t sleep. He was restless and uneasy. Sheila had caused him to rethink his life in a few short hours.

  Come morning she’d be gone, and he’d be right back where he started before she’d come into his life. He didn’t want her to go. He really didn’t want her to leave his life so suddenly. But given his past, did he have the right to ask her? Too late for regrets. She could never know.

  He headed outside in the cool night air and sat sipping on a strong coffee and smoking, trying to work up the courage to ask her a question he already knew the answer to.

  Sheila snuggled down, listening to Quentin moving around outside. She smiled contentedly in the darkness. Can’t sleep, poor Quentin. Such a shame. What’s bothering you, Quentin? Could it be me?

  She drifted off to sleep still smiling, unaware that Quentin stood near the bed and sketched her profile in the moonlight as she slept.

  Sheila awoke early. Dressing in jeans and a sweatshirt, she walked into the kitchen and took a good look around. Hmm, yes, very appealing. A valuable piece of property no doubt.

  Quentin was surprised to find her there when he entered the kitchen shortly after sunrise. “Morning. How did you sleep?”

  “Good morning, Quentin. I slept so well, it was hard to climb out of that bed. I’ve just made coffee, I hope you don’t mind, but I can’t start my day without a good belt of caffeine. It’s fresh and hot, can I pour you a cup?”

  “Mm, yes, thanks.”

  “I heard you wandering around last night. I hope my cooking didn’t cause insomnia.”

  “What? Oh hell, no. I had a few things on my mind, is all.”

  “Good. How do you like your coffee?”

  “Black, and two, thanks.”

  She poured him a cup and drew up a chair next to him at the table. Not speaking, she sat quietly watching the expressions on his face change as he internalized his thought processes. She
waited.

  “Sheila?”

  “Uh-huh? What?”

  The man looked uncomfortable, and she had to work at not laughing as he struggled for words.

  “I was thinking over what you were saying last night, about small towns and living in one, and all of that.”

  “And?”

  “I am just going to ask this straight up.” He fidgeted in the chair and stood, facing the front porch. “Let’s take our coffees outside and have a smoke. Okay?”

  “Sure.” She refreshed both the cups and followed him out to the front stoop. He sat and she joined him, close enough to allow him to smell her perfume, but not touching.

  “Sheila, you suggested I might have a friend I could stand around me long enough to travel with. I don’t … or at least I didn’t. This is way out there, but I’ve thought about it all night long …”

  “Spit it out, Quentin. What’s on your mind?”

  “Would you consider continuing your road trip with me along?” The sentence came out in a rush and he looked relieved to have asked it.

  “Wow! Phew. I mean where did that come from?”

  “Hear me out, okay?”

  “Sure.”

  “You found out yesterday that I can be useful, yeah?” She nodded. “Well I was thinking that maybe we get along well enough to travel together, you’d be a lot safer, and I’d make certain the car ran well and had no problems, like no spare. We could share expenses, and all that stuff. I like you, I like you a lot, and I’d like to get to know you better. I can’t do that if you leave, and I can’t ask you to stay, so I figured the best solution would be to travel with you.”

  “I like you as well, Quentin. But I don’t know, I mean I’d have to give it some thought. I hadn’t wanted to be tied down to someone else’s timetable, you know. I drive when I want to and stop when I choose. Some days I plan to cover a lot of ground, and other days I may just look around wherever I happen to be … well, that’s the plan. I am in no hurry to get to the lodge; I may do it in a week, or in a month. I didn’t want to have to keep any kind of schedule.”

  “You wouldn’t need to change any of that.”

  “But, what about your work? The company?”

  “I deserve a vacation. And I can afford it. I’d need a day or two to line up someone to look after my clients, but I have some reliable people working for me, so that wouldn’t be a huge problem.”

  “You really want to do this, don’t you?”

  “I do.”

  “Tell you what. Let’s get my car on the road, I’ll bring it back here, and I’ll think over what you’ve said and give you an answer tomorrow. Okay?”

  “You mean you aren’t saying no?”

  “I’m not saying yes either. I’m saying I need to think it through.”

  He smiled, content with that answer. At least she hadn’t laughed in his face. “That’s sounds fair to me.”

  “Good. I don’t like being pressured, ever. So let’s do the car thing and we’ll talk more about this later, how’s that idea?”

  “Sounds like a plan.”

  “Cool, now, what’s for breakfast?”

  Quentin laughed and stood, gave her his hand and helped her to her feet, and they headed inside.

  Breakfast done and cleared away, it was time to head on over to the garage.

  Sheila was agitated about something. She hadn’t said much, but fidgeted in the passenger seat.

  “Is anything wrong?”

  “You’ll think I’m stupid.”

  “What is it?”

  “Can we not tell people I was dumb enough not to have a spare tyre?”

  “Joseph is just a mechanic in a small town, it won’t matter to him.”

  “Please, Quentin. Can you not say anything? Just tell him some woman was unlucky enough to puncture both the tyre and the spare.”

  “If it’s important to you.”

  She beamed a high voltage smile at him, and visibly relaxed. “Thank you.”

  He shook his head and pulled up outside the garage. “You coming in?”

  “Uh- no, thanks.” She pulled a wad of cash from her bag and handed it to him. “That should be enough.”

  “Shit, Sheila. That a lot of money to be carrying around. Don’t you have a credit card?”

  “Don’t believe in them.”

  Quentin looked about to say more, when the garage doors opened and Joseph called out, “Hey. Quinn, buddy. What’s happenin’? Chevy runnin’ hot again?”

  Quentin walked over to the man, and they wandered into the darkness of the garage together, emerging a short time later with two new tyres, which Quentin put in the trunk. Sheila sat still and quiet, drawing no attention. She had her back turned towards the garage and appeared to be looking out the driver’s side window. All Quentin could see was a fall of long dark hair.

  She drew back and smiled at him as he returned to the driver’s seat. “All done?”

  “Yup, let’s get this sorted. By the time we get there and fit the tyre and drive back it’ll be early afternoon.”

  “I’ll fix us some lunch when we get back.”

  “Sounds good.”

  Quentin gunned the V8 and they headed out of town, driving in silence. It was a beautiful day. He turned on the radio and they hummed along with the rock station as the car ate up the miles.

  The tyre was an easy fix. Sheila was back in the Porsche and they were headed over to his place, with the Chevy in front. Quentin was singing aloud to himself when a blur of sound and movement caught him by surprise.

  She had overtaken and was speeding past him, staying on the wrong side of the road.

  “Jesus! What the hell is she doing?”

  She was rapidly disappearing into the distance on the long straight stretch of road.

  Quentin put his foot down and pursued, adrenalin pumping as he began to slowly gain on the red car in front. He was close behind now and flashed his lights. Sheila responded by putting pedal to the metal and zooming ahead. His old Chevy was good, but there was no way he could catch her. He slowed his pace and dropped back.

  “What are you doing, little girl?” He asked the question of the empty car.

  As he neared the turnoff he slowed; there she was, parked on the side of the road, sitting on the hood, smoking.

  He climbed out and wandered over. “Had your fun for today, huh?”

  “No lectures, Quentin.”

  “Nope, no lectures. What happened?”

  “Nothing. I just got bored, needed a little adrenalin surge to wake me up is all.”

  “Did it work?”

  “Now I’m famished and I need food and an ice cold beer.”

  “Sounds good. Just watch your speed on the dirt, there are some large potholes and you were asleep yesterday afternoon when I drove through, so you don’t know the road.”

  “I’ll stay tucked in behind you like a good little girl.” She pouted.

  He saw the laughter in her eyes and smiled at her. “You are a surprise package, Sheila.”

  “Oh, you have no idea just how true that is. I’m starved, let’s go eat.”

  She climbed back in her car, and waited for the Chevy to lead the way.

  Chapter 9

  The heat was oppressive; a storm was brewing, the thunder now rolling in waves across the foothills. Sheila shivered in spite of the temperature. Storms made her afraid and she didn’t like that feeling. This was something she couldn’t control. Mother Nature; the only bitch she hadn’t managed to tame.

  Quentin had gone in to town for more alcohol and cigarettes. He was so obliging. She wanted him to get back before the storm broke. Before the lightning began. The sudden crack startled her, and she whimpered. The lights flickered once, twice, then nothing. The power was out, the room only illuminated by the flashes coming closer together. Crack! The smell of sulphur permeated the air.

  God damn him, where was he? She couldn’t be alone during a storm. She flicked her cigarette lighter and gained a small meas
ure of comfort from the brief light.

  “Candles! He must have candles. Look for candles.”

  Her stomach clenched in knots, she went toward the pantry. She flicked the lighter again, but the flame didn’t last long enough to search.

  Think … where would he have candles, think damn you … think. You are so stupid. You can do nothing right. The candles from dinner last night? Stupid! Of course! Yes, they would be good. Where? Where would he put them?

  Crack! The wind had picked up and the trees around the house whipped into frantic motion.

  She opened drawers, hasty and careless, leaving them open and gaping in the dark.

  The lightning hit the large tree just outside the window and the sound and smell came straight from hell.

  She huddled in a corner with her head between her knees and began to rock backwards and forwards singing to herself, ‘hush little baby don’t you cry, momma’s gonna sing you a lullaby.’ She sang the same words over and over again, rocking and holding her head down to her knees.

  That’s how Quentin found her when he got back. A tree had come down in the storm and the road was blocked. He couldn’t chance the Chevy getting stuck in the mud that had turned to a murky river in the downpour, so he grabbed the bottles and cigarettes and walked back the couple of miles to the house. This was the worst storm he’d seen all summer. The house was in darkness and the smell of sulphur was thick in the air.

  “Sheila, where are you? Sheila?”

  He went from room to room calling her. The torch flicked around the kitchen shining off cupboards and draws wide open, “What the hell? Sheila, answer me! Where are you?”

  The torch glanced on the form huddled in the corner. “Are you hurt?” He bent towards her in the torchlight.

  She looked up at him and choked out the words, “I was afraid. I don’t like to be afraid.” She began to cry.

  Quentin put the torch on the bench and bent down, picking her up and cradling her in his arms. “It’s just a storm, honey, hush now. No need to be afraid, just a storm.” He carried her into the living room, but when he tried to put her on the sofa she clung, like a baby, whimpering and shaking. “Sheila, I need to set you down, so I can get some candles lit. I have a battery powered lamp as well. I will be straight back with the lamp. Okay? I promise.”