by LM Spangler
If someone had asked her a year ago if mere survival was enough, Mel would have said yes. Now, she wasn’t so sure.
Mel had become tired of spending her nights alone. She could imagine waking in Justin’s arms every morning.
Yes, she definitely wasn’t so sure anymore.
Chapter 3
“You seem more troubled than usual. What’s bothering you?” Dr. Stamko asked.
“Huh? What?”
Masculine laughter flittered to Mel’s ears, and embarrassment flamed her cheeks. She hadn’t been paying attention. His job entailed him listening to her; she should return the favor.
“I’m sorry, doc. I’m a little spacey today,” Mel stated sheepishly. She nervously twirled strands of hair around her finger.
“Do we need to adjust your medication?”
She studied the doctor for a moment. Time had caught up to the man. Gray liberally sprinkled the black hair on his head and chin. Deep lines etched his face. He looked every bit the age of seventy-two, except for fathomless black eyes. They twinkled with life. Experience reflected in their depths.
Dressed in a plain white dress shirt and a hound’s-tooth blazer paired with blue jeans, the doctor appeared to be comfortable in his own skin. That confidence reflected in his professional skills.
Mel considered him to be, by far, the best doctor she’d ever seen. Yes, Dr. Stamko tried ploys to get her to step out in the world, but he didn’t make her feel dejected or inadequate when those plans failed. Mel succeeded in doing that herself. She didn’t even have the courage to ask a man to dinner.
“No. My medication is controlling the anxiety. I just have a lot on my mind.”
“Um-hum. Perhaps the gentleman who delivers your packages?”
“What?” Mel gasped. How could he know?
She gave herself a mental forehead slap. Trained as a psychiatrist, he wouldn’t miss the cues. Dr. Stamko apparently exceeded in the reading-people department.
“You have a…” He paused for a moment as if searching for the right word. “...liking for the man.”
“No… Yes… Maybe,” she replied reluctantly.
“Which is it?”
His gentle tone did little to ease the churning in her stomach. If she weren’t careful, she’d give herself an ulcer. Mel curled a leg underneath her on the buttery soft leather loveseat, tucked long strands of hair behind her ears, and then nervously wrung her fingers together. No sense in hiding what had become so obvious.
Dr. Stamko’s face reflected infinite patience. He wouldn’t rush Mel and would give her time to think the question through.
“Yes,” she finally stated. Once the word left her mouth, a torrent followed. “I don’t know what to do. He’s so vibrant, so full of life. Justin deserves a woman who is equally spirited as himself. What am I?” She forged on, not giving Dr. Stamko time to answer. “I’ll tell you what I am—I’m broken.” Her hands lifted into the air and dropped again. “I’m defeated.”
“No, you aren’t. One can’t be defeated before they’ve even tried. This gentleman might be what you need to draw you out. You need to give him the chance.”
“What could I offer?” Pain etched her voice, making it break slightly. Tears burned and stung the back of her eyes. She fought valiantly against the torrent threatening to unleash itself.
“Why are you fighting it?”
His still gentle tone broke the dam. The first tear fell, followed by another and another. With hands covering her face, she shook with body-racking sobs. After what seemed like an eternity, she wiped the last of the tears away and raised her head. Dr. Stamko was smiling.
“Feel better?” he asked.
“I’m…I’m not sure. I just had a near nervous breakdown, and you’re smiling.”
“You didn’t break, Melanie. You merely chipped. You see your tears as a form of weakness?”
“Why yes. Don’t you?”
“No. Trapped emotions eat away at you. They can make you physically ill. Everybody has a different way of releasing those pent-up feelings. Some can go through their whole life without shedding an emotional tear. Others find tears are their only course of action. You’re good at holding in the tenseness and stress. But you aren’t totally immune. Honestly, do you feel better?”
The question gave Mel pause. Never would she have guessed bawling her eyes out would leave her feeling cleansed, renewed, and invigorated. She smiled, because she indeed did feel better. “I do. It feels like a weight has been lifted off my shoulders. I’m no closer to solving my dilemma, but I feel lighter.”
“Good. Now we need to figure out what you intend to do about Justin.” Dr. Stamko sat back in the wing chair and crossed one leg over the other.
Shyness crept over her, and heat flushed her cheeks. She imagined a teenager would feel this way when they were about to discuss sex with their parents. How could one feel so renewed yet utterly embarrassed at the same time?
“I don’t know what to do,” she whispered.
Dr. Stamko must have sensed her reluctance to discuss the issue. He spoke softly as he rose from the chair. “I’ll leave you to think it over until our next session. Maybe it’s time you do something because you want to, not because someone expects you to.”
Mel took a moment to observe her doctor’s face. Deep black eyes, dark pools of honesty, reflected the truthfulness in his statement.
Maybe he was right. Some walls were meant to stand the test of time; others meant only to stand temporarily.
“I’ll think about it.”
“That’s all I can ask.” Dr. Stamko stooped to pick up his briefcase. “I’ll see myself out.”
“See you next week, doc.”
“Goodnight, Mel.”
Dr. Stamko walked from her living room to the foyer. She released the breath out of her lungs in a whoosh and inhaled deeply, taking in fresh oxygen.
Mel moved to the large bay window at the front of her house and watched the taillights of the doctor’s car fade into the night. At seven o’clock in the evening, her neighborhood often resembled a ghost town this time of year. The days were getting longer, the sun brighter during the daytime, but the moon hung low in the night sky, a slight illumination reaching the Earth below. Lampposts and porch lights cast eerie shadows on vehicles, statuaries, and furniture on porches in front of her neighbors’ houses.
Night brought the most anxiety. Though Mel didn’t venture into the world, she did watch the news and read articles on the internet. Most violent crimes happened after the sun dipped below the horizon. A laugh bubbled in her chest. She lived in the most benign neighborhood in the state. Mostly inhabited by the elderly, her locality lacked excitement, and that suited Mel well.
As headlights illuminated the night, she glanced at her watch. The approaching vehicle probably belonged to Mindy. Thursday evening meant she would be dropping off groceries for Mel. Another laugh threatened to escape. She would be so lost without her sister’s assistance. Mindy did the weekly food shopping and never once complained, always graciously dropping off groceries and spending an hour or two catching up on each other’s previous week.
Mel moved from her perch at the bay window, went to the front door, and opened it. Mindy popped the trunk and retrieved plastic shopping bags before closing it with a hard thud.
“Weekly delivery.” Mindy stepped through the doorway, leaned down, and kissed Mel’s cheek.
“Hey, sis. How are you?” Mel asked.
Mindy walked toward the kitchen and deposited the bags on the island countertop. “I’m right as rain.” She removed her coat and draped it over the back of a barstool. “How did your session go with Dr. Stamko?”
“Oh, well enough.” Mel’s voiced sounded hollow. She toed the cocoa-colored porcelain tile with a bare foot.
Mindy’s brows rose in question. “What did you talk about?” She began unpacking the groceries.
“Nothing important.” The lie of the century, she thought. The words important and Justin w
ent hand-in-hand.
Mindy froze in front of her sister and placed both hands on her full hips. “You are a liar, Melanie,” she scolded. “You know I can read you like a book.”
Mindy spoke the truth. The falsity Mel had told echoed in her own ears. She hated lying, the taste bitter on her tongue. There had never been a point to it. One fib, big or small, begot another and so on.
Mel heaved a heavy sigh, and air passed over her lips in a rush. “We talked about someone.”
Mindy crossed her arms over her chest and leaned a hip against the countertop. “Would this person be of the male persuasion?”
Mel threw her arms up in the air. “Were you a fly on the wall?” she whined, then cringed. If there was something she hated more than lying, it was whining.
“No, of course not. I just know my sister. Remember, I’ve been here when your deliveryman dropped off packages. You get a faraway look in your eyes, like a daydream.”
Mindy was closer to the truth than she probably knew. When in Justin’s presence, Mel imagined a life with him. Wrongfully so, but she did nonetheless.
“I’ve seen the way he looks at you,” Mindy continued. “He gets stars in his eyes as well.”
Mel glanced at her sister whose Rubenesque frame reminded her of a famous painting. Her curves were generous, but she got the height in the family. Topping off at five-foot-nine, Mindy could have been one of the artist’s models.
Mel heaved another heavy sigh, sat on a plush leather barstool, and told her sister about the conversation with Dr. Stamko.
After hearing Mel’s tale, Mindy went to the cabinet beside the fridge and pulled a tumbler from the lower shelf. She sidestepped to the refrigerator and hit the ice button on the dispenser, filled the glass with ice, and then water. Peering over the rim of the tumbler, she regarded Mel with steady, intelligent eyes.
“He may be right, you know,” she finally stated after setting the glass on the black speckled, quartz counter. “It doesn’t hurt to try.”
Mel stared down at an imaginary spot on the island’s top. “What if Justin says no? What if he doesn’t want anything to do with me?” She surged onward. “We’d still have to see each other. It’s not like I’ll stop ordering stuff online, and he still has to deliver my packages.” Her breathing became heavy, sawing in and out of her lungs.
“Calm down or you’ll throw yourself into an anxiety attack.” Mindy retrieved a second tumbler and filled it with ice and water. She shoved the glass under her sister’s nose. “Drink up,” she ordered.
The imaginary anvil sitting on Mel’s chest made her fear she’d burst from the pressure. She didn’t want to dose herself with more medication than necessary, so she snatched the glass and took greedy sips. After downing the contents in a couple of swallows, she took deep, calming breaths and collected herself.
“It’s obvious the man gets you all worked up. Believe it or not, that’s a good thing. It means you care for him. Why not show it? I, personally, think he’s worth a shot.” Mindy sat on the stool next to her sister and laid her hand atop of Mel’s.
Mel tilted her head and regarded Mindy. Deep down inside she knew Mindy and Dr. Stamko were right. She cared greatly for Justin, and he did seem to like her, at least as a friend. Would a simple dinner together hurt?
She glanced around her kitchen with its state-of-the-art appliances, and thought maybe, just maybe, the time had come to put them to good use and cook a feast worthy of a man like Justin.
Chapter 4
The same evening as her sister’s visit, Mel had searched the depths of her soul and found a well of courage to put a plan into motion. She’d ordered the pretty floral sweater. The clothier used ProntoCo Delivery, so she knew Justin would deliver the garment. She’d offer him a hot beverage. While he stood in the foyer, sipping the brew, she’d ask him over for dinner.
After all, she had nothing to lose and Justin stood to gain. Big win in her book.
Mel checked her inbox again and found the delivery confirmation e-mail. It hadn’t changed from twenty minutes ago. Still set to be distributed today, which meant any minute now. She checked the hot cocoa for the fifth time in the last sixty seconds. A laugh escaped, and she shook her head.
Foolish. A simple dinner date was at stake, not a marriage proposal. Just food. Another nervous laugh bubbled up, and she laid a hand on her fluttering stomach.
“Get a hold of yourself, Melanie! You can do this.”
Mel quickly glanced around the living room and resisted plumping the already fluffy, patterned pillows on the leather sectional. She nibbled her lower lip, perhaps a little too hard. The metallic taste of blood flooded her tongue.
“Nice going, moron.” She rose from the seat in her bay window and walked to the full-length mirror by the front door. Mel checked her lip to see what damage she had done. Her courage wavered, and she tried to gather it again.
The steady rumble of a diesel engine drew her attention outside. A quick glance through the glass at the side of the front door confirmed her suspicions. Justin.
Her stomach lurched and she clutched it. Now wasn’t the time to chicken out. Where did I put the hot cocoa? Mel spotted the concoction on the table next to the bay window. She reached for it, being careful not to spill a drop. In the rush to get back to the door, she stubbed her toe on a piece of furniture.
She grabbed her toe, hopped up and down, and spilled the cocoa onto the floor. As the brown liquid spread across the hardwood, she dashed toward the back of the house to grab a kitchen towel to sop up the mess. With speed Mel didn’t know she possessed, she reached the puddle of fluid and mopped it up, hoping Justin’s work boots wouldn’t stick to the residual sugar.
She threw the towel into the umbrella stand and stuffed the empty mug into one of the winter boots she never wore. Mel straightened and did a quick peek into the mirror, which showed no evidence of hot chocolate on her clothes. Good thing too. The softness of the cashmere fuchsia sweater brushing against her skin felt blissful.
A thousand butterflies took wing in her belly, but a few deep breaths made her feel almost confident again. Mel pasted a smile onto her face while each passing heartbeat brought a matching throb in her big toe.
I’m the one in control, she chanted to herself. She wouldn’t let the situation get out-of-hand.
Mel took one last, deep breath when the sound of heavy footfalls on the concrete stoop outside reached her ears. The Westminster chime of the doorbell sang into the house. She waited a few seconds, hoping not to seem desperate, and then opened the door.
“My new sweater is here. How are you today, Justin?” she asked as nonchalantly as possible, trying to keep her voice even. His eyes swept up and down her body. A little lightning bolt of pleasure rocketed through her until his gaze rested at her feet.
“I must be having a better day than you. Your toe is bleeding.” He pointed for emphasis.
“Huh?” she asked dumbfounded and looked down to her feet. “Oh, hell.”
Scarlet bled from the corner of her toenail where she’d banged it on the furniture. She must have hit it just right on the leg of the wing chair. Fire crept up her neck, and she knew there’d be no stopping it from staining her face red.
“I banged it on the chair on the way to answer the door.”
“Where’s your first-aid kit?” Justin asked.
“I keep one in the small bathroom off the kitchen.”
Justin retrieved a scrap of cloth from his pocket and knelt down. He made quick work of wrapping her foot in the soft fabric and then straightened. “Lead the way.”
Her face burned. Idiot. You didn’t even have to say a word and you goofed. “Okay.” Meekness leached into her voice and made her sound small. Mel moved from the foyer into the kitchen.
“Sit on the barstool,” Justin advised as he veered off into the bathroom.
“Okay,” she repeated just as meekly. The whole incident reminded her of a year ago when she bashed a fingertip with a hammer. It took months
for her nail to heal.
The vanity door opened, and then closed with a soft thud. Justin returned to the stool, holding her first-aid kit and a bottle of antiseptic solution and laid them on the countertop. He unfastened the case and searched inside until he found a gauze square, tape, and antibacterial ointment.
Justin knelt, took her foot gently in his hand, and rested her injured appendage on his thigh, ignoring the blood staining the blue of his pants. He examined the wound, turning her foot one way and then the other.
Mel fought for breath. His soft, reverent caress across her instep and arch unleashed a lightning bolt of pleasure, something she hadn’t experienced in over a year. He treated her foot like a piece of fine china, careful not to jar the injury. All the while, her fingers itched to remove his hat and run rampant through the tendrils of dark hair wispily sticking out.
“You broke the corner of your nail off,” Justin stated and then lifted his head. He smiled softly.
Her fingers itched to caress the soft lines around his eyes and follow the curve of his cheek. Mel wondered if those beckoning lips of his were as soft as they appeared. Or if their flavor would be honey sweet.
Justin’s voice ended her exploration of his gorgeous face. “Could you hand me the antiseptic solution?”
She gave him the brown bottle. “Do you need a cotton ball?”
He unscrewed the cap. “Nope,” he said, and then upended the bottle and poured the cool liquid directly on the wound.
“You’re staining your uniform.”
“No worries. We use a cleaning service. They can get just about any stain out.”
Justin deftly applied ointment, followed by the gauze square, and then wrapped her toe in tape. “That should do it.”
“Thank you.” Mel gazed at her white-tipped toe. “I feel like an idiot.”
“No need to. I’ve stubbed my toes more times than I care to count.”
The sincerity in his voice rang through, and a smile crossed her face. Mel took a deep breath and steeled herself. She could do this. She would do this.