Free Gift With Purchase

by Jackie Pilossoph

  At around 7:00, Isabelle came downstairs to find both her aunt and her grandmother sleeping soundly on the sectional in our family room. Grandma was covered with a wool blanket and Aunt Laura with the afghan that had been given to me by my father’s mother several years earlier. As for Izzie’s mother, I was sprawled out on the rug in a sleeping bag, a couch pillow under my head.

  “Mommy, what are you doing?” my daughter whispered to me.

  “Mommy had a little slumber party,” I answered with tired eyes and a smile.

  “Come to Grandma!” said my mother, waking up and sitting up.

  Izzie quickly obliged and hugged her grandmother.

  The next person to wake up was the slumber party guest of honor. “What about Aunt Laura?” she asked.

  Isabelle leapt over and hugged her.

  I was a bit hung over, extremely groggy, and my eyes were half-massed. The next words I heard, however, would wake me up in an instant.

  “I have a great idea,” my mother declared with conviction, “I think Laura should move in here for a little while.”

  “Where?” I asked.

  “Here…in your house, Emma.”

  Izzie started cheering and clapping.

  “The thing is,” Laura responded, “Alan said he won’t move out. He wants the house.”

  “Which means the case could take years,” added my mother.

  “And the thought of living in the house with that…” Laura looked at Isabelle, who was paying full attention to her. My sister realized she couldn’t call her estranged husband the names she so wanted to call him, so she finished her sentence with, “man…”

  “Right,” said my mother, “You absolutely can’t stay there with him!”

  I looked at my sister and said with sincerity, “You’re always welcome here.”

  Izzie screamed with excitement and hugged Laura, which made my sister’s face light up.

  I looked at my daughter. “We’re going to have so much fun!”

  While Isabelle jumped up and down, shouting, “Yay!!” I looked at Laura. She mouthed, “Thank you.” Then I glanced over at my mother. She smiled and blew me a kiss.

  .

  Chapter 5

  Major anxiety in anticipation of my date began just after I dropped Isabelle off at my parents’ house late Friday afternoon. I kissed them all good-bye and headed for the door quickly, in order to avoid a certain person who I knew was going to try to grab me on the way out. Sure enough, my mother succeeded, catching me on the sly, when she knew my daughter wouldn’t be listening, since she was instead enjoying cookies and milk in the kitchen.

  “Make sure you use a condom, Emma,” she preached, “Sexually transmitted diseases are a very serious concern.”

  “Will do,” was all I said, smiling appreciatively and pretty much wanting to die, knowing there was a possibility that my dad heard.

  My mother kissed my forehead and then said, “Oy vey.” With a smile, I was out the door. That’s when the torture officially began, the scary feeling of the unknown night ahead. And as I drove back home, I actually had to concentrate on taking long, deep breaths to calm myself down. “He’s only a guy,” I told myself, “He’s only a guy.” But he was the hottest guy, and he was the first guy, and he was the guy who had unearthed me, the guy who had perhaps brought red blood back into my cold, jaded veins.

  I decided the best way to soothe my nerves was to go for a run. So when I got home, I threw on some shorts and a t-shirt and drove to a tranquil jogging path that was right by my house. Lined with beautiful landscaped trees, and bushes with flower buds, the trail wrapped around a small, scenic lake. The path was my favorite place to escape and exercise at the same time. It made me feel like I was in a remote forest, yet through the green, I could see the crystal clear lake glistening from the sun beating down on it.

  There weren’t too many people on the path during this early evening, which was nice since it made things even more peaceful. As I jogged along, I decided to pick out my outfit for the evening. This was not an easy task. What was the appropriate clothing to wear for a night out with a man who had made the daring statement that he wanted to see me without any clothes on? How much skin did I want to show?

  Then, just as I mentally put on my little black sundress, something unbelievable (and awful and horrifying, I might add) happened. I fell. I don’t know exactly how, but I think I tripped, and in an instant I was lying face down on the pavement.

  I lay there for a second, my brain trying to figure out what, if any, body parts I’d injured. The only things I felt throbbing were both of my knees, and my gut reaction was to be thankful because I realized I could move all of my limbs, no problem.

  The next thing that happened is bizarre. I heard a man’s voice. “Are you okay?”

  I sat up, still in shock from the fall, and looked up. Kneeling over me was a really nice looking guy. He had salt and pepper hair that was mostly salt, and I was guessing he was about my age or a little older. “Um…I think so,” I said softly, while I looked into his kind, comforting blue eyes.

  “Let me help you up,” he said, taking my hands and lifting me to my feet, making me feel like some superhero was rescuing me. Although, who was I kidding? There were no superheroes living in my neighborhood, and even if there were, they were undoubtedly married.

  When I stood up, I noticed the guy’s body. It was nice. Not perfect, like Preston’s, but strong and defined. He had a little belly, but it was obvious he made an effort when it came to his physique.

  The next thing I noticed was blood on the ground. Panic set in, as I wondered what part of my body was dripping blood.

  “Wow, you fell pretty hard,” the guy said. He was looking at my knees. When I looked down, I was relieved that the extent of my injuries were scrapes on my knee caps that looked like the ones Izzie got when she fell off her bike the prior summer. That being said, they hurt like hell. I now understood the thirty minute crying episode my daughter had at the time. But even more concerning than the stinging and throbbing and burning pain and blood gushing, was the fact that I’d have to go out tonight with band-aids on my knees. ‘Real sexy…’ I thought to myself. Maybe I’d wear jeans instead of the little black dress.

  “Really, are you okay?” the guy asked with a nervous chuckle.

  “Yeah,” I replied. Then I burst out laughing.

  The guy started laughing a little bit, but mostly he was just watching me, waiting for me to finish laughing, I think.

  “I’m sorry,” I said in between giggles, “I can’t believe that just happened.”

  Now the guy started laughing a little, but it was more out of obligation, in other words if he laughed, he’d be agreeing with me.

  “I’m horrified,” I said, my chuckling subsiding, “I mean, what a klutz!”

  “Please,” the guy said, “I’ve taken worse spills than that.”

  “Sober?”

  The guy laughed. “No,” he said. And we both smiled.

  This whole thing seemed so strange. I had just fallen on my face, my knees were bloody, and I was standing here laughing about it with a very attractive married guy with kids (I assumed he was married even though I didn’t spot a ring) who I instantly liked. I mean, really liked. He was good looking. Not hot, like Preston, but it wasn’t really his looks that were causing instant adoration. There was something else. Something more. Something strangely comfortable, and this air he had about him that was putting me at ease. I felt like he’d been my friend for years.

  “Look, I’m Luke Sullivan,” he said, extending his hand.

  I shook it. “Emma. Emma Bloom.”

  Luke smiled. “See that house?” he asked, pointing into the distance, “That’s where I live. Let’s walk over there and I’ll treat your bruises.” I must have looked at him like he had three heads, because he gave me a wide grin and added, “I’m not a psycho killer. I’m a trader. I work downtown at the Board of Trade. I’m a good guy, I promise. I have two kids and a wife
who decided last year she doesn’t want me anymore. Technically, I’m still married, just because getting divorced takes forever. I don’t date. I work a lot. I spend time with my boys, and when I’m not with them, I watch sports with my guy friends…the ones whose wives let them go out with me…and sometimes I drink a lot.” His grin got wider and he said, “I’m not drunk right now, though.”

  I realized I had a huge smile on my face. I liked this guy. He was charming. Not strikingly handsome like Preston Christiansen, but personality plus! He had this really nice mouth, very attractive, that looked even better when he smiled, and he had a way about him of self-confidence, combined with self-deprecation that I could tell was somewhat of a shtick. I liked the combo, a little bit conceited and a little bit modest, almost vulnerable.

  “Okay, sure,” I said with a smile.

  It took about four minutes to walk to Luke’s mansion, and during that time, I felt like I was on a first date.

  “So, do you live in the area?” Luke asked.

  “Yes, I live on Spruce.”

  “That’s a nice street.”

  “Yes, it is.”

  “Do you have kids?”

  “I have a daughter. She’s six.”

  “Cute age.”

  “Did you say you have two kids?”

  “Yeah. Nine year-old twin boys.”

  “Wow, that must be a lot.”

  Luke chuckled, “Yeah, they’re a handful. It’s weird being a single dad. I wasn’t a very hands-on father when they were little, but now, with the divorce, I don’t have a choice. And in a way, I’m lucky. I do a lot of things that moms ordinarily do, just because when they’re with me, I have to deal with everything. I can no longer hand them over to their mother when things get rough.”

  I smiled, “Same with me, I guess. I do a lot of things a dad would normally do, since…”

  “What?”

  “Well…” I took a deep breath and then, for the first time in over a year, I actually shared my past with a stranger. “My husband died last year.”

  “Oh my God, really? How?”

  I nodded, “He was in a car accident.”

  “I’m so sorry.”

  “Thanks,” I answered with a sad smile, feeling guilty that I was overjoyed because I’d just actually said it out loud. Telling a person that Sam died was like letting a huge cat out of the bag. It made it real, and it made me feel like I was taking a huge step forward.

  We entered Luke’s big, huge, stone house from the back porch. Once inside, I was standing in his kitchen, looking around in awe, and realizing that he must be a really good trader. “So, was this your house when you were married?”

  Luke chuckled as he rummaged through one of the kitchen drawers, “No. My wife lives about four blocks from here in our original house. I bought this place to be close to my kids.”

  I tried not to gasp, and instead replied casually, “Oh.” Luke wasn’t just a really good trader, I thought to myself. Luke was a really, really, really, really, really good trader. From appearances, he was completely loaded and raking in the cash.

  “Here we go,” said Luke, pulling out gauze bandages, antiseptic cloths, anti-biotic cream and band-aids. He brought them over and put them down on the granite-top kitchen table. Then he pulled out one of the chairs and told me to sit down.

  “So, can I ask you a really personal question?” he asked, sitting in a chair across from me, reaching under my calves, lifting them up till my running shoes meet his knees.

  “I can do it,” I said, horrified once again because I was sure Luke noticed my unshaven legs (of which I was minutes away from shaving for Preston.)

  “No. I take pride in being chivalrous. It builds up my badly bruised ego and makes me feel good about myself.”

  “Okay,” I giggled.

  Luke ripped open an antiseptic cloth packet and began wiping one of my knees.

  “Ouch!” I shouted.

  He chuckled, “Sorry, but I have to clean it.”

  “So, what’s the question?”

  “Well, what do you do after your husband dies? I mean, how the hell do you get through that?”

  “I’m not sure what’s more painful. The antiseptic or having to answer that question.”

  “Then never mind. Don’t answer it. I’m sorry. I don’t want to upset you.”

  “Actually, it’s really strange. I don’t even know you, but I want to answer it.”

  Luke nodded and began putting cream on my knees. It was so weird. It hurt, but I liked being touched by him. It wasn’t sexual, but it wasn’t platonic either. There was something about him that made me feel safe, secure, and very protected.

  “The truth is, I haven’t dealt with it at all. I don’t date. I don’t work. I don’t do anything.”

  “Come on, you have to do something. What about your daughter?”

  “Actually, yes, I take care of my daughter.”

  “That’s something. That’s everything.”

  “I also make salsa frequently and compulsively, and I work in my garden.”

  “Your garden?”

  “Yeah. I love planting things. Flowers, plants, vegetables… There’s something very therapeutic about taking care of plant life. Watering it, feeding it and watching things grow. My garden’s awesome. You should come see it sometime.”

  “I should come see your garden?” he joked, “That sounds like a pick up line.”

  I burst out laughing, and then Luke laughed too, and there was a moment of familiarity and friendship that was odd, but very pleasing. For me to talk to a complete stranger about my dead husband was saying something about the complete stranger. Or maybe this whole thing was timing. Or maybe I felt safe with Luke because he was bandaging my physical wounds. I wasn’t sure how the hell I’d just gotten here, to a magical place, ironically, again in someone else’s kitchen, but here I was.

  I liked Luke. I liked him a lot. Did I want to rip his clothes off and attack him like I did with Preston? No. But I sensed the potential for something deep, something meaningful, the start of a friendship, perhaps?

  How my life had changed so much in just a matter of a few days was amazing. The widow, who for a year felt sadness, not to mention guilt beyond belief, who felt unworthy of any kind of pleasure in life, had met two people all of a sudden, two guys who had awakened her in very different ways. One, an attraction so powerful, causing a sexual desire like none I’d ever experienced, and the other, a safety net, someone who I almost instantly valued as a respected friend. Both men made me feel good about myself but in very dissimilar ways. They had one thing in common, though. Both of them infatuated me.

  At this moment, I heard a dog barking. “Excuse me, I’ll be right back,” said Luke, standing up and leaving the room. A minute later, probably the cutest little beagle puppy I’d ever seen appeared, frantically running through the kitchen doorway, attacking me.

  “Emma, meet Lucky, the newest member of my family. Lucky, this is Emma.” As I made a huge, genuine fuss over Lucky, I instantly fell in love with her. She was white with big, floppy, light brown ears and black and brown patches all over her back.

  A few seconds after Lucky showered me with kisses and smelled me, she went over to Luke and nestled her head into his rib cage. “This dog is so attached to me,” said Luke with a chuckle, “She won’t leave me alone. She’s touching me like twenty-four seven!”

  I could understand how Lucky felt. Like me, this pooch had instantly seen something in Luke that she liked, something she desperately wanted to hold onto. I felt like asking Luke to leave, so Lucky and I could have a private chat. I wanted to say to this furry little creature, “I really like your owner.” I wanted to ask her, “Is he a good guy? Does he bring girls here? What have you seen? Is he genuine?”

  “I’m so rude. I didn’t even ask you if you wanted anything to drink,” said Luke, “How about a bottled water?”

  I looked at my watch and saw it was 5:30. “Actually, I have to go.”

&n
bsp; “Late for a big date or something?” he joked.

  “Actually, I am.”

  “Oh,” he replied, seeming a little surprised. This was the first awkward moment we’d had yet.

  “It’s my first date since my husband died.”

  Luke smiled, “I think that’s really great. I mean it.”

  At this very moment, part of me wanted him to say, “No! Don’t go on your date. Stay here with me and we’ll order Chinese.” If he would have said that, I probably would have said okay. Yet, who was I kidding? The man picking me up in an hour and a half was gorgeous and young, and his presence tended to stop my heart. Why wouldn’t I want to go out with him? Because I was scared shitless. In Luke’s house, I wasn’t scared. Don’t get me wrong, I wasn’t bored either. And this wasn’t purely platonic for me. But there was something oddly relaxing about being in Luke’s big, quiet house, and I wanted to stay. Forever!

  “Thanks, Luke,” I smiled, “I appreciate the support.”

  “Can I have your phone number? Maybe we could do coffee sometime or go running together.”

  Score! He asked for my number! Yet, coffee and/or exercising together seemed very platonic. Still, as he programmed my number into his cell phone, I was very happy that he wanted to see me again, no matter what we would do together.

  Luke walked me back to my car and per my request, we brought Lucky with us. I shut my car door, started the engine, and rolled down the window.

  “Make sure you look beautiful tonight,” said Luke, “I know you will. I wish I could see you all dressed up for your date.”

  “Thanks,” I smiled, glancing down at Lucky, who was panting and wagging her tail. “Thanks for everything, Luke. Bye, Lucky!” I said.

  I drove off, and in my rear view mirror I watched Luke and his dog turn around and start walking. He was adorable. Luke, that is. And Lucky… What a great name. It was funny. I was the one who felt Lucky. Luke liked me. I could tell.