She lets out a defeated puff of air. “Are you at least using protection?”
“Protection? We’re not even having sex, Mom!” I don’t know why her assumption upsets me so much.
“That’s good, at least.”
“You’re clearly worried I’m getting mixed up with an older man. You don’t need to worry. Try to remember I can read his mind,” sort of, “and I know what he’s truly like.”
“I do worry, Calli. You’re my daughter and I don’t want him to take advantage of you.”
“Chris isn’t like that.”
“Have you asked him what he likes about you?”
“Well, not in those exact words.”
“You should.”
“What would you consider to be an acceptable answer?”
“It’s not what I consider acceptable, but what you do. When I asked your father that question, he was at first flustered, then he listed off my personality qualities, my strengths, and a touch of physical attributes, too.” My mother’s whole countenance changes as she recollects the events of years ago.
“I think what you’re saying is to find out if Chris is attracted to me,” I point to my head, “or to me.” I wave my hand down the length of my body.
“Exactly. He should be attracted to both but leaning heavier to your mind and personality.”
“Okay, that’s good advice. I’m going with him to Portland tomorrow. I’ll find a time to ask him.”
“Why are you going there?”
“He and I have some investigating to do for Maetha.” I give my mother a short answer that she’ll understand. I don’t give her details of the coming blast.
“You’ll be back in time for class on Monday, won’t you?”
“Yep.”
Chris speaks to my mind. Calli, I need to talk to you.
I reply, Give me a second.
“Mom, I need to go make a few calls,” I say, providing a description she can wrap her mind around. Telling her I can speak telepathically would make her head spin.
I go up to my room and sit on the bed. Chris’s diamond comes into focus. What is it, Chris?
Do you want to go on a date with me?
Uh, yeah! When?
Tomorrow.
We’re going to Portland tomorrow . . . to work.
We won’t be working the whole time. I’d like to take you to dinner.
Yes, I’d like to go out with you.
Okay, I’ll see you tomorrow at 8:00 a.m. at the airport.
* * *
The morning comes with a biting-cold wind and large, wet snowflakes. A cold front has moved down from the north overnight but does nothing to dampen my excited jitters for my first official date with Chris. I think about the talk my mother and I had last night and am glad I never mentioned Chris hadn’t actually taken me on a date yet.
I have my mother drive me to the airport. I’m relieved the snowflakes aren’t sticking to the ground. The ground temperature is too warm. Our flight won’t be delayed.
As we pull next to the private hangars, I see Chris striding toward us. He wears a thin parka and blue jeans that fit his athletic body in all the right places. His blond hair is matted and disheveled slightly because of the wind and massive snowflakes. The feelings rushing throughout my body are completely raw and primitive. I can honestly admit I’ve never felt like this for anyone else in my whole life. Good thing my mother cannot read minds.
He opens my door and leans down to speak to her. “Good to see you again, Dr. Courtnae.”
“Likewise, Mr. Harding.” She’s polite, yet curt.
I jump out of the car, a little frustrated with my mother’s attempt to point out his age. Chris opens the back door and takes out my suitcase. I say, “Thanks for the ride, Mom. I had a great Thanksgiving with you and Dad. I love you.” The wind whips my hair around in crazy circles, making it stick to my face.
“I love you too, Calli. Bye. Good bye, Chris.” She waves and Chris closes the door.
He wraps his arm around my shoulder and pulls me close to his side. “You’re not properly dressed for this weather.” He quickly unzips and removes his coat and wraps it around me before I can protest. At least he’s wearing a long-sleeved shirt underneath. And even better, the waiting plane isn’t too far away. I thought my clothing choice was good enough. I had checked the weather for Portland and packed for a thirty-percent chance of rain and fifty-five-degree weather. This snowstorm here at home wasn’t on my radar.
I glance back over my shoulder and find my mother watching Chris’s chivalry. She has an appreciative smile on her face. I wave my hand and she waves back. Chris and I hurry to the door of the plane.
Chapter 14 – First Date
Once we’re seated and buckled in, Captain Rutherfield announces, “We’re going to have a bit of a bumpy ride till we’re out of this storm.”
I look to my future to make sure this flight will be safe. No death today.
Chris turns and wraps one arm behind me, pulling me close. With his other hand, he turns my cheek and brings his lips down to mine. His warmth and sensitivity are like magical ingredients added to my near-boiling relationship soup. My stomach growls. I guess I shouldn’t have thought of my feelings as food. I smile and giggle before we break the kiss.
“I’m hungry, as you probably noticed.”
“Not to worry. I’ve brought food. Real food. We’ll just have to wait till we’re in the air.”
“Oh, okay. What time did you arrive here?”
“Last night at midnight.”
The plane rolls forward and we taxi to the end of the runway, then accelerate and lurch into the sky. Or maybe that was only my stomach lurching. Before long, we break through the storm and enter clear skies and smoother flying.
Captain Rutherford announces, “All clear. We have five hours of beautiful skies to Portland, Oregon.”
I turn to Chris. “Where are we staying tonight?”
“Don’t worry, I’ve arranged everything.”
“I’m not worried,” I say, with my shaky voice betraying me.
“Let me bring you breakfast.” He gets up and walks to the galley. He returns with a covered plate and sets it on the stationary table in front of us.
I slide forward in my seat and remove the warm cover. Underneath, I find a breakfast special similar to something straight from a diner: two eggs, toast points, hash browns, and sausage links. I inhale the delicious aroma and look over at Chris. He’s watching me intently. “Thank you!”
“You’re welcome. Made it fresh this morning.”
“You did?”
“No. I forgot to add ‘the restaurant’ to the first part of that sentence.” He steals a sausage link, plopping the whole thing in his mouth.
“Do you have a plate?”
“Yeah, mine’s a little different, so we can mix and match.” He retrieves a second plate which contains assorted sliced fruits and a couple pancakes.
We eat and laugh and talk about topics that don’t really matter. I find I’m enjoying any time I get to spend in his company. I’ve even catch myself unconsciously touching his arm or knee while talking. I notice it because I realize he’s doing the same thing. When I would watch people at college as Matchmaker Calli, this kind of body language was a definite determination of attraction. I shake my head and try to stop over-analyzing the situation.
We watch out the windows at the ground far below and experiment with our Hunter’s super-sight. We play a kind of “I Spy” game to pass some time. After a while, we settle onto the long couch beside each other.
“What do you like about me, Chris?” I ask.
“What do you mean?”
“It’s not a trick question.”
“Uh, this kind of question is always a trick question, in my experience. I’m not sure what you want me to say.”
“I don’t want you to say what I want to hear, I just want to know why you’re with me. Why not some other girl?”
“The answer is no
other girl is like you, and not because you have powers, either. I saw a difference in you before you were given the diamond.”
“My aura? Oh wait, no, you saw the girl from your vision.”
“Both. In Clara’s office, I saw the woman from my vision in the girl on the couch. I’ll admit, I wondered why I felt such strong feelings toward you, but as I watched you progress through the delivery journey, I saw all the qualities I’ve ever wanted in a girl. I like that you’re an individual and not from the same cookie cutter as everyone else. You’re beautiful, smart, independent, and determined. I can’t be with a girl who needs me to be the strong, authoritarian-type of man. That’s not who I am. Too many girls want guys to be that way but then complain when they actually are. You don’t. You seem happier to have me walk beside you, not behind, not in front. I don’t think you like weak or overly strong men. Your parents modeled that kind of relationship for you—working together, not in opposition of one another. My parents’ relationship is the reason I feel the way I do. I can’t have a girl who’s weak and frail or who needs a man to feel complete. My mom is a wonderful lady, but she always thought she needed to be led, that she needed to be a shadow behind my dad’s figure. I am determined to not be like my dad. If you were too much like my mom, I’d constantly be afraid of becoming like him. If you were like my mom, well . . . have I answered your questions?”
“Yes.” My voice cracks.
“Have I upset you?”
“No. I’m touched.”
Chris smiles. “Now it’s your turn. What do you like about me?”
I’m really relieved I thought this through earlier. “I like that you’re not self-absorbed. You’re dedicated. You have conviction. I’ve always pictured myself with a guy who encourages me to excel. You do that. I’ve always wanted someone willing to get bloody to defend me, but not go looking for a fight. That’s you, too. You’re not afraid to take charge of a situation and you don’t need my approval for every little thing. I love that you’re not perfect, but how perfectly we fit together. I love your smile and how my soul is warmed by your touch.”
“What about my stunning good looks?” he teases.
“Well, it’s been difficult to deal with, but I’m handling your gorgeousness as well as I can.”
* * *
The plane touches down in light rain alongside the Columbia River. By the time we de-board and rent a car, the sun has broken through the clouds, illuminating the lush green area. I find it interesting how green everything is, even though many of the leaves have fallen. Crisp blue sky opens as the small shower moves off to the northeast.
“Where are we headed, Chris?” I ask, as we pull out into the departing traffic from the airport.
“Nowhere in particular right now. Let’s grab a bite to eat for lunch and then do some driving around.”
“Sounds good.”
We find a locally-owned restaurant and go inside. A nice server seats us and gives us menus. I promptly choose a bowl of Pacific Northwest clam chowder and side salad. Chris orders a Rip City burger and fries. Strange.
After the server leaves with the menus, Chris looks at me and asks, “What?”
“Nothing.” I smirk and put my thoughts out for him to read. Since when do you eat burgers and fries?
“They’re good.”
“What does Rip City mean?”
“It’s to do with the Portland Trail Blazers’ basketball team. An announcer used the term years ago and it stuck.”
“Oh.” I change the subject. “Are we going to go downtown to find the city’s government offices?”
“No, we can look those up online. We wouldn’t be able to talk with anyone anyway. It’s a holiday weekend. I thought we’d drive the main freeways and look at the possible evacuation routes.”
“That’s a good idea. I already mapped out the roads.”
“Do you know yet where the blast will hit, Calli?”
“No, nor how big of a radius will need to be evacuated.”
“Have you heard from Crimson lately?”
“No, she hasn’t communicated with me. She set me on my path and will intervene if I make a bad choice . . . or something like that.”
Our meal is served and we eat while scanning the bodies of nearby customers, searching for illnesses. Neither of us decides to heal anyone; no one’s illness fits the bill of being healed.
We leave the restaurant and drive around, crossing one bridge over the Columbia bringing us into Vancouver, WA. Then we travel to the other bridge and cross back into Oregon, heading in the direction of downtown Portland. After a while, we pass a sign that says, “Keep Portland Weird.”
“Did you see that?” I ask.
“Yeah, it’s great!”
We travel downtown to the banks of the Willamette River.
Chris says, “Let’s go check into our hotel and head to dinner.”
“It’s only three o’clock.”
“Well, we have to drive a bit to get to dinner. By the time we get our rooms and get cleaned up, we’ll be right on schedule.”
I note the word “rooms” is plural. It sounds like Chris is still gravitating to the safe side. I decide I’ll follow his lead.
He pulls the car up to the lobby entrance of The Nines hotel and we get out and enter with our luggage while the car is parked for us.
The associate behind the counter, whose nametag says James, is well-mannered and professional, however I can’t decide James’s gender, not that it matters really, I’m just curious. I’ve become more aware of the world around me and the uniqueness each person brings to the table. This individual is one such person.
I’ve noticed several individuals since we arrived in Portland who didn’t fit the typical mold of people I knew back in Ohio. Airport workers, rental car employees, restaurant staff, many of whom had unique and sometimes brightly colored hair, facial piercings, and tattoos come to mind. Keep Portland Weird, indeed. I find a certain comfort being in such a tolerant, accepting place. James’s mind reflects that, too.
James’s future opens up in my mind. I see him among many other sick people, his arms wrapped around his middle and doubled over in pain. Chris helps to heal him. I pull out of his future, knowing James will be sickened by the cosmic blast.
“Here you go,” James says as he hands Chris the room keys.
Chris takes them and we head for the elevator for the short ride to our floor. Once the doors close, I say, “I just had a vision of that hotel employee. He’s going to get sick when the blast hits.”
Chris says, “I’ve seen several different people’s futures since we arrived. I didn’t want to say anything to you just yet, but they’re all going to get sick. But hey, that’s why we’re here. We’re going to figure out how to help. Right?”
“Right.”
The elevator doors open. Chris leads me down the hall and opens my room door, then ushers me in. The first thing I notice is the adjoining door on the wall.
“Where’s your room?”
He points to the adjoining door. “In there.” His eyes search mine for signs of fear, at least that’s what I figure. He adds, “We don’t have to open them, you know.”
“How about we cross that bridge when we get to it? Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to get ready for my dinner date.” I playfully nudge him out the door. After it closes, I focus my thoughts away from the depressing, impending doom of the coming blast and move them to the romantic evening ahead. I then unzip my bag and remove the clothes I’ve packed. I change quickly and refresh my makeup and comb through my hair.
When I’m ready, I knock on Chris’s adjoining door. He opens the door, looking ravishing in dark jeans and a black, long-sleeved dress shirt. My eyes travel the length of his body. “You clean up nice.”
He says nothing, only stares―like, jaw-droppingly stares. “This is the vision I saw when you chose that green dress for the funeral. I just didn’t know where we were located in the vision.” He closes the distance between us an
d places his hands on my shoulders. He slides them down my arms, moving his hands midway to my sides and down to the top curve of my hips and then back up to rest at my waist. His nearness is intoxicating. Not that I’ve ever been drunk before, but my head spins and my thoughts muddle as if I am. His mouth moves to my ear and his hands slide around my back. He whispers, his hot breath caressing my ear. “I told you it would fit. But, you need to wear something else.”
“Huh?” I squeak.
He pulls back and lays his hands on my shoulders again. “I should have told you before you changed. You need warmer clothes for where we’re going.” His strong arms turn me around and lightly push me back into my room.
I walk to my bed where my clothes are strewn about. I pick up a long sweater and leggings and turn around for his approval. He’s leaning against the door frame, nearly filling it with his six-foot frame. He doesn’t speak, only nods, then walks into his room and out of sight.
Whew, I think, that stare of his is still sizzling on my skin. I hurry and change and present myself at the doorway.
“There you go,” he says. “I just don’t want you to get cold.”
“Where are we going?”
“Uh-uh, not telling. Let’s go.”
* * *
We drive across the Willamette River on some historic bridge Chris feels I need to know about, but my mind is still in the hotel room and I miss his history lesson. He effortlessly merges onto I-84 heading east and I force myself to pay attention and get my mind back on track. I’m amazed at the heavy traffic for being the day after Thanksgiving. I would expect to see this kind of traffic in two days when everyone heads home from their vacations, but not today. Then again, it is a busy shopping day. We travel beyond Portland’s boundaries and into Wood Village, then Troutdale.
I say, “These areas will probably need to be evacuated too, Chris.”
“Probably. We’re not that far away from the center of Portland.
“Where are we going, Chris?”
“Like I said, it’s a surprise.”
“Not even a hint?”
“Nope.”
I admire the dense forested area butted up against the rising Cascade Mountains as we travel east along the Columbia River. We pass a sign indicating we’ve entered the Columbia River Gorge scenic area. Moss grows everywhere, and water falls from the cliffs above. We pass a sign announcing an exit for Multnomah Falls.
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