Cindy's Prince

by Bush, Christine

  “Thanks.” She put away the groceries with organized speed, grateful for her best friend and her understanding. Morgan was in good hands, with Connie’s open frankness and big heart. Those qualities made her a great nurse, and an even greater friend. Cindy said a few quiet prayers for her sister, and even squeaked one out for the kids’ troubled father. Then she set to making newsworthy peanut butter and jelly sandwiches on fresh bread.

  “You’ll never guess who I almost ran into, literally. On the way to the market. Mr. Handsome from the society pages. Princeton Highfield.” She set plates in front of the kids’ chairs. “He nearly flattened me with his fancy sports car.”

  They were sitting around the table, devouring sandwiches, although Hannah wore as much peanut butter and jelly as she had eaten.

  “What a way to go,” said Connie. “Think of the lawsuit. If you have to get run over, might as well be by a gorgeous man. By the way, who is that dark and dangerous hunk who’s been walking by the house? In the leather jacket?”

  “Nobody I know, that’s for sure,” Cindy said.

  “I had the feeling he followed us home from the community center today. Then he hovered across the street. You didn’t see him when you came in?”

  Cindy’s stomach tightened, and she rose from the table. “Hovering around? I didn’t see a soul. You’re sure?”

  She crossed the room and looked out the living room window. There was a man, longish dark hair and a black leather jacket, sitting on the Mason’s steps across the street and about five houses down. He talked on a cell phone, and looking at an unfolded map. A total stranger, he wasn’t even looking in the direction of her house.

  And yet, her nerves jangled, her stomach rolling. She thought back to the incidents motivating her move. The phone calls, the ransacking of her house, the worry over what Jimmy had been up to had caused a lot of distress. Up to now, time had eased those feelings. Was she just being paranoid? Was there anything to fear about a stranger appearing on their quiet block, probably just being lost?

  The package’s arrival had stirred up the memories of Jimmy’s problems, and the way they impacted the kids. The package coincided with the arrival of Princeton Highfield in her life, but it really didn’t have anything to do with him. The cause was the package. She didn’t really need any memories being dredged up, and neither did the kids right now. She’d take the package to the lawyer, and let him dispose of it as he wished.

  With a glance over her shoulder, she looked out the window again, and the stranger was gone. Out of sight, out of mind.

  Decision made, she quickly opened the hall closet door and retrieved the box from where she had tossed it. With a few quick steps, she moved to the garage, and slipped the package into the side pouch of her Harley. Next trip out, she’d make it the lawyer’s problem. Meanwhile, she would put it, and her paranoid thoughts, out of her mind.

  She returned to the table for a few more bites of her gourmet sandwiches, and a rousing conversation about beginning Hannah’s potty training with Connie and the kids.

  Chapter Six

  “We’re flying to Sonoma next weekend to tour some California vineyards, Prince. Great wine tasting. You in?”

  It was late Saturday night, or more exactly early Sunday morning. Prince sat on one of the six leather bar stools in the pool house of his friend Matt’s family estate. He looked around at the friends surrounding him, chatting, with drinks in hand. Haley was among them. Occasionally, she tried to catch his gaze with her classy, flirty glances. He avoided looking her way. What was wrong with him?

  Nearby two young couples played pool. Across the slate patio, about a dozen people splashed in the pool, laughing as they played volleyball. Not exactly Olympic quality play. They were all pretty sloshed, but they were having fun. They were all having fun.

  Prince was embarrassed. He ran a hand down his face. Why wasn’t he having fun? “Not sure I’ll make that,” he said. “Other things on the schedule.”

  “Come on!” The arguments began. “We’re all going, it’ll be fantastic. We’re also planning to see Megan’s cousin play polo while we’re there, and stay at that new fancy hotel written up in San Francisco Magazine.”

  “We’ll see.” He didn’t want to argue. Two words that were enough of a concession to end the challenge. The conversation quickly changed, as it tended to do as more and more alcohol was absorbed. Tonight, he wasn’t drinking. In his day, he had imbibed just as much as the rest of them, but drinking just wasn’t appealing lately. The more polluted they got, the further removed he felt.

  He kept a low profile for a while, and then made his exit as soon as he could without being rude, still avoiding the puzzled Haley, who coyly sipped her wine, and gave him every sign she was ready, willing and able. What was wrong with him?

  A half hour later, he pulled into the Highfield estate, waving at the night guard at the gate who let him pass. Another day. Another night. When he got home, he poured himself a glass of root beer, and plopped into a lounge chair on his patio, looking up at the clear summer sky overhead, filled with stars.

  He knew he was lucky. He had been given so many things others yearned for in his life. He was grateful, truly, in a way. But he was also empty. And he was tired of being empty. Time for a change.

  ****

  “Hey, Rufus! How’s business?” When Cindy stepped off the bus on Monday morning, she greeted the little old man who was perched in his usual spot on the corner, selling bouquets of flowers from the battered cooler next to his stool.

  “Better after seeing you, beautiful girl! You’re prettier than any of these flowers on a hot summer day.” His grin was toothless and heartfelt.

  “Oh, you and your pick-up lines. What’s a girl to think?” She held out a few dollars, and plucked a bouquet of daisies from his container. “I’ll take these. Good day for daisies. They match my dress.” She did a little dance, holding the bouquet in her arms, doing a “Miss America” wave. Her dress was sleeveless, full skirt swaying, sunshine yellow with large splashes of daisies.

  The grin got bigger. “You’re a sight for sore eyes, Miss Cindy.”

  Oh, what sweet words. She smiled back. “As are you, my friend. How are the feet?”

  “Better. Not that I’m gonna be dancing anytime soon. But they’re better.” He dipped his head. “Thanks for telling me about that clinic. That medicine helped.”

  “No problem. You take care now!” With a wave, she started on her walk to the library with a springy step. She mounted the library steps two at a time, pulling a daisy from the bouquet as she entered.

  Gladys was at her usual spot, glasses on the chain around her neck.

  She held out the blossom as Gladys looked up. “This is for you! Happy Monday!”

  “A flower?” The elderly librarian was flustered. She put a veined hand to her chest. “You’re bringing flowers into the library? Is there a rule about that?”

  “I don’t think so.” Cindy laughed out loud. “I know we can’t have bare feet, go without shirts, bring in food, loud music, or pets. But I don’t think they got to flower rules yet. Live dangerously—take a flower! You deserve it for all the hard work you do!”

  Gladys laughed. “Well, all right! I do love flowers. And I do work hard.”

  Cindy shortened the stem, reached across the counter, and tucked the flower behind her ear. “There. You look exotic. Like an island princess!”

  Gladys actually blushed. “Why thank you, Cindy. What a nice thought!”

  Cindy bounced around the library for a few moments, delivering her petaled gifts as she passed. The women at each reference deck, the lady with the cleaning cart, and even Eric the dancer who worked part time reshelving books were all wearing flowers by the time she made her way to the children’s library section.

  For a while, she logged in new books, previewing each one. Next she changed the bulletin board to reflect the coming Fourth of July. Then she helped several families select stacks of books and videos to borrow. And
finally the hour for story time arrived, her favorite part of the day.

  Today was “bear day.” She had picked a beloved Corduroy book, a lesson book from the Berenstain Bears, and one of her favorites, Goldilocks and the Three Bears.

  Amid quiet giggles, the children began to arrive. She looked out for a new arrival, who had been sent by Connie at the clinic. Teresa Walker, a dedicated foster mom, would be bringing her new five-year-old foster child, Mary Beth. Abuse had left both physical problems and emotional scars. Her story had touched Cindy’s heart deeply. She’d do everything she could to make the little girl’s future much brighter than her past.

  As she set up the chairs, she left room for Mary Beth’s wheel chair. At the stroke of eleven, every seat held a wiggling kid, including Mary Beth, her eyes wide with expectation, while her fully casted leg protruded before her.

  Time to begin. She settled on her chair, reaching in her prop bag and pulled out a book, and an aged, raggedy bear. “This is Corduroy. Who can hold him for me while I read?”

  Story hour had begun.

  ****

  Prince heard the coins clank as he put them into the parking meter. The Aston Martin sat proudly in its legal parking spot. He had change. Way to go!

  Fool me once, shame on you; fool me twice, shame on me.

  He started hoofing it to the library, located about two blocks away. His suit—though the best summer weight money could buy—already made him sweat in the summer sun.

  Dressed, alert, and ready for the day, he had driven into town earlier to begin the day in his office at Highfield Enterprises. He had greeted the receptionists and accepted his freshly brewed coffee. He’d taken his seat at his expansive desk in his expansive office, looking out his expansive window to the cityscape below. No messages. No account crises. No demands from his father for the usual miscellaneous go-for duties, his stock and trade.

  “No, son, no need for you to bring in new accounts at this time,” his father might say. “I’d rather do that myself. But how about if you pick up your mother and drop her at her charity luncheon at the Four Seasons?”

  Or “No, son, no need to help negotiate those contracts. I’d rather do that myself. But how about if you take Conrad’s daughter to lunch at the country club? He’s doing that legal deposition for me, and she’s here from California for a visit.”

  He sighed, and read the paper. No chauffeuring, no uncomfortable lunches to endure today. With more than a little self disgust, he had gritted his teeth, straightened his already straight desk, and left.

  The decision to go to the library wasn’t a conscious one. He just ended up there.

  The white-haired “guard of all things bookish” was still at her station. He saw the wary recognition in her gaze the minute she saw him. Here’s the one who doesn’t know how to shush!

  But like he had acknowledged to himself already, Princeton Highfield didn’t make the same mistake twice. “Good morning,” he whispered respectfully.

  The wary look left her eyes, and she looked almost pleasant. What had changed about her? He noticed the white and yellow flower tucked behind her ear. It was out of character somehow. But endearing.

  “Nice flower,” he whispered.

  “Why thank you, sir,” she said with a little tilt of her white-haired head. “And how can I help you?”

  “A library card,” he heard his mouth say, like it acted on its own, totally unconnected to his brain. When did he decide to get a library card?

  Although the task was not easy, he got one. He filled out forms. He presented his license, provided his social security number, waited for the computer search to make sure he was not wanted for past library fines. And his pulse actually raced like he had won the lottery when the little plastic card was finally put into his hand.

  “Make sure you don’t lose this, Mr. Highfield,” said Gladys Stone, looking over her little half glasses, perched on the end of her nose.

  Lose it? He’d guard it with his life; after all it took to get it. “Thank you, Mrs. Stone. And I do like your flower.”

  “You are very welcome. And here’s a pamphlet with the library regulations. Do’s and don’ts. Food is not allowed. No loud music.”

  “Thanks. I will read it. And I’m glad,” he said, as he walked away, “That there is no rule against flowers in this library.”

  “Well, not yet,” she said thoughtfully.

  Chapter Seven

  Was his heart pounding a little harder? What was that all about? Prince peeked around the corner of the last book rack near the children’s section, wanting to keep out of sight. He maneuvered himself so he could see her through an empty place in the shelving.

  Today her dress was a flowery splash of yellow and white, and he could see the flower behind her ear, a bright contrast to her dark, flowing hair. Spying a bunch of flowers on the desk behind her, he no longer wondered at the source of the flowers decorating every staff member in the library, as well as some of the patrons. Quirky. But cute.

  For a minute, he tried to imagine Haley Carrington with a flower behind her ear. The picture wouldn’t come. Or Mary Smith-Johnson. Or Megan Parkinson. He tried the picture on every girl who had attended the latest party at Matt’s house. Blank. He pushed the thought away.

  Cindy read some bear story. A bear family was talking about a new bear sister on the way. Talking bears? He listened. Her voice, musical and light, drew him in.

  Soon he wasn’t thinking about daisies, but about bear families. He watched the pictures in the book she held up. Bears wearing aprons. Driving cars. Playing soccer. How dumb was that? He listened some more, finding the story warm and real. Real? A bear in an apron? He found himself smiling.

  The kids in the little chairs were as still as stone. Mesmerized. One little girl was in a wheel chair today, her leg out straight in a big white cast. She leaned forward with such avid interest, he wondered if she had ever heard a story before.

  He thought back to being a little kid, living in his expansive room in the family house. A whole bookshelf of books occupied most of one wall. He’d learned to read early, and had loved those books, which had grown in number as he had grown. English had been his major in college, mostly because he loved the written word.

  But this was different. With a kind of shock, he realized no one had ever really read to him. He’d never heard stories like this. He’d had everything he’d ever dreamed of wanting. But not this. A work-obsessed father, a mother busy with her charity events—his parents had lived up to the expected lifestyle of their world. No one had even imagined snuggling with a kid reading a story. He had the best teachers, the best schools, the best advantages. But no snuggling. Why suddenly did that fact feel like such a loss?

  Which was, he decided, a pretty stupid feeling for a grown man. But he stayed. In hiding. Arm resting on the shelf, he leaned his chin on his elbow, and enjoyed the story. Bears in aprons were a pretty good thing.

  Someone tapped on his shoulder. Startled, he turned and found Gladys standing there, pushing a black leather desk chair on wheels.

  “Come, Mr. Highfield, you don’t have to stand. I brought you a chair.”

  Embarrassment flooded through him. His cheeks were burning. Busted. For just a second, he closed his eyes. He had no choice but to follow her out to the crowd, where she put the chair at the end of the back row, where the adults sat. He took a seat, knowing his face was flushed.

  When did Gladys Stone decide she was his best friend? “Thanks,” he croaked, as she nodded and shuffled away.

  The movement had, of course, attracted Cindy’s attention. Their gazes met over the top of the book. He saw the reaction, and didn’t know how to take it. Eyes wide, she looked startled. Thoughtful. Wary. Interested. Her emotions were communicated in a split second, in the time it took to turn the page of the book. He decided to hang onto the “interested” interpretation. Princeton Highfield sat, and waited to hear the rest of the happenings in the bear family. If only his friends could see him no
w!

  ****

  Where did he come from? And why was he here? Cindy swallowed as she turned the page. Focus, girl! Story going on here!

  So she returned to the book, and finished the story. As they clapped at the end, her mind started racing. The truth was, Princeton Highfield looked very incongruous sitting in the old desk chair in the middle of the children’s library section. He looked like a million bucks. Literally. His suit probably cost what she made in a month. Never mind his shoes. Probably imported from Europe. He met her gaze as she had the children stand and stretch before the next story. He smiled. She melted.

  Oh, what was he doing here? Why were there butterflies in her stomach, palms growing damper by the moment? Was he here because of her? Should she smile back? For some strange reason, a string of romantic stories started running through her mind. Cinderella, My Fair Lady. The rich guy falls in love with the poor girl, thereby avoiding all life’s problems and living happily ever after. Pretty Woman. Even a hooker could be rescued from her life and could find true love.

  The thought made her giggle and returned her to sanity. She had learned first-hand fantasy was fantasy. Standing at the back of the church on that fateful day when George hadn’t shown up had cured her.

  First of all, she didn’t believe in romantic love any more, and second, she loved her life, and had nothing to be rescued from. Her life was full and rich and rewarding, keeping her little family afloat, making sure the kids had what they needed to grow healthy and strong, and that commitment took all her time and energy. There was no time or desire for fairy tales or fantasy in real life.

  The butterflies subsided, and her palms returned to normal. It would take more than a smile from Princeton Highfield to throw her off her game!

  The children settled again. She glanced his way and saw he had not left. She swallowed and then spoke. “Our next story is one I’ll bet you all know! It’s called Goldilocks and the Three Bears.”