Devon Drake, Cornerback
Page 17
* * * *
Sitting over coffee on Saturday morning, Samantha confided in Stormy.
“Dev and I had a big fight.”
“I heard.”
“About Sly.”
“Want to tell me about it?”
“Not really. I’m going out with him again tomorrow.”
“What’s Devon’s problem? You’re old enough to make these decisions for yourself.”
Before they could continue, the cornerback was in the archway, tying his robe around his waist. He shot an angry look at his sister before pouring himself a cup of coffee. Samantha turned her gaze away.
“Who wants breakfast?” Stormy pushed to her feet and headed for the fridge.
A stony silence greeted her.
“Come on, guys! You’re brother and sister. You gotta talk to each other.”
“Not this morning. I’ll grab something on the way to the stadium. Thanks, anyway.” Samantha headed back upstairs.
“Nice going, Dev. What’s wrong with you?”
“Bullhorn Brodsky isn’t good enough for her. And she won’t listen.”
“You can’t keep her from getting hurt. You want to wrap her in plastic? Let her breathe, or you’ll lose her.”
“You some expert?” He sank into a chair.
“I know a little something about a broken heart.” She cracked two eggs into a bowl.
“Yeah?”
“You ought to know. You broke it.”
“That’s ancient history.” He sipped the glass of juice she set down in front of him.
“Maybe. But sometimes history repeats itself.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
Stormy swore to herself she wasn’t going to mention Jackie. The redhead made up her mind to let it go, not give him the third degree, but jealousy and insecurity won out. Words she never meant to utter slipped out of her mouth before she could stop them. “Just that you’re getting back with Jackie, leaving me high and dry…again.”
“When did I leave you high and dry before?”
“At the dance.” She placed a plate of bacon and eggs down on the table a little too hard.
“You weren’t my date. Okay, I was a jerk. Get over it already.” He wolfed down half his meal.
“And Jackie?” Where did that come from?
“I’m living with you, not Jackie. What do I have to do to prove to you how I feel?”
Tell me you love me. “Nothing. Nothing, Devon. You don’t have to do a damn thing. I’m the hired help. I get it.”
He threw down his fork. “You don’t get anything. You’re sleeping with me. Do I have to reassure you too?”
“Jackie just shows up to go to the wedding with you? Out of nowhere? And you didn’t know she was coming?”
“I would’ve told her to stay home.”
“But you didn’t. You were nice to her.”
“I told her to leave. Stormy, you’ve got to believe in yourself.”
She had no appetite and toyed with the eggs on her plate. Please tell me you love me.
He finished his food and brought his dish to the sink. “Thanks for breakfast. I have to get to the stadium. Hank Montgomery is waiting for me. Training camp is just a week away. I need to be ready.”
Stormy cleaned up the kitchen. When she heard the front door close, she went up to her room. She pulled down her battered, old suitcase and opened it on the bed. She folded up the clothes in the top two dresser drawers then took her few possessions hanging in the closet. Pays to travel light.
After everything was packed, she shut the valise and lugged it downstairs. Checking her watch, she saw that Devon wouldn’t return for another hour, at least. She smiled to herself when she thought about how well he was doing. His weight was down, and his speed was up. He’ll kill on the field this season.
Sitting at the desk, she found paper, pen, and an envelope. She sat back, gathering her thoughts, and then started writing Devon a letter.
When she was done, Stormy loaded her luggage into her rust bucket and got behind the wheel. She drove to the gas station to fill up, got a hundred from the cash machine, and a couple of bottles of water.
“When are you gonna make my dreams come true?” asked Jimmy, the attendant.
“Never, Jimmy. You’ll have to get over me.”
He grinned and wiped her windshield. Stormy returned her credit card to her wallet and got in the car. She picked up her phone and dialed.
“Hello, Bill?”
* * * *
It was a long, dusty drive to Bolton, Illinois. The air conditioning in her old vehicle was on the fritz. Sometimes it worked, sometimes it didn’t. Even when it functioned, it never made the air cool, just took a bit of the edge off the heat. Stormy alternated between the air conditioning and open windows. The frustration hardened her resolve to earn more and save for a new car.
She stayed overnight in a cheap motel in Pittsburgh. Rising at six, she was on the road by seven, making good time. It was a long trip, a thousand miles. Try as she might, it still took her three days.
Stormy rolled into her old building, the Cedar Crest Arms apartment, at midnight. Mrs. Armstrong, the manager, greeted her warmly. “Why don’t you stay in my guest room tonight? There’s one vacancy, and you can move in tomorrow.”
Too tired to argue, the young woman gratefully accepted the generous offer. Meals and two nights in motels had dented her budget, making a free night welcome. Wednesday she spent getting settled in the small, furnished apartment, similar to the one she had occupied before. Thursday morning, she showered, downed some yogurt and fresh fruit, then headed for the senior center.
She turned her phone on before entering the building. There were twenty calls and messages from Devon Drake. She frowned, shut her cell, and went in.
The receptionist sent her to see Bill McLean. He rose from behind his desk. A short man, only about two inches taller than Stormy, he enveloped her in a warm hug. “Welcome back.”
“Good to see you.”
They spent time discussing the job. Stormy requested a higher salary, and Bill was able to raise her a little from what she was making before. But it wasn’t enough to provide for a new vehicle in the near future. Heaviness settled in her chest, weighing down her spirits, as she faced winter with an unreliable method of transportation.
“Can I take you to dinner tonight?” he asked. “I mean, for old time’s sake.”
“How about tomorrow? I’m kind of tired.”
He agreed.
Stormy returned to her tiny, two-room flat. She curled up on the sofa with a cold bottle of beer and cooled off a bit in the lazy breeze of a slow-churning ceiling fan. She missed Devon’s large, luxurious house. She had had a huge bathroom with two showerheads, so he could join her. There was a vanity with a large mirror. And the kitchen… She stared with a sad eye at the poor excuse for a cooking space in her current place. Memories of the long counters, double sink, huge fridge and freezer, and a stove that was almost professional quality came to mind.
Stop feeling sorry for yourself. You decided to come back. No one forced you. She showered again to rinse off the clamminess on her skin from the heat in her apartment. Then, she climbed into bed, naked. The ceiling fan in the bedroom exchanged the hot air inside for the hot air outside, coming from the two open windows.
The adjustment was going to be harder than she thought. The bed smelled musty, unlike the one in Devon’s room. His was large, firm, and the sheets were the finest cotton. The housekeeper changed the linens once a week. The air conditioning worked like a dream, and the house was toasty all winter except at night when the frugal Samantha turned the temperature down to cold- as-ice. Stormy chuckled inside, wondering if the same would be true in her new place.
Sleeping alone, even spreading out to cover the entire space, didn’t work anymore. The small, empty bed reminded her of him, and what she was missing. Spending the night next to Devon was a dream come true. Stormy sighed. To curl up in his arms one more time…
Restless, she turned the nightstand light on and opened her cell. She clicked on Dev’s messages and read each one. A smile lifted the corners of her mouth. He misses me. He’s mad. He’s pleading. He’s making jokes. Desperate. Good. Might shake him up. Make your choice, Devon Drake. The model or me?
Still unable to relax, the nutritionist pulled on sweats and went for a walk. Bolton was quiet at twelve thirty in the morning. She wandered Main Street, remembering the small tobacco shop and the deli on the corner. Something down the alley behind the food shop moved. Stormy froze. Fighting her instinct to run like hell, she turned her head and stood still. Holding her breath, she saw it again. A shadow, short and low to the ground, crept closer.
“Who’s there? Show yourself,” Stormy called out, trying, unsuccessfully, to keep her voice from shaking. A tentative bark greeted her. A dog? Emboldened by the knowledge that the critter creeping through the shadows wasn’t Big Foot or a serial killer, she stepped into the alley.
Behind the building, two large brown eyes peeked out. Stormy edged closer, careful not to frighten the little creature. A pug! She crouched down and made noises with her mouth while she held out her hand. The little canine inched closer, keeping sharp eyes on her.
“Come here, little guy.” Stormy stretched out her arm. A small bag with pretzels in it crinkled in her pocket. She pulled it out, rubbed the salt off one, and offered it to the pooch. He sniffed and moved closer, his tiny nose twitching as he approached.
Stormy spoke soft, soothing words to him as she offered the treat. Finally, he lunged forward and snatched the morsel from her palm. Retreating into the darkness, he ate the food. She heard the crunch and smiled. Then, the dog came back, sniffing again, looking for more. She only had three tiny pieces, but he gobbled up each one.
When he got close enough, she grabbed him, trapping the little creature under her arm. “I think you need food, water, and a bath, young man.” She carried the squirming pooch back to her place. After washing him in the kitchen sink, she dried him with paper towels, and opened a can of corned beef hash.
“This is the closest I have to dog food. Tomorrow, I’ll get you the real thing.” She fed him a third of the tin, saving some for the next day. He practically inhaled the food, licking his chops when he was done. The clink of tags on his collar drew her attention.
“Hmm. Brodie. I see. Here’s the number. We’ll call them in the morning.”
Exhaustion hit her as she watched the pug lap up water from a small bowl. She yawned and climbed into bed. Before falling asleep, there was a thump. She opened her eyes to see Brodie staring at her.
“Okay, Brods, you can sleep with me. But don’t crowd me, okay?” She rolled over. The animal curled up in the crook of her knees, resting his head on her calf, and was snoring within minutes. She chuckled to herself and drifted off.
In the morning, Stormy called the number on Brodie’s tag.
“You found him? Good lord. Thank you so much,” the woman said.
“Do you want to come and get him?”
There was silence.
“Hello? You still there?” Stormy asked.
“I am. Brodie was my sister’s dog. She passed away last week. We have been wracking our brains, trying to figure out what to do with him.”
“I’m so sorry for your loss. You decided to let him run free?”
“He escaped when my husband left the door open to move some things out. He disappeared before we could grab him. It’s bad enough that Eloise is gone, and now, this business with Brodie. We don’t know what to do. My children are allergic.” The woman began to cry.
“That’s okay. Hey. Don’t worry. Would you mind if I kept him?”
“We’d be so grateful. I can send you a check for his expenses and his vet records. El took very good care of the little guy.”
“Just the vet records. Keep your money.” Stormy gave the woman her address and closed her phone. As if he knew she had been deciding his fate, Brodie sat at attention, staring at her.
“Looks like you’re mine, now, Broders.” She bent down to pet him. He wagged his tail and jumped up to lick her face. “I bet the folks at the center would love you. Come on.” She tied a rope to his collar, bundled him into the car, and drove to the superstore on the other side of town.
With him tucked under her arm, she pleaded with them to let her into the store. They assigned a person to wait outside with Brodie while Stormy bought a harness, leash, and dog food.
She put the new gear on Brodie and headed for work. “Let’s go make some new friends.”
Once the hullabaloo among the residents over the pooch died down, Stormy turned her attention to the job. Bill introduced her to the new people. The folks who had known her from before were glad to have her back.
Everyone loved Brodie. The pug was a natural, making friends with the older crowd. He wagged his tail and licked hands and faces wherever he went. Stormy let out a breath when she saw the canine was a big hit. Even her boss petted the pug and got a lick in return.
“Brodie is welcome here, Stormy. Bring him with you,” Bill said.
She set up a bed for the critter next to her desk. Settling in and perusing menus, she returned to her old life. It was as if her time with Devon Drake had been only a dream. Despite the joy and laughter her new four-legged companion created, sadness washed over her. Now, I’m back to where I was…nowhere.
The idea of ending up married to Bill, raising two mediocre kids, never going anywhere or doing anything more exciting than pizza and a movie on a Saturday night depressed her. What she might have settled for before, wouldn’t work now. What have I done?
Chapter Fourteen
Back in Monroe
Verna Carruthers rummaged through the dresses in her closet. There wasn’t one that wasn’t at least ten years old. I have a dinner date and nothing decent to wear! Panic seized her. Not that Hank Montgomery was Prince Charming. But he was a single man who was interested in her. And it had been years and years since she had gone on a date. After losing her husband, Verna had focused on Buddy and becoming a certified financial planner.
She dialed her daughter-in-law. “I’ve got a date, and nothing decent to wear. Help me.”
“Let’s go shopping,” Emmy Carruthers replied.
“You’ll come with me?”
“Of course. I’ll pick you up in an hour. Wear something you can get out of and into easily.”
“Thank you.”
When Emmy pulled up in her dark metallic blue BMW two-seater, Verna got in. “Are you gonna trade this in for an SUV?”
“After the baby’s born.”
Verna chuckled. “This is a beaut. But not practical when you become three.”
“Sad, but true.” Emmy sighed and threw the peppy car in gear.
At The Cottage, a fashionable boutique in town, Martha Raison greeted them.
“This is Buddy Carruthers’ mother, Martha,” Emmy said, making the introduction.
The women shook hands.
“She’s looking for a dress for a special dinner out.”
“A date?” The owner cocked an eyebrow.
Verna sensed heat rising to her cheeks. “Sort of.”
“Yeah, a date,” Emmy said.
“How lovely. We must find you a special dress.”
Emmy wandered over to the sale rack. “Want to start here?”
Verna put a firm hand on the young woman’s arm. “Money is not an object today.”
“You’re always so conservative?”
“Not today. I
want to look good. Damn good. And at sixty, it takes money to make that happen. It’s about time I spent a few bucks on myself.”
“Damn right. Let’s go over to the designer rack,” Emmy said, taking her mother-in-law’s hand.
Verna smiled. “Now you’ve got the idea.”
“Hank must be pretty special.”
“First guy to ask me out since I became a widow.”
“Then let’s get you a great outfit so that you’ll be sure to have a second date,” Martha said.
Verna grinned. “I’m all yours.”
Martha pulled several dresses off the rack, showing each one to Verna, who sat on a loveseat with Emmy and sipped espresso. Emmy nixed the pink ruffled one, and the black was too severe.
“It’ll make you look old, Verna. You’re not in mourning anymore.”
“Al’s been gone a long time.”
“Right. Time to get your life back.”
One blue dress was too revealing, and the other was too tight.
“Is this really a size eight?” Verna asked, as Martha attempted to zip it up the back.
Emmy gave a thumbs down to the white. “Too virginal. Don’t want to give Hank the impression you’re a prude.”
“Better a prude than a slut.”
“Okay, then. Forget the red.”
Martha chuckled behind her hand. Once Verna put on the teal silk, the room became quiet.
“Awesome,” Emmy whispered.
“Really?” Verna made tracks to the mirror.
She gasped as she saw her reflection. Something about the cut of the dress reminded her of the wedding she had attended, where she had met Al. They had danced together all night. The skirt of the blue dress she had worn that night had flowed softly around her thighs the same way this one did. If she closed her eyes, she could hear the music, could see the setting—a patio strung with colored lights on a warm, summer evening. She’d fallen in love right there with the handsome man who had insisted on being her partner for every number.
She sighed. “This is it. Has to be.”
“Perfect,” Emmy said.