Kiss in the Dark

by Marcia Lynn McClure

  Thus, Boston had lain awake half the night mulling over the possibilities with Vance—and the other half of the night feeling simply mortified at what Danielle had revealed to her about the depth of her pain that first summer they’d met. All in all, Boston figured she’d left for work that morning on maybe two hours combined sleep at best.

  Still, even for feeling so fatigued at work, she’d been happy, hopeful, and motivated. She felt more like herself than she had in a really long time—since moving in with Steph, in fact. She began to remember that Boston Rhodes was an optimist and liked to help people to feel better about life and living it. In short, the true Boston Rhodes—the one Steph had tried so hard to poison (and actually succeeded in poisoning to a point)—in her soul Boston Rhodes believed in sprinkling joy and sunshine through the world. In short, she preferred sifting sugar to spreading manure. Perhaps it was the baker in her that thought of the sifting idea. She had a vision of a little gingerbread town she and her mother had once made together when she was little. She remembered how her mother had put sugar in an old metal sifter and then let Boston sift it out over the tiny little gingerbread rooftops of the town to look like frost-kissed snow. What a vision it was in her mind—what a beautiful memory, a memory that caused her to feel warm and sweet and hopeful and happy inside. It was even how she’d finally managed to get to sleep—by closing her eyes and hearing “Silent Night” waft through her imagination as she laid in her comfortable bed remembering how beautiful the sifted sugar looked sprinkled over the little gingerbread town so long ago.

  Vance sighed, stretched, and rose from his lounging position on the sofa. He picked up the remote and pressed the off button.

  “Thanks for letting me hang out, girls,” he said. He tucked the large basket Boston had filled with chocolate chip cookies under his arm and sauntered toward them. He set the basket on the table as he took a seat next to Boston. Frowning with an expression of sincere intent, he proceeded to pick through the basket of cookies until he appeared to find just the one he wanted.

  He bit into it, closed his eyes, and moaned, “Mmm!”

  Danielle rolled her eyes, yet her amusement was apparent.

  “Boston,” Vance began, “these are the best damn cookies I ever tasted!”

  “Vance!” Danielle whined. “Quit swearing!”

  But Boston giggled, reached out, poured milk into her glass from the carton sitting on the table, and then pushed the glass toward Vance.

  “What’s that for?” Vance asked. He immediately dunked a cookie into the glass of cold milk.

  “For swearing,” Boston said.

  “Boston Rhodes! I am trying to refine my brother…not encourage him to further corruption.”

  But Boston shook her head. So much was coming back to her—so much of herself.

  “It’s just…it’s just that it’s one of the things that drove me crazy about Stephanie. Any time she heard someone swear—cuss even a little—she had to go off about it…like she was so perfect and without fault. I can’t stand that about people—the hypocrisy. I mean, we all struggle with it in some regard. I know that. But Steph was just so judgmental…so intolerant of the fact that everybody does stuff…has faults and things they aren’t perfect about. So Stephanie doesn’t cuss—and that’s a good thing, sure—but she can’t say a nice thing about, or to, anyone. She can’t find a compliment or a kind word or help someone in need. But, man oh man…she sure doesn’t swear! And she thinks that gives her the right to sit pointing the finger at everyone who does drop a little curse word here and there. I’m not talking about huge, filthy-mouthed stuff…just the basics—what my grandma used to call ‘farmers’ colorful metaphors.’ And not that I encourage tons of profanity…but a well-placed, basic cuss word now and then—”

  “Like the time Steph chewed a hole in Dempsey for slipping up with the s-h bomb when he dropped that car battery on his foot,” Danielle said. “Remember that? He was changing her car battery for her, dropped it on his foot, and swore. She ripped into him like no hell-fire-and-brimstone preacher ever would!”

  “I remember. Didn’t Dempsey even pay for the battery? Remember?” Boston added.

  Danielle nodded. “He did…and he spent six weeks with his foot in a cast.”

  “Six weeks with Stephanie chewing a new hole in him each and every time she saw him…just because he swore when the battery broke his foot. Forget that she called him out of work to change it for her. Forget that he spent six weeks in a cast, all for her sake.”

  Danielle nodded, looked at her brother, leaned over, and kissed him.

  “You’re right, Vance,” she said. “Boston does make the best cookies anybody ever tasted.”

  Vance nodded his agreement, dunked another cookie, and mumbled the cussing compliment again, smiling to himself.

  Boston grinned at him. In truth, his swearing about her cookies was about the most flattering thing she’d ever been told. And she did feel liberated—liberated from Stephanie’s manipulative hypocrisy, from her emotional manipulation, and she began to wonder why she’d put up with it for so long. So Stephanie didn’t approve of the use of a farmer’s colorful metaphor now and then. Well that was fine—even good. But in that moment, Boston consciously realized that, just as Stephanie Crittendon didn’t like swearing, Boston Rhodes didn’t like cruel, manipulative people. And which was the greater sin, in truth? An occasional cuss word uttered in pain, anger, or admiration—or prideful arrogance in one’s own perfection, self-righteous superiority, and cruelty to others?

  Boston felt tears well in her eyes as she studied Vance, watching him dunk his cookie in the glass of milk and then eat it in one bite. Again she was conscious of the fact he paved the venue for her liberation from Steph’s intolerable manipulation and unkindness; he was the one to point out Stephanie as a poisonous friend in the first place. Boston owed Vance Nathaniel much more than even she thought, much more than one basket of cookies could ever recompense.

  Vance glanced at his watch.

  “Oh, man! I gotta get home and catch some z’s!” he mumbled, his mouth still full of chocolate chip cookie. He quickly stood, gathered the basket of cookies under one arm, and leaned over, affectionately kissing the top of Danielle’s head. “Thanks again, Danny.” He looked to Boston and winked. “And thank you for the cookies, Miss Boston Rhodes.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Vance Nathaniel,” she said.

  “Is this basket like the large bucket of popcorn at the movie theater? When it’s empty, can I bring it back for a free refill?” he asked, indicating the basket with a nod of his handsome head.

  “You’ve gotta be kidding me, Vance!” Danielle giggled. “What…five dozen cookies isn’t enough?”

  “Well…for now,” Vance said, winking at Boston again. They shared a secret, she and Vance, and Boston loved that they did.

  “Sure, Vance,” Boston said. “Bring it back for a free refill.”

  “Nice!” Vance said. “Well, you ladies have a good night. I’m off to bed.”

  “Good night,” Danielle and Boston chimed.

  Boston watched Vance walk toward the door with her favorite basket tucked under his arm—the bum of his jeans so nicely filled out, the tight, ratty T-shirt he wore accentuating the muscles of his arms and back. She thought for a moment she might miss seeing him so scroungy when he was finished working road construction. No doubt when he started his curator’s job, his work attire would vastly alter—and she kind of liked the hardworking construction worker look.

  She sighed with disappointment when he’d closed the door behind him.

  “Don’t worry, Bost. He’ll be back,” Danielle teased. “If for no other reason than he’ll want to fill that basket up again.”

  Boston looked to Danielle and smiled. She took another cookie from the plate and said, “You know, I feel like I’ve been drifting down a river…that I’m starting to come out of a heavy fog bank. Or…or that I’ve been trapped in a nightmare and something finally woke me up.”
>
  “I know that feeling,” Danielle said. “You are the one who woke me up from my own nightmare.”

  “And you and Vance are the ones who woke me up from mine,” Boston said. She giggled. “I kind of imagine you as this good sort of witch—all dressed in a white, sequin-drenched prom dress…with, like, a little diamond tiara and pink, pink cheeks.”

  “I like that,” Danielle giggled. “But what about Vance? Is he, like, a prince or something?”

  “Naw. Princes are always too…too…I don’t know,” Boston sighed. “He’s more like…I don’t know…maybe Bruce Willis in some action movie. Or at least Huckleberry Finn…only with an education.”

  Danielle burst into laughter, choking on her milk and coughing wildly.

  “Are you okay?” Boston giggled, pounding her on the back several times.

  Danielle nodded, choked once more, and then said, “Bruce Willis or Huckleberry Finn? Oh my heck! What kind of combination is that?”

  Boston smiled and bit her cookie. “A perfect one,” she mumbled with her mouth full. “Especially if this Huckleberry Willis is a hottie with a naughty body like Vance Nathaniel!”

  “Huckleberry Willis?” Danielle asked, still mirthful.

  “Yeah,” Boston began. “You know…tough, capable, protective, witty, smart…that would be the Willis part.”

  “And the Huckleberry part?”

  “Insightful, wise, a survivor, a little rough around the edges, secretive…and somehow a little haunted…maybe a little neglected.” Boston said. “So then you add Vance’s handsomeness, musculature, and determination, and you’ve got Huckleberry Willis…my dream man.”

  “So now he’s your dream man? This Huckleberry Willis?” Danielle teased. “After looking at me like I’d asked you to show up at work in nothing but your leopard-print underwear when I suggested it the other night?”

  Boston raised an index finger. “Huckleberry Vance Willis should be his full name, I guess. And yes, I admit it. I’ve thought about it a ton since Dempsey’s party. And even though you assure me Huckleberry Vance isn’t a cannibal—even though I’m still scared to death—I remembered how much I like Christmas.”

  Again Danielle choked on the combined efforts of laughing while drinking milk. “What in the heck does the fact that you like Christmas have anything to do with it?” Danielle squealed. “I think your mind is one step short of nutbutter!”

  “No, I’m serious,” Boston said. “I mean, I haven’t really enjoyed Christmas since I’ve been living with Steph…not really. She always made it so awful—demanding this, planning that. Only her decorations could go on the Christmas tree and stuff…which, actually, now that I think about it, I’m thankful for because it would’ve been so mean for my well-loved, pretty little ornaments…to stick them on the same tree with her expensive, giant-sized ones. Anyway…I love Christmas! It’s why I loved working at the North Pole so much. To me, it’s what life should be—perpetual kindness and thinking of others, doing kind things, smiling. Remember how our cheeks used to hurt from smiling? Everyone’s cheeks should hurt from smiling…all the time! Don’t you think? It’s a beautiful season, when even the crankiest people think of others…even Steph in her own way. People do things for others, and hopefully that causes them to remember and linger on the ultimate sacrifice made for the world…remember what is really important…which, in turn, makes them less selfish…which makes them do more nice things and smile and even though they’re tired and stressed…if they remember why they’re doing it, the reason we celebrate Christmas with beautifully decorated Christmas trees slathered in twinkling lights…why we smile while we’re wrapping gifts and hum ‘Silent Night’ whenever we see a little nativity scene.” Boston paused to draw a breath and sigh. “I love Christmas! It gives me hope, makes me smile, makes my heart light, makes me forgive people for their shortcomings…the way I should…the way Christ did and does. I love Christmas and what it does to me…who it makes me strive to be. And Vance, he does the same thing—makes me happy…more happy than I’ve ever imagined. Just being around him makes me want to never leave, to be better, to be worthy of winning him. That’s what I’m trying to say…even though I’m still afraid he might turn out to be a cannibal instead of…instead of…”

  Danielle sat smiling, her eyes alight with admiration and joy.

  “Instead of Huckleberry Willis, your own personal Santa,” she said.

  “Exactly!” Boston exclaimed. “See, Danielle? It’s not so hard to understand me, now is it?”

  Danielle giggled. “No…not compared with trying to imagine Vance as Huckleberry Willis Claus.”

  Both girls reeled with giggles, and Boston wondered why she’d ever let Stephanie Crittendon pull her off the path of warm friendship and self-confidence. Oh, deep inside she was still terrified that in allowing herself to admit she was in love with Vance, she might be opening herself up to devastation. Still, the Boston Rhodes she once was, and now was again, knew she couldn’t not love him. And that was that, no matter the outcome.

  Vance exhaled heavily as he let his forehead rest on the large steering wheel of his pickup for a moment. He was tired—completely worn out. He’d always had a great admiration for the men and women who worked road construction. All his life he’d thought that it took a pretty tough person to work that way, either because of the physical labor required or the monotony some of the tasks might produce. Still, in that moment he was thankful for his great fatigue, for it meant his mind couldn’t linger too long on one thing. It couldn’t linger on present concerns, such as the misery of staying in the ratty motel he’d moved into—or the fact he was feeling something for Boston Rhodes. Feeling something? He was becoming downright obsessed! Every waking moment she was in his mind. She lingered in his dreams every minute that he slept. It had happened so suddenly. He’d let his guard down, and she had sifted into his soul almost before he’d known it. He’d seen it in her at once, even through the poison that Steph chick was dampening her bright spirit with. Vance had seen in Boston Rhodes all the good things he craved. She was kind, nearly to a fault—yet kindness was never a fault. She was an optimist, an eternal one, or so he suspected. She was clever and funny, empathetic and compassionate, witty, wise, and wonderful, and she scared him to death! He couldn’t even think about his physical attraction to her. If he did that, he’d be back in the apartment in a heartbeat, flipping out the light and having his fill of the sweet flavor of her kiss.

  Again he thought of how grateful he was to be so tired. He was so thoroughly worn through that his mind felt like mush. In that state, he couldn’t think of any one thing too long—other than Boston, of course—but not any other one thing, and that included the past. Thus, Vance enjoyed fatigue—the kind of fatigue that made his mind too tired to think of the past.

  Drawing a deep breath, he turned the key in the ignition, and the truck rumbled to life. As always, whenever he started a car engine, the hair on the back of his neck stood on end, and his stomach twisted with anxiety. But he shrugged it off—too tired to think about it—reached over, and took another cookie from Boston’s basket, shoving it in his mouth. He thought for a moment that Boston’s cookies tasted almost as sweet as her mouth—almost.

  Shaking his head, however, he tried not to let his thoughts nest on his sister’s best friend—no matter how cute, bubbly, babbly, and fun she was—no matter how often the word love ricocheted through his mind. Still, the fact was, she made him feel better. Whenever he was around her, he felt better, as if things might eventually be okay, as if scars could heal. He knew some scars would never heal, of course, but Boston somehow made him think they could. When in Boston’s company, Vance could almost envision himself walking up the path of his little house after working at the zoo, little dark-haired toddlers throwing tiny arms around his legs, carrying them into a home fragrant with homemade chocolate chip cookies to be greeted by a pretty, loving wife named…

  Before he knew it, he was pulling into the motel parking lot. He
decided to leave the basket of cookies in the pickup. He figured there was less chance of a cockroach finding its way to them in his truck than in his room. Being the honey-homemaker Boston obviously was, she’d lined the basket with cellophane before arranging the cookies in it. Vance popped one more cookie into his mouth and tied the cellophane closed at the top with the orange ribbon Boston had provided. He looked at the basket, smiling as a clever idea began to ooze into his tired mind.

  Yep! He’d return the basket for a refill all right. He would definitely return the basket for a refill—but he wouldn’t return it empty. No siree!

  

  “I just want it understood,” Danielle began as Boston entered the apartment Thursday after work.

  “You want what understood?” Boston asked. The expression on Danielle’s face was gleeful, somehow even a little triumphant.

  “That I get to say, ‘I told you so,’ at the wedding,” Danielle said. “Just once. I’ll only say it once…but I get to say it.”

  Boston laughed. Danielle’s playfulness only added to her good mood. She’d been offered the assistant news scriptwriter’s job that afternoon, Vance had texted her after lunch letting her know his cookie basket was empty, and there hadn’t been a cloud in the sky all day.

  “Wedding?” Boston asked. “Danielle…what are you talking about?”

  Danielle stepped aside, gesturing toward the kitchen table. “My idiot of a brother had your cookie basket returned today.”

  Boston gasped. There, in the center of the kitchen table, sat her cookie basket. It was definitely her cookie basket; she would’ve known it anywhere, even without the enormous flower arrangement sprouting from it.