Like Slow Sweet Molasses

by Like Slow Sweet Molasses

“Anything but him,” she contested aloud.

  Angela rebuffed all thoughts of Chance as he whiled away the time at a desk in the squad room trying to make sense of the call received real early prior to the start of his work day. Principal Dauchex surprised him with the early morning plea for a couple hours of his morning explaining she’d acquired a substitute for Angela’s classes for the remaining school day. When he inquired about Angela’s absence, she only said he came highly recommended and kept his name on files. What else could he say but okay.

  Despite his wandering mind, he pushed the mouse over the pad just rifling through the records he pretended to research. Doing so did nothing to take his focus off the paper folded into his billfold for safekeeping. He withdrew his wallet to read the results printed there and thought of her. Chance last saw Angela over a week ago as she fled the mall after spotting him there. He could see the distraught look on her face even now as she peered from the outside into the deceptively hurtful scenario as he appeared to bask in the mood of the family-like outing.

  “Crap.”

  “You’re wanted on the phone, Lieutenant?”

  Chance, in his own world, missed the initial remarks made by the young officer now at his desk and pushed the paper into this front pocket. “What, Conrad?”

  “You have a caller on line one.”

  “Take a message, will you?” He didn’t feel much like being bothered right now.

  “Tried that.” The uniformed officer waited for his consent to have the call transferred. “Says it’s personal and very important.”

  “Put them on my line.” Chance marched into his office and shut the door. He waited less than a minute and his phone rang. “Lt. Alexander.”

  “Lieutenant, this is Philip Haperiski.”

  Chance, propped on the edge of his desk, shut down any small talk. “What the fuck do you want?”

  “Hear me out before you hang up.”

  “I already told you I don’t do bribes. Now, goodbye.”

  “Wait! That’s not why I’m calling. It’s Angela.”

  That tone sounds a lot like concern Chance thought. He snorted. “What about Angela?”

  “She didn’t tell her parents. I assumed she didn’t tell you, either.”

  “Get to the point of your call, Haperiski,” he pushed hard.

  “I’ve tried to get in contact with her for several days…”

  “My impression is she wants nothing to do with you.”

  “That hasn’t changed.” The line went silent. “However, circumstances have.”

  “I don’t have all day.”

  “Angela checked herself out of the hospital on Thanksgiving Day after donating her bone marrow the day prior.”

  “What?” he barked. “She agreed to be your donor?”

  “Yes, contingent on conditions of her own.”

  “Whe-e-w.” Chance’s head dropped in disbelief.

  “There were complications,” Philip supplied. “Doctors abandoned the original procedural steps and a chest line was the alternative harvesting method.”

  “A chest line?” he repeated dumbly. “As opposed to?

  “A process similar to donating blood. The doctor’s office left messages for Angela which she hasn’t returned. They’re anxious about the side effects she may be experiencing.”

  His emotional state was well hidden until he made a clumsy move around his desk to fall into the chair. His mind rebelled. Several strokes of his palm brushed the hair on his face. Recovering, he asked, “What do you want from me?”

  “I want you to check on my daughter.”

  “I’d laugh if you didn’t sound so pitiful. Someone might actually believe your act, if overheard.”

  “It’s no act, Lieutenant.”

  “Are you ready?” Another voice butted in.

  Are you ready? Are you ready? Chance’s brain replayed those words over and over, the voice becoming more familiar with each utterance. Are you ready? Are you ready?

  “In a minute…”

  “Jason,” both men responded simultaneously with contrasting intonations.

  “Make sure she’s taking her time and not pushing herself too hard, Lieutenant Alexander. Have her call me. Please.”

  “You don’t know Angela. But, I’ll contact you.”

  “Thank you. Goodbye.”

  That conversation ended. Chance used a one-handed approach to select another line for his frantic call to her. The number rang continuously which was odd. That scared him. He pushed her cell number programmed into his cell’s address book and was promptly sent to her voicemail. More tension building suspense socked him in the gut.

  “It was Jason.” His head jerked in disgust. “I accused her of duplicity…with Jason. No wonder she ousted me.”

  Chance was a projectile traveling from his office through the squad room and straight out the side door to the parking lot. Never mind his neglect in reporting his exodus. The mission entailed using whatever means provided the utmost velocity to hasten him to her side. His Harley was ready and waiting. The time elapsed from settling his helmet to bulleting off spoke to the fluidity of his motions. He had no time to waste.

  He roared through the streets of New Orleans recklessly darting in and out of traffic, taking risky chances he would criticize other bikers for doing. Having worked many accidents involving motorcycles and four wheel vehicles should have made him exercise caution. He was thinking but not with his head for Chance’s heart was in complete control of his actions, even to the point of shutting down his response to external stimuli.

  When he left the loft this morning the weather was a pleasant seventy-two degrees eliminating the need for cold weather apparel. Now, the blustery wind molded the denim shirt to his chest while kicking it out in back like it hung on a clothesline as he sped along. The quiet neighborhood streets came into view forcing him to slow his roll. Still blocks from his destination, Chance reeled in his rampant thoughts taking note of his surroundings by entering the stop and go mode dictated by the encountered stop signs.

  His foot manipulated the clutch at one such stop before he started his acceleration into the intersection. He blasted off while scanning both directions, making it middle ways the block when his sensors registered. Tires screeched as Chance maneuvered his bike in the reverse direction with a motocross u-turn, burning rubber and all. He wasn’t mistaken. Angela trod towards him hunched over and head down. He was just another biker for all the attention she paid to his approach and sudden stop.

  “Hey, beautiful.” Chance had to swing around to give chase for her steps never waivered. “Want a ride?” The motor’s pulsating rumble in the background accented his words.

  Angela’s heart skipped a beat at the warm bass voice meddling her. But, she answered, “I don’t accept rides from strangers…because that’s what you are.”

  “Ouch!” he feigned offense, puttering along at her pace. “Do you mind if I walk with you?”

  “Can I stop you?” she bickered belligerently, unable to read his eyes through the wrap around shades he sported.

  “It’s a free country last I checked.” With a little bully in his voice, he said, “Guess you can’t.”

  Chance cut the vibrating motor, tensing his muscles to deliver the proper amount of energy necessary to push the heavy bike. Obviously, she ignored him—her way of putting him in his place. He couldn’t ignore her, though. Or the signs she tired to the level of full exhaustion. Every swing of her voluptuous hips depleted her internal power source. And they were still a couple of long blocks from her house.

  “Come on, Angela,” he tried persuasion, pocketing his dark glasses to impart sincerity. “Let me drive you home.”

  Angela’s heart beat at the exact spot of her incision tripling the intensity of every twinge sticking her muscles. Her body’s temperature waged a war between frigid and toast while she attempted to concentrate on why Chance dogged her steps. She would make it home on her own without any assistance from him. Her look t
o him said as much.

  They trudged along in silence with him estimating how many more steps she was capable of making before she finally tripped over her feet. She walked on the sidewalk five feet or so from him. Close enough for Chance to see perspiration sealing fringes of hair around her face. Far enough from him to bring concern she would injure herself if she fell.

  The distance diminished as the finish line drew nearer than before—looming—as her house came into their sight. Chance leaned into the last haul to access the slight hilly area of Angela’s yard, arriving seconds in front of her. He waited on her walk as she contemplated her ascent of the stone slabs to her yard, hesitating at the bottom where she couldn’t tear her eyes away from the first step. He divined if any climb took its toll on her, it would be that one.

  No more delays.

  Chance took matters into his own hands, chucking her weak objections aside to swoop her into his strong arms. Their gaze magnetized them in harmony and disassembled all grudges real or imagined. He mastered the second set of steps going on to steady her hand as she unlocked the door. An aura of peace shielded them as soon as he crossed the threshold into her living room. He’d missed that warm, fuzzy feeling over the last week, dreaming about when the time would present itself again.

  Today was that day.

  Angela was a feather in his arms as he carried her up the stairs into her bedroom. He held her body to his while she straightened her legs testing their ability to hold her weight. Silence permeated the entire house giving life to the air they breathed. Angela shuffled to her bathroom shutting the door for privacy.

  Chance and his frustrated sighs headed back downstairs to give her time for a refreshing change. He, after seeing her sallow cheeks, wanted to have a bite to eat ready for when she emerged. One cabinet door after the other banged closed as he ransacked her kitchen in a hopeless search for edibles. The refrigerator was also empty of the staples most common to all: leftovers. Circling the table, he returned to the pantry for the lone can of tomato soup hiding out in the back corner. The pop-top can opened easily and Chance emptied the contents into a soup mug for microwave heating. He salvaged a few butter crackers from the “take-out” drop-bin on the counter as the finishing touch to the light meal.

  Angela was already in bed curled on her side with her back to the door. Chance’s masculine fragrance announced his entrance into her domain. His mighty hand on her shoulder seduced her to gaze into his troubled eyes. He held a tray that he temporarily set on the nightstand until she propped comfortably against the headboard and rearranged the covers over her hips. The meal balanced on her knees forcing precise movements to keep the soup from spilling.

  His thanks was her eagerness after the first taste and the quick disappearance of the food. She showed her appreciation by sparing him a “thank-you” smile, moving the tray from her lap and snuggling into the mattress, all the while tracking his every move when he grabbed the tray and vacated the room. There was another reason he left her so hastily to return the dirty dish. He took a few moments to pore over the faxed papers on the machine in her computer nook absolutely stunned with the terms of agreement. More important, Angela’s counter held several medicine bottles he reviewed, determined their purposes and calculated her next dosage time, dependent on her having maintained the suggested intervals.

  “She kept nothing for herself,” he marveled, filling a glass with cold water and heading back to her.

  Her eyes remained closed as he sat at her side loving her more and more as his heart raced wildly. Chance couldn’t resist tracing the outline of her jaw—imposing his will—for her eyes obliged him and opened. Angela’s illustrious brown orbs opened wider when he produced the pills for her ingestion and thus, supported her back as she quietly obeyed.

  Love had a language of its own they spoke very well with meaningful looks and subtle touches. Neither thought words necessary when he peeled down to his undershirt and slipped out of his boots and jeans, getting ready to join her under the covers. Their eyes connected as he traversed around the bed to enter from the other side and pulled her to him until he conformed to her posture, all in preparation for their broad daylight nap.

  Shadows were absent from the room when Angela awakened a nose length from Chance who lay on the same pillow. His look was one of an earthly peace as he slumbered on indifferent to her close-up examination. He had a head of thick, wavy hair reminiscent of any conceited male model without the self-important characteristic for he was not afraid of getting it mussed. The dark eyebrows and rakish beard were Venus flytraps to females if ever she recognized the look. What immobilized the captives was the green-fire sparkle that fired from behind his long lashes, disabling the prisoners and enslaving them until exonerated by him. Exactly like his gaze did now causing her to blush profusely at her boldness.

  “Don’t look away,” he encouraged. “It gives me hope you’ve forgiven me for being a dunce. I mean,” he massaged the crinkle on her nose, “this means you like me, again, right?”

  “You’ve spoken to somebody. Who was it?”

  “I’ve never lied to you, Angela. I won’t start now.” He cleared his throat nervously. “Philip Haperiski called today…concerned about you.” He waited for her to blowup.

  “So, you know I agreed to help him,” she whispered.

  He rectified her statement. “I learned you underwent the marrow extraction which escalated to a more involved procedure.” He locked his arms around her when she tried to back off. “That you dubbed yourself a physician with the risky move of self-discharging one day after the surgery.”

  “It was minor.”

  “Anesthesia. Scalpels. A tube inserted directly into a vein in your chest cavity.” Chance’s voice drummed, deepened in anxiety. “You might have complicated your recovery, Angel, leaving so soon.”

  Chance fussed at her, in her bedroom, in her bed. “I did what I went to do,” she excused her decision. “I..I thought…” she began then clamped her mouth shut.

  Chance’s elbow dug into the pillow as he propped up to see her better, a fist under his chin. “What? That I wouldn’t find out?”

  “No,” she balked. “I thought I’d surprise you on Thanksgiving.” She rolled to leave the bed.

  He trapped her by the bend of her arm.

  “Ow!” she moaned and pulled to loosen his grip. He only tightened his hold. “You’re hurting me.”

  Chance piled the pillows behind his back as he pushed the sleeve of her nightshirt to her upper arm. “Crap, Angela! Look at that bruise!”

  “I know how it looks, Chance. I see them every time I change my clothes.”

  “Them?” he shot back. “Let me see!”

  “There’s nothing you can do. They’re fading.”

  “I want to see, Angela.” He wouldn’t take no for an answer. “Please.”

  Chance allowed her to have her own space while she decided whether to honor his request. “You can look for a moment. No disagreement when I determine the peep show is over. Agreed?”

  He bargained, “Agreed.”

  She rolled up the other sleeve for his inspection, watching his lips disappear into his beard as his mouth pursed. The chest incision was what she hated most to reveal since it still oozed a little and was ugly to see. But, Angela tugged the neck of her shirt down anyway and turned her cheek to one side for his benefit. Her ears intercepted his faint growl, low and haunting… and the deadliest sound she ever heard. Her neckline popped back in place when she released the material.

  “Thanksgiving night. The shakes. Were they due to the harvesting?” He selfishly hoped so. “Or remnants of what you endured at my place that day?”

  “I don’t want to talk about your intimacy with your ex-wife, Chance.”

  “Angela, we weren’t intimate. I swear on my life, we weren’t.”

  “You looked pretty chummy at the mall,” she accused, jealousy playing a part of why she moved farther from him.

  “I promise you we can’t stan
d one another. We fight all the time if forced to be in the other’s company.”

  “Sometimes that’s when the head stops thinking and physical attraction sizzles.”

  “You’re forgetting two things.” He paced in front of her now.

  “What’s that?”

  “Kelsy’s presence for one. And…I slept at Aunt Belle’s that night.”

  “All I know is, Chance, I wanted to be with you for the holiday.” She let her voice trail off.

  Angela zapped him silly with her declaration. His hands glided up and down her arms as he tried desperately to talk sense into her. “I can prove how serious I am about loving you to the exclusion of all other enticements that come my way. Will you let me do that?” Chance petitioned.

  “Our problem is trust,” she contradicted. “We don’t trust each other. You and your ex. Me and the mystery voice.” Knocking his hands down, Angela fled downstairs and over to the fax machine.

  Chance, caught off-guard by her erratic behavior, managed to get into his jeans in a jump-hop fashion without crashing into the door or breaking his neck as he sought her out. Jamming his hand into his front pocket rewarded him with the proof he needed. “Here.”

  It was an even swap as she, in turn, reached him the contract proving her whereabouts. “It’s pretty pathetic when two people who claim to have real feelings for one another…”

  “Love for one another,” he butted in. “We love each other, Angela.” The frown attacking her forehead as she examined the paper was certainly of a different variety from the nose crinkle he became accustomed to seeing her sport.

  “I don’t see that this proves a thing,” she contested.

  “It proves I’m willing to do whatever it takes to put your mind at ease about my lifestyle.” Angela dropped the test results to the table. “What?”

  “These results could be fraudulent and of no consequence based on the date indicated.” She could tell her meaning escaped him. “It’s before the so-called visit.”

  “Oh, crap, Angela.” He tired of explaining. “I haven’t had a woman in over a year as I’ve already told you a long time ago. I know the voice I heard over the phone was that half-brother of yours.” Chance laid the contract on top of his results to stand facing her, deliberately holding her cheeks for a sincere look into her eyes. “I love you, Angela. I want you to love me back without the troubling doubts and fears.”