Waiting for the One

by L. A. Fiore

  “Nice car.”

  He grins. “This old thing.”

  “Cute.”

  He starts up the path to me, but takes a moment to look at my car. He hunches down, and my eyes move over him as he studies my tire. I’m about to say something provocative, but when he stands, the strange expression on his face stops me.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Are you going to call Jake?”

  “I have to, I don’t have a spare yet.”

  That earns me a look. “You need a spare tire in your car, Saffron.”

  “I know. I just haven’t gotten around to it.”

  “I’ll have one delivered.”

  “Sweet, but not necessary.”

  “I’m going to do it anyway, so just say thank you.”

  “Pushy.”

  “You ready?” He grins.

  “Yeah, and thanks for the ride.”

  He opens the car door for me. “Anytime.”

  I’m told that Frank isn’t quite ready for me when I arrive and I’m asked to wait in the community room where the dancing is usually held. I make my way down the hall hoping that whatever is keeping Frank isn’t anything serious. The room I’m instructed to wait in is dark, but as soon as I open the door, the lights glow to life followed by, “Surprise!”

  It takes a moment for my eyes to adjust and for my brain to catch up. And then I see everyone, most of my friends wearing silly hats and carrying noise makers, grinning at me like lunatics. A surprise birthday party—I never had one. Josh, Tommy, and Gwen come immediately to my side, but I take a moment to look around the room filled with most of the residents of Harrington.

  “You didn’t know, did you?” Josh asks as he draws me into a hug.

  “I didn’t. I had no idea.”

  Gwen is laughing when she hugs me. “I thought that you might be suspecting something, but Josh and Tommy were certain that you were clueless.”

  “How long have you three been planning this?” I ask.

  “Three months,” Tommy says.

  Three months, that’s a long time. I look into the faces of the crowd that have come to celebrate my birth, finding two noticeably absent.

  “We invited them, but they declined,” Josh offers, knowing I am wondering why my parents are not in attendance.

  “Yes, well, I’m sure they had better things to do than come to their only child’s thirtieth birthday.”

  Gwen reaches for my hand and squeezes it. “I’m sorry.”

  I smile back at her. “Please. This is wonderful. Thank you so much.”

  Frank comes up to me then and, leaning over, I kiss his pale cheek.

  “Happy birthday, Saffron.”

  “I was a little curious when I arrived for our dinner and you weren’t ready. When has that ever happened?”

  He chuckles as his frail hand touches my arm. “Save me a dance.”

  “I will.”

  Making my way through the crowd, I’m showered with kisses and hugs and wished countless birthday greetings. The feeling of belonging that moves through me as I greet each and every person in the room renders me something akin to drunk. Finally, I stop in front of the tall, silent man in the corner. He draws me near and brushes his lips over my ear. “Happy birthday.”

  It’s all a bit overwhelming, the outpouring from my friends, that it has the back of my eyes burning. “You knew?”

  “Yes.”

  “You’ll stay, right?”

  “All night if you’ll have me.”

  “I wouldn’t want you anywhere else.”

  I swear I see my emotions reflected back at me, but then the toasts begin and we are pulled into the center of joyous chaos.

  Later in the night I sit with Frank. “How are you feeling, Frank?” He looks really tired.

  “I’m good. How do you like your party?”

  “I love having all of my friends together in one place.”

  “You are a wonderful young woman, and I know there is a part of you that is sad that those sorry excuses for parents didn’t come, but look around you. You are loved; remember that. Remember that you know what is best for you. Promise me you will always listen to your heart.”

  He’s scaring me with how intense he’s being, but I can see that it’s very important to him, so I make the promise and mean it. “I will.”

  “I think of you as a daughter. Family is more than blood, and sometimes blood relations can be nothing at all like you, as proven by your parents. Family is the ones who you love and who love you and based on this turnout, I would say you have a pretty big, loving family.”

  Love for this man swells in me as I hold his hand to my cheek. “Thank you for that. I’ve always thought of you as my family.”

  “You’ve brought great joy to an old man’s heart and gave me family when I had none.”

  “Likewise, Frank.”

  “I love you.”

  “Ah, Frank, I love you too.”

  Hugging him, I feel just how very thin he is, but before long he’s pulling back and smiling at me. “Happy birthday. I think it’s time for me to go to bed.”

  “I’ll take you.”

  “No, you stay and celebrate.”

  “Okay, good night, Frank.”

  “Good night.”

  Frank is wheeled from the room and my heart hurts as I watch. He was so sentimental, and while I know part of it is because of the party, I worry that there is another reason. Almost as if he knows it will be the last time we will have the chance to see each other.

  Much later that night Logan takes me back to his house so he can give me my birthday gift. We walk upstairs to his studio, and there resting on the easel is a small portrait of Frank and me. We are in the dining room at Harrington Commons laughing about something. You can feel the energy of the piece.

  “I don’t usually paint portraits, but when I saw you both that day I couldn’t get it out of my head. It’s beautiful to watch the two of you.”

  I haven’t any words; it is hands down the best gift I’ve ever received and then I open my mouth and say just that.

  He brings me to him and as his mouth fuses to mine, he lifts me into his arms and carries me to his bed. Gently he lowers me onto it. The loss of his lips is countered by nimble fingers working my sandals off my feet. His hands slide up my leg, over my calf and knee, up my thigh, and I inhale sharply because it feels so good.

  Fisting my dress into his hands, he pulls it up and over my head before he kisses me, right over my heart. Licking the swells of my breasts, he pops one of those aching peaks out from under my bra and sucks it into his mouth. His clever fingers dance along my stomach, his mouth following the path, until he reaches the edge of my panties. Slowly he works the silk down my legs. Grabbing the back of his shirt, he yanks it forward over his head before he steps out of his trousers. He’s magnificent and when he moves toward the bed, it’s with the sleek movements of a predator. The bed dips from his weight seconds before his warm hands are on my knees pushing me open wider. My body is almost overstimulated because I’m so eager to feel his mouth on me. He tastes me, lapping at me like I’m his favorite flavor, teasing me as he works my overly sensitive flesh with his tongue. Watching him, seeing his dark head between my legs and feeling what his tongue is doing to me turns me wanton as my hips move against his mouth. He brings me right to the brink of orgasm and then his mouth is gone.

  “Look at me, Saffron.” My eyes lift to his as he slowly pushes into me. My legs spread wider and my hips lift and take him deeper. We freeze for a moment because it feels so goddamn good, and then he starts to move. Slowly at first, until he feels me coming apart, then his mouth finds mine and he moves harder and faster, and when I come, he does too.

  The following afternoon I’m in the midst of pouring a glass of Cabernet when the bar phone rings. Before I can reach it, Tommy’s there. He isn’t on the phone for long, but when he walks up to me with sorrow in his expression, I know something is very wrong.

  “Wh
at is it?”

  “It’s Frank. He’s had a heart attack.”

  The bottle I’m holding slips right out of my hand, but Tommy’s quick reflexes catch it before it falls to the floor.

  “Jimmy, I’m taking Saffron to Harrington Commons. You and Sarah need to cover things until I get back.”

  “Sure thing, boss.”

  Tommy pulls me from the bar and gets me in his car and clicks my seat belt, since I’m fairly useless from the shock, before climbing in and driving the five miles to the nursing home. When we arrive one of the nurses, Sandra, is waiting for me. I know from the look on her face that he’s gone.

  “I’m so sorry, but he didn’t suffer. It was very fast.”

  I’m completely and totally numb. I dread asking but I have to know: “Was he alone?”

  “Some of his friends were with him.”

  That’s good, that’s something. Frank must have known or sensed what was coming. I knew he wasn’t going to live forever, but now that he’s gone there is a rather large hole in my heart.

  “I need to make arrangements. Um, I should go. I have a lot to do. You’ll let me know when I can . . . when he’s ready.”

  “Yes, of course.”

  “Thank you, Sandra. Frank was very fond of you.” And he had been. He’d often said the staff made the place feel like a home. They loved their work and it showed in everything they did.

  I move with purpose out of the building and down the street.

  “Saffron, I’ll drive you home,” Tommy calls as he comes up beside me.

  “No, I think I’ll walk.” But I stop and turn to him to hug him hard. “Thank you, but I need to be alone.”

  “Call me if you need anything.”

  I pull away from him and my throat burns. “I will.”

  And then I’m walking and with each step that takes me away from Frank, the more the reality of my loss sinks in. I pass the lighthouse and see the lights on inside, remembering the night Logan and I shared, but not even Logan can heal the wound caused by Frank’s passing. I keep on walking. As soon as I reach home, I see the answering machine light blinking. I know it’ll be Gwen or Josh calling, but I can’t deal with that right now.

  Curling up on my bed, I stare at the portrait Logan painted. It was a spectacular gift when it was given to me last night, but now it’s that much more. The man Frank was to me. I don’t know how much time passes before the knocking at the door starts, but after a while whoever is there gives up and the blessed silence returns. Lying there dry-eyed, I stare into the darkness at the portrait I can no longer see until exhaustion claims me.

  The following morning I make arrangements with the funeral home, the florist, Tucker’s, and manage to avoid everyone else. Two days later I sit at the memorial and listen as the priest speaks the words while I stare at Logan’s beautiful portrait.

  So lost in my sorrow, I don’t realize the priest has finished and, once I do notice, I can’t get myself to move. I hear the soft hum of voices around me and realize that someone is talking to me. It’s Hilde Fletcher.

  “I’m sorry for your lost. Frank was a good man. He will be missed.”

  She doesn’t wait for an answer and I’m grateful for that, since I don’t think I have one in me.

  “He was like a father to her. I can’t believe he’s gone,” Claire murmurs to Bob, who looks to me. I try for a small smile, but it’s weak. He understands, since he lost a friend too. Around me I hear people sharing stories about Frank, remembering the man and friend he had been and every one of those stories is in the past tense. The idea that Frank is gone, that any reference to him won’t be in the here and now but as a memory, a recollection of the man he had been, tightens my throat. There’s anger too, a bitterness because I feel cheated. Frank was everything to me, knew everything about me, and yet he held a piece of himself back. And now, it’s too late to know that part of him. I’ll never know what it was that put that lost look in his eyes or made the absentminded smile appear on his mouth. He was gone—my friend, my family, was gone. The weight of my grief overwhelms me, the heaviness in my chest making it difficult to breathe.

  “Saffron.”

  Tommy. Silently I move into him, borrowing some of his strength to help me make it through the day. He says nothing, offers no words of condolence, he just holds me close.

  “We need to start over to Tucker’s,” Gwen says and thank God for her, keeping us on track, since I’m failing miserably at keeping anything on track.

  “I’ll drive her over,” Tommy says and I allow him to lead me to the car, need him to, since my legs refuse to work. Tucker’s is packed, the whole town of Harrington is present. Frank told me that he didn’t want people to mourn for him, that he disliked funerals because the atmosphere was always so somber when the celebrating of a life should be joyous. Death wasn’t the end, it was another beginning, and he wanted us to celebrate that. So in keeping with his wishes, I tap my glass to get everyone’s attention.

  “Frank didn’t want a funeral. He wanted everyone to have a drink to him, wanted us to remember his life and not mourn his death. I had planned to share some of my own memories of Frank but”—blinking to keep the tears from falling, I struggle for control—“it’s too painful and far too soon for me to remember and not mourn. So I will say, simply, he was for me all a person could be for another, and I hope that I was that for him too. He was truly the finest person I have ever had the pleasure of knowing.”

  I lift my Scotch toward his urn in a place of pride on the bar. “To his life and the great joy he brought to mine.”

  Returning my glass, my eyes collide with a pair of green ones. Logan is across the room, but he has made no move to approach me. In his expression lurks tenderness and understanding, offering me silent comfort while respecting that I may need space.

  I can’t stay any longer because the tears are too close. I want to be in my house when I fall apart, so I slip from the celebration of Frank’s life and walk home with Frank cradled in my arms. There’s a knock at my door just as I finish changing, and I know who it is even before I open it. Logan walks in and embraces me. And just like that, the tears I’ve successfully held back for days come pouring out of me as I mourn my friend.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  I can’t count how many times in the weeks that follow Frank’s funeral I see something that I want to share with him and reach for the phone only to remember he won’t be on the other end. I haven’t been back to his room at the nursing home, can’t get myself to do it. Seeing his bed, stripped of sheets, the walls bare, his belongings boxed . . . I’m not ready for that.

  On the flip side, Frank’s death has brought our town even closer. Most of the town make their way to Tucker’s in the weeks since his death, neighbors sitting with neighbors, sharing their stories about Frank. It’s touching to know how many people Frank affected.

  One day I receive a call from his lawyer asking me to come to his office for the reading of Frank’s will. I’m surprised by the call because Frank had very little. His possessions only filled a few boxes. The lawyer’s office is in Bar Harbor, in a nice brick town house with an elegant but understated sign hanging over the door. Dean Finley, Esquire, seems a bit swanky for Frank, from his gray-laced blond hair to his perfectly tailored charcoal-gray suit, but then there are no lawyers in Harrington, so perhaps it’s just his location that appealed to Frank. I have to give Finley points for greeting me personally.

  “Ms. Mills?”

  “Yes.”

  “Hello. I’m Dean Finley. Please, right this way.”

  I am led into a very masculine office with dark-chocolate-brown leather furniture, a walnut desk, and floor-to-ceiling bookcases. The rug that rests under the antique desk is done in deep jewel tones that complement the dark tan of the walls.

  “Please have a seat. Can I bring you some coffee or water?”

  “No, thank you, I’m fine.”

  He settles behind his desk before lifting open the file in front o
f him.

  “First, I am really very saddened by the loss of Mr. Dupree. He was a friend even more than a client.”

  “I’m sorry, I didn’t know or I would have called you about his memorial.”

  He reaches across the table and rests his hand on mine. “Please don’t. I know this has been very hard for you. Frank often spoke of you and how much you meant to him.”

  My tears start again.

  “I won’t keep you any longer than necessary. Frank’s will is pretty cut and dried. Since you were his only family, he has left everything to you.”

  A smile touches my lips thinking about the few possessions that Frank had at the home—the ancient chess set and his nice collection of baseball cards that, though I don’t know much about baseball, I’ll treasure always.

  “His total estate, including the house in the Hudson River Valley, is worth just over six million dollars.”

  My mouth drops open and I just stare at the man. I’m sure my expression makes me look like a half-wit, but I can’t have just heard what I think I heard. “Could you repeat that?”

  “He invested well and almost tripled his net worth, which is now about six million dollars, as I said.”

  “And he left that to me?”

  “Yes.”

  Standing, since I’m too worked up to sit, I start to pace. “What the hell was the man thinking leaving me all that money?”

  “He knew you would know what to do with it.”

  Stopping my pacing, I turn and glare at him. “I haven’t a clue what to do with all that money.”

  “I realize this is a lot to take in. The money is there whenever you are ready to claim it. Until that time, it will continue to be invested as Frank stipulated.”

  I am so not ready for this. “I can leave it as is for now?”

  “Yes, for as long as you wish.”

  “I just can’t think about it right now.”

  “Understood.”

  “He really had no one? You can’t find any third cousins four times removed?”