The Glowing

Chapter 1

I lay still and listen to the sound of rain and the pounding surf. Squeezing my eyes shut, I inhale the smell of fresh salt water and sand, allowing it to roll in waves across my face. The surf grows louder—becomes almost tangible—and above the din a seagull’s cry pierces the gray light, then joins the sound of crashing waves. Soon more gulls join in, and I stretch my fingers over the sand, grasping, trying to claim back the late summer breeze full of salty spray and brine. If I pinch my eyes closed tighter still, I can faintly catch the aroma I had come to love; a scent of salt with warm undertones of pine and earth. This scent had come to represent summer, comfort, and home. I lolled about in it, basking in the sounds and steely light, smiling for the first time in weeks. I was happy; I was content.

Honk! A car horn shook me from my nearing slumber and ripped me to the present. I was not, as I so desperately wanted, in my beloved Lincoln City, Oregon. I was not stretched out lazily on the constantly damp beach, my mind floating aimlessly amid the salty brine. I was instead lying stiff and sore across my new full sized bed in a decidedly stuffy, sweltering room in a small house on the outskirts of Santa Fe, New Mexico. I let out a muffled groan—muffled because I was half-heartedly trying to suffocate myself with my pillow; a pillow now hot and damp with sweat.

Blinking, I opened my eyes and for the thousandth time took in my still unfamiliar surroundings. Above me a beige ceiling hosted a beige ceiling fan which was rotating, churning the arid, unconditioned air. The walls were painted a distinctly un-relaxing rust color, and their only adornment was a large black picture frame bereft of any actual picture, and one dresser was positioned opposite the only window in the room. The bed was a bit hard, but new, and had a cast iron headboard–one of the few features of the room for which I could muster any approval. The carpet matched, to near exactness, the ceiling and its accompanying fan. I was lying upside down, with my feet resting against the headboard. I rolled to my side, kicking the pillows off the bed, trying futilely to cool my feet. My pillows and bedding were white, which clashed ridiculously with the abundant beige in the room, but they were new and brought a freshness to the room—at least that’s what I told myself. I glared out the window, resenting the stifling rust and beige bedroom, and even more so the circumstances that brought me to it.

Two months ago I got a call from this very house, one that interrupted my beach-loving life. I had just started painting my toenails, with my feet propped up on the kitchen counter, when the phone rang.

“Hello?”

“Hi Ivy, its Dad.”

“Hey Dad, what’s up?” The bottle of nail polish slipped just out of reach, and I perched somewhat precariously on the front legs of the bar stool to bring it back.

“Well, I’m calling because, uh, I have some news.”

I waited for a moment, giving my Dad a chance to continue. After several seconds, and one toenail later, I prodded, “Okay, I’m all ears.”

My dad kind of semi-coughed, then continued, “Well, you know I had some tests run recently, right? Well, I . . . uh, got the results.”

“. . . Okay?”

“Alright, Ivy, I’m just going say; they’re not looking too good.”

I stared at my only unfinished toenail, the paintbrush hovering with a slight quiver above it. I slowly lowered the brush and swiped again, and then again.

“Uh, okay Dad, you’re going to have to be more specific, I guess.”

“They found some ‘nodules’ and my white cell count was off—really off.”

My dad, a High School baseball star and college drop-out, had spent the past twenty years in Santa Fe running a lube and tire shop. He was popular with the opposite sex due to his muscular frame, dark hair, and long lashes, but also for his surprising scope of literary knowledge. After a less than lustrous review from one of his English professors he decided that college wasn’t for him, just one semester into his freshman year, despite his full academic scholarship and promising baseball career. His passion for Whitman and Shakespeare was the glue that brought my parents together, and his lack of scholarly ambition was the wedge that spilt them up. The fact that he was content working with his hands during the day and reading for pleasure during the night was decidedly disappointing to my mom, and she moved back to her old stomping grounds in Lincoln City with two-year-old me in tow. She died three years ago in a routine drunk driving accident, and I had been muddling through in our two-bedroom bungalow near the beach ever since. With the exception of her passing and my subsequent struggle, I had led a relatively pleasant life, filled with days spent intermittently at the beach or nearby mountains.

It had been years since I had actually visited my dad in New Mexico, and we only spoke every few months by phone until a few months ago, when he called to tell me he had been sick and was seeing a “specialist” for his symptoms. I knew just enough to be worried, and not enough to have any idea of what he was actually suffering from. From that point on we spoke every week and finally he called to say they were running some more tests. It wasn’t long before I put it all together: my Dad was being tested for colon cancer. Four weeks after that phone call I was down here in Santa Fe, helping him “wrap things up”. I was also with him when he took his last breath four weeks later, holding his hand as he lay in the hospital bed gray-skinned and heavily medicated. He had been in a drug-induced sleep, so I like to think he really didn’t suffer, but then another part of me realized this was ridiculously naïve. He had “suffered” physically the entire month I was there, and he had been “suffering” mentally and emotionally for months before that, worrying about me. And that’s what really hit me hard; although he had known something was wrong with him, his main focus had been me, thousands of miles away, and completely ignorant of his plight.

It’s not that I was selfish exactly; I really don’t think of myself as a selfish person by nature, it’s that I had been struggling ever since my mom’s death. She and I had shared a tiny two bedroom bungalow less than a mile from the beach in Lincoln City, and when she passed she left it to me. I had been working in a small glass shop, helping to run and manage the inventory and customer orders. We got a lot of tourist traffic, but our big business came from online orders. We were the kind of small town artsy place that makes its living on imbuing that “Americana Treasure” feeling. The owners of the shop were two Lincoln City natives whose families had been in the area for generations, and they blew their own glass. Sometimes they might, for their own sanity, blow a vase or jug or some such thing, and they would put it out knowing it would sell, but as a general rule they dealt almost exclusively in colored glass balls called “floats”. And business was pretty good. The draw to these balls was that every so often you could find one floating off shore. The story is that years ago people began finding these orbs up and down the coast and people claimed the things had made their way there from Japan. It wasn’t long before people came to the coastal towns looking for their very own Japanese floats. And while I enjoyed working there, business wasn’t quite good enough for me to manage the $1,600.00 a month mortgage my Mom left me along with the house. What little money had also been left to me had been spent trying to keep me there in that house, and by the time my Dad got sick I was already hurting pretty bad financially.

My dad had been sending me money every month because I was so intent on staying in that house, clinging to every memory my mom and I had created together, and refusing to sell even though I was continually coming up short. And although I only spoke to my dad every few months, when we did call each other, the conversation inevitably turned to my financial hardships, and often ended with me in tears and my dad telling me he was sending more money. Each time we spoke he also urged me to sell the house and move down there with him, and each time I rebuffed the offer, convinced somehow things would work out for me. And while the house my dad left me was already paid for, and I had cashed in the small life insurance claim (most of which went to hospital bills), somehow nothing had worked out. I was for all intents and purposes orphaned, basically broke, feeling like one of the more self-centered people I had known, and to top it all off, I was now stuck here in Santa Fe where I at least had a place to live.

I started to stretch out on my bed, trying to relax the semi-permanent knots in my lower back, only to have my neck cramp up. I decided it was a lost cause and sluggishly rolled off my bed and shuffled into the bathroom. It was already noon and I had managed to go the entire morning without brushing my teeth, leaving the inside of my mouth a bit funky. I had wasted another morning slumped in bed, reiterating to myself the many tragedies that were my life, instead of productively looking for another job, which I really would soon need. I had been working at the shop my dad had owned, answering phones and filing, but he had sold it in his final weeks and I had no desire to keep working there even though I had been offered the job permanently. I would need to keep it while I could, but I wanted to work somewhere I wouldn’t be reminded of the past six weeks on a daily basis. All the same, I needed to head in at two o’clock, and I absolutely had to shower. The joys of living without central air in New Mexico often included showering twice a day.

I turned the water on and deliberately undressed in front of the mirror, watching my reflection become shrouded in steam. I pulled my pink tank top over my long wavy brown hair and stared into my bright green eyes, then leaned in closer to check out the large bruise that was forming over my right ribcage. Yesterday I had decided to rearrange what little furniture I had and my dresser had toppled over with me underneath it. Luckily I had managed to catch it with my ribs before it fell over completely, and I was now paying the price for my heroic efforts. I blew a raspberry at myself, stripped down completely and gratefully stepped under the burning water. No matter how hot you get, there is still nothing like a steamy shower to relax the body, and it felt delicious. I was feeling so good I lathered up twice, and finally took a 60 second blast of icy water to get the blood going again and prepare myself for the onslaught of the unforgiving heat of the day

Chapter 2

I walked up to my dad’s old shop, Dan’s Lube and Oil, with a few minutes to spare and I re-tucked my sleeveless white button-down shirt into my khaki shorts, making sure I looked presentable. I had thrown my blow-dried hair up into a pony tail, and I tightened that as I walked through the door. Mike, my dad’s best friend and new owner of the place, stood behind the counter waiting for me.

“Ivy, good to see you,” Mike said with a wink.

“Hey, Mike, how’s it been today?”

“Not bad, had a rush around noon like normal, but it’s slowed down a bit.”

I logged into the computer under my name, Ivy Sparks, and pulled up my time clock.

“How ya doin’, kid?”

“I’m fine.”

Mike looked at me cock-eyed, “Really? Cuz no offense, but you’re looking like you haven’t slept in weeks, which is probably about true.”

I turned to look at Mike, who was a big guy and graying, with pale blue eyes. He’d make a great Santa Claus in about ten years or so.

“Yeah, you’re right, I’m tired, but I have to get myself moving or I’ll just get stuck, you know?”

“Yeah, I guess I do,” he said. “Any luck on the job hunt yet?”

“Well, like I said, anything you need just let me know. And you can stay on here as long you need.”

“Thanks Mike, I know and I appreciate that. I just think I need something that’s separate from what brought me down here in the first place.”

Mike walked to the front of the store where there was a tire display and started re-arranging them. “What kind of work are you hoping to find,” he asked.

I rolled my eyes and sighed, “No, I haven’t even left the house except to go to the funeral and come here. But that’s what I mean, if I don’t get out and make myself move and do things I feel like I’ll just fade into the walls. Or start climbing them.” I grimaced.

“Well, honestly, the only other job I’ve had aside from the occasional house sitting gig was the glass shop back home. I’m not really sure what kinds of things I could find here. I guess I could always look for an office job doing filing or data entry, but to be honest typing is not my strong point. Come to think of it that sounds awful,” I said and shuddered. The thought of me sitting in a gray office encompassing rows of cheerless cubicles definitely made my ‘top ten’ list of things that gross me out.

Mike eyed me with a thoughtful expression. “You know,” he said, “you haven’t really been out or gone into the city so you might not have noticed but this place is actually known for its art and culture.” He kind of puffed up a bit and I let out a smile.

“What kind of art and culture would that be?”

“All kinds; back around the turn of the century some real famous artists took up residence here and started some kind of artistic revolution. And now we have gobs of museums, shops, galleries and music. You go into town and you’ll see what I’m talking about. I’m sure that’d be more of what you’re looking for.”

I thought about that for a minute. I had never really considered Santa Fe as an artistic hubbub; but then I had never really considered Santa Fe period. Maybe I would go drive downtown tonight to get a feel of what there was. Even if everything was closed I could get out and walk around, and look in the windows – job window shopping. My entire experience here thus far consisted of sickness, exhaustion, and a feeling I could only describe as transparency. Like I was fading into the time I spent in the hospital with my dad, or the migraine-inducing time I spent in the shop waiting to go to the hospital to be with my dad. That was what I had done, who I had been for six weeks, and it actually came as a shock to realize I was a stranger here, and alone. It would be good for me to go see this place I would now call home, and the sooner I could integrate myself into some kind of sphere of existence that included other people, the better.

“You know, Mike, I think that’s a real good idea. Thanks for the tip – I doubt I would have thought of that,” I said and smiled. Mike grinned back and pulled a rag from his back pocket and wiped his face.

“Guess I’ll go see how the boys are doing,” he said, and with a half wave he walked out to the garage.

I pulled up the inventory on the computer and started logging in the orders and completed transactions. This would only take me a couple hours, and that was taking into account helping any customers that came in. I thought most of the businesses downtown would close between 5:00 and 6:00, or at least I assumed they would. I wasn’t sure I wanted my first trip down there to include the crowds of shoppers or tourists or whatever the usual was. Maybe I would go back home first and get something to eat, and then head into town later when I could have a more reasonable expectation of solitude as I stumbled about the streets. If I got lost I would prefer to do so in private. The bell over the door rang, announcing the arrival of a customer, putting my musings on hold until we closed. When five 'o' clock rolled around I clocked out, grabbed my purse from underneath the counter and headed out to my ’96 Toyota Corolla with the intention of heading home to make myself something to eat.

The sun was still high and the temperature was just below blazing, though a sign over a neighboring business indicated it was 95. To some people this would seem like an ideal summer temperature, but I was used to a temperate damp climate, and I practically wilted underneath this strange and unfamiliar sun. My car handle burned me as I reached to open the car door and I dropped my keys. They landed underneath my car. Muttering I dropped to all fours and scrabbled for them, managing to scrape my knuckles in the process. As I stood back up, brushing off my knees and rubbing my tender knuckles on my khaki shorts, I noticed a figure across the street standing in the shadow of a building. The figure moved slightly as I straightened up, and I did a double take to try to make out any distinguishing figures, but it was gone by the time I looked back. Shrugging, I got into my car and popped in my favorite Laura Veirs CD and sang along to her watery lyrics all the way home.

My dad’s house – my house – was a tiny one bedroom adobe building. It was a reddish brown, the color of the earth here. The front door was dirty white, dirty because of dirt, not an intentional dulling of the paint. I opened the door, letting more heat in, and turned on the lamp that sat next to the front door. The blinds were drawn shut in order to keep it as cool as possible, and the ceiling fan in the front room was on full blast, as was the ceiling fan in my room. The front room was by far the largest in the house; in fact it was relatively huge in comparison to the rest of the place. The carpet in the front room was a midnight blue, and the walls were beige – that seemed to be the predominant color in this town. My dad had two tan colored leather couches flanked by two side tables, each housing a lamp, and in the middle of the room sat a large Navajo area rug. In the corner farthest from the door sat a wood burning stove, and in the corner opposite that rested a large mahogany Cello, a few feet away from the small television set.

When I first came down here I slept on one of the couches in the living room, waking each morning covered in sweat and sticking to the leather. Last week, after the funeral, I switched out my dad’s bed for a new full sized one I ordered online. I also switched out his set of dresser drawers for my own. If I could reasonably afford it, I would do the same with the living room. Every time I walked into this house I saw sickness. I felt a bit guilty about getting rid of my dad’s bedroom furniture, but I couldn’t sleep in that room on his bed, surrounded by his things. I heaved a sigh, shrugged my purse off my shoulder and threw it on the nearest couch and set off for the kitchen.

I scrubbed a potato and popped it into the oven, then sat at the kitchen table and flipped through an old People magazine I’d brought back from the shop. I always felt too self conscious to pull of the looks I saw in the magazines. I wasn’t very thin, for one thing – not that I was overweight – I wore a size 8, but so many of the girls I saw wearing the hippest fashions were so tiny; I didn’t know if I could realistically pull those looks off. I had always had bad luck when it came to guys as well…I hadn’t exactly had the most positive experiences with members of the opposite sex. I knew I was attractive to men – I was healthy looking with good bone structure and curves, long wavy brown hair with gold highlights. My bottom lip was a bit fuller than my top, giving me a slightly pouty look if I wasn’t careful, and I had green eyes that had often been described as ‘piercing’. I always got a lot of appreciative looks from men, but that was about it. I hadn’t even had a date in over a year, and my last relationship was over before I knew it had begun. Ugh, this was depressing. I stashed the magazine in the garbage under the sink and started cooking my broccoli.

A sudden noise outside tore me from my thoughts, and I jumped. I looked out the tiny window over the sink, trying to make out what had caused the sound. The sun was bright, but the house cast a shadow immediately where I thought the noise had come from. I shook my head, dismissing the brief commotion, and started to turn back to the table, when I heard it again, this time closer. It sounded like someone was in my back yard, walking around the house. My heartbeat elevated, and I went back to the window, sure I would find some nosy neighbor, or at least a stray cat; but there was no one there. I waited a few moments while my pulse evened out, but I didn’t hear it again, so I went back to sit at the table while my potato baked.

The timer went off for the potato, and I realized I had started to doze off, my head on my arms on the kitchen table. Out of the blue, it seemed, my head was throbbing and I felt slightly nauseated. I shook my head and tried to rub the blur out of my eyes. The smell of the food brought back my appetite; it seemed to clear some of the fog my mind was swimming through, so I got up and went about fixing my dinner. As I sat there eating I tried to remember what it was I was planning on doing; I remembered going into the shop and talking with Mike about looking for another job. I also recalled burning my hand and dropping my keys and the drive home, and then I came home and started dinner. Beyond that I couldn’t think of what I was going to do, but I was once again hit with exhaustion, so even though it wasn’t yet 6 ‘o’ clock, I finished eating and dressed for bed.

It was so hot in my room; I wore only a tank top and my undies, and lay across the top of my sheets. I was slipping into slumber when I suddenly remembered what it was I had been planning on doing. I sighed and rolled over, I was too tired tonight; I would go get the window air conditioning unit tomorrow.

Chapter 3

I was dreaming of Oregon again, I could hear the waves and rain as my eyes fluttered open. I yawned and stretched, curling my toes in the process; it was barely light out, it couldn’t have been more than six in the morning. I turned to look out the window and was surprised to see it actually was raining. My mood lifted and I smiled to myself – this was the first time it had rained since I moved here. I checked the clock by my bed and saw that it was 6:23 am, I had slept for roughly twelve hours – I wondered if I was getting sick, especially remembering how I had felt the previous night. I stepped out of bed and shuffled to the bathroom, I was feeling just fine this morning if a little fuzzy headed from sleeping so much.

I was glad it was Saturday, I didn’t need to go into the shop today, and since it was raining I felt it was a perfect day to go get a window AC unit. I decided to take an extra-long shower, and then I blow dried my hair and let myself air-dry. Breakfast consisted of dry cereal – not my favorite, and then I got ready for the day. I put my hair up, brushed my teeth, and threw on a pair of my more comfortable jeans, along with a black stretch-tee. I always wore some kind of make-up, but today was a mascara and lip-gloss only kind of day. I grabbed an apple on my way out the door and was in my car before I realized I had no idea where I was headed. I laughed to myself and turned on the windshield wipers as I backed out of the drive-way. I headed south on the Taos HWY and decided to drive around till I found a promising looking store.

After about 20 minutes of driving I took an exit and realized after seeing very few people on the street that it may still be too early as it was only a little after 8:00am. That put me in a conundrum, as I didn’t want to drive all the way back home, but I also didn’t know what I would find that was open. I was kicking myself for not opening the phone book to find local businesses and hours; and although I was sure there would be a major hardware chain open somewhere I had zero desire to try to find one right now. I found my original good mood draining fast, so I pulled over on a street that had a festive looking restaurant (closed) and a tiny coffee shop that had just opened up. I wasn’t a coffee drinker, but I loved sipping herbal tea. Sure enough they had several options, and I got a Jasmine Orange blossom mix with honey. There was a cutesy looking couple sitting at one of the three tables inside, and I went to sit underneath the awning out front. There were two café tables with seating for three at each. I was the only one sitting outside, and I slumped into the chair with my legs crossed and watched the drizzle create puddles on the pavement. I closed my eyes and inhaled the moist, earthy scent and let it mingle with the fruity smell of my tea. For once the temperature was a comfortable mid 70’s, and I allowed myself to relax and just enjoy the unexpected gift of nature.

With a jolt I opened my eyes and hastily looked around me. I hadn’t heard anything, but all my senses reacted as if there had been a crash. A car lazily meandered down the road, and other than that I saw nothing out of the ordinary –a man out jogging, his dog happily splashing about the puddles, a woman scurrying to a nearby shop, huddled underneath her umbrella -- but I couldn’t shake the feeling that something had happened. Then I saw it – in an alley directly across from me stood a shadowy figure – and although I couldn’t make out any features I knew it was the same figure I saw the other day. Despite the moderate temperature, a chill swept over me and a sudden pang of nausea gripped my stomach. The shadowy form moved in a languid manner, as if it was actually swimming through the rain, and a rise of panic seized my throat. For some reason I was terrified that this thing would approach me. I let out a nervous chuckle, trying to shake myself from the sudden spell. The shadow became more distinguishable, taking on the outline of a man, and I rose from my seat, determined to make a bee-line for my car. Another car passed, and as quickly as the figure appeared, it was gone.

Instantly the nausea and terror subsided, and I vaguely became aware that I was shaking. I looked around me to see if anyone had noticed my apparent lapse in sanity, and was relieved to find myself alone. I sat back in my seat and took a gulp of scorching liquid and yelped as it burned my tongue. I let out a sigh – this had promised to be such a good day, and already I had gotten semi-lost, been scared witless by a maybe imaginary apparition, and scalded my tongue. And it wasn’t even 9am yet. I thought that I should maybe just go inside and ask directions to the nearest home hardware store grab a window unit and get back home.

It was at this point one of the most intriguing women I have ever seen rounded the corner, looked directly at me and smiled. I looked behind me to see if someone had come out from the coffee shop, someone who perhaps knew and expected her, but I was still by myself. I looked back at the woman and she gave another smile as she neared me. She was tallish; perhaps around five foot nine, and had creamy copper-colored skin advertising her apparent Native American heritage. It looked as if she was in her late twenties, but the way she carried herself commanded an immediate respect. She wore her long onyx colored hair up in two coiling buns high on each side of her head, secured with leather straps, and she had on a long, flowing white dress with delicate embroidering on the bodice, belted with a red leather belt, accompanied by a black umbrella. She had Cocoa colored eyes, ruby lips and two high cheekbones bordering a strong, straight nose. She was strikingly beautiful, and she was heading straight for me.

“Hi! Sorry I’m late, have you been waiting long?”

“No,” I said, “I mean, are you meeting someone here?”

“Oh! I’m sorry . . . yes I’m supposed to be meeting someone here about my job posting. Actually I thought I would be late, and when I saw you here I was so relieved that I hadn’t missed you, only you’re not her at all!” She gave a throaty laugh and took the seat across from me and looked around.

“I don’t suppose you saw anyone here earlier,” She asked, shaking the excess rain from her umbrella.

“No I didn’t, though I’ve only been here fifteen minutes or so myself. There’s a couple sitting inside,” I offered.

“No, she would be out front. Well, maybe she’s running late herself. I should probably wait a little to make sure I guess.” She threw me smile full of radiant white teeth, “Do you mind if I sit with you and wait?”

“Sure, I guess.”

She reached over and offered me her hand, “My name’s Jodi, by the way. Jodi Hope.”

“Hi Jodi, I’m Ivy Sparks,” I said and took her hand in my own.

“Ivy Sparks,” she said, testing the name out, “that’s got a ring to it, I like it.”

“Um, thanks, I like yours too,” I said smiling. There was something about her that made me feel at ease, like I was reconnecting with an old friend rather than meeting a somewhat dauntingly beautiful stranger. I studied her face as we made small talk. She had a broad face and square jaw, and her features were quite strong, yet there was a warmth in her eyes that bespoke genuine kindness. She was both imposing and welcoming, an interesting mix. I liked her immediately.

“So,” I said, “you were meeting someone here about a job?”

“Yes, I’m looking for some help in my studio. Well, actually the shop portion of my studio. And I thought this girl was really interested, but it doesn’t look like she’s going to show. It’s really too bad because I was hoping to get someone to start helping out really soon.”

“What kind of studio do you run?”

“My brother and I own a ceramics store. We make ceramic plates, bowls, décor, that sort of thing. We’ve been making the product and running the shop at the same time, but our online demand has grown so much that we really want to be able to concentrate on the creative process, and have someone help out with the shop and orders.”

With a shock I realized that in fact, yesterday, I had meant to come to town and look for a job, or at least get a feel for what was available, and I had completely spaced it. Until this moment I had no recollection of having such an idea, but this seemed like too perfect an opportunity to pass up.

“Actually, Jodi, I had been meaning to look for another job, and that sounds like it could be right up my alley.” I took a tentative sip of my tea. It was now lukewarm, but I kept sipping it as I watched Jodi over the rim of my cup.

“Really? What kind of work are you doing now?”

“Right now I’m doing inventory and Customer Service at a Lube and Tire shop, but before that I actually managed a small glass shop and its online orders, and I loved it. Honestly, that was exactly the kind of thing I was hoping to be able find here.”

Jodi Looked at me appraising for a long moment then nodded.

“Do you think you could come by today with references?”

“Sure! Um, where is it?”

“Actually,” she laughed, “it’s just down the street. That’s why I thought this would be a good place to meet. If you don’t mind the rain, why don’t you walk with me and I’ll show you the shop?”

It was my turn to laugh as I glanced up at the gray sky, “I love the rain. That’s why I decided to sit outside. It’s been so hot lately that this is a welcome relief!”

She nodded thoughtfully, “It has been a hot summer, it’s true. Are you from around here?”

“No, I recently moved here from a small coastal town in Oregon.”

“Ah, then I’m guessing this has been rougher on you than the rest of us. Our normal summer average temperature is actually below ninety degrees; even in our hottest month which is July. This is definitely a-typical heat for this late into August.”

I stared at her in disbelief, “Um, but isn’t this a desert? Isn’t it always this hot?”

“Not at all, we’re actually the highest capital city in the U.S.. Not only do we get all four seasons, we can get quite a bit of snow in the winter. I know it’s much drier than you’re used to, but honestly our summers are not normally this hot. And even in the summer one day it could be ninety degrees and sunny, and the next day it might be rainy and low seventies, like today,” she smiled.

We rounded a corner and stopped in front of a white-washed adobe building with large antique windows. A sign over the door said “A Little Joy”. The front door was an aqua-marine and it sat between two large potted flowering plants – they looked like lavender, and quickly a familiar pungent, calming scent confirmed it. In the windows were displays of ceramic pots, platters, and vases – most of which were painted in vivid hues. One plate in particular caught my eye; it was painted a deep violet and in the center was a bird in scarlet and marigold. The colors were so bright, and the bird so lifelike I had to stop and take a closer look. Through the drizzle I peered into the bird’s eyes, and I swear there was a light behind them – I felt that at any moment the bird would hop right off the plate and fly on into the rain.

Jodi noticed my intent stare, “Do you like it?”

I closed my mouth, aware I was stupidly taking in rain while I admired the art work, “it's so life-like.”

“June will be glad to hear you like it.”

“June?”

Jodi smiled her dazzling smile and replied, “My brother, Juniper, but I call him June. My parents both had names starting with the letter J, so they continued the tradition with us.”

Jodi unlocked the aqua-marine door and stepped into the shop, hitting a light switch. A soft glow filled the room, dimly illuminating the many shelves and tables playing host to more intricate art work. She hit another light switch and spotlights boomed on, showing off highlights of the collection. I walked into the middle of the room mesmerized by what I can only call the magic of the place. White walls supported rows of rustic looking shelves, one wall housing plates, another bowls, another cups, and another miscellaneous pieces. I was surrounded by platters painted vibrant shades of indigo, chartreuse, fuchsia, sunburst, and a myriad of other colors; some I knew well, and some I couldn’t name at all.

Each plate or bowl or cup was also adorned by some sort of natural element – birds, flowers, plants, dragonflies were all abundant. Also on display were jugs, vases and such, and if they weren’t painted brilliant colors they were at least etched with complex designs – nature being the most common theme. One jug had etchings of flocks of miniature butterflies and dragonflies swarming in organized swirls around tiny trees and miniscule flowers; I couldn’t believe such realistic detail could come in such small dimensions. I noticed Jodi was watching me, with one corner of her mouth raised.

“Oh” I said, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to dawdle, but these are just so beautiful! I’ve never seen anything like them before. Do you paint them yourself?”

“June and I each do our own, although June prefers throwing the clay more than the detail the art requires, though as you saw yourself he is a very talent artist as well.”

I walked over to a serving plate and picked it up to more fully study it. It was painted bright crimson, and in the center was a butterfly taking up the bulk of the serving area. The butterfly itself looked as if it could have just flow in and settled in the plate, resting before it left again. It was several different hues of blue, green, and yellow, outlined in black. I turned the plate over, admiring the silky finish of the glaze, and saw on the back in small painted print ‘With Joy’.

“Did June do this one too?”

“That one’s mine,” said Jodi. “I have a thing for butterflies.”

“You can never grow out of liking butterflies.”

Jodi walked to the counter where an antique cash register sat and put her umbrella and purse behind it.

“True,” she said, “but they have a special meaning that few people realize; they symbolize resurrection and rebirth. To me they’re a reminder that personal change is always possible, and necessary for growth; and also that this physical life is only a small part of our existence.”

I looked back down at the plate, bending closer to hide my embarrassment. I suppose as an artist it was easier to find symbolism and meaning beyond the obvious in everyday items. I had never been any kind of philosopher, and I couldn’t draw or paint worth a lick. The only form of art I was involved in was music. I had twelve years of Cello playing under my belt, but I hadn’t touched it since my mom died. And while I loved music and I had adored playing the cello the only philosophical meaning I found in it was the joy of losing self to the sound.

Jodi laughed and said, “I’m sorry Ivy, I tend to be very straight forward and I always seem to say things that end up making people uncomfortable. What can I say? I guess I’m a true artist at heart.”

I smiled back at her, “Don’t worry, I guess I just never would have seen something in that light. It is a kind of beautiful way of looking at the mundane.”

The uncomfortable mood lifted, and I put the platter down and joined Jodi behind the counter.

“Alright,” she said, “basically what you would be doing is lying in wait for customers to walk through the door and help them with what they’re looking for. Also, you would need to update the online orders with these tablets here, put them in the cubby by the studio door for June and I to fill them out, and ship them out every Wednesday. It’s far from being demanding on its own, it’s just trying to juggle doing that along with creating everything that poses a problem.”

“That’s pretty much exactly what I was doing in Oregon, and even now at the Lube shop. I don’t think I’d have any problems at all.”

“Well, I’ll tell you what, let’s have you fill out the paper work, and if you can start Monday, just bring your references then.”

“Sure, that sounds great . . . if you feel comfortable hiring me on the spur of the moment.”

“I’ve got a really god feeling about you. And I always trust my gut,” she added with a wink.

I left promising to come back at noon on Monday, and feeling really good about it. I also got directions to a local hardware shop and a promise that I would find the best prices around. Sure enough I got such a great deal on the unit I bought two – one for the front room and one for my bedroom. I even got one of the guys to schedule an appointment for later in the day to come install them for me, which was fabulous as I hadn’t even considered how I would get them set up. Many things I could do on my own, but I was hopelessly inept when it came to tinkering around with tools and reading manuals. The sales guy helped me get them in my car and I drove off in the drizzle, happy at the turn of events that day. I decided to drive by the shop to let Mike know that I found another job and wouldn’t be in Monday – he would be fine with it, he knew that I would most likely not give any notice.

I drove up to the shop and found a note in the window ‘Out for Lunch, back in 30’. For some reason, Saturdays were really slow for the shop and often only one or two guys worked; looked like they both took lunch at the same time today. I rummaged my keys back out of my purse and walked quickly to the counter and found a pad of paper and wrote, ‘Mike, I found another job, I start Monday so I won’t be able to make it in then – Ivy’. I looked at it for a moment, maybe it was too abrupt, but Mike would understand – that was one of the best things about Mike, he we was always so easy-going. I looked around at the darkened shop with its tire displays, cheap seats, old magazines and empty candy dispenser; I was glad I didn’t have to come back to work here. Maybe I shouldn’t feel so relieved – this shop was my dad’s pride and joy, but I couldn’t deny the calm that came over me as realized I would not be coming back here to work. I stood for a minute taking everything in and listening to the rain hit the windows. I didn’t know when the guys had gone to lunch, and realized they could be back any minute. I scurried out from behind the counter and made my exit; I’d rather not say any insincere goodbyes.

Chapter 4

The rain had picked up over the past few minutes, and I used my purse as a sort of umbrella as I ran out the door, hastily locking it as I went. I turned and ran across the flooding pavement, realizing as I reached my car that I had left the keys in the door. I silently cursed to myself, and ran back to retrieve the dangling keys from the shop door. As I turned again I saw the now recognizable form of a man shrouded in shadow and rain. I couldn’t deny it, someone was following me. Panic rose in me as I considered the fact that I was alone. I briefly mulled over the possibility of retreating back into to the shop, but didn’t think that was a good idea. If someone was willing to follow me, stalk me, for several days, who’s to say they wouldn’t break into an empty shop to get to me? I glanced around to see if anyone was nearby, but I couldn’t see any sign of life. I looked back and the figure appeared to be gone, but my nerves were still on edge, and all my senses told me he was still there; in fact just as I had noticed previously, I was accosted by waves of nausea, and this time I thought my head would explode from the pain. I was shaking, and with everything I could muster I moved my left foot, and then my right, and finally sprinted in the direction of my car. My foot caught on an uneven section of the pavement, and then I was falling face first onto it.

A hand grabbed my arm from behind and I yelped as I jerked around and forward, determined to use my legs for all they were worth against my assailant.

Or Savior.

“Are you okay? That was quite a nose dive you just took.”

The most beautiful man I had ever seen, in person or otherwise, was hovering over me with his hand extended.

“What?”

The gorgeous stranger threw me a dazzling smile and said, “That was an impressive fall you just took. Are you okay?”

He leaned forward to offer his hand, and I stared at it dumfounded.

“Um, sure, I’m fine,” I stammered and allowed myself the opportunity to take Mr. Beautiful’s hand. He heaved me upright, forcing me to stare up into his lovely face. And up, and up. He was tall, well over six feet, and had longish blonde hair in a GQ sort of way, and icy blue eyes that harbored hints of being sardonic, and that crinkled at the corners as he grinned at me. He also had a fabulous set of straight white teeth and cheek bones that had surely been taken straight from some renaissance sculpture, and a flawlessly chiseled jaw. In spite of my recent fall and current confusion I smiled right back into that perfect face. Men that looked like this came along once in a lifetime if ever at all. This was obviously my lucky day.

He chuckled and I felt my face flush, which is interesting because I can’t recall ever having that sensation before. I had to get a grip on myself. Naturally I grinned even wider, still holding onto hand.

“My name is Morgan”, he offered, and I nodded somewhat stupidly in response. He laughed outright this time and continued, “Morgan Eastman. May I ask what your name is?”

I felt myself nod again, without actually answering him. Okay, I was star-struck, but this was ridiculous. Time to get my head on straight here.

“Sorry, yeah, my name is Ivy. Ivy Sparks.”

I shook head a bit to give the impression that maybe I was just a little brain addled from the fall, rather than by nature. “Actually,” I added, “I thought someone was following me.” I looked back over in the direction the shadow man had been standing, my eyes searching every crevice I could see, but there was no one. I looked back up at Morgan and saw that he was looking at me with a concerned expression on his face.

“Are you sure you saw someone?”

“Yes, he was standing over there, right there between the dumpster and the alleyway.”

Morgan peered through the drizzle, his hand blocking the rain from hitting his eyes. “Really, you saw someone there? Well, it looks like whoever it was is gone now.” He glanced at my pant legs which had been torn at the knee and bloodied, then turned my hand over examining my scraped up palm.

“I know he’s not there now, but he was there, and I’ve seen him before – I think he’s following me.”

Morgan looked at me, his brow furrowed, “You’ve seen this person before? Here?”

“Yes, once, but again today in town, that’s why I was running; if someone would follow me all the way here, who knows what else they might do?” I realized he was still holding my hand, and I slid mine out from his and rubbed some of the blood off. Morgan glanced down at me again, noting my appearance.

“Let’s get you out of this rain and clean your cuts.”

I allowed him to lead me back to the shop, and I unlocked the door letting us in. I didn’t want to be here when people came back from lunch, so I was determined to make this as fast as possible. I briefly wondered why I had let him bring me back inside at all, and then I looked at his face and remembered; oh yeah, he was gorgeous. Silly me letting someone’s physical appearance sway me at all, but this was not your normal someone, and if some random beautiful guy wanted to go out of his way to spend time with me, who was I to spurn that?

“The restroom is over here,” I said leading the way around the counter. I wet a couple of paper towels, and let him take over dabbing at me knee as I reclined against the sink. When he was done he looked up at me flashing his 1000 watt smile, and started dabbing at my palm.

“All of this to get away from some mystery man? You never know he may have been a secret admirer,” he said winking.

“Yeah, I really doubt that. I don’t get out enough to have met any secret admirers. Plus, I don’t know, the times I saw this guy he was sort of covered in shadow – really hard to make out any features, and I got this really sick feeling.” Morgan looked at me quizzically with one side of his mouth turned up. “I know, it sounds bizarre, but I’ve always had pretty strong instincts. This guy gave me the major creeps, beyond all creeps. I really felt like I would be sick. I was actually terrified.” I felt sheepish admitting this to a (hot, gorgeous) stranger, but Morgan had gone out of his way to help me, and I was intensely relieved his was the hand that grabbed me in the parking lot.

“Hmm. Well, it looks like you’re going to live through this; I’m pretty sure most of the gravel and dirt are out now. I think though, that maybe I should take you to get something to eat. You know, make sure your strength is back and all.” He was grinning at me, and I swear my heart melted then and there. Spending more time with Morgan in any sense seemed like an awfully good idea to me, but I felt awkward too. I can honestly say that no one of Morgan’s caliber had asked me out before. Ever.

“I don’t know. You probably have somewhere you need to be?” I tried to sound nonchalant, but I’m pretty sure I failed at that as I realized I was blushing again.

“The only place I need to be is sitting down with you getting something to eat. Come on, there’s a place down the street; it caters in prime Mexican food. I’ll grab an umbrella from my car if you don’t mind walking.”

I shook my head and followed him back outside, locking up behind us. I looked around, Mike was nowhere to be seen, and that was good; I had no yearning whatsoever to try to make this introduction. I could see it now: Hi Mike, sorry I’m dripping wet all over your lobby floor. See, I thought I saw some shadow man and I freaked out and ended up sprawled out face down on the pavement. This here gorgeous fellow is Morgan Eastman. He happened to witness me falling flat on my face, and felt sorry enough for me he insisted on wiping up my bloody knee. Now he’s taking me to lunch, to make sure I’m not permanently brain damaged. Yeah. I didn’t think that would turn out too well.

I stood by the door while Morgan ran to his car, which happened to be a sleek black Lexus that looked like it had white leather interior, and grabbed a large green umbrella and rushed back for me. We headed down the street, walking absurdly close to each other to ensure we were both out of the rain. I folded my arms across my chest, trying to think of something clever or interesting or at least not stupid to say. In the end I thought it wiser to keep my mouth shut, and luckily Morgan spoke first.

“I hope you like Mexican food, this place is great.”

“Oh yeah, who doesn’t love tacos and burritos?”

Morgan chuckled, “well this place certainly has both of those, but this is not your typical fast food kind of Mexican cuisine. The carnitas chimichanga is to die for,” he added smiling down at me.

“Well I like chimichangas.”

“Trust me; if this doesn’t become one of your new favorites, your lunch is on me.”

I glanced up at him sharply to find he was grinning ear to ear. “Just kidding, it’s on me anyway; I just wanted to see your reaction.”

I eased a little, shifting my purse to put my hands in my back pockets. “Well, that’s good, since I’m not in the habit of paying to be abducted by strangers.”

He laughed, and I relaxed further, allowing myself to take him in more fully. Now that I was aware of it, he had to be around six foot three, and his well developed muscles were barely hidden beneath a long sleeve navy-blue knit top. He had on fitted boot-cut jeans that looked like they came right off the rack from some designer store, and his black square toed shoes were gleaming, despite the rain. His legs were obviously strong and toned, and they supported a remarkably well developed rear-end. Whoa there girl, eyes ahead now. I looked back up to his face and saw him watching me from the corner of his eye. I felt my cheeks burn, and nervously reverted to folding my arms in front of me. He smiled again and took my arm, “come on, it’s just around the corner.” He lengthened his stride, and I hurried to keep up as we rounded the corner and came to the restaurant which was painted bright red and sandwiched between two stucco businesses.

I looked around as Morgan closed the umbrella. The windows were tinted to nearly black, and a neon sign read “Spice”. The door was open, leading to a dark lobby. Morgan took the lead and requested a booth for two, and we were led back to a conclave in the wall with a short booth. The table was bare aside from several bottles of hot sauce and silverware for two wrapped in white linen. Despite its rather earthy exterior, this was a bit more upscale than I was accustomed to. I definitely felt out of place in a black stretch tee and now ripped jeans. Morgan, however, seemed oblivious and scooted in motioning for me to take the bench opposite him.

I eased myself in, and out of nervous habit, took the silverware out of the napkin and placed it in my lap – before our waitress even handed me my menu.

“Hi, my name is Farah, and I’ll be waiting on you today. Can I start either of you off with something to drink? We’re featuring our Tawny Port today, would either of you care for a sample?”

“Oh, no thanks, I don’t drink,” I stated hurriedly.

She looked at Morgan, and he shook his head, smiling. “Two sparkling waters please,” he said, and she left to give us a minute to peruse the menu.

“You don’t drink? I hope you’re old enough,” he said jokingly raising his hands as if in surrender.

“Oh, no, I mean, yes I’m old enough, I’m twenty two. I just . . . have a thing about it,” I mumbled and pulled my menu up to cover my face.

“I get it, trying to quit?”

“No, never started,” I rushed on, “so what’s good here?”

“Well, it depends on what you’re feeling like. The name of the place says it all, they cater to the spice lovers for sure; do you like spicy food?”

“Sure, I mean I don’t want to be nursing smoldering taste buds for the next few days or anything, but I like a good kick.”

“Why don’t you try the grilled steak tacos with the mango and black bean salsa?”

I looked at that on the menu and nearly choked, it was sixteen dollars on the lunch menu. “Um, are you sure? It looks a little pricey.”

“Of course I’m sure – that’s what you’re getting. And the Caramel Flan, too,” he said in afterthought. I looked that up, the flan was ten dollars. Well, whatever, I wasn’t paying and if Morgan was Mr. Money Pockets and wanted to dish that out on a stranger, well that was his choice I supposed.

“And what are you going to get?” I asked.

“I’m getting the chimi,” he said, “and the caramel flan.”

“We could share the flan if you wanted.”

“Trust me, one bite of the stuff and you won’t be so willing to share it then,” he stated seriously.

Farah came back with our sparkling waters and then and took our orders. She left behind what looked like a large tortilla toasted to a crisp, covered in melted cheese, with three different kinds of salsas. Morgan broke a piece off and dipped it the darkest and thickest salsa. After popping it into his mouth he closed his eyes and exclaimed, “Whoa! That is some potent stuff right there,” then grinned while he repeated the motion. I broke off a small piece and decided on the reddest salsa with lots of chopped cilantro.

“Yum,” I said, “this is amazing!”

“Oh yeah, and you haven’t even had the real food yet!”

I quickly broke off another, larger piece, and scooped up more of the kicky salsa. This bite was even better than the first. Okay, if they could do this to a fried tortilla smothered in cheese I was beginning to see why they could charge so much.

“So, do you come here often?” I asked, trying the darkest salsa. About two seconds later I was painfully regretting that choice; I thought this stuff must be the hottest salsa known to man. I choked a bit and gulped a large portion of my water.

“Ha ha, careful there honey,” he said, “We don’t want you dying on your first visit!”

I nodded, still trying to calm the seizures in my throat.

“But, yeah, to answer you, I come here as often as I can. There are plenty of good restaurants around here, but nothing that delivers the ultimate kick like this place.”

I could believe that, I was starting to think I might have permanent damage to my throat, when the heat finally subsided. Okay, note to self, stay away from whatever Morgan thought had a “kick”.

“What about you? What’s your favorite place to eat?” he asked.

“Well, there was this place back home that made amazing clam chowder, fresh daily, and it had great soup bowls too; but this is actually my first foray into the Santa Fe dining experience.”

“Really? Where’s ‘home’ for you?”

“I’m from a small town on the Oregon coast.”

“And how long have you been here now?”

“Oh, a little over a month and a half now I guess.” Farah came back at that point to refill our glasses and let us know our food should be out in a couple minutes.

“And what brought you to New Mexico?” Morgan asked, finishing off the tortilla flat.

“My dad got sick. I came down to take care of him.”

“And is he doing better now?”

“He passed away two weeks ago,” I said awkwardly. I realized Morgan was the first person I’d told this to, who hadn’t already been privy to the situation. It felt odd, like I was revealing someone else’s secret, and I was eager to move off the subject. “What about you, how long have you lived here?”

“I’ve lived here, on and off, for most of my life.”

“On and off?”

“Well, I’ve lived other places, and my family wasn’t from here originally, but I always seem to come back.”

“Do you still have family here then?” I asked as Farah brought our food. It smelled absolutely heavenly –or sinful, if you thought of what it was about to do to your body; which I didn’t. I looked greedily at my two huge soft tacos stuffed with grilled steak and topped with a mixture of black beans, corn, mango and cilantro and large dollops of sour cream, and I inhaled deeply, savoring the sweet assault to my senses.

“I have one sister that lives with me, yes.” Morgan took out his silverware and neatly folded his napkin in his lap, and began to make small precise cuts in his food, raising them to his mouth carefully so as not to waste any morsel. I had already begun shoveling my food into my mouth and had managed to drop several large chunks of steak on my plate in the process. I cleared my throat, forcing myself to slow down.

“You two live together?” I asked.

“Yes, our family had a large estate and it passed to us. We prefer to keep it in the family, so we share it. It’s hardly a bother as its large enough to house several families. And then there’s the fact that we get along famously,” he added. “Diantha and I were ‘Irish twins’, she was born eleven months after I was born,” he said grinning ruefully. “A lot of people don’t approve of using that term, but we always thought of ourselves as twins separated by a longer time frame than most.”

“Her name is Diantha? That’s beautiful; I don’t think I’ve heard that before.”

“No, it is a pretty uncommon name.” He was a fast but efficient eater, already halfway through his chimi, and without making any sort of mess at all. I had somehow been able to scarf one huge taco without spilling any food on myself, but the table was not so lucky. “Does your name have any special meaning behind it?” Morgan asked.

“Not that I know of,” I shrugged. Ivy wasn’t an enormously popular name. “My mom just said she always liked it.”

Morgan paused then asked, “You said you came down here to help take care of your dad while he was sick?” I nodded and shoveled in a larger bite than was necessary. “Can I ask why you stayed here after he passed?” I chewed slowly while I thought over what exactly to tell him. I liked Morgan already, but I wasn’t sure how deeply I wanted to go into any personal decisions.

“I guess the main reason was money,” I admitted. “My mom died several years ago and I was having a really hard time making ends meet In Oregon. In fact I hadn’t met any ends for a long time,” I added remorsefully. “My dad left me this house and it was already paid for. It seemed like a no-brainer to me.”

“Did you think of selling the house and going back to Oregon?”

I stared at him, taco raised midair, stunned. The thought had never crossed my mind to sell my dad’s house and go back to Lincoln City. I couldn’t believe I hadn’t considered it, and said as much to Morgan.

“Hmm. Well, there must be some other reason you’re here then; the fates have lined up to keep you here,” he added smirking slightly.

“Oh really, what reason could that be?” I said archly, stuffing the rest of my taco in my mouth.

“Well, I’m no psychic, but don’t you think it was a pretty big coincidence that I was the only person around to save you from your specter today?”

“Hey,” I said, “for all I know you were the specter.”

Morgan laughed a deep throaty laugh, “Well, if I had seen you before today I just may have followed you around, that’s for sure.”

I felt the blood rush to my face, and made a rather big show of wiping my mouth with the now fairly soiled napkin.

“Oh, right, because you have nothing better to do than stalk some poor girl you’ve never even met. Right, I can totally believe that about you actually.”

“You can? What gave it away? Was it my creepily good looks?” he waggled his perfectly manicured eyebrows at me, “or was it the grim feeling of impending doom I give off?” He tried to emphasize his ability of menace by scowling, but there was no use, he was fabulously beautiful no matter what he did. I ended up laughing, covering my face with the napkin again so as not to spray sparkling water all over him. I wasn’t entirely successful, and some water came spurting out from under the napkin, causing Morgan to erupt in deep laughter. The rest of the meal was spent making sure every delicious morsel was consumed between more urbane chit chat.

Finally Farah came over with our Flans. They were resting in pools of caramel, and each had a stick of bittersweet chocolate resting on top –it looked incredible. Even though I was fully satiated hunger wise, I scooped a large chunk as soon as it was placed in front of me. I let it slowly dissolve in my mouth, and my eyes closed almost involuntarily in pleasure. It was dense and rich, and felt smooth sliding down as I swallowed it. I took a bite of the chocolate, and found it was darker and more bitter than I expected, but it cut right through the unbelievable sweetness of the caramel. The contrasting flavors heightened the sensory event, and although I fully enjoyed every bite, letting myself savor the flavor experience, I was finished before I knew it. I ate the entire desert with my eyes closed; only opening them long enough to see each bite. Morgan ate his in silence too, and when we finished Morgan looked at me, satisfied by my response to the food.

“Is it safe to say you liked it?” he asked.

“Oh, yeah; that was unbelievable. I had no idea food could be made like that; probably because I’ve never been willing to spend that much money on it. But if I had known that was possible,” I said, pointing to the empty dessert plate, “I would have doled out the cash in a heartbeat!”

“There are a few things worth the extra expense, and I’ve found that good food is definitely one of them,” he admitted.

“I think I’m coming around to your way of seeing things.”

Farah came over with the bill at that point, and I noticed that she had almost completely ignored me this entire time, focusing any looks and words towards Morgan. I couldn’t say I blamed her, any girl with fully working eyes would make a mental bee-line towards Morgan; and I couldn’t say I looked his equal, especially in my humble attire. To his credit, he hadn’t seemed to notice this, which raised him in my already high esteem.

Morgan pulled out an embroidered leather wallet and removed a fifty and a twenty and placed them next to the bill. I felt my jaw drop open, and I hastily took another gulp of water. This was, without question, the most expensive date – lunch or otherwise – I had ever been on.

“Wow, Morgan, this was amazing; thank you so much for bringing me here. I haven’t eaten this well for as long as I can remember!”

“Of course, don’t think about it. I’m glad I was able to be of help; taking you to lunch was the least I could do considering your dire circumstance.” He was trying not to laugh, and his eyes sparkled as a stray bit of daylight hit them.

“Well, maybe you’ll let me return the favor somehow?” I didn’t know if he would want to see me again, maybe he was the kind of guy who could often be found taking strange girls to lunch, feeding the hungry, clothing the poor, walking on water, etc.

“You better not return anything, this was my pleasure,” he said, “but if you really felt like you had to, you could always invite me to dinner sometime.” He flashed his million dollar smile as we got up to leave. I felt a bit giddy; I hadn’t invited a man to dinner or anywhere else unless we had been seeing each other for a while, so that meant I hadn’t invited a man to dinner or anywhere else at all. There’s a first time for everything I guess.

“Would you want to come over for dinner tomorrow night?” I asked. I found I couldn’t bring myself to look him in the eye. There wasn’t a whole lot that could embarrass me, but my track record with the opposite sex had me doubting my ability to hook, line, and sink.

“That sounds wonderful, what a good idea, I’m glad you thought of it.” He was teasing me, but I didn’t mind. I had just had the best date – lunch or otherwise - ever, and I was going to see Morgan again tomorrow. It would take an awful lot to bring me down from this cloud. He took me by the elbow as we left, and he transferred his hand to my back as we made our way to the shop where I had left my car.

Morgan seemed unaware that anything was wrong until I slowed down, staring at the door. As we approached the shop I saw that the sign Mike had posted when they left for lunch was still on the door. A knot began to form in my stomach as I realized Morgan and I had been gone for at least an hour, and the sign had been up long before that. Mike never took a long lunch, he was as dependable as the lunar cycle, and he never deviated from his schedule. I changed my direction in mid stride, making my way to the front of the shop instead.

“They’re still out to lunch?” he asked.

“No, something must be wrong. Mike would never leave the shop unattended this long.”

I fumbled around in my purse for my keys, and finally unlocked the door, letting us in the dark lobby. I flipped on a light and quickly glanced around. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary, everything was just as we had left it earlier. The rain had picked up again, and it was loud, especially as it hit the metal roofing of the garage. On a whim I decided to go check out the garage. I could tell it was dark in there too, so I didn’t expect to find anything in particular, but I just couldn’t imagine what would keep Mike from work for so long.

I unlocked the door leading into the garage, and hit the light switch, then whirled around as I struggled to keep my lunch in my stomach. Morgan came up behind me as I was gagging and let out a low whistle.

My cloud was officially burst, and I plunged back to earth.