“No. I can’t eat another bite. You’re a good cook,” she said after patting her stomach. “I better get home while I can still stand. I’ve got a feeling I won’t have any problems sleeping tonight.”
Chapter 9
Saturday morning Sherelle slipped into black wide-legged slacks and a matching blazer belted at the waist. In front of the bathroom mirror, her eyes widened with approval at the yellow and white checkered scarf around her neck and the white one on her head. She tilted her head side to side and made various facial expressions to ensure she looked good at any angle. After the doorbell rang, she opened the door then froze.
Lennie didn’t look anything at all like the soldier who’d rescued her in Egypt, or the gentleman on the train, or the hospitable cook who’d fed her dinner nights ago. A tall specimen with an adorable smile, he first shocked then debilitated her.
The opening in his white button-down shirt exposed a sliver of his clavicle. For a split second, she had a strong urge to run her index finger across it in hopes his chestnut flesh collected on her fingertip. His shirtsleeves folded up his forearm. A black-faced silver-trimmed watch with its numerous gadgets flaunted his masculinity. Fresh-pressed jeans sported a sharp crease before it formed a slight fold right above his shoes.
Lennie bent his knees and leaned forward until their eyes met. “Is everything alright?”
His inadvertent movement disturbed a wonderful aroma that impeded Sherelle's concentration. A touch of his hand dispelled her look of surprise and prompted her to grab her black and white square tote off the kitchen counter.
“Yes, I’m fine,” she snapped. “You ready?”
“Sure.”
# # #
Inside the restaurant, Lennie pulled out a chair for Sherelle then they ordered iced tea and toyed with items on the menu. Lennie suggested chocolate cake and French fries. Sherelle proposed a child’s grilled cheese sandwich with ice cream. Their antics resembled elementary kids at a lunch table—a perfect antidote to relax their nervous tension.
“Ready to place your order?” the waitress asked.
“What do you recommend? And be serious,” Sherelle warned. At every opportunity, she watched him. His cologne had seeped into her jacket sleeve and on her right hand. He had placed his hand on her arm then clutched her right hand to help her in and out of his black SUV.
“Try the lobster bisque. All my first dates like it.”
Dates? Sherelle’s heart almost stopped. She readjusted in her seat several times before she finally spoke. “I don’t think so,” her tone sharp. “I’ll have chicken noodle soup with the Waldorf Salad.” She shoved the menu into the waitress’ hand.
“I’ll have the same.” Lennie handed the waitress his menu. “So, you’re not in the mood for lobster bisque.”
“It occurred to me that we’re not really on a date,” she said with a great deal of emphasis. “So, why bother with your little rituals.”
“Are you jealous?” he teased, finding her displeasure charming.
“Aren’t you being presumptuous? I’m more curious than anything.”
“Curious? Why concern yourself with two dozen mindless women?”
“How many first dates have you had?” she asked, alarmed.
“In my entire lifetime?”
“If you want to go back that far, yes.” She reached for her tea.
“Three before I got shot in Egypt. Two or three dozen since then.”
Sherelle choked on her tea. “Two or three— Are you serious? So the rescue brought you fame. And to think I felt sorry for you.” She folded her arms, indignant at Lennie’s impropriety. “Why so many?”
“Why feel sorry for me?”
“Because you almost got killed in Cairo. Now I find out you’ve used your wounds to attract women.” She leaned forward and whispered. “You ought to be ashamed of yourself.”
“That’s not quite how it happened.” Lennie crossed his legs and sat back, a mischievous grin on the verge of exploding into boisterous laughter.
“There’s a better explanation?”
“Of course there is.”
“This should be good. Let’s hear it.”
“Every time my best friend and his wife invited me over to their ranch they had a beautiful woman there to keep me company. Against my will, of course.”
“Ha! Of course it was against your will. I’m sure you hated that.” Sherelle smirked.
“I didn’t like it at all. But I felt obligated—”
“Obligated? Humph! Of course you felt obligated. The last thing you want to do, Mr. Williams, is disappoint someone.”
“Like I was saying,” Lennie said, smiling, “I felt obligated to take them out before I finally said ‘thanks, but no thanks.’ Before that, I hadn’t dated much.”
“C’mon, Lennie. You appear to be the kind of man who has a contact list for every day of the year.”
“So, you think of me as a loose cannon? Really?”
“If you recall, when I first met you I was in distress. I noticed and thought nothing except you’d risked your life for me. Now that you tell me about all these dates,” she raised bent fingers to mimic quotation marks, “what am I to think?”
“Are you telling me you never gave me another thought after the rescue?”
“Of course I thought of you. I felt bad you got wounded. I think of you every night when I go to bed.” Sherelle’s shoulders drooped. She sighed. “Matter of fact,” her voice softer, trailing, “I have nightmares about not being able to save you.”
“Did you give me one thought after I saw you on the train the other day?”
“You are, shall we say, an intriguing acquaintance.”
“So you do think about me. What interest you?”
Sherelle leaned forward. “First of all I’d like to know what kind of man goes around the world risking his life for people he doesn’t know. And why?”
Disappointed, Lennie had hoped to get more insight into her personal feelings toward him, not his profession. “Couldn’t I just be a Good Samaritan and we leave it at that?”
“Sounds too simple. I’d also like to know why this Good Samaritan is single. With as many women as you’ve dated in the last year, none of them appeal to you? I’m not buying that. And why are you using your free time to help me shop for a mattress and box spring. Seems to me you should have washed your hands of rescuing people and moved on.”
“You have quite a list. Tell you what, why don’t we let our relationship develop by sitting here and enjoying our first lunch then we’ll go from there. How ‘bout that?”
“I warn you, don’t make me wait too long for those answers.”
Lennie grinned and shivered at her words. “What’s the punishment if I do?”
“I’ll find myself a new hobby.”
Lennie tilted his head back and laughed. “So, I’m a hobby now?”
Sherelle shrugged and pursed her lips.
“I’ll keep that in mind.” He reached for his water. Before he sipped, though he knew the answer, he asked, “You’ve lived in Seattle all your life?”
“Born and raised. It’s a fabulous place. The fishing is great.”
“You fish?”
The waitress laid their soup and salad on the table and Lennie dug in.
“Are you implying that because I’m a woman I can’t possibly know how to fish?”
“I’m just a little surprised, that’s all. I took you for a bookworm.”
“I’m that too, but dad and I go fishing a lot.” At the memory of time spent with her father, she lowered her voice to almost a whisper. “I should say, we used to.”
Lennie cast Sherelle a curious look. “You two sound close.”
“We are. He and mother planned for a boy. But daddy took my birth in stride and taught me everything a man could possibly teach a girl. I even know how to change a flat tire,” she said with pride. She watched as Lennie’s shoulders bobbed.
“Stop laughing. I’m serious.”
“I can see that.”
“You can’t always judge a book by its cover.”
Lennie raised one eyebrow. “Touchè.”
Sherelle remembered how she’d judged his so-called dating practices moments ago. She covered her face then conceded. “I fell right into that, didn’t I?”
“Yes, you did.” Lennie noticed her winsome nose, thick and highly arched eyebrows above almond-shaped eyes beautifully accented with butterfly eyelashes. He reached across the table and pinched a corner of her white head scarf and pulled it nice and slow until it spilled to the floor. God, she’s beautiful. As Lennie curled the scarf in his hands, he searched the restaurant for a distraction, but found nothing to pull him away from the gorgeous creature sitting before him. He had to say something, anything. “I take it you’re an only child?”
“I am. And you?” She reached for the scarf, but he stuffed it in his pocket.
“I have six brothers, remember? I’m the youngest.” Lennie rubbed his fingers together as he envisioned sliding his hand through her thick curls.
“That’s right.” Though she’d easily name twenty things off the top of her head that set him apart from other men, she’d missed something. “Where were you born?”
“Vienna, Austria.”
Sherelle pointed her finger at Lennie in a playful manner and narrowed her eyes. “That’s what I hear in your voice, that—that accent.”
“You probably hear a number of them. I’ve lived in three different countries—Germany, Austria, and America. And I’ve done a lot of traveling. On many occasions, I’ve tried to lose the accents, but I only seem to temper them at best. They’re especially prevalent when I’m tired.”
“What languages do you speak?”
“For one, I’m fluent in German. My father is a chemist and he worked in Germany for years. I spent most of my adolescent years there. My mother is a doctor from Nigeria.”
“Your father is German? How can that be?” she asked as she remembered the portrait of a dark bald man with handsome features in the arms of a woman wearing a colorful headdress.
“No. No. Dad grew up in California, educated at Columbia.” Lennie smiled as he reminiscenced. “Our father told us the story of how grandfather convinced him to leave the country. Grandfather thought dad had a better chance abroad than here in the states. None of us is sure why dad chose Germany, but after he landed a job there he immersed himself in their culture, learned the language, and became a successful chemist. Like my grandfather, he stressed education, but he also felt a need for us to communicate with the world. So, he and my mother saw to it that each of us be fluent in at least two languages. I went overboard and learned five, if you count English.”
“Are you kidding me? What are they?”
“English, Spanish, Russian, French, and German.”
“When I lived in Cairo, I could barely speak enough Arabic to get food from the market. I think it’s wonderful you know so many languages. Your grandfather would be proud. Have you ever considered tutoring? Would you be willing to teach me a sentence or two in each one?”
“Sherelle, I don’t want to spend precious time teaching you a language,” Lennie said in a soft even tone. “I’d rather invest time getting to know the woman inside you.”
Sherelle dabbed her lips with the white napkin, holding it there, conveniently using it to give her face time to cool. She considered Lennie’s tone, not his words, and that expression on his handsome face, that dreamy look in his satiny globes.
“Now, tell me about Cairo. I know I’ve asked you this more than once, but I need help understanding why you didn’t leave sooner. I still don’t get it.”
Thoughts of Cairo dumped a load of guilt at her feet. She didn’t want to discuss the rescue, or recall the bloody images she’d seen in her dreams of Major Laurence Williams bleeding to death. In a swarm of emotions, she looked away.
“It’s okay if you don’t want to talk,” Lennie said as he watched the joy in her eyes darken into a quiet demented torture. From Lennie’s vantage point, two things stood between them—Cairo and his inability to fly. If they failed to break through those barriers without dealing with them, then he might as well treat her like all his other dates and take her home.
He cringed at the possibility of never seeing Sherelle again. He tried to rub the ache rising in his chest, but he received no relief. He stuck his finger in an opening in his white shirt and rubbed harder. He still couldn’t reach it. At that moment, Lennie knew his need for companionship far outweighed his desires to strap on Army gear and fly dreadful hours across the oceans to rescue people he didn’t know, and soon forgot. It hadn’t occurred to him until now, that maybe, God had sent Sherelle to save him.
“I understand if you don’t want to talk,” Lennie said, apologetic, “but we need to get pass this. In the end, I think it might come as a relief for both of us.”
“Will you hold the reasons against me?” Sherelle dabbed moisture from her eyes.
“Why would I do that?”
“I don’t want you to think that I’m some mindless bimbo determined to commit suicide. I didn’t use any common sense. I was downright reckless.”
“Let me hear your story first. I’ll let you know if I resent sticking my neck out for you or not,” he teased, trying, but failing to lighten their mood.
Sherelle stiffened. “Do you mean that?”
“Of course not. Please, go on. Tell me.”
Sherelle pushed her shoulders back and tried to find room to settle the guilt scrambling to the surface. “I am a bookworm of sorts,” she began. “You were right about that. I ended up going to college then abroad for the summer. I tried to get as much experience and exposure to the world as I could.”
“When did you have time to have fun?”
“I went out . . . in small groups. I had a good time. But I never went on a single date alone. Daddy warned me that young boys don’t become men until they’re thirty.”
Lennie raised one eyebrow. “You always believe what your father tells you?”
“I’m aware his ideas are a little old fashion. So, no, I don’t always believe him. He’s always tried to protect me. He didn’t want me at the mercy of anyone.”
“And yet that’s the very state you were in when I pulled you out of Cairo.”
“I never looked at it that way, but you’re right. Why do we always keep ourselves entangled in the very things we’re trying to avoid?”
“It takes time to get life figured out. The way I see it, though your father didn’t mean to, he practically forced you into becoming a social misfit.”
“I can’t blame daddy entirely for that. My quest to be the best made me self-absorbed and self-centered. Though I know this, I can’t seem to get off that Ferris wheel.”
Lennie leaned forward, a pensive look of concern in his eyes. “There’s something else driving you. What is it?”
Sherelle latched onto the worry in his eyes and leaned toward him. “To tell you the truth, I thought if I stopped I’d quit.” She sat back and let her languid arms fall to her side.
“You did all this for your parents?”
Sherelle tossed her napkin on her plate. “I can’t put this on my parents. I knew the danger if I stayed in Cairo. I had lived in that chaos for nearly a year. But I was more terrified of failing than getting killed.”
“So, you risked your life for a degree?” Lennie’s surly tone also sounded curt.
“You make it sound so callous, so insignificant,” she said as a doleful gaze set in her eyes.
“I really didn’t mean it that way. I apologize.”
“You must understand that I had no idea I’d be risking someone else’s life. I hope you believe me. It never occurred to me that I’d put you or anyone else in danger.”
“You never considered your parents would worry and demand something be done? You were a young female in a
hostile environment, Sherelle.”
“I knew they’d worry. They told me so. But that didn’t translate to a rescue for me. Like I told you in Cairo, I thought I had time. I never meant for anyone to put their life on the line. I didn’t think it’d come to that.” Sherelle thought Lennie had a look of disgust and dismay and felt a strong need to apologize. “I’m so sorry, Lennie. You almost died. After losing your wings, I’m sure a part of you did die. I took away your career. I can’t begin to tell you how that haunts me. I owe you my life.”
The pain in Sherelle's eyes was more than Lennie could bear. To ease her burden, he had to make her feel she was easing his. “What you owe me is a happy face. This is our first lunch together and you’re sitting there crying all over my food. You keep that up and you’ll depress me. Do I deserve that?”
Sherelle wiped her eyes and blew her nose. “You’re right,” she said, holding her hands up. “No more talk of rescues, being shot, and feeling bad. You deserve so much more.”
Relieved, Lennie asked, “What kind of bed are we looking for? Full-size? King?”
“Queen.”
“Then let’s go.”
# # #
Late that evening after a full day of shopping, Sherelle prepared for bed. Though tired, she was happy. The furniture store had fulfilled their promise to deliver the bed at six o’clock. She tipped the two delivery men twenty-five dollars for putting it together.
When her head hit the pillows, she reflected on Lennie’s help to choose a beautiful headboard, mattress and box spring, a nightstand, sheets, a bedspread, and an electric blanket. They laid on at least ten mattresses before deciding on one, teasing and taunting one another over their decisions. Either he thought the bed too soft or she thought it not wide enough—switching from a queen to a king then back again.
Sherelle turned on her side and stared out the window. She had forgotten to lower the blinds. It didn’t matter. The light August rain relaxed her and Lennie’s face reappeared in her mind. She wanted to know his history, his childhood, more about his six brothers, what led him to Washington, D.C. and Special Forces.
She hadn’t noticed, but she patted her pillow as though it needed soothing. Dampness cooled her face. After she wiped away a tear, mounting conflicts with her personal life and her professional career became clear. Is that why she cried? Was she mourning? Was fate destroying her excess baggage and breathing new life into her? She had only known one goal. That goal had settled so deep within her that she no longer had to think it through. It seemed automatic. No veering off course. No detours. This week, however, a shift had occurred. And fate hadn’t asked permission.