When she turned and looked into his eyes, for a brief moment they shared an unspeakable tenderness. Drawn to him as though he had physically outstretched his arms and pulled her in, she strode toward him. Found it impossible to avoid the longing lurking behind his gaze. “Lennie, what could possibly hurt you more?”
“The thought of not seeing you again.”
“How can you say that? I took something precious from you. Though I didn’t mean to, I hurt you. I’ll never be able to get over that. I acted irresponsibly. I can’t forgive myself for the pain I’ve put you through.”
“I’ll help you with that.”
“How?”
“I’ll love your guilt away.” Lennie took a step forward and reached for her.
Sherelle stared at his hand and tussled with salty droplets landing in corners of her mouth. She fought even harder with his forgiving heart.
Lennie placed her hand in his and kissed her palm. “I don’t mean to scare you when I say this, but when I told you I only had three steady dates, I failed to say I never loved any of them. Not the way I’m falling in love with you.”
Sherelle jerked her hand away, folded her arms then faced a large gap in the trees.
“Love seems to come easy for you. For me? If I’m not putting out fires, I don’t know how to function. I can’t even offer you enough of my time. Lennie, what on earth can I give you?”
“Give me your love. I don’t need anything else.”
Sherelle lifted one hand, pleading to walk alone for a while. She followed a trail for at least a half mile, stopping several times to wipe tears. She questioned her feelings. Declared if this misery resembled love, she could do without it. What she felt had no similarities to tales she’d read as a little girl. Joy seemed afar off. Happy endings, nonexistent.
Sherelle made a fist. She had to get a hold of herself. The second this weekend came to an end, she’d do everything in her power to concentrate on nothing but work. Randall Osborne wanted news; something compelling, something no one else had.
Her entire psyche gravitated to the assassination plot and wouldn’t let go. Sherelle’s cloudy eyes scanned the terrain as her journalistic juices leaked questions. She needed to know who the United States planned to assassinate and where. She thought of trying to worm her way back into Lennie’s apartment. Uncomfortable with that idea, Sherelle shook her head. There had to be a better way. Surely someone at the Defense Department knows about the plot. She needed to call her source and have him . . . .
Sherelle stopped and turned around. What was she doing? Lennie had rescued her from death. Death! She declared. And here she stood plotting to expose a story that might end his career—again. The bitter realization she was no more than an overzealous journalist made her sick to her stomach. She couldn’t let go of the job for one waking moment. Without an ounce of strength to control it, a torrential downpour covered her face. If she didn’t stop crying, all that she’d given up for this thirty-two hour excursion would end in ruins.
Gone long enough, she dried her eyes and returned to Lennie. She didn’t know how, but she had to give everything she had to quell her need for a story, and her growing affection for Lennie. That was a tall order, but she told herself she could do it. She must.
After they mounted the bike, Lennie grabbed Sherelle’s hand and kissed it. When he first saw her tear stains, he wanted to scoop her into his arms. Something told him not to. He knew she needed time.
They drove through the Virginia countryside until they reached Richmond where they stayed the night. They said goodnight, promising to meet for breakfast at eight. Fifteen minutes later as Lennie placed his gun inside the drawer and he slipped off his shoes, he remembered something.
“Sherelle, are you still dressed?” he asked after tapping on her cottage door.
“Yes. Why?”
“Can you come out for a minute? I’ve got something I want to show you.”
“Lennie, it’s getting late,” she said, peeping through a crack in the door.
“Come with me. This will only take a minute.”
After she stepped onto the porch, he reached for her hand then led her several hundred yards across the complex until he came to a hill.
“Look out there.”
Along the horizon, band after band of colossal mountaintops stood enshrouded in heavy fog. The night sky was infused with moonlight and unveiled mountain peaks that looked like toes peeking through worn socks. Forestry remained hidden behind layers of darkness. There was no disturbance in the air, on the ground, or between Lennie and Sherelle.
“What do you think? Beautiful isn’t it?” When Sherelle didn’t answer, Lennie looked at her moonlit face. He’d give anything to see her eyes.
“Breathtaking. There are no words. It’s so . . .”
“. . . romantic,” Lennie interjected. “I thought so too when I saw it months ago.” After standing in awkward silence for several minutes, he asked, “How did you like your first bike ride?”
“I enjoyed it very much. Lennie, thank you for this trip. No way I’d stop and enjoy this peace and solitude on my own. It was kind of you to bring me here.” She didn’t know where the thought came from, but she remembered the roses. “You know, I never thanked you for the roses.”
“No, you didn’t,” he said, his eyes now transfixed on the chivalrous scene.
“Lennie.”
“Yes.”
“Thanks for the roses. They were beautiful.”
“I’d give you the world if you’d let me.” The words came from the depth of his soul. He never moved, never looked at her. Felt no fear or a need to rescind his words.
# # #
Sunday morning Lennie dressed then knocked on Sherelle’s door. He looked at his watch. Seven-thirty. He knocked again. As he walked toward the office, he saw Sherelle sitting in the grass not far from the cottage.
His slow approach gave him time to savor her radiant beauty. She looked at peace sitting there, knees up, a light breeze toying with her hair. He pulled out his cell phone, captured the moment then slid the phone back in his pocket.
“Good morning,” he said.
“Morning. How do you feel?”
“Good. I thought I’d be the early bird.”
“Sorry. My body won’t let me sleep past six.”
“Ready for breakfast?”
“Not yet.” She patted the ground. “Come sit. Look at that. Can you see how the sun is rising between the trees right above that mountain?”
It was a brilliant dawn smothered in a cool fall mist, overwhelmed by amalgamated odors of decay, purple asters, anise hyssop, Russian sage, and sharp fumes of fall mums. Eagles soared. Squirrels scampered through trees. Fall colors in spectacular gold and red and orange and green and brown resembled an overworked artist’s weary hand.
Sherelle thought about walking through the wet humus and kick through the leaves. She wanted to pretend to be a kid again. She reneged. The cool weather hindered enjoyment of the childhood folly. A warm fire seemed more appropriate. But thoughts of the two of them cuddling in front of a fire tortured her soul. No matter how hard she tried, the image stayed etched in her mind. She inhaled, hoping to dispel thoughts of romance, but Lennie’s scent filled her lungs.
“It’s so peaceful and beautiful here. You ever sit and wonder where the sun comes from? Or where it sleeps? This time of year is so special. Though everything is dying, new beginnings are sprouting everywhere.” Sherelle didn’t have a clue what she meant. All she knew was she couldn't stop talking.
“I remember walking to school on days like this and kicking leaves,” she continued, “and dropping my books more than once. I tried to keep up with my friends, but I was fascinated by the clear cold days of fall.” When Lennie didn’t respond, Sherelle rubbed her knees then faced him. “I think fall is my favorite time of year. Don’t you think it’s beautiful here?”
“You’re beautiful.”
A delicious tension
locked their eyes. She wanted something to save her from drowning in his bronze prisms. Sherelle tried to look away, but couldn’t.
He’d already incinerated in her amber fire. Even his ears felt ablaze.
“Has anyone ever told you how kind you are? How you make a woman feel energized? I’ve never met a man so gentle and kind.”
“I’m not sure how to take that. You’ve never dated. You have no one to compare me with,” he teased.
“I’d like to meet your mother,” she said, ignoring his banter. “They say you can always tell what a man’s like through his mother. What is she like?”
“Kind, but assertive. Patient. I’d like to think I’m a lot like her.”
“Then you’re more than a woman can ask for.” Sherelle quickly pressed her lips against her knees. She’d intended to think it, not say it.
“When I think of you, I think of royalty. A queen.”
“Ha!” Sherelle laughed and relaxed her shoulders. “With my work hours, I’d say I’m definitely a queen ant.”
“Ants don’t possess your poise and elegance. You’re . . . lovely. I’m beginning to think God sent you to rescue me rather than the other way around. I-I’m falling so deep in love with you.”
Sherelle fell silent. Her shoulders tightened.
Love. In less than twenty-four hours, she’d heard that word thrice. This time it swirled in the air and landed at the base of her neck. Sherelle felt it tiptoe across her lips and set them afire. For a moment, she thought Lennie had somehow wrapped her in a warm embrace without ever moving from his seat. She felt hot, almost feverish. Desperate for ice, a chill, a splash of water, anything that might cool the heat, she spread her fingers and pressed them into the ground. She clawed deep, shivered at the feel of cold earth between her fingers. At last, when all fantasies dissipated, she could breathe, as long as Lennie didn’t mention love again.
Sherelle found this new emotion complicated. It posed questions. Demanded answers. It required time then completely dissolved it. Offered choices then requested a commitment. Sherelle wanted nothing to do with it, but had no power to control her need for it. She enjoyed the challenges of her job—getting up at ungodly hours of the morning. Her fights with Randall Osborne over a layout or debates about a headline felt invigorating. Could love do that?
But could Lennie be right? Had God put them together? And didn’t she want to fall under Lennie’s spell? Her arms stung from the force with which she used to push her hand deep into the soil. After letting go of the earth, she slapped her hands together to shake off the dirt, grass, and dew. Somehow, she had to build enough courage to also slap away distractions threatening her career. She didn’t come this far to leave all she’d worked for blowing in the wind for someone else to chase.
“I guess we better eat. I’m starved,” she said.
After Lennie rose, he pulled her forward, their stare piercing and unnerving. He didn’t remember doing it, but he slid his hand around her waist.
Sherelle dare not stay in his embrace and feel his strong arms chip away her fight. In a fitful hurry, she brushed herself off and made a beeline for the cottage.
Lennie thought he saw a familiar face as he trailed behind, but he shrugged it off. After they found a table in the cottage dining area, a voice matching the face he saw earlier unleashed old feelings.
“Lennie, you sweet thing! Nice to see you again.” When the woman opened her arms, her wool poncho brushed Sherelle’s face.
Lennie folded his lips then threw his napkin on the table and stood. “Angela,” he said, followed by a deep groan.
“And who do we have here?” Angela wrapped her arms around Lennie’s neck as she stared at the pretty woman sharing his table.
“Angela, this is Sherelle Lindsey. Sherelle, Angela Healy.”
“Good morning—” Sherelle extended her hand. Angela turned away.
“Baby, I haven’t heard from you in four years. You look good. We need to talk.”
“There’s no need to talk, Angela. You’re married now.” Lennie tried to pry Angela’s hands apart.
Angela stepped back and stuck out her hand. “Not anymore handsome. We need to go out some time. I’m free next weekend.”
“I don’t think so. Besides, I’m seeing someone.”
“Really?” Angela batted her false eyelashes, protruded her puffy, bright, red lips. “Somehow I don’t believe that. You’re not one to get around.” A horn sounded and Angela cast a wicked look at the tan Jaguar sitting out front.
“I better get back to my breakfast,” Lennie said.
“Call me next week. We need to catch up. I’d love to hear of your adventures.” Angela grabbed Lennie by the collar and kissed him. “That’s so you don’t forget to call me. Talk to you next week!”
Sherelle watched as Angela whisked away and landed in the arms of a tall well-dressed gentleman. She sandwiched her nervous hands between her legs. “Wow! She’s gorgeous. Who is she?”
“My ex.” Miffed, Lennie forced his words between clenched teeth as he made frantic attempts to remove grime from his lips.
Sherelle’s amber eyes ignited into a turbulent volcanic fire then cooled to a translucent gold before turning cold and black. She pushed her shoulders back as though someone might land a right hook across her jaw. “Your ex? You never told me you were married,” Sherelle exclaimed with a great deal of indignation.
“We were engaged.”
“Oh.” A look of dismay washed over her. “You failed to mention that, too. Why?”
“Can we discuss something else?” Lennie picked up his glass of orange juice, drank it then asked the waitress for another.
“What happened between you two?”
“Nothing.”
“Tell me. I want to know.”
“I don’t want to talk about it!”
“Well, you don’t have to be so snippy.” His words stung sharp as needles. Sherelle threw her napkin on the table and proceeded to leave.
Lennie reached for her. Sherelle slipped from his grip. He ran after her. She freed herself again and slammed the cottage door in his face. With his back against the door, he sat and recanted the breakup.
“Sherelle, she only wanted someone of stature. A month after Angela broke our engagement she married the CEO of a car company. Heard it was an elaborate wedding,” Lennie mumbled. “What a waste of money.” He shook his head. “She only told me we were incompatible. It still bothers me because I didn’t see it coming.” Lennie almost fell through the door when Sherelle opened it.
“So why were you so irritated when I asked about her?”
“I’m angry! I never had a chance to fight it out. She called me on the phone, spat out some jargon about we would never make it together, and hung up. I never heard from her again until today. When I saw her, my first inclination was to ask the real reason for the breakup. My second,” Lennie laughed, “to not say a word. Just let her chatter away. That would have incensed her.”
“I imagine she’d be quite peeved with you for not responding to her. Still, she’s beautiful.”
Lennie stood and placed his curled index finger under her chin. “Not as beautiful as you.” Lennie watched as Sherelle looked away. “You really don’t have any idea the amount of power you possess, do you?”
Sherelle stepped off the porch. “Where are we headed today? Sightseeing?”
In disbelief, Lennie watched her walk to the motorcycle and put on her helmet. “We’ll go into Richmond then drive back early afternoon so we can capture more of the landscape. Later, I have a surprise for you.”
“Then let’s get on with it.”
Chapter 12
Lennie parked his bike in Washington Apartment’s underground garage then persuaded Sherelle to stroll with him toward 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue. On the way, they stopped at a newsstand where Sherelle bought a Look Magazine. It had a black and white picture of J. F. Kennedy’s motorcade on the cover and an inset
of Jackie Kennedy Onasis. Sherelle tucked the magazine under her arm then squeezed herself tight.
“Cold?” Lennie saw her bristle against the cool October air.
“A little.” She looked at the dim afternoon sky. “Winter is almost here. Can you believe Thanksgiving is just around the corner?”
“Here.” Lennie covered her with his jacket then squeezed her before he let go.
“What about you?”
“I’m good.”
Handsome and reliable, thoughtful and caring, Sherelle couldn’t help ruminating over what made Angela end their engagement. A man of immeasurable charm and elegance, he also personified grit and bravery while exuding enormous control. He’d not imposed himself on her or spat out directives of what she should or shouldn’t do. He never whined or voiced a need for her to change. And not once had he inflicted guilt for her obsession to succeed.
Sherelle never required a man to open a door for her or thought of the gesture as a passage into manhood. She could open her own door. But when Lennie did it, his confidence lacked the overbearing ego often displayed by men who needed constant approval. He needed no thank you’s or special recognitions. He opened doors and pulled out chairs for Sherelle because he wanted to. What was there not to love about Lennie?
But it occurred to Sherelle, if Angela no longer loved Lennie, did Lennie still love Angela?
“Lennie, can I ask you something about Angela?” she asked as they hurried across the street.
“If you must.”
“Do you still love her?”
Lennie stopped after he landed on the sidewalk. He stared into the streets. “I never loved her,” he said after a prolonged silence. “I didn’t know how to get out of it. But I didn’t want to let go either.” Lennie sighed. “Confusing, but that’s the truth.”
“Would you have married her had she not broken off the engagement?”
Lennie walked with measured steps as he distilled important truths from one year of lascivious behavior.
He admitted Angela made him crazy. She talked too much. She dismissed everything not in line with her agenda. Yet, her beauty silenced a room. Educated at Harvard, she impressed many foreign dignitaries with her knowledge. French ambassadors, taken aback by the elegant manner in which she spoke their language, fell for her charm. She disagreed with their political views just enough to prove she understood their position.