Been In Love Before: A Novel (15 page)

Chapter Thirty-Two

Saturday night the dance studio was empty as Ryan opened the door and walked inside the dimly lit dance hall. He had to admit to himself that he was looking forward to seeing her again; he had told his brothers it was purely professional, but there was just something about her . . . something.

“Alexi? Hello? Anybody there?”

“Ryan? I’ll be right out.” A few minutes later, she came out from behind a curtain drying her hands on an old blue towel. “Hiya, Doc,” she said with a smile. A splotch of white was visible on the tip of her nose.

He laughed.

“What?” she asked.

He touched his nose, then hers. “You have a large white spot on your nose, right here,” he said as he touched the errant spot. She rubbed it with her rag until it slowly disappeared.

“Don’t ask me why I’m painting just before we close,” she laughed. “And I seem to have gotten more on me than on . . .” Her voice trailed off as their eyes met. They stood there, alone, in the quiet. “Let me wash up,” she stammered. “I’ll just be a minute.” She once again disappeared behind the room divider. He could hear her singing in the distance.

When she reappeared, she asked him, “Ready to dance?” turning on some music.

“Yes,” he said as he watched her dance solo across the floor, unable to take his eyes off her. She was very graceful as she danced, showing him the next move she wanted him to learn. Her long dark hair flowed behind her, but it was her eyes that sought to draw him in close. Dark, flashing eyes. Penetrating eyes. Eyes that followed him everywhere. She glanced at him, and he returned her gaze. He walked to her and extended his hand, preparing to dance, and slowly drew her close. The music faded into the background as they began to dance.

He could tell she was nervous.

“Your brothers were in yesterday and finished up their final lesson. They don’t dance as well as you, but they sure try hard to do what I . . .”

“Shhh . . . just dance with me,” he whispered, and held her in his arms.

They began with a rumba, slow, in rhythm with each other, their legs and thighs touching, moving to the beat of the music. He could feel her breasts pressing against his chest. He felt her heartbeat and the rhythm of her heart as if it were his own. The scent of her perfume was intoxicating, drawing him closer. He was lost in her embrace.

Her breath quickened. She danced with him as he held her close.
Just dance, girl, dance as if no one is watching and no one cares.

They danced for over an hour, and as they danced, his hand slid down from her shoulder to around her waist. She began to feel warm. Finally she broke away from him. “Do you mind if we finish another time? It has been a long day for me. I think you’ve learned the slow Latin dances pretty well.”

He looked at her, stepped back, and said, “Are you sure?”

“Yes,” she replied. “Besides, I’m a little tired . . . and very hungry.”

“Okay, I understand. We can do it another day.” He started to walk away but did not want to leave. He turned and asked, “Would you like to have dinner with me tonight? You said you were hungry. If you like Thai food, there’s a great Thai restaurant called the Thai Asian Bistro on Military Trail not far from here.”

She vacillated for a brief moment, then smiled and said, “Yes, I would love to have dinner with you. I love Thai food. Let me change my shoes and lock up. I’ll meet you out in front of the building. I have to set the alarm.”

It was a short ride to the restaurant, and as they entered, it was quiet, since the mad rush of the dinner crowd had long since passed. He asked for a booth so they could be comfortable.

“Very nice. Do you come here often?” she asked as she looked around the quaint establishment.

“Not as much as I used to when my wife . . .” He stopped himself. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay. It’s only natural. How long ago did your wife pass away?”

“Almost two years ago. She was killed in a biking accident. Hit-and-run. Police arrested one person, but it turns out he had a solid alibi. No one else.”

“I’m so sorry. Your daughter told me some of the story when she bought the dance lessons for you and your brothers.” Their waiter brought two menus and poured two glasses of ice water.

“Thanks. The first couple of months were very rough, but my brothers and friends keep telling me to get on with my life and that it does get easier with time. They just never said it would take such a long time.” He picked up the menu and said, changing the subject, “Everything on the menu is good. I’ve never had a bad meal here.”

They sat across from each other, the aroma of spices and herbs filling the air. Cumin, ginger, garlic, krachai, lemongrass, sesame, turmeric, and all the others blended together, welcoming them. A young boy took their order and then brought a pot of tea and two cups to their table.

“Well, I have to tell you, it sure smells great. So, your daughter told me you were . . . a psychologist.”

“No, I’m a psychiatrist, a medical doctor. I share the practice with another doctor by the name of Dr. Mary Gladings. She’s on a cruise with her husband, so we cover for each other. I see some of her patients when they have an emergency.”

“Wow, that sounds interesting.”

“I always wanted to help people and wanted to be a psychiatrist. I believe it helps patients to heal when they can share their thoughts and feelings with a trained professional. Most psychiatrists no longer use talk therapy anymore, but I still like to. However, sometimes patients take it the wrong way.”

“What do you mean?” she asked, leaning in toward him.

He looked around the deserted restaurant and whispered, “Just this week I had a patient get very emotional in a session in my office. I can’t mention any names, due to patient confidentiality, but he pulled a gun on me in my office.”

“Oh my God!” she gasped. “What did you do?”

“I told him that I would have my secretary clear the rest of my schedule to spend more time with him. Then I used a code with my secretary, alerting her that there was trouble.”

“What did she do?”

“She called the police right away, but by the time they got there, he was already gone. I think he was a little upset with me.”

“Were you scared?”

“Yes, with a patient like that . . . you just never know. But it’s true what they say, you do see your life flash before your eyes and wish for . . .” He smiled. “I’m rambling again, sorry.”

“I like it when you relax and ramble,” she said with a smile as their waiter delivered their dinners.

As they tried several dishes, they talked. She was easy to talk to, he thought, like his Gracie. They ordered a glass of wine, then another. He watched her laugh; it was infectious. Their hands briefly touched on the table. He felt something, something that he thought had died with Gracie. He had a strange look in his eyes.

Upon her insistence they split the dinner tab, and he drove her back to the studio parking lot. The night was cool, and the moon shone high above them through the clouds as they walked to her car.

“You still have a partial lesson. When would you like to . . .”

He kissed her awkwardly, then stepped backward. “I don’t know what came over me. I’m so sorry.”

“I’m not,” she responded, as she draped her hands around his neck and moved closer to him. Again their lips met. This time they lingered together, and it was a feeling he had missed so much. He kissed her again. She tasted of honey and roses.

She ran her hand through his hair, and then kissed his cheek, his ear, and his lips. It was something she had wanted to do since she had first met him. “I better go,” she finally said, her voice hoarse with passion.

Ryan opened the car door and helped her inside. “I would like to see you again.”

“I would like that also. What did you have in mind?”

“Well, we could go to a nice fancy restaurant and . . .”

She shook her head and scrunched her face to show her disagreement. “How about a picnic? At the studio, we’ll call it practice. Then maybe have some champagne and candles to celebrate your dance-class graduation.” She smiled broadly.

He wanted to ask her something but did not know where or how to begin. He felt even more awkward than when he had first kissed her.
Here goes.

“Alexi . . .” He stumbled, feeling like an awkward schoolkid. “Alexi, I know that this is short notice and all, but you know that my daughter Mary Kate is getting married next week?”

“Yes, I recall she had mentioned that was the reason she wanted you to brush up on your dancing.”

It had been years since he had asked anyone out on a date. “Well . . . I don’t have a dance partner . . . or a date for the wedding . . . I was wondering if you . . . I mean I would like to . . . would you be available to go . . . want to go . . . with me . . . to . . .”

“I would love to,” she said, then kissed him, then again. “It should be wonderful. I would be happy to go with you.”

He left and could still smell the sweetness of her perfume.
Just go with it, Ryan. Just go with it.

Chapter Thirty-Three

Ryan smiled at the thought of Alexi, watching her drive away, and began to hum a soft song as he pulled out his car keys in the parking lot. The detectives who had been shadowing him all day must have stopped for the evening, because he did not see their ever-present police car. Jeff was probably long gone by now, he thought to himself.

It was getting dark, and he could not wait to see her again.
A picnic? At a dance studio? Candles? Wine? Only Alexi would ever think of something like . . . 
He didn’t see him until it was too late.

The gun felt sharp against his ribs, and the voice was impatient. “Don’t move, Doc. I’ve been waiting for you. Come on, I want you to join me on a little trip. You’re coming with me.” It was Mary’s patient Jeffrey Long.

They began walking; the gun was pointed directly at him. “Don’t do anything stupid, Doc, like you did before. You drive,” he said, jumping into the passenger seat. “Drive up Congress toward Interstate 95, then head north.”

Ryan put the car into gear and slowly pulled away. He drove down Glades before turning off onto I-95N. “What’s this all about, Jeff?”

“Just drive, Doc.” They continued in silence. A few miles later, a state trooper pulled up beside him in slowing traffic and glanced their way.

“Remember what I said, Doc? Smile for the nice policeman,” Jeff told him, putting the pistol on his lap, pointing at Ryan. “And nobody’ll get hurt.”

The cop pulled away into the fast lane.

“Turn off on the next exit, Southern Boulevard. Head east toward the warehouse district.” He made the turn off the highway and, following directions, made a left onto Dixie Highway.

“Slow down, Doc. Obey the speed limit. Don’t want any traffic tickets, now do we?” Jeff leaned forward, looking for his destination. “Here, turn here.”

They passed deserted old warehouses left over from the time when the city was a thriving seaport and shipping area. Now they were just old derelict structures waiting to be redeveloped into shiny new waterfront condominiums.

“Pull over and park here, Doc,” Jeff grunted. “You’re about to get your wish.”

“What wish?” There was a chill in the dense night air, and he rubbed his arms, then wrapped them around himself, trying to keep warm.

“You’ll see. Walk,” he said, shoving the gun into Ryan’s back.

Broken beer and whiskey bottles, along with discarded syringes and hypodermic needles, littered the parking lot.

“This door, Doc,” Jeff said, pointing using a high-powered beam from his flashlight. It was dark as Ryan made his way inside, down some steps, and into the holding bay of the huge warehouse. He heard the sound of mice scurrying away from the approaching light.

A leaky roof caused puddles on the littered floor; his foot sank inside one, filling his shoe with stale rainwater. It smelled of old fish. The flashlight moved from left to right, causing light and darkness to flash and fade. Soon Ryan could make out the outline of a figure ahead, sitting in a chair. They walked around to the front of the metal chair, and in the middle of the old warehouse was a blindfolded man sitting there naked, obviously shivering from both fear and cold. Another chair farther away was piled with clothes.

“Here you go, Doc. The man who killed your wife. Then he ran away, leaving her on the side of the road, alone to die. Then he had his wife and his best friend lie for him. He admits it. Tell him, Rick; tell him now!” Jeff said, raising his voice while poking him with the gun.

“I did it,” the man screamed. “Yeah, it was me. I did it, but I didn’t do it on purpose. It was an accident. I swear to God. You gotta believe me. I’m so sorry, really I am. I never meant to hurt her.” He stopped to catch his breath before continuing, “I didn’t see her on the side of the road. I had a couple of drinks before I left home. My wife and I had a fight, and I left in a rage. Then she felt guilty. That’s why she lied for me; she felt guilty, like it was her fault.” His voice quivered.

“But there’s not a day that goes by that I don’t think about that accident. My God, I hit her and . . . killed her. I live with that every day.” He bent over in the chair, still constrained by the ropes. He began to cry.

“Okay, Doc. You got the guy, dead to rights. He admitted it. Now make him pay for what he’s done. Here.” Jeff handed him the gun. “Finish him.”

Ryan held the cold piece of steel in his hand and walked toward the terrified man sitting before him, blindfolded. His jaw tightened, his temper rose. The killer of his beloved Gracie sat before him. The man who, in an instant, had changed his life forever.
Goddamn him, goddamn him to hell.
Then it was gone. The wrath and fury that had been building up inside him—was gone. Now before this helpless naked man he stood there, drained.

Forgiven. Redemption.

“Let him go,” Ryan ordered as he threw the gun far off into the dark, murky distance. He heard it hit with a sharp metal sound on the concrete floor and echo in the darkness as he began to untie the man. “Get me his clothes, Jeff. This man’s freezing.” He turned around and Jeff was gone, like a shadow in the night. Ryan immediately retrieved his cell phone from his pocket and called 911. Jeff was a danger to the public and had to be caught before he hurt somebody else. He needed help.

He knelt before the shivering, naked man and slowly peeled away the bandanna covering his eyes and said, “Let’s get out of here before he comes back. I’ll take you to the authorities, and you tell them exactly what you told me.” For some reason he felt a tremendous weight had been lifted from his shoulders. He finally knew what had happened; he now had closure.
Time to get on with living.