Like Slow Sweet Molasses (32 page)

Chapter Twenty

Perspiration
beads speckled Angela’s forehead settling obtrusively on the bridge of her
freckled nose. The mistake made on this nippy Monday afternoon was to think she
was ready to resume her health regimen and go for a mind-clearing walk after
only a week into her healing. Mind-clearing because her last week of school
also coincided with her departure from New Orleans, the city she’d grown to
think of as home. Love of people brought her here, kept her in town and now
drove her away.

Shaky
knees almost folded her to the ground a number of times as she planted one foot
in front of the other, praying religiously not to fall on her face. The
kettledrum pounding in her ears was her pulse’s alarming response to each beat
of her heart. Less than four agonizing blocks to go and she could collapse on
her king-sized bed, not before. All she had to do was think of something else.

Her
mind drifted to Chance.

“Anything
but him,” she contested aloud.

Angela
rebuffed all thoughts of Chance as he whiled away the time at a desk in the
squad room trying to make sense of the call received real early prior to the
start of his work day. Principal Dauchex surprised him with the early morning
plea for a couple hours of his morning explaining she’d acquired a substitute
for Angela’s classes for the remaining school day. When he inquired about
Angela’s absence, she only said he came highly recommended and kept his name on
files. What else could he say but okay.

Despite
his wandering mind, he pushed the mouse over the pad just rifling through the
records he pretended to research. Doing so did nothing to take his focus off
the paper folded into his billfold for safekeeping. He withdrew his wallet to
read the results printed there and thought of her. Chance last saw Angela over
a week ago as she fled the mall after spotting him there. He could see the
distraught look on her face even now as she peered from the outside into the
deceptively hurtful scenario as he appeared to bask in the mood of the
family-like outing.

“Crap.”

“You’re
wanted on the phone, Lieutenant?”

Chance,
in his own world, missed the initial remarks made by the young officer now at
his desk and pushed the paper into this front pocket. “What, Conrad?”

“You
have a caller on line one.”

“Take
a message, will you?” He didn’t feel much like being bothered right now.

“Tried
that.” The uniformed officer waited for his consent to have the call
transferred. “Says it’s personal and very important.”

“Put
them on my line.” Chance marched into his office and shut the door. He waited
less than a minute and his phone rang. “Lt. Alexander.”

“Lieutenant,
this is Philip Haperiski.”

Chance,
propped on the edge of his desk, shut down any small talk. “What the fuck do
you want?”

“Hear
me out before you hang up.”

“I
already told you I don’t do bribes. Now, goodbye.”

“Wait!
That’s not why I’m calling. It’s Angela.”

That
tone sounds a lot like concern
Chance thought. He snorted. “What about Angela?”

“She
didn’t tell her parents. I assumed she didn’t tell you, either.”

“Get
to the point of your call, Haperiski,” he pushed hard.

“I’ve
tried to get in contact with her for several days…”

“My
impression is she wants nothing to do with you.”

“That
hasn’t changed.”
The line went silent. “
However, circumstances have.”

“I
don’t have all day.”

“Angela
checked herself out of the hospital on Thanksgiving Day after donating her bone
marrow the day prior.”

“What?”
he barked. “She agreed to be your donor?”

“Yes,
contingent on conditions of her own.”

“Whe-e-w.”
Chance’s head dropped in disbelief.

“There
were complications,”
Philip supplied. “
Doctors abandoned the original procedural steps and a
chest line was the alternative harvesting method.”

“A
chest line?” he repeated dumbly. “As opposed to?

“A
process similar to donating blood. The doctor’s office left messages for Angela
which she hasn’t returned. They’re anxious about the side effects she may be
experiencing.”

His
emotional state was well hidden until he made a clumsy move around his desk to
fall into the chair. His mind rebelled. Several strokes of his palm brushed the
hair on his face. Recovering, he asked, “What do you want from me?”

“I
want you to check on my daughter.”

“I’d
laugh if you didn’t sound so pitiful. Someone might actually believe your act,
if overheard.”

“It’s
no act, Lieutenant.”

“Are
you ready?”
Another voice butted in.

Are
you ready? Are you ready?
Chance’s brain replayed those words over and over, the voice becoming more
familiar with each utterance.
Are you ready? Are you ready?

“In
a minute…”

“Jason,”
both men responded simultaneously with contrasting intonations.

“Make
sure she’s taking her time and not pushing herself too hard, Lieutenant
Alexander. Have her call me. Please.”

“You
don’t know Angela. But, I’ll contact you.”

“Thank
you. Goodbye.”

That
conversation ended. Chance used a one-handed approach to select another line
for his frantic call to her. The number rang continuously which was odd. That
scared him. He pushed her cell number programmed into his cell’s address book
and was promptly sent to her voicemail. More tension building suspense socked
him in the gut.

“It
was Jason.” His head jerked in disgust. “I accused her of duplicity…with Jason.
No wonder she ousted me.”

Chance
was a projectile traveling from his office through the squad room and straight out
the side door to the parking lot. Never mind his neglect in reporting his
exodus. The mission entailed using whatever means provided the utmost velocity
to hasten him to her side. His Harley was ready and waiting. The time elapsed
from settling his helmet to bulleting off spoke to the fluidity of his motions.
He had no time to waste.

He
roared through the streets of New Orleans recklessly darting in and out of
traffic, taking risky chances he would criticize other bikers for doing. Having
worked many accidents involving motorcycles and four wheel vehicles should have
made him exercise caution. He was thinking but not with his head for Chance’s
heart was in complete control of his actions, even to the point of shutting
down his response to external stimuli.

When
he left the loft this morning the weather was a pleasant seventy-two degrees
eliminating the need for cold weather apparel. Now, the blustery wind molded
the denim shirt to his chest while kicking it out in back like it hung on a
clothesline as he sped along. The quiet neighborhood streets came into view
forcing him to slow his roll. Still blocks from his destination, Chance reeled
in his rampant thoughts taking note of his surroundings by entering the stop
and go mode dictated by the encountered stop signs.

His
foot manipulated the clutch at one such stop before he started his acceleration
into the intersection. He blasted off while scanning both directions, making it
middle ways the block when his sensors registered. Tires screeched as Chance
maneuvered his bike in the reverse direction with a motocross u-turn, burning
rubber and all. He wasn’t mistaken. Angela trod towards him hunched over and
head down. He was just another biker for all the attention she paid to his
approach and sudden stop.

“Hey,
beautiful.” Chance had to swing around to give chase for her steps never
waivered. “Want a ride?” The motor’s pulsating rumble in the background
accented his words.

Angela’s
heart skipped a beat at the warm bass voice meddling her. But, she answered, “I
don’t accept rides from strangers…because that’s what you are.”

“Ouch!”
he feigned offense, puttering along at her pace. “Do you mind if I walk with
you?”

“Can
I stop you?” she bickered belligerently, unable to read his eyes through the
wrap around shades he sported.

“It’s
a free country last I checked.” With a little bully in his voice, he said,
“Guess you can’t.”

Chance
cut the vibrating motor, tensing his muscles to deliver the proper amount of
energy necessary to push the heavy bike. Obviously, she ignored him—her way of
putting him in his place. He couldn’t ignore her, though. Or the signs she
tired to the level of full exhaustion. Every swing of her voluptuous hips
depleted her internal power source. And they were still a couple of long blocks
from her house.

“Come
on, Angela,” he tried persuasion, pocketing his dark glasses to impart
sincerity. “Let me drive you home.”

Angela’s
heart beat at the exact spot of her incision tripling the intensity of every
twinge sticking her muscles. Her body’s temperature waged a war between frigid
and toast while she attempted to concentrate on why Chance dogged her steps.
She would make it home on her own without any assistance from him. Her look to
him said as much.

They
trudged along in silence with him estimating how many more steps she was
capable of making before she finally tripped over her feet. She walked on the
sidewalk five feet or so from him. Close enough for Chance to see perspiration
sealing fringes of hair around her face. Far enough from him to bring concern
she would injure herself if she fell.

The
distance diminished as the finish line drew nearer than before—looming—as her
house came into their sight. Chance leaned into the last haul to access the
slight hilly area of Angela’s yard, arriving seconds in front of her. He waited
on her walk as she contemplated her ascent of the stone slabs to her yard,
hesitating at the bottom where she couldn’t tear her eyes away from the first
step. He divined if any climb took its toll on her, it would be that one.

No
more delays.

Chance
took matters into his own hands, chucking her weak objections aside to swoop
her into his strong arms. Their gaze magnetized them in harmony and
disassembled all grudges real or imagined. He mastered the second set of steps
going on to steady her hand as she unlocked the door. An aura of peace shielded
them as soon as he crossed the threshold into her living room. He’d missed that
warm, fuzzy feeling over the last week, dreaming about when the time would
present itself again.

Today
was that day.

Angela
was a feather in his arms as he carried her up the stairs into her bedroom. He
held her body to his while she straightened her legs testing their ability to
hold her weight. Silence permeated the entire house giving life to the air they
breathed. Angela shuffled to her bathroom shutting the door for privacy.

Chance
and his frustrated sighs headed back downstairs to give her time for a
refreshing change. He, after seeing her sallow cheeks, wanted to have a bite to
eat ready for when she emerged. One cabinet door after the other banged closed
as he ransacked her kitchen in a hopeless search for edibles. The refrigerator
was also empty of the staples most common to all: leftovers. Circling the
table, he returned to the pantry for the lone can of tomato soup hiding out in
the back corner. The pop-top can opened easily and Chance emptied the contents
into a soup mug for microwave heating. He salvaged a few butter crackers from
the “take-out” drop-bin on the counter as the finishing touch to the light
meal.

Angela
was already in bed curled on her side with her back to the door. Chance’s
masculine fragrance announced his entrance into her domain. His mighty hand on
her shoulder seduced her to gaze into his troubled eyes. He held a tray that he
temporarily set on the nightstand until she propped comfortably against the
headboard and rearranged the covers over her hips. The meal balanced on her
knees forcing precise movements to keep the soup from spilling.

His
thanks was her eagerness after the first taste and the quick disappearance of
the food. She showed her appreciation by sparing him a “thank-you” smile,
moving the tray from her lap and snuggling into the mattress, all the while
tracking his every move when he grabbed the tray and vacated the room. There
was another reason he left her so hastily to return the dirty dish. He took a
few moments to pore over the faxed papers on the machine in her computer nook
absolutely stunned with the terms of agreement. More important, Angela’s
counter held several medicine bottles he reviewed, determined their purposes
and calculated her next dosage time, dependent on her having maintained the
suggested intervals.