The Fourth Sunrise (2 page)

That comment gave me a nice grin as I walked over to my usual booth and took a seat at my favorite vantage point: the spot just so happened to face the door. At least, I would be the first person she saw when Christine walked in.

I loudly sighed, and a woman from across the coffee shop caught my eye. I nodded and we smiled at one another. She was at least thirty years younger than me. In my old age, I had learned that when a woman that young and beautiful gave me a smile, it meant something different than it did when I was younger. Women found old men amusing, I guessed. At my age, I had learned to discern passing amusement from any woman’s true romantic interest in me.

Staring at the front door, I wondered what could be delaying Christine. This was the first time we had met in an intimate place like a coffee shop. It was usually in the heart of the Deltarado Days fair. I was nervous. As a matter of fact, I don’t think I had ever felt this nervous in my entire life.

I leaned back in my booth and took a long, deep breath, inhaling through my nose and letting it out slowly from my mouth, still not sure if that was even the right breathing trick to calm one’s nerves. I couldn’t believe after all these years of hearing that mumbo jumbo, I still didn’t know if I was supposed to breathe in through my mouth and out through my nose, or breathe in through my nose, and out through my mouth. All I knew was that the latter seemed to calm me at the present moment.

I rested my head in my hands and bounced my head on the table. Once again, the beautiful thirty-something woman from across the coffee shop made eye contact with me when I looked in her direction. This time, she seemed like she wanted to say something. I waited for her to speak, but she just smiled.

Finally, she stood up and walked over to my side of the coffee shop and sat down right next to me. She was holding a fancy leather briefcase, the kind that sophisticated women carried on shows like
Sex and the City
.

“
I’m sorry, is your name Dave?” she asked.

“
I’m sorry, ma’am. No, it’s not. I have been called lots of things in my life but ‘Dave’ isn’t one of them.”

The woman laughed out loud. “Of course you’re not. You wouldn’t be meeting a woman half your age on a blind date. I’m sorry to bother you. I’ve had a rough night.”

“It really isn’t a problem. I’m kind of honored that you would think an old man like me would go on a blind date with someone your age.”

“
I’d be lucky to meet a nice guy of any age,” she said.

I looked at her and she had dark brown hair and a very pretty face. Her skin was pale and maybe she wore her disappointment in men on her face. Then she made serious eye contact with me and she gave me a sweet smile.

“I couldn’t imagine you having any trouble finding a good fella,” I said.

“
Oh, I find them. They start as good fellas then end up being sponges.” She paused and looked me in the eye and said, “My name is Sharee.” She reached out her hand for mine in what struck me as an old-fashioned gesture for her young age.

I shook her hand. “My name is Joel Murphy. It is very pleasant to meet you, ma’am. Well, my name isn’t Dave, but I am kind of on a blind date myself.”

“How can someone ‘kind of be’ on a blind date?” she asked.

“
It’s very complicated,” I said plainly.

“
Sounds like it. Well, I’ll let you wait for your date. I’m sorry to bother you.” Sharee grabbed her briefcase and started to walk back to her table.

“
Excuse me,” I called out to her. “You are welcome to join me while we wait for our dates.” The diner was nearly empty, so I felt comfortable blurting that out.

Sharee stopped, turned around, and walked over to me. She said, “Are you sure? Your date isn’t going to be jealous?”

“She’s a good woman. She would think it was cute that we sat together and waited for our blind dates.”

“
You think so?”

“
I know so. She is the best woman I know.”

Sharee looked at me and said, “This is a complicated blind date if you already know she is the best woman you know.”

“I guess you can say it’s our fourth blind date.” As I said that, I could see Sharee holding back a smile. “Why are you trying not to smile?” I asked.

“
It just sounds too cute for words. You see, I’m a romance writer. My name is Sharee Shores.”

“
Okay,” I said laughing. “Romance writer, huh?”

“
It’s not erotica,” she protested.

“
I didn’t assume it was,” I said.

“
Sorry. That follow-up statement is an automatic reaction. Some people get the wrong idea when I say ‘romance writer.’” Sharee pantomimed hand quotes as she said “romance writer.”

“
I get it,” I said. “You seem very classy and I wouldn’t have thought anything other than you write a nice romantic yarn, my lady,” I said in a bad British accent.

“
You are very sweet, Joel. May I call you by your first name?”

“
Please do. Mr. Murphy never sounds right to me.” I got up and grabbed a newspaper that was sitting by the windowsill.

“
I’m not the young man I used to be,” I said, clutching the paper. “There is one way that I’ll always get my news: from ‘a newspaper.’” I pantomimed hand quotes around the phrase, as she had, and she grinned at how I picked up on her gestures.

“
So, you’re not big on internet news?” Sharee asked.

“
As long as it’s from a respected news source,” I said. “I don’t believe anything I read from a blog.”

“
You read blogs?” she giggled.

“
Why wouldn’t I? How am I supposed to know who Kim Kardashian is going to marry and divorce this month?” I joked.

“
You’re funny,” Sharee said,

“
I used to be funnier,” I said.

“
How does that go away?”

“
It doesn’t really go away. After a while, you slowly stop wanting to see the humor in things.”

“
What do you see?” Sharee asked.

“
The reality. Reality isn’t that funny.”

“
That was some gear change. You suddenly went from one of the most delightful men I had ever met to someone very pessimistic.”

“
That is what is unique about us humans,” I said. “We have no rule book. Plus, I like to keep things mysterious. It’s all an old man has: his mystique.”

“
You are not
that
old.”

“
That
old?” I laughed. “Isn’t that the same as telling someone they are not that smelly? At the end of the day, what you are implying is that they smell at all.”

“
You are very cute.”

Wow! Cute? Me?
I couldn’t help but blush. It had been a long time since a woman half my age had called me cute because of my personality. I didn’t know how to respond without sounding like a perverted old man. So, I replied, “During your entire life, however long that is, so far, men certainly must have told you how pretty you are.”

“
Oh, I wish. If you meet anyone like that, please let him know where I have been living for the last 33 years, because he has yet to find me.”

“
I’m sorry for being presumptuous,” I said, very apologetic. “It’s a fine line, verifying that a woman is single and also, fishing for her age.”

“
No need to be sorry. Trust me. I try to find him every week. I’m on every singles dating site there is, trying to locate the perfect man for me. It doesn’t matter how many romance novels I write, I can never find my own true love story. That is probably why I do write. I can create my own little fantasy world.”

“
Sharee Shores?”

“
That’s me.”

“
What have you written?”

“
I have a couple of series, but none is more popular than my Jon Sullivan series.”

“
That’s a romance series?” I asked.

“
Very much so. The main character is a hopeless romantic. It is very sweet and heartbreaking at the same time.”

“
Sounds like the story of my life.”

“
I think it’s the story of most of our lives. No matter how much those web sites promise to match me up with someone spectacular—who I’ll have amazing chemistry with—it never fails that I always seem to get the guy who would love to sample the goods first, and then work on the chemistry thing later.”

“
You’ve never met this guy you plan on meeting tonight?” I asked.

“
No, and apparently, it looks like I never will. Looks like just maybe the two of us are being stood up.”

“
I sure hope not. She has never been late before. But then again, nothing ever goes right when we meet anyway.”

“
Okay, mystery man. While we wait, why don’t you tell me about this woman you’re meeting—you said for the
fourth
time?”

“
Yes. Only the fourth time. The fourth time in forty-four years.”

“
How long?” Sharee asked.

“
Forty-four years,” I repeated.

“
Forty-four years? And you still haven’t married her?”

“
Like I said…it is very complicated. It’s very complicated.” I glanced up at the clock on the wall, and Christine was now thirty minutes late. That was very disconcerting.

She repeated. “We just might have to come to the realization that we are being stood up together.”

I repeated again. “I sure hope not.” Just the thought of Christine standing me up put a lump in my throat.

“
You must really be crazy about her after all these years?” Sharee stared across the table at me with a look that was very genuine and honest and I felt like I could open up a tad.

“
Yes, that would be a true statement. She has been the woman of my dreams for quite some time.”

“
That’s a big proclamation, Joel. How did you two meet?” Sharee’s eyes locked into mine and she was very interested in hearing this story. She was being very sweet with her interest but she really didn’t have to make small talk with me.

“
I don’t want to bore you, sweetie.”

“
Trust me when I tell you that real-life love stories never bore me. As a matter of fact, I live to hear them. Remember, I’m a writer.”

I sighed and smiled and began to speak. “We met a very long time ago, not very far from here.” I paused and said separately, “You know when she does show up, which I’m certain she will, at some point, I will have to stop telling you the story.”

“I completely understand.”

I paused and gave her one more chance to back out. “Do you really want to hear an old man tell a story about his first love?”

“Your first love? This story gets better and better. Now, you have to tell me. I’m such a romantic at heart. I think I would pay good money to hear a person of your stature tell me about his first love.”

“
Stature? I don’t think I have ever been called ‘stature’ before.”

“
All I mean is that you have
lived
. That is exciting to me.”

I breathed out deeply and looked out into the dark parking lot. This coffee shop would be open all night because of Deltarado Days. I knew I could wait all night for her. So, I decided to amuse this young lady and begin my tale. “Would you like another coffee or some water?” I asked.

“I’ll grab another cup of coffee in a little bit.” She looked at me with her brown eyes, eagerly waiting for me to continue.

“
Wow, where do I begin?” I said.

“
Begin on the first night you met her,” Sharee said. “That must be where the story begins.”

“
It is. She was my first love, and to be honest, she has been the only woman I have ever truly loved, at least the way a man should properly love a woman.”

Chapter Two

July 1968 – Delta, Colorado – Highway, 4:00 p.m.

“
It was summer of 1968. Civil rights were right on top of us and most folks were unsure what it all meant. Recently, great Americans had gotten assassinated. It was an odd time for everyone. Martin Luther King Jr. was assassinated in April while Robert Kennedy was recently assassinated in June, just five years after his brother, John F. Kennedy. Landmark civil rights legislations were being passed.

“
It was a horrible, hot July day and we were trapped on a hot, musky bus. I was eighteen years at the time. I don’t think I ever looked better in terms of my physique. I was a clean-cut, light brown-haired eighteen-year-old boy. I was a minor league baseball catcher who had an arm of gold and was battling .319 for the Albuquerque Dukes. I was being looked at very closely to possibly being called up to ‘the show.’