To Catch a Falling Star (17 page)

Once inside the bathroom, I relax my tense shoulders muscles. What is Tarry doing to me? First, he tantalizes me with his flirts and kisses. Then, he behaves as a good friend. I’ve grown to enjoy his company. But today, when he said those things, he reached too deep inside my world.

It feels like he crawled inside my chest and sat beside me, at the edge of my universe. With an ample view of the dark places in my heart, he now sees where I go when I hurt. He said I do a good job covering my tracks. How did he follow me there?

With a new resolve, I exit the bathroom and look for Steve. I almost bump into him in the hall.

“Hey, Steve, how are you?” I muster my best smile. It feels fake. I hope he doesn’t notice.

“Hi, Mel. Have you gotten your car back yet?” Steve’s rugged features remind me of Connor Macleod from
Highlander
, one of Mom’s favorite movies from the eighties.

“Yeah, I’ll get it today. Listen, the Italian place you mentioned the other day. Have you checked it out yet? I’ve been craving some good food lately.” God, I feel the flow of blood concentrating in my face. My lame ass can’t even ask a guy out.

“Um, sure. I mean, no. I didn’t go yet.” He runs his hand over his copper hair. “Wow, Mel, what I’m trying to say is I would like very much to take you out to dinner,” he says in one breath.

Thank God, he doesn’t seem to be doing much better on the pre-dating conversation.

“Wait, there’s one problem. I’m on the evening shift duty for this weekend and next. How about two weekends from now?” He suggests nervously.

“Sounds good.” I forge a smile.

“Wow, yeah. Can’t wait.”

“Okay, bye, Steve.”

A twinge of guilt grips my chest. I unmercifully choke it down. I’ve been considering a date with Steve for a while. He has been asking me out for three years. It’s time I give the guy a chance.

Under a haze of deceptive relief, I go about my day. At noon, I park in a deserted lot to eat my lunch. My cell phone rings.

“Hello,” I answer knowing it’s Brenda, one of the detectives.

“Hey, Mel, I hear you finally gave in and will be going on a date with Steve?” Brenda asks immediately.

I cringe. “Oh, God, how do you know that?”

“It’s the talk of the day. Steve boasted to Mark this morning, which is equal to advertising in the
New York Times
,” she says with food in her mouth. Brenda eats like there is no tomorrow. Her ass is as skinny as a pole, which I secretly hate and resent her for. Bitch.

“It’s just dinner.”

“Oh, it’s never just a dinner, Mel, especially with a hot guy like Steve.”

I hear the patrol radio and end the call with Brenda.

A dispatcher interrupts my lunch, sending me to check a teenager’s suspicious activity near the high school.

“Ten-four,” I answer to Caroline, re-stow my lunch, and steer the patrol car out of the parking lot.

THE TEENAGER’S ACTIVITY keeps me busy for the remainder of the day. Stoned teens invaded a vacant house and were using it for a prostitution spot and as a sell point to other kids in the nearby high school. I had to write an extensive report. This is one of those complicated cases. Also, it’s one of my least favorite parts of my job, where I see firsthand the destruction of drugs on teens’ lives.

It’s five fifteen when I open the door to exit the police department. A cold wind embraces me. My eyes scan the parking lot until they find Tarry. He perches against the red Jeep, smoking a cigarette. My pulse races in anticipation of hearing his husky voice caress my name when I approach him.

He must have sensed my presence even before I step out of the threshold of the building, because his eyes glance up. He drops the cigarette and stamps on it. I stride across the lot.

“Hi, Melody.” With a flare, he swings the passenger door open.

“Sorry I’m late. I had an ass of a day.” I sink in the passenger seat.

“That sucks. Do you want to get your car tomorrow instead?” He asks. I glance and see a flash of hope crossing his face.

“No, I’ve bothered you for long enough. Truth is, I don’t know how to ever pay you back for what you’ve done. It would have depleted my funds to rent a car.”

“Do you like Indian food?” He asks, changing the subject.

“I do.”

“Okay, here is the plan. We’ll pick up Ella and I’ll drop you off at the car shop. You head home and I will go pick up some Indian food from where Portia always gets takeout from.”

Too tired to disagree I just murmur a thank-you.

“Damn, Mel, you look like shit.”

“Busted some teens involved in drugs and prostitution. Plus, I have as ass of a headache.”

“I’m sorry. It must suck to do your job, sometimes,” he says softly, almost in a whisper. And I find my uptight nerves calming under his soothing voice.

“Yeah,” Unsure of how to react, I stare out of the window.

Every minute I spend with Tarry seems to stir up emotions that have been in a long hibernation.

After getting Ella, I finally get my car back. Thanks to a junkyard part and Tarry’s generosity of driving me to and from work, the dent on my finances was minimal.

Driving again should make me feel ecstatic. I can finally go grocery shopping for Pop. I’ve neglected him for the past two weeks. However, I already miss Tarry coming over in the mornings. Watching him devour each plate of breakfast I placed in front of him warmed my heart. Stupid, but my heart clenches at the thought of his absence.

“I wish you didn’t get your car back, Mommy,” Ella whines as we enter the house.

“What?”

“If you didn’t have a car, Uncle Tarry would come over every morning.” She echoes my thoughts.

“Honey, Uncle Tarry has a busy life. He can’t be driving us around,” I explain.

“Yeah, I guess not, huh? I wish he could,” she says quietly.

“Let’s go take a shower, Ella. Uncle Tarry will be here soon with Indian takeout.”

“Can we light candles and eat on the living-room floor, like we do when Auntie Portia orders Indian food?”

“Sure, honey.” We climb the stairs.

“Mommy, we should offer Uncle Tarry to be part of our family. He’s all alone at the barn,” Ella says as I strip her clothes. My hand stills. I know what Ella is thinking, and I don’t like it.

“Ella, Uncle Tarry is just staying here for a little while. Soon, he’ll go back to his own home.”

She clambers inside the tub, but a crease on her forehead indicates her disappointment.

“Where is his home, Mommy?” I sit beside the tub, and watch her bathe.

“London. It’s in a different country, far, far away from here.”

“We could offer him to stay with us. Maybe he doesn’t like his home that much.”

“Honey, Uncle Tarry will not live with us. It doesn’t work that way.”

WHEN SHE FINISHES her bath, I tell her to go get dressed. “I want to take a quick shower.”

“Okay, Mommy.”

I scramble out of my clothes, turn the water to hot, and climb under the stream. Leaning against the tile wall, I think of Ella’s attachment to Tarry, an additional reason to place some distance between us. The water burns my skin, but it relaxes my knotted muscles.

After a few minutes, I reluctantly step outside, dry my hypersensitive skin, and wrap the towel firmly around my body. I stride to my room, knowing Tarry will be here soon.

I change into my floral thermal shirt and yoga pants, then start to search for Ella. I smile. She is already downstairs, waiting for Tarry.

I tread downstairs and find her waiting for me with a box of matches in her hands.

“Finally! I was waiting for you. Can we light the candles now, Mommy?”

“Yeah, honey. Thanks for waiting for me. It’s very important that you don’t use matches without my supervision.” I take the matches from her and we light candles. Though it’s still relatively early, it’s getting dark outside already. The air is crisp and I decide to light the fireplace.

As I finish lighting the fireplace, I wonder if Tarry is going to get the wrong idea. Shit, I just created an incredibly romantic setting.

“Where is he? He is taking too long, right, Mommy?” She lights all the candles surrounding the living room. I walk to the kitchen and gather plates and utensils, placing them on the coffee table.

I hear a soft tap on the kitchen door and see Tarry strolling inside the house. God, I’m going to miss him more than I should.

“Wow, nice,” he comments on the candles and places three bags of takeout on the coffee table. His eyes glimmer under the flickering fire.

“It’s a little cold, and I have a rule of only turning the heat on after Halloween,” I quickly explain, attempting to diffuse any wrong impression from the intimate environment. Noticing my discomfort, he shrugs.

“Oh, my God, Tarry. How much food did you get?”

“I didn’t know what you liked, so I got a variety.” He has a mischievous smile on his face.

I walk over to my iPod dock. I scroll through my music in search of a relaxing playlist.

We sit on the floor. Tarry opens the paper bags and pulls out containers of food. The variety includes my favorite, the samosas. For dessert, he bought rice pudding with cashews and dried fruits. I make a mental note to double my workout.

As we eat, there is this ethereal feeling to the evening. Also, there is discomfort. I constantly have the nagging feeling that I’m betraying Tim. I know it is illogical, even sickening to think this way. But Tim and I did this so many nights, of course without Ella.

I stare at the hearth, where we made love so many nights and then fell asleep wrapped in each other’s arms.

I glance at Ella and pain slashes through my soul. She’ll never have a single memory of her dad. If I forget him, it will be as if he never existed.

Unbidden tears burn the back of my eyes. I suppress them. Sighing, I realize life is not fair. Consequently, certain unpleasant facts are unchangeable. I owe it to Ella to live in the present without reminiscing about the past that she never knew.

“What you think, Mom, can we?” Ella straddles my thighs and pleads.

“What did you say, honey?” I stroke her tousled curls.

“Practice the guitar.”

“Sure, love,” I say, risking a glance at Tarry.

He regards me with cautious eyes. Did I do something to upset him? Ella goes to her room to retrieve the guitar.

“Where were you?” he asks in a low, almost painful voice.

“What you mean?” I begin to gather the leftovers and plates.

“For a moment, Mel, you were gone.” He assists me with carrying the food to the kitchen.

“You are imagining things. I’m just exhausted and still have a headache,” I say exasperated. Why does he have to notice these things? No one else ever pays attention and if they do, they don’t comment. They just let me be.

“That’s not healthy to live in the past, Mel.”

“Huh, look who is talking about what’s healthy or not,” I say.

“That’s beneath you, Mel,” he answers.

“Then, mind your own business. You have no right to invade my life and tell me what to do.” I shove untouched containers of food inside the fridge.

“Fuck it, Mel. You have every right to perch on my life and try to help me. But you draw an arbitrary line around yourself and push away anyone who tries to cross it. That’s a fucking double standard. But I guess that’s how you distract yourself from dealing with your grief. You help everybody around you, so that you are too busy to help yourself with your own ghosts.”

My pulse is beating loudly in my ears. I open my mouth to answer him, but from the corner of my eye, I see Ella storming into the room.

“Ready, Uncle Tarry?”

“Sure, let’s see if you have been practicing the way I told you.” He smiles sweetly at Ella, and I feel even guiltier.

Through this is a prayer is born of contradictory feelings. I beg God to snatch Tarry away from my life. I want to be normal again, to remember Tim without the landslide of emotions suffocating me.

They practice for the next hour. I perch on the love seat across from them and watch. I hate to admit it, but Tarry is right. Darn him. When they finish, I prepare cocoa and hand it to them.

Ella curls up at my side, and we talk about her day at school. Tarry asks a various questions, everything from what’s her favorite subject to what she wants to be when she grows up. Today, the answer is a police officer, a teacher, and, of course, a rock star. Laughter rumbles in Tarry’s chest and my heartbeat speeds at the sound. The man is sexy even when he is laughing.

After a while, Ella grows quiet and I realize she’s fallen asleep. I need to take her to bed. Tarry looks at me uncertainly and whispers, “Can I?”

“Sure.” I smile. But inside I want to cry. I hate the confusing emotions that I don’t have control over.

Once upstairs, I point him to her room. He gently places her under the covers, kisses her head, and whispers, “Good night, sunshine.” Again, the gesture tugs my heart.

He follows me downstairs.

“Tarry, um, I’m sorry for what I said earlier. I didn’t mean it.”

“That’s okay.” He runs his fingers over his shaggy hair, brushing it out of his eyes.

“It’s late, and I have to be up early tomorrow.” I bite my lip. Please just leave.

“I, um, I got you something.” He fishes in his pockets, retrieves a Starbucks gift card, and hands it to me.

“No, no, no. I can’t take it.” I nod my head. “You didn’t have to do this.”

“God, Mel, just accept it.” He tosses the card on the coffee table. “Besides, it’s not for you. It’s for Larry. You’re just keeping it safe for him.”

“Tarry, no…” I start, but in two strides, he closes the gap between us. His lips cover mine. Surprised, I grip his shirt, to avoid falling back. His arms fasten my waist, and we kiss hard and hungry. All teeth and tongue. Tarry grips my hair and deepens the kiss. I’m lost in his heat. I don’t know for how long we kiss, but when he breaks away from me, I’m panting.

“God, woman, you are so exasperating,” he growls, kisses me again, and leaves.

I’m paralyzed standing in the middle of the room. Slowly, my wits return. I lock the kitchen door, blow out the candles, and seek the refuge of my room.