To Catch a Falling Star (23 page)

I ponder how I’m going to face Tarry. A crucial side of me wants to see him, desperately. Screw my former overthinking nature. I’ll just enjoy this moment.

I GET OUT of the shower and wipe the steam from the mirror. With the knowledge that I won’t bother to get one, I remind myself for the hundredth time that I need a haircut.

I run my hand through my stubble, which is now almost a beard. Images of Mel’s soft fingers stroking my face prevent me from shaving. Damn, this woman infatuates me in a way that is driving me insane.

I quit trying to shave and stride into the kitchen to drink a glass of milk. I’m not hungry, but I stand by the fridge and intently study its contents, hoping that will miraculously trigger my appetite. Remembering the way Mel’s lips ran across my chest makes me reach for the eggs. I want to look good for her. Damn, I sound like a fucking teenager. My hormones are raging and I’m fucking hard just thinking about her ass that is so perfect inside my hands. Holy shit, I need to rein in my crazy desire to devour that woman.

After I scramble and cook the eggs, I sit at a table by the window. Portia and Nillie would be proud of me at this moment. Not only because I’m eating a healthy meal, but also because I’ve been drug free for one hundred and twenty-four days. Who am I kidding? I’m damn proud of myself. Fearful and skeptical, yes, but nonetheless I’m proud. I haven’t been clean for this long since I was a boy.

HOLDING ELLA’S HAND, I push the glossy red door. A smile dances on my lips as I remember when I was eight and asked Dad to paint the door this color. It was after a trip to Maine. I had seen a small church with its belfry reaching for the face of heaven as an offering hand and a red door arching against its bright, white walls. It stood alone on a cliff, making me wonder how many storms the small construction had weathered. Of course, Dad indulged me and together we painted the door of our church blood red. It has been the same color since. I enter the sanctuary where I grew up. Though it’s early, a few parishioners already gather in the back of the church.

After taking Ella to the basement for her bible class, I find my usual spot in the second row.

The sun filters through stained-glass windows and, like a kaleidoscope of vivid colors, it reflects on the hardwood floor spreading before the pulpit. In my mind’s eyes, I can see Tim and me as children. Barbie dolls and GI Joe soldiers surrounded us, strewn everywhere as we spend the afternoon enclosed in a fairy-tale world.

Closing my eyes, I meditate on my life. In all honesty, at this moment, I would gleefully comply with the role of lover of Tarry Francis. The thought is nerve-racking, but fighting the attraction I have for him is exhausting.

Now, I only wonder—and fear— whether he still wants to be with me, as he repeatedly has claimed.

As I muse on the unsettling new desires, I hear the buzzing of people increasing throughout the church. I sense someone sitting next to me. My heart catapults when the familiar scent of citrus and cigarettes invades my senses. My eyes remain closed, but Tarry’s warmth envelops my body. That’s a good sign, right? He sat near me. I question my appearance. I should have worn a pretty dress. Oh, yeah, the hickey. A shiver runs up my spine. Settle down, you are at church. I order myself.

Slowly I open my eyes. I risk a glance at my side. Tarry’s deep stare meets mine.

“Good morning, Mel,” his voice is a low rumble that connects with my groin. Darn, I need to calm the hell down. If Dad only knew my thoughts, I flush.

“Good morning, Tarry,” I whisper.

We stand as service begins. Nervous as hell, I try my hardest to focus on the lyrics of the songs. God, this man is so intoxicating.

Dad takes the pulpit and I settle next to Tarry. From the corner of my eye, I see his hand resting on his thigh and the back of his long fingers brush against mine. Wow, I need to focus on Dad’s sermon.

“Melody,” Dad’s voice snatches me from my wanton thoughts. I’m crimson. I hope no one notices.

“When Maritza and I were expecting our beloved daughter, we searched for a perfect name,” Dad preaches. All eyes turn briefly toward me and I forge a smile.

“As many parents here might relate, our bundle of joy arrived nameless.” He grins, warming my heart. “At Maritza’s bedside, I gathered our little one in my arms and the sweetest sound escaped her little lungs. I knew then that heaven had whispered upon me and it was the most pure melody I had ever heard.” He gazes at me for a moment, and I see different emotions crossing his face. Does he know I had sex with Tarry? God, I want the polished wood floor to part at my feet, so I can disappear. Dad continues.

“To wander through life ignoring your worth is rebuking the principle that you were created in God’s image and likeness. We are all vulnerable to the whims of circumstances. But, heavens will always find a way to send you a message. At times, it will be a very unlikely vessel. But God is God, He does what He wants.” My dad shrugs. “So I ask you this morning. What melody has heaven whispered on your heart lately?”

“I’m a fraudulent man, but I’ve made a point to never neglect to tell my children of the love I have for them. Melody, Will, and Portia, along with my grandchildren, are the greatest gifts God has bestowed upon Maritza and me. In my infinite limitations, I have endeavored to display to them my love,” Dad continues, but my mind drifts away to think of what is happening between Tarry and me.

Tarry and I are as opposite as black to white, as south from north, as fire to water, as day to night. The list of opposites is endless.

For the first time in my life, I’ve felt attracted to someone other than Timothy. The heady thrill traveling my body when Tarry approaches me is a feeling I thought I buried with Tim.

I inhale deeply. Would Tarry want me as his lover?

“Enjoy this God-given day,” Dad says from the pulpit. Before I stand, I turn to my side and Tarry regards me with cautious eyes.

“We need to talk,” he whispers.

“Sure.” I forge a natural smile. “Do you want to stop by before dinner?” I babble. “Maybe for guitar lessons? Ella has been dying to continue her lessons.” Gosh, I hope I sounded nonchalant. And damn the blood flushing through my face.

“Okay.” He pauses. “I’ll stop by.”

After I pick up Ella from her class, I go home. I tell her about Tarry coming over and her anxiety matches my own. She rushes inside the house, gathers the guitar, and sits on the couch where she strums the cords with a natural ability that continues to amaze me.

I pour a glass of water and perch on the barstool, watching her play the guitar. She has mastered a few songs. Tim would be so proud of her. I hear a soft tap at the kitchen door. Is he already here?

“Come in.” My voice falters. I swallow the big lump on my throat and wrap my fingers around the glass to stop it from shaking. I can’t believe I’m going to propose being Tarry’s lover. Oh my. Even the thought of having him inside me again, makes me weak in the legs.

“Hey, Mel.” Tarry enters the kitchen, and his tall build fills the room.

“Uncle Tarry!” Ella sprints from the sofa.

Tarry kneels down and his long arms wrap Ella into a tight embrace.

“Hello, sunshine. I see you are practicing.” He grins.

“Yeah, I practice every day. I’m going to be as good as you’re, someday.”

“Well, you’re better than I was at your age.” He pats her wild curls.

“For real?” she asks in delight. The poor thing melts under his silver gaze.

“For real. I had to work much harder, and was not even close to how good you are.”

“What are you teaching me today?” She holds his hand, pulling him to the sofa.

Tarry looks over his shoulder, expectantly.

“Go ahead with the lesson,” I say. “I’ll make coffee.”

With my stomach twisting, I prepare a pot of coffee. I wish I wasn’t so affected by Tarry’s heady presence.

After forty minutes of watching them interact, my nerves are humming in agony.

“So, that’s your homework, Ella. I’ll set up another lesson with your mom, okay.”

“Sure, I’ll practice every day,” Ella solemnly says. She turns to me and asks. “Mom, can I watch TV before we go to Grandma’s?”

“Sure, baby.” I pour a cup with steamy coffee, and hand it to Tarry.

“Thanks.’” Tarry sits on the stool bar, and regards me with inquisitive eyes.

We are silent for a moment and an awkward tension hangs in the air.

“I, um,” I start, but Tarry interrupts me.

“Listen, Mel, I need you to forgive me for yesterday. I don’t know what got into me. I should never have done that.”

Ugh, I swallow hard unable to respond to Tarry’s nervous apology. Is he trying to say that he regrets it? God, I hate this.

He pauses as if searching for the right words and then continues, “Truth is, I really enjoy your company, I didn’t mean for things to get out of hand.” He rubs two hands over his thigh. “I promise it won’t happen again, Mel.”

“Oh, I, um, I thought about it, Tarry. Please, there is no reason for apologies. I was a willing participant. As Mom would say, it’s all water under the bridge.” Jeez, this sucks ass.

My stomach writhes. How stupid of me to think rock star Tarry Francis would want me—average, ordinary me, as a lover. I feel pathetic considering it. Thank heavens he spoke first or I would have made a fool of my average self.

I attempt a smile. “We can be friends though, right?” I ask, unsure. Now that he’s gotten into my panties, he certainly is done with me. I’m such an idiot. Can shame kill someone?

“Yeah, yeah, sure. I mean, I would like it very much, Mel,” he says nervously.

Damn, he’s so awkward. He’s probably concerned I’ll stalk his ass. God, I just want him to leave. He’s probably dying to get out of here.

I guess it’s time I admit it. Tarry captivated me with his charm. Well, duh, no surprise here. It’s not that hard to fall for the guy. What really bites me is the idiotically idea that he would want to have an affair with me.

“See you later?” he asks stoically.

“Of course.”

He stands in the kitchen, his hands rubbing the delicious stubble of his face. Oh, no, no. I order my mind not to reminisce on the texture of his face under my fingers. Tarry forges a smile, his hand slides over his shaggy hair and he cups the back of his neck. He’s so uncomfortable. Jeez, at least pretend you’re not crazy to get out.