Walk with Me (BookStrand Publishing Mainstream) (7 page)

“I’ve wanted to do that since the first day I met you in the coffeehouse.” He exhales with half-lidded eyes.

“I remember,” I say breathlessly and lay my head against his chest. Not because I need to steady myself before I can stand on my own again, but because at this moment in time the world and all its meaning to me has shifted. All the time and effort he puts into our dates and the way he treats me with such respect makes me feel like I’m special, that I may be worth his attention.

He encircles my waist with his arms and locks me against him, our eyes following the descending orange orb. We stand like this for the remainder of the sunset in quiet contemplation. When the sun makes its final plunge into the cooling deep blue beyond, we stroll back to the car silently holding hands.

Other than my stupid comments to Donovan, this has been a romantic date, nothing like my last date with Cruz. Although I’d like to think he only did this for me, this is probably his typical first-date routine.

On the drive home I explore the interior of his car. “What does this button do?” I point to one on the center console.

“Don’t touch that!” he snaps at me.

I whip my hand back. “Why? What is it?”

“It’s an emergency ejection button. The sunroof opens and the seats eject you out in an emergency.”

“What?” I purse my lips with disgust when I realize he’s joking at my expense. “Very funny,” I spit at him.

He chuckles and reaches over, taking my hand. “I’m sorry. You’re just so sweet and naïve at times I can’t help myself.”

“I’m not as sweet and naïve as you think I am.” I pout like a little girl and pull my hand away. “I have a stinger and it can hurt.”

“I don’t doubt you have your moments, but I think overall you’re a very sweet and innocent girl. And I like that about you—a lot. Do you forgive me?” Donovan asks sincerely.

“Yes,” I sigh, still pouting.

“Good. Now, what are you doing tomorrow?”

“I have plans. I usually go to dinner with my uncle on Wednesdays.” I look over at Donovan and he’s thinking about something. “Would you like to come with me and meet my uncle?” Oh my God. What am I doing? He doesn’t want dinner with me and my elderly uncle. I’m sure he has better things to do.

“I have to be at work by 5:00 p.m. Can I call you and let you know?”

I knew it. That was stupid of me to ask. See, I was kidding myself earlier thinking there might be something special going on between us. I hate this. At least with Cruz I knew what to expect and I knew what he wanted. I didn’t have all these
feelings
upsetting the balance in my world.

“Okay. Sure.” I smile slimly, not making eye contact.

The car comes to a stop and I look out the window. We’re already in front of my house. Donovan walks around the car and holds my door open for me. He gives me one more soft kiss and says good night. I leave him and step into the house.

Turning the corner, I spot Donovan’s car parked in front of the house. Just seeing his car makes my stomach flutter and plasters a stupid grin on my face. The physical chemistry pulling me toward him is undeniable, but the emotional connection is beginning to build, too. The tone of his voice and the look in his eyes carry such reverence and admiration, filling something missing inside me. And he’s so funny. I’m always laughing at his witty comments or silly observations.

I pull my car behind his, grabbing my farmers’ market purchases, and we exit our cars simultaneously. Donovan casually saunters to the back of his car, wearing my favorite jeans, a cream Henley, and plain brown leather boots. He’s rocking the looks with the body-conscious shirts. His hair is spiked on top again and his face is clean shaven—God, he is gorgeous.

Leaning against the trunk of his car, Donovan watches me walk toward him with the same adoration and hunger in his eyes I recognize from the night before. He smiles broadly, revealing a dimple on the left side of his cheek.

“Hi, beautiful,” he says, leaning in for a soft kiss. The moment our lips touch, the tender kiss deepens, our mouths open wider, and his tongue intertwines with mine. I lift my chin subtly, and Donovan drops one hand from my face and wraps his arm around my back, pulling me to him, my arms limp at my side holding both bags.

When we finally come up for air, my head is spinning, forcing me to take a step back and lean against the front of my car for support, and my stupid grin is replaced with swollen, worked-over lips. Embarrassed at my reaction to his kiss, I look at Donovan disconcertedly. “Hi back,” I say in a breathy voice. “Um, sorry I’m a little late. I needed to go to the farmers’ market to get some things for my uncle.”

“That’s okay. You’re not that late. I had some e-mails to answer anyway. Here, let me take one of those bags.”

I hand Donovan one of the bags as we walk toward the house. “What farmers’ market do you go to?” he asks, placing the bag down on my kitchen table.

Leaving the pears in the bag, I place the rest in the refrigerator and the bowl on the table. “I go to the one on Third Street Promenade. It works the best for my schedule.”

I’ve learned to simplify and streamline my life, but trips to farmers’ market and dinner with my uncle are my mainstays each week. They help to keep me grounded no matter how crazy my schedule is.

“You are one busy girl. We’re lucky our days off overlap or we probably wouldn’t have been able to go out together the past couple times.”

I leave the one bag for my uncle on the table and walk toward my room. “I know. I have a crazy schedule, but that’s just how my life is—work and school.” I peek over my shoulder with an inviting smile. “Do you want to see my room?”

“Sure, lead the way. What time do we have to be at your uncle’s?”

“I told him we would pick up some food and be at his place between one thirty and two. That way we can visit for an hour or two before you have to leave for work. Does that sound okay with you?”

“I’m fine with whatever. I just need to be at work by four thirty to change into uniform.” Donovan stops at the entrance of my room.

My room came fitted with a double bed and matching tall dresser and nightstand of simple light-colored wood. The patchwork quilt, a creation of Sunny’s, is made of soft pinks and greens. Scanning the room, Donovan’s gaze stops at the tall dresser and he walks over, picking up the professional picture of the four of us from Disneyland. “That was a fun day. I liked being the one to share your first time with you.”

I smile at the memories. After I let my guard down and embraced the magic of the experience, our double date was one of the best days of my life. “I can see why they call it the ‘Happiest Place on Earth.’ And I’m glad you were the one who took me. Thank you again.” I walk over and give him a quick kiss on the cheek

Smiling, Donovan stands the picture back up on the dresser and takes in the rest of the room. His eyes wander, assessing his surroundings. “You don’t have any other pictures, none of your family?”

“No. No other pictures. I’m so busy. I haven’t had any time to personalize my room,” I lie. My parents had art on the walls and artifacts from their trips on the shelves, but there were never any individual or family photos. I don’t think we took any pictures together, no smiling faces or happy childhood memories to preserve with a camera.

“I think pictures can say a lot, and sometimes they tell you a story about that person.” Donovan looks around the room. “We better get going.”

“You’re right, we better go.” I take the bag of fresh pears for my uncle and lock up the house.

We decide to pick up Chinese food for the variety, something for everyone to choose. “Tell me more about your uncle,” Donovan says while we wait for our order at the restaurant. “He seems very special to you. As a matter of fact you talk more about him than your own parents.”

Jeez, he’s starting to piece things together. Fidgeting in the seat, I pick at my nails. “My uncle is like a grandfather to me, and I love him very much. I feel bad that he doesn’t have any kids of his own and the older and sicker he becomes, his friends come by less and less.” Since my parents don’t need to use my uncle as a babysitting service anymore, they don’t even bother to visit or call him, which makes it possible for us to continue our special relationship.

Donovan sits quietly, listening to me with his body turned toward mine, his expression impassive. “I can tell he is special to you and he’s had a big influence on you. I’ve found that there are some people close to us that can affect how we choose to live our lives. Your uncle seems like one of those people.”

I nod. He knows about this type of bond. “Yeah, sometimes I wish I could take better care of him because it’s getting harder for him to get around and with the dialysis he gets weaker every year.”

Part of me feels good to open up to Donovan about my uncle, the only man in my life who was good to me. But part of me is worried this will springboard questions about my parents. Something I never had to worry about when I went out with Cruz or Greg. Fortunately, our order is ready and we leave before he asks more questions.

When we round the corner, Uncle William is sitting on the front porch to his unit—his once-full cheeks and neck overflowing onto the collar of his shirt and a crown of white hair ringing his scalp. Now that we are on my turf, I feel more collected with the home-team advantage.

My uncle lives in a studio apartment on the ground level in a quiet arm of his complex among a lot of trees and a peekaboo view of the pool. I grab a hold of Donovan’s hand and pull him with me toward my uncle. “Hi, Uncle William.” I smile and lean down, giving him a kiss on his cheek. I wave my hand in Donovan’s direction. “This is Donovan Alexander.” My uncle smiles at Donovan and offers his hand to shake.

Donovan steps forward and shakes my uncle’s proffered hand. “Good afternoon, sir. It’s very nice to meet you.”

Such formal words spoken from someone so young sounds funny, but at the same time it suits Donovan. He’s timeless in his actions and behavior. Other than his appearance, he doesn’t seem to be influenced by pop culture or urban trends. He is who he is because of his internal set of morals and values, which I’m beginning to like.

“Well, good afternoon to you, too, Donovan. Call me William,” my uncle says, looking up with his light teal eyes to the tall, impressive form standing in front of him, his face radiating with approval.

I lift the bag of food in the air. “I’ll set up the table inside, if you two want to just relax out here for a little bit.”

“Okay, hon. Oh, Matilda, can you bring me some peanuts for the blue jays please, before you get started?”

I walk through the door and yell back. “Sure.” I hear Donovan ask my uncle about calling me Matilda, a nickname he gave me when I was a little kid—Matilda Joy. I don’t know where it came from or what it means, but I like it and he’s the only one who calls me that.

I bring back the bag of peanuts and pour a few in my hand before handing him the rest. “Do you want me to put a couple on the wall for Rudolph?”

“Maybe one or two to bring him down.” My uncle points to the spot where he wants me to place the peanuts. Rudolph is a wild blue jay trained to land on my uncle’s shoulder and pick peanuts out of his pocket. This is the third or fourth generation he has trained to do this, and we spent many summer days sitting on the porch while they sat on the wall or the chair next to us singing.

I lay out a couple peanuts and go back in to the apartment to set up for dinner. I can hear Donovan’s surprised reaction from inside. “Wow. That’s amazing. And he’s a wild bird?” I don’t hear my uncle’s response because I walk into the kitchen for plates and utensils.

“Okay, lunch is on the table, boys,” I announce, peeking my head out the door. My uncle takes a hold of his cane for leverage to help himself out of the chair. Donovan steps in next to Uncle William and grasps him by the elbow for support. I point to the bandage on his arm. “Looks like they got you pretty good today on your arm. Did they have a hard time getting you to stop bleeding?”

He nods. “Yeah, I bled all over my sleeve. Maybe you can work on it for me after lunch.”

“Sure. I’ll soak it while we’re eating. Where is it?”

“It’s already soaking in the bathroom sink. Don’t worry about it now, Matilda. Let’s enjoy lunch here with your boy first.”

As with my room, Donovan takes in his surroundings when he enters my uncle’s place, making me pause for a moment and follow his gaze. My uncle’s apartment is a studio with his queen bed and long dresser in the middle of the living room. An avocado-green couch and wood coffee table is under the window and a four-person table is in the dining area. Donovan pauses at the pictures along the dresser. I never realized until this afternoon with Donovan’s comment that this is where my family photos are.

Donovan holds up a five-by-seven school photo. “Is this you, Kenna?”

“Um, yep, I think that’s my first school picture.

“What a pretty little girl you were. And such a happy smile.” He puts the picture down and looks over the others.

Yeah, happy times before Richard.

Donovan picks up another photo and directs this question to my uncle. “Is this you and Larry Brown when he was the head coach at UCLA?” It’s a picture of my uncle sitting in the row behind the UCLA basketball players, leaning in while head coach Larry Brown is running through plays with the team.