All Who Dream (Letting Go) (4 page)

Okay, maybe that was a
bit
of a stretch, but
seriously, Jackson Ross was the polar-opposite of average. The deep espresso of
his hair served to highlight the ocean-blue of his eyes, locking me in place
where I stood. My heart skipped a beat…and then another.

His good looks were far superior to his charm, however
,
as his stoically handsome face remained unchanged,
no apology offered in regards to his offensive comment only a second prior. Instead,
he stared unabashed, his gaze washing over me. Both horribly awkward, yet undeniably
magnetic, the moment had paralyzed me. I wanted to say something—
anything
—but
my mind was blank.

Humiliation burned my cheeks as I remembered my
mom
wardrobe
—the one I was currently wearing.

The intensity of his blue-gray eyes softened slightly as
he cracked a tight smile. “Ms. Flores.” He gave a curt nod of his head. “You’re
not what I expected.”

Though his words were similar to what
Pippy
had said to me at the airport, his tone lacked warmth. I pawed at the pendant
around my neck and searched for the words to reply to such a comment
. Or was
it a compliment?
I honestly didn’t
know.

Pippy
looked at me. “Yes, I said
the same when I met her earlier this evening.” She moved aside to let Walt open
the back passenger door. “You’ll be late for your appointment, sir.”

Mr. Ross took three steps to the car, his almond-shaped
eyes drinking me in—me, who stood stalk still like some sort of freak-show
mime. A hint of something new crossed his rugged features, his right brow
arching ever so slightly as he held my gaze a moment more. With a curt nod from
Jackson, Walt closed his door, leaving me spellbound at the silence exchange.

Was it curiosity that had transfixed him? I didn’t know.

But as stunning as Jackson Ross was to behold, what lurked
beneath the surface he portrayed was something as dark as it was mysterious.

The hair on my arms stood at attention as I watched his
car pull away.

“Hmm...
that
was strange.”
Pippy’s
eyes followed the town car as it pulled into the
flow of traffic.

I did a
double-take at the young woman.
Strange?
Really?
That’s what she’s going with?

Pippy
shrugged. “The good news
is...you and I
are
going shopping on Saturday morning!
I can’t wait! I’ll write it on the new schedule.” She beamed.

Another schedule?
Lord
have
mercy.

I am fragile

The wind has no discretion

It doesn’t care that I fall

It doesn’t care that I cry

It just keeps on blowing

I am weak

The gust has endless power

It doesn’t care that I break

It doesn’t care that I hurt

It just keeps on blowing

I am frail

The storm has infinite rage

It doesn’t care that I fear

It doesn’t care that I cower

It just keeps on blowing

I am alone

I stepped over the porcelain ledge of the tub
and wrapped the white, fluffy bath towel around my body. Cody was still asleep,
and I was certain he’d been up playing on his new gadget long after I called
lights out. As the mirror defogged, I pulled my long, blonde hair over my
shoulder and combed through it with my fingers. A glint of gold caught my eye
in the mirror—my necklace, the one I’d worn for close to ten years.

It had
belonged to my granny. Fingering it, I headed into the bedroom to dress.

We had
never lived near her, but I looked forward to her visits as a child even more
than I had looked forward to Christmas. She smelled of cherries and vanilla,
and though she was covered in wrinkles, her skin was perpetually soft like a
rose petal.

She was
my mother’s grandmother, and she was also the one who had named me—Angela
Christine. My name meant messenger of God, or angel. She always spoke of
angels. Though my parents were too busy to be bothered with faith, my granny
was known for nothing else.

During
her visits, I sat with her after my parents were in bed and listened to her
stories for hours on end. I would lay my head on her lap as she stroked my
hair. Her touch was a memory of affection I would hold near to my heart long
after she passed; affection was scare in our household.

The
necklace was a tiny, gold pendant: angel wings that formed a heart.

Granny
passed unexpectedly two days before my high school graduation. I didn’t receive
the necklace, though, for almost six months. The bequest had been missed during
the initial division of her estate and belongings.

I’ll
never forget the day Dirk tossed a padded envelope on the counter like it was
nothing—like it meant nothing—though the packet had my name handwritten on the
front with my granny’s return address in the upper left hand corner. He knew
what she had meant to me. I’d been an emotional wreck the day of my
graduation—and consequently, during our elopement to Vegas the day after her
memorial service.

The
envelope had been stamped, but never mailed. It was to be a graduation gift,
one that held unmatched significance.
Though the little angel
wings were tarnished, the vintage piece was invaluable.
Priceless.
Irreplaceable.

 
My granny had placed the necklace inside a
delicately folded piece of stationary. In her beautiful, shaky cursive, she had
written:

My Dearest Angela,

I was given this necklace on my wedding day
by your granddaddy. I wish you could have known him. He was my angel in
disguise. I pray this necklace provides you with strength and courage in the
same way it has for me.

“For He will order His angels
to protect you wherever you go.”

Psalms 91:11.

I’ll love you always,

Granny

I had
repaired the fragile chain twice, but other than that, I had not taken it off.
The necklace was a part of me—Cody had never seen me without it.

The
reflection of my necklace in the mirror brought me comfort in these new
surroundings. Dressed in black slacks, heels and a sleeveless, lavender blouse,
I applied my makeup with care, using brown eyeliner to accent my hazel eyes.
Leaving my blonde hair to fall below my shoulders, I assessed the woman that
was my reflection and decided that she was light-years ahead of the
just-a-mom
from the night prior.

I’ll prove him wrong.

True to
her word,
Pippy
arrived with Walt and the car at nine
a.m. on the dot. The signing was to start at ten. Cody begged to sit up front next
to Walt’s in the driver’s seat, I agreed, and was relieved to see
Pippy
alone in the backseat of the town car—or at least
that’s what I told myself.
As Walt opened the back door for
me,
Pippy
launched into a story, her hands in full
animation-mode.
I decided right then that Rosie and
Pippy
should never meet. This world was not big enough to contain that much energy in
a single space.

“Good
morning! I didn’t know how you liked your coffee…so I just took a stab at it.
Peter—my brother—says I’m the worst at ordering coffee because I only drink it
for the sugar, but I did my best at guessing what you’d like.” Her long, black eyelashes
fluttered excitedly as she held out the drink. Evidently, she was waiting for
an assessment—or an approval—I wasn’t sure which. I took a slow sip. Peter was
correct. It was like drinking hot, liquid sugar with a splash of coffee
flavoring.

I forced a
swallow down.

“Thank
you,” I said.

 
“See…he doesn’t know what he’s talking about—I
thought we’d have similar tastes.”

I grinned.

 
“So, let’s see,” she hurried on, “today you
have this signing from ten until two—we will break for thirty minutes for
lunch. As I’m sure Dee told you, this publicity tour is quite unique—we have
never set up a tour that has a single theme and focus like this one does.”

 
“You mean like on parenting?” I asked,
confused.

 
“No, I mean on family: marriage, parenting,
single parenting and adoption. Pinkerton Press wants to raise the bar—provide
resources for a generation who seems clueless on keeping family a priority.
They have handpicked these authors—it’s quite inspiring actually. There are
five authors in total. You are the only one who is still unpublished, but your
blog has drawn a lot of attention. That’s why we’re pre-selling your book. It should
be out around Thanksgiving, as you already know.”

 
“Wow, Dee mentioned that there were other
authors promoting family, but this sounds phenomenal.”

Pippy
nodded her head. “This tour has been very well
advertised; we are expecting it to do well, that’s why we’re taking it into
several cities.”

A wave of
anxiety blindsided me. “Am I the only author representing single parenting?” I
looked at Cody in the front seat. He was engaged in a riddle-fest with Walt.

Pippy’s
eyes twinkled. “Yes.”

When we walked into the
three story bookstore my head felt light and airy, like at any moment it would
take off without me into the great beyond.

Four
lines of ropes corralled hundreds of chatty women, children, and a few dozen
men who all looked bored out of their minds. My mouth gaped at the sight.

 
“Look, there she is! Hi Angie—and there’s
Cody!”

 
“Angie, can I get my picture with you?”

 
“We love you, Angie!”

Cody
pulled on my arm as we continued to walk. “Mom, do all these women know you?”

I shook
my head, dumbfounded, waving and smiling as I followed
Pippy
,
who didn’t miss a beat. She stopped at a long table near the center of the
first floor. There were three other tables set up around the room—two were
already occupied: one by Sue Bolen who wrote
Adoption Answers
and the second by Tom and Julie Zimmerman who
co-wrote,
The Reconnected Marriage.

A picture
of my face—one that I recognized from my blog—hung on a banner in front of the
table displaying the title of my blog:
A
Lone Joy.
A large pile of various signing materials and pre-book orders
were neatly arranged on the tabletop. I swallowed hard.

“Exciting,
isn’t it?”
Pippy
nudged my arm.

“Yes…very.”
I ignored the ball of cotton that had sucked my throat dry of moisture.

“So I was
thinking Cody can either sit here with you, or there’s a special kid’s corner
right over there. I made sure they put this table where you could still see
him. Whatever you think best is fine,”
Pippy
said.

“Is that
okay, Mom?” Cody bounced on his toes. “Can I sit over there?”

“Sure,
honey.” I tousled his hair. Just make sure you let me know if you plan on going
anywhere else. This place is very crowded. Also, you are only to read. You will
be spending enough time tonight on that iPad, so don’t take it out of your
backpack while we are in the store.”

“Okay,
Mom.”

Pippy
escorted him to the brightly painted kids’ corner
which was just forty feet away or so and looked at her watch. I looked around
the room. I’d been dying to ask her about some questions about Mr. Ross, but
the words wouldn’t form.

I stopped
my eyes from rolling at the thought of Mr. High-and-Mighty as
Pippy
announced it was time to begin. I took a deep breath
and braced myself for the onslaught before remembering Rosie’s words when she
came to say goodbye.

“Embrace
this, Ang. It’s your destiny.”

By the
time our lunch break started, my stomach was angry.
Pippy
had purchased a bag of chips for Cody a while ago, but I’d barely had a sip of
water during the last three hours. With every face I saw, every hand I shook,
every note I wrote…I felt inspired. I wanted to know them all: their names,
their stories, their struggles. I had been in more pictures today probably than
in my whole lifetime, but I smiled genuinely in each one. These women had found
their way here for reasons I had yet to understand, and I wasn’t about to give
them anything less than my all, even if I was starving!

Cody had
checked in with me several times and even added his own notes and signatures on
a few of the cards and posters. The moms went crazy over him, which then drove
him back to the kids’ corner.

I scarfed
down my turkey sandwich, chasing it with a diet soda, when I turned toward the
door.
A rush of ice and heat swept down my body.

Jackson Ross.

Even his
name was striking. He stood near where Cody sat, leaning against a wall in his
dark, rich, designer suit. He stared at his phone and typed furiously, as if
his life depended on the message he was sending—maybe it did; what did I know?

I bit my
bottom lip as I watched him. Though I’d never before found facial hair
attractive, Jackson knew how to pull it off. His sculpted beard was trimmed and
edged into a flawless outline of his firm jaw.
Rugged heartthrob meets GQ.