BOMAW 1-3 (13 page)

“I don’t know what has happened to you to make you so afraid of men. All I do know, is that I want you. I want you in a way that I’ve never wanted a woman before. Only time will prove what I say. So, can you please give me that? Time?”

Sylvia couldn’t answer, but she did give him a slight smile, though sad and unsure. “What time is your flight tomorrow?”

“10:45am.”

“Well, we better end this party now if we’re going to make that flight in the morning,” she advised.

His knuckles caressed her cheek.

At The Airport
…

“Here’s the number to my cell phone, my email address and my instant message identification. Will you be online at 8:30 every night for me?” Shawn informed her and asked as they walked down the long corridor to his departure gate.

“I think I can handle that,” she answered. They made it to the ticket door where they stood in line for him to board the plane. His hand was on her lower back. The smell of his cologne,
Devin
by Aramis filling her head, tantalizing her senses. She loved the smell of him. He stood tall and striking in his dress attire. A crisply, dry-cleaned white with black stripe shirt, an attractive, multicolored burgundy/black/gray tie, black slacks and suit jacket under a handsome, long black leather. He was breathtaking. Looking at him, once again she wondered had she lost her mind. Sylvia wore her favorite attire. A beige cardigan, long buff suede skirt, and tall leather dress boots under a long, sleek, wool coat with buttons all the way down the front. Her hair up in her tan wool tam.

“Will you miss me while I’m gone, Sylvia?” he asked her again.

Sylvia smiled up at him. “Yes, I’ll miss you.”

That answer satisfied him. “I’m going to miss you, too. Be careful on the drive home.”

She smiled. “I will. You have a safe flight. I guess I’ll see you when you return.”

“We’ll chat tonight, 8:30…remember?” he reminded her as the line moved forward pretty fast.

“Tomorrow night's soon enough. I already talked to you today,” she simpered.

He gasped. “Woman, you best be online at 8:30. Don’t stand me up.” He was serious.

She sighed again. “Okay…8:30.” They were two away from the ticket clerk. He pulled her up to him for a kiss. Sylvie blushed, but didn’t back away to stop him. The kiss was quick, but complete with tongue and all. Too soon for him, and truthfully, her as well, it was his turn to pass over his ticket and board the plane.

“Talk to you tonight,” he reminded her again.

“Yes, tonight,” she confirmed, stepping away to let the people behind her board. She watched him until he passed through the door, then turned and headed back the way she came. His scent still strong, lingering in her head.

“Aaaah god, this man is going to change my life. Please let it be for the good. Let it be for the good."

It was frightening.

Here she was pulling into her driveway, with no memory of having driven the seventy-five miles back home. No memory of her taking her exits, making speed changes or watching for road construction…nothing! She vaguely recalled walking back through the airport, the parking lot, getting into her vehicle, and then merging onto the highway. One minute she was watching him step through the gate at the airport, and the next thing she knew she was pulling into her driveway.

Parking her car, she sat there stunned and truly afraid. “Oh, my god! I could have killed myself, or someone else! Arrrgh! Shawn Everett Styles—McPherson, whatever your name is…you will not do this to me! You are not going to just invade my peace and turn my world upside down over you! No way! And I’m not going to be online at 8:30, either! This is crazy…I have just lost all sense and control!” she reprimanded herself, getting out of her sage-colored Ford Taurus and slamming the door. Her actions caused another exclamation of anger, as it dawned on her that she wasn’t going anywhere else that day. She turned back to the car and got in. Restarted it, clicked the garage door opener and sat shaking her head as the door opened to allow her entrance. She was scared, truly frightened.

“Oh my goodness, it’s already too late. I just know it is. Look at me…already! How can this be? You have to get a hold of yourself! He’s going to end up breaking your heart and you—stupid fool—you’re going to keep going until he does!” She pulled into the garage, killing her engine once she pulled in far enough for the doors to close.

Closing and locking her kitchen door, she stepped out of her boots before going further into the house. Twenty minutes after her arrival home, she was out of her clothes, having hung them up and was in her favorite casuals. Sad, scared, and for the first time, noticed the absolute emptiness of her beautiful home. The silence…the quiet growing pregnant as she stood in her bedroom door looking out at it; everything was as she left it, but nothing was the same. Her mind drawing a blank, she stood for minutes longer than made sense. It was 1:45 in the afternoon and she couldn’t for the life of her, think of what to do now that she was home. Alone…by herself, in the isolation and solitude that she had always wanted. Well here it was…there she stood in the center…in the very midst of it, and could not move. Could not think of what to do with herself next.

“This is crazy! I need to finish that query letter!” she scolded herself, and marched off to her office room to do just that. She went through the motions of turning on her computer; finding the remote to the TV that served as background noise, clicked it on and flipped to the Discovery Channel. With that done, she leaned over her keyboard, entering her password that brought up her Windows desktop. She walked out of the room to get her necessities for working on the computer; A tall tumbler of ice water, a can of cocktail peanuts—in case hunger struck, and her cordless phone. She enjoyed the luxury of having DSL connection; it kept her phone line free. And last, a trip to the bathroom.

With everything set within reach, she settled in and started opening all of her programs she’d be working with. She checked her website's email, her personal email and the other one that collected her junk mail, emptying it before it was full.

Now, to that query letter.

Fifteen minutes later, nothing was happening. She wasn’t even interested in it. Her head fell back and she sighed. Turning it sideways, she looked out the crack in the blinds to see snow falling. Beyond that, to his house sitting there. The longer she gazed at it, the louder it beckoned her. Even though she decided against being online for him, just in case she changed her mind, she would load his ID into her instant messenger panel box. Pushing her chair back, back on her feet, entering the kitchen, she stood looking for her purse. Finding it, she searched to find the keys he gave her to his house and the paper with his contact information. Returning to her computer, she brought up Yahoo Instant Messenger and clicked on the file to add him to her contact list…mcharley60…

Smiling at his choice of ID, which was also his email for Yahoo, she typed it into the form that popped up and sent it out. It came back and added him with a message to her, awaiting his acceptance. Now to burn time until 8:30…
If I change my mind to chat with you, that is.
Looking to her right, there were the keys to his house. Inhaling with acceptance, she grabbed them and her jacket off the coat tree at the kitchen door. With keys in hand, she headed to his place. The air was crisp, damp and dreary, the snow picking up and layering deep on the ground. At his door, she hesitated only a moment, then entered his home. It was cool inside; he must have turned down the thermostat. She looked for it on the walls and found it in his dining room, turning it up to take the chill out of the air. That done, she turned, looking around. Reaching beside her, she switched on the lights, again noticing how clean his place was. She liked that about him. He was tidy and practical, with a perfunctory style in his décor, definitely masculine simplicity. “Hmm...where to begin?” she asked out loud. Walking from the dining room, she went into the kitchen to get herself something to drink and stopped, noticing a sheet of paper on the kitchen table. She walked up to it, then smiled. Picking it up, she read…

Before her mind registered the act, Sylvia brought the note to her heart, laughing out girlishly as she spun in place as if floating above ground. Coming to a stop, she detected a scent in the air. It was his cologne. With her brows drawn in bafflement, she brought the note to her nose and took a sniff. He had dabbed it with his cologne. She smiled as a soothing calmness settled over her. Sighing, she folded the note in half and put it into her pocket. At the refrigerator, she opened the door to find something to drink. Another note was attached to a six pack of seltzer water. It said, Aren’t these your favorite?
She stared at it, then pulled it out from between two of the attached bottles. “Yes, they are my favorite,” she answered as if he were there, then pulled one from the pack. Closing the door, she leaned against his counter and opened it, taking a satisfying drink. After bringing the bottle from her mouth, she looked at the second note. “Why are you doing this, Shawn McPherson? Why?”

Because of his absence, there was no answer to her question. Now that she was there, time to get busy. Another drink and then onward, continuing by heading towards the hallway and one of the back bedrooms. She stopped in the last room, where she found it filled with boxes set against the walls. She clicked on the light and counted 24 boxes, small, medium and large. Laying on the floor behind a few boxes were the pieces of a bookshelf that needed assembling. “Oookaaay, I guess I’ll start there,” she muttered out loud. First, a little music to work by. Turning back to the living room, ten minutes or more were spent turning on his stereo system and going through his music. Sylvie was stunned to find in his collection Stevie Wonder, Anita Baker, Sade, Frankie Beverly and Maze, B.B. King, Al Greene and Vanessa Williams - amazing dusties of classic R&B - funk, soulful sounds mostly found in black homes.
What the heck? Oh my goodness, this white man got some taste in music.
As she continued to inspect the stack, the more impressed she became. Aretha Franklin—all the old stuff. Marvin Gaye, Miles Davis, Herbie Hancock…Sara Vaughn; many others of old jazz greats. She spent fifteen minutes more there realizing what an exceptional music collection he had, and the majority of it, was what she enjoyed as well. She also loved Barbara Streisand; he had all of her music. Rod Stewart, Rolling Stones, Steve Miller Band, Bad Company and Phil Collins; Kiss, the Beatles, the Eagles, Bob Seger and so many more that she was in music heaven. Opening his 25-disc CD player, she inserted a selection of jazz, blues and soft rock, placed it on shuffle and let the music begin, turning it to a volume she could hear in the back bedroom and went to tackle the boxes.

“Hmph.” First song, Anita Baker…
You bring me-e-e jo-o-oy, when I’m down
… shaking her head she sang along, opening every box first to inspect the contents, transferring them to where she thought they might go. The small, and many of the medium boxes, contained books. She set them to the side. Two she opened to more music. She carried them to the living room to unpack and put away in there. The next few medium boxes contained VHS tapes of movies. Some self-recorded, others he purchased. Quite a few Walt Disney movies, animated and otherwise. Those also went to the living room. A couple of his larger boxes contained old art and art supplies, all of that she took to his painting room. She found a couple of boxes with bathroom items and medicine cabinet goods. That, she carried to the bathroom. Back again to look through more boxes, she found shoes, old decorative bottles of cologne, socks, shirts, and gift trinkets that were made by his daughter. Those boxes, she carried into his bedroom. Setting them down before his dresser, she turned to leave and saw another note. This one lay on the pillows of his made bed. She smiled and slowly approached the bed. Sitting down, she picked up the note, it read…

She threw her head back and laughed. “Not this time, Shawn McPherson, not this time.” She grinned, then on impulse she sniffed the note and there his scent lingered. She smiled; rose from his bed and added that note to the others in her pocket. Back in the room she put the bookshelf together, which took up the entire wall it was laying before. With that done, she began unpacking his books. He had old books with tattered bindings as well as new. His reading material was mostly of authors like Larry McMurtry, Tom Clancy, Ed McBain, Ken Follett, Sidney Sheldon, Andrew M. Greeley. A lot of Sports Illustrated—hardback additions. Self-help books on fitness, weight lifting and equipment catalogs. Tons of hardback books on various artwork. A collection of old encyclopedia editions. A library of children's literature and reading. Books filled with fairytales of old, from famous authors. To her surprise, there was even a collection of very good cookbooks. This made her smile as she set those aside to put in the kitchen. She ran across two ancient volumes of Shakespeare; these two books were huge. She set them aside for later inspection. Following the discovery of them, there were books upon books of poetry. Books on history and biographies. Time volumes on historical events in America up to the present. And last, in a small box of books, she opened to find a collection of romance novels. “No way!” she exclaimed, laughing out loud. But then stopped, noticing something familiar about them. Then it occurred to her, the pictures were familiar. These were books that he’d painted the covers for. “Wow,” she breathed, following that discovery. With a gentle gesture, she stroked her fingers across the covers. Placing them back in their boxes and closing them over, she placed the whole box on the bottom shelf. By the time she emptied all of the boxes of books, the shelf was full, leaving very little space for any more.