Bump in The Night

One

She didn’t see him enter the room or hear his steps as he walked up the aisle to the coffin. She simply glanced up and there he was, weeping silentf y as he gazed down at the pasty white face with the brightly rouged cheeks – her father in his final slumber.

She sat in the first row of padded folding chairs and tried to look away again, uncomfortable with public displays of raw emotion. But not staring at him proved to be impossible.

Charlotte had no flare for fashion of her own, and she didn’t like to judge… but the man was wearing sparkling, ruby-red sequined shoes – large ones – with squat heels and red bows across the toes just like… well, just like Dorothy’s in the Wizard of Oz. With white sport socks. They hugged his ankles and climbed halfway up his thick, well-shaped, hairy calves – which were bare from there to his knees. His muscled thighs looked laminated in a pair of silver-gray football pants that disappeared beneath a baggy black overcoat with white piping around the collar and the large kangaroo-like pouches that took the place of normal pockets.

How could she not stare?

But who was he? Surely, not a friend of her father’s and certainly no one she knew. Though after a quick second peek at his face he did look, somehow, almost vaguely familiar to her… sort of.

Aside from the clothes, he was a nice-looking man, clean shaven, his dark hair clipped short. He stood in partial profile to her, his head bent low, the strong angles of his face draped in sadness. He had the kind of square chin she always thought denoted a strong character – a hero’s chin, with a nice straight nose, and his full lips curved downward at the corners, making his sorrow seem as real to her as her own.

But who was he?

She hated situations like this. What if he spoke to her? She was better with numbers than names and there was never a right thing to say, on either end, when someone died. What had she been thinking?

The funeral director, Mr. Robins, was a client of her father’s – now officially her client, since she planned to continue the family bookkeeping and accounting business. He’d been kind and helpful over the last couple of days… though he’d still managed to take her to the cleaners with the funeral arrangements. It was her fault really. She knew better. He’d cut her a great deal on a two-hour viewing, even after she’d explained that her father had outlived all of his family but her, and all but a handful of friends. Ten minutes after signing the agreement and walking out the door, she realized that she’d let her grief overcompensate on a ritual she didn’t need and her father would never know about, that she should have stuck to her guns about the simple, respectful grave side service she had originally asked for.

But men, she wasn’t good at sticking to her guns, either.

The man reached up to wipe a stream of tears from his cheek with the loose sleeve of his jacket, and sniffled, loudly. She turned to look behind her, hoping to catch Mr. Robin’s eye as she was beginning to suspect that Mr. Ruby Shoes may have wandered in off the streets by accident and didn’t quite understand where he was or what he was doing.

Three older gentlemen sat together, all accountants like her father, who played poker with him every other Saturday night, except during tax season. Sidney Clark and Sue Butterfield were old friends of hers from high school. The CPA who specialized in tax preparation, Kendall Watson, who they sometimes used for overflow, sat alone several rows ahead of Mrs. Kludinski and Joe and Martha White, and their young daughter, Ruth – neighbors from their building, who had apparently come together.

The rest of the chairs in the large elegant room were empty. There was no sign of the funeral director, and oddly enough, no one else seemed to have even noticed the strangely dressed man at the front of the room.

Several of them nodded and sent her sympathetic smiles. But none of them looked concerned when the man turned and started toward her.

This is it then, she thought, drawing a deep breath and squirming in her chair. She was truly on her own now – in every sense – and would have to handle him herself.

Should she ask him to leave? Maybe he’d just say he was sorry for her loss and go. No harm done, no fuss necessary. But if she didn’t look at him, maybe he’d just leave – even better.

His crimson shoes twinkled into her field of vision and stopped in front of her. She couldn’t pretend to not see them. Her gaze lifted in stages from the athletic socks to the V of a rainbow-colored Grateful Dead T-shirt beneath the baggy jacket, to his face.

Her breath caught in her hyper-extended throat and she emitted a nervous nasal-choking noise when she tried to breathe again.

The room seemed to teeter as she gazed up into stunning blue eyes, bright and keen with knowledge and know-how. She wanted to call them Infinite Sky Blue or Majestic Royal Blue or even Sexy Sapphire, give them some romantic name or label, but they defied all classification.

Magic.

Then, even before that word solidified in her mind, his eyes turned Vivid Clover Green.

She gasped and her heart went wild. Her brain telegraphed her muscles to jump and run; her nerve endings sputtered in response. Deeply alarmed, she turned to those behind her for help. They sat placidly, their expressions emphatically kind and benevolent toward her – but not one of them seemed to notice the man with her, much less his kaleidoscope eyes.

The urge to scream swelled in her throat.

Wait! Wait! Eyes don’t change colors. Dad’s viewing… don’t make a scene. Maybe his eye trick is a trick of the eye… the dim lighting in here sucks… 1 didn’t sleep well last night… I could be mistaken… Oh, God, let me be mistaken.

Sure enough, when she could look at him again, his eyes were the same mesmerizing blue as before.

She nearly fainted with relief.

He gave her a small, understanding smile. No. More than that… His tender expression seemed to be telling her that he not only understood but also knew what she was feeling. He’d startled her, and he was sorry. But that wasn’t all. He felt all of it. He, too, was enduring the same sadness, the loneliness, the sense of loss and being lost that she was suffering.

Impossible. Irrational. Yet, for some strange, amazing reason, she believed him.

Maybe she just wanted to believe him.

Either way, he touched something inside her. Touched and coddled it. She couldn’t remember ever feeling so… warmly connected to someone on so short an acquaintance.

Not even an acquaintance really, she realized, her mind scrambling for something to say to him.

„Hi.“ He spoke in a soft, deep whisper that tickled her in very odd places.

„Hi.“

„It’s good to be back.“

Back from… Mars? Before she could think of a better way to ask him, he gave her an amused you-silly-rabbit look and sat next to her. The sleeve of his tacky black jacket brushed the sleeve of her black blazer and she imagined a comforting warmth penetrating the right side of her body. He smelled of fir trees, spicy cider and warm vanilla.

Christmas.

They looked at one another and exchanged shy smiles.

„You don’t remember me, do you?“

„No. I’m sorry, I don’t. All – although you do look somewhat familiar. Except for the… ah…“ Perhaps the less attention she gave his attire the better, for both of them. „Did you know my father well?“

„I knew him as well as you did. Maybe a little better, since my memory is longer.“

„Are you a relative, then?“

„Not exactly.“

„A close friend?“

„Of yours, yes.“ He was a friend of hers? Her cheeks grew numb as blood drained from her face and her heart struggled to handle the extra load. From where? From when? How could she have forgotten him? No, no! She did not know mis man. And she was just about to tell him so when he added, „Strange, isn’t it?“

„What?“

„That it doesn’t really matter if someone dies quickly like your mother did, in the accident, or slips away slowly over several years, you’re never really ready when it happens, are you? And die hurt is just the same.“

She gave a slight nod and looked away, feeling overexposed by his innocent observation. She’d been trying to tell herself that very thing, trying to rationalize the overwhelming sense of being selfish and weak and cruel every time she wished her father back alive, knowing all the pain he’d suffered the last two years. A good daughter would set him free, feel his relief and be grateful for it. Wouldn’t she?

A good daughter would also miss him.

She did miss him. Desperately. Though she hadn’t thought of it that way before – missing him. It wasn’t the same as wishing him back. Missing him was just… missing him, feeling the aching void of him in her life. Nothing weak or mean about that. That was just human.

She caught the strange man nodding in her peripheral vision and slanted her eyes toward him. There was a closed-lip smile on his face and an air of satisfaction as he angled one scarlet-shoed foot across a silver-coated thigh and settled himself more comfortably.

„I’m sorry, but where do I know you from? How do I know you?“

„It’ll come to you.“ He looked at her then with genuine fondness. She felt a dither near her diaphragm, recognized the tug of attraction and wanted to laugh. Hysterically. Married men, gay men and now lunatics – her dating pool was nearly complete. Of course, if he was also a stone-cold killer, he would top it off nicely. She shook her head slightly. How could she have forgotten someone like him? He leaned close and murmured, „We can talk about all that later. For now, let’s just sit here together and remember him. He was a fine old gentleman.“

She was certain he didn’t belong. He was a stranger – very likely an unhinged stranger escaped from a local facility – but she was struck once again by how much she loathed sitting in the front row all alone, the last of the Gibsons, the sole survivor, the only one left.

There was plenty of room and he wasn’t hurting anyone by being there. And truth be told, she found his presence beside her as consoling as it was disconcerting.

Her gaze returned to the pattern on the rug three feet in front of her. She sighed and began to feel calm and content for the first time in… a really long time. When he reached over to gently pat her thigh, she found it reassuring, not forward or offensive at all. Soothing. Relaxing.

She judged him to be about her age. As bizarrely dressed as he was, and as unconcerned as he seemed about exposing his emotions, there was a part of her that admired his spirit and bravery. Envied him, really. He was extreme, unquestionably. Deranged, perhaps. But at least he wasn’t afraid to express himself, to stand out, to do what he wanted to do.

She couldn’t recall the last time she’d made a major life decision on her own and stuck to it. From the day she was born, late in her parents’ lives, until this very moment, everything had been lovingly planned and laid out for her. It was assumed that she would set her feet into the trail of prints they left for her, step after step, and she had. Now here she was, almost thirty years old, living the life her parents had chosen for themselves, and not at all the woman she once dreamed of becoming.

She wore her long mousey brown hair in a simple knot or a ponytail at the back of her head for convenience. Her clothes were neat and functional rather than trendy and attractive. Makeup was a bother she didn’t bother with. She had her father’s short thin nose, her mother’s full lips, and moss-colored, almond-shaped eyes – a gene from her grandmother Gibson, whom she’d never met. All fine donations, but in the end, all they added up to was plain. Charlotte was plain. It wasn’t what she set out to be but -

She jumped when she felt a heavy hand on her left shoulder, and was surprised to see Mr. Robins standing beside her chair. He was a tall somber man who couldn’t have looked more like a mortician if he tried.

He bent at the waist and murmured, „Charlotte. I didn’t mean to startle you.“

„Oh. No. I was just…“ Had he come to ask her new friend to leave? It was undoubtedly for the best, but she couldn’t help feeling disappointed. The man was such a kind, gentle soul. She hoped there wouldn’t be a scene as she envisioned the funeral director dragging him, kicking and screaming, from the room in his absurd outfit – ruby shoes flailing, giant jacket hiked up over the football pants, legs straining therein. „He isn’t disturbing anything, is he?“

Mr. Robins glanced at her father’s coffin. „No, of course not. And there’s still plenty of time if you’re expecting more people.“

„More people?“ She hadn’t expected this many people. „No. I think… I think this is about it. Has it been two hours already?“

„Almost. But if you’d like more time – “

„No. God, no.“ She cut him off and snatched up her purse. „I’ve had plenty of time. Thank you so much for everything you’ve done. You’ve been very kind.“

„Not at all. Everything has been arranged for the graveside service in the morning, just as we discussed.“

„Nine o’clock, right?“ She stood up.

„Our car will pick you up at 8:30 sharp.“

„Great.“ She hesitated. „Should we call someone – “ She turned and discovered that her peculiar companion had already left his seat. She glanced around looking for him. „Did you see which way he went? It might not be safe for him to be wandering around on his own.“

„Who?“

„That guy who was sitting here.“

„I’m sorry. I just came in. I didn’t see anyone leave.“

„No, he was there a minute ago… when you first came up.“

He smiled tolerantly. „You were deep in thought. Perhaps you didn’t notice when he left.“

She stared at the empty chair. Maybe it was just as well that he’d slipped out undetected. She disliked the idea of him locked up somewhere. She thought of electroshock therapy and shuddered. But he was so sweet and friendly and the world could be a terrible place for people like that. She hoped he would be all right.

Mr. Robins was looking at her askance.

„You’re probably right. It’s been a strange few days.“

Two

The days got stranger as the week wore on.

Learning that Mrs. Kludinski and Martha White were planning to attend the graveside ceremony as well, Charlotte invited them to ride in the family limousine with her. In fact, she was prepared to beg them to join her rather than take the sad, solemn ride to and from the cemetery alone – but it hadn’t been necessary.

Like most Seattle days it was cloudy and overcast, the early spring wind was still winter chilly. The service was short and dignified… like Dad, she thought, in a moment of light nostalgia. She thought back to her seventeenth birthday and her father’s tradition of marking her height on the bright yellow wall behind the kitchen door. It surprised him and delighted her to discover they were both 5 feet 7 inches tall, and in a rare display of vanity, he’d stretched and wiggled and hyper-extended his spine a quarter of an inch up the wall to top her – then asked her please to stop growing. An inch later she did, though the marks on the wall never changed.

They were leaving the cemetery when she saw the peculiar man again. Dressed as he was in the same outrageous outfit, how could she miss him? He stood beside an angelic head stone and waved as the limo passed by.

„Stop! Please stop,“ she called to the driver. „He’s missed the service.“

„Who?“ Elderly Mrs. Kludinski and Martha craned their necks to look out every window in every direction. „Who missed the service? I don’t see anyone.“

„That man standing over there by the angel.“ She made a vague gesture with her head as she scrambled closer to the door, waiting for the long black Cadillac to come to a complete stop before getting out. „I’m pretty sure I don’t know who he is, but if he walked here I want to make sure he can get back to… to wherever he came from. He was at the viewing yesterday, remember? He sat with me?“

She glanced over in time to see the exchange of confused frowns.

„Nice-looking man? About my age? Wearing that weird black jacket?“ She was reluctant to use the kicker but she would if they didn’t stop staring at her like that. „Big, sparkling red shoes?“

„Are you feeling nauseated, dear?“ Mrs. Kludinski was all concern. „Dizzy? Let’s roll down the windows and get some air in here, shall we?“

Frustrated, Charlotte twisted around in her seat to look through the rear window, straight back to the stone angel, its hands extended in welcome, wings poised for flight – but there was no tall, handsome man in big red shoes. A hard, painful knot of anxiety formed just below her sternum as she got out of the limo. He was nowhere in sight.

And yes, she did feel a little sick about it.

He crossed her mind again two nights later as she sat alone at a table for two eating an early dinner in her father’s favorite Italian restaurant just down the street from their apartment.

No, it was her apartment now.

She hadn’t taken more than two bites when she glanced up and saw the bizarre man in the window, looking in longingly at her favorite scaloppini.

Thrilled, but mostly astounded to see him there, she sucked in a sharp breath and choked on a small piece of shrimp – coughing and hacking and beating her own chest. When she could breathe again and focus beyond the tears in her eyes, he was gone again.

It didn’t occur to her until late the next afternoon that he might be… well… stalking her. It wasn’t something she normally worried about. She wasn’t rich or beautiful – there were whole days, in fact, when she suspected she was invisible to the human eye. What could be safer?

But all that changed as she sat in the narrow, second-story office of Chancellor’s Furniture Store, downloading the last of the month’s sales invoices off a tediously slow computer. It had been raining off and on all day, and she glanced out the small pane-window to see which it was, on or off.

It was gloomy and bleak and the street lights glowed in soft pools along the sidewalks below. In the pool directly across from the store, the pale light ricocheted off a very large pair of ruby slippers.

He leaned against the lamp post, as if waiting for a bus, but came to attention when he saw her looking down at him. He waved wildly and flashed a wide white grin. He looked delighted to see her. She felt a little delighted herself.

Still, the coincidence of him showing up at her father’s viewing and funeral, then their favorite restaurant, and now outside a client’s business were adding up. And not looking good.

But, weren’t stalkers more stealthy than this? Considerably less obvious? Shouldn’t she feel him watching her, not see him everywhere? And where were his keepers? Surely he’d been missed by now at whatever facility he’d escaped from. Shouldn’t there be people out looking for him?

How could anyone miss seeing him, she wondered, observing the absolute indifference to him in the other pedestrians. Seattle was not an indifferent town. Big and busy, yes, but the absurd and outrageous still turned heads. Her heart twisted at the thought that she might be the only one watching this poor, unfortunate man slipping through the cracks of society.

She did have the good sense to be afraid of his sudden attachment to her… or would have had it, if he exuded even the mildest wave of rancor or aggression. But the plain fact was, he didn’t. Approachability, congeniality and kindness. She sensed these things about him – along with a faint underlying familiarity.

The real problem was that even if he weren’t dressed like a clown, even if he seemed like the most normal guy in the world, she still wouldn’t know what to do about him. More to the point, what she should do about his perplexing interest in her. She wasn’t great with men. He clearly needed a friend and for some reason he’d chosen her, but… wouldn’t the best and kindest thing for her to do for him be to call the authorities, get him the help he so obviously needed?

„Charlotte?“ She turned from the window as Henry Chancellor entered his office with two styrofoam cups of coffee. „Am I too late? Are you finished? You take yours black, don’t you?“

She nodded and took the cup he handed her. „I just finished. You need a new computer up here, Henry.“

„I know. The newer ones downstairs are much faster but… I know this one.“

Comfort in familiarity, she’d invented the concept. „I need the social security number for the new mover you hired. But I have everything else I need for this month. Looks like your Beat the Bunny Pre-Easter sale did very well.“

„It’s the season. By the end of March people have forgotten how expensive Christmas was, they’ve spent the whole gloomy wet winter indoors with their furniture, so they’re ready to buy new in the first light of spring. And don’t worry about the boy. He’s my wife’s nephew. I hired him for the month, for the sale. Friday is his last day. He needed to earn some extra money. I’ve been paying him out of petty cash.“ He held up a hand to keep her from speaking. „And, yes, I wrote it down for you.“

He started to cross behind her to a stack of papers on the far side of the desk, but she stood quickly and put her back to the window, giving him his place at his desk – and blocking his view of the street below.

„He wants to take his girlfriend to the prom in a limousine. Ah, here it is.“ He ripped off the top sheet of a note pad and handed it to her over his shoulder, waiting for her to walk around him, so he could lean back. But if she did that, he could see out the window. He scooted his chair forward, adding more room to the already adequate space for her to move around him. She glanced over her shoulder to the street and the man waved at her to come down to him. „Can you get through back there?“

„Oh. Yes. I just…“ She’d have to distract him. She leaned down and picked up her brief case. „I was just thinking that I didn’t go to my prom. Did you?“

He swiveled his chair to the left, away from the window, and smiled nostalgically. „I took my wife, as a matter of fact. My father lent me his 1959 Chevy Belair, and she was the prettiest one there.“ She smiled at the warmth in his voice. „My wife, that is… although that Chevy was something to look at, too.“ She laughed, as he’d hoped she would, and then he narrowed his eyes at her. „Do you have a moment to talk, Charlotte?“

She glanced at the window, at the coffee in her hand, then back at him. „Sure.“

He waited for her to sit in the empty chair beside his desk, keeping his back to the window. „I wanted to tell you how sorry I am about your father.“

„Thank you.“

„Will you be all right? Businesswise? I know he had a great many clients. Will you be adding them to yours, or won’t you have time for them?“

„Oh.“ She was anxious to get away – hoping her strange friend wouldn’t wander off before she could get to him, then hoping he would. „I’ll keep some of them. There are several companies that he started with as small businesses, they grew, and he stayed with them. They took up a lot of his time. A lot of my time, too, recently. But they should have their own in-house accountants now. I’ll weed those out and keep most of the smaller businesses. The next few months will be a little hectic but it should work out fine.“

„Not too much for just one person?“

„No. Well, yes, but I’ll be fine.“ It wasn’t like she had a lot of other things to do with her time.

„You’re sure?“ She recognized the look in his eyes and sighed. It was the sympathetic, well-meaning look that invariably preceded a discussion of her nonexistent love life. „The reason I’m asking is, my wife’s ex-sister-in-law’s nephew is the… ah, um… you know, the main money man for this big chain of hotels, actually several chains with different names. They do fast food, too. And rental cars. He’s the vice president of money or something but they call it something else… ah…“

„Controller? Auditor? CFO? Chief financial officer?“

„Yes, that’s it. In Chicago. He travels a good deal, works long hours. A very nice, quiet, young fellow. He was out here last fall on a visit and fell in love with the water and the mountains and all the greenery – you know how people do. Says he wants to downsize his life a little, enjoy more of it while he’s still young…“

What if a patrol car happens to drive by? Cops get paid to notice the strange and unusual. Would they check with missing persons before or after they confiscated his shoes and locked him up? she wondered.

„… up and quit his job.“ Henry went on. „Luckily, he’s single, did I mention that? A very nice, quiet, young guy.

Anyway, he’s packing up and moving out here. Expect him any day now.“

„Bold move.“

„Gutsy, I thought, and smart, too. Figuring out early that money isn’t everything. Life is short, you know?“ He looked uncomfortable in light of her recent loss. „Anyway, I believe he has plenty of money set aside but he’s not ready to retire just yet, so he’s looking for work. Something smaller. Something challenging. And when my wife told me all this, she seemed very enthused with the idea of the two of you at least meeting. Since you have so much in common,“ he added, looking even more uncomfortable. „Perhaps you could work out some sort of business arrangement. Maybe… who knows? A nice, quiet, single young man… and you. Who knows what might happen?“

It started as a low grumble deep in her belly, then escalated to a high pitched screaming in her head. No, no, no! Nice, quiet man is a synonym for miserable, boring loser! I don’t want to have anything in common with that! I want more! I need more! I want bold, confident and determined! I want exciting! I want sexy! I want Alpha! I want passion and laughter and… and someone who will see me as more than a nice, quiet woman! I want a life! I want to live! I want to get out of here!

„It was awfully nice of her to think of me.“ It was a strain to control her voice. „But to tell you the truth, Henry, I don’t think I’m going to need a partner. Not right away. Not for several years, if then. I’m feeling pretty confident that I can handle the whole business on my own, once I weed through it.“

„I have no doubt that you can.“ Henry looked let off the hook. He could at least tell his wife he’d tried. „But it’s something to keep in mind, down the road a bit. Working alone can get lonely.“

„I know. Thanks, Henry.“ She stood, slipped the strap of her purse over her shoulder and picked up her briefcase with the same hand, leaving the other free for the rest of her coffee. „If you think it might help, have him call me when he gets settled. I’ll give him the names of the companies I’ll be cutting loose. They’ll be looking for good accountants very soon.“

He beamed at her. „You’re a sweet girl, Charlotte Gibson.“

She smiled and felt heat in her cheeks. „I’ll see you next month, Henry.“

„I always look forward to it.“

„Me, too. Thanks for the coffee.“

„Good night, Charlotte. Hurry home. I think it’s going to rain.“

The moment she stepped out of the front door onto the sidewalk, he called to her. „Well, it’s about time. I thought you forgot about me again.“

Charlotte took a deep breath. She was nonconfronta-tional by nature, but everyone had their limit. She glanced at the traffic, then marched across the street to deal with him.

Three

„Who are you? And why are you following me?“

He gave her a charming smile and slipped his hands into the pouches on his jacket. But the man walking on the sidewalk behind him, stopped short and frowned at her.

„Who me?“ the second man said, surprised and annoyed by her accusation. „I’m not following you.“

„No. Sorry. Not you.“ She held up her cup and spread her last three fingers. „Sorry.“

She watched the second man stomp away, then curled all but her index finger around her coffee cup and directed it at her target. „You!“

„It’s a long story,“ he said, calm and mildly amused. He spoke in a smooth, deep baritone that seemed to vibrate in the nicest way at the base of her spine. „Let’s walk or we’ll get caught in the rain.“

Turning to his right, he started to walk, confident that she’d follow. She only did so, however, because he was aimed in the direction of her apartment – she might need to know if he knew where she lived.

„This part is always so much harder when you’re dealing with adults who don’t believe in anything anymore. But you, I’m pleased to say, are a rare and wonderful exception, Charlotte. Deep down, you still believe.“

„In what?“

„In all the good stuff.“ He inhaled deeply through his nose as if he could smell it. „Peace. The power of hope. Love. The Spirit of Christmas. Happily ever after. All of it. Most of the time you are a True Believer.“

„That’s very nice, but who are you?“

He thought a moment. „I know you like to add things together and come up with a sum total at the end. But in this case I think we should use a little algebra. You were always good at math. I’ll give you the answer, if you promise to stay and listen to the solution for X. You won’t have a clear answer to your question until you have all the components.“

„Okay. Shoot.“ She was proud that she sounded braver than she felt. How did he know so much about her? It was creepy… and fascinating. Mentally she kept track of the shops ahead that were still open for business, and possibly sanctuary if she needed it.

„We’ve been friends a long time, you and I.“

„No, I – “

„Better friends when you were four and five, and for a while when you were six, but that doesn’t mean we’ve forgotten each other or that I didn’t exist all this time. I’ve always been here; you just wouldn’t let yourself see me.“

„Well I see you now, but I still don’t know who you are.“

„I am a figment of your ingenuity, the aggregate of your resourcefulness, a compendium of your dreams and wishes. In layman terms, I was once your imaginary playmate, and now I’m your – “ Her feet took root in the sidewalk. He stopped to look back at her. „Oh, see? You’re not going to believe me, are you?“

She stared at him. He gave her a smug smile and lifted his brows. „I do look familiar though, don’t I? And how else would I know you had a make-believe friend if I didn’t exist?“ He walked back to her, took the lax arm hanging from her left shoulder and looped it over his. „Come on. I’ll explain everything. It’s not as complicated as you might think.“

She allowed him to pull her along, taking careful note of the very real-feeling arm under her hand and the strange scent he had that remind her of winter holidays. Some sort of drug that oozes through his skin like garlic? Doesn’t cyanide smell like almonds?

There was a convenience store three blocks up – she could call the police from there. For now, she needed to keep him calm, keep him talking.

„I’ve changed some, I admit.“ His tone was so casual it sounded like truth. „But, like you, I couldn’t remain a child forever. So, I grew up with you. I changed when you changed.“ He laughed – not manically, but in a humorous way. A wonderful way. She liked his laugh. „I remember once, when you were fifteen, I looked like Kirk Cameron and Patrick Swayze in the same week. It was terrifying.“ He glanced down at her and turned sober. „You don’t need to be afraid, Charlotte. If you really don’t want me here all you have to do is stop thinking about me. I’ll disappear again. Naturally, the reverse is true, as well. The more you think about me, the more real I’ll become… to you.“

How was she to not think about him when he stood right in front of her?

„To me.“ She recalled the viewing and the way no one else seemed to notice him – and the second man on the sidewalk a few minutes ago. „I’m the only one who can see you.“

„That’s right. I’m all yours.“ He winked at her. Her knees wobbled and she tripped on a crack in the sidewalk, staggering against him – against his solid and very real body.

He used his other hand to catch her and she looked up into his handsome face while he held her close by her upper arms. Her mouth went dry. He didn’t feel imaginary. His out-of-this-world-blue eyes gazed into her soul and became soft and content with what he found there. He had the nicest mouth… a full, soft-looking lower lip that she suddenly ached to taste.

He frowned, looked puzzled, then set her back at arms length. „Uh-ah. Careful. You can’t wish for things like that. I’m not real, remember?“

„You look real. You feel real.“

„Only because you want me to.“ Suddenly his head and face faded in and out with the head, face and muzzle of a gray and black donkey. She made a startled noise and stepped back, and his image settled into place again. He raised a brow in censure and spoke sternly. „I am not a jackass.“

„You can read my mind?“

„No. Not exactly.“ He collected himself and turned sympathetic. „I know. It’s confusing at first, but you’ll get the hang of it. Just… be careful what you wish for.“

„So then… you’re what I wish for?“

„And what you dream of and admire. What you think you need. I’ve been a long time in the making, I can tell you.“ He turned and started walking again. „Physically, I am now an accumulation of many men. You started putting me together, in this form, when you were in college… once you got over that Kevin Costner thing… and the, ah… Oh! Watch this.“ He stopped to assume a more distinguished pose. The shape of his eyes altered minutely and the color grew darker as he said, „Miss Bennet, for many months now I have considered you to be one of the handsomest women of my acquaintance.“

„Mr. Darcy,“ she murmured in awe, stunned and fascinated by Colin Firth’s eyes and voice.

He made a disgusted noise, rolled his chocolate brown eyes back to blue and started walking again. „What is it with you and that guy?“

„Can you do Mark Darcy, too?“ She hurried to catch up with him.

„Of course, but it’s not him telling Bridget Jones – the actor telling the actress – that he likes her just the way she is that makes your heart constrict like that. It’s the thought of someone saying it to you that you love. And that’s right here.“ He put his fist to his heart. „You made that a part of me. It’s what I want, too.“

She couldn’t help it; she glanced at his shoes and his hideous jacket. „You want someone to tell you that they like you just the way you are?“

He cast her a vapid look. „Do not go there. Would it kill you to take even the slightest interest in male fashion? You should have seen my hair before you happened to decide, one random afternoon, that you preferred shorter hair on men in general.“

„Not that many men can pull off really good-looking long hair. It always seems to look stringy or dirty. I don’t think men have the patience to mess with their hair like women do. They’re better off keeping it shorter.“

„I know. I just told you that. But what about the rest of me? Open your eyes, Charlotte. Look around. This…“ He held his hands out to display his getup. „This is the entire extent of memorable male clothing inside your head. And I’d be wearing Dorothy’s shoes barefoot if you hadn’t thought tube was an interesting way to describe a sock. Captain Kangaroo’s jacket, of course, was a big hit with you but…“ He paused to point an accusing finger at her. „Do not for one second think I don’t know why you are so hugely impressed with these football pants. Sure. Laugh.“

She giggled at his indignation even as a telling heat rose up her neck and into her cheeks. A woman passing by turned her head to look at Charlotte – seemingly alone and giggling to herself – and her face grew hotter.

„Ha! Serves you right, you should feel embarrassed.

You’ll never know how close I came to wearing Julia Roberts’ red Pretty Woman dress to your father’s wake, just to make my point.“

„I love that dress.“ She tossed her empty coffee cup in a trash receptacle outside a private gym and caught herself feeling completely at ease with him again.

„And the black-and-white one she wore to the Academy Awards the year she won. I know. Women’s clothes you notice. But I can’t work with your negative images of male fashion, the clothes you think are boring or tacky on men. They disintegrate almost immediately.“

„I see men who dress nice. All the time. How memorable do a shirt and a pair of pants have to be?“

He shook his head. „It’s the texture of the shirt and how you feel when you look at it or touch it. The way it drapes across a man’s shoulders; the way his muscles ripple underneath it and how that makes you feel. The way it fits across his abdomen and tucks into the waistband of his pants, the way the pants hug his ass and how that – “

„Okay, okay. Really memorable. I get it. I’ll try to pay closer attention.“

„I’ll help you.“ He looked down and up the long, drab black wool coat she had on. „You have good taste, Charlotte. You just need to use it more.“

She prickled instantly. „I thought you liked me just the way I am? I thought you were my friend?“

He smiled. „I do, actually. And I am. Friends tell the truth, don’t they? Besides, I can’t say anything you don’t already think. So we both know you could dress better.“

She snorted. „What would be the point of that? What difference would it make?“

„Ah. There’s that defeatist attitude we all know and love so well.“ He slapped a hand to his chest dramatically and looked heavenward. Then he was instantly serious as they started to cross the street just beyond the convenience store. „The point, dear Charlotte, is that you’re never going to get what you want if you don’t make some sort of effort to go out and get it. I know you think that some man, who looks just like me by the way, is going to come galloping up on a white horse and give you everything you’ve ever longed for, but that sort of thinking is as unreal as I am.“

„And the difference is, you’re on your own now. You can do whatever you want. You don’t have to worry about disappointing your parents anymore. You don’t need their approval. You don’t have to worry about who will take care of them, or feel responsible for them. You’ve been a good daughter. But now it’s time to start living your own life. They would want that. They never meant for you to hide yourself away in their ambitions. It just happened. All they ever really wanted was for you to be happy.“

She couldn’t help but wonder, how crazy was she to be taking advice from someone who didn’t really exist? And if she made him and he didn’t exist, did that mean she didn’t exist? No, too Matrix-ish for her. So, if she existed and she made him, then he existed… somewhere. Maybe not in this plane of reality, but…

„Do you have a name?“ she asked abruptly, acutely aware of the real people around her, barely moving her lips, keeping her head movements casual.

He looked startled, then a little wondrous. „You really don’t remember me, even from before, when we were young?“

She shrugged. „I remember my parents teasing me sometimes about imaginary friends but… no, I don’t remember you.“

A slow, scintillating smile curved his lips. „So you don’t remember the name you gave me.“ He whooped and laughed and did a little jig in Dorothy’s shoes. „There, you see? There’s some good in everything, Charlotte. You don’t remember me, but you don’t remember my name either.“ He seemed to grow slightly taller with relief and pride before he told her, „Just call me Mel.“

„Mel?“

„Yeah.“ His gaze wandered as he tested the name. „Mel. I like it.“

„What is it really? Melvin?“

He gave her a sly look. „If you can’t honestly remember, I am not obligated to tell you. And frankly, that name was a flight of fancy taken first by Mr. Leitch and then by you that I have always resented. And, of course, you confused lemons with bananas but you were very young and may not have known the significance of – “

„You mean, you can remember things that I can’t?“ The first line finally sank in.

„Sure.“ He shrugged. „That’s where I come from.“

„Where?“

He sighed like he’d already explained a thousand times. He held out his hands. „You live here. Now. You are aware of everything going on around you. This is your consciousness. I usually hang out on the other side, just beyond the barrier. That’s where everything you’ve ever heard or seen or felt or thought about exists, and the barrier is like a fine film that keeps all that information from flooding your mind all at once. It allows you to reach in and pluck out what you want, when you want it. Like a big boiling pot, let’s say. Everything goes in there, all of it, from the moment your first two cells divide until…“ He used one finger to poke her arm. „Now. And… now. And… now. And…“

„Okay. I get that it’s all there.“

„Most of what you put in the pot settles on the bottom because you don’t need it or care about it. Sometimes a memory or a thought will bubble up to the surface on its own; sometimes you need to stir the pot to get them to rise. There are some, many, that float all the time. Things that have made a big impression on you, say. Images of people you think of often, works in progress, lists of phone numbers, tunes you like – things you want easy access to but don’t want to think about constantly. You pick out what you want, think about it, throw it back in the pot a million times a day or more. Me, you think about a lot. I spend a great deal of time out of the pot.“

„Right. I… you…“ She flushed again, profoundly disconcerted that he knew her so well. All of her, so well. He smiled at her kindly.

„I’m not your conscience, Charlotte. I don’t judge your fantasies or evaluate the legitimacy of your dreams or wishes. To me, they simply are what they are. I wouldn’t exist without them.“

„So why aren’t you more like a hologram or a ghost or something then? If you’re just a bunch of my memories and thoughts and… and desires. Why do you seem so real to me?“

„Because I am real to you.“ When he could see she still didn’t quite grasp it, he took another track. He stopped and turned toward her. „Close your eyes.“

„No. What if someone sees me standing here alone, in the middle of the sidewalk, with my eyes closed? You might as well hang a Mug Me sign on my back.“

„Okay. Over here then, behind this potted shrub. Lean back against this building and close your eyes like you’re just catching your breath. Thisil only take a second. Close them and don’t peek.“

She leaned her head back against the brick wall and did as he told her. Immediately, she smelled bacon and could hear it sizzling in a pan.

More magic.

„Mmm. We love bacon, don’t we, Charlotte?“ She nodded blindly. „You want a bite?“ She nodded again – in for a penny. „Open your mouth, then open your eyes.“

She did both, only to find his fingers empty. She snapped her lips shut.

„Disappointed.“ He identified her primary emotion as he smoothed the backs of his knuckles slowly down her left cheek. „But you get the idea. The smell and the sound, they weren’t real either. But your memories of them are strong enough to make your mouth salivate. Your desire to believe made the bacon real enough for you to open your mouth for it. Just like your desire to believe that someone like me exists makes me real enough for you to feel my fingers on your cheek.“

It was a heavy concept inside her head, like God and black holes and why glue doesn’t stick to die inside of the bottle. Things she accepted on faith alone. Her temples were starting to throb. It was more than she could assimilate all at once.

She pushed away from the building and started for home again. She needed to think… alone.

„You know,“ he said, dropping casually into step with her – seeming as comfortable out of her head as he was, apparently, inside it. „Maybe we could stop and buy a GQ magazine on our way home. We could browse through, see if I’m a shirt-and-tie guy, or more like a Marlboro Man, huh? We could pick up a Glamour and Cosmopolitan, too. I’m very in touch with your feminine side but it doesn’t hurt to stay current. Tomorrow we can do some shopping and maybe – “

„Hey,“ she said, cutting him off as she spotted Mrs. Kludinski getting out of a car in front of their building. Her neighbor turned and bent at the waist to speak to the driver, with one small shopping bag in hand. „Don’t start making a lot of plans, okay? Especially the we kind. I’m not sure I like you. I’m not sure I want you around. I’m not even sure I’m really awake here, so back off. Go…“ She flipped her fingers as if to shoo away a fly. „Go… wherever you go when you’re not around. I need to think.“

„About me?“ he asked smugly. Then she recalled she had to stop thinking about him to get rid of him. „Don’t worry, Charlotte, Mrs. Kludinski can’t see me, remember?“

„I can see you,“ she said through her clenched teeth, barely ten feet from her neighbor.

He hastened his pace to the front of the car and groaned. „It’s Lacey. Looks like her husband bought her another new car. Brace yourself, sweetheart.“

„Charlotte.“ Mrs. Kludinski caught sight of her and straightened out of the car with a smile. The elderly lady had been a widow for as long as Charlotte could remember. Social and friendly, she’d always made her feel like a special friend.

„Hi, Mrs. Kludinski. If this is Tuesday, that must be Lacey. Did you have a nice afternoon? Is this a new car?“ She stepped into the street and over to the open car door. „Hello, Lacey.“

A year behind Lacey Kludinski in school, Charlotte always thought her dark good looks were exotic rather than uncommonly beautiful. She was a popular cheerleader in high school and married a young doctor the year after she graduated from college with a degree in interior design – which she used solely to decorate her own home on Bain-bridge Island. She was and had everything Charlotte wasn’t and didn’t – and couldn’t be happier about it. Or more vocal about it.

„Oh, hi, Charlotte. Don’t you just love it? Come feel this, real leather on these seats. Soft as butter. Sad thing is, we’ll just have to trade it in next year for another new car because the humidity out on the Island is so hard on cars, you know. I swear, if I hadn’t married a doctor, I don’t know how we’d keep up with everything. It’s just one thing after another, I’m telling you. So, how are you? Seeing anyone special yet?“

Charlotte smiled at her. Something inside her always wanted to think the best of Lacey. Really. She’d always been so nice to her aunt – tins of cookies and brownies in high school, Tuesday afternoon lunches and shopping trips since then. Lacey had a good side. Somewhere.

„What. A. Boob.“ Mel placed two big, hot hand prints on the shiny hood of Lacey’s new car.

„I’m fine and no I’m not,“ she said quickly, thinking she should go inside before Mel did something embarrassing. „I mean, I’ve been sort of busy and…“

„Her father passed away last week,“ Mrs. Kludinski injected.

„That’s right. You told me. I’m sorry, Charlotte.“

„Thanks.“

„I bet she’s wishing her aunt would take the hint and follow him.“ Mel stuck his finger in his mouth, wetting it, then doodled on the hood with it. „Your father was right about her being a gold digger, you know. She wouldn’t give this nice old lady a bucket of bad luck, if she couldn’t pay for it.“

„All the more reason to keep your eyes open for a good catch,“ Lacey said, diligently. „I still think you ought to let me look into hooking you up with someone from my husband’s hospital. He knows several male nurses, and most of them aren’t even gay. A couple of them don’t even act gay. You don’t want to end up old and alone, do you?“

„Like your aunt, you twit?“ But even before Mel said it, Charlotte felt the slightest stiffening in Mrs. Kludinski’s posture and felt bad for her. Felt bad for them both really.

„There are worse things than old and alone, Lacey, but… thanks. And I will keep my eyes open. You drive safe now.“ She turned, stepped back onto the sidewalk and walked over to the steps of her building while Mrs. Kludinski said good-bye. Mel joined her, a derisive scowl on his magnanimous face.

The three of them watched the big, silver-colored Cayenne drive away.

„Well, her brain is the size of a pea and her heart is even smaller,“ Mrs. Kludinski announced as she turned around. „But she’s real careful with her big fancy cars so she’s a good, safe driver and she’s cheaper than a taxi. Besides, I just wouldn’t feel right about leaving her all my money if I didn’t think she’d earned at least part of it. Wouldn’t be good for her character.“

Charlotte chuckled silently. The old woman started up the four shallow steps and Charlotte followed her… and Mel followed her, ignoring her scowl and the hand she kept waving him away with.

„Sounds to me like Lacey’s getting a pretty good deal.“ She stepped around the elderly lady, used her key to open the main door for her. „The two of you always seem to have a good time together. There are harder ways to earn money.“

Charlotte scooted in after her, pushing the door closed behind her, locking him out. She glanced through the frosted glass in the door, turning completely around when she couldn’t see him, to check the sidewalk in both directions. He was gone.

Four

„Oh no,“ she murmured softly, feeling mean and sorry and afraid she’d never see him again. Which would be for the best, right?

„What is it? Are you all right, dear?“

„Yes.“ She sighed, miserable. „I’m fine. I think I may have just done something truly awful and I’m not sure how to… if I want to…“ Mrs. Kludinski looked concerned. „Never mind. I’ll figure it out.“

„Long day?“

„Incredibly.“

„Can I help?“

Impulsively, she passed her briefcase to her other hand, then looped her arm around her frail shoulders and gave the old lady a quick peck on the cheek. „Thanks. But I’m okay.“

„Yes, you are.“ She patted Charlotte’s cheek with arthritic fingers and headed for the door of her first-floor apartment. „But if you need anything, call me.“

„I will.“ She waited for her to go inside then turned to take the stairs to the second floor.

„Don’t say you didn’t miss me.“

Mel grinned at her from the middle of the staircase.

„How long have you been there?“

„Since you locked the door on me.“

„So you can walk through walls? Like a ghost?“

„Not exactly.“ His expression grew guarded. So, naturally, she said, „Explain.“

With a belabored expression he got to his feet and let her by. „You didn’t want me with you, but you didn’t stop thinking about me, either. I didn’t leave; I just got out of your way.“

„Then get out of it again because I’m exhausted and I need to think… and you’re a distraction.“

„I can help you think. Two heads are better than one, right?“

„If I have this straight so far, you and I share a mind, so trying to solve a problem from two different heads might be a little tricky.“

„Not really. You do it all the time. All those little mental debates.“ He stopped on the first landing and cupped both hands to his right. „Shall I have chicken or fish for dinner?“ He moved his hands to the left and spoke at them in a slightly higher voice. „I feel like eating fish but the chicken is already thawed.“ Back to the right and the lower voice. „The chicken will be fine in the frig until tomorrow and 1 can nuke the fish in the microwave.“ Left. „Tomorrow I pick up the monthly receipts for Tops Chinese and they always send moo shoo pork home with me.“ Right. „I don’t think it would be wise to risk that chicken on Thursday.“ Left. „That’s okay, I can feed it to Mel and – “ He gasped. „Charlotte!“

He sent a comically wounded look up the stairs and made her laugh. Taking steps two at a time he came to her side. She looked at him thoughtfully as little tumblers rolled back and forth in her brain.

„So… you can’t really read my mind. You don’t know what I’m going to say or think until I say or think it. You’re on like a… a six- or eight-second delay, aren’t you?“

„I love smart women.“ He started up the steps again. „I really do. Most smart men love smart women, as a matter of fact. That just makes sense, doesn’t it? I told you there was nothing wrong with being smart.“

„So I’m right,“ she said, following, recalling a short phase in her life when she’d actually pretended to be less intelligent to boost male egos. „And I bet there’s some way to turn you off and on, too, isn’t there?“

„In what sense? I have to admit that this sudden aversion to thinking in my presence is a definite turnoff for me. It would be for any man. But as to turning me on…“ He slipped her a sizzling glance and she tripped on the next step. It amused him. „We’ve already discussed that.“

„I meant off and on like a light bulb. You come, you go. You’re here, you’re gone. That’s me too, right?“

„I am all you, babe.“ She squinted at him. „You, babe? Get it? Sonny and Cher?“

„I get it. I don’t like it. I don’t like being called sweetheart, either. You called me that earlier.“ She took her keys out of her coat pocket again and stopped at her apartment door. „Names like that annoy me.“

„I know. But that’s only because you hear them most often from old people and jerky men you don’t know. But now you know me, and I’m not a jerk, so I’m testing endearments. There has to be one you like.“

„Why?“

„Because they’re one of the many components of the affection you crave. Once we find one that doesn’t trigger a full-scale feminist reaction inside you, we can begin a de-sensitization program.“

She sighed and lean against the door. „I have one more question.“ He pressed his shoulder to the door next to her and waited for it. He was a large presence and standing so close to him made her feel… not smothered, not intimidated, just… really good in a way she couldn’t explain. Safe, maybe. „Why now? Why are you here now?“

„Because you need me now.“

„For what?“

He glanced around as if the answer might be written on one of the walls, then looked straight into her eyes. „I’m not sure. We’ll figure that one out together.“

She could have stood there and looked at him for the rest of her life. His features were neither pretty nor beautiful; their appeal lay in the expressions that changed as often and diversely as his thoughts. An honest face. A trustworthy face.

He smiled suddenly and startled her. She turned quickly to unlock the door, then stopped.

„I actually have two last questions.“ He didn’t seem surprised. „The second one is… will the man I fall in love with be exactly like you? Is that how I’ll recognize him?“

„I don’t know.“ She frowned and he held out the arm he wasn’t leaning on. „I only know what you know, Charlotte, but… someone exactly like me would be perfect,“ he said without ego. „Perfect can be hard to live with. There would be no give and take of opinions, no surprises, no compromising. No growth. No friction, no push and pull. I think we’re looking for someone almost like me, with as many of my strengths and virtues and attributes as possible. You’ll feel comfortable with him. You’ll sense parts of me in him. I think that’s how you’ll recognize him.“ He paused. „You gonna open the door now?“

„As soon as you leave.“

He shook his head slowly. „Can’t leave. Not while you’re thinking of me.“

„Then get out of my way again.“

He backed away from the door. „Where am I supposed to go?“

„How would I know? Use your own imagination.“

„Very funny. You want me to stand here in the hall all night?“

„I just want to be alone for a while. To think. To sort this out.“ She opened the door, went inside, then turned and blocked his entry. „I’m sorry.“

He didn’t look pleased and she thought he might argue, but all he said was, „I’m here for you.“

She nodded, gave him a small apologetic smile and closed the door. Then turned to face the empty apartment with a heavy sigh. Alone sucked immediately.

She knew loneliness. Even before her few good friends got married, with her father still healthy and around all the time, there had been an underlying loneliness for as long as she could remember. She was simple and quiet and plain and so was her life for the most part. But now, she was alone and lonely and the difference overwhelmed her. Crushed her.

There was a soft knock on the door behind her. She looked through the peephole at him.

He smiled and waved. „You can change your mind and let me in. I’m good company.“

„You’re also a distraction. I need to think.“

„I won’t make a sound.“

„No. Now leave me alone.“

She dropped her briefcase and purse on the table beside the door, hung up her coat and went to the kitchen to cook the chicken she didn’t feel like eating… also alone.

She had to face the facts. She was in deep trouble if she was resurrecting imaginary companions from her childhood. And while she was reluctant to give him any credit for his thinking, he was right about one thing: It was time to make some changes in her life. Big ones. Huge ones. Drastic ones.

It wasn’t like it was a new concept to her; she’d been thinking about it, dreaming about it for years. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to change. She did, more than anything. So, what held her back?

As she thought about it, there came another knock on the door. She went to the kitchen doorway and stared across the room at it – decided to ignore him. A few seconds later, he called through the door, „Courage and self-confidence. That’s all you need. And a plan. I can help you with the plan. I have some really great ideas.“

„Stop bothering me!“

He was gutsy and self-confident enough for both of them… and stubborn and annoying. Was he everything she wasn’t? No… that didn’t work. She made him, so… she was brave and bold, too… right?

She took a few salad fixings from the frig, closed the door with her foot and carried them to the sink.

So say she suddenly went nuts and changed her entire life around, did everything she wanted to do, when she wanted to do it. What would people say? They were used to her being the way she was. She was used to it. Would they treat her differently? Would she be a different person? Would it make her happy? Or make her feel foolish for even trying?

Who cares what other people think? You ‘re not changing for them; you’re changing for yourself You don’t have to change your whole self only what makes you unhappy, only what you want to change to make yourself happy. And why would you feel foolish for making yourself happy? Treat yourself better and other people will treat you better. That’s just logical…

She threw the paring knife and cucumber in the sink, marched out of the kitchen, through the open dining room and across the living room to shout at the closed front door.

„Are you talking in my head now?“

„Well, you won’t let me in to talk to your face, and you really shouldn’t be making any unilateral decisions in there on your own. We’re a team, remember?“

„If you don’t leave me alone I’m going to… Ha! I have the entire six-hour mini-series of Pride and Prejudice on DVD in here. You want that?“

There was a thud on the door and a brushing sound of something sliding to the floor on the other side… and then silence.

Charlotte put her hand over her mouth and laughed silently into it, all the way back to the kitchen.

Five

She woke abruptly the next morning from a heavy, dreamless sleep. Which was odd actually, because she usually woke slowly, attempting over and over to reenter the dreams her alarm clock interrupted, or sorting through the shadows and images to determine them too bizarre to revisit. This morning she came wide awake without remnants, several minutes before her alarm rang with only one clear image in her mind.

„Mel?“ She finished tying her robe as she walked down the hall toward the living room. Was it possible? Could the whole previous day have been last night’s dream? „Mel? Are you still here?“

A muffled „Good morning“ came through the front door.

He was on the floor in the hall with his back against the wall. He’d taken off his red shoes and stuffed his tube socks down inside them; rolled up his pouchy jacket to rest his head on. If he’d slept, he did it sitting up.

„Have you been out here all night?“ she asked after opening the door.

„Where else would I be?“ He started to gather his things and get up. He seemed a little snippy. „I can hardly engage in an active night life without you, now can I?“

„I guess I thought you would… pop out… or inside the apartment maybe, after I went to sleep.“

He stood looking down at her. There was a hurt and a vulnerability in his eyes that was genuine. She felt something go warm and soft, and liquefy inside her. „I am powerless without you, Charlotte. If you want me in your life you have to let me in.“

„What would happen to you if I didn’t?“

He gave a little shrug, but she could tell the thought pained him. „Same as last time. You sent me under the bed to look for snakes and spiders and forgot all about me. I stayed there until you stopped worrying about such things. After that, you filled your mind with other issues, bigger problems. I tried to help you then, too, but you wouldn’t let yourself see me. I had to do the best I could from inside your head – in dreams, in deep thought, through your imagination, but you got pretty good at closing me out in there, as well.“

„I didn’t mean to hurt you.“ And she didn’t want him to go away again.

His dark brow furrowed. „I know. It’s a sad fact of life, I believe, that growing up involves doubt and confusion, and that maturing so often becomes synonymous with sacrificing dreams and desires for what is logical and practical.“ He motioned to the open door, aware, apparently, that she was now ready to accept him. It was his awareness of it, of her, that was still very… weird. Following her inside, he continued. „Don’t get me wrong; logical and practical are necessary. But not to the exclusion of everything else.“

„And you think that’s what I’ve done. Given up all my dreams and wishes for what’s logical and practical?“

„Worse. You let your doubts and confusion run rampant and gave up everything for what your parents thought was logical and practical.“

That hurt. More than she could say. Probably because it was too close to the truth, and mostly because he’d said it out loud. Was he deliberately trying to hurt her?

„That’s not a very nice thing to say.“

His smile was small as he dropped his shoes and coat on the couch. „I couldn’t say it if you didn’t already think it, remember?“

„Damn, that’s annoying. There should be some rule about you hurting my feelings with my own thoughts. Put your shoes on the floor and hang that up in the closet. I like things tidy.“

She turned on her heel and headed for the kitchen. She couldn’t take much more of him without some coffee. The pot was on a timer and she emerged moments later with a steaming mug full.

„Actually, there are rules,“ he said, sliding into a chair across from her at the dining room table. „I can’t lie to you. I need to be as honest with you as you’ll let me.“ He looked sheepish. „I am sorry I hurt you, though. I could have said the same thing with a lot more finesse.“

„So you’re mad because I left you outside all night.“

„No. I’m just tired of being ignored.“ He sighed and slouched in the chair. „I want everything to change now, today… yesterday even. I want it all to be as it could be… as it should be. But I can tell you’re still not ready.“

„Ready for what?“

„To listen to what I have to say. To trust me. To act on my advice.“

„I let you in.“

„That’s not the same thing.“

No, it wasn’t. „I just met you. I need more time.“

He stared at her for a moment, then closed his eyes, pressed his thumb and fingers to the middle of his brow. spread them out and rubbed his temples as if he had a headache.

„Do you want some coffee?“

„Do you really want me more awake than you are? And for future reference, that stuff goes straight to my nervous system. A hyper-stimulated imagination can be very scary, you know.“

She wanted to laugh but just smiled instead. „Are you always this grumpy in the morning?“

„No, I… my internal clock is screwed up. I’m usually more active at night while you sleep, and I rest during the day when your brain is busy…“ he waved his hand vaguely, „creating cash and accrual systems… and auditing for errors and posting to general ledgers.“

That’s why she didn’t dream last night… he’d been sleeping, too.

„What happens if you don’t rest?“

„We get psychotic.“

Unfortunately, that made sense to her, too.

„If it makes you feel any better, I missed my dreams last night,“ she said, her expression hopeful and cajoling.

A smile slowly curved his lips, and his eyes lit with reluctant fondness. He wagged his head a little, to appear not to be giving in too easily. „Well, maybe we can work something out. By nature, I’m considerably more flexible than you are. I can sleep anytime, anywhere. I’ll just use my time more wisely.“

„Like now? Because I’m going into my office to work for a while… until about noon.“

„What about shopping?“ He sat up straight. „We should get an early start. We need to work on your makeover plan. At least run down to the drugstore for some magazines. We don’t even have to get a GQ. Ralph Lauren will have ads in everything. All I need is some warmer pants… and those shoes are throwing my back out of alignment.“

„Maybe this afternoon, okay?“ She stood with her coffee cup in hand. „I really do have a lot to do. The next few weeks are going to be crazy until I incorporate Dad’s clients with my own.“ She sighed as the heavy ache of missing her father settled in her chest, once again. Her throat grew thick, her voice thin. „I should have done it months ago. I knew he wasn’t going to get any better. I knew he was getting weaker and weaker. I just kept hoping…“

She broke off when she saw tears welling in his eyes. It was her pain, her sorrow looking back at her, still fresh and tender and paralyzing if she gave into it.

„Anyway, I don’t have time right now to… start changing a lot of other things.“ She went into the kitchen for more coffee, calling, „I have a system. And once I get the clients that I’m keeping set up in my system, I’ll have more time for shopping and… and whatever. Plus, I’ll have to close out the companies I’m not keeping, which could take a while if they can’t find someone to take over right away. Dad would just die if I… he would expect me to stay with them until they found new accountants.“

She returned to find him with his elbow on the table, his fist in his cheek, looking utterly bored.

„And…“ he prompted.

„And what? That’s it. I’m too busy.“

„Have you ever noticed how easily that flows from your lips? I’mtoobusy. It’s like one word for you. It’s your favorite excuse.“

„Maybe because it’s true.“

„Ah-ha.“ He put on a long-suffering face and pushed himself to his feet. „Fine. Swell. No problem.“ He shuffled slowly over to the couch. „It’s been twenty-eight years, seven months, three days, ten hours and sixteen minutes. I guess we can put life off a little longer.“

„Oh, stop it.“ She watched him lie down and put his hands under his head, the large muscles in his arms straining the sleeves of the Grateful Dead T-shirt. A vision of those arms wrapping around her flashed through her mind and she quickly blacked it out. „I have a life.“

„Yeah, I know,“ he said to the ceiling, his tone jaded and dull. „It’s been one thrill right after another so far. I can hardly bear it.“

„You’re really obnoxious, you know that?“

„So sue me. You have your work, I have mine. You crunch numbers; I crunch the truth.“

„You want a blanket?“ She’d had enough truth for one day. The sooner he went back to sleep the better.

„No. I find warmth in your resentment.“

That tickled her memory. „Where have I heard that before?“

„You read it in a poem by Isbin Rudger, poet and philosopher, 1422 to 1458, while you were researching a paper for English 404. You used to like poetry.“

She read autobiographies and spy thrillers now. They were something her parents had liked, as well. They passed them around, discussed them like a mini book club. It was something else the three of them had in common, besides accounting.

„I’ll be in my office if you need anything.“

„Okay.“ He didn’t sound particularly interested.

Had she stopped reading poetry because she’d lost interest in it or because her parents had no interest in it at all? She couldn’t remember. But then, it probably wasn’t one of those things lost in a single, memorable moment; rather one that slipped away gradually and unnoticed from neglect.

„You can watch TV if you keep it low.“

„Great. Thanks.“ His tone told her he disliked daytime television as much as she did.

„Are you going to be mad at me all day?“

„Neither one of us can tell the future, Charlotte.“ He hesitated, then rolled over on his side to look at her. „If it makes you feel any better, try to remember who I am and that I’m more likely to reflect your emotions back to you then to generate my own.“

He rolled onto his back again and closed his eyes.

So, she was bored and annoyed with herself. There wasn’t anything new about that.

And yet, why would it seem so much more upsetting coming from someone else than from within? Was she so used to pleasing other people that pleasing herself had become so insignificant? Had she pushed her dreams aside so often that they didn’t matter any more? Had she given up on them?

She took one last look at the large male body stretched out on her couch, then left in search of her copy of Emily Dickinson.

As it happened, Emily still spoke to Charlotte’s soul and she’d missed that kinship. The revelation weighed heavily in her heart; her thoughts tied themselves in knots, with no clear answers.

She felt stifled in the large back bedroom, where two desks were positioned face to face; computers on the right at opposing angles; the walls lined with filing cabinets and bookshelves full of tax codes and books on marketing, finance and accounting.

It was her parent’s office for as far back as she could remember – their bookkeeping and accounting business. It specialized in small businesses, which constituted 85 percent of the twenty million businesses in America, and was incredibly lucrative. It was a good business, and now it was hers.

But when she graduated from college she had plans… plans to get an apartment and set up her own office. She wanted to travel and take up scuba diving. She had exciting and wonderful plans for her life.

Looking back, she could remember the devastating disappointment she felt a few weeks after her mother’s sudden death as she lowered herself into the chair across the desks from her father. It was logical, practical – and besides, he needed her. He was elderly. He’d be lonely. Who else would take care of him?

She stopped making plans, pictured herself living with her father until she was as gray as he was. She started dressing and acting like the old lady she felt herself becoming. Her perspective narrowed to one monotonous day at a time.

She couldn’t regret staying with him, especially now, but she could see that giving up on the rest of her life had been a huge mistake, and not one that was in any way his fault. She’d quit. She’d settled for dry meatloaf when juicy prime rib was just as easy to order and eat.

Finishing her entries much later than anticipated, and vowing to recheck them all a third time for errors the next day, Charlotte tiptoed into the living room.

She couldn’t believe her good luck to find Mel still sleeping, his big masculine body curled toward the back of the couch, the colorful T-shirt scrunched to show part of his strong back, the football pants looking just as they ought to…

She blew out a short, hard breath to curb the excitement curling low in her belly. He wasn’t real. Her disappointment had her sagging against the hall wall as she watched him sleep. Why was it so hard to remember that? Because she could see him, hear him, touch him, smell him… taste him maybe, if he’d let her? Because every sense she used to distinguish what was real and what wasn’t was… malfunctioning? All of them? All at once?

She wasn’t stupid. She’d heard of hallucinations, audio and visual, and how one or both can be so convincing people can actually feel them. People like… schizophrenics and drug addicts. She wasn’t taking anything, so was she losing her mind? Was she crazy?

She listened to Mel’s deep rhythmic breathing and occasional soft snoring noises and thought about it. Seriously. Because if she was nuts, Mel was the most exciting thing in her life since… ever, and she found it really hard to care, one way or the other. If she’d gone around the bend, she wanted to keep on going… and there didn’t seem to be any reason for her not to.

Her gaze gravitated along his strong muscled back to the football pants before she caught herself again. If she allowed herself to remain mentally impaired, there had to be rules; she had to draw some lines somewhere, right? Or did she?

She laughed silently and shook her head. Whatever Mel was, she was having fun. She liked him, except when he was grouchy and being too truthful. She liked having him here. He knew her, knew what she was feeling. He was something to think about besides how lonely and alone she was. He was company. He was… well, he was her dream man.

She snuck out quietly, hurrying over to West McGraw Street, and the one company her father represented that still kept its offices within walking distance of the apartment. Custom Window Coverings. They now had a large factory in Renton and did a booming catalogue business as well, and should have moved their offices out there, too, long ago. which she told the owner, Mike Woodall.

She was acutely aware that Mike’s wrinkled suit jacket concealed the drape of his blue cotton oxford shirt across his thick shoulders and that his middle-aged spread hid the way it tucked into his baggy pants, and despaired over her negative imaging – but at least she’d tried.

He was reminiscent and sympathetic about her father, and grateful that she’d stick with them until a new accountant could be found. It was a good meeting, over all.

On the way home she stopped briefly to pick up the monthly checks, deposits and sales invoices from Al’s Auto Repair, Royal Bowling and finally Garden Palace Chinese Restaurant, where she was always treated more like a guest than an employee. She traded Mrs. Chin a nice, flat, empty file folder for one that bulged witii business receipts.

„Every month I pick up your folder, Mrs. Chin, and every month it gets fatter.“

„That is good. A fat folder means good business,“ she said in rapid, clear, perfect English. She was barely five feet tall and Charlotte always felt the need to stoop in her presence. „Soon we will open restaurant number two, down the hill, under the Space Needle. Then we will give you two fat folders every month. Do you like hot and spicy?“ Before Charlotte could answer, the woman pushed a large brown paper bag at her, saying, „Please try my kung pao shrimp this time. You are not allergic, are you? You can tell me if you like it when you come back next month.“

„You don’t have to keep doing this, Mrs. Chin.“

„You do not have to pick up the folder. I have cousins in Renton who have to deliver the receipts themselves. I want to feed you for the pick up.“

„I like to walk, so it’s no…“

„Walking will make you hungry. So let me feed you.“

„Thank you.“

„You are welcome.“ She frowned briefly. „You are not married. Do you have a steady gentleman friend?“

Oh no. Was Set Me Up tattooed on her forehead?

„Not exactly,“ she said, hoping to ward off the inevitable without actually lying.

„I have a son who is ready to marry. He has been to college for a business degree. He can cook and clean and he lives alone. I am looking for a good wife for him.“

Lie! Lie! Lie!

„Well, I am sort of seeing someone. Someone new. Too new to tell really.“

„Good. That is good. But if it does not work out, you come back and date my son.“

„I will. Thank you.“

Mrs. Chin nodded and looked pleased.

Charlotte made one more stop, going several blocks out of her way, to the largest drugstore in the area. They had every magazine under the sun, and she plucked out several indiscriminately, as she combed the many copies for a recent GQ.

Suits and sport jackets, tuxedos and khaki slacks, button down and polo shirts. Is this how Mel wanted to dress? She contemplated a thick, white cable knit sweater she thought Mel would fill better than the model did and lingered – quite a while – over an ad for a pair of button-up-the-front jeans that lifted her eyebrows half-way up her forehead with the way they fit the bare-chested model. And it wasn’t so much the blue-and-gray striped oxford shirt as the way it was open down the front of a broad and muscled chest with a flat, ridged stomach and the thin line of dark hair running straight down the middle of it to his…

Did Mel’s chest look like this? Would the dark hair be coarse or downy soft? Would his skin be hot and smooth with hard pads of muscle beneath?

Oh my. She snapped the magazine closed. Big, deep breath. She glanced around to see if anyone watched as her cheeks flushed with heat, like some pervert in the magazine section of an adult bookstore. She gathered her things quickly, deciding it might be best to let Mel pick out his own clothes.

A few minutes later, watching the clerk fit a seven-inch stack of magazines into a bag for her, Charlotte trembled inside and out. She was excited. She couldn’t wait to get back to Mel. He’d be pleased and proud of her for taking this first step, minuscule as it was. On her own. Without him. He’d smile that smile that made her insides lurch and tell her she was being bold, that she was finally doing the right thing, getting her life back on track.

She rushed out of the store in time to see a tall, well-built man in jeans and a white cable knit sweater with a black sports jacket on over it, jogging gracefully across the street toward her in large, sparkling red shoes.

She started to laugh.

He slowed down when he saw her, his face full of smiles, stopped three feet away, held out his arms and turned in a circle for her to see.

„Look at me,“ he kept saying. „Just look at me. I couldn’t wait to see you. I’m a hunk, right? Look at me.

Real clothes. They feel amazing and they’re warm. I look fantastic, don’t I?“

„Yes. You do. I’m… I’m sorry about the shoes. I didn’t even think about – “

She fell silent when he suddenly took her by the shoulders. „Baby steps, Charlotte. One thing at a time. To me this says I’m sticking around, that you believe in me, that you’re beginning to trust me and you’re finally willing to at least hear what I have to say.“ He leaned in, set a tender kiss between her brows, men pulled back to meet her gaze squarely. „You were hoping I’d be pleased and proud of you, and I am. But more than that, I… well, I’m beginning to believe in you, too, sugar.“

He laughed at her expression and stepped away. They fell into an easy pace uphill toward home.

„Okay. Not sugar. But I’m still pretty impressed with the guts it took for you jump the hurdle, Charlotte. Most people ignore the voice inside them all their life. They play it safe, too afraid to take a chance on their dreams, and they regret it until the day they die. But not you. Not my Charlotte Gibson. You give your voice a body, and designer clothes… and body hair…“ He whipped an evil and highly amused glanced her way. She felt fire in her cheeks. „And you listen. I admit, I had my doubts about you. You are a True Believer but up to now you gave me no reason to believe you were any different than most people.“ He looked down as he slid his hand over the front of his sweater. „Up until now.“

He was like watching a little boy on his birthday. His obvious happiness brought a deep joy that settled around her heart like the gathering of rain clouds in a drought. And with it came hope, solid and true, like an object she could hold in her hand. There was something new and exciting in her life, and her world was on the verge of change. She could feel it. She was excited and scared… and so ready.

„And you were right this morning,“ he said, being generous in return. „I was unreasonable – you ignore someone long enough they get that way, you know. But you were right. This isn’t the best time to drop the business ball and run off willy-nilly to play Barbie Gets A Makeover.“

„Barbie?“

„Your transformation isn’t going to happen overnight anyway. It shouldn’t. We want to feel comfortable with the changes we make, one at a time, grow into the new you. There’ll be plenty of time for that and to get the business settled again. Together, there isn’t anything we can’t handle, given a little time and a good attitude. Right?“

„Right.“

„Right. We’ve already seen what all work and no play has done to you. All play and no work would make Charlotte… poor… and anxious and desperate. Depressed and frightened. Did I mention poor?“

She smiled and a woman walking toward her on the sidewalk smiled back.

„Besides, this is all about balance, isn’t it? Yin and yang. Good and evil. Right and wrong. Work and play. You and me. We’re a team. You listen to me, I listen to you, and together we build a new, well-balanced, well-dressed, well-groomed, considerably more attractive and confident businesswoman with a social life. How hard can it be?“

Did he want an answer to that? She looked up at him and he winked at her. Her breath caught and she swallowed, hard. She felt a little lightheaded.

„Piece of cake,“ he said, seeming not to notice the effect he had on her. „A pumpkin-and-ground-oatmeal bundt cake with rum-plumped raisins and a spiced-sugar glaze made from scratch, maybe. But cake nonetheless. And there’s so much to think about.“ He threw his arms wide. „Clothes. Hair. Makeup. We need to call that stylist in Bellevue right away, the one from the newspaper article. He probably has a waiting list. What about joining a gym? All this walking is fine but a little upper body workout wouldn’t hurt. Oh! Let’s take that trip to Victoria like we always wanted. And what about revamping the apartment, too, while we’re at it? It’s yours now, so you might as well claim it. And shoes… for both of us. We should make a list of the hot spots in town, see where people go to meet people. There’ll be plenty of dating tips in those magazines. We’ll ask around a little and…“

Charlotte listened as he mapped out a new life for her. She’d never known anyone like Mel before, no one whose sole purpose for existence was… her. Her life, her fulfillment, her dreams. She’d never been the epicenter of anyone’s universe before, the full focus of their energies. It was heady. Pleasing in a completely selfish way that she could easily get used to.

Mel saw her potential. He knew, as she had often wished, that there was so much more to her than a mind that was good with numbers and an overdeveloped sense of responsibility and duty. Her body and soul were starving for attention, and Mel planned to put both on a weight-gaining diet.

She planned to let him.

Six

Days slipped by and while the April weather remained wet, naturally, it also grew warm enough to shed her long, black wool coat for her old, tan trench coat.

„Halloween is six months off, Charlotte.“ Mel’s expression was bland, his tone dry, and when she frowned in confusion, he held his hands out toward her coat and added, „This is your best impersonation of Detective Columbo, isn’t it?“

„This happens to be a perfectly respectable Worthing-ton raincoat. These kinds of overcoats never go out of style.“

„Says who? And even if they didn’t, they still lose buttons and get worn until they look threadbare and ratty. Much like this one.“ The phone rang. „Give it to me. I’ll throw it in the trash.“

„No,“ she said, backing up toward the phone, clutching the front of her coat. „Not until I have something to replace it with, and then it’s going to someone who could use a perfectly good six-year-old coat. Along with everything else I own. Don’t you like anything I have? Hello?“

„Charlotte Gibson? This is Axel Burton. I hope I’m not disturbing you.“ The baritone voice in her ear caused a slight hitch in her breathing. The deep, dark, purely masculine tones shivered along her nerve endings, as if she’d been touched. „Hello?“

„Yes. I’m sorry. What?“

Mel’s thoughts were still in her closet. „I like that old, really soft flannel nightgown with the little pink bunnies on it. The long one? It feels so good when we’re sick.“

She tapped her closed lips with her index finger, listening intently.

„Is this Charlotte Gibson?“ The man put a heavy inflection on the Char part of her name; it made her heart flutter.

„Yes. I was… distracted. I’m sorry. What did you say your name was?“

„Axel Burton. I’m calling from Chicago but I’m planning to be in Seattle later next week. Henry Chancellor said you might be able to turn me on to a couple of jobs coming up in the area.“

„Henry? Oh.“ Memory kicked in and her stomach sank to the floor. „Right. You’re his wife’s sister’s cousin’s nephew or something. I remember. Henry seemed very fond of you.“

He gave a soft laugh that made her want to weep with regret. It just wasn’t fair that the voice belonged to the very nice, quiet, single, young, unemployed, miserable, boring loser Henry told her about. Money isn’t everything? To a CFO? Get real.

And come to think of it, Axel?

„Actually, my mother’s sister divorced Henry’s wife’s brother. But before they did, Henry and I got to know each other pretty well. At the family reunions. On vacation. Things like that. Henry’s a good man.“

„Yes, he is. And because he thinks so highly of you, I’d be happy to recommend you to the clients I’m dropping from my practice. I don’t know if Henry explained the situation to you or not, but my – “

„Yes. He did.“ He spoke quickly to spare her the pain of explaining. „I’m sorry about your father.“

„Thank you. So you know that these companies are in transition, or permanently fixed in the 13 percent of all businesses that have between twenty and one hundred employees and no longer qualify as a small business?“ She winced. She was talking like… like an accountant.

„Yes, but I was hoping you might agree to meet with me next week to discuss all this. Friday evening maybe, for drinks or dinner. I could explain briefly what I’m looking for, you could give me a short run down on what you’ve got and then we could discuss where you think I might fit best… if at all.“

Oh, sure. Like she couldn’t smell a blind date buried under a business meeting from a mile away.

„I’m sorry. I have plans for next Friday. In fact, the next few weeks are going to be crazy busy for me, and I know you’re going to want to find a job fairly soon, so why don’t you give me an email address or a fax or even a street address and I’ll send you an overview and declaration of each company. You can take a few days to look them over and let me know which ones you’re interested in. Then I’ll write you a letter of introduction. How does that sound?“

„Like a lot of extra work for you, I’m sorry to say.“

„Not at all. It’s all right there on my computer. It’s no problem at all.“

„All right.“ He agreed and gave her his email address. „Maybe once we both get settled we can have that drink together anyway. Henry says, and I quote, that you’re ‘a pearl the oyster divers have somehow overlooked.’“

She rolled her eyes, Oh brother, then made a soft snorting noise in lieu of a laugh and brushed him off. „He has to say that. I do his taxes.“

Politely, he didn’t push the point and said good-bye.

She set the phone in its cradle and looked up to find Mel staring at her.

„What?“

„You’re not even going to give him a chance?“

„Oh, please. There’s a stigma to blind dating for a reason, you know. And it’s not just because they’re set up so you go into them blind.“ She picked up her briefcase, walked to the door, opened it and then waited for him. „It’s because once you get there, your date makes you wish you were blind. Or even worse, your poor date is blind, and you dressed up for nothing. Trust me,“ she said, following him through the door and down the stairs to the foyer. „I’ve been on enough blind dates to know they never work. No more blind dates for me. I want to meet someone on my own. I want our gazes to lock across a crowded room. I want our souls to mate before we even speak. I want… magic. Love at first sight.“ Watching him shrug into an expensive looking brown leather bomber jacket, she let loose a tiny, wistful sigh. „Why didn’t I conjure up a fairy godmother with a wand or a genie with a bottle full of wishes instead of a playmate with a fashion fetish?“

„Perhaps because, in your infinite wisdom, you knew it would be more fun to make your own magic.“ She gave him a look as he passed through the open door to the street. „Wait and see, my pet. When you do fall in love, you’ll be glad there isn’t any other magic around but your own.“

A few weeks after that, when Mel proposed burning both of her coats in celebration of sweater weather, they made their first massive trip to the Goodwill.

These were not idle weeks by any means. Most days were consumed with the shifting of her father’s remaining clients into a reasonable, and profitable, work schedule along with her own. Closing the books to-date for those she had to part with, designing several new client organizers and updating their methods of accounting to systems that were more efficient for them… and her.

She got new business cards and stationary, changing the company name from Gibson & Gibson Financial Associates, Inc. to Gibson Financial Services, Inc. in standout Money Green ink, not the standard Profit Black.

The only thing Mel insisted on, other than waiting for Shamus – the famed hairdresser in Bellevue – was that she join the gym a few blocks south near Garfield Street. „Not just for your body, but also for your soul,“ he said, holding the tips of his fingers together like an Italian fresh off the boat.

She couldn’t say that her soul enjoyed the exercise any more than her body did, but she was surprised at how quickly it became a part of her daily routine. The more energy she exerted, the more she seemed to have.

Late afternoons and early evenings were set aside for the evacuation of most things old. Her parents’ old clothes. Her old clothes. Old books she didn’t want to keep. Old adding machines three hundred times bigger than last year’s model. Old kitchen utensils and furniture. And more of her old clothes that she couldn’t part with the first time.

Mel was doggedly determined to wipe out her wardrobe completely.

„Ooh. Now we’re talkin’.“ His voice echoed the admiration in his expression as she stepped out of the dressing room to look at the new jeans he talked her into trying on. He sat in a chair beside the mirror, nodding. „Look at this. We’ve found curves. And those are not so low on your hips that you’re embarrassed every time you sit down, but they don’t cut you off at the armpits either. Perfect. You’ve got a sweet little waist there and it’s time to show it off.“ He did hesitate a moment. „We’ll wait on the naval piercing. One thing at a time, right?“

„Right.“ Admiring the flattering fit of the jeans in the mirror, she didn’t bother to scowl at him. She was used to his pushing the line of change to extremes with ideas like tattoos, thong underwear and lightweight Scandinavian furniture. These things were all fine and interesting to think about, but they were so not her, and he knew it. Still, he said he felt compelled to bring them to mind, just in case.

„The T-shirt could be a little shorter. You’ve got the belly for it, hun. No, hun, huh? Okay. Well, at least that one’s tight enough to hug your curves, not just hang there like your body was a tree trunk.“

She wished he’d stop talking about her curves. Stop looking at them with the warm approval that made her feel uneasy in a truly wonderful way. It was moments like this that she consciously fought to cling to reality, like a climber on the sheer face of a mountain, by the tips of her fingers and a prayer. He wasn’t real. No matter how much or how hard she wished he was, he wasn’t real.

„Let’s burn the old ones.“

„Pyromaniac.“

„Obsessive-compulsive-frumpy-clothes-hoarder.“

She bit her lower lip to keep her smile small.

„At least wear these home,“ he suggested, reaching out to pull the sizing tape off the back of her thigh, then the price tag. She reached up and yanked one from under her arm, then looked in the mirror again.

There was a distinctive… exposed sensation in wearing clothes that exhibited the exact shape of her body, the true size of her breasts and the tone of her bottom. Like being naked, but not. Exciting and disturbing and… sexual in a way she never dreamed she could be. Seductive. Soft and feminine. Not like a tree trunk. Like a woman. And it was potent.

Those weeks with Mel were special. As they cleaned and sorted, they made piles for consignment shops, another for charity and one more for a planned weekend at the Stop’n Swap near Lake Union. And they talked. About everything. The funny things her parents used to do, the girl who bullied her in sixth grade, the strife in the Middle East, why there was no special name for the tops of their feet.

When first Sidney and then Sue called with their biannual invitations to a casual dinner to meet someone new from their husband’s office or the latest addition to their company baseball team, neither she nor Mel felt any compunction in declining.

Late in the evenings they would curl up, exhausted, on opposite ends of the sofa and share a blanket between them. Sometimes Mel rubbed her feet, sometimes she tickled his, and at all times she was content and happy in his company.

„I like Tony Soprano,“ Mel mumbled late one Sunday night.

„He’s a cold-blooded gangster.“

„He loves his children.“

„He kills people. With his hands.“

„He’s always sorry afterward.“

„He cheats on his wife.“

„Lots of men do.“

„Why?“

„I don’t know. But I don’t think it’s always because of the wife. I don’t think it is most of the time. And I know for a fact that it wasn’t your fault when Eddie Boise cheated on you.“

„You do?“

„Of course. You jumped through hoops trying to make that guy happy, but it was the challenge he loved. He cheated on everyone once he got what he wanted from them. It wasn’t you, it was him playing games.“

„How can you tell if someone’s playing games?“

„You can’t always. Eddie fooled me too, or I’d have voiced my suspicions earlier, but… it doesn’t really matter. That’s not what’s important. Having your heart broken sucks, but it beats the alternative.“

„Feeling nothing at all.“

„Mmm,“ he agreed, his gaze glued to the television as the mob boss talked to a topless waitress in his bar.

„It’s better to have loved and lost then never to have loved at all, huh?“

He glanced at her, looked away and then met her eye to eye. „Don’t you think so? I mean, when all is said and done, it’s never the number of people who loved you that counts, is it? It’s the love you fill your heart with for others that matters. So, if you don’t love, your heart stays empty, and so does your life.“

That’s what made those busy weeks with Mel so special, she supposed. His healing outlook on life; his simple, sensible answers to die most profound complexities of her life. His complete honesty about the mistakes she’d made and his total support when die fault wasn’t hers. He helped her make subtle changes to her self-image, patch some of the holes in her confidence, led her to windows into her personality she never knew existed.

Seven

The doorbell rang one afternoon and she climbed over stacked boxes and bulging garbage bags to answer it. Mrs. Kludinski stood in the hall holding a CD case in both hands.

„Try this one it’s… Good heavens! Your hair!“

The old lady’s eyes grew round with wonder and Charlotte reached with both hands to be sure what hair she had left was still there. Soft and airy and shorter than she’d ever worn it before, she combed her hair forward with her finger tips and stated the obvious. „I had it cut.“

„It’s fabulous.“

„Really? You like it?“

„I do. It’s perfect for you. It shows off your long graceful neck, and your eyes look enormous. You look so young and fresh.“

She grinned and for several long seconds she allowed herself to bask in the admiration she saw in her neighbor’s face. „Thank you. I needed a change.“

„Changing your music, too?“

„What?“

She tried to look around Charlotte into the apartment, her curiosity large. „I heard blues last night and country this morning, but I didn’t hear any classical. This is Debussy. Piano mostly. You might like it.“

„Is this your very sweet way of telling me I’m playing my music too loud?“

„No. This is my very sweet way of telling you that it’s nice to hear signs of life up here. I was beginning to worry.“

„Oh. Well.“ Mel is pretty light on his feet for someone his size. „I used to enjoy all sorts of music but all my parents ever listened to was Rock from the fifties and sixties and… well, I’ve been cleaning and I found some old tapes, but if it’s too loud for you, I can turn it down.“

„It’s fine for me. I love music, too. And it’s not that loud. I only used it as an excuse to come up here and see for myself what’s been going on,“ she said frankly, once again trying to peer inside the apartment. Charlotte glanced over her shoulder at the furniture in the middle of the room, the boxes and bare walls. „What is going on up here? You’ve got Joe and Martha worried, too. Marty said she came across the hall one day last week to see how you were doing and she thought she heard you talking to yourself in here.“ She stepped into the apartment as Charlotte stepped back to let her in.

„Maybe it was the television.“

„That’s what I said. But she said it was too early in the day, that you never turn it on until the news hour.“

„Yeah. Well. Maybe I’m getting sick of being so predictable. Maybe I had it on just to mess with her head.“ She leaned out the door to glower at her neighbor’s door across the large empty hallway. Busybody.

„She was worried.“ She put her hands on her hips and looked around. „It looks like you’re redecorating.“

„Well, the furniture’s old and…“

„And it’s not yours, is it? Thank the Lord.“ She threw her hands in the air. „I was afraid you were thinking of moving. When you get to be my age and you have good neighbors, you like to keep them. So, you’re changing everything. Fantastic! What color have you decided on for the walls in here?“

„I haven’t yet. I was…“

„Yes, you have. Tell her,“ Mel said.

„Red.“

„Red?“

„Not bright red. Ah… a deep, warm Chinese red with a rich cream-colored trim, I think. And I want to pull up the rugs and refinish the hardwood floors, then put down an area rug… maybe something oriental with lush greens and that yellowish gold color…“ Her voice trailed off. Mrs. Kludinski didn’t need all the details to call the scheme grotesque.

„And a lovely blue, too, and maybe more of the red in the rug to pull it together because it sounds just fabulous. Charlotte, I’m so proud of you. It’s about time you cut loose and let that bright, colorful personality of yours shine.“

„You see?“ Mel folded his arms across his chest. „Bold is beautiful. And thinking outside the neutral box is creative, not crazy.“

„And what is this you have going on over here?“ She walked slowly toward the far wall, lifting the glasses that hung at her bosom up to her nose as she carefully examined the wide and varied assortment of pictures taped thereon.

„Oh, that’s a… sort of a shopping spree waiting to happen. You shop all the time, but I find all the styles and colors and… everything in the stores overwhelming. Too many choices. Too many decisions. I… I thought if I knew pretty much what 1 was looking for and what I didn’t want, ahead of time, it would be easier.“

„So organized and logical.“ She wasn’t making a judgment, just taking note as she scanned the scraps of magazines and catalogs on the wall. „And yet, you have two very different styles emerging here, dear. Both are very nice, and a vast improvement on what you’ve worn in the past. No offense, but improvement is what you’re looking for, isn’t it?“

„Just a change, really.“ She sighed, resigned to the truth. „Yes. Improvement. Big time.“

„Yes. Indeed.“ She stepped back to see the bigger picture. „And the men in black leather?“

Charlotte’s whole body cringed with embarrassment and she squeaked as she quickly ripped several of Mel’s donations off the wall. „Those are… you know… just… nothing.“

Mrs. Kludinski’s smirk relaxed as she continued to study the wall.

„Fascinating. One style so… conservative.“

„She means boring“ Mel said, I told you so written all over his face.

„And the other so… revealing.“

„Slutty.“ She pinned Mel with a look.

„Gracious, no!“ Mrs. Kludinski looked surprised, and not by the word. „Revealing as in expressive, interesting, intriguing. It’s fine to cover yourself neck to toe in these lovely suits for business if you want, if dressing like a man helps you feel as powerful as a man. But the rest of the time… well, I would love to see you – all women really – be open and honest and proud of your female form, no matter what shape it is.“

„I couldn’t have said that better myself.“ Mel nodded and smiled fondly at the old lady.

„But all that skin… Professionally, I can’t – “

„Dear Charlotte.“ A sage smile curved her thin lips, and her pale blue eyes were positively wicked. „There is more power in the curve of a woman’s neck and the turn of her ankle than in ten male bodies put together. And with every additional inch of leg and cleavage shone, the strength increases tenfold.“

„Oh my.“ Mel was impressed.

„It’s how you use the power that defines your professionalism. Until you get to be my age, of course. Then it’s wise to have an alternate power source. Like money.“ She laughed.

But Charlotte was only half-listening as she reconsidered the pictures on the wall. „What if we compromise and do a little of both? I don’t want to be too intimidating.“ She grinned. „But maybe a conservative suit with a more revealing blouse… or from the other direction, a shortish skirt instead of slacks.“

„There you go. Or this little strapless sheath with the shorter bolero jacket. Or even just a little thin shawl while they’re still in style.“ They made several other possible combinations, lifting the pictures off the wall and retaping them closer together, laughing when they didn’t quite work and gasping with pleasure when they did. „There. See? Show enough to be enticing, leave a little to mystery, and avoid being so mysterious you’re like the grab bag at a charity auction.“

Mel whistled. „I bet this old broad was hell on wheels when she was young.“

Mrs. Kludinski turned as if she’d heard him, but only looked around the room again. „I also know of a nice young man who does a good job painting. He’s reasonable and fast. Would you like his number?“

„Well, we were… I was…“ She heard Mel moan laboriously behind her. She wasn’t all that keen on doing the job herself either. She realized it was the nice young man that had her balking. „He isn’t single is he?“

„I don’t know. It didn’t come up while he was painting my guest room last fall, and I didn’t ask. Does it matter?“

„No. Not really.“ She felt foolish. She wasn’t really the sad victim of an international blind-date conspiracy – it just felt as if she was sometimes.

Shortly after the varnish dried on the freshly sanded floors, the air in the apartment grew thick with the smell of latex paint.

Guy Westfield, the painter, was a prompt and efficient man in his early thirties, who liked to stand around and talk in the mornings if Charlotte didn’t make herself scarce.

„He’s a sociable guy, our Guy,“ Mel said, following her into her office, where she’d spent most of the previous two days hiding from the painter.

Mel didn’t usually join her in the office. When she worked, when she needed time to herself, he was very good about sensing it and getting out of her way for a while. And then he would just be there later, as if he were simply returning from the kitchen with a glass of water or had been reading in another room. It was one of his many tricks that she appreciated, and didn’t question – it was best not to question.

„A sociable guy I’m paying by the hour, thank you very much.“ She sat down at her desk and brought her computer screen to life. „Besides, I hate watching someone else doing a job I’m paying them to do simply because I hate doing it myself. I hate to vacuum and dust and I haven’t hired a maid service for me exact same reason.“

„Yeah, well, that’s secondhand guilt from your parents who grew up in a frugal do-it-yourself era.“ He flopped into the chair at the opposite desk. „I’m the one who’s been nagging you to get someone part-time and rationalizing it as good for the economy, spreading the wealth around and supporting the job market.“

She stared at him. „That was you? I thought it was the devil, tempting me with sloth.“

„I know. And don’t think I wasn’t insulted. Not to mention frustrated that, once again, you couldn’t distinguish his voice from mine. This is something we need to discuss sometime before I leave, by the way.“

Her heart flipped and constricted; tears pushed and stung in her eyelids. „You’re leaving me?“

His smile was reassuring. „Not while you still need me.“

Charlotte didn’t want to think about him leaving, couldn’t bare thinking about it. So quickly he’d become the best and truest friend she’d ever known.

Oh, he teased her and provoked her and was difficult to take to a crowded movie theater where empty-looking seats were hard to hold on to, but he was also wise and comforting and a companion who made even the most mundane everyday activities more pleasurable.

And she was happy. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been so happy. She couldn’t help it. He made her feel all gooey and girly inside. He was feeding huge portions of faith and fervor to her femininity, and she found she was as dependent on him as she was the new dif-fuser on her blow dryer.

„And, little lady, please don’t think that you have successfully changed the subject from Guy to God,“ he went on, leaning back in the padded chair that once belonged to her father. „Because we both noticed he wasn’t wearing a wedding ring and he seems like a nice enough guy. Guy, not God – though, I suppose He’s probably nice enough too, just a little out of your league.“

„God, not Guy, right?“

„Right.“

„Well, I’m not going to hit on the painter.“

„Why not? He’s already seen you in that shirt with the baggy jeans I distinctly recall putting in the Goodwill box myself, and he can still bring himself to look you in the eye. He is obviously a man with great depth perception who can see beyond your foolish attachment to all that is dumpy and ill-fitting to the real you… who is still screaming to get out, I might add.“

She simpered at him. „They’re comfortable.“

„So are the new ones. You admitted as much.“

„But why wear out my new jeans just hanging around the house working?“

„Because dressing well and looking nice is going to become your second skin.“ He held up his hand when she started to object. „You can be comfortable in clothes that look nice on you as easily as you can in… what you’ve been wearing and…“ His eyes narrowed suspiciously. „And stop trying to change the subject.“

„I’m not attracted to him, okay?“

„How do you know until you try?“

„You don’t try to be attracted to someone; you just are.“

„Not always. Sometimes you meet someone, you become friends, and then you become attracted. They grow on you. We’ve read all the same articles, seen all the same movies, listened to all the same talk shows. This love-at-first-sight you’re so hung up on is usually just an infatuation and those never last. You know that.“

„I know that for two people to be friends even, they must first have something in common. What do I have in common with this man?“

„How should I know? But you can’t tell just from looking at him that you have nothing in common. He might be a painter who loves poetry and sappy movies, who likes music and dancing and books about Edna St. Vincent Mil-lay. You never know. He could be the man who opens up the new world of skydiving for you.“

„Scuba,“ she said, her expression bored. „I want to try scuba diving.“

„I know. Just checking. And… Guy could be the guy to teach you.“

„So, if I ask him if he scuba dives and he says no, we can drop this?“ His stare was taxed. She sighed. „I’ll think about it. But not until after the painting is done. If it gets ugly I don’t want him running off and leaving me with a half-painted apartment.“

„Oh, ye of little faith. What if it turns out great and he decides to forego his bill?“

„Then I’d know we were incompatible, for sure. I never heard of anything so stupid.“ She turned back to the computer and her own work. „What sort of incompetent businessman is he that he’d paint someone’s apartment for free, just for a date?“

„Not for a date and not for free. For love.“ He said it like a prayer.

She shook her head. „That’s bartering. You can’t barter for love. I told you it wouldn’t work out with him.“

And besides, I have you. Out of the corner of her eye she saw him squirm in his chair a few seconds later and buried the thought in numbers.

Eight

They watched the Mariners play at Safeco Field and spit off the observation deck of the Space Needle. They drove to Port Angeles and rode the Black Ball Ferry to Victoria, British Columbia, quite possibly the prettiest city in the northern hemisphere, in Charlotte’s opinion, and they stayed for all three days of the Tall Ships Challenge. Mel liked the Ballard Locks. More than once she found herself standing at the rail watching boats of all shapes and sizes move up and down, passing from the Puget Sound to the fresh water of Salmon Bay – or vice versa.

August was already September before she began to feel as if she were finally settling into her own skin. Her reflection in the store front was as young and alive as she felt. Her reflection, not some stranger with similar features; her all stylish and put-together, eyes sparkling, head high.

Mel turned his head and then turned his body completely to walk backwards as they strolled Bellevue Square pretending to window shop at the various high-end stores and boutiques. Pretending, as they’d already blown her new clothing budget on an Ann Taylor suit and a pair of croco-embossed T-strap pumps at Banana Republic.

„Did you see that?“ he asked.

„What?“ She turned from the window. „And it better not be another Fuzzi skirt. I never would have bought that skirt if it hadn’t been for you.“

„It’s a beautiful skirt. But no, did you see that guy, the one in the yellow shirt, the sandy brown hair? He almost broke his neck trying to get a good look at you.“

She smiled but didn’t look back. It wasn’t the first time she’d turned a head in the last few weeks, and it was almost as satisfying as not being recognized by people she’d known for years. That look of confusion on their faces, then the surprise, then the awe and admiration was better than… well… better than anything she’d ever known but…

„That’s not why I did all this, you know. It’s a nice side effect, having men notice me, but I’d be just as happy if they didn’t. Or maybe not as much anyway. I mean, everyone wants to be noticed, of course, but they don’t have to stop traffic and stare. That’s not what all this is about.“

„I know.“

„This is about me doing everything I should have done years ago to become the woman I always thought I’d be.“

„I know.“

„This is about reclaiming my life.“

„I know. Let’s cross over here.“ He was barely paying attention to her. He snatched up her hand and started for the shops on the other side of the second level.

„Victoria’s Secret? Again?“

„They might have something new.“

„You’re not even listening to me.“ She stopped short, and one of two teenage girls rammed her from behind. „Oh! I’m sorry. Excuse me. I… should invest in a set of tail lights, I guess.“ The girl wasn’t amused. „Sorry.“

„Whatever.“ Glaring, she walked around Charlotte like she was something not to step in.

Mel watched her. „Do you think that attitude is nature or nurtured?“

„Looked pretty natural to me,“ she muttered, then turned to him. „Do I have a withering look like that?“

She tried a scowl and a snarl on him before he looked up and around, took her hand and started them walking again. „No, you don’t. You do anger and disbelief very well… and boredom… and frustration, too. Your face is very expressive, but there’s nothing that would make anyone feel subhuman like that.“ He paused, then sighed and rolled his eyes. „Did I mention stubborn? It seems to be your most frequent expression lately.“ He glanced over at her and wasn’t disappointed. „I do listen to you, Charlotte. All the time. Every second of every day. It’s what I do. But I can’t be expected to react to every thought in your head – most aren’t even whole thoughts; they’re wisps and snippets mostly. And when you’re thinking out loud, as you were just then, it might help to remember that I’m getting it in stereo – what you’re saying and what you’re thinking.“ He released her hand to point at both ears, then tipped his head. „Or in this case, what you’re saying and what you’re trying not to think.“

„Ho! So now you know what I’m not thinking. That’s great – and incredibly presumptuous of you.“ She increased the length of her stride.

He chuckled. „Not what you’re not thinking, what you’re trying not to think – that you did all this to attract men.“

„Which I didn’t.“

„Of course you did.“ Once again she dug in her heels. „Well, what’s wrong with that? If you were going to sell your car wouldn’t you wash it and vacuum out the trunk, make it look nice, show off its best features, hoping to make someone else want it?“

„I’m selling myself?“

Mel recognized the edge in her voice and took a bracing stance. „Yes, in a way. Everyone does it, every day. You sell yourself to your clients. You’re polite and professional; you work hard and you finish their financials on time – and they pay you and keep you on for another year. Are you going to tell me you wouldn’t put as much effort into finding someone to love? Why, making yourself appealing to the opposite sex is as natural as… well, it is nature, isn’t it? Birds do it. Animals do it. Maybe not as deliberately or as consciously as humans do it, but even then there’s a great deal of basic human instinct involved. So why not admit it? Yes, you’re reclaiming your life, and yes, you should have done so years ago, but you’re also hoping to make someone else want you. You hate being alone.“ He stooped to meet her at eye level. „And there’s nothing wrong with that. You can say it out loud.“

Charlotte sighed, wandered over to a convenient bench and sat down. „I do hate being alone. And I do want somebody to want me.“

„Amen to that, honey.“ The woman on the bench behind her turned her head and smiled. „You and me both.“

„Why does it have to be so complicated?“

The woman shrugged a shoulder and took a guess. „If it was easy it wouldn’t be special. It wouldn’t mean anything to us. We’d take love for granted, like clean air – and look what’s happening to that.“

They exchanged a thoughtful smile.

„And so,“ Mel said, using his arms to draw a large circle in the space in front of him, as the woman turned away with a nod. „There you have it. Now let’s shop.“ There was nothing Mel liked better but… he watched as she scrunched her face at the Victoria’s Secret window display one shop down and let loose a sigh that could have been Job’s. „You can have all the nice new clothes in the world but if you don’t feel pretty and sexy and desirable in them, what’s the point? And there’s nothing that will make you feel pretty and sexy and desirable faster than pretty, sexy, desirable underwear.“

„And you know this how?“

„Laurel’s Lingerie on the Home Shopping Network. They say it repeatedly. Are you coming or not?“

„We practically bought Vicki out of business the last time we were here.“ She watched him fill his head with the subtle, feminine scent before entering the shop. „How many frilly underpants and bras do I have to have?“

„The question is, can you have too many?“

Apparently not.

But it wasn’t her ravaged budget that bothered her that afternoon. It was the conversation she had with Mel that kept poking at her like a mean kid with a stick. She went over and over it in her mind. It made perfect sense on the surface – she didn’t want to be alone and she wanted someone to want her – but there was something missing, a nail or a screw or some glue that would hold the two statements together.

Mel was nowhere in sight when she emerged from her long steamy bath that evening, bundled in a new blue terry robe that was softer than her old one, which had been washed so many times most of the pile had rubbed off. She brewed a mug of hot tea, added honey and curled up on one end of her new couch to study the fall television lineup in the TV Guide – but it didn’t hold her attention for long. She read the first page of the new Elinor Lipman novel six times before she realized she wasn’t in a very good mood. She felt restless and testy and… where the hell was Mel?

She wondered where he went when he wasn’t with her – to play nine holes of golf? To get his teeth cleaned? Maybe he floated on clouds above the ozone, napping. Maybe something simpler… maybe he was off taking a shower, too?

A warm steamy fog broke and shifted before her eyes like a dream, and the damp musky scent of man and soap filled the air. She could almost see him in the mist, drops of water like diamonds in his thick dark hair, one lock hanging over his forehead, not quite touching his brow; his eyelashes spiked around deep blue eyes, his lips moist. His bare chest glistened; the skin across his broad shoulders was smooth and sun-kissed, and a fascinating river of course dark hair traveled the shallow valley between the rippled muscles of his abdomen, lower and lower until it -

„Charlotte!“ A cloud billowed into the hall from the bathroom and Mel emerged, wrapping a large white towel around his middle – he was clearly steamed. „Have you lost our mind?“

„Oh God,“ she said, watching Mel turn to face the-wetter-than-he-was vision of himself as the image slowly faded away. Once it was gone he looked back at her.

„You can’t keep doing this. I think I’ve been extremely tolerant of your feelings toward me – I am after all you’re perfect man – but now you’ve gone too far. I can ignore only so much. We both know where this fantasy would have landed us and you know we can’t go there.“

„I know. I know.“ She drew her legs up close to her chest and buried her face between her terry covered knees. She was mortified… and completely shaken. The neurons in her brain began to fizzle and spit, signaling a mental meltdown as the schism between her mind and her emotions became so wide she couldn’t bridge them any longer. „In my head I know, but not in my heart. I can’t help it. I’m in love. With you. And it’s hopeless. I’m hopeless.“ She stood abruptly, her face wet with tears, and marched toward the kitchen for a tissue, arms waving. „How pathetic and desperate does a person have to be to dream up someone like you? I watch Discovery Channel. They’ve never done a documentary on imaginary adult companions. I’ve hit bottom, haven’t I? I’m insane. Pretty soon Joe and Martha will sneak across the hall and figure out that I’m sitting in here talking to myself and have me committed. You and I, we can chase imaginary bugs up the walls together.“

„Stop it.“

„What’s the matter with me? Why did I ever think that listening to you would change anything? Merry Mel, come to fix poor Charlotte. What was I thinking? It’s never going to matter if I change the way I dress or the way I look or the color of my apartment or… or if I date or don’t date or… or have sexy underwear.“ She blew her nose and sniffed loudly, realizing then what had been missing from their earlier conversation: She didn’t want to be alone and she wanted someone to want her, but she was alone and she’d stay that way as long as she had Mel. „Underneath it all, I’ll still be me. I’ll be plain and weak and awkward and I won’t fit in anywhere. I’ll be the same old Charlotte who screws up every relationship she has with a man, who sits at home and watches her friends get married and make new lives and… and babies and are happy and… plant ger-bera daisies in their strip gardens. If I’m ever going to be the woman I’ve always wanted to be, if I’m ever to be truly happy with myself, then I’m going to have to change things… inside. Alone. Without you.“

She turned to him expectantly, certain he wouldn’t be able to come up with one of his unfailingly optimistic responses to this particular truth.

His expression was oddly unreadable, not a reflection of her anger, not sympathetic, not cheerful. After a short moment he said mildly, „You’re being dramatic.“

„Am I?“ She nodded and thought about it. „Maybe I am. I don’t know why I let you in… or out… or however this ridiculous thing works, but I can see now it was a mistake. You made everything so easy for me, but you’re really just another excuse for me to keep avoiding the rest of the world. The changes we made together are amazing, but none of them are the kind that count. None of them really changed me. I know who I am. And I know who you are.“ Suddenly, the wind died and her sails went flat. „And I know what you’re not. I do love you, Mel, but you have to go“

He looked like a small child who’d just had someone walk up and prick his balloon with a pin, confused and hurt.

„And please don’t think I’m not grateful for all you’ve done for me, but don’t you see, Mel? I need to make a real life with real people.“

His shoulders began to droop in defeat – in a defeat he seemed to be expecting. As he sighed, a thick, velvety green robe grew clearer and more solid over his body. He gathered the front together in a fist at his chest as if he were cold and weakly sat in the chair a few feet away. In another flash of reality she realized how careful he must have been to so rarely let her see his magic – perhaps because the strangeness of it might have startled her awake sooner to the fact that he was all magic.

„This is the way of it, I suppose. Good enough when you’re unhappy and lonely, but always a poor substitute for real life. It was the same when you were a little girl. If there were other children to play with, you didn’t give me a thought.“ He looked and sounded heartbroken and dejected.

„I’m sorry, Mel.“

He shrugged. „You know, I didn’t expect you to see me that day at the viewing. And I sure never expected to get a second chance with you. It happens so rarely. All children have imaginations strong enough to create a playmate but only a brave few will admit it to adults, and fewer still take it the one step further to anthropomorphize it. Most make-believe buddies are lost in youth, trapped in childhood memories. If they’re quick, a few can relocate to siblings or neighbor kids… the family pet. But only a lucky few get the chance to grow up and come out again. Didn’t I say you were a rare and wonderful exception? A True Believer.“

Her smile was sad. „Yes, you did.“

„Charlotte.“ When she looked at him, he rearranged himself in the chair and patted the cushion, inviting her to sit with him. The chair was new and big, not nearly wide enough to be a loveseat but wider than most, perfect for curling up… or sharing. She snuggled close and he put his arm around her. „I’ve had a great time.“

„Me, too. I’ve never had a friend like you before.“

„Yes, you have. When you were four and five and for a while when you were six.“ She gave a soft laugh and turned her ear to his chest. The steady rhythm of his heart was soothing; she felt safe and warm and completely attracted in the circle of his arms. She closed her eyes to concentrate on safe and warm. „The trick is to remember that the very best parts of me are actually you. And you were wrong before – some of the changes we made are the kinds that count, or you wouldn’t have had the strength to send me away. I’m very proud of you, Charlotte. It takes a big heart to forgive yourself for past mistakes, real courage to stand up for yourself and a keen mind to know what you want from life. All you ever needed was a little confidence… and a friend you couldn’t ignore.“

Her limbs grew heavy; her respirations slower and deeper as his holiday scent filled her head. „I’m afraid,“ she murmured from that half-awake, half-asleep state that was like flood water from the basement, heading for the attic. „I don’t want to be alone.“

„Everyone’s afraid. Remember that. And you’ll only be alone if you want to be,“ she heard him say clearly, but the next words came like those in a dream. „Forget me, Charlotte.“

Nine

„Forget me? That’s it? That’s the best you can do? I can’t say something and hop three times on my left foot to make you disappear?“ She stomped around in the kitchen getting her coffee, having not ten minutes ago come blissfully awake in his arms.

„As far as I know, that’s how it works. If you’re thinking about me, I’m here.“

„I’m thinking about you because you’re standing right in front of me. I thought you’d disappear last night while I was sleeping?“

„Without saying good-bye?“

She narrowed her eyes at him. „You’re doing this on purpose. You changed your mind. You’re not going to leave.“

„It’s not up to me,“ he said, looking entirely too pleased. „You know that.“

„Can’t you just, you know, go where you go when you’re not here and stay there?“

„Not if you’re thinking about me.“

„Not if I’m…“

She thought about the times when he wasn’t with her, when she felt he was being discrete and giving her time alone to think and meditate… and to work and read and do crossword puzzles… until she got stuck on a word. Then all she had to do was call out and he would answer from another room or join her if her concentration was not just momentarily broken but shattered completely by the riddle.

He loved going out and went everywhere with her except… that first morning when she wasn’t sure she wanted him around, when she’d snuck out of her office hoping he’d still be asleep, hoping she could leave the apartment without him.

No, it was more than hope. It was will; she willed him to stay asleep because she didn’t want to have another losing conversation with him that morning, because she wanted to leave without him, to be alone to mull things over.

The day before that she’d thrown up a mental and physical wall between them by commanding him to stay out of the apartment… so he stayed in the hall.

„ I am all you, babe.“

Her gaze rose slowly from the floor and their eyes met, one pair doubtful, the other pleased.

„All I have to do is fill my head with other things. That’s the trick, isn’t it? That’s how it works. This is my life and I control it.“

„Some of it.“

„Well, yes but… you, for sure. I can control you.“

He puffed his cheeks and blew out a deep breath as he folded his arms across his chest and leaned back against the kitchen counter with great forbearing. „Ah-ha.“

„I woke up a little shaky this morning, a little nervous about being on my own and that’s why you’re still here. I’m over it.“

„Ah-ha.“

There was nothing to do but show him. She turned on her heel and headed for the shower, thinking how good the hot water would feel on her skin, deciding to use a soft-scented soap instead of her usual body wash, gloating over the great deal she found on her new towels. She thought about the little collagen particles soaking into her skin from her moisturizer, the softness of her sweater and the perfect length of her slacks – tried to remember all the words to Joyce Kilmer’s poem Trees. Listening to the heels of her shoes ticking on her gorgeous new hardwood, she remembered exactly where she left her keys and let herself out of the apartment… and looking across at the Whites’ door, she elected to knock on it.

Joe, of course, had gone off to work already, but Marty was happy to see her when she opened the door.

„It’s so good to see you, Charlotte. I’ve been meaning to get over and see you but Ruth has been so busy this summer that, well, I don’t know where the time goes.“

„That’s alright, that’s one of the reasons I came over. I… I’ve been meaning to tell you that if you’d ever like an afternoon off or you’d like to go out to lunch or if anything happens to your regular sitter, I’d be glad to watch her… Ruth… for you, I mean. I didn’t feel like I could offer before – my dad liked his peace and he wasn’t used to children – but now… well, I’m available if you need me. I like children. I just don’t know many.“

„That’s so sweet of you.“ The amazed look on her face made Charlotte self-conscious. What? She couldn’t be sweet? „But I’d much rather get a sitter and take you to lunch, if you’re interested, that is. I’ve always wanted to get to know you better. I’m not that much older than you, I don’t think. But you looked so busy all the time with your business and your father… we barely had time for a ‘howdy’ and a ‘how’s things’ here in the hallway. I’m glad to see you have more time for yourself now.“

Being available was three-quarters of the cure for loneliness. Who knew it was so easy? The first time the front-desk attendant at the gym said, „Good morning, Charlotte,“

before she’d even had a chance to sign in, it was… a nice surprise. She was quick and enthusiastic when Sidney and Sue invited her shopping – she was a much better shopper now than the last time they’d ventured out together.

„When was the last time the three of us shopped like this?“ Sidney asked, scooting – exhausted – into a high-backed booth in the restaurant where they’d stopped for a late lunch and a drink.

„So long ago I don’t remember.“ Charlotte remembered perfectly.

„Well, I remember,“ said Sue, her brown shoulder-length bob swinging as she got in on the other side. „It was my wedding. We were looking for bridesmaids’ shoes, and my cousin Loretta, who’s always trying to fart higher than her ass, was with us and would not even try on a shoe that didn’t have a four-inch heel and a three-figure price tag, and you said you couldn’t walk in four-inch heels, three was your limit, and Charlotte kept wandering around muttering ‘$250 for a pair of purple shoes that can’t be deducted.’“

„Wait.“ Sidney picked up a menu but didn’t look at it. „Speaking of farting, wasn’t that the same day you found out that weird aunt of your mother’s, who you didn’t want to invite to your wedding because of her toxic flatulence problem, was, according to your mother, supposedly too sick to come to the wedding, so she insisted that it was safe to send her an invitation but who was, however, feeling very well and would be attending with her son, who, by the way, could power a windmill with his own noxious gases?“

„Yesss! I forgot about that. I remember I sent you off on your own and told you to pick out whatever shoes you wanted, I’d had it. And not only did Charlotte come back in about fifteen minutes, but she’d bought a pair of black loafers and told me no one would see them under her dress. I thought my head would explode.“ They all laughed. „I vowed then and there that cars would fly before we shopped together again.“

Charlotte felt her cheeks burning and covered them with her hands. „I was such a dork. Why did you put up with me for so long?“

„You mean aside from the fact that you were the sweetest, most gentle and giving dork at McClure Middle School? I don’t know. Do you, Sidney?“

Sidney shrugged and glanced down at her menu, then up with a droll expression to keep the moment light. „Maybe because friends don’t give up on each other. You haven’t given up on me actually putting money in that savings account you made me open, have you?“

„No, but that reminds me – “

„NO!“ they said together. „No job talk today.“

„And no kid talk. This is my afternoon off.“ Sue tried to sound firm but there was nothing she liked better than talking about her children.

„Okay, then how about some juicy information on Mrs. Doctor Lacey Booth that I got directly from her aunt?“

Their ears twitched.

It wasn’t hard keeping busy, stuffing her head with the hundreds of things she wanted to do and see. There were moments, of course, when her mind wandered – she glanced up once and saw Mel sitting in a chair across the room, then again leaning against a fence up the street and again riding the down escalator as she rode up. He smiled and gave a little wave; she smiled back, felt the pang of desire and looked away… I think that I shall never see…

She finally went out with Henry Chancellor’s wife’s uncle’s sister’s nephew, or whatever, Axel Burton, who was quite possibly the nicest man to ever leave Chicago. They liked each other very much but… there was no spark, no mating of souls, no magic.

He was, however, interested in scuba diving, so they took lessons together, driving all the way over to Alki Beach in West Seattle three evenings a week.

„We were crazy doing mis in November.“ Her teeth chattered as she pulled on her thick down jacket, apple green with pink and yellow piping. They were past the pool work and actually swimming off Alki Beach in wet suits, which kept them fairly warm, until they took them off. „Why didn’t we wait until summer?“

„Umm.“ He shivered, his knit cap pulled down over his wet hair. „The fewer off-season students get more one-on-one with the instructor? More underwater time? We were too eager? We’re nuts?“

„That’s the one.“ She stuffed her damp hair inside her cap and gave him a calculating look. He was only a little taller than she, maybe six foot, a nice, plain-looking man in his early thirties, with true brown hair and kind green eyes behind frameless glasses.

„What?“ He held the door open for her.

„Well, don’t take this wrong, it doesn’t mean anything except that I don’t know that many single people, but…“ As she passed through the door, she saw Mel leaning against a pickup truck on the other side of the parking lot. He held out both hands as if to say it wasn’t his fault she was missing him. She turned to Axel. „Well, I was thinking of trying speed dating and I didn’t want to go alone. I thought if we went together it might not be…“

„As humiliating?“

„No, not humiliating just… less awkward. Who knows who we’ll meet? And if you do meet someone nice and want to go out afterward for coffee or, you know, whatever, I can take a taxi home. Or vice versa.“

It could happen.

They tried it twice to be fair, and to be fair, they didn’t want to try it again.

She spent Thanksgiving with Sue Butterfield and her young family, her parents and her grandfather, who fell asleep during dessert and tipped whipped cream and pumpkin pie into his lap.

Christmas Eve she and Mrs. Kludinski made reservations and ate dinner in the Space Needle, which she hadn’t done since she was seven or eight years old. She gave more than she received and that was okay. She had the spirit.

The mid-winter months were bleak and lonely. It rained nearly every day, turned to ice at night. She had only to look out her window to see Mel looking entirely pimplike, but warm, in a full-length red-fox fur – faux, naturally. Generally he sat on the bus bench on the corner, reading a newspaper until he felt her looking at him. He’d look up askance; did she want him to come up?

I think that I shall never see…

One night, he knocked on her door.

„You can’t come in, Mel; you know that,“ she said, watching him through the peephole, enjoying the sight of him, too much.

„Just for tonight. I’ll leave in the morning.“

„I’m going to Cancun.“ This was news to her, too.

„ Mexico?“

„A winter vacation before tax season hits full bloom.“ She wasn’t used to living spontaneously; her hands were shaking. „I can take in the beach or go to the Mayan ruins. Boating. Oh, scuba!“ Her enthusiasm soared. „Warm water scuba.“

She was gone for ten days.

She was sorry to see him waiting at the airport for her, but she walked right by him, and for the rest of February, all of March and the first fifteen days of April, she was too busy to look more than two feet in front of her.

And then it was spring again.

Ten

„Thank you for coming,“ the bride said, extending her white-gloved hand and smiling ear to ear. „And thank you so much for your help, Charlotte.“

„It was my pleasure and I’m glad things worked out well for you. Everything is so beautiful.“ She couldn’t remember being more sincere about anything.

Her simple suggestion to hold the small wedding in Parsons Garden was a minimal contribution to the charming, almost fairy-tale scene around them. The small garden that had once belonged to the Parsons family was in full bloom with large snow-white magnolia blossoms; bright yellow and pale pink flowers flourished on the Cornelian dogwood and the Japanese weeping cherry. Spring plantings and thick shrubs and the neatly trimmed walk surrounded the carpet of deep green grass where sixty-odd chairs were quietly being rearranged in small groups around tables for a light reception. The string trio that had been playing softly since she stepped through the small iron gate lent an air of magic that hung like a canopy over the garden.

„And I don’t think I’ve ever seen a prettier bride.“

„Me, either,“ the groom said, beaming at both women as Charlotte gave the bride a gentle embrace then moved on to give him one meant for a bear.

„I’m so happy for you, Axel.“

„I’m just glad Uncle Henry isn’t too disappointed. If Janet hadn’t charmed his socks off, I’d be in big trouble right now.“

„That’s not true. All he ever wanted was for you to be happy. And you so obviously are, I’ll bet he’s delighted. In fact, I think I’ll go over right now and make sure he is.“

Henry was, of course, thrilled and felt the need to drag her from one cluster of guests to another introducing her as his brilliant accountant – a term that attested to her sharp mind but did little to invoke the image of a sparkling personality. The Chancellor family was a jolly bunch; Janet’s family was welcoming and kind, and the afternoon wore on in weather that seemed special ordered, clear and bright.

In an unguarded moment of weakness she caught a whiff of fir and fresh snow and turned, expecting to face Mel, there in a crowd of people.

He was nowhere in sight. She missed him.

A small lattice-covered bench located on a shady curve of the path beckoned to her – well, beckoned her sore feet anyway. She wasn’t the only one who’d worn heels to stand on the grass but… what had she been thinking?

She closed her eyes for just a moment, felt the sun on her face, listened to the birds in the bushes… heard the bushes rustling, twigs snapping and opened her eyes again.

From behind the rhododendron on her right a small boy of three or four crawled on his hands and knees – his mother was going to kill him – in his white shirt and khaki dress pants. He grinned when he saw her and didn’t exactly stick his tongue out at her but opened his mouth and let his tongue hang out like a -

„Woof.“ He crawled closer. „Woof. Woof. Woof.“

„Oh my, what a sweet little puppy you are,“ she said, sticking her hand toward him to see if he’d come to her. „Can I pet you?“

„Woof. Woof.“ He came close to her leg and sat back on his legs, putting his front paws on her thigh. He let her smooth down his bowl-shaped cap of chestnut-colored hair, remove a leaf and pat him lightly on the back. „Woof.“

„Do you have a name, little doggy?“

„Woof. Charlie.“

„Charlie is a great name. How old are you, Charlie?“

„Woof. Woof.“ He held up four fingers on his right paw, looking around.

„How many is that?“ She started to count.

„Woof. Four.“

„Four. And where is your keeper, you nice little dog?“

„Woof,“ he said, turning his head. „Hi, Dad. I’m a dog. Woof. Woof.“

„So I see.“ A tall man stepped out of the shadows as he spoke to the boy, but he didn’t take his eyes off Charlotte ’s face as she turned to look up at him.

He had the same thick, rich chestnut-colored hair as his son in a much shorter, hipper version of the comb-it-forward style his son had. He, too, wore a white shirt and khakis but he’d added a tie and carried a brown tweed sport jacket in his left hand. He had a strong chin and his lower lip was fuller than his top; shaded glasses covered his eyes… but it didn’t really matter. She knew him immediately.

„Hi.“ She felt as if she’d greeted him a million times before, yet her throat was tight and her voice sounded strange. She felt tense, her hands trembled in her lap.

„Hello.“ He seemed to suddenly remember his glasses and removed them. His eyes were so dark they looked like holes with no bottoms… she toppled straight into them. „I hope he’s not bothering you. Actually, I know he is… I’m hoping you don’t mind.“

She reached down blindly to pet the boy. „I don’t. I like dogs.“

They continued to stare at one another for one full minute before he motioned for permission to sit beside her. She smiled and tried to move to give him more room but the boy leaned against her right leg and she didn’t get far. The man’s slacks brushed against her leg when he sat; she made a minute adjustment with her thigh and felt the warmth of his skin beneath two thin layers of fabric. Her heart kicked once then flew, lighter than air.

A second later it stopped dead when it finally occurred to her that where there was a small boy and a daddy there was generally a mommy as well.

„All… Although maybe I shouldn’t encourage him. His mother may not appreciate him getting so dirty.“

He wasn’t fooled. He knew what she was asking.

„His mother died three years ago and I don’t think even she could have kept him clean for more then six minutes at a time.“ His stare was intense but she didn’t mind, she couldn’t look away either. „Friend of the bride or the groom?“

„Groom. You?“

„The bride is my cousin.“ So that made him, what, her client Henry’s wife’s ex-sister-in-law’s nephew’s new wife’s cousin… and his son? Small world.

„The groom’s my scuba partner.“

„You dive?“

She nodded. „Do you?“

„Since I was a teenager but I… haven’t for a while. I’ve been a little busy.“

„Woof.“ Charlie crawled several feet away, bent his head down to pick something invisible up in his mouth, crawled back and dropped it at Charlotte’s feet. „Woof. Throw my ball.“

„Please,“ his father said automatically.

„Please. Woof.“

She picked the ball up, threw it and Charlie chased it… and his dad was still staring at her when she turned back. „I bet you’ve been busy. He’s a cute little boy.“

He nodded, his mind on something else. He frowned briefly, then decided to tell her.

„You know I feel like I ought to know your name but I don’t.“

„ Charlotte.“

„It suits you. I mean, I think it does. It feels like it should. I know this is going to sound strange – or like some pick-up line or something – but I feel like I know you. Have we met before? I’m Sam Rutherford.“

„I don’t think so.“ But she knew exactly how he felt as something deep inside snapped and let go, became tranquil and easy, spreading a sense of lightness through her soul. „What do you do?“

„I’m an associate professor of the Romantics and Victorian literature at U Dub.“ A University of Washington professor, of poetry and heartfelt literature – Do not swoon! Don’t do it! „That’s Keats and Shelley, Tennyson and Browning, those guys.“

„I know.“ And she’d bet every class he taught was packed full of girls. „I’m an accountant.“ That sounded so dumb she almost slapped her forehead. Her mind was exploding with ideas, but it was so hard to think. „I own my own business.“

In her peripheral vision she knew Charlie had returned with the make-believe ball and, seeing he’d lost her full attention, dropped it a few feet away. He lifted his head, looked over his shoulder as if watching another toss and went to fetch it once more.

„If we haven’t met before, it’s good to meet you now, Sam Rutherford.“

There wasn’t a doubt in her mind that what she saw in his face was her future. Happy, earnest, genuine, solid and real – he had an honest face, a trustworthy face. He glanced down, saw her hands and took one in his to examine it as if he’d never seen one before… or maybe to determine if it was strong enough to hold his heart. Finally, he wove his fingers between hers and held them with his other hand.

„How would you like to walk over to Kerry Park and see a spectacular view of the Sound? It’s only a few blocks away, an easy walk even in those shoes.“

„I know where it is.“ She stood and he came up with her. „Can we bring the dog along?“

„That was my plan. If we wear him out with a walk I can put him to bed early, get my niece to sit with him and then we can go out for a drink, or dinner… or anything.“

She smiled her approval of his plan and he turned to Charlie, who was still on all fours, humming an oddly familiar tune. „Hey, Big Guy, wanna go for a walk?“

„Woof. Woof.“

Big Guy. An endearment. She imagined him calling her honey or sweetie or dear and her stomach didn’t hiss and spit. She’d answer to his sugar and darling… but not babe. There was just something about babe that rubbed her wrong.

She put out her free hand hoping Charlie would give her one of his. „Can I hold your leash, little doggie, so you don’t get lost?“

„Woof.“ He shook his head. „My boy has my leash.“

„Your boy?“

„My new friend.“ He turned his head and looked pointedly into thin air. „He’s four like me.“

She looked at Sam who shrugged to say you-know-kids and grinned at his son. Her skin prickled.

„What did you name your new friend?“ Sam asked him, playing along.

Charlie looked confused. „I didn’t name him nothing. He gots a name already.“

„Then please introduce us.“ He started them down the path toward the gate. She felt him hesitate at her side and turned her head in time to catch him sniffing the air. „Do you smell that?“

She inhaled deeply, smelled nothing and took a wild guess. „Christmas?“

„Yes!“ He was confused and amazed.

„That’s Mel,“ said Charlie, proud of his pal. „He smells like cookies, doesn’t he, Dad?“

Sam sniffed again, moved his head about to catch a second whiff but it was gone – his adult defenses were up. Charlotte had a sudden, brilliant thought and squatted down to the boy’s level; her smile was casual and cunning.

„Charlie, you know how your long name is really Charles Rutherford?“ He nodded. „What’s Mel’s long name? Do you know?“

Charlie giggled. „Sure. It’s dumb. He sang me the song to it. He says it sticks in your head and you can’t get rid of it.“

„What is it?“

„Mellow Lemon Yellow.“

„Mellow Yellow?“

„Donovan,“ said Sam, identifying the song immediately. He laughed. „Your pal’s a hippie, Big Guy.“

„What’s a hippie?“