Free Fall

29

I head back to my apartment to grab some clothes and toiletries for my temporary move to Ceepak’s place.

I also want to check up on Christine. See how she’s doing. Keep an eye on that short fuse of hers. Wouldn’t want my apartment to blow up while’s she’s using it. I’d never get back my damage deposit.

The Sea Village Apartment Complex sits halfway between what you might call “downtown” Sea Haven and the southern tip of the island where the rich folks like Shona Oppenheimer live.

I park my Jeep and head to Room 111. I fish in my cargo shorts for the keys before remembering, duh, I gave them to Christine.

So I knock on the door.

“Danny?”

Christine’s voice would probably be muffled more if my front door weren’t the cheapest kind they sell at Home Depot.

“Yeah.”

“Just a second.”

I hear a chain slide. Knobs turn.

She’s using locks I forgot I even had.

“Hey!” she says when the door swings open.

Her curly hair is damp. Her face is scrubbed clean. She’s dressed in a cute, chocolate colored blouse and is working one of my threadbare towels into her left ear. I hope the towel was actually clean and didn’t just pass my early morning sniff test.

“Come on in,” Christine says, her voice cheery and a little nervous. Yes, this is weird. We haven’t even been on a date but it’s like we’re doing the whole “Honey, I’m home” bit from some ancient sitcom.

“I just need to grab a few things,” I say.

“Sure. Make yourself at home.”

I glance around the room. I love what Christine has done with the place.

Well, mostly, she’s lit a fancy vanilla-scented candle to cover up the smell of my gym clothes (I really should wash that stuff more often). She’s also draped a couple colorful scarves over the window and put some flowers in an empty pickle jar on my kitchenette table. Looks nice.

“I hope you don’t mind,” she says. “I added a few girly-girl touches.”

“No problem. Just need to grab some clothes and my shaving stuff.”

“Sure.” She moves left. I go right. The room is so tiny we have to dance around each other to maneuver.

“I can’t thank you enough, Danny.”

“No worries.”

I sidle past her. Open some drawers. Try to ignore the bras and Victoria Secret type items lying dangerously close to my boxer shorts.

Christine watches me pack. Smiles.

“I can see why Katie was so crazy about you.”

Lump in throat time again. “She was?”

“Totally. ‘Danny, Danny, Danny.’ It’s all she ever talked about.”

“Really?”

“Cross my heart.” When she says that, she makes the accompanying gesture. Across her chest. What I’m saying is Christine is, basically, pointing at her boobs. Not that she had to. I was already there.

“So, you hungry?” I ask.

“Starving.”

“You want to go grab a bite?”

She hesitates. “I should probably eat in for a while. I’m a gal on a budget, Danny. My savings can’t last forever and I’ve lost two jobs this month …”

“My treat.”

“No. You’ve done enough.”

“Come on. Nothing fancy. The Dinky Dinghy.”

“The shrimp place?”

“I’m a regular.”

Christine goes to my desk, flips through the glossy pages of a “See Sea Haven” tourist magazine she must’ve picked up when she stopped off to buy toilet paper.

“They might have a coupon in here. Everybody else does. Score! Twenty percent off!”