Julia's Chocolates (27 page)

Dave slapped his forehead. “Of course you know that! I remember when you tried to pick on Carl, Jr., and got the tar beat out of you. Anyhow, Carl and Julie’s anniversary is the same as me and my wife’s, and we celebrate together each year. I bring my chili, Carl bakes the bread and whips up a salad. The wives get the dessert together. It’s a real special night for all of us. And you know Doug Meachan, too, his assistant? Doug’s been married for twenty-five years and is the part-time youth pastor at church.”

I watched J.D. shrivel right into that couch.

“Anyhow, those two men don’t take too well to men who walk out on their families, but you should feel free to go to them with your complaints. Fact is, when I see Carl and Doug at church on Sunday, I’ll tell them how you feel your wife has done you a wrong by leaving you after years of abuse and neglect and your chronic drinking. Those men will be particularly sympathetic when they hear you cleaned out the checking account before abandoning your children to go after your rather slutty-looking girlfriend, I’m sure.”

Now J.D. looked like a shriveled man who was about to vomit.

“That’s a fine idea, Dave,” Stash said. “A fine idea. You always do reach out to help people in your own godly way.”

“Yes, you do, Dave,” said Scrambler. “God’s word has certainly reached your heart. You even put out your hand to the worst sinners among us.”

“I do my best,” Dave drawled. “I do my best. Be sure to tell Carl and Doug your problems, J.D. Right after church would be the perfect time. I’m sure they’ll have great sympathy for a drunk, abusive adulterer.”

We filed out. I met Katie on the porch. She had been listening in, and her eyes sparkled like, well, like sparklers on the Fourth of July. Later she told me that she felt lighter than she had felt since the day she met J.D.

“I felt positively skinny,” she told me. “Sticklike, even.”

That night I made chocolates in the shapes of tiny bunnies with pink frosted ears and a fluffy looking tail made from icing. Then I made chocolates in the shapes of miniature whales with pink tongues and little blue icing eyes. Next I made chocolates in the shapes of little brown cats with licorice bows around their necks and green frosting eyes.

I must have been in an animal mood.

At 2:00 in the morning I stepped back and studied my handiwork. I must say I was pleased with myself. So I ate a bunny and a whale and a cat. Scrumptious. My chocolate is rich and dense and yet tastes so light and creamy it makes your mouth want to orgasm.

The fair was in three days. I had made enough chocolate to feed an army. I knew there was no way I could sell all my chocolates, and I was already thinking of places I could give them to. I would find out if there were any women’s shelters anywhere within a hundred-mile radius and drive there with the extras.

I had spent a small fortune for all the ingredients, but making masses of chocolate animals, chocolate brownies with chips, fudge with a hint of mint, chocolate cookies with creamy chocolate insides and an array of other chocolate desserts had given me a break from my mind’s devouring fears of imminent death.

And that in itself had made the whole endeavor worthwhile.

I cleaned up the kitchen until it damn near sparkled like one of those detergent commercials. Some women can’t stand cleaning, but I often find the rote motions soothing. I can let my mind wander.

And of course it wandered, for the hundredth time that day, to Dean Garrett.

First I let my mind think of how utterly gorgeous he was. Then I told myself to think of the man, not the package.

I knew that Dean Garrett was an honest man. Plus, he was interesting, and surprisingly easy to talk to once I got past being scared. He’s strong and smart and laid-back and yet intense, too.

But I didn’t really
know
him. He hid much of himself, letting me see only what he wanted me to see. As a major secret-keeper myself, I could recognize the same traits in someone else.

I knew there was more to him than he was sharing, and I think he knew it. There was more to me than I was sharing, and I knew he knew it.

I almost smiled. We were quite a pair.

But the time hadn’t come to spill our guts, and maybe it never would. It seems to be that way sometimes. Somehow, some way, it’s okay to take a person where they are at that moment. Everyone has baggage. Is it really necessary to unwrap and dissect all of the baggage in detail?

With Dean Garrett, I was comfortable with what I knew. And I felt comfortable with whatever baggage would arrive.

Although my mind was willing to do all this introspection, my body was now throbbing at the very thought of a Naked Dean. And though whenever he was around I had to think about things like Albert-Einstein hair and the taste of chalk and dogs who slobber and complex mathematical equations so I wouldn’t have a tiny orgasm right there and then, I decided, on an intellectual level, that I could not have sex with the man.

I had jumped into one man’s bed, refused to see what a psychopath he was, and now was being hunted down like prey by said psychopath. I was not in any emotional shape to handle another man, no matter how kind and smart and upright he appeared to be.

I sat down when the kitchen was clean and stared at the chocolates on the counters. The rest were piled up in boxes in Lydia’s spare bedroom. Each would be sold with a white doily. On every single doily, “Julia’s Chocolates” was printed in gold.

My body wanted to make love to Dean, to have and to hold him. My mind said forget it. For now.

I sighed heavily, then suddenly, maybe because of the late hour, or my lustful thoughts about Dean, or my fear of Robert, or the fact that I’d had little sleep the night before, my heart raced and my breath caught in my throat. The Dread Disease had arrived again, but this time, I stood up and grabbed the counter with my hands and shook my legs back and forth as fast as I could. I had learned that walking or running in place—just moving—could sometimes make the attack lessen.

So I shook my legs, and I started counting chocolate animals, and I thought about all the chickens and Aunt Lydia and Stash and the Psychic Night Girlfriends group and Shawn and Carrie Lynn, and before I knew it I was breathing normally again, with only a fine line of sweat beading my brow.

Maybe I was truly going to learn how to control the Dread Disease. Now, wouldn’t that be something?

I sank back down into my seat and stared out at the black night, proud of myself for a millisecond until I remembered Robert could be out there now, looking in, waiting and watching, wanting to put his hands around my neck and squeeze.

I turned my back to the window, thought about target practice and how good I was getting.

I checked the locks again, turned off the lights, and crawled into bed.

Sleep came quick and deep.

A
s always, it was dark when I woke up a few days later. Dark when I ran my paper route, dark when I kissed Dean outside his house, his arms pulling me close until I was happily breathless. Dark when he leaned in my car and kissed me again and again. Dark when he told me he would see me later that day. Dark when I drove off, my lips tingling, my body on fire.

But the darkness had a pink and orange glow to it by the time I returned to the house. Aunt Lydia and I waved at Scrambler and Dave as they passed by our house en route to the chickens and pigs in the back. They would care for the animals this morning.

Aunt Lydia and I had better things to do.

Without saying much at all, which is unusual for us, we packed up every single piece of chocolate I had made over the last weeks and packed all the chocolate desserts into boxes so they wouldn’t squish each other. I grabbed another stack of doilies, and another stack of gold stickers that said “Julia’s Chocolates.” Back again we went to the house, back again to the truck, our arms full of chocolates. Then we started on the egg cartons, dozens and dozens of them, filled with white, light brown, light blue, and light green eggs. We piled them into a pickup we had borrowed from Stash.

When dawn was stretching lazily overhead, we drove to the center of town. Unlike other days, the center of town was a hive of activity. Friends and neighbors waved as we parked our trucks. We set up our tables, then used drills to set up the fabricated storefronts that Stash had hammered together with plywood and Lara had painted.

In my humble opinion, Stash and Lara had outdone themselves. My storefront was cut like a chocolate truffle. Lara had painted it, of course, a rich chocolate color, complete with “Julia’s Chocolates” painted in gold at the top. Stash had made Lydia’s storefront look like a giant egg, and Lara had painted hers a light blue with little chickens and roosters and chicks around the edges. On the top it read “Wild Eggs From the Ladies.”

Golden’s fiftieth annual town fair actually attracted townspeople from fifty miles away and from the city. The farmers sold fruits and vegetables, apple cider, potatoes, tomatoes, lettuce, corn, and other veggies. The craftspeople and artists sold their wares. Stash told me that Minnie Bachman sold her nasal-cleaning horseradish and told everyone who bought from her that she had learned how to make authentic horseradish from her German grandmother.

The high school band played in the afternoon and early evening. Three churches sent their choirs over. Old men played the harmonica. Young men and women sang their rap songs. Bernie, the town’s dentist, showed off his juggling skills to the children. Elizabeth, his wife, painted kids’ faces. Henry, their son, made animal hats out of balloons.

And every single townsperson showed up and stayed all day, according to Aunt Lydia. Fireworks were the last hurrah.

I grabbed several boxes from the truck and put them behind my display. I hoped someone would buy my chocolates, I really did.

The fireworks shot through the night sky.

Aunt Lydia and I, from our booths, could hear the crowd oohing and ahhing. Literally. Someone had started yelling, “OOOHHH AHHHHH,” and everyone had joined in unison.
They’re a bunch of hams in Golden
, I thought, and then I laughed, pure and sweet.

A bunch of hams who had loved my chocolate.

I had completely, utterly sold out. Every single piece of chocolate, every single dessert. Sold.

“I don’t believe it,” I said to Aunt Lydia, pushing my curls off my forehead.

“I do.” She hugged me, then swatted my rear. “I do.”

In the sixteen hours I had spent at the fair today, neighbors, friends, the mayor, the fire chief, the fire chief’s wife, their children, teachers in town, the school principal—almost everyone I had met in Golden—bought my chocolates. Most had come back more than once.

Caroline came by, but she looked upset, distracted, her right eye winking spasmodically. “I’m getting…something’s wrong,” she said shakily. “I can’t place it. I don’t know who. Or where. But something is very wrong…. I’m seeing children. They’re hurt, but I can’t place them. Their faces are in shadows.” She waved her hand, tried to smile, looked ill. I hugged her, then she left. I momentarily felt sick and worried, but then a crowd came up and I turned back to selling my chocolates.

I had not taken a break except to pee.

Miracles
, I thought,
do happen
. Even to stressed out, plump, scared newspaper-delivery/Story Hour leading/ex-fiancées on the run.

Yes, indeedy, they do.

On Sunday morning I ran my paper route. Dean met me at his newspaper box. I got out of the car and, with a flourish, handed him the newspaper. He took the newspaper, dropped it on the ground, and gave me a kiss. “Congratulations, honey,” he said. He looked so happy for me all I could do was blush at him. “I told you that you make the best chocolate on the planet. But I guess it took hundreds of people to reassure you of that fact,” he said, kissing me again, his smile easy and suggestive and tasty, so tasty.

He had been at the fair, but I hadn’t seen him much. One time he came by with Stash and Dave. They all bought chocolate. The next time he’d come around, I’d sold out of his favorites. He bought my last box of fudge. He had helped me load my boxes into the pickup that night, making me kiss him every time we passed each other.

I must say, it was the most erotic box-loading experience I’d ever had.

“Thank you.” I almost wiggled with delight. “I’ll make you more black-bottom pie.”

“You do that.” He kissed me again, and I hate to sound like a wimpy woman in a romance novel, but my knees actually did feel weak. “Why don’t you serve it to me for dessert after dinner, and then after dessert we could have a sleepover?”

A sleepover? I smiled. Oh yeah. I’d like to do that, but since the very thought struck fear deep into my heart, I couldn’t. Make love to Dean Garrett? To that he-man? Me? Cannonball Butt? Possum? Cold-as-an-icicle-in-bed? I had too many sex fears to make love to Dean.

“Even the very thought of making love scares you, doesn’t it?” Dean asked.

I actually heard myself gasp in his arms. I put my forehead against his shoulder and closed my eyes. Oh, that man knew me too well.

“You’re not ready yet, are you, Julia.” He said it as a statement, not a question, and I knew exactly what he was talking about.

My body was ready. My mind was not. My heart was not. My emotional health was certainly not. I shook my head. “I’m sorry.”

He kissed my hand, then clasped it between both of his. “There’s nothing to be sorry about, sweetheart.”

The endearment made my breath catch in a good way, and I looked him straight in those blue, blue eyes. His lashes were black and thick. This was a man who would still be gorgeous at ninety years of age.

“When you’re ready, you’re ready, Julia.”

I nodded. The problem with getting older is that you realize that unbridled lust can get you into serious, serious trouble. You get pregnant with the wrong guy, and your child has a lousy father for the rest of his/her life. You marry a jerk and get stuck. You waste your life trying to turn what should have been just a one-night stand into a relationship that really was never meant to be.

Lust is a great feeling. It sharpens everything in life. Rainbows are brighter. Snowflakes more intricate. Ice cream creamier. The little annoying things in life are even covered in this lust, and they simply cease to bother you any more. All you can think about is sex, and when you see that person you feel those smoldering sex embers in your body flare into a burning inferno.

And then, well, it’s over.

And you get to deal with the aftermath.

But this time, this once, I, Julia Bennett, was going to be smart. I wanted Dean Garrett more than I had wanted any man in my life ever. But I wasn’t going to jump, wasn’t going to mess myself up further.

“I don’t feel strong enough to handle you,” I said, then nearly choked. That hadn’t come out the way I’d planned.

“What? I think you can handle me just fine.” He laughed and hugged me closer, tipping my head up with his palm.

I avoided looking at his eyes, though. The image of me “handling” him was too much. I tried again.

“What I meant, Dean, is that I don’t feel…”

“You don’t feel what?” His tone sharpened, and I instantly knew he thought I was breaking things off with him, that he thought I was telling him I didn’t feel that he was right, that we were right.

His arms dropped, and I suddenly felt cold and alone.

“I’m not saying this right at all, Dean. I…I…”
Please, words
, I begged,
come out of my mouth the right way
. “I don’t feel that I have a lot to offer you right now.”

He shook his head. “You have everything to offer me.”

“No, I don’t. I have a paper route, for heaven’s sake, and you’re an attorney….”

“Julia, that stuff doesn’t matter to me at all, not at all.”

“But it matters to me. You’re so…so strong all the time. And you’re smart, and you’re obviously an incredibly successful attorney, and I’m, Dean, I’m a wreck, I really am.” I couldn’t even tell him how much of a wreck I was. How could I? How could I explain to him that I had a Dread Disease and would probably be a corpse in only a matter of months?

“I’m not sophisticated like you, I don’t live in a world like yours. I don’t have a background like yours, and I don’t feel like I’m all together, if that makes any sense. I’m a mess, my life is a mess. I can’t meet you on even ground right now. I have to get myself in order before I get involved with anyone else. Am I making even the slightest bit of sense?”

Dean Garrett looked at me long and hard. “I think you’re saying that you recenlty broke things off with a violent fiancé, and you’re still reeling from that experience and need time to recover. In addition, you want to get yourself to a place where you’re secure and steady before you get involved with me or anyone else.”

I marveled. I did not know that men like Dean existed on this planet. “Yes, that’s about it. I need to be independent, I need to find myself, find out what I want to do, get a real job…. I’m sorry, Dean. I want you so bad I feel like I’m going to explode, but it’s just not the right time for me. I would wreck it. I would wreck us. And I can’t handle any more trauma right now.”

He nodded. “I understand. I do, Julia.” He kissed me on the forehead, then cupped my face and kissed me on the cheeks and landed a sweet, warm one on my mouth that went on and on and on until I felt all my good intentions slipping away….

“Julia,” he tipped my face up to his and waited until I opened my eyes. “I’m not going to push you into anything. But I’m not waiting forever, either.”

I nodded.

“It’s not my intent to be alone the rest of my life,” he said, his voice low and quiet. “I know you’re scared, but I give you my word that I will never, ever hurt you.”

I nodded, wondering if I’d made a huge, enormous, gigantic, terrible mistake in not going into Dean’s house right then and there and insisting we spend the next three days in bed getting to know each other.

But I knew I was right. I was too screwed up to be involved with anyone. That’s, again, the problem with getting older: you don’t throw caution to the wind, because you know that wind can come back and hit you in the face so hard you land on your butt and can’t get up for years.

I put my hands on his chest and took a deep breath. I would sound stupid, but as this is not abnormal for me, what the heck. “I don’t understand…”

“You don’t understand what?”

How in the world did I say this without sounding pathetic and needy and like I was digging for compliments? “I don’t understand why someone like you would be interested in me in the first place.”

There. I said it. The silence was deafening.

And then he cupped my face with both of his hands. “Look at me, Julia.”

I looked.

“You are the first person I’ve really been able to talk to my entire life. I relate to you more than you know. You’re a strong person, Julia, and you’re not giving yourself enough credit for that strength. Yes, you have a paper route, but I see that as a strength. You wanted to make money, you couldn’t find a decent job here, so you took what you could get and didn’t complain. And you found yourself another job, too, which as I hear it, is a huge success. Your Story Hours are mobbed. Kids love you. Their parents love you.

“You help your Aunt Lydia for hours every day, and a bunch of women in town already love you and call you their friend. You joined your Aunt Lydia in her one-woman crusade to help people in town who are struggling by bringing them meals and food. You make me think. You make me laugh. You bring a calm and peace to my life that I’ve not had.” He kissed me, sweet and gentle. “Plus, I love your chocolates. You’re an incredible woman, Julia, and I hope one day you realize it.”

Okay,
I asked myself,
now why in hell aren’t you in bed with this guy right this minute? Please explain it to me again, you fool.

“And when you do realize it, I hope that you’ll come looking for me.”