Love's Awakening (15 page)

“Night, Celia.” Oliver smiled. Made no move to get into his car. Celia made no move to turn around, and Oliver stepped toward her.

“Wait,” Celia said. “Wait. I need to be absolutely clear with you. In case it was not clear earlier. I don’t want a relationship. Don’t need a relationship. I have so much going on.”

Oliver blinked. An astonished blink, as if to say how could anyone in his right mind infer that he and Celia were headed for a relationship? “I don’t want a relationship either,” Oliver said. “With anyone.” He chuckled. “Can you imagine us in a relationship? Grandma and Granddad would have heart attacks.”

“Right,” Celia said, thinking Oliver had not needed to be quite so fervent in his agreement. “So that’s out of the way. Kiss me now.”

Oliver drew Celia into his arms. The first kiss was on the mouth, like a whisper, like the two half-second nothing kisses the night before. It was a whisper that caused Celia’s toes to curl. Then came a hard, desperate kiss and more toe curls. Oliver tasted of beer, and his mouth was strong, eager and the right degree of wet. Their kiss was like a conversation, allowing Celia to express what she could not verbalize, and Oliver was an excellent conversationalist.

Chapter
Thirteen

Celia showered, dressed and grabbed a banana. The weather was nice on a Saturday, David’s fifth day at Pinewood, and Celia figured she would take Caleb to see his father for a while. David was in bed, his eyes closed. “He had a good night,” one of the nurses said. “No problems. He’s adjusting nicely.”

Shirley was not around. Not yet, anyway.
Good.
Shirley and Richard had moved out the day before, and last night without them had been nice. Liberating. Celia had stripped naked and stayed that way all night, even as she watched TV on the couch.

Pinewood was peaceful. Quiet. None of the urgency that permeated the hospital. Celia pulled the curtains back from David’s windows and tugged up the blinds to let the sun shine through. “It’s a beautiful morning,” she informed her husband. “Feels like fall’s coming early.”

David stirred awake.
Blink.
Blink.

Celia summoned Joe, her favorite orderly from moving-in day. Joe was gentle and had muscles the size of the Grand Canyon. He made transferring David to the wheelchair look easy. “Here we go, Mr. Hall,” he said brightly. Joe slid his arms under David and lifted. “Nice and easy.”

He
would
hate
this.
David, fiercely independent and prideful, would die before subjecting himself to this.
Stop
it.
David
does
deserve
his
second
chance.
Pitiful now did not mean pitiful later. Plenty of room to go back up.

Celia carried Caleb outside, and Joe wheeled David. Celia inhaled the welcome scent of freshly mowed grass. Birds chirped. Perfect Disney setting, indeed. She chose a spot at the banks of the duck pond. A few ducks, some with babies, paddled in the water.

“You can feed them bread and rice cakes,” Joe said.

“Cool. Thanks.”

“See you soon.”

Celia unfurled a checkered picnic blanket.
Oliver,
Oliver,
Oliver.
What
are
you
doing
to
me?

Caleb tried to haul himself across the blanket—toward an approaching duck. “Ba! La! Ba ba!”

Celia was ready to leave already. “Hey, Mr. Ba La. Let’s get Mama a dress.”

*****

Celia and Caleb headed to Space, and Celia pondered the black dress again. She wouldn’t fit in the size eight, but she could try the size ten.

The dress hugged her curves. It was simple, understated. Versatile. Equally great for dinner and a movie or for a black-tie event with the proper accessories. Maybe dinner tomorrow with Oliver? Celia imagined Oliver’s eyes going wide and later, Oliver peeling the dress off, pushing her against a wall and entering her.

No.
Celia should save this dress for a date. A true date. Janet said she had a few men in mind for Celia and had suggested a double date.

Celia undressed slowly and studied her breasts. They were definitely bouncing back. On her stomach, some stretch marks were gone, others lighter.

An image of Oliver teasing her nipple popped up. Oliver rubbing the nipple, pinching it, nibbling it between his white teeth. Celia’s nipples hardened. Her clit hardened.

Celia continued studying herself in the mirror, awe spreading through her body.
I’m
a
woman
again.

And she wanted Oliver.

Celia called Janet from the dressing room. “Let’s try your double date idea. And do you mind watching Caleb for a few hours tonight?”

After Celia hung up, Caleb waved his fists in the air and shot her a grin. She smiled back. Before long, the belly swollen with her son and the milk weighing down her breasts would be dim memories. Maybe she’d laugh about her cow tits one day, when she was eighty-two. Shirley’s age.
What
I’d
give
to
be
young
and
to
have
these
milky
breasts
back,
to
have
my
child
be
a
baby
again
and
nearby
instead
of
ignoring
my
phone
calls
or
in
a
persistent
vegetative
state.

An intense love overwhelmed Celia. The thought of losing Caleb was unbearable. The thought of losing Oliver was unbearable.

Celia took her son in her arms and cradled him. “I love you, baby,” she said. “Mama loves you.”

*****

That night, Oliver’s old orange bug was parked behind Azizi, and Celia’s heart soared.

But no.

Tonight wasn’t for Oliver.

Twenty minutes later, Celia took a left shortly before the Ben Brenman Park off Route 236. She pulled into the Almond’s parking lot. Mostly full. Looked like it held about fifteen spaces. Good lighting. Almond’s was a squat, square orange-ish building. Not what Celia had expected. She could not find the name anywhere.

So, this was it. Where David, a.k.a. Karen Alice, last lived. Spoke his last words. Slipped a note into Oliver’s coat and bid sayonara, au revior, seeyalater.

Celia sat at the bar, near a male bartender and a college-aged couple. Shadows obscured the bartender, and he watched the Braves on TV, his back to Celia and the couple. The man in the couple was clean cut, average looking. The woman was slender and attractive but with an unmistakable “bitch” aura. Maybe it was the tilt of her nose or the way she gabbed into her cellphone and ignored the guy with her.

“You all right?” the bartender asked.

Celia ordered a margarita. “Lovely.” She kept her eyes fastened on the couple, hoping the bartender would get the message and leave her alone.

Poor guy. He kept shooting the woman looks and mouthed for her to get off the phone. Twice, she did end her calls, but not much time passed before she invariably found herself back on the line.

Celia licked her margarita salt.

The woman put her cellphone away and ordered another beer. “Shit, Brian. A few more minutes, okay. Then we’ll go to your place.”

Celia lifted her glass and drank.

“They come every once in a while,” the bartender remarked. “She’s on the phone most the time. She must be good in bed. Tell you what, I wouldn’t let my woman treat me like that. Dude doesn’t have self respect.”

Celia did not bother to reply. Sometimes self respect was underrated. Besides, was it time to bring out Melody Michaels after—how long had it been—six or so years? In her younger days, Celia would go out sometimes to bars or clubs and pick up men. She gave her name as Melody Michaels, her porn star name. First pet: Melody, the doomed little mouse. Street she grew up on: Michaels Avenue.

Yeah, she might as well whip Melody out. It would get her mind, her body, off Oliver.

Celia flashed her smile for practice. She could not see it, of course, but the smile was more of a confidence thing, more like a feeling. No mirror required. Celia nailed the smile on her second attempt. She still had that elusive
it
, that joie de vivre. When her eyes twinkled that mischievous twinkle, Poor Neglected Guy would be a goner.

Ten minutes later, Poor Neglected Guy headed to the bathroom. Celia waited a few minutes then followed. She glanced behind her right before disappearing in the men’s room. All clear; the woman was, no surprise, on the phone.

Poor Neglected Guy was washing his hands, and he jerked in surprise when Celia entered. “T-this is the men’s room,” he stuttered.

Celia strode up to him. “Your girlfriend is jerking you around.”

PNG narrowed his eyes. “What do you care?”

Celia leaned into him. She made sure her breath tickled his ear. “I bet the sex ain’t all that good, either. Does she go down on you? Does she give you screaming orgasms? I will.”
But
you
won’t
touch
me.
Anywhere.
Wham
bam,
thank
you,
ma’am.

PNG stepped back. His eyes were wide, captured in car headlights. Celia let him take a moment to process the turn of events.

Curiosity and a half smile, a
let’s
see
now
played across PNG’s face. “Who are you? Did Tammy send you?”

“I’m Melody Michaels. Or whoever you want me to be.” Celia moved her mouth over PNG’s, devouring its softness. She tasted cheap rum on his tongue and felt an intense pain, an intense ache for Oliver’s mouth. Oliver’s tongue.

“Your place?” Celia asked. “Or here?”

PNG’s eyes shone, and his cheeks were flushed. But he said: “You’re crazy. Get away from me.”

*****

After Celia got home and bade Janet goodbye, she slid into the bathtub. She shaved her armpits and her legs. She trimmed between her legs, shaving the edges of her pussy and her lips, creating easy, smooth access. She and Oliver fit, no denying it. They just did. Hard to explain. Celia had been in a dark place since before David’s accident, and now there was a light. The light was not where Celia had expected it to be. Was not where she wanted it to be. But there was a light.

Anyway, was it such a big deal whom she would be doing things with?
Yes.
Of
course
it
is.

Says
who?
Show
me
the
rule
book.

After the shave and trim, Celia worked even more deliberately. She rubbed waterproof lube on her clit. She teased herself until she could wait no longer. Her orgasm was tremendous but only whetted her desire for Oliver. For her stepson.

*****

Celia was back at Pinewood the next day. She had not planned on returning so soon, but Shirley called that morning and asked her to come about noon.

When Celia and Caleb arrived, only David was in the room. Celia picked up an Agatha Christie book from David’s nightstand. It was a collection of three novellas:
Crooked
House,
Ordeal
by
Innocence
and
The
Seven
Dials
Mystery
. Shirley needed a new copy. The book was worn, dog-eared. Celia studied it carefully. The alternative was to study David carefully.

Celia sat and cleared her throat. “Crooked House,” she began. “Chapter One. I first came to know Sophia Leonides in Egypt towards the end of the war. She held a fairly high administrative post…You know what, David? I bet you’re sick of Agatha Christie. I don’t know how your mom does all that reading, all the time.” Celia snapped the book shut and reached for the newspaper at the foot of the bed. She scanned the sports section. “No Braves news. Sorry.” The Braves were David’s favorite baseball team.

Nothing.

“Yeah. It’s not exactly overwhelming, is it? Okay, then. Back to Sophia Leonides.” Celia scanned a couple of paragraphs. “She’s a fox. Seems she’s extremely easy to look at. She has a clear mind and a dry sense of humor. She’s easy to talk to and enjoys dancing.”

Blank stare.

“Celia.” Oliver’s voice.

Celia snapped her head up to see Oliver hovering in the doorway.

“Hey,” Oliver said with a smile.

“Hey, Oliver. It’s good to see you.” Polite, everyday dialogue. As if they hadn’t experienced perfect kisses, that conversation of a kiss, as if she hadn’t held his spasming penis in her hand.

“I can come back in a few minutes if—”

“No. Stay. Did your grandmother summon you here, too?”

Oliver stepped into the room and ran a hand through his hair. “Yep. So, tell me more about Sophia Leonides.”

Celia scanned a few lines in the book. “Sophia has dark, crisp hair. A fighting chin. She is a good listener but doesn’t like to talk about herself. She likes how this guy, Charles, has a funny way of doing things.”

“Sophia reminds me of you.”

“How?”

Oliver winked. “She’s a fox.”

Celia could not help but smile.

“So who is this Charles?” Oliver asked.

Celia surveyed the next couple of pages. Nothing much. “I don’t know.” She closed the book, giving Oliver a playful gaze. “Who do you think he is?”

“Hmm.” Oliver puckered his lips. “He’s a double agent. His funny way of doing things is a cover. In actuality, he’s a ruthless assassin.”

“His assignment is to kill Sophia.”