Raquel's Abel (16 page)

Her arthritic finger pushed the reverse button on her wheelchair and she backed into the hallway. Her head rose and her eyes caught mine. “True love is very hard to find.”

I was about to respond, even though I didn’t know what to say when she put her wheelchair in overdrive and sped down the corridor.

The following day, I put on a new pair of slacks and marveled at the person who looked back at me in the mirror. My thighs no longer bulged, instead they were smooth and my neck had thinned so much the outline of my jaw was visible. I tried to ignore the apron of skin over my waistline. That would need to be cut off, but I had no idea when I’d have the money to pay for that surgery.

The house needed a lot of repair work, in fact, I was almost sure the roof would need to be replaced soon. There was no way I could afford that. I wondered how much longer I’d be able to stay in the mansion. 21,000 square feet and thirty bedrooms cost too much. The only thing I could do was hope one of my biographies became a bestseller, and maybe then I could make this house as grand as it used to be. All these rooms and all of this space for just the three of us seemed absurd. Then I thought about Abel. What would he do if I sold this house? Would he haunt another family? Would he fall in love with next inhabitant of this house? I felt a twitch in my heart. Would Abel do that?

That afternoon I got ready for a meeting for local published authors. We met quarterly at a bookstore downtown and talked about the trends in the book market and what was selling and what was not. Some people were even willing to share their secrets of how they were publicizing their books while the rest of us listened intently. I needed to learn a lot more about selling my books. I looked up at the old plaster with chips, water stains, and buckles through out it. I really couldn’t bear to part with this big old monstrosity, even though every wall in the house needed paint or something else. What I needed to was work harder and smarter so I could afford to stay in this old house.

The bookstore was in an old Victorian building in the Fan District. The books were on the first floor and meeting rooms were upstairs. I walked in and saw familiar faces turn toward me then look away. They hadn’t recognized me. I tapped the shoulder of a girl I’d known for years. “Hi, Rhonda,” I said.

She turned and squinted her eyes at me as if she needed glasses. “Raquel?”

“How are you?” I asked glad to see her.

Rhonda wrote children’s books. We usually sat together at these meetings and shared our trials and tribulations of the writing life.

Rhonda’s eyes ran up and down me then turned to the person sitting next to her.

“How is your latest book coming?” I asked.

“It’s coming all right,” she said without looking at me.

“I’m working on a new one.” I felt stupid talking to the back of her head. “It’s about Teddy Roosevelt…” I stopped since my words were clearly falling on deaf ears.

The literature I’d read before I’d gotten the surgery said some people wouldn’t have anything to do with you after you’d lost the weight. I’d known that. It had happened to many other people who’d had the surgery, but I guess I just didn’t think it would actually happen to me. I’d always liked Rhonda.

I took a seat on the other side of the room and decided not to dwell on her. I’d just make new friends.

A few minutes later, Mitch Draughan sauntered into the room. He was a local author of self-help books. I’d heard he’d been very successful at promoting his work. He was tall and thin with dark brown hair and hazel eyes. Today he had on a black polo shirt, snug jeans, and bright white Nike tennis shoes. I think every single woman that ever came to these functions had been interested in Mitch at least once or twice. Of course, he’d never looked in my direction.

He crossed the room and chose the chair next to mine. I froze. Mitch Draughan was sitting so close to me I could touch him if I wriggled in my seat.

He let his head fall so he was right next to my ear. “Is this your first time at one of these?”

He’d seen me a million times before but had never spoken to me. I didn’t want to remind him that I’d been at the meetings before and had even sat next to him.

“Yeah, I thought so. I’ve never seen you around here.” He sat up straight and turned toward me. He held his hand out. “Mitch Draughan, and you are?”

“Raquel Blankenship,” I said in a low voice. I wondered if the other people that had trickled in hadn’t recognized me either. I held my hand out far enough so he could shake the end of my fingers.

“Raquel Blankenship, Raquel Blankenship. Aren’t you the one who wrote about Eleanor Roosevelt?”

I smiled, flattered he knew at least one of my books.

“You’ll like our meetings—a good group of people.”

The speaker entered and stood at a small podium and began to speak on the usefulness of blogs. I could hardly keep my mind on the topic of discussion as I sat so close to Mitch. I’d seen the way he looked at me. As the speaker droned on, out of the corner of my eye, I saw him admiring me. Deep down inside, his attention made me feel beautiful.

The speaker shuffled through some papers looking for the next topic.

“Hey.” Mitch nudged me with his elbow. “Let’s say we go out for a latte after this.”

My heart thumped so loudly I thought it would come right out of my chest. What was I doing? I couldn’t drink coffee after the operation. “Tea,” I whispered.

He smiled making his ruddy skin wrinkle in a perfect weatherworn way. “I think they’ll make you some tea.” He winked.

Sitting in a coffee house, me with my hot tea and Mitch with his tall latte with a mound of whipped cream on top, we talked about the books we were working on. Well, really Mitch did most of the talking. He told me about every one of the books he’d written. I knew about all of his books, but I felt special sitting with him. As women walked by the shop, I noticed the admiring looks they aimed at Mitch.

This was incredible. I’d never even allowed myself to dream about a guy like Mitch. And here I was sitting right next to him—with him.

“Hey, would you like to go to dinner some time?”

I felt my lips tremble so I pressed them together. “Sure,” I squeaked out.

“What about Friday?” He reached in his pocket and pulled out a Blackberry. “Let me get your number.”

I carefully voiced the numbers, afraid I’d say something stupid or say something so he’d realize I was that elephant-sized woman that used to come to the meetings.

“Great. I’ll give you a call.” He stood up. When he got to the door, he turned around and winked at me again.

Would a guy like that actually call me? And if he did, would I be too tongue-tied to say a word?

The next few days, I could hardly sleep wondering whether Mitch would call. I felt giddy when I thought about him calling, but then when I imagined going out with him, I wondered if I’d be too awestruck to make intelligent conversation.

I walked into the kitchen to eat some yogurt. When I opened the drawer, I saw that all of the spoons were gone. That’s odd, I thought. There weren’t enough of us to use all of the spoons. I looked in the dishwasher that we rarely used.

Empty.

I knew who the culprit was. I wouldn’t let him get to me. I snatched a fork out of the drawer and stuck it into the yogurt. It might take a little more time, but I’d be able to eat this yogurt without a spoon. I grinned to myself.

“I see you have a twinkle in your eye.”

He expected me to spin around to see him, but I stayed facing the French doors.

“What has given you such a spring to your step?”

I continued to eat my yogurt. Truth is, I wanted to turn around and see him.

Finally he stepped in front of me. Today he wore a short-sleeved fitted shirt and baggy pants with a cap on his head. His cheeks looked like they’d been touched by the sun as if he just stepped out of a convertible.

“You’re in solid form today, I see.” It was supposed to be a jab, since lately he’d been invisible while harassing me.

“If I had it my way, I’d be with you all the time.” I saw his chest heave and his arm muscles were straining against his short sleeves.

“Well, you aren’t,” I quipped, knowing he came and went on purpose.

My cell phone rang.

“Raquel,” Mitch’s melodic voice said.

“Hello, how are you?”

Abel straightened himself as if he were bracing for an officer’s visit.

“I was just wondering if you’d possibly be free this Friday.”

“I think so.”

Abel’s eyes narrowed.

“I’d like to take you to dinner in Shockoe Slip.”

I felt tingly all over just thinking about him taking me out. “That would be nice.”

“Great, I’ll pick you up at six this Friday.”

I told him where I lived then clicked the cell phone off, wondering what I’d wear.

“Who was that?” He clasped his hands angrily in front of him. “You look like you just spoke with Winston Churchill himself.”

I washed off the fork in the sink. “I guess you aren’t going to tell me where you’ve hidden all the spoons.”

His lips tightened as if he’d just bitten into a lemon. “Don’t change the subject. Who was that you were talking to?”

“It’s no one.” I threw the yogurt container into the trash. I looked into his deep eyes that had turned the color of charcoal. “I’m sure you have to dematerialize or whatever it is you do.” At least Mitch wouldn’t turn into smoke and vanish on me.