Searching for Moore (19 page)

“Perfect,” he declared and leaned forward and kissed her cheek. Ok, cheek kiss, not good, she thought.

Mia planted a smile on her face and pulled another box out of the bag for him. She handed him the box. “What did you do?” He asked and she just shrugged.

Inside the box was a Scottish Cashmere scarf — a blue plaid in navy and sky blue — a perfect match for his eyes. He brought it up to his face to feel the soft, plush cashmere.

“This is really gorgeous, Mia.”

Mia took the scarf from Schooner’s hands and wrapped it around his neck, holding a side in each hand. She wanted to pull him forward and kiss him, but instead just smiled at him. “It’s very you,” she said, “it matches your eyes.” His arms went around her and he hugged her tight.

“You ready to go out and brave the cold, California Boy?”

“Show me your New York,” he stood and grabbed his coat. “Hey Mia,” he turned to her and smiled and out of the pocket of his black and royal blue Columbia ski jacket he pulled out a black knit cap and pulled it onto his head, down to his eyes.

Mia’s heart melted and stung at the same time. Do I smile or cry, she asked herself. He had the hat. He still had the hat. “Well, look at that, I’m good for gloves, scarf and a hat,” she joked. When in doubt, make a joke.

The tears burned at the back of her throat.

They hit the streets and headed south from Mia’s apartment in Chelsea to the West Village.

“Ok, so you had NY bagels this morning, it’s now time for part two of your Big Apple culinary tour.” Mia bounced down the streets of NYC. She always tapped into the city’s rhythm and never quite walked when she was in her hometown. Within the first few blocks, Schooner was bouncing beside her as she played tour guide.

“Please tell me part two is pizza,” he raised his brows questioningly and she enthusiastically nodded back. “You weren’t kidding about the bagels,” he smiled down at her.

“We’ll have to send you home with a bag,” she offered and then immediately saw a shadow cross his face. She grabbed his hand, her other hand going to his forearm, “I’m not looking to get rid of you.”

He squeezed her hand and smiled at her, “You’d better not be.” He didn’t take his hand away and they walked down Sixth Avenue holding hands. I’m walking down Sixth Avenue with Schooner — holding hands, like a couple. This is truly mind numbing, she thought, and if it weren’t for the cold, biting wind stinging her cheeks, she would’ve thought she was dreaming. She stole a glance at his handsome profile and the sight of him, with the black knit cap she’d placed on his head nearly a quarter of a century before, overwhelmed her. Is this what truly happy feels like, she wondered.

They stopped for lunch at John’s Pizza on Bleecker Street and Schooner had his first taste of New York coal oven pizza, thin crust almost slightly burned, fresh mozzarella gracing the top. “I’m not allowing you to put pineapple on this,” she teased, “that’s considered heresy in these parts.”

Their day was the perfect mix of sightseeing, fresh air, stopping into little places for something quintessentially New York or just to warm up. They walked across the Brooklyn Bridge and back through lower Manhattan along Battery City Park and ended the evening at one of Mia’s favorite little hole in the wall restaurants on Cornelia Street in the West Village, before walking back up to her apartment building in Chelsea.

They ran the last few blocks, laughing and trying to escape the below zero wind chill gusts as they reached the lobby of Mia’s building. Mia was shivering when they got into the elevator. “Are you sure you want to go out to the beach tomorrow?” She questioned Schooner.

“Yeah, it’ll be fun in this cold,” he nodded and looked at his watch. It was almost midnight. “What time is the ferry we have to catch?” He asked.

“There’s a 10:10 A.M. out of Bay Shore. We’ll be going against traffic, but I still think we should leave ourselves plenty of time. There’s supposed to be snow flurries overnight and in the morning, but if we’re on the road by 8:30, I think we’ll be ok.”

“So, should I be back here by about eight?” He asked.

Mia nodded, her heart sinking. He was going to his hotel. Keep smiling, she reminded herself. Don’t tank out now. Don’t ruin a perfect day. Perfect until now.

Schooner grabbed his soft black Tumi bag and slung it over his shoulder. He smiled down at Mia, “This was a great day. Really, really great.” Then why the fuck are you leaving, Mia wondered.

“It was,” she concurred, smiling back at him.

He gently grasped her upper arm, bent down and kissed her cheek. “I’ll see you in the morning.” She couldn’t speak. The salt from the tears rising toward their release was already burning the back of her throat. Is he just not into me, Mia questioned herself.

She stood in the doorway as he walked down the hall toward the elevator.

There was no way she was going to spend the night wondering and torturing herself. “Schooner…” she called, as he pressed the elevator call button. He looked at her. “Schooner. I don’t want you to leave.” There. She had put it out there. It was all on the line. She had to know.

He stood looking at her, his face inscrutable. The elevator door opened. “Don’t get in,” she silently begged, “Don’t. Get. In.”

He stood there for a second not moving and then started down the hall toward her. She couldn’t read his expression. His eyes looked kind, but he wasn’t smiling. He reached where she was standing in the threshold of her apartment’s doorway and stood before her. He took her face in both of his hands, his eyes locked on hers. Here it comes, she thought, the friend speech. Her eyes filled with tears, the hope of the feelings she’d felt resurrected the last few days quickly being extinguished. Her heart burned. Why did I allow myself to go there, she chastised, another dream dies. Please don’t cry, she begged herself, don’t cry. Don’t make him feel even more uncomfortable.

He held her face, looking directly into her eyes, his face expressionless. She wanted to look away, to cry, but he held her face and her gaze. If her eyes could speak, the words she was silently trying to tell him were, “I just want you to love me again and I don’t think I can take this rejection from you.”

He pushed her bangs out of her eyes and a smile slowly overtook his handsome face. He ran his thumb over her bottom lip and bent down and softly kissed her lips. She parted her lips for him and his tongue explored in a way that felt both familiar and new. Mia wrapped her arms around his neck and did not hold back, kissing him passionately, she let him know how much she wanted him, how much she wanted them again. She felt her tears finally release from where she was holding them at bay and run from her eyes to her temples. This time she didn’t try to stop them.

He pulled back and looked at her, still holding her face and gave her a rough kiss on her lips. “I was hoping you’d ask.” She could feel her brows knit together in a questioning look. “This had to come from you. It’s been really hard to be hands off with you — but it had to come from you.”

“I was thinking you didn’t want me,” just put it out there Mia, she told herself. This time you need to be totally honest with him — all the time.

He caressed her cheek, “Crazy girl.” He laughed and she thought Seth would be screaming BBC at her at that moment. “Don’t you know how I feel about you?”

She shook her head no. “I think you should show me,” she smiled at him.

He pulled her tight against him and she could feel his erection through his jeans pressing against her stomach. He gave her the Schooner smile. She smiled up at him, tears still streaming from her eyes. He wiped her tears with his thumb. Leaning down, he whispered in her ear, “It
is
real, Baby Girl,” answering her unasked question.

Taking her by the hand, he led her back into her apartment.

Mia was curled up in Schooner’s lap on her couch, arms around his neck, as they made out like teenagers. She felt sixteen again. All the anxiety from the day was gone. She felt like they were totally on the same page — they still wanted one another after all this time. His hotel reservations had been canceled and he was staying where he belonged, with her. He brushed her bangs from her eyes, “I have something for you.”

She wriggled in his lap, “I know, I feel it,” she raised her eyebrows and smiled at him.

He laughed, “That too. But you’re just going to have to wait on that.” Her eyes were wide and she faux pouted. He took her bottom lip in his teeth and growled at her. How can it just be so easy with someone, she wondered. So damn easy. He moved her off of his lap and onto the couch as he stood and stretched and walked across the room over to where his luggage sat by the door. She watched him gracefully bend down and unzip the outer compartment of his bag and remove a flat package. As he walked back toward the couch, she could not help but admire his athletic grace, there was a fluidity to the way he moved and she could almost see him back on the courts covering the space with lithe ease.

He sat down next to her and smiled, silently handing her the package. She cocked her head to the side, looking at him and took it.

“Open it,” he demanded and she did, pulling opened a tabbed end of the cardboard. Inside was a large envelope and she carefully slid it out from the cardboard sleeve. Mia looked up at him and he nodded, urging her to go on. She opened the envelope and inside was a stack of 8x10 B&W prints.

She carefully removed the photos. The first image in the stack was of a small African boy holding a soccer ball that was half his size. He was smiling and there was a wide gap between his two front teeth. He was standing on a rutted dirt road with thatched roof cottage-sized dwellings in the background.

Mia looked up at Schooner, quizzically. “Did you shoot this?” He nodded, smiling. “Where? When? This is really good, Schooner,” she was looking at him for answers.

“That was shot in the village of Macha in Zambia. I went there the summer after freshman year.”

Mia started looking through the stack of starkly beautiful landscapes Schooner had captured, impressed with his natural ability for strong composition that led the eye around the frame. His portraits of the children were raw, journalistic and pure.

She looked up at him, “You are so talented.”

He smiled, “I’ve wanted to share these with you for a very long time. When I shot them, you were in my head the whole time reminding me about all the things I listened to you say about composition and lighting. When I got back, I had these made for you.”

“What were you doing in Africa?”

“Well, I was kind of heartbroken that summer and my plans to come to New York kind of blew up. A family friend, an orthopedic surgeon, my orthopedic surgeon, suggested I come to Zambia with him and a group of other specialists and help them in establishing a hospital. He thought the change of scenery would be good for me. And it was. I definitely found my calling over there. I helped the doctors get set up and after a few days I realized that there were all these families traveling long distances to the hospital and the kids had to wait all day for their parents, so I started a sports camp for them.”

Mia’s eyes widened and a smile lit her face as she listened to Schooner. “Your first health club venture!”

He laughed, “Essentially, yes,” and then, “Ok, look through the rest,” he ordered.

She went back to the stack of photos, understanding the joy Schooner had brought to these beautiful children and then she came upon a picture of a waterfall that made her gasp.

“You gave me a picture of Forest Falls as a gift and I wanted to return the favor with a picture of Victoria Falls,” he whispered into her ear.

Mia was in awe of his romantic heart, he’d saved these pictures, he’d saved the black wool cap. She just stared at him. “What?” He asked.

“You. You just blow my mind, Schooner. There is so much to you. Do people know who you are?”

“A few,” he took her hand and kissed it, “there’s one more photo.”

She looked back at the stack and lifted the photo of Victoria Falls. Underneath his beautiful B&W of the falls was the only color photo in the stack. Standing in front of Victoria Falls was a devastatingly handsome nineteen year old Schooner Moore, smiling at the camera, a real smile, and squinting in the bright sunlight. Mia caught her breath, staring at the photo she now held in both hands. Smiling back at her was her Schooner, the Schooner she had carried in her heart, buried, for twenty-four years. She looked up at the man sitting next to her on the couch, smiling. Her Schooner. He was just watching her intently. She looked back at the photo and that’s when she saw his casted right hand.

“Your hand? What happened?” There was alarm in her eyes as she searched his handsome face.

“I got into a little fight with a wall in a dorm hallway.”

It took her a moment to process that. “You punched a wall?”

He nodded. “Not the brightest thing I’ve ever done.”

Mia took Schooner’s right hand in both of hers. Gently running her fingers over his knuckles. She brought his hand to her lips, tenderly peppering it with kisses, as she took in the enormity of what had happened. His casted hand meant that he couldn’t play tennis and if this happened in a dorm before summer break, it happened the day she left him. He punched a cement wall. Lost in thought, she rubbed his hand against her cheek. He just watched her.

So much more had been lost than she had even initially thought. The heaviness in her heart felt unbearable as she processed the casted hand, the orthopedic surgeon, what he must’ve felt that day not finding her after their sweet goodnight the previous evening, the damage to both his hand and his tennis career.

Mia stood, with Schooner’s right hand in hers, she placed it against her heart. “We are done hurting each other,” she declared and holding his hand in both of hers, lead him into her bedroom.

“Damn, it’s cold in here!” Schooner grabbed Mia and pulled her close.

“Will be much better under the down blanket — naked.” Mia said into his chest. The now gale force winds were slamming her bedroom windows, chilling them with each rattle, a fine snow had begun to fall and sounded like sand hitting the window with each gust.