To My Senses The Nicci Beauvoir Series Book 1 (28 page)

“
Why
did
you
become a doctor?” I asked, noting how the pale yellow wine swirled
around in my glass.

“
I went off to college with
the expectations of studying dentistry, like my father. Then one
summer, I took an elective physics class with a bunch of pre-med
students. I got the highest grade in the class. I decided if I
could outperform that group, why not go to medical school.” He
laughed. “Looking back, I think that was a mistake.”

I looked up from my wine.
“Mistake?”

“
I would have been happier
in dentistry. I could use my hands more than in psychiatry. I
thought about going into surgery, but when I saw the hours and the
length of the residency involved, I changed my mind. I’m not a
masochist. The guys and gals that can pull that off…well, they’re
better than me.”

I put my wineglass down on
the table. “You finished medical school and a psychiatry residency.
That was no small feat.”

“
No, but it wasn’t the best
choice for me. I think I’m cocky and arrogant enough to have been a
great surgeon.”

I laughed, agreeing with
him. “You have a point there.”

After we left the
restaurant, Michael wanted to walk around the quaint French Quarter
streets. We headed down St. Ann Street, to look at the river. I
didn’t realize where we were until we passed the coffee shop where
I had gone with David so many months ago. I paused outside on the
sidewalk and looked in through the dirty windows. It was
half-filled with people sitting around the wooden tables and
drinking coffee. I searched each table, feeling my heart beat
faster.

Michael tugged my hand.
“You want to go in there?”

I turned away from the
window. “No, I was just looking at the people.”

“
It’s probably just the art
crowd. I hear a lot of painters hang out in there. I don’t think we
would have much in common with them.”

“
No, we probably wouldn’t,”
I breathed.

We walked along the
cobblestone sidewalks to the river. The large ships were all lit up
as they made their way down the Mississippi. The wind was brisk and
we huddled close together against the guardrail just above the
swirling black water. I stood there, wrapped inside Michael’s coat,
feeling his muscular body next to mine.

I found myself surprised to
be actually enjoying his company. It had been a pleasant evening,
and he had turned out to be interesting and somewhat entertaining.
I regretted wearing my frumpy dress. He had not been the lecherous
monster I had imagined. Michael had been a gentleman. He also
lacked something; something David had possessed in spades, but I
could not define what it was.

“
I had a wonderful time
tonight,” Michael murmured. “I hope you have enjoyed yourself. Even
though I get the distinct impression you’re not here all the
time.”

“
I’ve had a lot on my mind
with Christmas and everything.”

“
I understand.”

He lowered his head to me,
and I could see his lips getting closer. Suddenly he stopped, and I
thought for a moment that he was going to say something, but then
his lips gently touched mine.

After the overpowering
storm of David’s kisses, this kiss felt like a quiet afternoon
drizzle. It was soft and lacked the desperation and hunger I had
grown addicted to. It was a nice, gentle kiss, and then it was
over.

“
I like kissing you,” he
murmured, as he held me close.

I began to shiver. I wasn’t
sure if it was the weather or the wine.

“
Better get you home before
you catch cold,” Michael fussed.

We started heading back
toward the busy streets of the French Quarter, leaving the roaring
waters of the Mississippi behind us.

***

It was a little after one
in the morning when I got home. Several more nice kisses later, I
was standing inside the safety of my front door, listening to
Michael’s Porsche pull out of the driveway. I felt a flood of
relief, as I bolted the door and turned on the alarm. It was over.
The date had concluded and I was home. I was free to kick off my
high heels, and not feel as though I were under the scrutiny of a
microscope.

Once in my room, I
undressed, put on my green fluffy robe, and relaxed. Not that the
date had been that much of an ordeal. It was just that my heart had
not been in it.

I sat down at my desk and
gazed into the small makeup mirror I kept there. My eyes were dull
and my skin, which used to glow, was now pale and sallow. I
appeared thin and drawn. I was not the vibrant and fiery girl in
the portrait over the fireplace downstairs.

I searched the desk in
front of me for a distraction, and started playing with some papers
scattered about. I was inexplicably gripped with an urge to write
down the details of my date with Michael. I took out the notebook
from the bottom drawer and opened it to a clean white page. I sat
there, pen in hand, ready to make an entry, but I found myself
unable to write. It wasn’t that I had lost the ability. It seemed
that I had lost the desire. It was as if the light that had left my
eyes had left my soul, as well.

“
It’s time to bury the
past,” I griped. “The only way to rid yourself of the past is to
forget it ever happened.”

Without another thought, I
gathered up all the notebooks I had hidden in the bottom drawer of
my desk over the years. With my collection in my arms, I went
downstairs to the living room and threw the notebooks on the floor
in front of the fireplace. After several minutes of searching, I
found the lighter fluid. I sat in front of the fireplace, ripping
page after page from each notebook until all that was left were the
metal spirals. I poured lighter fluid on the first set of papers in
the hearth and then set the match to them. The flames reached
upward and consumed each helpless scrap.

It took an hour to burn up
a lifetime of effort. When I was done, I crawled into bed and
closed my eyes. I slept soundly that night, without dreaming. I had
no desire to dream anymore.

***

The next morning I was up very early. Still
stinking of smoke and lighter fluid from the night before, I jumped
in the shower and scrubbed my body down vigorously. I dressed and
went downstairs feeling giddy and purged of my realization. It was
all over. The David chapter of my life had ended.

My father was at the
kitchen table, drinking his coffee and reading the morning
newspaper. He looked me over from head to toe when I sauntered by
and reached for the coffeepot.

“
Have fun last
night?”

“
Yeah. He was a nice guy,”
I said, pouring the coffee into a mug.

He scrutinized me over the
newspaper. “What were you two doing in the fireplace last night? I
came down and found a mess this morning. Were you making a cozy
fire to snuggle up to?”

“
No, I was burning some
papers last night.”

“
Papers? What
papers?”

“
I was just cleaning out
junk from my desk.”

He put the newspaper down.
“So when do I have the pleasure of seeing the quack
again?”

“
You don’t like him, do
you?”

“
I didn’t say that. But now
that you mention it…no, I don’t like him. He’s not your
type.”

I smirked. “What is my
type?”

“
I’m sure this doctor is
fine enough, but you would prove to be too much for him in the long
run. I think you would prove to be too much for most men. Mentally,
you can be pretty ruthless. You need someone of your own caliber to
spar with. That kid doesn’t stand a chance against you.”

“
Amazing! You got all that
from knowing the guy for less than ten minutes.” I took a large
swig of coffee and burned my tongue. “I’m not ruthless with men,” I
asserted.

He changed the subject.
“Hattie Hoover called last night. It seems Eddie and Colleen are
not around much these days and she was wondering if we had seen
them.”

I stared at him and
shrugged. “I haven’t seen either one of them since the
wedding.”

“
I told her that. She seems
to have some crazy idea that the marriage is now cursed because of
the scene at the wedding.”

“
Who wouldn’t think that?”
I snorted. “That was one wedding this town will never forget.” I
took a seat next to him at the table.

“
At least it was
entertaining.”

“
Compared to what? A bull
fight? I’m just interested to see how long it lasts.”

Dad frowned. “What makes
you say that?”

“
Colleen has spent her
entire life dreaming of marriage to Eddie. Eddie, on the other
hand, has spent his entire life running away from Colleen. I just
want to see how long it is before the fireworks start.”

***

Dad had been gone to work
for about two hours, and I was in sitting on the floor of my
bedroom, wrapping Christmas presents, when my phone
rang.

I reached for the phone
without checking the caller ID. “Hey there, bored already?” I
answered, expecting to hear my father on the other end of the
line.

“
Nicci? It’s
Michael.”

I cringed. “Hello. I
thought you were my father.”

“
Well, I hope you aren’t
disappointed. I just called to say I had a wonderful time last
night.”

I mouthed a long sigh,
hoping he didn’t hear me. “So did I.”

“
I thought we could get
together again tonight. I know it’s Christmas Eve tomorrow, and I’m
sure you already have plans, but I wanted to see you again before
the holidays. I, ah, got you a little something.” I screamed
silently with frustration into the air. “It’s nothing much and I
don’t want you to think you have to get me anything,” he added
quickly.

“
You work fast. I guess
you’ll want me to meet your family on our third date.”

He gave a hearty chuckle.
“No, fourth.”

I reasoned that there
really was no graceful way to get out of this. “All right, Michael.
Tonight would be fine.”

“
Great! I’ll pick you up
around seven. I thought we could grab a bite to eat at this Indian
restaurant I heard about, and then go see a movie.”

My stomach clenched. “What
Indian restaurant?”

“
This place in the French
Quarter. I’ve never had Indian food before.”

“
I hate Indian food,” I
said bluntly.

“
Oh.” He paused. “Not very
Christmas-y, anyway. Well, how do you feel about
Chinese?”

“
Chinese is
fine.”

After we hung up, I sat
down on the edge of my bed and shook my head with frustration. I
would have to fight the mall to get Michael a present.

In my mind, I tried to
match a gift with what I knew about Michael, which wasn’t much. I
was reaching for my keys when I remembered my father’s junk gift
drawer in the bottom of his desk. It was the place he threw all the
useless gifts he had been given over the years.

I ran downstairs to my
father’s study and started rummaging through the drawer’s contents.
There was a deck of playing cards with naked women—obviously a gift
from Uncle Lance—and a handheld video game. There was also a
miniature pool table, complete with balls and cues, and a gold
fleur-de-lis paperweight. I was about to give up when in the back
of the drawer I found a snow globe with the skyline of New Orleans
in it. The miniature version of the city was quite unique. Perfect.
It was simple and did not make any statement about my
intentions.

“
Great. That should appease
the good doctor.”

***

At seven on the dot, the
doorbell rang. When I opened the door, I found Michael standing
there holding up a single red rose. I had sentenced my father to
his study, to spare Michael any snide remarks.

I led him to the back den.
“Fix yourself something to drink while I put this in some
water.”

A few moments later, I returned to the bar
carrying the rose in a tall drinking glass.

Michael frowned at the
glass. “You don’t have a vase?”

I shook my head. “It’s a
long story.”

“
I’ve got plenty of time
for long stories. That’s my job.” He came around next to me and
handed me a glass with what looked like ice and soda.

“
Trying to set me up as a
future client?” I took a sip from my drink and tried not to make a
face. It tasted awful.

“
Not at all. You have it
very together, in my professional opinion.”

Very together!
I laughed at him, convinced he was joking with
me.

“
No, I’m serious,” he
insisted. “All day long, I listen to woman—my clients are mostly
woman—talk about how their husbands ignore them. How their children
hate them. How they feel they should have married someone else. The
list goes on and on. The bottom line is that most people come to
see me, not because they are crazy, but because they have no one to
listen to them. Sooner or later, all the stuff we carry around
inside of us has to come out.”