Until I Saw Your Smile (26 page)

Authors: J.J. Murray

BOOK: Until I Saw Your Smile

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She doesn't like me touching her
at all.
Wow.
“Angela, I won't be fine if I leave. I'd need snowshoes to get home now. I can sleep right here in this booth. I could borrow a few blankets from you, couldn't I?”

Angela turned from the window, her eyes on the floor. “Then I'll be cold.”

“You could . . . join me,” Matthew said.

She looked up.

“And we could watch the snow together.” He slipped out of the booth, dragged the table out, and pushed the two seats together. “Instant bed.”

Angela smiled briefly. “You make it look
so
tempting.”

“With some blankets and a few pillows,” Matthew said, “it will be a booth bed fit for a queen. Got any popcorn?”

Angela nodded.

“We'll have the world's largest widescreen TV in front of us, a beautiful snowy scene to watch, a bowl of popcorn, and lots of quiet. What could be more peaceful?”
I should have said “romantic.”

“It sounds . . . it sounds good, Matthew.” She smiled.

There's the smile I love to see.
“Now, will this be a date or a not-a-date?”

She looked away. “I'll let you know.”

And there's the shy girl I love to watch.

“I'll go get us some blankets,” she said.

“And two pillows,” Matthew said.

Angela returned with two blankets and
one
pillow.

Matthew was about to ask for an explanation when she draped one blanket over him, positioned the pillow between them, wrapped herself tightly in her blanket, and bounced into the booth, leaning lightly against the pillow.

At least it's not a Fendi B Bag this time.

“I bet you we don't see a single snowplow,” Matthew said, as nothing and no one traveled by Angela's window but twisting sheets and walls of snow.

“That's an easy bet to win,” Angela said.

“Okay, I bet we don't see a single emergency vehicle,” Matthew said.

Angela leaned into the pillow, and Matthew felt the pressure. “That's another easy bet to win. Driggs will be covered for days.”

“Don't you like snow, Angela?” Matthew asked.

She shook her head. “I don't like anything that cuts down on my profits.”

Matthew leaned to his left, trying to catch her eyes.

She looked away.

“I love snow,” Matthew said. “I remember so many good times. Sledding at Fort Green Park, snowball fights, building snow forts on opposite sides of Bedford Avenue and having snowball wars. You have any memories like that?”

Angela shook her head. “I was always working here. I went to school, I came here, I worked, I did my homework, I said my prayers, and I went to sleep. Some childhood, huh?”

“I worked in my parents' store, too, but I always found a way to escape into the snow.” He watched the snow. “Look at it! I wonder if that snow is good for packing. Let's make a snowman.”

“You're kidding,” Angela said.

“Okay, a snowwoman.”
A snow person?

She leaned harder into the pillow. “But I just got comfortable.”

“We can put a âYes, We're Open' sign on her.” He slid his feet to the left and met hers.

“You want to go out there now?” Angela asked.

He pulled off his blanket. “Why not?”

“It's cold,” Angela said with a shiver.

He folded the blanket and placed it beside him. “It won't take us that long.”

Angela sighed. “What if I'm comfortable where I am?”

He crawled over her and put on his coat. “Then I will build
you
a snowwoman.”
I wish I had gloves. It will have to be a small snowwoman.
“You make the sign.”

“You're serious,” Angela said.

“I'm always serious about fun,” Matthew said.

Angela swung her legs off the seat but didn't take off her blanket. “Seriously.”

While Angela took small steps to the kitchen to find some cardboard, Matthew fashioned a snowwoman about three feet high, complete with an ample bosom and Angela's exquisite booty.

“Come out and see,” Matthew said, blowing on his hands.

“I am
not
catching a cold, Matthew,” Angela said. “I can see it fine from here.” She fed a cardboard “Yes, We're Open!” sign through a crack in the door.

Matthew took the sign and placed it carefully in the snowwoman's “arms,” adjusting it so it didn't completely block her chest.

Angela handed him a steaming mug of hot chocolate after he removed his sodden shoes and draped his coat over a chair at the first table.

He took a sip. “Real chocolate.”

“Did you expect anything less?” Angela asked.

“No.”
It's like drinking a hot Hershey's candy bar.

Angela looked closely at the snowwoman. “She's a little thin. Except for her front and back.”

Matthew stood behind her. “Remind you of anyone?”

Angela stepped to the side. “That's not me.”

“Booty is in the eye of the beholder,” he said. “I have beheld, and that is an accurate representation of
bella
Angela.”

“It's a little too white,” Angela said.

“True, but she has a cute little shelf there.” Matthew pointed.

Angela turned from the door. “Which will only get bigger.”

“You're in exceptional shape, Angela,” Matthew said.

“I wasn't talking about me,” Angela said. “I was talking about the snowwoman. She'll probably add ten inches back there by morning.”

Matthew smiled. “That's a lot of snow booty and snow-ulite.” Angela laughed. “You have the strangest thoughts.”

Is she finally loosening up?
“You bring out the strange in me. Is it time for popcorn?”

“Sure. It's upstairs.” She shuffled toward the counter.

“May I help?” Matthew asked, following closely behind.

Angela turned to face him, backing into the kitchen. “I don't need help microwaving some popcorn.”

Matthew stopped at the counter. He heard locks clicking, a door opening, shutting, and several locks clicking again.
I wasn't going to follow you. All those locks for an
inside
door. That borders on paranoia. I'm here. What's she afraid of?

Unless she's afraid of
me
somehow?

He returned to his half of the booth bed, pressing his feet into the cushion on the other side.
This is almost like sleeping in my easy chair.

A few minutes later, he heard the locks, a door open and shut, and then a single lock clicking. The kitchen light winked out, and Angela shuffled to the booth carrying a huge silver bowl. She handed the bowl to him, re-wrapped herself in her blanket, and settled in next to the pillow.

“I'm hurt,” Matthew said.

“Not enough popcorn?” Angela said.

“No. I'm hurt that you locked your door,” Matthew said. “I don't go where I'm not invited.”

She grabbed some popcorn. “Habit, I guess.”

Or severe paranoia.
“Yeah, it's a good habit when you're a beautiful woman living alone.” He scooped out some popcorn and stuffed it into his mouth. “Nice. Garlic butter?”

“Yes.” She picked out a few pieces.

“Like the popcorn at the Nitehawk,” Matthew said. “Ever been?”

Angela sighed. “A long time ago.”

“A-ha!” Matthew shouted. “You had a date at the Nitehawk.”

“Maybe.”

Maybe? The Nitehawk is a couple's theater.
“The seats there are arranged in pairs.”

Angela rolled her eyes. “I could have gone alone.”

“A-ha! You didn't go alone or you would have said so.”

She laughed. “A-
ha,
maybe I just like to keep you guessing.”

He leaned to his left. “So, who was he?”

Angela tossed a few pieces of popcorn into her mouth. “Someone.”

“You have to be more specific than that,” Matthew said.

“I could be more specific, but I won't.” She slapped his hand out of the way and scooped up some popcorn.

This is so unfair!
“Angela, you know just about everything about the women I've dated.”

“More than I've wanted to know about them, actually,” she said.

“Stop asking about them, then.” He nudged her with his left knee.

Angela nudged him back. “You could refuse to answer.”

Where's the fun in that?
“Come on, Angela. I know nothing about any of your men.”

“Man.”

Okay, now we're getting somewhere.

“Singular,” she added.

“I find that hard to believe,” Matthew said.

Angela shrugged.

“But you're so . . .” He shook his head. “You're so beautiful.”

Angela only sighed.

“When was this?” Matthew asked.

“When I was in high school,” Angela said.

Eighteen years ago.
“No way.”

“We saw
Jerry Maguire,
” she said.

She can't be serious.
“Show me the money, right?”

Angela nodded. “And that's the last movie I've seen in a theater.”

That's . . . that's incredible.

“You remember that scene where Tom Cruise says, âYou complete me'?” Angela asked.

“Sure,” Matthew said. “It's one of the all-time great movie lines.”

“I think it's crap,” Angela said.

So opinionated!
“You think one of the most romantic lines in movie history is crap? You better explain what you mean by that.”

She rested her head on the pillow. “It made them seem so weak, you know? They thought they each needed somebody
else
to give their lives meaning and purpose. They were complete people already, you know? If anything,
love
completed them.”

That's deep. I will never say that line to this woman.
“I like how you think.”

“Tony didn't, and we broke up later that night,” Angela said.

I finally have a name.
“Tony, huh?”

“Past history,” Angela said. “Not worth discussing.”

Matthew waited.

Angela kept her silence.

“We should go to the movies sometime,” he said.

Angela closed her eyes. “I'd probably fall asleep. I'm kind of sleepy now.”

She moved the pillow to Matthew's lap and rested her head on it.

This is unexpected, but it's very nice.

“And movies are a waste of money,” she said softly. “If you wait a few weeks after one comes out, you can get the bootleg version from anyone on the street.” She yawned. “And the popcorn is so overpriced. I'd rather curl up on the couch and look at a movie on TV, wouldn't you?”

This woman completes me. Even if I'll never say it, I can still
think
it.

Angela opened one eye and looked up. “You got all quiet.”

“I'm listening to your wisdom.” He smiled. “You're very deep.”

“No, I'm not,” she whispered.

“Speaking of deep, can you see the snow from down there?” Matthew asked.

Angela sighed. “I've seen plenty of snow through that window.” Matthew put his hand on her shoulder. “Is this okay?”

“No.”

Matthew picked up his hand.
I cannot read this woman at all!
“Sorry.”

Angela closed her eyes and smiled. “Not there. Lower.”

“Oh.” He placed his hand in the small of her back, just above the swell of her booty.

“That's
much
better, Matthew . . .”

In minutes, Angela was asleep, her arms gripping the pillow, her breathing soft and steady.

Matthew watched her dream, felt her heat, and smiled.

Now
this
is peace.

He rubbed her back gently, careful not to let his hand stray too low. “Good night, Angela,” he whispered as he, too, fell asleep while the world outside filled with snow.

Chapter 21

M
atthew woke a few hours later.

Angela was screaming.

“What's . . . what's wrong?” he asked breathlessly.

Angela sat bolt upright and rigid next to him, tears streaming down her face, her breath coming in staccato bursts.

Don't touch her. Just . . . talk.
“What's wrong?” He followed her eyes to the window and only saw sheets of snow.
Is someone out there?
“Angela? Is there someone out there?”

She turned her head slowly toward him.

“Is there?” he asked.

She shook her head.

“Bad dream?” Matthew asked.

She nodded.

I want to hold her so badly.
He touched her hand. “It's okay. I'm here.”

Angela threw off her blanket and leaped out of the booth, wiping her face and stumbling backward toward the counter.

Matthew left the booth, tossing his blanket behind him. “You okay?”

Angela stared outside.

He moved carefully to her side. “Angela?”

Angela folded her arms in front of her, her hands gripping her shoulders tightly, her lower lip and jaw quivering.

“Bad one, huh?” Matthew whispered.

Angela looked away from the window.

“Is it one you've had before?” Matthew whispered.

Angela nodded once, and more tears flowed from her eyes.

I don't want to ask this.
“Was it a dream about something that really happened to you?”

Angela looked up at Matthew and nodded.

It wasn't a dream. She's just had a flashback.
Matthew wiped a tear from her cheek with the back of his right hand. “Something that made you put all those locks on the doors.”

Angela grabbed his hand. “Yes,” she whispered.

Oh God!
“When did this happen?

Angela's eyes traveled to the window.

“When it snowed before like this?” Matthew whispered.

Angela nodded, her breathing slower, her body still trembling.

During a blizzard, maybe the one four years ago. We haven't had one since. Did this storm trigger the flashback?

Matthew got her blanket, wrapped it around her, and guided her back to the booth where she sat facing him.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Matthew said.

Angela shook her head.

“Can I . . . may I hold you?” Matthew whispered.

Angela nodded.

Matthew pulled on her shoulders gently until she turned and lay stiffly against his chest, her arms tucked under herself.

I wish I could say something, anything to heal her pain. What happened to her?

After a long silence, Angela whispered, “Thank you.”

Matthew held her more tightly. “For what?”

Angela burrowed her head into his chest. “Just . . . thank you.”

Angela soon fell asleep, her breathing steady, her body relaxing.

Matthew rubbed her shoulders and upper back.

He didn't think he would ever sleep again.

Something happened here.

Someone hurt her during the last snowstorm, maybe attacked her, maybe evenâ

I don't want to think about that happening to this gentle, sweet woman.

She rarely goes out, but when she does, it's as if she's trying to escape from someone. She's a virtual prisoner in her own shop and her own apartment. She knows a psychiatrist who makes house calls and who's a “friend of the family,” only the psychiatrist really doesn't know her family. She's been watching the world go by that window, maybe for years, so worried that La Estrella would put her out of business because she'd have to leave here, knowing it would be difficult if not impossible to walk out that door.

She gripped the skin off my elbow going up and down the dark stairway at the Simmons' apartment.

It could have happened on her back stairway.

Someone broke in and surprised her.

She closed up shop for one day, and it was during that blizzard.

Did she file a police report or go to the hospital? She might have.

Yet she opened the day after that.

He watched her sleeping peacefully now, but he wondered how often she relived her nightmare.

She's so strong and yet so full of fear.

Angela's arms reached around and circled his neck, a sigh escaping.

He stroked her hair.
So beautiful, so tender.

Why didn't I see this coming? I should have paid more attention. She cried while Timothy was talking because in a way he was talking about her. She asked all sorts of questions about treatment for PTSD. She has flashbacks, nightmares, and occasional emotional numbness. She avoids the world. She feels hopelessness and maybe feels guilty for whatever happened to her. She obviously has trouble sleeping.

And she definitely has trouble with relationships. More specifically, she has trouble letting someone touch her.

Now this snowstorm arrives to trigger this flashback.

God, how can someone so strong be so fragile? Help me help her.

But mainly, give her good dreams for the rest of the night.

She moved up higher on his body, her arms under her, her head on his shoulder. Matthew moved his hands lower and held her close.

No one's going to hurt you, Angela.

I promise.