Tag: romance

Trunk Stories

Ends of the Earth

prompt: Write about two solo travelers who keep bumping into each other in the most unexpected of places.

available at Reedsy

Some people make a bucket list and never get around to any of it. I’m not “some people.” I’m luckier than most, I would say. There was no rhyme or reason for me to blow a buck on the lotto, but I did. Winning two-and-a-half million after taxes was the impetus for this trip.

There are places I want to see, and many of them only allow a few people a year in to protect them. Those are the places I most want to see. After two years of getting permits and planning travel, I’m checking things off my bucket list.

The first time I saw her was at Chichen Itza. There were four of us that had been granted permission to climb Kukulkan with researchers. Besides the thousands of pesos we had to pay for the permits, we were expected to help the researchers carry their equipment up and down the pyramid.

The other two were a German man and an Italian man. Neither caught my eye as anything interesting, but her, wearing a floppy chartreuse hat with neon pink hair…one just cannot ignore that.

Where I had expected her to be a princess based on her clothes and the expensive camera she carried, she hauled more gear up the pyramid than either of the men and did it with a cheerful smile.

At the top, I let the view soak in. This was not a trip for photos, this was a trip for experiences.

“We girls have to stick together,” she said, her Irish lilt and soft voice like honey to my ears. “Beautiful.”

“It is,” I said.

“That too.”

My ability to socialize was used up, we didn’t speak any more. The fact that she picked up on it and didn’t push left an impression.

Yirga Chefe, Ethiopia wasn’t on my bucket list, but it did seem an interesting place to spend a week since my next location’s dates had been bumped due to weather. There in the hotel lobby was the floppy, chartreuse hat with neon pink hair spilling out. It was the Irish woman I’d seen in Mexico. The question was, what was she doing in Ethiopia?

In another of my impulsive moves, I decided to talk to her first. Before nervousness could completely remove my voice, I crossed the lobby to where she sat drinking coffee.

“Hi. What am I doing here…I mean, you…here…doing…?”

The smile that danced in her green eyes was gentle, genuine. She laughed, and I could tell it was not at my expense. “Hello again, mystery woman,” she said. “I’m just here for about a week before I head out for my next adventure. You?”

“I…uh,” was all I could say. I nodded.

“How about you meet me here for breakfast in the morning?” she asked. “I’m Diane, by the way.”

I nodded again and tried to get my name out. “Mir—Miranda,” I managed to squeak out.

“I’ll see you for breakfast in the morning, Miranda.”

I nodded and pointed at the door. “I’ve…got…a thing….” Heart pounding, face burning, I left the hotel at a run. I don’t socialize well, but that was bad even for me. There was something about her that flustered me to the core.

I wandered through the town, stopping on the outskirts where a herd of goats were moving toward the hills. The boy that led them stopped and smiled broadly at me. He said something in Amharic. I don’t know what it was, but the goats took interest in me as well.

The raw curiosity in their gaze brought a chuckle to my lips. While a few of the adults were standing around me, interested in this pale person in strange clothes, three kids came galumphing through to stop at my feet.

As I knelt down to give them scratches, the goatherd was saying something I didn’t understand. Once I was eye level with the kids, they jumped on me, using me as a playground.

While that was going on, two of the adults began rubbing against me. I scratched and petted every goat that got within reach. The combination of nerves, embarrassment, shyness, and fear that I’d made a fool of myself melted away.

Before too long, I was laid out in the dirt with kids standing on me, goats laying on me, and I was laughing uncontrollably. The boy clapped his hands and said something that got all the goats’ attention. He waved at me and turned his back on the goats and walked toward the hills. The goats took off as one, following him.

I was glad the hotel had a laundry, as I didn’t want all my clothes to smell like goat, even if the odor brought a happy memory. Breakfast was far less awkward than I’d expected. Diane was capable of carrying a conversation on her own, while making me feel included.

We had breakfast every day, with a conversation spread out enough that I could manage it. Diane was taking a year off to explore the world. We avoided talking about finances, but I got the sense that she came from money, without letting it affect her over much.

She saw me off when I got on the bus to travel back to Addis Ababa where I would board a flight to Santiago, Chile. The flight provided time to sleep, and too much time to think things over. I didn’t know her last name, or whether she still lived in Ireland or merely had a permanent lilt; one that I could listen to all day, every day. I dreamt of her reading me to sleep.

I shook it off as the plane landed in Rio for refueling. I’d seen her twice in my seven months of travels, for a total of eight days between Mexico and Ethiopia. Why is she stuck in my head?

After landing in Santiago and taking a small prop plane to Punta Arenas, I had convinced myself that I’d never see her again. Boarding the research ship, I got the tour and safety lecture. There was plenty to keep my mind occupied other than romantic ideation.

The research team was a mix of scientists from organizations around the world. They were doing research on microplastics, temperatures, acidity, and the state of krill in the Southern Ocean.

I expected the boat to dock in Antarctica. Instead, when it came time to drop off two of the scientists, several dozen GPS trackers on ice spikes, and myself, we were loaded on the helicopter. As we flew over the ice, the pilot pointed out where McMurdo was in the distance, and Phoenix Airfield, closer to the ship’s location, right below us.

We disembarked and moved away quickly, as the pilot informed us a ski plane was inbound. There was little time between when the helicopter cleared the runway and the twin-engine ski plane landed.

The first person off the plane wore a chartreuse parka. Where does one even find that? The irrational part of my mind tried to tell me it was Diane, but I knew that couldn’t be right. A duffel bag of mail was set off to the side as the passengers grabbed their luggage and the plane moved to the fueling area.

The person in the chartreuse parka turned toward me, and her neon pink hair blew around her face. I wasn’t sure whether she was actually there, or I was hallucinating.

“Miranda!” She waved at me and bounded toward me as fast as she could in heavy boots, cold weather gear, and lugging a suitcase.

I’m sure I looked insensate, as I was stunned beyond words.

“You must be here for the three-week experience, right?” she asked.

I nodded. We were about to spend three weeks together in Antarctica. Somehow, all I could focus on were her eyes.

Her touch on my chin was light, gentle like her smile. “Your mouth is hanging open.” She leaned in close and whispered in my ear, “I’d be doing the same if I wasn’t nervously chattering at you. Is this fate?”

I’m not sure what I muttered, but we were interrupted by the sound of a red bus on gigantic wheels pulling to a stop. In white, block letters the bus was marked as “Ivan the Terra Bus.” Stairs folded down as the door opened.

We piled on, along with twenty or so others who had gotten off the plane. The bus had room to spare.

The ride to “downtown” McMurdo wasn’t long, but I was glad for the heat in the bus. Even in the height of summer, the temperature was still just below freezing, and the winds cut to the bone.

McMurdo looked like a military installation, all Quonset huts and utilitarian buildings. When we stopped at the “bus station,” a small wooden shelter with a bench and a sign overhead that said, “Derelict Junction,” we piled off and got our belongings.

There was a woman waiting there for those of us taking part in the “Antarctic Experience.” The seven of us followed her across the street to the brown apartment buildings. We went into the third building down and she assigned apartments to us in groups of two and three.

Diane and I ended up sharing an apartment. It was far more luxurious than I would have guessed. Each apartment was given a radio for emergency contact, and we were informed to always check in by phone or radio before venturing outside, and again once we were safely indoors.

While there wasn’t a lot to do at McMurdo aside from going to Gallagher’s Pub, McMurdo Station Pizza, and Amaza Cafe, we weren’t bored. We had each other. Diane found her way into my “zone,” where I could talk without feeling drained. I found my way into her zone as well, helping her find the calm that would let her sit quietly for a while.

It was the day before our flight back to Santiago, Chile, when she looked up at me from where she lay on my lap. “Miranda,” she asked, “is this just a vacation fling or is it more?”

“I—I’m not sure,” I said.

“I’ve been away from home for almost a year, and the second anniversary of my parents’ death is coming up. I want to go home for it, but I don’t want to be alone.” She grabbed my hand and looked away.

“Where’s home?” I asked.

“Baileyshannon, Ireland.”

I thought about the other places on my list. Visiting them alone no longer sounded enticing. In another impulsive moment I squeezed her hand. “The internet is slow here, but I can have a ticket booked before we leave. I love—I’d love to be there for you.” I felt heat crawling up my face and my voice grew timid. “And…it’s more if you really want it.”

As she lay sleeping next to me that night, I smiled. I don’t know what I was looking for, traveling to the ends of the Earth, but I ended up finding my heart.

Trunk Stories

Pair Bonded

prompt: Write a story set in a city where the power suddenly goes out, leaving everyone in darkness.

available at Reedsy

Curfew had less to do with safety or control of the citizens than an innate fear of the dark. The ruling elite, all grens, instituted the curfew to avoid having to go out in the dark, forcing the working class, including the naturally nocturnal baras, to toil away under the sun. As that sun set, the city was awash in streetlights, floodlights, and the lights from windows where the grens huddled in comfort.

Philbert was, to his mind, quite a dashing gren; not too tall, suitably bulky, with iridescent green and gold fur. He cut a handsome figure in his police uniform, and it was only a matter of time until he’d be promoted to a position where he’d never again have to go on night patrol. Just the thought of it raised his hackles and made his large, round ears twitch.

He settled himself, smoothing his fur with his long fingers and patting his pistol in its holster, imagining her inspecting him. Curfew, and with it his shift, was less than an hour away. Philbert made his way to the station, the crowds in his neighborhood growing as people made their way home. Most of his neighbors were baras, as it wasn’t the best neighborhood. They streamed past him, tall and lithe, slick black fur, pointed ears, and every one of them wearing heavy goggles against the light of the sun.

A group of baras was standing around near the station, four males vying for the attention of the female he saw there most days. Screwing up courage he didn’t possess, Philbert approached the group. “Hey folks, curfew is almost here. You should probably head home. Wouldn’t want to have to arrest any of you.” He laughed a nervous laugh, hoping they’d take it as a joke rather than the spur-of-the-moment bluster it was.

“No sir,” the large female said, “you don’t want to arrest any of us. So scared your eyes are all pupil, can’t hardly see the yellow.” The group laughed, throwing their heads back. The males, smaller than the female, had a bright blue stripe at the base of their neck, while the female had none.

Philbert put his hand on his pistol. “Just trying to be friendly. Don’t push me.”

 “Hey little guy,” she said, “you should stay out of female business and leave it to the ladies. Where’s your one and only to protect you, huh?” The group laughed again. “I’m just trying to decide which of my boys I’m going home with tonight, unless you think you have a shot?” The laughter this time was harsh.

“I said, ‘Don’t push me.’” Philbert’s grip on his pistol tightened and the spurs on his wrists extended. A firm hand on his shoulder stopped him.

“Move it along, please,” the tall female gren said. Her brown fur with cream spots was immaculate, her eyes the brightest yellow and her ears had magnificent tufts of cream fur. It was her.

The group left, laughing. Philbert let out a sigh. “Thanks, Sergeant Plia.”

“No problem.” Plia patted him on the back. “Rina is out sick, so you can work the desk tonight if you don’t want to patrol solo.”

“I can do a solo patrol,” he said, with the most bravado he could muster. She was out of his league for now, but he was determined to change that. Unlike the baras with their harems, grens mated for life, as it should be, and males like Philbert did everything they could to be an ideal mate for powerful females like Plia. It helped that the male-female ratio of grens was close to even while male baras outnumbered females nearly five to one.

“Clock in and take the down-east foot patrol tonight.” Plia ran a hand along his ear, both calming and exciting him at the same time. “Think you can handle that, Phil?”

He puffed out his chest. “Yes, Plia… uh, Sergeant.”

“Just a suggestion,” she said. “Don’t try to intimidate a female bara when she’s with her harem. Forces her to stand up to you.”

Philbert nodded. His heart, so light a moment ago at her touch now dropped like a lead weight into his belly. “Thank you, Sergeant.”

By not looking at the sky, Philbert was able to walk his rounds without being too spooked. The massive streetlights and floodlights provided almost as much illumination as an overcast day. The little scurrying animals in the alleys gave him the willies, though. Four-footed, scampering animals that didn’t even lay eggs. Their young came right out of them fully formed, with long teeth for gnawing and biting. Some people kept them as pets, but they were just so disgusting.

It was on his third trip around the neighborhood when the lights went out. Every streetlight, floodlight, window, and sign went dark. No moonlight or stars, as the overcast sky hid them. Philbert began to shiver.

His ears swiveled forward and back, alerting on every little sound. The shuffle of the four-footed creatures, the click of beetles, the sounds of grens in the apartments above scrambling to find candles while the baras in their apartments whooped with joy.

One sound, though, he wasn’t expecting. She sounded like the female bara he’d encountered in front of the station. “You okay there, little guy?”

His hackles raised and the spurs on his wrists extended, but he felt himself unable to move. “Wh—who’s there?”

“I’m Lyla, and you’re Phil, right?”

He turned around slowly, unable to see anything. “It’s, uh, Philbert.” His hand found his flashlight and he turned it on. It was the female from earlier, but she wasn’t wearing her goggles. Her large eyes reflected the light back like warning beacons before she held her hand up to block the light.

“Ow! Turn that thing off! Are you trying to blind me?”

He turned it off without a thought to do otherwise. “No, I…, I can’t see anything.”

“Well, now neither can I. Give me a minute to readjust, and I’ll get you home.”

“Is your ha—harem around?”

“No, they’re being good boys and staying home. Maybe. Or they’re off playing with some other female. Either way, they aren’t here.”

“Why are you out?”

“Do you have any idea how rare it is to be able to see the city? I mean really see it?”

“Uh, yeah. I used to work days like a normal person.”

“Imagine trying to navigate the city while having a searchlight pointed in your eyes.” Lyla placed a hand on his shoulder. It was far gentler and more comforting than he would have guessed.

“That would, uh, make me blind.”

“Exactly. Hurts like hell. We don’t have daytime eyes like you, but we don’t make the rules in this part of the country.” She cocked her head. “Now that I can really see you, you’re pretty fancy. I think I’m going to have to call you Fancy from now on.”

Philbert’s eyes strained, but he was beginning to see at least vague outlines. “I can see a little bit,” he said, “but not very well.”

“That’s good. Come on, Fancy, let’s get you back to the station, huh?”

“Are—are you turning yourself in for breaking curfew?”

Her laugh was gentle. “No, silly. I’m just getting the poor male back home before something terrible happens to him.” She rubbed his back, which he found oddly comforting. “I’m a proper female who cares for her males.”

Philbert stiffened. Did she just select me for her harem? She’s not even a gren. And those pointy ears, and those eyes. He turned to face her, and got as close as he dared, trying to see her eyes. They were dark orbs, not the glowing terrors he had imagined.

“Let’s go Fancy,” she brushed his ear as Plia had done earlier. “I want to get you back before I get accused of kidnapping a police officer.”

Philbert accepted her offered hand, their fingers intertwined, and let her lead him. After a few stumbles on curbs and uneven sidewalks, Lyla put her arm around his shoulder and held him close. Instinctively, he put his arm around her waist and let himself be led. She wasn’t the beauty that Plia was, but there was something about her that pulled him in.

“Lyla, what did you mean when you said your males?”

Lyla led him to a park bench and sat with him. She faced him, placing her hands along both sides of his face. “Oh, little Fancy. Want to join my harem?”

“No, I uh…, I mean…,” he wasn’t sure what he meant. “I’m confused.”

“Oh, you poor thing. Lyla will take care of you, until you find your one and only, if that’s what you want.”

“You scared me before,” he said, “but you’re so comforting. Maybe even more than Plia.”

“She’s the female that has all the males in the station strutting about, right?”

He nodded, embarrassed by the transparency of his gender.

“You’ll never win her over.” She stroked his ears. “She’s been making nesting eyes at one of the city council.”

“How—how do you know that?”

“I work in City Hall.” She chuckled. “When you’re just the bara that cleans the toilets and dumps the trash, you see everything.”

The clouds parted and moonlight pierced the sky, brighter than Philbert could have imagined. Stars began to peek out from the breaking clouds. He’d never seen anything like it.

Lyla turned her eyes to the sky, the moonlight reflecting bright purple in her eyes, and making her black fur gleam. “I’ve missed this. It’s beautiful.”

“It is,” he said staring, captivated by her eyes. He found himself thinking unnatural thoughts about her.

Lyla turned back to him and stroked his ears again. “I usually prefer my boys taller and thinner, but I think we could get along quite well.”

“You mean that?”

“I do, little Fancy.”

“Even if it means I pair-bond with you?”

“Does it mean I have to give up my harem?”

He laughed. “I can’t believe I’m saying it, but no, it doesn’t. You just feel right. I know it’s unnatural, but—”

She shushed him and pulled him to a warm embrace. “Does this feel unnatural to you?”

He melted into her strong arms, feeling protected, secure. In that moment, she was the female of his dreams; his one and only. “No, it doesn’t.”

They held each other for another hour, until the city lights began turning back on, and Lyla had to put her goggles back on. Philbert’s heart ached when the bright orbs were hidden from his view.

“Well, I didn’t get you back to the station, but I kept you safe. Feel better, Fancy?”

“I do. But you say that like you’re leaving me.”

“I’m giving you the option to back out.” She rubbed his ears again. “Come see me tomorrow at the same spot you met me. I’ll be alone, and you can give me your decision in the full light of day.”

Philbert nodded. “I’ll see you then. You should, uh, probably get home before another patrol comes around. Hate for you to be arrested.”

“I know how to stay out of trouble,” she said. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

At the end of shift, Philbert watched the other unbonded males as they reported to Plia. They puffed up as they spoke to her, putting on their most cheery demeanor. Away from the presence of the only eligible female in the station, however, their moods were much more sullen, the blackout having sapped their spirit.

Corporal Keeri, a pair-bonded female, stopped him on his way to make his report. “You look down, Philbert. If you want to turn the sergeant’s head, you should act more confident. She’s obviously picky, or she’d be bonded by now. Handsome guy like yourself might have a chance if you cheer up.”

“Thanks, Keeri, but I heard she already has eyes for someone else.”

“Where did you hear that?”

“Ly—a friend that works in City Hall.”

“You know, when I bonded, my boy was just like you.” She gave him a pat on the rear before turning her attention to two officers that were fighting with a male bara to get him to look at the camera. “Don’t take his guff! Take those damn goggles off and hit him with the flash until he behaves!”

“Corporal! Do you have any idea how painful that is for them?” Philbert wasn’t sure where this assertiveness to a female, and a superior at that, was coming from. “It’s like being forced to stare at the sun!”

“Got a soft-spot for tall, dark, and skinny, eh?” Keeri shook her head. “Figures. Go see the sergeant and give her your report.”

Philbert walked into the sergeant’s office, his head held high, his fur smooth, his chest resolutely not puffed up. “Philbert reporting. No activity in the down-east on my watch.”

“And during the power outage?”

“Used my flashlight, stayed to the main roads.”

“Good job, Phil.” Plia cocked her head. “I notice you’re not posturing. Did you pair-bond and I didn’t hear about it?”

“Ye—no, not… maybe.” He shook his head. “Doesn’t matter. I know you’re interested in someone in City Hall. I’m no competition.”

“As curious as I am how you know about Gillam, I’m more curious about how you answered my question. Did sweet little Phil find himself a one and only, or not?”

“I’m… not sure.”

“Let me know when you figure it out. Now get your cute little self out of my face. See you at sundown.”

“One other thing, Sergeant.” He screwed up his courage and let it out. “Keeri and some of the others are torturing the bara in booking. Purposely flashing the camera in his eyes with his goggles off. I know… baras. This is incredibly painful for them.”

“That took some bones to let me know, Philbert.” She tilted her head and studied him from head to toe. “Thank you. I’ll deal with it.”

She used my full name! And she was checking me out! Do I have a chance? Philbert stopped his runaway thoughts. There was no way he could compare to a city council member.

Philbert tossed and turned for hours before sleep came. He dreamt that Plia came to him with open arms. She embraced him and he felt tense, frightened. When she morphed into Lyla, he relaxed, overwhelmed with a sense of comfort and security.

The alarm jolted him awake, and he felt the bed beside him, but no one was there. He sighed as he realized it had been a dream. He shook himself awake and washed up, grooming his fur carefully. Where he had been imagining Plia the previous morning while doing this, he couldn’t get Lyla out of his mind. I would have to share. Can I?

He arrived at the station early to wait for Lyla. He smoothed his uniform and fur, and stood tall, his chest puffed out. A sharp whistle caught his attention.

“Hey, pretty boy! Wanna ride?” It was a female gren, driving a sports car, her fur grey at the temples. The ring in her ear marked her as a widow, no doubt desperate for a new male to pair-bond with.

Philbert shook his head and turned away from her.

“Tease! Pair-bonded boy out here struttin’ like you’re lookin’ for something. Your female should take you over her knee and….”

He stopped listening to her and she finally drove off in a squeal of tires. He deflated, his head and shoulders drooped. Who am I kidding? Lyla hadn’t been serious; she was just trying to keep him from arresting her. There was no way she was interested.

“Hey, Fancy. You feeling down?”

Philbert jerked to attention and looked up at her. “You came?”

“I said I would.”

He shivered, his hair fluffing out. “You meant it?”

“Of course I did.” She smoothed the fur on his ears. “I wouldn’t have said it if I didn’t.”

Her touch calmed him, and it took everything he had not to melt into her. “What if you get tired of me?”

Lyla lifted his face to hers. “I can only promise that I’ll do everything in my power not to hurt you. Except for monogamy. I can’t do that.”

“But… I’ll be at the bottom of the harem, the last in line for your attention.”

“It’s not like that,” she said. “Sure, there’ll be times when I’m with another boy in the harem, or outside it, even. But I always make time for my males. All of them. I have to be honest with you, though….”

Here it comes. His shoulders dropped in anticipation of the bad news.

“I’m only staying in the city for another year, maybe two, before I move back to my mother’s nut farm.” She stroked his ears. “It’s out in the country, there’s no curfew, and it’s mostly bara, but there’s quite a few gren there too. I’m sure you could get a job in the constable’s office, no problem. Big city police officer and all that.

“I want to start on my brood soon, just not in the city.”

“I—I thought it was going to be something bad.” He stood straight, looked up at her, and puffed out his chest. “Yes, if you’ll have me.”

Philbert fell into her embrace, feeling secure, even as the comments of passing females reached his ears. “Disgusting!” “Unnatural.” “Another gren male ruined.” He looked up to see her focused entirely on him.

She whispered in his ear, “You should get to work now. If you’re down-east again tonight, I’ll see you in the park.”

He nodded and left her, feeling light. Plia stopped him. “Ignore the jealous females. If you’re happy, that’s all that matters. So, that’s who you’re maybe pair-bonded with?”

“Yeah. But no maybe about it.”

Trunk Stories

Ten

prompt: Write a story that takes place across ten seconds...

available at Reedsy

Ten.

How long does it take to change a life? To put it on a new trajectory. To take one action or make one decision that will either propel it to new heights, or send it plummeting to the depths. How long?

Dr. Brandon Walker was about to find out. He’d played the scene over and over in his head. Sometimes with a good end, usually with a bad one. He knew the risk he’d be taking, now he just needed to find the courage.

The entire New Year’s Eve party had been building to this moment for him, and for Solace Grimwald, the object of his affection. They’d worked together for over a year, and despite the differences between them, Brandon was completely smitten.

As he stood next to her those differences played a litany in his mind. He’s 38, she’s 231; he’s tall, thin, and pasty with brown hair, she’s short and wiry, with skin the color of coal and hair as white as snow; he’s a human, she’s a dark elf; he’s an ER generalist, she’s the head of cardiology. Yet, as he looked at her now, he realized the year might very well end without him telling her.

A sharp report: the sound of a champagne bottle opening. The world shuddered. He felt every moment in agonizing slow motion.

#

Nine.

The partygoers were chanting the count-down together, the speech of many slurred. One of the maternity nurses, a young orc whose name he could never remember, began a tumble to her side over the back of the sofa.

Part of his mind felt a moment of panic for the people sitting there but he pushed it aside. There would be plenty of time for that later. The champagne from her flute described an arc, tracing the path it travelled.

A bright laugh carried over the top of the commotion. Dr. Adam Lawson, a human he often traded shifts with was looking at him with a knowing grin and a raised thumb. The champagne cork was on an intercept course with one of the overhead lights. Solace turned and looked up at Brandon. That was his cue.

“Solace…” he began.

#

Eight.

The cork impacted the overhead light, punching through the plastic diffuser and remaining as a dark shadow. Dr. Lawson’s gaze was pulled away by the sound and his hand began returning to his side. Squeals arose from the sofa.

Firecrackers were going off outside, someone too impatient to wait for the countdown. The vending machine made the loud clunk of a soft drink can dropping into the pick-box. Like the diet soda in the pocket of his white lab coat, slowly warming.

The orc nurse, now doubled over the back of the sofa, was a little behind in calling out “Eight!” and slurring badly. Part of his mind felt a moment of pity for the hangover she would be feeling later. The bulk of his mind was taken with the sight of Solace’s violet eyes.

“I love you,” he said.

#

Seven.

The firecrackers outside were unrelenting. The joviality in the room swirled around and outside the figures standing face-to-face in the near center, a calm eye in the storm.

The people who had been standing closest to them were turning away. Whether that was due to embarrassment or a desire to give the couple space, it had the effect of widening the eye of the storm.

The orc nurse, Annalise, he remembered, laughed loudly. Brandon reached his hands out, to grab Solace’s. Like everything else they moved as if through molasses. Her eyes were still fixed on his. 

“Always have,” he said.

#

Six.

A loud boom outside. The countdown-jumpers were firing off big ones now. Inside, hands were helping Annalise over the back of the couch. Rather than just stand up, drunk logic must have made the complete trip seem the likeliest solution.

The stethoscope draped around his neck acted as a delimiter against which Brandon could feel his pulse pound. Whatever happened next it was too late to rethink anything.

Someone belched loudly.  The storm continued pulling away from the center where Brandon and Solace anchored the room. As the clearing grew the chaos surrounding it grew more frantic.

His hands reached hers and held them lightly. She didn’t pull away. His green eyes waited for a response; fear playing across his face.

#

Five.

Annalise was headed toward being a pile on the floor. Plastic champagne flutes were being hoisted. Clumps of people were forming in the chaos, as though gravity were acting on a collection of disordered bodies in space.

The unmistakable sound of a soft drink can opening cut across the din, followed by a curse. The cans often came out of the machine shaken. Now that he had spit it out, he felt a bit like one of those cans. He’d been shaken and under pressure for too long and opening his mouth he finally spilled it all out and made a mess of it.

The door to the lounge squeaked open. Someone coming or going, neither mattered to Brandon at the moment. The only thing that mattered was the woman who still hadn’t pulled away, and whose eyes sparkled with a hint of curiosity… or was it amusement?

“You drunk?” she asked.

#

Four.

Dr. Lawson had turned around completely and was in a half-hearted hug with one of the residents. Annalise was a giggling pile on the floor. “Whoopsie!” she cried. There was a moment’s respite from the fireworks outside. Dr. Sweetholm, or as he preferred, “Doc Bob,” the halfling head of orthopedics, was waxing rhapsodic about the ways he loved “all of you misfits.”

The sounds of the PA in the hallway drifted in through the open door and a momentary lull in the din. Within the room, the chaotic storm was palpably building to a conclusion. The clumps of two, three, and four people pulled in tighter and began to close the distance between them.

Solace still hadn’t pulled away, Brandon noticed. Her violet eyes remained fixed on his, peering into his soul. He had laid his heart out bare, in the hopes that she would treat it at least as gently as those she operated on.

“No,” he answered.

#

Three.

The door closed with a thunk. Someone on the sofa was calling for more champagne for Annalise. Dr. Lawson had left the awkward embrace of the resident, only to find his leg being hugged by Doc Bob.

The fireworks started back up outside, big ones, all going off at nearly the same instant. A siren sounded in the distance, no doubt on its way with another patient for the ER. Brandon’s pager vibrated, and a two-tone chime sounded over the PA in the lounge.

He would have to leave soon, but he wasn’t quite ready yet. Not until he made himself understood. His hands still held hers, cool and soft, yet filled with a strength their small size belied. Her expression was changing from curiosity to something he couldn’t pin down.

“I love you,” he said.

#

Two.

Outside, the fireworks were creating a no-doubt impressive display, their booms overlapping each other in a constant rolling thunder. The siren grew closer and the two-tone chime sounded over the PA again. It would do so three times, as it always did.

Dr. Lawson was trying to get out of another awkward situation without embarrassing himself or Doc Bob. Annalise, still on the floor, was holding her plastic champagne flute up, waiting for a refill. There were no single people standing anywhere in the room, all having given in to the strange gravity that pulled them into larger and larger embraces.

Solace looked at Brandon, her expression softening. Even though she wasn’t saying anything, it was the highlight of Brandon’s year, decade even. Her hands still rested in his. She exhaled, her breath playing under his chin.

The wait for her response seemed to drag on forever.

#

One.

A blue light above the door began to strobe, the two-tone chime sounding again. The patient in the ambulance was coding. He would find the crash cart in place with a team standing by when he got to the ER. Solace’s pager chimed. It seemed she was on call.

Nearly half of the champagne being poured into Annalise’s flute was missing it, running down her arm and splashing on the linoleum. Dr. Lawson was bent over, patting Doc Bob on the back. The nearest group of people moved closer to include the two of them in their embrace, arms around shoulders.

For better or worse, Brandon’s life was now changed irrevocably. Had he not been on duty he could have claimed drunkenness if she rejected him. That was, however, not the case. Solace squeezed Brandon’s hands and smiled. Time began flowing again.

“I know,” she said.

Trunk Stories

Friday

I met her in the bar Wednesday evening… sort of. Now we’d be meeting proper, and I was a wreck, adjusting the hem and straps of my evening gown, taking a few steps in my heels before kicking them off and then debating whether to put them back on before she showed up. A curl of auburn dropped in front of my glasses and I swept it away.

When we first met, I was with a group of coworkers. We sat there in our office wear; cargo pants, tee-shirts, camp shirts, sensible shoes, and only one of the five of us without glasses. We overheard a comment from another group at the bar about “the nerds over there” and we all laughed. I complained that I had gone too early to La Traviata and there were no tickets left for the next performance. That’s when she approached and sat next to me, using her motorcycle helmet for a low stool as her leather chaps and jacket squeaked.

Before offense at her intrusion set in, she fixed me with a direct stare, her jet-black hair framing a sharp, tanned face that held gem-green eyes where I saw my plainness reflected. “So, you’ve already seen this… what is it? A play?”

“Op… opera.” I couldn’t break away from her stare.

“You’ve seen this opera, but too early? How does that work?” Her eyes were questioning, curious, but her mouth held a small, off-center amused smirk.

“Adele Schlimmer is playing Violleta, one night only.” I broke free from her gaze and ended up staring at the toe of her boot. “She’s… I mean….” My cheeks felt hot and my pulse whooshed in my ears.

She lifted my chin with a soft touch and leaned closer. “Hey, I’m sorry. My band had a gig coming up, but the venue cancelled. Since I’m not playing and you’re not going to the opera, why don’t we go out Friday and do something together?”

“I don’t even know your name,” I said. “I’m Janice.” My sudden boldness both surprised me and made me once again unable to look directly at her. The others around the table were giving me encouraging nods and winks and knowing looks.

“Friday,” she said, and offered her hand.

“But your name?”

“My name is Friday, and I’d love to take you someplace nice Friday night, Janice.” Her eyebrows raised in anticipation. I nodded, and she took my hand and kissed it. She wrote her number on a napkin and handed it to me before standing and addressing the table. “I apologize for the intrusion. Enjoy your evening.” I watched her walk to the DJ booth near the dance floor at the far end of the bar where she took off her jacket and started the music. Hard, thumping, electronic pulses geared for dancing boomed under shredding electric guitars.

That’s the usual time we would leave, but I sat and watched her work the controls, building the energy up and letting it back down before building even higher in incremental steps. “I could probably model this in a 3-D plot to show tempo, key, intensity and crowd reaction over time.” One of the group gave me the thumbs-down sign, our signal that we were letting work interfere with our hump-day ritual. I conceded the point, and we left.

Work passed by in a blur. My mind kept going back to the number I had put in my phone under the name “Friday?” and wondering whether I would actually follow up. At lunch on Friday I finally texted her. “Yes.” Then followed it up with “This is Janice, BTW.” I was berating myself for my awkwardness when she called.

“Hello, Friday?” My answer was both giddy and weak.

“Hey Janice. I’m glad to hear from you. Like I said, someplace nice. I’ll even dress up. Pick you up at 7:00, your place, if you text me the address. Otherwise I’ll pick you up at the bar.”

“On your bike?”

“No, I’m not gonna ride in a dress. See you at 7:00.” If it were possible, I would say I heard her smile. “See you,” I said, and she hung up. Ignoring the part of my mind coming up with terrible psycho-killer scenarios I texted her my address. So it was that I ended up pacing around my apartment in evening wear, wondering if I was about to make an utter fool of myself.

She rang the bell a few minutes before 7:00 and I scrambled into my heels before answering. The woman standing on the other side couldn’t be more different from who she had seemed at the bar. Her hair in a French braid, tasteful makeup, and a simple diamond necklace accentuating her skin. She wasn’t tan, so much as olive in the bright hallway. Her emerald green gown glowed on her skin and made her eyes seem even deeper. I realized I was staring and started to apologize. “Sorry, I, uh… would you like to come in for a minute? Or…?”

“No, I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean to stare. I knew you were attractive, but, wow. You are stunning.” She was staring straight into my eyes and my face grew hot.

“Thanks. You just look so… different. It surprised me.”

“I hope that’s a good thing.” Friday smiled. “I can’t be the bad-ass biker bitch, DJ, punk rock drummer all the time.” She lifted my hands and smiled. “No more than you can be the adorably cute, nerdy data scientist all the time.”

“How did you know what I…?” The earlier fears about psycho-killer stalkers came back.

“Your ID badge on your lanyard. It was eye level where I was sitting.” Her eyebrows drew together in worry. “I hope I didn’t just scare you off.”

“No, no. I just… why me?” The real question was there. It had left my mouth without my permission. What would someone like her want to do with a nerd like me? I’m the opposite of Friday.

“I guess I should come clean.” She cast her gaze to my hands which she still held. “I’ve watched your Wednesday ritual in the bar for a couple months now. Been trying to get the courage to talk to you, but kept chickening out. This week I sat close, trying to figure out what I’d say. I couldn’t help overhearing your conversation. When I saw how disappointed you were about your opera, I felt like I needed to cheer you up, or try at least.” She closed her eyes. “I’m hopeless, huh?”

“You’re not. Did you want to come in for a few minutes?” We were still standing in the doorway. “We both look awkward right now, I’m sure.”

“I’m sure we do. I’d love to come in, but our ride is waiting.” She regained her composure. “Are you ready?”

She offered her arm as we walked out and I accepted. She led to me a waiting cab and held the door for me. “So where are we going?” I asked. “Somewhere nice,” she said with a cryptic smile.

The cab stopped in front of the Performing Arts Center where La Traviata was showing. Friday paid the fare then offered her arm again. “I believe you wanted to see this?”

We walked in, arms linked. “How did you…? Did you already have tickets?”

“No, but when you know the production company, say, as a musician, you can sometimes get comp tickets that aren’t being used. I called in a favor.” She nudged me. “I figured I’d try, at least. I didn’t want to say anything and get your hopes up only to have to let you down again. Until this afternoon it was still looking like it would just be dinner.”

“But you’re not into opera. You thought La Traviata was a play, unless you were faking it.” I stopped and faced her. “Did you fake it?”

“No, I don’t know the first thing about opera.” She laughed, and we walked to our row. “I’m more at home at a punk show or rock concert.”

“So why? You could have saved your favor, taken me anywhere.” I had to know.

“Because it seemed important to you. Worst case: I find out I don’t like opera. Best case: I add opera to the stuff I already listen to. Hint: it’s not just rock and punk.” She paused to let me into the row before her. “Either way, I get to spend time with you.”

“But we can’t talk here.”

“Afterwards we’re going for drinks, maybe something to eat.” We sat next to each other. “I wanted to be cool about it and say ‘we’ll see where the night takes us,’ but I hope this turns into another date, at least.”

As the strings gentled us into the prelude, my hand found hers and our fingers intertwined. My thoughts swirled between the warm hand in mine and the strains of the music. I hope so too.

Trunk Stories

If You Could Live Forever

prompt: Write about a vampire or werewolf who moves into a quiet suburban neighborhood….
available at Reedsy

After the old man across the street died, his house went up for sale. The sign came down after the first day.

For three weeks landscapers made the neglected lot respectable while crews toiled inside the house. Carpeting, drywall, and fixtures were hauled off as it was stripped to the studs. A steady stream of deliveries brought electrical and plumbing fixtures, wood flooring, appliances, drywall, and lumber.

Early in the morning the day after the crews left, a moving van arrived, followed by a short, muscular African American woman in jeans and a tight t-shirt. She organized the movers, telling them what went where. The furniture and boxes were in place by the late afternoon, and the van left. The woman was still in the house, no doubt arranging things.

Being the good neighbor I am, and not because I’m inveterately nosey, I carried over a bottle of wine to welcome her to the neighborhood. Before I could ring the bell, she opened the door and invited me in. “Well hello, neighbor! I saw you walking up.”

“Hi, I’m Adrian Delacroix,” I said. “I live across the street. Just wanted to welcome you to the neighborhood.”

A thin sheen of sweat played across her broad features, her skin a warm reddish-brown, hair up in large puff at the rear. She smiled a broad grin when she saw the wine bottle. “Come in and have a seat while I get us some glasses, neighbor Adrian. I’m Ivy.”

“Thank you.” I sat on the sofa in the renovated front room. Hardwood floors, colored walls with white trim, new stairs and bannister to the second floor, granite countertops, and tasteful everything. It looked more like a magazine ad than an actual house.

She set down two wine stems and pulled the cork on the wine.

“I can’t believe how quickly you turned this old house around. The previous owner didn’t take care of anything.”

She smiled as she poured the wine. “The bones were good, so my employer thought it would be worth bringing it back to life.”

“Oh, you’re not the new owner?” I asked.

“No, I’m her caretaker,” she said. “She’s arriving next week, so I’m getting everything ready.”

“So, what does a caretaker do?” I cleared my throat. “It’s just, this isn’t exactly the sort of neighborhood where people have live-in help, and I picture a caretaker as watching over an unoccupied mansion or something.”

She laughed. “Nothing like that. She has medical… needs. I play housekeeper, gardener, and nurse.”

“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that,” I said. “Does she have someone else as well?”

“No,” she said, “I’m it. She’s overseas with… family right now, though.”

“Ah. So…,” I foundered, trying to get the conversation on to a more comfortable topic, “are either of you from this area?”

“Moving up from California,” Ivy said, pouring more wine. “Katherine… Ms. Boyle, can’t be out in the sun much. She got tired of the heat, so Washington seemed like a good choice.”

We finished the bottle and I got a tour of the renovated house before I left. The upstairs had been turned into two large master suites with walk-in closets and massive bathrooms sandwiching an office with a dizzying array of computer equipment. Ivy told me that Katherine worked for a stock brokerage in the U.K., but the equipment seemed far beyond what that would require. I wanted to know more but I remained the good neighbor and didn’t press her.

As I work from home myself, I saw that Ivy got into a routine right away. An hour run around the neighborhood at 7:00 a.m., rain or shine, followed by yard work, then inside at 11:00, where I imagined she showered and took care of housework. I saw her every afternoon when the mail came as all the mailboxes were on her side of the street, and we both picked up our mail as soon as it was dropped off.

“Adrian, Ms. Boyle came in last night and said she’d like to meet you,” she said. “Dinner at 6:30?”

“Sure,” I said. “Should I bring anything? Some wine?”

“Nothing so formal,” she said. “We’re having burgers, so if you brought some beer, I’m sure she’d be delighted.”

“Sure thing, see you then.”

I arrived and Ivy opened the door as I approached. She took the six-pack of local microbrew and invited me to have a seat in the front room. The smell of grilled meat wafted through the house, making me salivate. I was studying the ornately carved bannister when I felt a presence above me.

Then I saw her, Katherine Boyle. She was short and slight but had an air of authority, making her seem far larger. Her skin was ghostly pale, her hair, including eyebrows and lashes was purest white, her lips had the faintest hint of color and her eyes were a pale pink.

She smiled and I felt myself torn between being taken in by her unexpected and unconventional beauty and being terrified of the air of dominion she radiated. Some part of me felt as though she would overwhelm me, consume me, reduce me to nothing.

“Welcome to my home, Adrian,” she said, lighting on the last step. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

I pushed the terror down. I told myself it was just my own unconscious biases at play. She’s a beautiful woman and she’s just said hello, speak up, dummy. “Ah, uh, hello Ms. Boyle. Thank you for having me.”

She sat in one of the wing chairs. “Katherine, please. Ivy tells me you work from home as well?”

“Yes,” I said, “I’m a digital marketing strategist.”

Katherine smiled. “I don’t know what that means, but let’s not discuss work. What do you do for fun around here?”

“Except for going to concerts once a month or so I’m mostly a homebody,” I said.

“I understand that. Home is where we feel most comfortable, after all.” She rose and offered her hand. “Come, dinner should be ready any moment.”

Her hand was cold but smooth and I felt a wash of relief when I took it and stood. I held her hand in a stupor for too long, then came to my senses. “Oh, excuse me, I kind of spaced out there.”

She smiled and led me to the dining room. The table was set with white linens, fancy plates, and far too much silver cutlery. The burger and fries on the plates, along with the bottles of beer seemed wholly out of place. I looked for a bottle opener on the table but there wasn’t one. Katherine took my bottle, placed the edge of the cap against the corner of the table, and opened it with a sharp rap.

“Neat trick. Reminds me of college,” I said.

Katherine laughed and opened her own bottle.

I woke in my bed with a pounding headache, weak and woozy. It was the first hangover I’d had in over a decade. I tried to remember the previous night. We’d had dinner, then talked about music over scotch. Katherine had roused me, helping me across the street and into my house. I couldn’t remember how I got undressed and into bed, but I remembered the way her cheeks and lips were flushed, and her hands warm as she helped me up the stairs.

There was a cup of hot tea sitting on the nightstand next to my bed. In front of it was a note. “That scotch can be a little brutal, here’s something to help you through the day. — Ivy”

She’d obviously been in here in just the last few minutes. Is that what woke me? I sniffed the tea. It smelled heady and floral. I could see Ivy walking back across the street. When she reached her yard, she turned and waved. I sipped the tea, letting the warmth spread through me as I watched Ivy work in the garden. Katherine stepped out in dark sunglasses, stood in the shade of the entryway, and spoke to her. Ivy nodded and Katherine looked my way and waved. I waved back and she smiled before going back inside.

After Ivy’s miracle tea I felt much better. Still a little weak, but the headache was gone. I later thought it might be a bug rather than a simple hangover, though, as over the next few days several neighbors complained of similar symptoms. When I ran into Ivy at the mailboxes again, I apologized for my behavior, and thanked her for the tea. I asked for the recipe and she gave me a bag of it instead.

Katherine texted me, inviting me over for dinner again. I didn’t remember exchanging numbers, but hers was in my phone with a picture of her, so I must have done so while drunk. Once again, I found myself approaching Katherine’s door with Ivy opening it as soon as I was near. “Come in, she’s expecting you in the back yard.”

She sat on a blanket under a large shade umbrella, a picnic laid out. I joined her there and noticed she seem weak. Rather than bring it up I felt it better to just be there for her.

We had a quiet dinner while the sun set. After dark Katherine poured us wine. “If you could live forever, what would you do?”

“I would probably invest,” I said, “spend a few decades building up wealth, maybe real estate, so I could have something that kept me funded on its own. Then I’d want to travel — everywhere.”

“And after that?”

“Well, there’s languages to learn, instruments to learn, there’s always something to learn.”

Katherine smiled. “I think we could be friends, for a very long time.”

“I’d like that.” As soon as I said it I realized it was true. There was something compelling about her, something I couldn’t ignore.

We began to spend more evenings together, usually at her place, sometimes at mine. I made a point of getting to know Ivy as well and began running with her in the mornings before work. Every passing day more and more of my waking (and sleeping) thoughts were centered on Katherine.

I ended up getting entirely too drunk with her on more than one occasion, but the tea always made it better in the morning. Whatever bug had gone around the neighborhood seemed to pass for a couple months before starting up again. Oddly, except for the occasional hangover that was solved with Ivy’s magic tea, I didn’t catch anything. Even during flu season, when I would usually end up sick for a week or more, I stayed healthier than ever.

Indeed, I grew stronger. My runs with Ivy, difficult to finish at first, were becoming a warm-up followed by lifting weights before work. The weights that had gathered dust since the previous Christmas were, very soon, light enough that I was doing sets of sixty or more repetitions of each exercise.

I noticed that while I had built some muscle definition, the faint lines I’d been developing around my eyes began to fade. Despite the hangovers, which were milder each time, I felt better in the days following each than I ever had. Perhaps the tea was magical.

“Remember when you mentioned real estate, if you were to live forever?” Katherine asked.

“Yeah.” We were drinking beer, the TV on mute. My poorly furnished living room in the drab, off-white rental house was worlds away from her place in terms of class, but she made it feel comfortable.

“It’s a wise choice,” she said. “The house behind mine just went up for sale and I bought it immediately.”

“Income property or just because?”

“Maybe some of each.”

“What will you do with it?” I asked.

“Same as my place.” She raised her beer and an eyebrow. “Tear it out to the studs and the subfloor and rebuild the interior.”

“So, you’re loaded.” No sooner had I said it than I wished I hadn’t.

She snorted and chugged her beer. “No, but I do have a pleasant buzz.”

I laughed. “I’d like to kiss you,” I said.

She leaned towards me. “Then do it.”

Her lips were soft and cool, and my heart hammered as the kiss that started off gentle turned passionate. I pulled away reluctantly and was mesmerized by her eyes, reflecting the light of the TV.

“If I asked you to go with me to Istanbul, what would you say?”

“When do we leave?”

“And what if I said tomorrow night?”

“I need to go pack and cancel the rent on my house.” I meant it, with everything I had and somehow, she knew.

“Good. That may happen.” She grabbed another beer and opened it on my belt buckle. Katherine knew more ways of opening a beer bottle than anyone I’d ever met, and she managed to make it both elegant, and in this case, erotic.

“If you could live forever, would you want to?”

“If you’re there,” I said.

“And leave everything else behind?” She held a soft, small hand against my cheek.

“Everything but you, yes.”

“How old do you think I am?”

I realized that she wanted an honest answer. “Twenty-eight, tops.”

“I was born in 1619,” she said with absolute seriousness. “I was not always this way.” She held her pale hand in front of my face. “It came with the change.”

“The change… to what?”

“To what I am now.” Katherine held my face with both hands. “I’m going to show you something. You’re ready for it.”

My gaze was drawn to her mouth, where her canine teeth extended into fangs. I looked into her eyes and I could see concern, perhaps for how I would react. “Y—you’re a vampire?”

“Yes, and I’m sorry.” She touched my forehead and said, “Remember.”

I closed my eyes and the memories poured in; drinks, pain as her fangs sunk into my neck, a rush of euphoria that seemed to last for hours; her strength as she carried me up the stairs and tucked me into bed, her figure next to mine as I slept.

I opened my eyes and met her gaze. Her eyes stayed locked to mine. “Is this a problem?”

It took me a few seconds to admit it, but the answer was, “No, it’s not. I love you.”

She breathed a sigh of relief. “Will you join me?”

I nodded, unable to speak. I leaned into her and presented my neck. Her teeth sunk in; the pain far less than I remembered but the same rush of euphoria. The world spun as my vision darkened. I felt her pull away, then warm and moist on my lips, a taste of copper and iron. I latched on, drawing it in; strength flowed throughout my body. She pulled away and my heart broke, until she scooped me up and carried me to my room.

“The change will be gradual, but you’ll need to feed in the next week.” She brushed my hair back. “I’ll help you.”

The only response I was capable of was a weak nod. I felt both stronger and weaker than I ever had; like Superman encased in kryptonite. She handed me a cup of tea I didn’t recall her making.

As I sipped the tea she said, “This will pass. The weakness will wane throughout the day.” Morning light poured through my window. I’d missed half the night. “I need to rest. Ivy will check on you. When you’re feeling better come see me. Don’t knock, just come in.”

Ivy woke me again a few hours later with another cup of tea. “Here you go, Mr. Delacroix.”

“Thank you, Ivy,” I said, “and please, just call me Adrian.”

She watched as I sipped the tea. “So, she was serious.”

“How’s that?”

“I knew Ms. Boyle fancied you, but I didn’t expect she’d…”

“Turn me?” I asked.

Ivy nodded. “I suppose you’ll be around even more now?”

“How do you mean? We spend most every waking minute we can together.”

“Did you know she sneaks over here while you’re sleeping to lie next to you?”

“I do now.” It didn’t bother me; in fact, I found it endearing. “Will she be upset with you sharing her secrets?”

“If she was, I’d already know.”

I didn’t know what she meant by that, but I left it alone. “I’m feeling much better already,” I said. “Thank you again, Ivy.”

“My pleasure,” she said. “Should I set you a place for dessert?”

“Please.” I realized I smelled of sour sweat. “I’ll be over after I’ve had a chance to clean up.”

“See you then.”

I took my time in the shower, the water felt far hotter than normal, every drop traceable on my skin. My scalp tingled as I washed my hair and the smell of the shampoo was strong, as though the bottle was up my nose. I dressed up for the evening. The smells of cotton, leather, and linen mixed with the smell of lilies from the laundry detergent.

When I entered Katherine’s home, she was wearing an evening gown, and Ivy was setting desert on the table. I closed my eyes and savored the smells of coffee and chocolate, cream and cognac. She served tiramisu on silver-rimmed plates. For a change, Ivy joined us.

I took my time with it, savoring the flavors. The richness of the mascarpone and the bitter of the chocolate played off the sweet of the sugar and cognac. “This is the best tiramisu I’ve ever had.”

Katherine smiled. “It’s just the beginning,” she said.

We spent the rest of the evening lying in her back yard, watching the stars wheel through the sky. Katherine grabbed my hand, hers no longer felt cold to me. Still watching the stars, she asked, “Come with me to Istanbul?”

Trunk Stories

Small Town Values

prompt:  Write a story in which two people who know each other are introduced — but neither person admits to knowing the other….
available at Reedsy

Few things require the level of careful discretion as Tamara Pike’s life. As a sheriff’s deputy in a lazy backwater in the middle of the Bible Belt, who happens to be African American, and a lesbian, and kinky, it meant hiding. She couldn’t hide her color or her gender, but everything else about her personal life was sealed up tight anywhere within a 100-mile radius of home.

She spent weekends with her “boyfriend” Thomas in the city, bringing back pictures of them out to dinner, with friends, with his family. He’d even visited her at work a couple times to sell it. In reality he was a close friend from college, and they shared outings to the BDSM club in the city, where they would comment on the women and he’d go find a Domme to satisfy his itch and she’d meet up with her girl.

She spent every weekend she could with Katy, the cute, red-headed coed with a single, bright-green braid at her right temple. She would hear her squeals of delight in her dreams. Katy was far more experienced, and was opening Tamara up to new levels of play. They’d ended their last long weekend with Katy gifting Tamara with a new flogger and a promise of teaching her how to use it. At the leather goods store they looked at collars. “I know it’s too early,” Katy had said, holding one of the collars up for inspection, “but if you decide to put one on me, I’m not opposed to being yours.”

Tamara was glad that she was dark-skinned enough that the blush she felt rising while remembering that wouldn’t be visible. She shook her head to clear it and reported to the morning briefing. After handing out the usual assignments, and making sure everyone had at least two Narcan auto-injectors, Tamara left the noisy pit to head out on patrol.

“Tamara!” The Sheriff, while usually friendly, was overly so. “Come by my office for a minute before you head out.”

“On my way, Sheriff Mercer!” Tamara checked her belt, holster, badge, radio, and name tag to make sure everything was straight.

“You know better than that, call me Jim!” he called out.

“Okay! On my way Sheriff Jim!” Even if they did this routine two or three times a week it never seemed to get old to him, so she kept it up. This time, however, she heard a female’s laughter with his.

“She got you, Dad!” the female said.

The voice sounded familiar somehow. Tamara turned the corner into the Sheriff’s office to see red hair, with a single bright-green braid at the temple. It was Katy. She held her face as still as possible, trying to not think about Katy writhing as she… stop thinking about it!

“Deputy Sergeant Tamara Pike, I’d like you to meet my daughter, Katy.” Jim was glowing with fatherly pride, Katy looked like a deer in the headlights. “She’s in college to become a yak herder.”

“Lame,” Katy said, regaining her composure and punching his arm. “Try harder.” Turning to Tamara she said “I’m actually studying Criminal Law.”

Tamara knew that already, but recycled what she had told her when they first talked. “That’s a tough field, you must be one of the smart kids on campus.”

Katy had initially been hurt that Tamara had called her kid, but that was months ago, and knew now that there was nothing hurtful meant by it. “I am,” she replied.

Jim looked at her, confusion crossing his face. “You admit you’re a…” His comment was cut off by another punch in the arm.

“Smart, I mean,” Katy pouted. “I’m not a kid, I just didn’t want to be rude to your friend.” Standing behind her father half a step she mouthed “Oh my god!”

Tamara laughed. “I’ll remember that.” Inside she was screaming. If she had known who Katy was, or rather who Katy’s father was, she would never have spoken to her. She maintained her calm exterior, and saw Katy give a thumbs-down gesture, the hand signal that replaced a safe-word when unable to speak. Tamara’s nod was slight, just enough to let Katy know that she had her back.

Jim looked at Katy and back to Tamara. “I hate to ask, but could you drop her at home? I’ve got a meeting with the county prosecutor coming up.”

“Sure, Jim,” Tamara said. “Katy, right? Anything you need to grab or are you ready to go?”

“Just my backpack. I’ll see you out front,” Katy said.

Tamara walked out to her cruiser to wait, eavesdropping on the conversation of two other deputies.

“I swear, if I knew Tate had a daughter like that…,” Carter said. “You so much as look at that girl sideways and you’ll be castrated before you can blink,” Jones replied. They were silent for a moment before Carter spoke again. “I just can’t believe he has a kid, and she looks like that!”

Tamara decided she’d heard enough. “Why don’t y’all get out there on patrol, before the sheriff makes a necklace out of your little man-bits?” It had taken a while to get past the push-back from her promotion to sergeant, especially as the only woman and the only African American in the department. Once the dust settled, and two less-than-stellar deputies left the force, the rest of the men grew to respect her, as evidenced by the way they could all tease each other.

“I…,” Carter started. “I was gonna say something about size, but you’d just twist it and make me look stupid.”

“That’s because it’s easy,” Jones said. “Besides, Pike got the brains in her family.”

“Hey!” Tamara laughed. “Who are you calling ugly?”

Jones laughed and Carter asked “Did I miss something?”

“Yes, Carter, you did.” Jones waved. “We’re 10-41, Sergeant.”

Katy exited the building ten minutes later, carrying a large backpack filled to bursting. As much as Tamara wanted to rush to help her, doing so in front of the Sheriff’s office window might not be the best idea. Instead she keyed her radio. “Base, 214 is 10-41 with a civilian ride-along.”

Katy approached and Tamara took the backpack and placed it in the back seat before opening the front passenger door for her. “Why did you call that in?” Katy asked in a forced whisper. “Now everyone knows I’m riding with you.”

“It’s either that or you ride in back.” Tamara got in and started the cruiser. “It’s just the rules, and you know how I am about rules.”

Katy’s face grew pink. “Yeah, I mean, yes, ma’am.”

As they left the center of town and got closer to the farm where the sheriff lived Tamara finally spoke. “Why didn’t you tell me… no, that’s not right. Why didn’t I ask when I first heard you name?”

“Why didn’t I ask you what county you worked in? I never would’ve thought you’d be hired here. Besides, I really didn’t expect to come back,” Katy said, “at least not before I came out. Preferably over a video call. From a state or two away.”

“You realize that if your dad figures us out I’m literally dead.” Tamara realized her hands were beginning to cramp from her death-grip on the wheel, so she forced herself to relax and take a deep breath. “I don’t mean that in the ‘literally as figuratively’ way, either. I mean Jim will take me out to the river, put one in my head and dump me where I’ll wash out to the ocean.”

“He wouldn’t,” Katy said. “Would he?”

“If you weren’t planning on coming back, why are you here?” Tamara shook her head. “That didn’t sound right. As freaked out as I am, I’m glad to see you. I was planning on spending next weekend with you anyway. But what’s wrong that you had to visit sooner than you wanted to?”

“Remember, I told you how Mom moved us away when I was little?” Katy asked. When Tamara nodded she continued. “I see Dad once every few months: birthdays, graduation, a few holidays. But, Mom and I don’t get along. We don’t even talk. When Mom found me with my first girlfriend at 16, she basically disowned me. Kicked me out the day I turned 18.”

“Shit, Katy. I didn’t know that.”

“Because I don’t talk about it. I never told Dad, because I wanted to stay in the city. But I’m over it.” Katy focused on her hands, folded in her lap. “I didn’t know how over it I was until I got the call last night. Mom died. It’s only right I tell Dad to his face.”

“Is that going to be a tough discussion?”

“It was easier, and harder than I thought it would be.” Katy looked at Tamara. “Why do you think it took me so long to grab a backpack?”

“Wow. So, how did he take it?”

“He told me how he was here for me, and if I needed anything to let him know.” Katy shrugged. “Kind of what I expected of him.”

“So how long are you here?”

“I’m taking a sabbatical. I’ll finish out the semester remotely, then probably start back next spring.”

“I don’t know if I can keep us secret that long,” Tamara said. “Unless you can come up with a good excuse why you’ll need to go to the city with me every weekend.”

“I’m going to tell him,” Katy said. “Tonight. I’m coming out. I won’t tell him about you, unless that’s what you want.”

“I’m still afraid Jim will kill me,” Tamara said. “But I’ll be there for moral support.”

“Thanks, I’ll take you up on that.”

They pulled up to the farm house, and Tamara carried Katy’s backpack into the front room. “I’ll stop by after my shift.”

They embraced and shared a deep kiss. “I’ll be waiting.”

After her shift Tamara changed out of her uniform and was heading out to her truck when Jim stopped her. “If you don’t have any plans why don’t you come by the house? We’ll have some dinner and hang out for a while.”

“Sure.” She’d been wondering what excuse to give to show up, but he made it easier for her. “What time?”

“If you don’t have anything else to do could you head over now?” he asked. “Katy gets bored, and I’d hate for her to reorganize the cupboards or something.”

“No problem, Sheriff Mercer.”

“Call me – eh, never mind. I’ll be home in an hour or so.”

The entire drive, Jim’s failure to respond as she’d expected to the joke ate at her. Does he know? Oh god, is he going to kill me? Maybe he’ll just fire me, or arrest me for… something.

The first words Tamara said as she entered the house were “I’m dead.” She told Katy what had happened, how their usual joke had fallen flat. Unable to relax, Tamara and Katy commiserated, wondering how much trouble they were in. Tamara considered running away together, trying to piece the logistics together in her head.

Jim walked into the house and took one look at the two. “Why so glum?”

“Daddy, I,” Katy began, then faltered. She looked at Tamara and then back at Jim. “I’m afraid you’ll hate me, but I have to tell you the truth. I’m…,” she faltered.

Jim looked at her with mock concern. “You’re what? A murderer? A drug dealer? The person who’s been stealing parts from the salvage yard? If it ain’t one of those then I got no reason to hate you. Even if was one of those I don’t think I’d hate you. I’d be mighty disappointed, but never hate.”

“I’m gay.”

“I know. So what?” He smiled and scooped up his daughter in a warm embrace. “I’ve known since you were 12 and getting googly-eyed every time you saw the lead girl on that annoying show you watched. But I have a confession to make, and you both might be mad at me for it, at least for a little while.”

“What’s that?”

“I sent you home with Tamara, and invited her over, in hopes you two…,” he shrugged. “She’s got a fake boyfriend in the city. We all pretty much know she’s gay, but we play along. She worries that some of the other folks in town aren’t as understanding.” Jim sat in his armchair. “I just wish she’d settle down, rather than hang out at that weird club in the city.”

“Wait, you all know!? Even Carter?” Tamara was floored.

“Well,” Jim said, “Carter may not be the sharpest tool in the shed, but I’m sure Jones or someone’s filled him in by now.”

“But, the club…” Tamara felt her heart sink. “How did you know about that?”

“That Blaine fellow on the county board,” Jim said. “Told me he followed you there on three weekends. Thought he could use it as some sort of leverage.” Jim laughed. “When I threatened to arrest him for stalking he decided he didn’t know anything and wasn’t going to say anything.”

Katy looked at Tamara, and before she could respond said “Sorry, Tamara. Dad, I’m the girl she visits in the city.”

Jim looked at the two of them, his eyes wide. “You mean, I just tried to play matchmaker but I’m too late?” He let out a roaring belly laugh. “You two will be the death of me yet.”

“So, um, Sheriff,” Tamara asked, “does this change anything?”

“Between you and me? No. Between Katy and me? No. Between you two, it sure does. First, I expect to see a lot more of my future daughter-in-law outside of work,” he said. “Second, you’d best get to work on earning that promotion to detective. You want to have a good income before you two tie the knot.”

“Excuse me?” Tamara said. “How do you see that working in this town?”

“Easy. You go to the Episcopal Church and have a ceremony.” He snapped his fingers. “Done.”

“Dad, do you really think anyone in this town would be okay with that?” Katy’s distrust was clear on her face. “They’re mostly like mom. She kicked me out as soon as I was 18 and disowned me because I’m an evil, wicked sinner. With all your campaign talk of ‘small-town values’ I thought you’d treat me the same.” 

“Listen, I don’t know what ‘small-town values’ means in the big city, but I’ve made it clear what it means to me. At least in town-hall meetings and campaigns.” Jim sighed. “It means that drug dealers go to jail, addicts go to rehab, and if I find out who’s stealing parts from the wrecking yard they’re going to work it off. It means we’re all like family, and we take care of our own.”

Katy grabbed Tamara’s hand. “Do you really think we could walk down the street like this and not get called names, or beat up, or worse?”

“Do I think it won’t rile anyone up? No,” he said. “Do I think they’ll get over it in time? Sure. Just like they did over Tamara herself, once they got to know her. There’s one or two who won’t, but they don’t matter anyway. And what idiot would be stupid enough to assault a law enforcement officer? Especially one that can kick their ass?”

“The Simmons already call me some pretty horrible things.” Tamara sighed. “Of course the rebel flags and swastika tattoos make their feelings pretty obvious.”

“I wouldn’t worry over-much about them. Boys like that have a tendency to put themselves behind bars.” Jim pulled his cell phone out of his pocket. “If y’all don’t mind, I’m ordering pizza for dinner.”

“Sure, dad, pepperoni please.” Katy’s expression was mixed, somewhere between stunned and relieved, with a touch of awkwardness thrown in.

Jim looked at the two, still holding hands. “Now if y’all don’t cheer up and hug or something I’m gonna eat by myself.”

The two smiled and hugged, sharing a chaste kiss. “Don’t get carried away now,” Jim said. “And if I ever find out you hit my little girl, I’ll bury you, Pike.”

“Dad!” Katy pulled Tamara close. “She doesn’t hit me,” she said. Then in a low voice added “unless I ask her to.”

Jim’s ears and cheeks grew pink. “Oh, the club…, no, no no no no no! Too much information! I can’t know that about you! I’m going to go bleach may brain until the pizza gets here.”

Tamara laughed. “I guess you’re right, Jim. Nothing’s changed at all.”

Trunk Stories

Coulomb Barrier

prompt:  Write a story about another day in a heatwave….
available at Reedsy

The deuterium-deuterium fusion cycle as employed in standard spacecraft engines is made possible through the use of extreme heat, exciting the atoms to crash into each other energetically enough to overcome the natural repulsion of the weak nuclear force, and get within range of the attractive strong nuclear force. This is what is meant by overcoming the Coulomb Barrier. – Dr. Fatouma Tigana Fusion Basics for Power Mechanics

The announcer stood in front of a graphic of the sun over a landscape of identical grey blocks stretching into the distance. “It’s the 24th day of the heat wave, with temperatures here in the city expected to reach 52 degrees. That’s 325 degrees Kelvin for those playing at home.” The announcer’s voice was serious, making the attempt at informal banter jarring. “To win 200 credits, be one of the first three people to tell us, at Bamako:news:block374-local, what is 52 degrees in Fahrenheit?”

Jak did the calculation in her head while she switched the holo to its default display mode. She sent the answer “125.6” to the block holo channel from her comm. A moment later her comm chimed with the message that 200 credits had been deposited to her account. On a normal day she’d be asleep at this hour, since she worked nights, but she hadn’t slept well for the past 18 days. This was the second time she won 200 credits from their daily trivia question.

Inside the drab, grey walls of her flat the air was a perfect 20 degrees and 30 percent humidity. A holo image of a forested waterfall played on the wall opposite the door. Despite the comfort of the flat, the heat still felt oppressive to her.

She worked nights, but she worked outdoors. She maintained the automated machines that erected the 100 story, square kilometer blocks like the one she lived in now. Last night, though, the temperature stayed well above 30 and the hot, humid winds were torture. No amount of cool showers could seem to get her free of the feeling of being overheated, even here in her perfect environment.

Jak decided to call the weekend early. The construction company might get mad, but they weren’t the ones fixing melted insulation and heat-damaged batteries every night. She fired off a quick message from her comm and took another cool shower. Her bed sat disheveled and she contemplated trying to sleep again, but she knew it was futile at this point.

Dressing in her lightest clothes she left her 98th floor subsidy flat, taking the elevator all the way down to the ground floor. Floors 0 and 1 were where all the shops and services lived. They were also the busiest, especially in the middle of the morning. She wandered through the crowds, trying to decide if she needed to buy anything with her new 200 credits.

Last time, she’d bought a party dress, costing almost the entire amount. It wasn’t until the day after that she realized she’d probably never have occasion to wear it. She was wandering through the mall, looking for something interesting when a voice called out “Jaqueline! Jaqueline! Over here!”

Jak sighed. Only one person called her Jaqueline, her next-door neighbor, Sina. Sina was attractive, and nice enough, but annoying; frantically chipper and a chatterbox in the way that only five-year-olds haven’t outgrown. She didn’t know her well, despite the many meetings in the hallway outside their doors. “Hi, Sina. I see you took a job?”

“Yes! I still want to work on my art, but I thought maybe I could find a job that can make people smile!” Sina pointed to the case in front of her, a huge smile plastered on her face. “Ice cream makes people happy! Especially when it’s hot out! Not that you’d know it, since no one’s ever really outside except in a taxi or bus or train or plane or something. Want some ice cream?”

“No, thanks,” Jak said, then paused. “You know what, on second thought, sure.” She looked over the flavors and asked “What do you recommend?” No sooner had it left her lips than she regretted it.

“Oh! I really like the chocolate raspberry… or was it strawberry? Or the cherry with chocolate chunks in, or the green tea with chocolate chips…. Oh! You have to try the rhubarb lemon sorbet! It’s tangy… and sweet… only…”

“Only, no chocolate?”

“Yeah! How did you know?”

“I’ll go with that. Sounds light enough for now.” Jak scanned her ident to pay and tuned Sina out as she chirped non-stop while scooping ice cream.

“Have fun today! I’ll be home around 20:00, you can let me know what you think about it then!”

“Uh…” Jak had no idea what Sina was talking about. “Um, sure. You may have to remind me this evening, I worked all night and haven’t slept.”

“No problem! I’ll just pop by when I get home! Toodles!”

Jak sat on the side of the fountain in the middle of the mall, eating her tart icy treat and watching the crowds. What was Sina talking about? As much as she wanted to enjoy the cold sweetness she found she’d finished her ice cream while trying to recall whatever Sina had said. If she’d paid attention she would know, but now her mind was working overtime in effort to tease out anything coherent.

She lay back on the cool marble of the fountain edge, trying to figure out her best course of action. Option one: she could wait until 20:00 and find out then. Option two: she could march back over and admit that she wasn’t listening and find out what Sina wanted to know. As hard as she thought, she couldn’t come up with an option three.

She tried to imagine how she would approach it without hurting Sina’s feelings. As she thought of how she would apologize the cool of the marble spread through her body. Relief, at long last.

“Wake up, sweetie.” Sina’s voice was uncharacteristically soft. “You fell asleep on the fountain.”

“I… uh…,” Jak sat up, trying to clear the fog of sleep from her brain. “Oh. Sina, I’m sorry. I wasn’t paying attention earlier and then you said….”

“No, I’m sorry.” Sina seemed unhappy. It wasn’t a look her face was accustomed to. “That was a mean trick, I’m sorry.”

“What trick?”

“I knew you weren’t paying attention, so I thought it would be funny to act like I thought you were.” Sina sighed. “I know I’m difficult to be around. I talk too much when I’m nervous. My stomach gets all fluttery and then I just talk and talk and don’t let anyone get a word in edgewise. It’s kind of a bad… wait. I’m doing it again, aren’t I?”

“You are.” Jak shifted, her back in knots after sleeping on the hard slab. “What’s got you so nervous?”

“Well, I… kind of like you,” Sina said. “I mean, I don’t really know you, but you seem like the sort of person I would like, only I really want to get to know you.” Her speech was picking up pace. “If it’s not too much to ask, I mean, if you’re not doing anything, and you would be okay with it, but if you’re not I’ll understand, I just wondered if…” she fell silent.

“Yes?”

“I did it again.” Sina took a deep breath. “Jaqueline, would you like to go dancing with me?” It all came out as one word. Sina gulped, then continued on. “It doesn’t have to be tonight, or tomorrow, but maybe some time this week? When you have a night off? It doesn’t have to be anything serious, I just want to get to know you. Friends first, and that’s all if that’s all you want, but….”

Jak raised a hand to stop her. “I have a brand new dress I won’t get to wear otherwise, so, yes. We’ll go dancing tonight. On one condition.”

“Yes?”

“You have to stop calling me Jaqueline. My name is Jak, it’s not short for anything.”

“Sorry. I was just, I don’t know…,” Sina trailed off.

“Nervous?”

“Yeah.”

“Is it already 20:00?” Jak asked.

“No, I saw you lying over here, and when you didn’t move for a couple hours I took the rest of the day off.”

“In that case,” Jak asked, “why don’t we make a full night of it? Let’s grab some dinner, my treat. And then dancing is on you.”

“That sounds great!” Sina chirped. “We can go for your favorite, then that way I know what your favorite is! Unless it’s too expensive, then we can go for something else, but I still want to know what your favorite is. My favorite is cauliflower curry. And chocolate. And any kind of berry, but especially raspberry…”

“Sina,” Jak cut her off.

“I’m doing it again, huh?”

“That’s okay,” Jak said, “it’s cute.” It wasn’t what she expected to say, but she realized that Sina was no where near as annoying as she had thought earlier. Perhaps it was her lowered resistance due to lack of sleep, or maybe the heat had finally melted her brain. Either way, it was working. “Let’s go eat, then we can go home to get ready for tonight.”

“Okay. Hey,” Sina asked, “when the weather cools off, can we maybe go to the lake, go swimming?”

“That sounds good, but let’s get through tonight, first.” Jak stood and stretched. “Let’s grab a cold noodle salad.”

“Is that your favorite?”

“Only when I’ve been working in the heat.”

“Wait, you work outside!?” Sina’s eyes grew wide. “What kind of work do you do that you have work outside?”

Jak offered Sina her hand. “We can talk about it over dinner. After all, that’s what this is, right? Getting to know each other?”

“Yeah, you’re right.” Sina accepted Jak’s hand and stood. She continued to hold her hand after getting to her feet and raised her eyes to Jak’s. “Is… is this okay?”

“It’s fine.” Jak smiled and lightly squeezed Sina’s trembling hand. “If I didn’t want you to hold my hand I wouldn’t have offered.”

As they walked hand-in hand through the mall Sina was, for once, at a loss for words.

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  • December 12, 2020
  • December 19, 2020
  • sjan