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Whoa! What’s happening. I just met the man a few days ago, and he’s been nothing but trouble for me. Why would I give two sheets if Michelle sang with him? I sat back, transfixed on working that thought through my head. Our waiter comes over to clear our plates.
“Can I get you ladies anything else?” He asks routinely.
I look up at him with my head still in a fog. “Yes. Do you have ice cream?”
“Oh, I’d love some ice cream!” Tricia adds. “What flavors do you have?”
Our waiter rattles off all the flavors, and we each get a cup, one scoop. I choose rocky road with whipped cream on top, because I need the sugar-laden chocolate to help me process what just happened. All five cups come with a wedge of graham cracker that tastes like a sugar cone, and we devour all of it in no time like a bunch of teenaged girls overwhelmed in hormones and heartaches.
I glance at Blaze and Frank as they walk toward the exits. Obviously, they didn’t feel the need for a sugary-sweet dessert. I am going to have to have a long talk with Blaze. I don’t know what he thinks this exhibition was about, but he needs to understand— I am not interested.
Chapter Two?
Seeing activity across the way, I toss back the last of my morning coffee and march down the long set of three flights to get to the same level where Blaze’s entrance is. He only has six steps to his wooden deck. Why didn’t whoever built my house build it this close to the road like his. Half of it is built into the side of the mountain, which is very efficient for heating and cooling. But, NO, this one had to be built up high on the mountain with thirty-six lung ripping, heart pulverizing steps to get to my house’s front door.
Sucking air like it’s as thick as molasses in the winter, I approach the red Jeep Wrangler, which I assume is Frank’s, in Blaze’s short driveway. Why did they leave the vehicle’s doors open and the keys in the ignition. I look at Blaze’s door. It stands wide open, too. What’s going on?
“Thanks for everything.” Frank comes out of Blaze’s house.
Blaze is on his heels. “Not a problem, Frank. I’m just glad Millie is in a more amicable mood today.”
Frank tilts his head and lifts an eyebrow. “Me, too!”
Their eyes dart toward me as they both frown.
“What are you doing out so early?” Blaze states, sounding like a cop discovering a kid in a forbidden warehouse.
“We need to talk.” I tell him, ignoring Frank pass by me with a sack bulging with bottled water or cokes, maybe energy drinks (I can’t tell), Slim Jims, and what looks like lunch size sacks of chips. Snacks for the road?
“So, you’re going home?” I ask Frank.
“Yep. Millie called this morning.” He smiles a grateful, yet shameful grin.
“Good.” I reply. “See ya.” I add as I wave over my shoulder and walk closer to Blaze. “Look, I—”
“Hold on.” He holds up his hand as if to stop traffic. “Let me see Frank off, then we can talk.”
What? I turn as he walks past me and shakes Frank’s hand. Frank looks teary when he casts his eye toward me. “Say, you sure can belt out a tune.”
“Yeah, well, I love to sing.” I say dismissively. I really wish he’d just leave.
“If you ever want to do it professionally, I know a guy.” Frank says with a shrug.
“Do you?” I almost laugh. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
“You should… think about singing professionally… I mean it.”
“Okay, Frank. Have a safe trip home.” I dismiss him as kindly as I can muster considering how annoyed I am that he and Blaze were even at the steakhouse while my new girlfriends and I sang karaoke.
Frank eases into the bright colored jeep, shuts the door, and moves around like he’s fastening his seat belt and positioning the snacks so they are within reach. Blaze stands watching, and so I join him, like we are watching some relative leave, but I’m really waiting for Blaze to give me his full attention. Frank hangs the empty bag on his stick shift for a trash bag, I assume. At last, he pulls away.
Blaze waves like he’s an old friend. I suppose he is, to Blaze. I just glare at the red jeep as it grows smaller down Williams Street. Standing with my hands on my hips now, because I really don’t appreciate all the attention Blaze is giving to the freeloader who has been using my house as a doghouse when his wife is mad at him for the past two years.
“Can we talk now?” I can’t keep the impatience out of my tone.
“Sure, but come with me.” Blaze takes long strides and goes inside his house.
I didn’t want to go inside his house! I stand at his door, glaring at his backside, which is such a pleasant sight even in pajama pants, and wait for him to realize I am not coming in.
