Burning for You (Blackwater) (5 page)

I open my eyes, expecting to see a
tree on the ground, but it’s a man standing above me.  Mike Ness continues to
scream away into one of my ears, the other ear bud knocked out and resting
against my chest, making the music sound tinny and small.  I yank the remaining
ear bud out and rake my eyes over the guy who’s looking down at me, wondering
when Blackwater turned into a cabbage patch full of hot young men.

“I’m sorry,” he says, his lips
twitching.  “Are you alright?”

I nod and stand up, brushing my ass
off which is full of twigs and dead leaves.  From my new angle, I can get a
better look at him.  With a twist of his features, he could be either ugly or
beautiful.  He has long, very black hair that is tied up in back, but has come
loose in front and hits just at his pointed chin.  He isn’t much taller than I
am, perhaps only six feet, and I’m looking directly into his eyes which alarm me
the most.  If I’d only glanced, I’d say they were brown, but they are so light
they almost appear to be yellow, like a wolf or something inhuman.  He looks
down his very long nose at me, tightening his lips into a smile. 

“I’m so sorry,” he says.  “I was
trying to avoid you on the path, but everywhere I tried to step, you stepped
that way too.”

“Sorry,” I mutter, embarrassed.  “I
was having a moment.”

“I could see that,” he says.  “I’m
sorry, I’m Gabriel Locke,” he continues, extending his hand.  I offer him my
slightly muddy one.  “Call me Gabe.”

“Leah Holt,” I say back.  Gabe’s
eyes narrow slightly, but he continues to smile.  There is something odd about
his voice that I can’t place.  It’s not unpleasant, but he has an unusual way
of speaking that I’ve never really encountered before.  Maybe he’s not
originally from Michigan.

“Nice to meet you, Leah,” he tells
me.  “I rarely see runners in these woods back here.  That’s why I use them.”

“They’re fairly accessible to my
house,” I tell him. 

“You’re Ursula’s daughter?” Gabe
asks.  “I’ve never met you before.”

“I haven’t lived in Blackwater in
over ten years,” I say.  “I just moved back yesterday.  Literally.”

Gabe nods.  “That explains it.  I
know everyone in Blackwater.”

“Apparently not everyone,” I say. 
His words give me a slightly weird feeling, but he laughs at my comment. 
“Well, it was nice meeting you-“

“Wait,” Gabe says.  “I’m sorry if
we got off to a rough start, but I must have bumped into you for a reason.”  What
kind of reason would that be?  My thoughts drift to my earlier conversation
with Isabel about catalysts, but I dismiss it as soon as it enters my mind. 
Gabe is attractive, but at least I can breathe.  Gabe clears his throat.  “Are
you free for dinner tonight?”

“Wait, what?” I say.  “Um, I mean,
sure, yeah, I guess so.”  A less than gracious acceptance, but so far
everything about Gabe has caught me off guard.

“Great,” Gabe says.  “I look forward
to it.  Can I pick you up at your house at seven?”

“Six is better,” I say.  “I need to
find a job in the morning.”

“Six it is,” Gabe says, grinning. 
He is really handsome when he smiles, and I wonder if I should tell him I’m
still married, but hell, I decide to take things slowly and live a little. 
Maybe it’s time for some fun.  Gabe gives my shoulder a small squeeze.  “See
you then,” he says, and takes off running past me.

My heart is pounding by the time I
reach the house again.  I ran three miles and it’s been a while since I’ve run
through the woods and not on nicely paved, flat sidewalks and roads.  The hills
posed a challenge, and my entire body is going to feel it tomorrow.

My mother is home, but I don’t see
her when I get back.  Her car is in the garage, which is the way I come back in
since I don’t have a key.  Isabel gave me the entrance code before she left.  I
go straight to the fridge and get a glass of water for myself and chug the
whole thing down while standing in the middle of the kitchen. 

“Oh, there you are,” I hear my
mother’s voice say behind me, making me choke on my glass of water.  “Where did
you go?”

“For a run,” I tell her, still
coughing.  “It was nice to run through the woods again.”  She nods, not saying
anything.  I’ve always been a runner since high school, when I was on the track
team.  I’ve never been interested in any other team sports and enjoy the
solitude and the ability to be inside of my own head while running.  Heidi runs
too, but her reasons are more like a race to burn off a meal consisting of four
frozen grapes and a slice of bread.  “How was your lunch with Renee?”

My mother smiles at me.  “Renee is
doing well.  She’s excited to be a grandmother soon.”  Her own ice blue eyes
narrow in my direction.  “It must be nice to be preparing for grandchildren.”

“Eleanor is pregnant?” I blurt out,
choking on my water again.  “Is she married?”

Another smile and a nod.  “She’s
married to Andrew Laurent.  You remember Andrew, don’t you?”

I freeze.  How could I forget
Drew?  The night before I left Blackwater I gave myself to him by climbing over
his lap in the front seat of Betsey and taking him by surprise.  Drew and I had
dated since I was fifteen and he was seventeen.  I left Blackwater still
technically his girlfriend, but didn’t really ever say goodbye, and now he’s
married to my former best friend.  How cliché, I think.

“Eleanor is due in two weeks,” my
mother continues, keeping an eye on me, while I try not to show any emotion. 
“She’s as big as a house, expecting a little boy.  She and Andrew have been
married for almost six years now.  They’ve been close as two coats of paint
since you-”

“Since I left?” I say, unable to
let her keep going on.  “It’s okay Mother, I understand.  You take extra pains
to make sure I feel as unwelcome here as I possibly can.”

“Leah, I never tried to – “ I cut
her off by walking out of the room.  I need to shower and get ready for my
impromptu date.  “Leah!” I hear my mother shout, but I keep walking away from
her.

*

I have no idea whether Gabe will
take me someplace nice or casual, so it takes me almost an hour to get ready. 
I didn’t take most of my wardrobe with me but I manage to piece together a
beige v-neck cashmere sweater and find a matching wool skirt in my closet which
still fits me.  I brought a pair of sage green tights and a pair of brown
leather knee-high boots with two inch heels, both of which complement my
makeshift date outfit.  I pull my hair away from my face and wind it into a
figure eight knot in back and put fresh eye makeup on and a touch of pale apricot
lipstick.  I love fall clothes more than any other season and I’m pleased with
my own reflection by the time my transformation is complete.  I’m pretty
nervous.  I haven’t been on a date since I dated Michael and that was almost
five years ago.  I’m not sure what to expect at all, though I’m pretty sure we
won’t be coming back to my mother’s house if things get hot and heavy. 

I haven’t told my mother about
Gabe, so when the doorbell rings, I breeze past her and her astonished
expression and open the door.  Gabe is standing there, dressed in dark jeans, a
crisp white button down shirt and a black blazer.  His chin length hair is
slicked back from his long face, accentuating his sharp features.  His eyes
that looked almost yellow this afternoon, look darker and more of a calm hazel
this evening.  “Leah, who is it?” my mother says, coming up behind me.  When
she sees Gabe, she gasps and steps back.  I turn and look at her, watching her
back up slowly, her eyes wide and focused on Gabe.

“Hello, Mrs. Holt,” Gabe says. 
“Hello Leah.  Are you ready to go?”

“Yes,” I say, turning back toward
him, and then looking again at my mother.  She looks almost paralyzed with
fear.  “Mother, are you alright?” I ask her. 

Her eyes never leave Gabe, but she
shakes her head and inhales deeply.  “Leah, I...don’t stay out too late,” she
finally says.  She turns and walks out of the hallway, up the stairs.  What was
that about?  I roll my eyes, thinking about how her comment almost seems as
though I’m a teenager under her wing once again.  I shrug and put on a brown
leather short riding jacket and grab my purple purse, which doesn’t match, but
I’m too lazy to take everything out of it and attempt to mash it into a smaller
purse.

“Shall we go?” Gabe asks me,
bending his arm, indicating I should put mine through.  I comply with a smile,
finding the gesture old fashioned but slightly charming.  He walks me down the
path toward his car, which is a white BMW sedan.  He opens the passenger door
for me and I step in, putting my purse down on the floor.  Once I’m seated and
buckled, I look at the house and see my mother looking at us from the second
story hallway window.  I can’t read the expression on her face, but she doesn’t
look pleased.  Likely she wants me to go back to Michael, since she can’t seem
to stress that enough.  If I have any ties to Blackwater, like Gabe, she’ll be
stuck with me, and she can’t have that.  We mutually annoy each other.

“Where are we headed?” I ask Gabe. 
My stomach rumbles, telling me that whatever he has planned, it had better
involve food.

“I thought we could go to dinner at
Chez George on Ruby,” he says.  While Emerald and Center is technically the
center of Blackwater, Ruby Street is where all of the good restaurants and
shops are located.  I’ve never been to Chez George, but I remember my parents
would go there for anniversaries and special occasions.  It’s a romantic French
restaurant that I would never have splurged for in my teen years on a date with
Drew Laurent or with friends, but hearing Gabe say he’s taking me there makes
me feel all grown up.  Gabe looks at me.  “Or would you rather go someplace
else?”

“Chez George sounds great,” I tell
him.  “I’ve never been.”

Gabe nods.  “The food is
exquisite.  The wine is even better.  Unless, of course, you don’t drink?”

I laugh.  “Of course I drink.  I
grew up in Blackwater.  You practically get a bottle of wine with your first
birthday cake.”  He laughs.  Nearly everyone in Blackwater is of French descent
through their mother’s or father’s or both sides of the family in some way or
another.  In my case, both sides are French, though Holt is not a traditional
French last name.  My dad once said something about changing it a few
generations back due to a debt that a relative of ours owed someone with the
same last name.  I forget the entire story, but I always liked having a
different last name than everyone else in town.  For one thing, it’s
pronounceable outside of Blackwater.  People in Chicago tend to add “s” to
words where it should be silent, like “Illinois” or “Des Plaines” .  Even the
grocery store called “Jewel” tends to be referred to as “da Jewels” by some
people.  At least I never had the trouble I would have had with a last name
like “Dubois” when I was living there.  I like my last name so much I kept it
when I got married, despite Michael’s disapproval.

Gabe pulls up to a parking space
right in front of Chez George, which appears to be waiting for him, considering
the restaurant is packed with patrons already.  The outside of Chez George
looks small, framed with weathered wood and the words “Chez George” in gold
over the giant steamed up window, but inside, it goes on forever, packed full
of tables with couples and groups.  A live violinist plays in the middle of the
crowded restaurant, a space cleared for him.  The violinist is old and sad
looking, much like the music he’s filling the crowded room with.  A low hum of
chatter fills the room, though it’s not uncomfortably loud.

“Hello Melanie,” Gabe says, walking
directly up to the hostess and kissing her on both cheeks.  I can immediately
tell she finds Gabe attractive from the way she blushes at his touch.  It’s understandable,
and if I didn’t come equipped with so much of my own baggage on this date, I
would have ruffled a little bit over the way she touches his arm to greet him
and leads him to a table without even acknowledging me.  She’s a skinny, sultry
blonde with a very low cut black sleeveless blouse and flowy black pants that
flutter when we follow her. 

“Shall I have Louis bring a bottle
of the Merlot?” Melanie asks when we are seated.  Gabe nods and she smiles at
him and waltzes away, her lack of hips attempting to sway. 

“Do you come here often?” I ask him
jokingly.  Gabe grins and nods.

“I have a penchant for Merlot. 
It’s dark and deep.  I’d like to think that’s how people would describe me.” 
He looks at me with glowing sloe eyes, which look yellow in the dark lighting
again.  I’m slightly flustered at his comment and the way he seems to be
staring right through me, as though he can hear my thoughts.  He looks
dangerous. 

“I…like Merlot,” I say.  I wonder
what I’m doing here with him.  Yesterday morning I left my husband.  Today I’m
on a date with someone that I don’t even know.  Something about the shape of his
eyes is achingly familiar, though I can’t place why. 

“Good,” Gabe says in that strange
voice of his.  It’s not an accent so much as the way he pronounces his words. 
“I hope you like escargot and beef Wellington.  I always get them from here. 
No one makes beef Wellington like George.”

“Oh, you know the owner?” I ask
him. 

“I already told you, I know
everyone in Blackwater,” he tells me.  My heart begins to pound and I can’t
really understand why.  A waiter comes to the table with the bottle of Merlot
and two glasses.  He shows Gabe the bottle, and Gabe nods.  The waiter pours a
small amount into Gabe’s glass and lets Gabe taste it.  Gabe nods and the
waiter then pours me a full glass and then finishes pouring Gabe’s glass.  This
is all done wordlessly.  I notice we don’t even have menus.

“Are we going to order?” I ask.

“No,” Gabe says.  “We aren’t.  They
know what I want.  I never bother wasting my time in places or with people who
don’t know what I want.”  I lower my eyebrows at this declaration, wondering
what he could possibly mean.  “Instead,” he continues, “I’ll focus on getting
to know you.”  He sips his glass of wine and sets it down, showing me with his
eyes and his body that he’s completely focused on me.  His eye contact with me
never seems to break.  “What brings you back to Blackwater?”