Letters From The Ledge (31 page)
Sarah grabbed up her sandwich and started unwrapping it. "I’m starved. You wanna eat?"
"You go ahead. I’ll keep talking."
"I salute your persistence." She raised her soda can in his direction before taking a sip.
Brendan pulled at the grass some more. "I’ve missed you Sarah." He tossed some of the grass onto her sandwich.
She stopped eating and put the sandwich back down. "You currently have my full attention.”
He took another deep breath and searched her eyes. "I think I’m in love with you."
She blinked at him, unsure how to respond. "Brendan–I understand everything you’ve told me. Really–I get it. But I’m not sure I’m up for competing with a ghost. Ghosts don’t make mistakes, and the longer they live in your memory, the better they become. I’m
real
Brendan. And I’m never going to live up to her memory."
"I know that, and I’m probably saying this badly, but you have to understand–I didn’t know what to make of my feelings before. They were all twisted up with grief and anger and I couldn’t be sure if I really wanted you or if I just wanted-" he looked out toward the harbor "-a safe port in the storm. That’s why I pushed you away. I didn’t want to make you suffer through my indecision."
She kept staring at her knees.
"Please don’t shut me out. I need to know you’re hearing me when I say this."
It took her a minute, but finally she looked him in the eye.
"All the time I’ve been gone it’s been your face I’ve seen and your touch I’ve missed–not Tess’s. Before I left for Europe I went to the cemetery to say goodbye to her, and it’s like I left my feelings for her buried there too. It’s you I’ve thought of–you I’ve missed."
A hint of a smile touched the corners of Sarah's mouth.
"And that apple smell! God I’ve missed that apple smell!"
Her face was perplexed. "What apple smell?"
"Your perfume or shampoo or whatever it is you wear that smells like fresh apples all the time. I swear I smell it every time I get near you!" He dropped into the grass and took a deep breath in through his nose. "It’s even better than this gorgeous mountain and sea air!"
She blinked at him some more. "Brendan?"
"Yeah."
"I don’t wear apple perfume."
"Well, whatever it is you girls wear–lotion, hair gel, I don’t know."
"I don’t have anything at all that fits that description."
He pushed up onto his elbows. "You have to! The only time I’ve ever smelled it is when I’m around you."
"Sorry. I’ve never bought apple-scented anything. I’m a melon girl, myself. But I’ll tell you what–that’s almost as weird as the angelic bouncers. Do you smell it now?"
"No, but I did when I kissed you back at the restaurant, and I did at graduation, and I did the first time I kissed you."
She pulled a handful of hair in front of her nose and sniffed, then shook her head. "No can do. No apples anywhere."
His face was near panic-stricken. "Permission to smell you?"
She saluted him and made a serious face. "Carry on soldier."
She dropped down to elbow level and he leaned over, burying his face in her hair and breathing deeply. He smelled the shoulder of her shirt, then her arm. Finally he swooped around to the front of her neck, breathing in all the while.
She looked down her chin at him, gently shaking her head. "If that was a trick to get you close to me it has got to be the slickest set of lines ever delivered."
He looked up at her. "That was no line. I’m telling you I know what I smelled."
"Well, maybe if you kissed me again it’d come back to you."
Brendan smiled. "Good idea." He leaned in and kissed her softly. The apple smell flooded his senses but he decided to just keep it his little secret. There was no doubt in his mind.
It had to be her.
THE END
For more information please visit:
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Coming Soon from Hallway 11!
truly.
By: Lynda Meyers
My name is Truly. Why yes, it is my real name, thanks for asking. Truly. My mother’s name was Trudy and my full name is Trulane, but somehow it got shortened to Truly and that’s what stuck. It was a cutesy, Bobsy-twin existence for a while there. People would come up to meet us and say things like “Trudy and Truly – how adorable is that!” Some people are a little too easily amused.
I met Finn the night the Yankees swept the series. He dumped a Coke down the front of my shirt and I punched him in the nose. Not the most romantic way for two strangers to strike up a conversation, but he tried to dry me off with a napkin, and when his hand touched the front of my shirt I went ballistic. It was reflex, I swear. Came out of nowhere. I’ve never punched anyone before–not even in the third grade when Cindy Coughlin tripped me on purpose right in front of Steve Kaminski. I ended up with a face full of dirt and she laughed all the way to the jungle gym.
Anyway, back to Yankee Stadium. My friend Kate and I were threading our way through the throng trying to get out to the parking lot when suddenly I was wearing an ice-cold soda along with my eighty-dollar jeans. I stopped. Some guy was yelling in my right ear to keep moving and another voice in my left ear was apologizing profusely. I turned my head to the right and said to the a-hole with the attitude that I just got dumped on when I felt a hand on my breast. Bam. Just like that. My fist came up and socked him right in the face.
By this time a small crowd had gathered around us. What can I say? People in New York like a good fight. So I start yelling at this guy. I mean, what the heck was he thinking, touching me like that? He had one hand covering his nose and his other hand up to block my next hit all the while still apologizing. His friend was laughing hysterically but Kate was right there with me ripping this guy a new exit route.
The next second a rent-a-cop showed up, asking what the problem was, so I told him. “This a-hole grabbed my breast, that's what the problem is!”
The guy was still halfway bent over, massaging his nose, insistent. “I did not! Someone ran into me and my drink went flying. I was merely trying to help. I was just trying to clean off your shirt. I did
not
mean to touch you inappropriately. Please. Don’t hit me again.” I hadn’t noticed his accent at first, but I couldn’t really place it either. Maybe Welsh? Irish? Somewhere on the other island, anyway.
So the cop says to me “You punched him?” and I say “Yeah. I did.” For all I knew he was going to take me down to the station and book me for assault, but at the moment I didn't really care. To my surprise, the cop laughed and nodded his approval. “Good for you.” He shook his head in mock disgust and turned to the guy. “Schmuck! You shoulda known better” and just like that he walked away and left us all standing there.
That’s when Kate started laughing. I looked at her. She looked at my shirt. I looked at the guy still holding his nose. And pretty soon we were all laughing and the crowd had dispersed, leaving us in an awkward silence in the middle of chaos.
Still blinking, he stuck out his hand toward me. “I’m Finn, and I’m extremely sorry I’ve ruined your shirt. Please, let me buy you a new one.”
“After I’ve punched you in the face, you want to buy me a new shirt?”
“It’s the least I could do. Really. I’m dreadfully sorry.”
“No, it’s ok. Truly.” I stuck out my hand.
“If you’re sure.” He smiled weakly. “I don’t think I caught your name.”
We were still shaking hands. “Truly.”
“Oh I see. You’d rather not give your name.” He leaned slightly forward. “I completely understand. It’s not a problem.”
“Her name is Truly.” Kate piped in. “It’s short for Trulane.” My elbow hit her ribs. “She hates it when people call her that though, so if you don’t want to get punched again, I’d stick with Truly.”
I glared at Kate. “That is a bold-faced lie!” I directed my half-apology to Finn. “I don’t normally punch people either. I’m really sorry. Is your nose alright?”
He wrinkled it a few times “No harm done. But I must say, you’ve got quite the right hook for a girl. I’ve gotten less of a spin by some of the blokes I went to school with.”
“Yeah, well. I guess it was reflex. Let’s just call it good. We have to get going.”
His mouth said “yes, of course” but in his eyes, something pulled me back. Some niggling little worm of a feeling that if I walked away right now, I’d somehow regret it later. I took another look at his shaggy head of jet-black hair and his deep green eyes and there it was again. That feeling. And it was like the air shifted somehow and we were in a different atmosphere altogether.
“Unless you’d at least let me buy you a cup of coffee.” I stood there blinking while he threw out other options like “Or tea. Or …cocoa.” He smiled and ducked his head, embarrassed. “I obviously have no idea what you like to drink.”
“Well, I think I’ve had plenty of Coke, so something warm might be nice.” I looked over at Kate and she was staring at me with that ‘what the hell are you doing?’ look because, well, I
never
do things like that. I’d just as soon tell someone where to go as have a drink with them, but I swear–as I stood there weighing my options I couldn't think of one good reason I shouldn’t grab some coffee with this guy.
It was one of the weirdest nights of my life. Ok, slight correction. It was the first night in a series of strange, sort of unexplainable things that have happened to me
and
my personality since I met Finn. I keep wondering if maybe that’s how it’s supposed to happen. Maybe you meet the person you’re supposed to be with and suddenly you start to change. Unfortunately for me, I don’t particularly like change. But I do like Finn. I actually think I like him a lot.
The four of us went out, but first we had to swing by my apartment so I could change my shirt. The guys waited in the cab but the minute we hit the steps Kate was grilling me.
“You know I’m always up for a challenge but you? I’ve known you three years and you’ve never done anything even remotely close to this! What’s going on with you?”
“I really couldn’t tell you.” The hard New York edge was off of my voice and I was suddenly pensive and almost shy. “There was something in his eyes.” I shrugged. “Something in my heart said yes.”
“Yes he’s a stalker? Yes you want to marry him? What does
yes
mean?”
“Yes, we should have coffee. Yes, I should forgive him. I don’t know Kate, ok? Let’s just see where this goes.”
She leaned against the door in the hallway as I fumbled with my keys, repeating my words. “Let’s just see where this goes?” Just inside the door she turned me to face the small mirror on the wall. “See this face? This girl?”
I looked. Really looked. “Yes. I see her.”
“This is not a girl who says things like “Let’s just see where this goes.” This is a girl who dots i’s and crosses t’s. A girl who makes lists and weighs pros and cons. She turned me back toward the door. “A girl with six different kinds of locks on her apartment to ward off stalkers and all but the sickest of thieves with death wishes. Who
are
you?!” She smiled at me then, and I knew she was just teasing. “Hey, I’m just saying is all.”
I searched the left side of my closet, way back to nineteen ninety-five and found the perfect shirt. A pale pink, peasant number with some tiny polka dots in the piping.
“Pink?” Kate says to me. “In the whole time I’ve known you I have never
once
seen you in pink.”
“I know.” I winked at her. “Just trying to keep you on your toes.”
“Truly you are an enigma.”
“Thank you.” I nodded and held the door open. “Shall we?”
Down in the cab Finn had been lounging with his arm across the back bench but sat up straight and scooted right over when he realized we were at the window. His friend David jumped out and let the two of us in before squeezing in next to Kate. Four in the back of a cab is cozy at best. Kate and David were talking and laughing in no time. I, on the other hand, had no clue what I was doing there, so I figured we should start with the basics. I asked Finn what he did for a living.
“Well, when I’m not accidentally fondling perfect strangers, I run a company that develops new technology for film making. You know, CGI and what not. Dabble in some other ideas.”
Dabble? Who says dabble anymore?
“Oh. Really?”
“Did you think maybe I was a contract killer or a serial rapist then?”
“You have a very dry sense of humor.”
“So I’ve been told. I don’t mean to put you off though. Do I somehow not look the part of a computer geek?”
He was ridiculously handsome, and when he smiled, only one side of his mouth hooked up, kind of like a lazy eye but farther south. “Maybe it’s the accent. I can’t really place it. English or Irish?”
“Both actually.” He grinned at me and laid it on extra thick, changing voices mid stream and then melding them together at the end. “Me mum is a brit and me da is an Irishman. I’m afraid I favor them both at times.”
“It’s a bit confusing but…charming nonetheless.” I smiled at him and could have sworn some sort of light twinkled in his eyes.
“And you? What is it you do?”
“Well, when I’m not being inappropriately fondled by half-breed Irishmen, I’m a writer.”
“Does that mean my less than gentlemanly conduct will be ensconced in the pages of a brilliant novel some day?”
“I’m not sure yet. Let’s see where this goes.”
Kate eyed me again. She was right of course. I kept saying that. Why on earth did I keep saying that? I’m not a fly by the seat of your pants girl–what was I even doing?
A sigh escaped my lips and Finn looked over at me. “Bored already?”
“No, just arguing with myself.”
His mouth curved up part way. “I hope you’re winning.”
“Always.” I smiled. “So, can I ask you something?”
“Shoot.”
“Finn. Doesn’t that mean ‘fair headed’? Were your parents hoping for a blond?”
His eyebrows went up. “I had dark hair when I was born, but so did my brother. His fell out and came in a nice strawberry blond color. My parents assumed the same would happen to me, but by the time they realized their mistake I’d already been christened, so there was nothing to be done. The dark curls came in and, much to their disdain, never left.”
“Disdain, really? I hardly think hair color is enough to cause a ruckus.”
“Well, my father’s family is as blond and as red as a beautiful Irish sunset, so he got a little suspicious.”
It was my turn for surprise. “Scandalous!”
“Yeah well, they found an aunt on my mother’s side with hair exactly like mine so all was well again.”
His laugh was warm and real. I found myself noting its musical quality before kicking my own backside. Maybe accepting his offer wasn’t such a great idea after all. This guy was messing with my system.
I don’t even know why I’m telling this story, except that I seem to be going through a bit of an identity crisis lately. Could be the winter. I get a little stir crazy when I’m surrounded by slush for months on end. Finn says it doesn’t matter what season it is. He just looks out the window, checks the weather, and dresses appropriately. “Weather’s just another thing that happens to your day. Hot, cold, rain, snow, wind…it just is.” I don’t happen to see it that way. The weather also messes with my system. You can probably see where I’m going with this.