Chapter 4
Preparing for a vacation can be a daunting experience, especially for someone like me who rarely strays outside my normal, everyday routine. When Silvy first told me I was headed to Hawaii, I felt all the romanticism usually associated with frolicking in a tropical paradise. Then, I started thinking about it, and all the muscles in my body tensed. This trip included flying over an ocean for four and a half hours then landing a huge silver bird on a tiny, green strip of land surrounded by water on all sides.
I, of course, did not and would never tell Silvy that Hawaii would probably be one of my last choices for a dream vacation. Canada or Mexico would suit me just fine. I’d be over land the entire way with no large bodies of water to cross. I guess Hawaii was as good a place as any to challenge my fears.
My plan was to have a few adult beverages at the airport bar then hold on tight to Annie when we flew, and maybe even take a Valium if I could rustle up a couple. I was excited to see the island, though. All the pictures made it look so lush and green.
I had a hundred other things to worry about that would, hopefully, keep me from dwelling on my phobia. I had to get an entire week’s baking put away in the freezer, make sure supplies were stocked, and train Candy to do the opening routine. I also had to get with Rich to be sure he knew to watch out for Silvy and the café, even if he’d withdrawn into that secret little place he goes whenever he’s on a mission. That also reminded me I needed to be sure Paulo’s box was packed every day. I added this to the growing list I’d leave with Candy.
The jingle of the tiny angel bell hanging on the front door let me know a customer had entered the café at a usually slow hour. All day I feared Jonathan Parker would come back. I prayed it wasn’t him. Silvy had run off with Annie, cooking up some vacation surprise, and Candy wasn’t due for another hour, so I’d have to wait on this customer, Jonathan Parker or not. I took a deep breath and headed toward the front.
“Hello,” I heard the voice of a decidedly older man call out. “Are you open?”
Relief came over me as I swung through the kitchen door. I placed the list on the counter and greeted my only customer. He was a handsome elderly man, maybe six feet tall, with straight shoulders and thick salt and pepper hair. His suit was dated but impeccably presented with a charcoal gray kerchief and matching tie.
“Good afternoon, Miss—?” He reached his oversize hand across the counter to shake mine.
“Please, call me Becka.”
“Becka. What a beautiful name. It’s very nice to meet you, Becka. My name is Nathan Parker.” His wide, sweet face stretched into the most adorable grin as his blue eyes sparkled.
Parker? Oh, good grief, not another Parker. At least I can look at this one without falling over. That’s a plus.
“Mr. Parker.” I shook tentatively, and then I removed my hand and placed it safely into my apron pocket. “Good to meet you too.”
“My son Jonathan came in here yesterday. Are you—?”
I cut him short before he finished the question. “Yes, that was me.”
“Oh dear, are you feeling better today? Jonathan was quite concerned about you.”
So, Jonathan lives at home with his father? Interesting set-up—must not be a wife in the picture.
He sat at the counter, much to my dismay, settling in for a nice long chat. I wasn’t at all interested in recounting my most embarrassing moment to yet another stranger, so I started jabbering.
“I’m feeling much better, yes, thank you. Can I offer you something to drink—coffee, smoothie, juice, or maybe something to eat? We have the best selection of muffins in town—chocolate, bran, blueberry?” I could have rattled on for hours to avoid the subject of me.
“Oh, no thank you.” He cut in without an inkling of rudeness. “I just wanted to come introduce myself. I was next door looking around.”
“When are you moving in?” The question came quicker than I’d planned. In my heart, I was stuck somewhere between really wanting a bookstore to move in, yet still reserved and anxious because of my bizarre reaction to the junior Mr. Parker.
“We’re hoping to be open in the next month or so. My son really runs the business now so it’ll be up to him. I handed things over about five years ago. We’re moving out here from the downtown area. So sad to say, things have really gone downhill there.” He shook his head. “I’ve become the silent partner who fills in whenever he needs the help.” Now, he was rattling but in an informative, nice sort of way.
“I’m sorry you aren’t gonna be around more often,” I said, starting to really like the presence of Nathan Parker.
“Don’t you worry, I’ll be hanging around some, keeping Jonny company. I love the books. I think he likes it when I come in and bother him.” The look of a proud father came over him—a look my father used to get when he talked about Rich or me to one of his friends.
“Silvy does the same thing around here. She’s supposed to be retired, but honestly I don’t know what I’d do without her help.”
“Silvy?”
“Yes, my mother.”
“May I ask why you call your mother, Silvy?” He cocked his head slightly.
I smiled at the curious look on his face. “We’ve always called her Silvy. Our grandmother always went by momma. I guess that’s probably why. Either way, I couldn’t run the Health Nut without her help.”
“Oh really. You should tell her that sometimes,” Silvy’s voice startled me from behind. She and Annie must’ve parked in the alley and come in through the back door. “That’s certainly not the kind of sentiment you had for your old mom this morning.” She grinned, knowing full well that she deserved my wrath this morning. She kissed my cheek on her way to greet the senior Mr. Parker.
“Silvy Clemmons, Becka’s mother. So very nice to meet you.” She took his hand in hers and held it for a long moment as though she gauged his integrity by the grip.
“Delighted to meet you as well, Silvy. I’m Nathan Parker, Jonathan’s father. I believe you met my son yesterday.”
“Ah, yes, Jonathan. Your son is quite the gentleman.”
I wanted to escape before my mother had a chance to create a demigod of one Jonathan Parker.
“Did I hear there’s another Parker out here?” Annie stood on tiptoe, peering out from behind the display case and trying desperately to get a look at Jonathan’s father.
“That would be Annie Stone, nosey best friend,” I added the last to quiet her down.
Nathan offered a hello to Annie before she had a chance to ask the question I knew she had brewing in her curious little mind.
“Where’s your handsome son this afternoon, Mr. Parker? Afraid to come back in? Could hardly blame him.”
“Please excuse me, Mr. Parker.”
“Becka, please, call me Nathan,” he said, trying to give Annie a few seconds to escape. “Mr. Parker makes me feel so old.”
“Nathan, then. Please excuse me while I take care of something in the back. Silvy will bring you something if you change your mind.” I rounded the corner and added, “Hope to see you again soon.”
I rushed past Silvy, who grinned her be-charitable grin. I plunged through the swinging door like I dove into a pool, searching frantically for my big-mouthed friend before she had a chance to say anything more embarrassing than she already had.
“Annabelle,” I whispered through my clenched teeth. “We’re too old to be acting like that in front of a perfect stranger, now aren’t we?” I bent down to look under the only two hiding places in which she could possibly fit. The cooling cabinet that held the flours and fruit stood empty, but the undeniable rustle of size six Keds moving behind the coat-rack next to the door gave her away.
“We already met the perfect stranger yesterday, didn’t we, Becka? I just wanted to ask if Jonathan would EVER come back.” She giggled as she hit the back door running, missing my reach by less than an inch.
“You are dead, you little shit!” I chased her past Silvy’s old Land Cruiser and down the alley. Annie disappeared around the back corner of the bookstore at a full run. The moment I made the turn I realized I’d made a mistake. Before I could stop myself, I ran full force into a wall of man. He didn’t even budge when I hit him, which impressed me, though I still wanted to die.
First of all, I asked myself, why am I, a mature adult female, running after my sassy girlfriend, and second, how could I, a somewhat athletic woman, allow myself to run right into someone without being able to stop? Especially this someone.
Annie made googly eyes from behind Jonathan’s back, waving as she made her exit from the scene. I screamed inside for her not to abandon me, but she did, and for this she’d pay. Hawaii could prove to be her end.
“Oh, God,” I yelped. “I’m so sorry. I’ve gotten flour all over your shirt.” I backed up and dusted the flour from his freshly laundered button-down, feeling the hardness of his chest beneath the fabric.
“Are you okay?” When he tilted my chin up, to be sure I hadn’t reinjured my lip, I was trapped again by the intensity of his stare.
“I see you’ve recovered nicely.” His slow, baritone voice seemed to come from somewhere above him rather than the sensuous mouth just below his slightly crooked nose. The touch of his fingers felt oddly familiar resting on my skin. I missed the heat when his hand dropped away.
“I’m fine. We were just—well, Annie can be . . .” I tried to gather a coherent thought that had nothing to do with the knocking of my knees or the clenching of my stomach.
“I gathered yesterday that your friend Annie can be a handful. I’m sure she deserves whatever she’s got coming to her.” He leaned back against the brick building, slouching to eye level.
“She usually does.” The conversation was stilted, but I didn’t want it to end. I stood in an alley with a perfect stranger, feeling an undeniable need to understand why he affected me like butter in a microwave, but I feared the knowledge almost as much.
“Your name is Becka, right?”
“Becka Clemmons,” I answered. “And you must be the gallant knight, Jonathan Parker. My mother and Annie just can’t stop talking about what a gentleman you were when I fainted yesterday. Thank you for that.”
“I did what any decent guy would do when a beautiful woman falls at his feet.”
“I don’t know about that,” I replied, embarrassed again.
“How’s your lip?” Without thinking it out of line, he ran his thumb gently over the swell of my lip, sending healing heat into the wound. The act itself was so intimate I felt a blush come to my face, leaving me with no will to move away. Instead, I trailed the stroke of his finger with my curious tongue, trying to somehow taste him. I must be out of my mind.
“My lip is fine, thank you. It’s my pride that was really wounded.” I said in a quivering whisper to this stranger, a man I’d known for less than fifteen waking moments.
His eyes followed my tongue with interest as I explored the swollen lip, then the deep blue depths of his gaze sucked me in with unwavering determination, almost as though he was trying to communicate with me telepathically.
“Becka?” he murmured so quietly I strained to hear. “Why did you faint when you saw me yesterday?”
Caught off guard by the directness of his question, I started to back slowly toward the safety of the café. Alarmed now, I started to fidget. “I really don’t know.”
“No, please wait.” He followed a few steps behind.
Unable to face him any longer, I turned away. I’m not sure why this unexplainable fear welled up inside me, but it was too intense. “I have to get back inside. Thanks again for helping me yesterday.”
And I was gone again, leaving him alone in the alley.
~ ~ ~
Sunday morning brought a much-needed sense of safety to my rattled soul. Alone at home, I didn’t have to worry about running into Jonathan Parker, or even speaking of him to the ever-curious Annie and Silvy. God love ’em, but they’re a pain.
By the time I returned to the café yesterday, Annie had Silvy believing my Knight in Shining Armor probably whisked me away to some hidden mountain fortress and ravished me until I was breathless. That was hardly the case, though for a time I’d have willingly submitted. When cornered with the unknown, I’d bolted and left him alone again, too afraid to face it.
Essential items for a week in Hawaii littered my bed. I’d pulled out two pairs of cut-off jeans, three faded tank tops with peeling logos plastered across the chest, my only pair of decent flip-flops, one never-worn floral sundress Silvy had given me last summer, and finally, my two favorite hats—one a faded blue baseball cap with a white shark across the top and the other a wide-brimmed hat that belonged to my dad. Those items, along with my backpack and two hair clips, should be all I’d need in the land of sun and sea. I folded the clothes neatly and stacked them on the corner of my small maple dresser, ready for packing, and then I headed to the other room for my reward.
“That’s one thing off my to-do list,” I said to the refrigerator as I checked off ‘clothes for Hawaii’ from the list magnetically stuck to the door. Feeling somewhat productive for completing that distasteful task, I sat in the chaise, relaxing with an ice-cold Mountain Dew and flipping through the History of Hollywood coffee table book Silvy had given me for Christmas.
The beautiful starlets and their hunky beaus from the thirties and forties fascinated me. The extravagant fuel-hogging cars, the flowing, jewel-laden clothing, and the unequaled glamour and mystery inundating that era made me long for a more romantic time. No one goes out anymore just to see and be seen. No one gives those extravagant parties unless drugs and naked women are involved. It’s sad how our culture has outgrown the finer things only to fill our lives with cellphones, wash n’ wear fabrics, and the latest, in-fashion chemical fix.
I ran my hand over a photo of Greta Garbo, her eyebrows too thin and her expression superior and stunning. She looked like she had it all figured out. Her sassy, short hair style so ahead of its time, and her lips painted that bright, ruby red begging to be kissed. I wondered if she was ever really happy, or was this photo a simple illusion to attract fans? So many of these icons succumbed to loneliness in the end. Greta died alone in her home, carrying with her the mystique of a bygone era and her amazing personal dignity.
These days everybody knows everything about everyone in Hollywood. Personally, I don’t care what actors or political figures do off screen. Who cares as long as they know which line to recite or which button to push at what time? Really, don’t we have a hard enough time keeping up with our own lives and losses?
I ran my finger over the glossy photo once again. Then, I flipped the page to the ‘Behind the Scenes Celebrities’ chapter about producers, writers, directors, agents, and people who created the magic stage where the stars could sparkle. For instance, take Stanford Reed, physician to the stars. He killed himself over some woman writer. Now, that’s romantic. Nowadays, he’d just fill that vacancy left behind by his love with some Rubbermaid, twenty-year-old, and he’d call it even.
“Stanford, I have to hand it to ya,” I said aloud, toasting his commitment to his woman with a drink. “They don’t make ’em like you anymore.”
I started to read the article of his tragic love affair when the phone rang, ruining my trip back in time. I grabbed the receiver and held it to my ear, swallowing a sweet, bubbling mouthful down before answering.
“Hello. Who’s this? What do you want?”
“Hello, yourself, you grouchy thing,” Annie fired back. “Put on your shoes. I’m coming by to pick you up.”
I was shaking my head no before the words came out. “Annie, I’m relaxing right now. I don’t feel like going out.”
“You can relax when you’re dead. Get ready. I’m picking Silvy up on the way over.” She hung up, leaving me holding a warming soda in one hand and a clenched fist in the other. The receiver hit the floor three feet away with a bang.
“What the hell could they be up to now?” I begrudgingly re-marked the book over Stanford Reed’s story and headed to the closet for my Birkenstocks. I was beginning to wish I’d declined this vacation.
~ ~ ~
I’d been taken from my comfortable home to do none other than shop for a bathing suit, the very epitome of discomfort. What an incredible waste of time. The thought of wearing a bathing suit over my pale, scrawny body sent shivers of ick up and down my spine, so buying one seemed a ridiculous idea. Since I spent so little time near anything containing over a foot of water, I’d never found it necessary to put myself through the humiliation of trying on different versions of over-stretched elastic under the unflattering glow of fluorescent lighting.
Now, here I was in the women’s active wear section of Logan’s, parading in front of Annie and Silvy and looking like an orphan from snow country in a neon Band-Aid. Between changing, I was forced to stare at my body for the first time in months. My hip bones poked out from my narrow waist, making my body seem more womanly than athletic as it had always been. My breasts were perkier but smaller than I remembered. When I forced my shoulders back to my full 5’7”, I didn’t look half bad. Once I got some sun, I might even be attractive if I could tame the wild hair. Sleepless nights had drained the blush from my cheeks and the light from my shadowed eyes. I needed sleep, lots of adult beverages, and some really good products to bring my curls back to life.
“Hey, wake up in there?” Annie shoved various versions of the string bikini under the door, while Silvy passed a tasteful, fully lined, one-piece over the top. The only suits I’m even halfway comfortable in are the ones that land squarely in the middle of these two styles, and only then when they are worn with the matching sarong which will never come off.
I offered to buy just the cover since essentially that’s all anyone would see, but they just kept shoving suits my way. They knew I’d eventually pick one just to get them off my back. All I wanted was to be done with this, so I could get back home to Billie Holiday, Stanford Reed, and a fresh can of Mountain Dew.
~ ~ ~
Rich reclined in my chaise when I arrived home some four hours later. I entered the room with a relieved smile and my new bare-backed, black one-piece with a matching sheer sarong in hand.
“So, you’re really gonna do it? You’re really gonna take a vacation? To Hawaii, no less?” He looked away from the television as I tossed the Logan’s bag on the table and walked toward him, motioning for him to stand.
“Looks like it.” I hugged my ‘sight-for-sore-eyes’ brother. “How’s the research going?”
Out of the corner of my eye, I recognized a black and white Greta Garbo movie playing on the television on the movie channel. It struck me odd that I’d just thought of her only today, and there she was, impressing the hell out of her handsome hero.
“I’ve dug up some interesting things about the company and some past employee issues, but nothing incriminating. Yet.”
“Ah. If there’s anything to find, you’ll find it.” I walked to the kitchen, grabbed a bottle of Cabernet, and two glasses.
“I didn’t come to talk about that. I wanted to see how you’re doing. Are you really feeling okay? You didn’t seem to be up to talking the other night.” He sat down on the couch, and accepted the glass of wine I offered.
“I’m okay.” The chaise closed around me as I settled in, gripping the crystal glass with both hands. “At least, I guess so.”
“You guess?”
I swirled the wine and took a long drink, giving myself time to decide whether I should talk to Rich about my odd feelings for Jonathan or just leave it alone. I needed someone to listen without interjecting their fantastical theories.
“Remember Jonathan Parker, the guy Annie and Mom kept going on about?” I set the glass down on top of the History of Hollywood book and stretched my legs out in front of me.
“Mr. Wonderful?”
“Yeah.” I frowned a warning. “He’s . . . Let’s just say I get this strange vibe from him.” I searched for a word that described how he really made me feel. What’s the word for needy, overwhelmed, hungry, afraid, desperate, and desiring all rolled into a single adjective?
“Strange? What do you mean? You’re not afraid of him, are you? I can have a talk with him if you’d like.”
“No! It’s nothing like that. He just looks at me like, well, like he knows me, or he knows what I’m thinking or something. I can’t figure him out.”
Rich moved from the couch, set his drink next to mine, and snuggled in next to me on the extra-wide chaise. His arm around my shoulder was comforting. He leaned his head against mine and spoke to me in his low, talk-to-me voice. He squeezed my hand, which fidgeted against the pillow. “Becka? What are you thinking? Maybe you’re the one sending out some kind of vibe.”
“It feels like maybe I should know him or something. I can’t explain it.” I laid my head on his shoulder, hoping some reasonable answer would come to me.
“Maybe you should try to figure it out. Why don’t you just talk to him?” It was so simple for Rich—just put yourself out there and worry about the consequences later. I have a hard time opening myself up, much less letting someone near who already makes me nervous.
“I don’t know,” I hesitated. “I’m kind of hoping he’ll stay away, so I don’t have to deal with it right now. I’ve got lots going on—like Silvy springing Hawaii on me.”
“She means well. You can’t tell her no. It’ll hurt her feelings. Besides, it really will do you good to get away for a while. I promise to check on her every day. Candy’ll take care of the café, and you can deal with Jonathan Parker when you get back—if you even want to by then.”
While Rich watched the last part of the Garbo flick, I fell asleep on his shoulder, his arm never budging, even though it had to be numb from the weight of my head.
~ ~ ~
The Health Nut was practically running itself by week’s end. Candy had fallen into the opening routine as though she’d always done it. George, our grouchy morning regular, became infinitely nicer once she put him in his place. He even stopped mentioning his belated wife’s cooking when Candy started making his usual. I believe I even caught a new, little twinkle in his eyes.
Silvy, the dearest mother in the world, had been there every afternoon, cooking herself into a dither, helping me stock enough offerings for a good healthy week. The fruit delivery was ample, and the coffee supplies were delivered right on time. I had beans and kiwis to the rafters, but that was okay. I didn’t want Candy and Silvy worrying about anything except opening, serving, and closing The Health Nut while I was away.
Jonathan had been seen circling around the property next door, surveying it, I was sure, and getting an idea how to set things up. He’d come into The Health Nut twice since my graceful fall. Each time I excused myself to the back, asking Silvy or Candy to wait on him. I couldn’t take a chance he’d ask that question again. Besides, every time he looked at me with those enveloping eyes, I just wanted him to take me and have his way with me. Maybe, that would be all I needed to squelch this eerie, needy feeling I had inside.
So, I resolved myself to the fact that in one day, barring any major catastrophe, Annabelle Stone and I would be flying the friendly skies to a water-drenched paradise. My bags were packed, and I was ready to ride. I prayed my dreams would not come true.