Page 10 of Beautiful Deceit
"No, not so much.” I stutter trying to explain, “Mr. B is like family. I met him when I was sixteen. I used to come here almost every day after school." I smile fondly at the memories as I run water in the pot. I'll wash it tomorrow. "He got so used to seeing me, he put me to work." I shrug, "Then I just never left." It’s a greatly simplified version of the story, but essentially that's what happened.
"I can tell how much you love it. It shows."
"Thank you," I accept the compliment easily. We're both quiet as I collect my purse from my office. I don’t feel nervous being alone in the store with him, which is unusual. I haven't given myself the chance to be alone with a man in a very long time. Maybe I'm getting past my distrust of unfamiliar men. Truly, only one man earned my abhorrence, so I shouldn't fear them all.
"Would you mind stepping out so I can set the alarm?" He nods, drops his hat back over his eyes, and waits just outside the door.
When I reach up to pull the metal gate down further protecting the store, he anticipates my move, and tugs it down for me. I thank him again and engage the lock.
"Well I'm this way too," I say feeling a bit shy.
The scuff of our shoes is the only sound for the first block. He shoves his hands deep in the pockets of his jeans and hunches his shoulders up a bit. I watch him as his head tilts following the heavy traffic of cars that still line the streets.
“Have you always lived here?” he asks.
“No, I actually grew up in the South. How about you? City or country boy?”
He looks over at me, his smile reaching his eyes, “A bit of both really. I’ve been living in California since I got out of school, before that, Nevada.”
“What brings you to New York?”
My question has him glancing over at me. His lips purse, but his expression ends with a grin returning to his features.
“Just needed a break.” He fires back with, “How long have you been here?” He doesn’t seem to want to talk about why he’s here.
I’m surprisingly still at ease as we continue to talk. He throws questions at me about the city, the stores, and the neighborhood as we walk past.
Almost too quickly, we’re at my door. I stop and gesture to the door, "This is me."
He looks at the door and nods. Before things can get awkward, I thank him and unlock the door, closing it behind me quickly. I dash up the stairs, not stopping to check my surroundings or the mailbox. It's another first for me, but this time it’s because I’m caught up in the moment and not because of my over vigilance. I tell myself that's why I fall asleep with a smile on my face.
Chapter 4
Iam shelving some reserved books behind the register, when I see a canvas B. B. & B. bag tucked into the corner of the shelf. It has been a little over three weeks since I tried contacting Beau through Facebook to let him know he left his purchase at the store. He never responded.
It colors the rest of my day in shades of disappointment.
As I walk to work the next day, I try not to take his disappearance too seriously. I was kinda hoping he'd stop by and pick it up. I shake my head at this thought and stride quickly down the sidewalk. I don’t want to look too closely at why I want him to come back. I should just be happy I had a normal conversation with a man, and a man that wasn't geriatric, or gay at that. I surround myself with men that make me feel safe. They are usually either fatherly or friendly. Beau felt neither of those things; he was certainly too flirty to be just friendly.
As I reach the store, both Jess and Anna are waiting outside. Anna is holding a large brown paper cone, her face shoved down deep to smell what must be flowers.
"Somebody must have an admirer," I sing-song. They both look at me and Anna shoves the flowers my way. I see dozens of red carnations; my belly tips uncomfortably. My face must show distress, because Jess pulls Anna's hand back. I'm no longer assaulted with the smell of the one flower that I can't stand.
"They're for you Sam," Jess says.
"Huh," I say sounding like I can't manage the English language.
"Here's the card," Anna flips her free hand forward. A small white card with my name scrawled in messy writing lands in front of my face.
"I don't want them!" I say a little too loudly. Both women stare at my outburst.
I rush into the store, turn off the alarm, and throw myself into my office. I'm panting by the time I throw the lock. I close my eyes trying to center myself, but my closed lids serve as a blank background for unwanted memories to project themselves.
Red carnations everywhere. They were my mother’s favorite flower. The funeral home was bathed in red upon my stepfather’s request. A large heart bouquet of them covered her closed casket. The smell was overwhelming, but that's not why I hate them.
I hate them because when we left, he brought dozens of the flowers home with us. That was the first night he got so drunk. He confused me for my mother. He kept trying to give me the flowers.
I accepted them after repeatedly saying my name wasn't Naomi and that I wasn’t my mother. He'd become increasingly agitated, then he'd curse me for leaving him, and seconds later he cursed me for not being my mother. His actions were unpredictable, never making sense.
