Authors: Elizabeth Lowe
Sam drew Brad’s attention by wearing
snug fitting leggings and an over-sized knee length sweater.
So captivated by the movie was she, she
pulled her legs up, arms hugging them, chin resting upon knees.
He
could have watched her all day, her features animating all the sentiments he
felt whenever viewing the movie.
Drawing
within himself, he relived the movie as if it were their story.
In the end, upon discovering the truth, the
tears trickling down Sam's cheeks liquefied his heart.
So filled was he with adoration for her, he
could not speak, could not move.
When the rain persisted as if to
ease the melancholy mood the movie induced barefoot like children, Sam dragged
Brad outside to dance it away, how long they spent doing so neither knew, nor
did it matter that their clothes were soggy and draping from the weight of the
mist.
Despite the continuing rain, never
had Brad envisioned a day so warm and bright with sunshine.
Not wanting to relinquish a moment
of Sam's time, Ted's frequent calls annoyed Brad.
Forever assuring Sam of his love, Ted
insisted he missed her.
An act so
convincing she believed he was genuinely upset that he could not be with
her.
In closing, he reassured her he
would arrive in time for Thanksgiving with a special surprise.
Appearing wonderfully happy, Bernice
and Peter made frequent visits.
One
evening they lingered to share in a Mexican extravaganza, Brad’s idea.
Everyone indulged until their stomachs felt
like volcano’s ready to explode.
After dinner, the men delighted in teaching the
women poker.
Hours later, even after
their desperate attempts at cheating, the men lost.
Pulling faces, as the women cleaned the
winnings gleefully from the table, they vowed with explicit four letter verbal
interjection never again to teach women to gamble.
Of course, Brad making delicious
Martini’s was to blame Peter said, though he found it unusual, Brad refused to
drink.
All he needed was Sam, her laughter,
her beauty, and her presence to make everything they did and everywhere they
went exciting.
The emptiness previously
inflicting his soul, she alone had filled.
Before Peter and Bernie left, Brad
insisted they join them Thanksgiving day.
Jokingly Sam reminded the couple they were taking their lives in their
own hands.
Neither one of them had
prepared such an elaborate dinner before.
Peter retorted if nothing else, it would prove to be either hilarious or
deadly.
Later that evening with the fires'
vibrant colors snapping in tune to Chopin, things unsaid charged the air.
In repose in his chair, Brad felt a rare
sensation of being at peace. Closing his heavy eyelids blanketed his thoughts.
It was their last evening together.
Desperate he was to embed to memory those of
the past few
day’s
, wonderful day’s and evenings
spent without argument or dissension, oddly companionable, as if they had known
each other forever.
Feigning interest in a book, propped
on the couch, Sam hovered beneath a crocheted shawl Brad's mom made as a
house-warming gift.
Wednesday came too
fast, she sighed inwardly. Tomorrow Ted would return. Listening to the peaceful
crackling of the fire made a feeling of tranquility come over her, closing her
eyes, she explored the part of her that should be enthusiastic about Ted's
return and instead became swaddled with thoughts of Brad.
Sam's beauty came from within, Brad
concluded.
She was an innocent budding
flower just beginning to open her arms to the world, someone who knew nothing
about being soiled or evil.
She was
cautious yet eager.
How soon he had
grown accustomed to her every move and gesture.
God, how he loved how her eyes danced when she laughed.
Their varied conversations had been
challenging, and engaging.
For such a
young woman, she was amazingly knowledgeable pertaining to world affairs.
So quick to debate and hold firm to her
convictions he deliberately confronted her with opposing opinions to bate
her.
Eventually she would catch on and
he laughed unable to hide the gleam of unholy amusement in his eyes.
Astute, there was no sport or game she did
not apply her total concentration.
Yes,
indeed, his equal Sam was, maybe not in years, but in determination,
intelligence, her ambition, and drive for life.
Success would surely follow her as it did him.
Sadly he wondered if she too would experience
the accompanying portion that left you cold, callus and lonely.
Sam was young, very young with a lot to learn
about the sacrifices necessary for success, and, trusting - too damn trusting.
Like a virus, she entered his veins
flowing through him, reaching every filament of him settling deep in his
heart.
In four short days, he had come
to know her like no other woman.
What he
felt was more than lust, more than he wanted to.
Was it love?
It was improbable.
Then why did
every inch of him ache whenever he thought about Ted's return?
Tomorrow he had to let her go and wondered
could he, would he?
No, pure and simple,
he would tell Ted they were in love with the same woman.
Raising her eyes slightly Sam
examined Brad through lashes, the rays of light from the table lamp casting his
face in shadow, almost as if he were a stranger, but he was not.
Time spent with him was like being at the
mercy of the tides, high, low,
lure,
dismiss, gentle thoughts, shocking thoughts all washing back and forth at the
mercy of a stream of bewitching emotions beyond her control making her feel as
buoyant as the sparkling sea.
Not even
Wall Street Banker clothes could conceal Brad's impressive type of raw
maleness.
However, he was more, he was
strength, character and intelligence.
Whether rich or poor he would make any woman feel as vulnerable as she
was feeling right this minute.
The mere
sight of him in a red turtleneck sweater riding the waves of his muscles,
tugged neatly over snug jeans, caused the nipples of her breasts to harden,
twin peaks of throbbing rushing through her to set up the same fire between her
legs.
Turning to look at her, Brad’s smile
addressed her heart.
He said it best,
she reflected, when he said nothing at all.
His smile was full of words even old Mr. Webster could never define,
only heard, and decoded between two hearts.
She drew in a breath, as if his silent thoughts had penetrated and embraced
her.
His lopsided grin had torn a page
from time and space and pasted it in her heart.
Suddenly, she had to fight back an almost
unconquerable urge to go to him and fall into his arms.
She desperately needed holding by another
human being, preferably Brad.
The black and white picture she had
painted of him at first allowed no frailties.
She was pleasantly surprised when discovering he was merely a human with
nerves, instincts and perhaps fears like anyone else.
At the heart of the labyrinth, the matador
was only a man.
She no longer feared
him, but admired his intelligence, sense of humor, agility, and respect
for
He was not at all glib or
flirtatious; his sentences never peppered with compliments or sexual
innuendos.
Whenever they touched, having
every opportunity to pounce upon her, he gracefully moved away making her
wonder if he led a double life, or if Ted had lied to her and if so, why?
During their conversations, she
amazed herself constantly by discussing matters of which she would have thought
herself unqualified to debate.
Words
seem to bubble up and burst out, as though he had uncovered a different
person.
She felt oddly, provocatively at
home with him as if, for the very first time, she was discovering herself
through him.
Brad's superficial appeal
possessed an inner core generating a heat, a feeling of being alive only with
him.
Never before did she believe it
possible to feel so close to some one of the opposite sex that it was a
pleasure merely from being in his company.
During quiet moments when they
simply sat doing, their own thing a charisma surrounded them making her desire
more than companionship, like a wild chemistry of emotions pulling them
together.
Sadness over whelmed her when
she wondered why he had never allowed a woman a permanent place in his
life.
Having so much to give he seemed
unable to offer the most important ingredient, stability, for a woman needs to
trust the man she love’s.
It would be
difficult to love a man like Brad.
There
would always be other women lurking waiting to taste his masculine wares and
she would always wonder if he would willingly surrender.
Suddenly, feeling disloyal from thinking
treasonous thoughts, she forced her reflections back to Ted.
She could trust him he loved her, would never
hurt her, and would give her everything.
Brad only offered the inevitable - a broken heart.
Somehow, she would have to put under lock and
key the part of her craving more than what Brad was able to give.
She wondered if that would ever be possible.
With a smile so full of something
intangible, Sam returned Brad’s smile, and he embedded it to memory.
Now he knew all his life he had been dead
inside, content to walk the earth like a shadow of a human being.
Sam came to occupy a vacant place in his
heart, a chamber barely beating before she arrived.
There was an air of pride about her, defiant
courage.
She was beautiful, sunny
natured, with a restless energy as though always up and doing, but possessed an
intellect that matched, challenged and defied him to become the victor.
Her smile was like an atom bursting and
multiplying melting down the core of his heart.
Instantly he knew . . . Oh, yes, without a doubt he knew.
God yes, he was completely, irrevocably in
love with Sam.
CHAPTER 32
“THANKSGIVING, 2010”
The
frost leeching all color from the landscape washed away by a cloudburst on
Thanksgiving morning.
In a mood as
stormy as the weather, hair in disarray, a twelve o'clock shadow, a scowl
creasing his forehead, Brad sauntered into the kitchen.
Wearing
soiled jeans and a shaggy sweater, hair swept up with no thought of a brush,
Sam sat on a stool at the kitchen bar sulking over a glass of orange
juice.
Her mood was worse than Brad's,
if that were possible.
Without
a word, both began their simple morning chores cheerfully shared over the past
few days.
Today a volley of emotions
turned them into a snapping spree over who would set the table, make the
coffee, and fix the toast.
Aspiring
to bridle ill tempers, moments of quiet passed until Brad reached for the
whiskey bottle on the counter instead of the glass of orange juice Sam just
poured. Glaring at him, voice hissing with condemnation, Sam lectured,
“Shouldn't you eat something first?
At
least have some orange juice?”