The Beckoning of Beautiful Things (The Beckoning Series) Page 2

  “Until tonight,” she repeated. She blinked, coming out of her momentary stupor, and raced around the side of the vehicle. “Hey, what’s your name? What time?”

  He laughed. “Daniel. Seven. I wondered if you’d ask.” He pulled the van out of the driveway and sped away.

  Her eyes lingered until he was out of sight. I have a date. She smiled, and wandered back to the box of produce. Hefting it to her hip, she made the trek upstairs, her steps light in spite of the heavy container. As she struggled to open the door, the box balanced on her hip, she let out a sigh of exasperation. “Gah! Jason! I forgot! ” Well, so much for cooking for you tonight, Jason Brown. It was my birthday anyway. This is a gift to me. He was so much like her best friend’s brother rather than the love of her life, remorse at cancelling never crossed her mind.

  She placed the box on the worn countertop next to the sink before searching the cluttered table of oil paints, brushes, and palettes to find her phone. Marissa tapped Jason’s number and lifted it to her ear. He answered on the second ring.

  “Hey, baby-doll.”

  She rolled her eyes. She hated being called a doll. “Hey, Jason. I’m going to have to reschedule our dinner tonight.”

  “That’s cool, that’s cool,” he replied.

  “I’ll bet you tossed your head when you said that,” she said peevishly. She rolled her eyes again, glad he wasn’t in front of her. He hated it when she rolled her eyes at him.

  “What?”

  “You’ve started saying things twice and then tossing your head like a pony. It drives me nuts.”

  “Whatever. And the name’s Harmonia,” he said. “You know that. Why do we have to cancel?”

  “I’ve got a date,” she replied. Her ear filled with a sharp silence, as if a vacuum had cleaned the space between them of any debris or lingering thoughts. She waited before responding to the empty space. “You’ve always encouraged me to go out with other people. You said it was no problem for me to date.”

  “And it isn’t,” he responded a little too quickly. “I just looked forward to our dinner tonight. I’ve got a few new techniques I wanted to try out as a birthday gift to you.”

  “Oh?” she said, disinterested. I don’t care for all your “techniques,” dude. Who do you practice with before you deem them suitable to bring them my way?

  “What time is your date?”

  “Around seven,” she replied. “Actually, he said he’d send a car over.”

  “Send a car, huh?” Jason said in a flat tone.

  “That’s what he said.”

  “What’s his name?”

  “Why?”

  “I just wondered.”

  “For someone who’s not jealous, you’re sure asking a lot of questions.”

  “You’re right, you’re right,” he responded. “Sorry, baby-doll.”

  She pictured him flashing his quirky, infectious smile, and she relaxed. Jason, Harmonia, whatever he liked to be called, had a killer smile to go with his easy disposition. His bright white teeth were kind of round and almost small-boy size. His cheeks creased with dimples when he smiled, and his curly, surfer blond hair added to his charm. It bobbed around his head as if he were always dancing along a wave on his surfboard.

  “Maybe I’ll swing by when I’m done here. I should be ready to go in an hour.”

  “Why do you want to stop by?’

  “I could show you some of the new techniques as a birthday kick-off.”

  “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

  “Why not?”

  “I’ll need to get ready for my date.”

  “It will only take a second.”

  She scoffed. “That stimulating, huh?”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “I’m talking about your new skills. If you can show them to me in a couple seconds, why would I want you to share them with me at all?”

  “Good point, good point. Maybe I just want to stop by to say hi.”

  “Jason,” she protested.

  “My name’s Harmonia.”

  “Not to me,” she repeated. You made it up. While you were high on ‘shrooms. Get a grip.

  “Look, I’ll just swing by, say hello, then leave you to your date prep, okay?”

  He seemed awfully persistent in wanting to stop by. Her eyes narrowed. “Okay, but just for a moment. Seriously.” Maybe I could break up with him then. Get it over with.

  “Scout’s honor. Later, baby-doll,” he added and hung up.

  “Later, baby-doll,” she said to the phone. She tossed it on the mess of art supplies.

  She turned her attention to the mouthwatering produce. Prepare it, first; paint it, second; eat it, third. Or, maybe, eat it as I go. She smiled and licked her lips. She hefted a firm, shiny cucumber, curving her fingers around it. I like the way this feels. It’s just the right size and shape. Her artist’s eye caressed the leafy greens tinged with burgundy, sitting next to the long, stiff, pale leaves of the romaine. Beautiful! She fingered a large, papery, delicate leaf of light green butter lettuce, noting its healthy appearance. The leaves were big, full, and fresh. The roots burst from the head, the tendrils still seeking life from the moist dirt clinging to each fiber. She squinted and held out her hand as if she were painting, stroking the air with delicacy.

  A carton of bright red strawberries lay nestled in the corner of the box. She took one of the strawberries, flipped up the faucet handle and let the water dribble on the berry. She slowly inched up the solid, stainless steel handle until the liquid gushed. Holding the plump, ripened fruit under the cool water, she let her fingertips move gently over the stippled surface. Her hand coaxed the water faucet off, and she bit the sweet, succulent berry, savoring the juices that filled her mouth. Mmm. I think I need more.

  When she’d finished her feast of berries, she removed the lettuce, the smooth, waxy, yellow bananas, the glistening apples, and the pale, greenish-yellow mottled pears. She arranged them along the countertop, eyeing each appreciatively. She regarded them through one eye, then the other. The apple, she decided. She ran a fingertip along the lustrous red-streaked surface before picking it up. With deliberate care, she lovingly buffed the skin to a gloss with a clean, soft, cotton cloth, turning it over and over in her hands, taking delight in the firm girth of the Honeycrisp. Seizing a knife from the drawer, she buffed the blade smooth with the same cloth, until her smiling face gleamed in the polished steel. She gripped the knife handle and slowly, deliberately pierced the flesh of the apple. The tip of the steel blade parted the skin and the tiniest bead of moisture seeped from the slit. She licked the sweet droplet, savoring the sugary nectar. She pushed the blade deeper into the flesh. As it gave way, it sprayed her face with tiny beads of juice.

  Grabbing a silky piece of satin from the shelf, she arranged the apple slice, the berries and the lettuce leaves between the pink folds and prepared to apply paint to canvas.

  Car tires crunched up her driveway 20 minutes later. She peered out the window. Jason waved from her front stoop. She dropped her brushes in turpentine, turned to the dog, and said, “Stay.” Sober looked at her evenly, sat down, and waited. “I’ll be back. You and Jason don’t get along.”

  She trod out onto the sidewalk and stood before her soon to be ex-lover. “I thought you said you’d be over in an hour.”

  “I finished quickly, and the boss said I could head out. It wasn’t that busy today.”

  “Is it ever that busy? No one ever goes in there but old hippies and drug addicts. That shop is as weird as your house is.”

  “Hey, now. I like my house.”

  His home, located in a funky, crowded neighborhood right in the heart of West Seattle, was a collection of metal deities, altars, incense, posters of Hindu gods, and other paraphernalia. He got up, meditated, did yoga, chanted, prayed, ate weird food, and then went to work at the funky music store on California Ave. A blast from the past kind of store, just like the guy himself, chock full of vinyl, CDs, and old ca
ssette tapes.

  Her home was full of color and clean crisp lines, like the box of produce sitting in her studio. It was quiet yet quirky, the way she preferred to be. She had modern furniture, a la Scandinavian Designs, bold, bright prints on the wall, and everything was kept sparkling clean. She got up, drank coffee, ate eggs or cereal, and went to work at the Puget Sound Publishing House, working on ads and other graphics for Seattle’s Finest, a slick, glossy magazine that realtors used to promote the Pacific Northwest. A copy was always left on the counter of an upscale house for sale. Her house and her life was the antithesis to Jason’s.

  “Well?” She tapped her foot impatiently.

  “No, it wasn’t really busy but…” He gave her a perplexed look.

  “But what? I’ve got things to do.”

  “Come here,” he said, holding out his hand. “You seem pissed about something.”

  “I’ve got to feed the dog.”

  “Sober Dude can wait. I can’t.”

  A stab of guilt poked at her brain. He’s not that bad. She took his hand, and let him pull her into his lap, one leg on either side of his hips. The abrasive concrete stabbed her knees, and she winced. His rigid erection poked through his jeans. “You’re certainly eager,” she said.

  “I think it’s hot that you’re going on a date.”

  “You do?”

  “Yeah, baby-doll. Hot as hell. That’s why I rushed over here.”

  She never understood that. Why didn’t he care? Did he care about her at all or was she just a Tantric practice partner? “Okay, so you think it’s hot. I think it’s odd that you think it’s hot, and I’ve got to get ready.” Come on, tell him we’re through. She clenched and unclenched her hands. The words stuck in her throat like she’d swallowed a gum ball.

  “It’s only five o’clock. Come on, girl, relax a little.” He wrapped his arms around her and bent his head to touch his forehead with hers. His lungs rose and fell with several slow, deep breaths.

  Her third eye pulsed, like it always did when he practiced this breathing technique with her. It was like he was polishing the mirror to her mind, letting her see things in a different way. A breeze stirred, and his curls tickled her cheeks. She brushed them away, as if they were gnats, gritting her teeth.

  “Tell me what you see,” he whispered.

  “I don’t want to do this,” she whispered back. “You know I hate this ability. And I need to talk to you.”

  “Come on, baby-doll, this date thing could be a pathway to something big. You’ve never dated anyone else as long as we’ve been together. Let’s see what’s in store.”

  “No,” she hissed through her teeth.

  “Come on.” He stilled and resumed deep, slow breaths.

  “We need to talk. I’m not your personal fortune teller.”

  “Five minutes – just give me five minutes, and then, we’ll talk.”

  “I’ll give you two and that’s it.” Maybe if I relax a little it will make this easier. As he breathed, her third eye opened wide like a camera lens. Eyes closed, she pictured a pathway, leading through a vegetable garden. Rows and rows of vines on wooden trellises invited her to explore the freshly tilled pathways of soft loam. She took a few tentative steps through the spongy dirt. Her hands brushed along the tops of the vines, feeling tendrils of pea pods and leaves tickling her palms. The sun beamed down on her face, soothing her even more. She fell deeper into relaxation. You can do this, Engles. Just say we’re incompatible.

  The garden seemed like a happy place. She wanted to kick off her shoes and run through the dirt like she had as a child. She wanted to laugh and be free again, like when she was young. She wanted her mom or her dad to pop out from behind a vine, pick her up, and swing her round and round, the way they did when she was a child. She wanted to have a grown-up conversation the way they did before they had left this planet in an airplane crash, heading to Guatemala. Her heart clenched.

  “Don’t be sad,” her dad said into her right ear.

  “We’re always with you,” her mother’s melodious voice said into her left ear.

  Her mother, Mica, a beautiful woman of Spanish and European descent, had a beautiful, mellifluous voice that drew tears from the eyes and stirred passion in the heart. Her father, Kellen, a handsome German-Irish man, had been a conductor at the Seattle Symphony. They frequently flew to exotic places when her mother had a gig somewhere or sometimes just for fun. Their last trip had been a pleasure trip turned tragedy.

  Smiling at her mother’s reassurance, she noted tanned workers in the garden, pulling weeds, hoeing, digging holes, tying off vines, and watering. They all smiled and inclined their heads as they saw her. The scene looked friendly and colorful, like a theme park display. She grinned and nodded back. The workers filled muddy holes at the base of each vine. She glanced down to see the same, shimmering, ghostly apparition she had seen in the dream-like image of the Sea of Cortez staring up at her, when she stood in the store with that delicious man she just met. Do I know her?

  The cool tendrils continued to reach for her. Her skin snapped and popped with electricity, as if she were shorting out. She shook off the green coils. She plucked them from her skin. They snaked up her arms and tightened, restricting her movement. One long filament wound around her neck and squeezed, causing tiny explosions of light to crackle from her neck. Several others corkscrewed around her chin and face, making it difficult to breathe.

  The light in the sky kept flickering on and off, like someone was turning off the sun. The whole vision started to take on a herky-jerky, now-you-see-it-now-you-don’t kind of appearance, like an old, old movie being played in a worn out film projector.

  Her eyes flew wildly around the garden, and her body twitched. Where did the garden workers go? All she could see were scarecrows, their vacant, smiling eyes staring into space. Some of them appeared burnt. Their charred clothes flaked off their straw-stuffed torsos and whirled away in the wind. A few were missing, leaving only smoking stakes. The green goddess had pulled herself from her watery, mud puddle world and sprinted away from her down the long row, her hair muddy and clinging to her back, her clothes dripping from her body. Her silvery voice called out, “I’m free!”

  The light show immediately ceased. Marissa let out a small whimper, like a dreaming dog.

  “Shhh,” Jason said.

  Maybe the goddess is me? Maybe Jason is the bindings. I need to get this over with and cut free. “We need to talk.”

  “Shhh,” he said again.

  Jason’s quiet, deep breathing lulled her back to the present. “That’s better. That one had a real kick, huh?” he said, still pressing his bony head to hers.

  “I miss my mom,” she blurted as tears filled her eyes. This is why I don’t invite closeness into my life. Relationships end.

  “I know, I know. You’ve told me that. Shhh.” He slowly eased back and examined her. He tucked her hair behind her ears and gazed into her eyes.

  “I hate it when things change.”

  “Shhh.” He kissed her eyelids. “You’re such a silly girl. I’ll keep you safe.”

  “I’m not a girl. I’m a woman.”

  He nibbled her lips like a rabbit taste-testing a carrot. “You’re such a silly woman, then. Relax, doll.”

  “We need to talk.” She regarded his sky-blue orbs, feeling the safety and familiarity of his childlike gaze. That was one of the things she loved about him. He regarded life with openness and childlike wonder. That was one of the things she hated about him. He refused to grow up, mature, and act responsibly. With Jason Harmonia Brown, it was always push-pull. She snapped from her moment of tenderness. “Okay, there’s your two minutes.”

  “Shhh,” Jason soothed again.

  “No, shhh, I said I didn’t want to do this. I want to go in, feed my dog, and get ready for my date. But first I need to say something to you.”

  Jason grabbed her legs and guided them around his hips in yab-yum, a Tantra position he enjoyed. His erection
was as stiff as before. It jabbed at her crotch.

  “No, Jason, I gave you two minutes and now it’s my turn.”

  “I’ve got a better idea. Let’s get those leggings off of you and take this a little deeper.”

  “In the front yard?” she spluttered. “No, Jason, no, no, no. I’m done.”

  He leaned forward and tried to kiss her.

  She impulsively bit his lip.

  “Ouch! What the hell? What’s wrong with you?” He tapped his lip with his index finger.

  “The crystal ball mind-fuck is over.” She got up, glaring.

  He winced. “I wish you wouldn’t use such strong language. It was a beautiful moment.”

  “For you, maybe. Jason, we’re…”

  “Look, I’m bleeding!” He held his bloody finger out to her like a child.

  “Put a Band-Aid on it after you get out of my yard.”

  “Oh, I know what’s going on,” he said, as if a light bulb had clicked on over his head.

  “What?”

  “You’re just tense over your date.”

  “I’m just tense because I want to break up with you.” There. I did it.

  The sentence just rolled over his head like a tumbleweed. “You’re just not used to dating other people while you date me. You’ll get used to it.” He stood up, clearly pleased with himself.

  “I don’t want to date other people while I date you. I don’t want to date you at all anymore.”

  “You’ll change your mind. You’re just tense.”

  “Get out of here.”

  “It’s nerves.”

  “Go.”

  “Jitters.”

  “We’re done.”

  “You’ll see.” He grinned and leaned forward to kiss her again.

  Her jaw dropped and she shoved him away. “Are you nuts? Go!” She stabbed her finger at his car.

  Turning to walk to his car, a 1969 beater, navy blue Ford Fairlane Fastback, he called, “I want a full report. Later, baby-doll.”

  “Not if I can help it,” she yelled back. “My new life begins today!”