Killing Me Softly (4 page)

CHAPTER SIX

Two hours later, Rob finally arrives. I've had a glass (or three) of wine while waiting for him. Dorothy, the innkeeper, kept me company. I've found out that she and her husband, who is now deceased, God-rest-his-soul, opened the B&B when he was forced to take an early retirement. They bought the old convent and set about restoring it while preserving cool features, like all the stone work. I'm fascinated by the architecture of the place. Even the restoration process sounds like fun. According to Dorothy, at least two to three engagements happen here every year.

I don't know if I'm relieved to see Rob or pissed at him for being so late and not calling. What if he was picking up the ring and there was a snafu there or something? I can't be too upset with him. After all, he is going to a lot of trouble for me.

But I wish he wouldn't.

That thought runs through my mind. And it shocks me. Why would I think that? Is it just the wine talking? Rob, except for his name, is perfect for me. I'm just irritable because I'm hungry. And tired. Once I get some food in me, I'll feel worlds better and be in the mood for some romance.

Dinner is delicious. Pan-seared flank-steak with smashed potatoes and homemade bread that is to die for. Steamed veggies and salad. I go lightly on those for fear of tummy troubles later on. Who wants that? We're the last ones eating tonight. All the other diners have come and gone, but we got off to a late start because Rob got there so late. Dorothy clears our plates and brings us a dessert of chocolate mousse, served in a martini glass with a chocolate wafer garnish. I dive into mine, wishing I could mainline it. As I'm practically licking out my glass, I look up and see Rob's untouched.

"Aren't you going to eat that? It's so good. I could eat this everyday for the rest of my life."

"No you couldn't."

"Sure I could."

"You'd be the size of a house."

"Quite possibly, but you'd love me anyway."

He's silent. I try to pretend I don't notice but I do. He's probably just nervous. Finally he says, "You wanna go sit by the fire?"

Okay, here it comes. This is it. I wish I could go brush my teeth and comb my hair, just so everything is perfect. "Sure," I reply, standing up and following him down the hall to the library. I bring my wine with me. I feel like I need something to do with my hands. Man, I'm getting really nervous too. Unbelievably, we're the only people in the room. I don't know where everyone else is. Perhaps they've all retired upstairs already. I look at my watch. It's after nine. We're probably the youngest couple here, so it makes sense that we're the only ones still up. Fine by me. It will give us more privacy. I wonder if Rob would be up for getting a little frisky on the couch in front of the fireplace. We may not have rose petals or sexy lingerie, but that would be damn romantic.

Sinking back on the couch, Rob and I sit side by side, but not touching. I'm about to jump out of my skin. I can only imagine how he feels. He starts talking about school. Probably the last thing I want to be talking about now, but I can play along. We get on the topic of the union, something that we don't see eye-to-eye on. And never will. He's a union rep. I'm only a member because I have to be. And frankly, I'm resentful of how much my dues are and how many annoying e-mails they send me. I've shifted so my knees are pointing towards his and I'm leaning forward.

My body language is totally indicating that I'm giving him the go-ahead for action. We're in a heated debate about the ongoing contract negotiations when I'm startled by movement at the other end of the room. I look up, nearly dropping my wine glass, and see a large man coming in a side door and heading towards the kitchen. He's dressed ... as Cupid? He's probably over six feet tall, with a white-blond curly wig. He's wearing leather chaps, biker boots, and a black leather vest. That's it, well, except for the wings, of course. No shirt, just a large heart-shaped tattoo on his arm with the word 'Mother' inscribed on it. He heads into the kitchen and I hear the fire door open to the bedroom wing. I could not really have seen what I just saw. Could I?

"Did you see that?" I ask Rob.

"No, what?"

I start to describe what I've just seen, but I stop myself. Rob will think it's a bunch of hooey, like my premonitions. I can't explain them, but that doesn't mean that they're not real. Speaking of dreams, I've drunk a little more than I had intended, and I'm getting sleepy. Rob had better make his move soon or the heat of the fire is going to put me out. If Cupid is in the house, then it must mean that some romance is due to happen.

Wait, why do I need to wait for Rob to make a move? It's the twenty-first century. If I want to get some action with my boyfriend, I can initiate things. I've been pretty passive in this relationship. I let Rob take the reins and run things right from the get-go. Which has left me stuck in a holding pattern, waiting for him to make the next move. Since the fall, things have been even duller. I'm dying for some spice, as my adventures last night proved. Why should I have to wait? If I want a little nookie, I should be able to get some. And maybe, just maybe, my increased interest will spark him to get off his duff and onto one knee.

I put my wine glass on the end table and snuggle into Rob, resting my head on his shoulder. My hand lightly caresses his thigh. Running my fingers up and down his leg. Up and down. His arm is around me, and I'd like to think that he has pulled me in tighter. I hang in this position for a while, waiting for him to lean in and kiss me. But no, nothing. I sit up a little straighter and lean in. Rob is looking at me, leaning in. He just sits there.

Okay, a relationship between two passive people just won't work. He's got to meet me halfway. But he holds still, so I lift my body up, trying to close the distance between our lips. Just as we're about to connect, something brushes by my hair. Rob's hands are down, one behind me and the other on my lap, so I know it's not him. I lift my right hand up to brush the fly, or whatever it is, away, when I feel something brushing my hair again. Out of the corner of my eye, I can see it. A bat.

Perhaps it's because I've had about two bottles of wine, or perhaps it's because I did a lot of camping as a kid, but this doesn't faze me. I let out a noise that sounds like a "whoop, whoop" as I continue waving my hand about my hair, just to make sure the bat has not landed on my head. I jump to my feet and try to relocate, still waving and whooping. Moving around to the back of the couch, I notice Rob. He's on his stomach, underneath the coffee table. Dropping my hand to the side, I watch him for a minute. He begins to army crawl out from under the table. I see him look around for the bat, never quite processing that I'm still even in the room. He jumps up, yells, "I'm outta here" and sprints up into the cafe. I hear the fire door open and close.

Still standing there in the living room, I look up but can't see the bat anywhere. Afraid it's going to dive-bomb me again, I hurry into the kitchen. Where I see Rob through the small window in the fire door. He's holding it shut.

He not only didn't protect me from the bat, but he ran out and left me there. What if that had been an ax murderer? Would he have just left me to perish while he saved his own hide? I see his eyes grow wide, and he starts waving frantically. The bat dive-bombs me again, causing me to drop to the ground and crawl under one of the tables. This time, I’m yelling. Okay, shrieking is more like it. I can hear Rob through the glass, screaming like a little girl.

That's enough to silence me. Holy crap, if we get married, this is the man who I expect to protect me and my kids, should we ever have any. Screaming like a six-year-old girl, barricading me from safety just to protect himself. Now, I don't need a caveman. I don't need someone to think that I am a helpless female incapable of doing anything for herself. But I do want a partner who won't leave me to die at the hands of a rabid bat.

I grab a cloth napkin off the top of the table and cover my head with it as I run in a crouch to the door. I bang on the door, yelling at Rob to open it for me. Finally, he opens it a crack, and I squeeze myself through. He slams it shut behind me. He's panting, as if he’d just run a sprint. Which I guess he did, the speed with which he ran out of there.

"I don't do bats," he finally says. He's frantically brushing at his hair and shoulders and arms, as if it is on him.

"Yeah. I got that."

He just stares at me. Then, it hits me. "Your name is Robin."

He continues looking at me blankly.

"Your name is Robin and you're afraid of bats. What kind of sidekick would you make?"

"You think I've never heard that one before?" Oooooh, he's pissed. We stand there in silence, staring at each other. It is obvious that there has been a shift in our relationship. All because of a tiny flying rodent.

"You left me out there to fend for myself," I finally retort.

"You did fine. You managed."

"And that's what life would be with you, right? Managing."

"Sadie, I don't know what you're talking about. I don't think I can sleep here. Knowing that all those things are out there. I'm going to drive home."

"What? It's late. And I've had too much to drink to drive."

"I didn't say you had to leave. You can stay." He turns and walks down the hall. I follow him up the stairs to our room.

"You're seriously going to leave me here?"

"You'll be fine. Call me when you get back tomorrow, and I'll come over."

"Really? That's it? That's all you have to say?"

"I can call you when I get in tonight, but you'll probably be asleep. You have had a lot to drink. I don't want to wake you up."

"Um, okay. Thanks I guess." I watch him pack up. Of course, he's hung up all of his clothes, even though we were only supposed to be here for a night. Anal freak. I can't hold back any longer. "Really? Nothing else? You weren't going to ask me anything?"

He stops and looks at me like I have three heads. "Sadie, what are you blabbering about?"

In this moment, I know it's over. And a feeling of peace washes over me. Rob—Robin—is not the man for me. Who cares that I'm thirty-five? Who cares that my eyebrows are turning gray? Who cares that I keep considering adopting another cat and just turning into a crazy cat woman? I want a boyfriend who's not afraid to hold my hand in public. I shouldn't have to settle. I don't have to settle. And Rob would definitely be settling.

"Don't call me tomorrow."

"Okay."

That's all he says. Okay.

"Don't call me, Rob."

"I said I wouldn't."

"No, Rob. Don't call me again. I don't think this is going to work."

"What?"

"I don't think we're a good fit for each other. You left me to die at the hands of a rabid bat."

"I doubt it was rabid, although this is not the time of year bats are normally out."

"The point is that you left me. You saved yourself and didn't even stop to think about me. I want someone who puts me first."

"You really want to be alone at your age?"

Ouch. Low blow.

"If I'm alone, at least I know I'll put me first. And I can do that. I want love, Rob. I do. But I'm not sure you're capable of giving me what I need. Of loving me how I want to be loved. And I've waited this long, I can wait a little longer. I don't need to settle. And I'm afraid it would be settling with you. "

"If that's how you feel, I'm not going to beg you. I'll see you at school on Monday. "

And with that, he was gone. And I was alone in a romantic B&B on Valentine's Day. I guess that wasn't Cupid I saw earlier. Or, if he was here, he certainly wasn't here for me. I start to cry, but then stop. There was no reason to cry. I'm better off being alone than with someone who doesn’t meet my needs. I'm not going to settle again. I will wait for the man who will sweep me off my feet. And one who isn’t afraid of bats.

CHAPTER SEVEN

I sleep surprisingly well considering the events of the previous night. I'm guessing the wine had something to do with that. I will miss sharing my bed with someone. Not in a sexual way, although I will miss that a bit too. Rob and I only stayed together about two days a week, but those days were nice, waking up next to a warm body.

I need more than just a warm body. I deserve more than that. Don't I?

I take a shower and get dressed. Now in a comfortable sweater, leggings and boots, I wrap a scarf (my accessory of choice) around my neck and head downstairs for breakfast. It's sort of a reverse walk of shame, going down to breakfast alone. I wave at Dorothy who is flitting from table to table in the cafe, filling mugs with steaming hot coffee.

Standing in front of the door of death, I wait to catch Dorothy's eye so she can tell me where to sit. Her gaze is focused behind me, obviously looking for Rob. "Just one. The other party had to leave," I say coolly.

Well, maybe not coolly. My voice is high pitched and squeaky and about fifty decibels louder than I intended. And every person in the cafe turns to look at me. In my solo glory.

Sigh.

Just as the occupants of the cafe go back to ignoring me, my phone rings, drawing their attention my way. I slink backward through the fire door and look. It's not Rob. I don't know if I hoped it would be or not. I know I told him that I didn't want to talk to him again, but if he fought for me, I'd probably take him back.

"Hey Therese."

"Oh my God—you left me hanging all night! What happened? Did he do it? Of course he did. How was it? Oh my God—are you two still in bed celebrating?"

"No, actually, I'm going to breakfast. I have no idea what Rob is doing."

"He didn't do it yet? Maybe tonight? Maybe he's setting everything up so it's perfect?"

"I highly doubt that," I say, dejection seeping into my words and heart.

"Oh come on. You know it's coming. I hope he did a good job with the ring. Then we have to start talking wedding. Have you thought about when? Where? I'm your Matron of Honor, right? You'd better not pick Jenna over me."

"I'm not picking anyone, Therese. Rob left."

"Wait—what? Come again?"

"Rob went home last night. There was a bat here and it freaked him out. He said he couldn't stay, knowing it was in the building. So he left. I'd drank too much to drive home so I stayed."

"Um, wow. Sort of speechless over here. Not at all what I expected you to say."

"But wait, there's more."

"More than a bat? How can there be more?"

"Before he left, we broke up."

"WAIT—WHAT? WHY?"

"Therese, please stop screaming into my ear. What part of 'too much to drink' did you not hear? I have a bit of a headache. Rob freaked out when the bat dive-bombed me. He crawled under a table and then ran for his life, screaming like a little girl. He got behind a fire door and then
held it shut
with me on the other side, the bat still attacking me."

There's silence for a moment. "I have no words for that."

"It sort of occurred to me as he was shrieking and preventing me from getting to safety that he is probably not the man I want to spend my life with. Frankly, I'm sort of surprised that no one came out of their rooms with all that yelling. And then he told me that he was leaving, regardless of whether or not I could drive. He didn't offer to take me with him and drive back up tomorrow. He just said, 'Oh, you'll be fine' and started to go."

"So it's fine for you to stay in the bat house but not him?"

"Apparently. He's totally petrified of bats."

"His name is Robin."

"I know, right? That's exactly what I said. He didn't find it humorous. Not in the least."

"He's such a stick in the mud."

"He is, isn't he?"

"Truth."

"I can do better, right? I don't need to settle for someone who will leave me like that."

"No, you shouldn't settle. But on the other hand, are you okay being alone? There's got to be someone out there better than Rob, right?"

"I hope so. Dear Lord, I hope so. And no, I don't want to be alone, but I sort of was with Rob anyway. We only saw each other a few times a week. He wouldn't even hold my hand in public! I want someone who will do that. Who is not afraid to be seen with me or to let the world know that we're together and he loves me."

"Okay then, we'll set about finding your Mr. Right."

"Not this weekend though. I'm just going to hide out up here and lick my wounds."

"Do you think Rob will call?"

I think about that for a moment. "No, I don't think he will. I don't think I'm ever going to talk to him again." A weird feeling washes over me as I say this.

"Won't you see him at work?"

"Yeah I guess, but I don't think he'll ever get over this. I don't see us ever speaking again. You should have seen him when he left. I can't explain why I feel this way, but I'm never going to talk to him again. It's like he's dead to me."

"His loss then."

"Damn straight. Now I need to get some eggs and coffee and try not to look too pathetic while everyone else is all snuggled up for the most romantic weekend of the year, and I'm all by my lonesome."

Disconnecting from Therese, I head back into the cafe. Dorothy comes over and offers me coffee. "Yes, please."

"Are you all right, dear?"

"I think I will be. No, I know I will be. This will be a good thing."

She gives me a sympathetic look and brings me a plate of breakfast food. Scrambled eggs, hash browns, bacon, and toast. I scarf it down, not caring what I look like shoveling the food into my mouth.

"I like a lady with a healthy appetite." A voice from above my head startles me. I sit up quickly and inhale. Unfortunately for me, I still have some scrambled egg in my mouth and I somehow manage to get it lodged in my throat. Not in an I-need-the-Heimlich kind of way, but in an embarrassing fit of coughing kind of way.

My eyes are watering and I'm still spluttering and choking. Finally, I can breathe. I look up to see Cupid standing over me. He's not dressed as Cupid today though. His hair is dark brown with a little wave to it, now that it's not covered by that hideous wig. He's wearing comfortable jeans and a plaid flannel shirt over a Henley. His eyes are blue, and he's got the perfect amount of five o'clock shadow. He's got that solid, steady appearance that is only slightly reminiscent of the guy on the paper towel package.

"Sorry, didn't mean to make you choke."

"No problem. Kind of just how things are going these days."

"Aunt Dorothy said you're flying solo. Mind if I join you?"

I wave towards the seat, giving him the go-ahead. "Make yourself at home."

"Well, since it sort of is my home ..."

"Oh, right. So you live here?"

"I'm more of a caretaker. I help my aunt out with maintenance and when it's a full house. Speaking of which, you weren't alone last night when I saw you."

"So that was you dressed as Cupid!"

His face turns the same shade of red as his shirt. "You saw that."

"A burly man in a wig, leather vest, chaps and with wings is hard to miss. What was that about?"

"Just trying to help my friend out. She was having a Galentine's party and I showed up and—"

"Oh my—did you strip?"

"Good God, no. I just passed out romantic messages that Tracy gave me to hand out."

"What is Galentine's?"

"I don't even know. It was a bunch of chicks in a room. Most of them are single, so I think it's about celebrating their friendships or something. I don't know. Tracy asked. I have trouble saying no."

"Is the tattoo real?"

He laughs, his face breaking into a wide grin. He's like movie star handsome when he smiles like that. I try not to swoon. "No. My mom would kill me if I ever did that."

"Didn't it say mother?"

He smiles again. Oh. My. God. So cute. "When I was little, my great uncle had a tattoo on his bicep from his time in the service. I was fascinated by it. I always wanted to touch it. He told me that I should never get a tattoo, because if you change your mind, they have to cut your arm off."

"Jeez! How old were you?"

He shrugs. "About five, I think? He died not that long after. I promised him that I would never get a tattoo because I didn't want my arm cut off. Kind of always stuck with me, I guess."

"I'm not even sure how to respond to that story." I pause for a moment. "You know, I'm normally not into tattoos, but the right one on the right guy can be a real panty dropper."

His mouth falls open. "Okay, I'll head to the tattoo parlor later today. Does the 'mother' thing work for you?

"Well, maybe not that one. I hope it doesn't traumatize you after the story you told me about your uncle. I'm still trying to process that one."

"Oh stick around. I have lots more stories. But what about you? What's going on with you? You never did answer my question about what happened to the guy from last night."