Rosemary Beach: When I'm Gone Part 5

The light in her eyes dimmed but only for a moment. "That's right. You have to get back to Texas. I forgot."

I nodded. "I have to get to the airport right away."

I stood up, and she backed away, giving us more s.p.a.ce. I didn't want her to back up. She took that cinnamon and sugar smell with her.

"Dr. Munroe has your number, but here is his contact information. Call him. He's expecting you to call him. He will only call you if you don't."

She took the paper in my hand and nodded. "I will. Today," she replied.

"Good." I needed to leave, but here I stood, staring at her.

"Thank you, again. Really. I may say this a million more times." Her eyes were bright with new unshed tears.

"You don't have to do that. But I'd like for you to call me after your meeting with him. I will be curious about how things go. Keep me updated."

She beamed at me. "Yes. I can do that."

With one last look at her, I headed for the door. I had to get out of here before I reached out and pulled that shiny hair back over to me so I could smell her cinnamon scent and get tangled in all those silky locks.

"Be careful," she called out to me.

I opened her door, then glanced back at her and winked. "Always."

Reese.

My double date had to be postponed. We had set it for Thursday, but Thursday was the first evening that I could meet with Dr. Munroe. I thought about calling Mase and telling him that I had called the professor and set up my first meeting, but he had said to call him after my meeting. I didn't want to bug him.

So instead, I stared at the photo of his boots a lot on my phone.

I had a crush on Mase Manning. It wasn't my first crush. I'd had a couple in high school, but I soon found out that those guys were flirting with me only when no one was around. When they saw me in the halls, they ignored me. I was invisible to them unless they got me alone. Those crushes died quickly, and I stopped paying attention to cute guys. My senior year, the captain of the cheerleading squad caught her boyfriend cornering me outside and got furious. He never spoke to me again, which was a relief, but then, shortly afterward, the entire school was talking about me being a lesbian.

I didn't figure that was a bad thing. I wasn't into girls. Especially the mean vipers I went to school with, but I sure wasn't into any of the guys there, either. So I let them call me names, and I ignored them. Eventually, they moved on to someone else who responded to their cruelty.

Needless to say, it had been a while since I had actually had a real, honest-to-G.o.d crush on a guy. My stepfather had made sure that I kept men away at a football field's length. I cringed thinking of the man who had taken my innocence and tainted me for life.

Shoving all thoughts concerning Mase aside, I went to take a shower. Memories of how my stepfather always sent me to scrub my body clean under the hottest water I could stand popped into my head, but at least I no longer threw up when I thought of him. I was getting distance from my terrible past. I was improving.

Wednesday evening, my phone rang just as I pulled the lasagna I'd made out of the oven. I had made an entire pan of it, hoping that Jimmy might want to come over and eat. But he'd called me at around three to let me know he was going out that night since I'd bailed on our double-date night. He was on me about giving him another night that would work, but I couldn't seem to muster the interest. Right now, I was very focused on learning to read.

So I kept coming up with excuses for why I couldn't go.

I dropped my oven mitt and went to pick up my phone. My heart started racing when I saw the cowboy boots on my screen. It was Mase.

"h.e.l.lo," I said on the third ring.

"Hey. You haven't called me." His deep voice came over the phone, and my toes curled into the carpet.

"Oh, well, I don't go to my first meeting until tomorrow," I explained, really thankful that he couldn't see the silly grin on my face right then.

"Good. You have one scheduled. Did you like him when you spoke to him on the phone?"

I walked over and sat down in the chair he had sat in before he left and pulled my feet up under me. "Yes. He was very nice. He seemed eager to meet with me. He asked me several questions, and after hearing my answers, he said he was positive that I do, in fact, have dyslexia." I had wanted to dance around the room when he'd told me that.

"I'll be available tomorrow evening. Call me when it's over. I want to hear everything."

The fact that he cared so much made my little crush pulse and grow even more. Having a crush on someone like Mase Manning was ridiculous. He probably had a world of women with crushes on him. He was helping me, and it would make him uncomfortable to know how I felt.

"OK. I'll call," I a.s.sured him.

"Good. I've got to go. I'm having dinner at my parents'. I'll talk to you tomorrow night."

"OK, 'bye," I replied.

Dropping my phone into my lap, I felt like clapping and squealing. But instead, I got up and went to enjoy some lasagna.

Astor Munroe was not what I had been expecting. When I thought of a professor, I imagined a man with silver in his hair and possibly gla.s.ses. Maybe even a little potbelly under his b.u.t.ton-up starched shirt.

What I hadn't expected was a man of about thirty-five, with a tall, lanky body, wearing a pair of blue jeans, Nike tennis shoes, and a short-sleeved polo shirt. He wasn't handsome, exactly, but then, I was comparing him with Mase, and that wasn't exactly fair. I wouldn't want to be compared with Harlow. They were the beautiful people. So I shouldn't do that to Dr. Munroe.

His soft brown eyes were kind. He didn't make me nervous at all. The moment I walked into his office, he stood up and, with an easy smile, invited me to have a seat. After every question and request, he a.s.sured me that it was all to help me learn. It was obvious that he was excited about the challenge I presented to him. He shared the story of his father's struggle, and I was in awe of how, at twenty-one years old, Dr. Munroe had taught his father to conquer something he had been dealing with his whole life.

But when I got up to leave, he made a comment I didn't understand. I thought about it on the cab ride back home, while the female driver chatted on about her grandkids and how good her chicken and dumplings were.

When I had thanked him for fitting me into his schedule so quickly, he had said I had Mr. Manning to thank for that.

Question was, what did that mean? Had Mase done something to get him to act so swiftly? And if so, what?

Mase.

Next time someone knocked on my door, I was going to check out the window first before opening it. I had been waiting for Reese's call when I'd made the mistake of answering a knock at the door. Cordelia, my friend with benefits, came strutting in wearing her skintight jeans and a halter crop top. Her boots clicked on the hardwood floor, and she smirked at me as she moved toward my bedroom.

"You haven't called, and I need a good f.u.c.k," she hollered over her shoulder, before pulling the halter top off and tossing it at me with a laugh.

My c.o.c.k didn't even twitch. s.h.i.t.

I had hoped this . . . thing I was feeling about Reese wasn't more than just a friendship thing. But f.u.c.k me, all I could see was what was wrong with Cordelia. For starters, her belly b.u.t.ton was pierced. I used to think that was s.e.xy, but now it seemed she was trying too hard. And her hips didn't flare. When she swayed those nonexistent hips, there was no nice roundness to her a.s.s. It was hardly there.

This wasn't going to work. I'd been friends with Cordelia for years. Two years ago, we had gotten drunk and slept together, so instead of making things awkward, we'd agreed that it was OK. We'd scratch each other's itch when we needed to. Only once had we put a halt to it, when she'd gotten serious for about four months with a guy who turned out to be married. She'd ended it, and we'd gone back to our old ways.

I didn't date often. I wasn't available enough for females. They were needy, and after a couple of failed relationships, I had decided that s.e.x with Cordelia was the fix I needed. But things seemed off now. Something had changed.

And it was me.

Dammit. I didn't have time for this.

"You should have called," I told her, tossing her halter top back at her.

She didn't grab it but let it fall to the ground at her feet. The confused frown on her face didn't bode well. "I never call. I just show up. Same for you," she reminded me.

"I'm waiting for a phone call. It's important. I can't tonight."

She cupped her t.i.ts in her hands and pinched the pink nipples. "You telling me a phone call is better than this?"

I knew women well enough not to tell her the truth. So I shrugged. "Tonight's not gonna work. I'm not sure when will work. I've got a busy week ahead of me." In case these feelings that were s.c.r.e.w.i.n.g with my head where Reese was concerned faded, I didn't want to end things with Cordelia. She was a friend, too.

She reached down and s.n.a.t.c.hed up her top and jerked it back on. "Fine. Be an a.s.s. I won't be back, so if you want it, you have to come and get it," she said angrily.

Oh, man. This wasn't why I screwed around with her. Cordelia didn't do drama. She was easy to handle. This was drama. I hated drama.

"Sorry, Cord. I really am. But I have a lot going on right now. It's just not a good time for me. Mentally, I'm not in the game."

She glared at me and slammed the door behind her.

With any luck, she'd sleep on this and be over it tomorrow. I liked Cordelia. I just never liked her for more than a friend. The s.e.x thing was just better than jacking off alone. I needed to apologize to her, but for now, I was glad she'd left without too much of a fuss.

My phone rang. Suddenly, I didn't care about Cordelia anymore.

"Hey," I said, as I held the phone to my ear, anxious to hear Reese tell me about her meeting.

"I hope it's not too late. There was a wreck on Thirty-One A, and traffic was backed up." Her soft voice warmed me through the phone.

"No, it's not too late. Who drove you?"

"I took a cab. There's a lady Jimmy knows who lives near Panama City. She's been working this strip of the beach for about twenty years. We don't have many taxis around here."

She had been with a lady. That made me feel better. A strange man driving her would have made her uncomfortable. I hadn't thought about that. I kept forgetting that she didn't have a car. Wait . . . "Reese, can you drive?" If she couldn't read, she never would have pa.s.sed her written test to get a license.

"No," she answered.

Another thing that had hindered her life. "Next time I'm in town, I'm taking you out on a back road and giving you lessons. We'll study the written test, too."

She was silent a moment. I wondered if she was scared to get behind a wheel. Then I finally heard her shuffle around. "OK. I'd like that."

I would, too. "Tell me about your meeting."

"Dr. Munroe was nice. He's very excited about helping me. I took some tests, and I'm definitely dyslexic. That's it. That's all that's wrong with me. He said my teachers or my parents should have caught it when I was a kid, but somehow it was overlooked or misdiagnosed . . ." She trailed off. I didn't want her thoughts going there. Someone had told her she was stupid, and I knew her parents were part of that.

"When do you start working with him?"

"Monday afternoons, he has to come to Grayton Beach, which isn't too far from here. His mother lives there, and he has dinner with her. He said we could meet at the library in town. Then, on Thursday afternoons, I have to go to his office to do lessons. He thinks I'll read quickly once he helps me learn how to focus on the words. No one has worked with me before the way I need."

She was excited. As she continued, she got louder and talked faster. It was cute. I could imagine her blue eyes twinkling with happiness.

"By the time you come back, I might be able to read to you," she said, and then I heard her nervous laugh like she hadn't meant to say that out loud.

"Why wait until I visit? You can read to me on the phone when you call to tell me about your lessons."

She was quiet again, and I let her play with that idea a moment. I didn't want to make her skittish. But I did want her to be comfortable with me. Even on the phone. "You want me to call after my lessons?" she asked.

"Of course I do. If that's OK. I'd like to know how things go."

"Yes, that's fine. I'm . . . I will do that. And when I'm brave enough, I'll read to you."

Reese.

For two weeks, I went to my lessons and called Mase afterward. By the fourth lesson, I realized that I was more excited about hearing Mase's voice than I was about my actual lessons. And that was saying a lot, because I loved my lessons. I loved how strong I felt as I learned to focus on words and decipher what things said.

I would never be a fast or avid reader. Dr. Munroe had told me not to let that get me down. Reading would never be my strong point, but I would be able to do it. This wouldn't hold me back from driving, going to college, or filling out job applications anymore.

At the beginning of our third week, I was all set to meet Dr. Munroe at the library in town. He was going to send me home with a book to practice on. The last two books he had given me were very simple, one or two words a page, picture books. I had read those in five minutes each by my next lesson. He was going to give me something more complicated tonight. I was preparing myself for it. I could do it.

Then I would get to call Mase afterward and tell him about my lessons.

Lila Kate woke up from her nap and cried out, and I moved from the stairs where I was dusting to call for Harlow, but she was already coming running around the corner with a grin on her face. She kept a baby-monitor device on her whenever she wasn't with Lila Kate. I'd forgotten about that.

"She let me finish the cookies I was making for Grant," Harlow said, as she pa.s.sed me on the stairs. "When they cool, why don't you take a break and have cookies and milk with me?"

Harlow always asked me things like this. She didn't ignore me the way my other clients did, and she didn't look down her nose when she spoke to me. Instead, she acted like I was her partner. She appreciated my help, even though she was paying me to do it.

"I would like that, and thanks for asking, but I have to meet someone tonight. I need to finish up and get home to clean up before I go," I wished I didn't have to decline the offer. I had skipped breakfast and was hungry.

Harlow beamed at me. "Well, I can fix that. You have milk and cookies with me, and I'll give you a lift home. You'll be back much sooner with a ride. And don't tell me no. You turned me down last week, and my brother called to make sure I gave you a ride. I explained that you wouldn't let me, and he blamed me. So from now on, I'm driving you. No arguments." She turned and hurried after Lila Kate, who was now crying louder since she'd heard Harlow's voice.

It took me a moment to steady myself. I pressed my hands to my warm cheeks and wished I hadn't blushed. Mase had called to see if she was driving me home. He was thinking about me aside from when I called him. The crazy grin that was stuck to my face every time I thought of Mase was back.

When I had started dusting the steps again, Harlow reappeared at the top of them holding a wide-eyed, smiling Lila Kate. She was happy now that she had her mommy. The little girl could light up a room.

"Lila Kate is expecting you for cookies and milk, too. So you can't turn her down. No one is allowed to tell her no. Just ask her daddy," Harlow said, starting down the steps. "Let's go enjoy our break,"

I wasn't going to argue. It would be rude, and, well, if Mase wanted her to give me a lift so badly that he was calling to bug her, I wasn't telling her no. Besides, I really was hungry.