Frost on My Window Read online

  “Please. You were driving slower than Miss Daisy. They couldn’t help but hit you.” She waved her wine glass.

  “Fine. You drive.”

  “Which you hoped I’d do in the first place.”

  She had a point. “True. Now why don’t we check out the bedrooms?” I suggested.

  The wine lent a soft haze to the world, making everything look warm and welcoming. I stood leaning against my bedroom wall, proud of my creation. I’d decided that if I couldn’t have California, I would bring the sunshine and sand back east. I hadn’t grown up on the West Coast, but I’d been born to love it. I’d hung gold sheer drapes over the windows, and on the floor lay a room-size sand-colored, hand-woven Berber rug. Watercolor pictures of the coast lined the cream-colored walls. A small birch table sat in the corner. My laptop, along with the printer, sat surrounded by unsorted technology magazines.

  The solid oak Shaker bed was covered with a matching duvet and pillows. Simba crouched at the bottom of the bed, staring aggressively at my two stuffed giraffes.

  “Okay, Martha Stewart. All you need is the handmade quilt,” Rena laughed.

  I poked her with my elbow. “Don’t hate the homemaker, learn the game.”

  “Good Lord.” Rena rolled her eyes and turned around, heading for her bedroom. “You might want to bring a notebook, because men don’t get down with Martha. And no black man I know would sleep in those sheets.”

  “That’s okay, I’m used to having the bed all to myself.” I giggled. Rena’s loud laughter echoed in the hallway. My cousin made being single sound like a felony, but in truth if not having a man in your bed was a crime, both of us would’ve been on death row.

  I followed and stopped in the doorway, surveying Rena’s oasis. Where my room was light, hers was rich. Rena’s new dresser had a dark brown wood finish with crimson and cream candles scattered on top. An olive green cotton velvet armchair sat alongside the window, just outside the reach of the wine-red balloon shades. I turned my eyes towards a new bed that spoke of late mornings and early nights.

  “Where did this come from?” I walked in and promptly collapsed on top of it. I looked over at Rena as she lay beside me gazing up at the ceiling with a whimsical expression.

  “Guess I needed a little change,” she replied.

  “A little?” I laughed. “This place looks like something out of Lawrence of Arabia.”

  Turning towards the headboard, I watched the fading sunlight play across the rich brown wood. Rena had mounted a wrought iron fixture over the bed and hung butternut-colored drapes from the crescent shaped bar. The cream-colored linen billowed across the front of the bed while curving around her printed pillows.

  “Don’t worry, cuz. We can switch rooms when Sean comes by.”

  I sat up and turned to look down at a smiling Rena. Her eyes were closed and her arms lay folded across her chest. My head swam at the quick movement and so I lay back down.

  “It’s not like that and you know it,” I denied.

  “What is it then?”

  The truth was that I didn’t know. The sound of the phone ringing came just in time. I watched as Rena hopped off the bed and unsteadily walked out of the room. In her place, a quiet Simba jumped on the bed and purposefully settled himself on my stomach.

  “So everything’s going well? Danny staying out of trouble? Great…yeah, she’s right here. Just a minute.” Rena walked back in waving the cordless phone like a fan.

  “Who is it?” I whispered.

  Rena’s laugh was downright wicked. “Speak of the devil and he’ll call you on the phone.”

  I frowned at her turn of phrase and sat up, slowly reaching for the cordless.

  “Hello?” My voice came out husky and slightly slurred.

  “Sleeping already?” came Sean’s voice.

  “No. Just taking a break from unpacking all these boxes.”

  “Wish I could be there to help you.” Sean’s pleasant baritone came through clear on the phone.

  “So what city are you in tonight?” I asked.

  “Dallas for one night and then Austin. Would you like to come see us play?”

  “I’ve already promised to visit my parents tomorrow. Besides, aren’t you going to be making your way through New York?” I cradled the phone to my ear.

  “I’ll be there in four weeks.”

  “I’ll see you then.”

  Yes, I would see with my own eyes the rock star millions of women sought and men envied. I tried hard to think of him as if he were an older brother, but failed. The man had a way about him.

  A way of looking at a woman out of those soulful, green eyes as if I were the only person in the world. A way of talking to me with that smoothly pitched, masculine voice as if he were the voice of my secret fantasies. A way of touching me with those long fingers so that even an innocent brush across my cheek sent a shiver of desire across my skin.

  “I was hoping to see you before that. This tour…it’s harder than I thought it would be.”

  I could feel the string tighten slightly. The slack built by absence gradually began to disappear as he pulled.

  “Sean, you’ll be fine. I promise.”

  “I believe you. Now, will you be at my concert?”

  “Rena and I already bought tickets.” I smiled.

  “Why did you do that, Leah? You know I’ll give you backstage passes.”

  I shook my head. “So Rena and I can be run over by a mob of screaming fans?” I laughed. “No, thanks. Plus, the press will be all over you guys.”

  “I want to see you. If you won’t come backstage, will you at least sit in the front row?”

  “I’ll think about it,” I answered evasively. He always asked that same question and I’d usually give him a flat-out ‘not happening.’

  “I’ll tell Bob to send you the tickets. Now how’s our boy?”

  I looked at Simba, who lay stretched out on my stomach, his head pillowed in my tee shirt as his copper and black striped tummy slowly rose and fell. Sean and I had come across the stray one night. I’d ended up wrapping the injured cat in Sean’s jacket and together we spent the night at the animal hospital.

  “He’s doing fine. Simba’s already scared off the terrier next door.”

  “Good. I knew he’d do well.”

  I laughed and the cat opened his marble eyes and leveled me with an arrogant glare.

  “What about the band? Is everything okay? Are you and the boys getting along?”

  He answered in a high note of excitement. “We’ve got it back. Our sound, the style. The crowds are going crazy every night. It’s incredible how well the new tracks have been welcomed.”

  I heard a knock in the background.

  “I’ve gotta go back to the arena.”

  “Good luck,” I said.

  Sean’s reply came after a short pause. “I miss you.”

  The rope suddenly got tauter with those three words. “I’ll see you soon.”

  I hit the off switch and gently picked up Simba and laid him on the bed. Getting up, I walked out of the room carrying a chill and a longing. In that moment, I wanted the ocean back, the soothing feel of wet sand and rolling waves.

  Chapter 3

  Later that night as I lay in bed, I couldn’t help but remember my first meeting with Sean. I’d met Rena at a star-studded shindig and I’d stood there amongst the navel-baring starlets, who seemed right at home wearing designer gowns. Taking a sip of champagne, I watched as male heads turned to observe the entrance of the newest Latin diva. Fina Caston moved like a cat through the crush. Her dark wavy hair captured men at a glance. But I just giggled, seeing myself in the black Paul Gaultier dress.

  “What are you laughing about?” Rena stood beside me with a glass of some clear liquid.

  “I was wondering if I could fit my leg in that dress.”

  Rena turned her eyes in the direction I was staring. “They probably had to either pour it on her or wax her down first.”

  “You’
ve got to admit that she looks good,” I observed.

  “Hey, I’m not a hater. But if you paid as much as she does for plastic surgery, personal trainers, a live-in chef, and a dietician, you’d look damn good, too,” she replied.

  We laughed and clicked our glasses together in a mock toast. I left Rena and the group of media producers, superstars, and entertainers. In the middle of the party surrounded by people, I felt alone. But Rena, she was in her element as she moved from person to person working the crowd.

  After telling my cousin not to look for me since I might leave early, I took a glass of wine and stepped out through the wide French doors leading to the pool. Further out, I could see the waters of the Pacific. Slipping off my sandals, I walked barefoot over the soft, manicured grass. The fresh scent of flowers and the hint of the ocean hung in the air like a fine mist of perfume. As with the inside of the Mediterranean-style villa, Jerrod Hughes had left no detail overlooked with the landscaping of his lawn.

  As I drew up to the edge of the ocean drop-off, I saw a man standing next to the cliff with his arms outstretched. The moon above bathed everything in white and down below the ocean sparkled like diamonds. I guess I made some noise because I remember him slowly turning around.

  I will never forget his eyes. Deep green rimmed with gold and filled with shadows. Before they closed and turned away, desolate sorrow stared at me. I was already nervous about being so close to the cliff, but the stranger stood less than a yard from an over hundred foot drop.

  He broke the silence. “My mom would tell me such stories of the ocean when I was a lad.”

  I looked down the coast. The pale sand and jagged rocks were bathed in silver moonlight. His voice was but a whisper and I listened closely, trying to place his accent, guess his background.

  “Early Saturday mornings, she would wake me up in the darkness and we’d sneak out of the house while Dad was asleep. She and I would walk barefoot along the empty beach, hunting for seashells as the sun rose.” The stranger’s words seemed to carry a lilt.

  West Coast, I thought, turning my head to search his face. His wheat-colored hair fluttered in the breeze. Tall and lean with fair, sun-kissed skin, thick eyebrows, and a strong jaw, he conjured up magazine advertisements. Classical looks, my high school art teacher would have said. Whether or not he sensed my stare, he continued.

  “Mom would tell me Scottish fairy tales.” His clenched fists loosened. “The one I remember most was the ‘Fisherman and the Mermaid,’ ” he said at last. “In this tale, the mermaids were humans who could wear the form of a seal. The story started with a fisherman’s boat landing on the shore to hunt seals. After the men finished stripping the animals of their skins, they set sail into a storm. As the ship was on the verge of sinking, the mermaids offered the fisherman a bargain: if they returned the sealskins, their lives would be saved.”

  He paused. “Being desperate men, they threw the skins into the sea and waited for rescue. In one version of the story, the mermaids landed them safely on the nearest shore. In another version, the mermaids left the fisherman to drown.”

  Dropping my shoes on the soft grass, I took a step forward, and then another, until I stood beside the stranger as he stood staring straight ahead. “That was an interesting story,” I said softly, hoping that he would take a step back from the edge. His breathing was fast and uneven, his hands quivering. My heart pounded in my ears as I tried to recall all the TV shows where the cop stepped out onto the ledge to talk the person down. I wasn’t wild about the idea of standing on the edge of the cliffs, but I couldn’t just leave him there alone.

  “What’s your name?” he asked without turning towards me.

  “Leah.” I looked up as he glanced my way.

  “Leah, have you ever seen such a sight?” It was then that I smelled the sharp scent of alcohol.

  “No.” I thought of the only body of water at home and gave a slight laugh.

  “You think this is funny?” His voice held a hint of irritation.

  “No. It’s just that where I come from the only water flowing is the river. Trust me, the California coast looks a lot different from the Schuylkill River.”

  “Where’s that?”

  “Philadelphia, Pennsylvania.”

  “You’re from there, then?”

  “Born and raised. What’s your name?”

  “Sean.”

  I put out my hand and watched as it was engulfed by his. An unexpected electric current set my fingers to tingling. The grip of his fingers was tight, but I didn’t extract my hand until I’d managed to pull him further away from the edge. “So, Sean, where are you from?” I stained to keep my voice casual.

  “You can’t guess?” His accent became a little more pronounced.

  “Los Angeles?” I guessed.

  “Good God, no. My families from Scotland but I spent most of my time in Sonoma,” his voice was filled with indignation.

  “Sorry,” I smiled. “You just fit my image of either an actor or a Calvin Klein underwear model.”

  His mouth opened and closed, and then he laughed and the sound echoed over the cliff, sending sleeping birds into the air. For a moment his face caught the moonlight and his eyes glowed burning green. I wondered later how I didn’t recognize him. Then again, I was too wrapped up in mourning Lance’s marriage, grappling with the loss of something I’d never had. It was Sean who spoke next.

  “You did a very dangerous thing, Leah, coming out here alone.”

  I gestured towards the tall cliff. “And your standing right on the edge is safe?” The sarcasm in my voice could have cut through steel.

  He seemed eager to change the subject. “So what is a beautiful woman like you doing all alone when the party of the year is taking place less than a hundred yards away?”

  I shrugged my shoulders and then carefully sat down in the grass. “I’m not really in the party mood tonight.”

  “I find myself not wanting to attend these things either,” Sean said.

  “Is that what brought you out here?”

  “No.”

  I watched as a shudder racked his body and his breathing became even more uneven and heavy. “Three years ago on this night,” he said slowly, “my mother died of cancer.”

  We were quiet for a while and impulsively I reached over and took his hand. Sean’s fingers clutched so tight I thought my fingers would break. And then the sobs came and I could barely hear his whispers. I’d only seen my father cry once, at a funeral. My mother had taken him aside and held him in her arms. Using that memory as an example, I did the same.

  And so we sat next to the cliff and I talked steadily, with Sean quiet save a shudder, a laugh, or a muttered word. I talked all night about growing up happy, sassy, and loved in Philly. Sometime during the night, we stretched out on the grass, snuggled together for warmth. Much later, blinking to clear the sleep from my eyes, I sat up slowly.

  The tide had rolled out, uncovering the rocks, and that place where the land ended abruptly and the ocean rolled in claiming the earth as its own was as close to perfect as I thought possible. I watched as the sea of silver tides gave way to waves of gold. With the sun peeking above skyline, I turned to look at the person at my side. His eyes were closed and lips slack with sleep.

  In darkness, people unpeel the layers and reveal themselves. That night a stranger named Sean became a son missing his mother, a long-lost child remembering, and a human hurting. I reluctantly pulled my hand away from his as I continued to stare at his sleeping face and my heart felt lighter for the first time in months. I stood slowly and in the early light of day walked towards the house, not looking back. Having bared half my soul that night, I couldn’t find the courage to stay and talk.

  * * *

  “Hey,” came Rena’s loud voice.

  “Hmmm,” I responded.

  “Snap out of it, girlfriend, or we’re about to take the scenic route through north Philly. Which exit do I take?”

  I guided Rena towards ho
me and felt my neck relax and breath ease as the car turned down each familiar street. Rena pulled up in the driveway and switched off the engine. Before I could open the car door, Mom and Pop walked out the front door. Their eyes held no reproach for my widely spaced visits and move to the West Coast. Ralph’s transfer to Atlanta had broken their hearts. First born, first to leave. My older brother ran from Philly hoping to find the New York of the South more to his liking.

  Mom started her fussing as soon as the hugs were over.

  “You girls have gotten so thin. What have you been eating?” Her dark eyes scanned my frame. “I know you haven’t been eating right. You need to get some more meat on your bones.” Her fingers lightly pinched my arm. “I don’t want to hear no mess about either of you picking up that white woman’s disease. We won’t have no…”

  “Anorexia,” Rena supplied.

  Mom nodded her head. Lillie Russell looked fantastic. Mom walked two miles a day and her auburn-colored hair was pulled back in a stylish French twist.

  “That’s the one,” she declared. “We won’t have it in this family.”

  “Auntie…Mom,” Rena and I said simultaneously.

  Rena continued, “Neither of us is in any danger of becoming anorexic. Shoot, we have better chances at winning the lottery without buying a ticket.”

  I had to laugh at Rena’s comeback. The women in our family are big boned. No matter how much time I spend at the gym, this backside of mine isn’t going anywhere. It was a gift from someone on my mother’s side of the family with a no money back, no return, no exchange policy attached.

  “I almost can’t believe the two of you made it,” Mom exclaimed.

  I looked over at Rena just in time to see her roll her eyes. The back of my throat tickled with mirth. This was going to be Rena at her best. She could wrap Mom around her little finger.

  “How could we miss out on your red velvet cake? I’ve been dreaming about it since last week. Not to mention your pot roast. How could we pass that up?” Rena wrapped her arms around Mom’s waist and started towards the door.

  As if swept away by a sudden gust of wind, my mother’s reprimands vanished. Cooking was her pride and joy, the kitchen her domain. Children and husband were allowed only to watch her work and to later offer proper praise for her delicious meals.