“Good crap, are they ever in a hurry. What could they be up to this early in the morning?” Seymour said, more to himself than to anyone in particular.
“Well, I surely don’t know, but I’d sure like to spend some more time with you this morning,” she said, pulling his arm close and rubbing it suggestively against her clad bosom. Once she’d gotten his attention and she could see that he was looking directly into her eyes, she continued, “If you know what I mean?” winking.
“Oh, yeah, I mean no, really I’d love to hang out with you for awhile this morning but I’ve got a project I’ve got to get together and need to hit the library before my noon class,” he tripped over his tongue but he was sure she’d gotten the message.
“You sure? I think I can make it worth your while,” she said; in her best Southern drawl in a final attempt to sway her crush.
“I really appreciate the offer; maybe another day.” Pulling him away from her grasp and waving as he jogged toward the library, Blanche foremost on his mind.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
A light breeze swayed the limbs of the old oak tree just outside the second story window of Blanche’s room. Spanish moss hung in great sheets from the angled branches, some extending almost to the ground, casting spider web like shadows on the bedspread upon which Blanche lay. The fleeing sunlight, all but gone for the day, Blanche lay meditating, as she always did upon completing a novel, absorbing the full impact and importance of the words that had so touched her soul over these past two weeks. She loved a book that could pull her into the pages and make her a part, as had Mandingo.
The beating of her heart could be felt, her hand resting there, her eyes closed, lost in the story, mingling it with her own life and journey. She thought of her childhood, her strict upbringing from parents who obviously loved her and wanted only the best for her, and the many miles that now separated them. The feelings of joy and fulfillment, although not always present, had been more readily apparent since her move, however, she longed for someone to hold her hand, a strong hero who would sweep into her life and transport her to a place of love and ecstasy that she only could imagine.
With her eyes closed, in that state between sleep and cognition, she could almost see him. His broad shoulders, muscled arms testing the limits of the uniform he wore, sworn to protect God and country. A light smile parted her lips as the pleasant thought floated through her mind, causing a burning in her bosom, providing hope to a once hopeless passage. In the shadow cast rental room, her mind still fully engaged with the man of her dreams, she said a little prayer, not aloud but with the faith of a child she’d possessed years ago, “Father, if you are there and you do know who I am, would it be too much to ask for someone to come my way that would love me, take care of me and treat me like someone special.” As her thought passed from this dimension to the next, she saw him for only a split second. The man of her dreams, brown hair under his tilted cap, profile only, but a distinctive dimple in his left cheek.
“What could she possibly be doing, she’s been just laying there for more than a half hour,” he thought, posed on the balcony of a home less than a block away. He’d been lucky to find a place with no one home for the evening, which gave him the vantage point he needed to see directly into her room. “Tonight is for me,” he thought. “No agenda, no hazardous duty pay, just for me.” The viewfinder filled with the shadowed image of the woman on the bed. Click.
He was not quite sure what he’d expected from this ‘Peeping Tom’ routine. The pictures taken from the safety of the van continued to excite him and give him a sense of power, however, skulking in the dim fading light of day did not provide the same pleasure that confronting her face to face had. He again found her in the viewfinder and extended the telephoto lens, he could see her hand on her chest, “Perhaps she is thinking of me the way I have her since our encounter,” he thought.
As he sat back in the wooden chair provided by the unknowing homeowners and looked across the distance from his perch to her room, he wondered what it would be like to possess such a rare creature. He thought of the pictures of her walking with the young guy from the library and imagined himself taking that role. It was not entirely unlikely; he was not a bad looking guy. In his line of work he had to keep himself in tip top shape and there’d been nights when he’d walked away from the bar with the best looking woman in the place, even if she was a little more tipsy than he preferred.
Before long he got tired of waiting for something to happen, a couple more pictures were taken for good measure and he left the relative security of the balcony and walked the few blocks to his van and headed home. The drive had been one of unrestrained fantasy. Why was this woman, that he did not know, having this affect on him? The short and not overly friendly exchange they had in the library was not one made of dreams.
He found her attractive and intriguing; the soft spot she had for ‘authentic’ patriots kind of pulled at his heartstrings and helped him remember the man he used to be. He harkened back to days in the field with his dad before he got sick and the times they had shared hunting the backwoods near their home and the long, lazy days on the banks of the river catching catfish. His mother had passed when he was young; cancer had taken her from his life, but not his memory.
The thought of her standing at the kitchen sink, welcoming him home from school, the smell of fresh baked sugar cookies still lingering in the air, were as vibrant now as the day he reflected on. She was quick to bring him inline but equally quick to offer a loving hug. His dad had been much the same and he missed the time together and had been bitter when his father had also been taken before his time. Solace had come at a critical time for him, the passing of his father and the void that created had been partially filled by Virginia May, a farmer’s daughter he’d known from his youth.
Red hair, pale, freckle covered skin, an innocence that he had found refreshing. She had brought passion, and what he thought would be lasting love, to his life when he thought all was lost. They lived in the home in which he was raised, lived off the land and farmed what they could to make ends meet. It was not an abundant life but a satisfying one as far as he was concerned. He was unaware of her discontent until it was too late.
The hours he spent caring for the land, the animals and making a living for them were hours away from her and it was more than she could bear. She needed constant reassurance and the meager existence they were scraping out was less than she’d dreamed of having. Raised in difficult times, her parents had always provided food on the table and adequate clothing but there was nothing exquisite about her surroundings or belongings, and she longed for that. Surely there was more in store for her, and in her own mind, she had settled and wound up in the same circumstances as her parents.
Virginia May knew he loved her, would give his life for her, however, she was unable to cope with the many hours spent alone, ultimately what the redhead did with those hours led to their destruction. The day of her departing haunted him still, the fancy SUV sitting in the driveway, her bags by the door, a simple lunch on the table as she always did when he came home for a quick break from the fields. A dark, handsome man had stood near the Escalade, pacing back and forth, checking the time on his Rolex repeatedly. Not much of an explanation other than she’d found new love and was moving on but, “they could still be friends”, she’d said, with a parting, pathetic kiss on his cheek. She might as well have ripped his heart from his chest and crushed it under her heels.