“Do you feel normal?”
He didn’t answer right away and remained silent while their coffee was refilled. Moody took a minute to make adjustments with cream and sugar. He stared at his cup a minute. “There have been days I’ve felt like the job I have ahead for the day is equal to emptying the ocean of water using a fork. And on stranger days I thought everything was right with the world and God was in his heaven. What if this is the new normal?”
“What if?” she echoed. “What’s your most frequent prayer? To not drink?”
“Nah. I’m not going to drink, but I’m vigilant lest I forget. My favorite prayer is, ‘Dear God. I’ll pedal if You’ll steer.’”
“I like that,” she said. “I like that very much.”
“It’s yours. It wasn’t ed.”
Two weeks passed with Sierra on crutches, her ankle feeling better all the time, the bruising going from purple to a yellowish blue with a hint of green. She was diligent about keeping it elevated as much as possible, staying on her crutches when walking, but she was in only the slightest discomfort—unless she accidentally put weight on it.
Sierra decided to look around a Colorado Springs mall since she had the time. She’d been to the city before when she went to a rock climbing gym but that was the extent of her exploration. She even located a meeting over there and if there was time, she might attend after shopping. But what she was really interested in was spending a couple of hours checking out the clothing stores, the only bookstore in the mall and maybe doing a little people watching.
It had been a long time since she’d been in a department store. She looked through some clothes and actually bought a pair of shorts, but that’s where she stopped because trying them on had been more trouble than it was worth. She spent an hour in the bookstore, which was heaven. She bought a copy of Wuthering Heights because she was weak—it was one of her staple reads and it didn’t feel right not having it with her. As almost an afterthought, she bought something for Cal. Well, for Cal and Maggie—a little unisex onesie that said Auntie’s Favorite on it. Sedona’s kids would never know! And that was about all she could really carry while on crutches. In fact, mall walking on crutches was about all the exercise she could take and she headed in the direction of the exit.
And then she saw him. Was it him? She was looking at a man’s back, but it sure looked like him—the devil Derek Cox, the man who had changed her life in every way. It was the same thick brown hair, curling at the collar of his powder blue shirt. The same type of shirt he wore a lot because it emphasized his physique, which was impressive. It was tight fitting, the sleeves too tight at the biceps...
That was a year ago, her mind argued. And aren’t there lots of shirts like that? Don’t a lot of men wear them because they love their muscles? She’d thought about that every time she saw that—couldn’t they find a slightly larger shirt with sleeves that didn’t pinch? Of course they could.
That belt looked like his belt—she was a little too familiar with that belt. The shoes, she’d been with him when he bought them—Tommy Bahama—just ordinary loafers but they cost a fortune. She barely knew him then. It was the day of their one and only official date and she’d been impressed. How many people could have that hair, that shirt, that belt, those shoes?
The man was with a woman. A girl, really. His hand was gently guiding her at the small of her back and she had long blond hair.
I had long blond hair then, Sierra remembered.
The girl was laughing, happy to be with him. Would she be happy tomorrow?
Sierra worked those crutches hard, following him because as much as she didn’t want him to know she was there, she needed to know if it was really him. She moved over to the side of the mall walkway, closer to the storefronts in case she had to dart inside to avoid him. She tried to stay a little bit out of sight.
That gait, the way he walked—it had to be him. His heels lifted a little more than necessary with each step—the swagger. His confidence showed in his walk. He was headed for the same exit she would use, but she followed anyway. She kept what she thought was a safe distance—he didn’t know she was in Colorado. And why would he be looking for her at this late date?
The man reached the exit door and he turned toward his companion. Derek, the bastard, didn’t have a nose that big! Did he? She was frozen. Her eyes were probably huge. She didn’t know if it was him or not.
He turned to look over his shoulder, typical. She remembered thinking that was odd about him, always looking behind himself like that, careful to see if anyone was following him, looking at him, looking for him. She thought it was odd until he committed a crime, then she got it.
Before she could study the face more closely, she turned her face away, looking down, her brown hair making a canopy over her profile, concealing her. She waited a few long seconds. She slowly turned, peeking through the strands of her hair.
Gone.
She had to wait a bit before she could dare follow. Maybe it was him. Just in case it was him, he must not see her. He would come right to her, smiling as though they were friends, long-lost friends. He would talk fast, smile broadly, maneuver her away from help or escape, mesmerize her and manipulate her, try to make her think he’s okay, not just okay but good for her. By the time she got to the exit doors, there was no sign of them. She watched the parking lot from inside the glass doors. She didn’t recognize any people or vehicles.
“Maybe I’ve just lost my mind,” she said to herself.
That’s when she realized she’d dropped her packages somewhere. They were gone. She went back the way she’d come—no sign of them. A mall security guard directed her to the lost and found. There were no packages turned in, of course, but they took her name and cell number.
She decided to leave. She sat in the pumpkin for a while, devastated over the loss of a book, a pair of shorts and a onesie. Her throat burned.
He didn’t answer right away and remained silent while their coffee was refilled. Moody took a minute to make adjustments with cream and sugar. He stared at his cup a minute. “There have been days I’ve felt like the job I have ahead for the day is equal to emptying the ocean of water using a fork. And on stranger days I thought everything was right with the world and God was in his heaven. What if this is the new normal?”
“What if?” she echoed. “What’s your most frequent prayer? To not drink?”
“Nah. I’m not going to drink, but I’m vigilant lest I forget. My favorite prayer is, ‘Dear God. I’ll pedal if You’ll steer.’”
“I like that,” she said. “I like that very much.”
“It’s yours. It wasn’t ed.”
Two weeks passed with Sierra on crutches, her ankle feeling better all the time, the bruising going from purple to a yellowish blue with a hint of green. She was diligent about keeping it elevated as much as possible, staying on her crutches when walking, but she was in only the slightest discomfort—unless she accidentally put weight on it.
Sierra decided to look around a Colorado Springs mall since she had the time. She’d been to the city before when she went to a rock climbing gym but that was the extent of her exploration. She even located a meeting over there and if there was time, she might attend after shopping. But what she was really interested in was spending a couple of hours checking out the clothing stores, the only bookstore in the mall and maybe doing a little people watching.
It had been a long time since she’d been in a department store. She looked through some clothes and actually bought a pair of shorts, but that’s where she stopped because trying them on had been more trouble than it was worth. She spent an hour in the bookstore, which was heaven. She bought a copy of Wuthering Heights because she was weak—it was one of her staple reads and it didn’t feel right not having it with her. As almost an afterthought, she bought something for Cal. Well, for Cal and Maggie—a little unisex onesie that said Auntie’s Favorite on it. Sedona’s kids would never know! And that was about all she could really carry while on crutches. In fact, mall walking on crutches was about all the exercise she could take and she headed in the direction of the exit.
And then she saw him. Was it him? She was looking at a man’s back, but it sure looked like him—the devil Derek Cox, the man who had changed her life in every way. It was the same thick brown hair, curling at the collar of his powder blue shirt. The same type of shirt he wore a lot because it emphasized his physique, which was impressive. It was tight fitting, the sleeves too tight at the biceps...
That was a year ago, her mind argued. And aren’t there lots of shirts like that? Don’t a lot of men wear them because they love their muscles? She’d thought about that every time she saw that—couldn’t they find a slightly larger shirt with sleeves that didn’t pinch? Of course they could.
That belt looked like his belt—she was a little too familiar with that belt. The shoes, she’d been with him when he bought them—Tommy Bahama—just ordinary loafers but they cost a fortune. She barely knew him then. It was the day of their one and only official date and she’d been impressed. How many people could have that hair, that shirt, that belt, those shoes?
The man was with a woman. A girl, really. His hand was gently guiding her at the small of her back and she had long blond hair.
I had long blond hair then, Sierra remembered.
The girl was laughing, happy to be with him. Would she be happy tomorrow?
Sierra worked those crutches hard, following him because as much as she didn’t want him to know she was there, she needed to know if it was really him. She moved over to the side of the mall walkway, closer to the storefronts in case she had to dart inside to avoid him. She tried to stay a little bit out of sight.
That gait, the way he walked—it had to be him. His heels lifted a little more than necessary with each step—the swagger. His confidence showed in his walk. He was headed for the same exit she would use, but she followed anyway. She kept what she thought was a safe distance—he didn’t know she was in Colorado. And why would he be looking for her at this late date?
The man reached the exit door and he turned toward his companion. Derek, the bastard, didn’t have a nose that big! Did he? She was frozen. Her eyes were probably huge. She didn’t know if it was him or not.
He turned to look over his shoulder, typical. She remembered thinking that was odd about him, always looking behind himself like that, careful to see if anyone was following him, looking at him, looking for him. She thought it was odd until he committed a crime, then she got it.
Before she could study the face more closely, she turned her face away, looking down, her brown hair making a canopy over her profile, concealing her. She waited a few long seconds. She slowly turned, peeking through the strands of her hair.
Gone.
She had to wait a bit before she could dare follow. Maybe it was him. Just in case it was him, he must not see her. He would come right to her, smiling as though they were friends, long-lost friends. He would talk fast, smile broadly, maneuver her away from help or escape, mesmerize her and manipulate her, try to make her think he’s okay, not just okay but good for her. By the time she got to the exit doors, there was no sign of them. She watched the parking lot from inside the glass doors. She didn’t recognize any people or vehicles.
“Maybe I’ve just lost my mind,” she said to herself.
That’s when she realized she’d dropped her packages somewhere. They were gone. She went back the way she’d come—no sign of them. A mall security guard directed her to the lost and found. There were no packages turned in, of course, but they took her name and cell number.
She decided to leave. She sat in the pumpkin for a while, devastated over the loss of a book, a pair of shorts and a onesie. Her throat burned.
