Home Again
She couldn’t help laughing. The idea of a date with Angel made her feel almost dizzy. “Where are we going?”
His smile faded, and for a second he looked so serious, she thought it must all be a lie, and then he smiled again. “You’ll see.”
Before she could respond, he pulled a black bandana from his pants pocket and dangled it in front of her.
She eyed the black and white strip of cotton. “What’s that?”
“I’m blindfolding you.”
A surprised laugh slipped out. “So that stripper in Florida was telling the truth.”
“Get your mind out of the gutter, Doc. I just have a little surprise for you.”
“It doesn’t involve handcuffs or dog collars, I hope.”
He moved toward her. “Turn around.”
She turned slowly away from him. He came up close behind her, so close she could feel the warmth of his breath stroking the back of her neck.
“Close your eyes.”
She did as he asked. He tied the bandana behind her head, and in the complete darkness, her other senses sprang to life. She heard the quiet ticking of the mantel clock, the even rhythms of their tangled breathing, smelled the fresh scent of the daisies and the musky heat of his aftershave. His hands slid down her arms and gently twirled her to face him.
She could feel him; he was standing directly in front of her. The heat of his body touched her in a dozen places. She wanted to see his eyes, to know how he was looking at her right now.
Very gently his finger traced her upper lip, and she shivered in response. Then he took hold of her hand and led her across the room. She heard the front door creak open again, felt the blast of cold evening air on her face.
She reached up to touch the bandana. “This feels really weird.”
“Trust me,” he whispered.
She started to make a flip comment, but suddenly it felt important. She wanted to trust him, wanted it desperately. “Okay.”
“Now, stand here. I’ll go get you some walking shoes and turn off all the lights.”
“My room is the first door on the left. The shoes are in my closet.”
“Thank God you told me. I was going to look in the refrigerator.”
She heard his footsteps disappear down the hallway. Cautiously she felt her way out the front door and stood on the porch.
The night was full of sounds. She could hear a door opening and closing somewhere on her street. An anemic breeze rustled the last leaf on her apple tree. Cool air shivered across her cheeks and tangled in her hair. Beside her, the porch swing creaked, the metal chains jangled. She thought she heard a sigh—but it had to be the wind—then she thought she smelled the tangy scent of Francis’s cologne.
“Francis?” she whispered, feeling like a fool.
Angel shut the door behind her and led her to the porch swing, guiding her to take a seat. His knees creaked as he kneeled in front of her, gently took off her slippers, and eased her feet into shoes.
She felt like Cinderella.
Then he took her hand and led her down the steps, across the yard, and helped her climb into the passenger side of his Mercedes. In silence he started the car and pulled away from the curb.
Madelaine tried to keep track of where they were going, and she did pretty well for the first few blocks. Then all the twists and turns tangled in her mind and she leaned back, enjoying the drive.
Finally he came to a stop and killed the engine. She sat there, waiting for him to open her door. Anticipation was a sweet ache in her chest, a flutter in her breathing.
He helped her out of the car. She felt his hands on the bandana’s knot. When it was untied, he held it in place and leaned closer to her, whispering in her ear, “Welcome to 1978.”
He took off the blindfold and she couldn’t believe her eyes. They were in Carrington Park, but it had been transformed into a carnival, a garish, dramatic display of lights in the velvet darkness of the night. Stars were everywhere, drizzling down, getting captured in the flashing yellow and pink and red lights of the midway. A huge Ferris wheel sat in the center of it all like a mechanical king, turning slowly on its well-lighted track.