Chapter
3
Something
Between
Part 1
The
sun, alone and unobscured in the east, shone against Renardo’s right shoulder
as he walked through the city three days later.
The sounds of tires against asphalt, honking horns, bellowing words
spoken into cell phones, and gliding light rail combined to form the
unnoticeable thrum that ever draped the city’s background. It was somewhat early in the morning, and so
hurrying pedestrians peppered the crosswalks, concerned primarily with reaching
their destinations in a timely manner, and secondarily with sating the impatient
drivers longing to make a right turn.
Dark colors were everywhere; after all, fall was in full swing and
winter was approaching, and warm clothes were always accompanied by the less
vibrant shades of the spectrum. The
buildings loomed over all, scattered in apparent randomness but seeming to gaze
toward the swerving Sacramento River in undecipherable expectancy. And below, lining the sidewalks and mottling
the numerous parks, and hugging themselves with thoughts of spring’s warmth,
sat the city’s homeless; but the workday was starting, and they were not
noticed.
Renardo,
garbed in a dark blue jacket, black jeans, and tennis shoes, looked up and saw
the diner in the distance. Some would
call his return to that place courageous, and more would call it stupid; but
out of respect for Nathan, he decided to comb the area for the redheaded
woman. He doubted that anything would
result from his search, even if he did find her. In fact, he was not even sure that he wanted anything to result from finding
her. However, after three days of deep
thought, he remembered that he had not been in a relationship for years, and
weighed the pros and cons of being in one at this time. His mission to stop Malvin was critical, but
he was aware of the dangers of making it his only purpose. Having one focus, even one as important as
saving the city, could do more damage than good. Furthermore, after so many years of hunting
this evil man, something inside of him was weary. Perhaps there was someone else out there who
could help him carry the burden.
As
for the first favor his friend had asked, he had not completely shut his ears
to it. Over the course of the three
days, he had managed to remove himself as best he could from everything that he
knew about Malvin and the criminals beneath him. He had effectively put himself in Nathan’s
shoes, and received the revelation that such heavy news—even if backed by solid
claims—was not easy to hear. It would
have been better to spoon-feed his friend the information on a gradual basis
until Nathan had comprehended the significance of each report over time, and
pieced everything together on his own.
Instead, driven into a frenzy by the realization of Dr. Wiles’ scheme,
he had poured everything out at once with overwhelming force. He was no longer upset with Nathan’s
reaction, and planned to apologize for the deliverance of the news—not the news
itself—as soon as possible.
The
bell chimed above him as he opened the door to the diner and stepped in. To his relief, Mustache Man was nowhere in
sight. He had also feared that regulars
from the diner might have seen the scuffle a few days back, and would reach for
their phones or flee once he entered; but the few couples and families who were
there took no notice of him. He
requested the same seat in which he had sat before, and before long he was
sipping a cup of French Vanilla in his chair, watching the front door. He had acquired neither contact information
nor a name from the woman, and these facts pained him. She had been so nice despite his obvious
uncaring demeanor, and he had been so engrossed in his mission that he had
thrown aside all manners. If she stopped
by today, she would get nothing less than his undivided attention.
After
drinking three cups of coffee and reading many pages of a graphic novel he had
brought with him, he began to wonder if he should go home. The odds that she would return to the same
diner, on the same day, at the same time that he did were not in his favor. He reached the end of the page and shut the
pages of the book, but just as he began to rise from his seat, he glanced out a
window at the front of the diner and saw the woman nearing the front door. He smiled at her, but she walked with her
eyes centered on the ground, and for a moment he thought he could see a tear
marking one of her cheeks. Once she
entered the room, however, her face brightened and she beamed at employee and
customer alike. She did not see Renardo
until she had come within a few yards of him, and then she stopped walking and
seemed surprised by his presence. He
looked at her and was taken aback by her beauty. Her hair was straightened rather than curled
(as it had been the day before), and she wore a stylish brown trench coat and heels. He made a valiant effort to avoid betraying his
attraction to her, but he was certain that he had already failed, and that she
had noticed.
“Hey,
it’s you!” she exclaimed. “How are you?”
“I’m doing ok,
considering I was almost officially an icicle by the time I made it here,” he
replied with a laugh. “You?”
“Just another
day,” she said, the corners of her mouth falling. She hugged herself for warmth. “Did you drive here?”
“No, I
walked. I don’t really like cars.”
“Oh, I see.”
Renardo shuffled
his feet and looked forlornly at his empty cup of coffee. The woman smiled and asked him, “Was the
coffee black again?”
“No, not this
time. Mustache Man hasn’t shown his
furry mustache since I got here, so I wasn’t distracted.”
“Mustache Man,
huh? Interesting….”
“Yeah.” Renardo
brought the cup closer to him and patted the table. “You can go ahead and take a seat here, if
you want. I mean, you don’t have to. There are plenty of other good seats
here. But it’s available…just so you
know.”
She laughed and
accepted the invitation, setting down a small purse she had carried in with
her. Although he had promised himself to
give her his full attention, Renardo could not help but look out the front
window from time to time. He imagined
Dr. Wiles, or even Malvin, standing outside the diner, staring at him with a
wicked smirk. Before his thoughts went
too far, he returned his gaze to the young woman. “I highly recommend the French Vanilla
coffee, fair lady,” he remarked in the first accent that came to mind. “Good stuff.
Not good for you, but good stuff,
indeed.”
“I just might
try that, sir, and thank you,” she responded, adopting the same accent. “So, are you a regular here now?”
“No. Well, maybe.
I didn’t come here today just for the coffee. I came to see you.”
She was silent,
and she avoided meeting his eyes. He
realized that such a statement might sound forward, and so he immediately
continued: “I mean, I came in hopes that you would be here, because I wanted to
apologize for the other day. I was a
jerk. There’s no other way to look at
it. While you were trying to make
conversation, I was distracted, and you probably felt that whatever was holding
my attention was more important than what you were saying. I was just freaking out a little because of
that guy. But ‘freaking out’ is no
excuse for running out of the diner when we were in the middle of talking. I’m sorry for that.”
“Wow,” the woman
said, nodding. “That’s surprising. In my experience, guys find it difficult to
apologize. Um…don’t worry about it. It’s ok.
I just figured that whatever was going on was very important, and you
needed to get out of here quickly. In fact, I was a little worried that
something bad had happened to you. Is
everything ok?”
“Everything is
fine. I’m just glad I could
apologize. Hey, you can go ahead and
order if you want. I might just get
another cup of coffee. My bladder will
hate me forever, but he’s a jerk, anyway.”
She burst into
laughter. “My gosh, you are so funny!” She grabbed a menu from the center of the
table and opened it. “It’s been a tough
morning, and it’s really good to laugh.”
“I’m sorry it’s
been tough. Um, if you want to talk
about anything, I’ll listen.”
She looked at
him warmly, and he noticed the sparkle of tears as they rested in her eyes for
a moment. “Thank you. That’s nice of you to offer.”
Renardo did not
have a clue as to what she was facing, but he felt an unusual aching in his
heart once he sensed her pain. She
seemed so strong externally. Upon her
entrance to the diner, she had walked with confidence and authority. Now that she was at the table, she sat with
her shoulders held high and a flawless posture.
As he looked more intently at her, however, he was reminded of popsicle
stick crafts he had constructed as a child.
No matter how small or large the craft was, and no matter how much glue
held the various pieces together, all it took was one firm touch or a gust of
wind to topple it. She was obviously
emotionally strong, but it looked as if she fought to keep all of her pieces
intact, so as to avoid collapsing completely.
Though his heart ached, and though he pitied her, he felt that he should
praise her for her durability in the face of the trauma that presently
assaulted her. Whether it was a death in
the family, a feud with her parents, or the loss of a friend, he did not know; but
whatever it was, it did not overcome her.
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