Page 15 of Anders and the Girl Worth Fighting For
An insane thought crossed my mind to go find her. Show up at her door. Beg for any scraps of attention I could get. I dismissed it as quickly as it came. I was sad and desperate, but not stupid. I wasn’t a stalker.
I finally gave up on the depressing direction of my thoughts and tucked the letter back in the box I’d kept it in. There was no use in pining like a teenager. She would write or she wouldn’t. I would deal either way.
The party lasted long into the night. I fell asleep quickly, exhaustion pulling me under without any delay. The sounds of revelry melded into dreams of a faceless woman crying out for my help. I knew it was Grace that called for me. If only I could find her in the dark.
Chapter Seven
Several Months Later…
Grace!” Sally, the owner of my new favorite shop, called when I walked in. She stocked all sorts of local artisan products in the little cafe she ran, nothing I could afford right now, but I liked to come in here, buy myself fresh-cut flowers, smell the soaps and lotions, and dream.
“Hi, Sally. What flowers do you have today?” I walked over to the small stand and looked over the selection. Late summer blooms filled the small space in every color imaginable, but a bouquet of pink carnations dotted with green and purple mums caught my eye. I picked them up to smell.
“Just got those in this morning.” She leaned on the counter, watching me as I examined the flowers.
“They’re beautiful.” I set them down for her to wrap up and walked over to the small shelf in front of the window that held the candles, picking them up one at a time and smelling the selection. A shadow passed in front of me, startling me. I set the candle down carefully before I dropped it.
I hadn’t stopped jumping at shadows for weeks, and even now, if something caught me off guard, I jumped and started looking for an exit. My therapist assures me that with time and work, that will continue to ease, but today the hairs on my arms still stood on end at the two men standing just outside the shop.
I turned back to Sally, shoving my shaking hand into mypocket, not close enough with the kind shop keeper to trust her with my fear. I paid quickly, mumbled something I couldn’t remember as soon as it left my mouth, and darted out of the shop, keeping my head down as I walked.
The men were familiar, though I couldn’t place their faces.You’re just paranoid, Grace, it’s ok.I sped up anyway, practically racing back to my apartment. I slammed the door behind me, locked it, and then slumped to the floor, my heart racing in fear.
I pulled my knees up, holding them close, and let myself cry at my pathetic reaction. At least no one was here to see it.
That night, after I put the flowers in a vase and climbed into bed, a crisp white envelope slid under my door, turning my blood cold and robbing me of any sense of peace my small home brought.
This was a bad idea.
One of my worst.
Maybe nottheworst, but definitely close.
I sat in my car outside the small, unassuming bungalow on Tybee Island. The beach house had a large porch that wrapped the sides of it and a garage set towards the back of the property. It was blue, the kind of blue that might be green in a different light. I don’t know why I bothered noticing that. I was here for help and all I could think about was the cream-colored shutters and symmetrical windows. It was not at all what I would expect a Marine veteran to pick out.
I shouldn’t be here.
He never wrote me back.
If he wanted to hear from me, he would have written me back.
I sent so many letters in the weeks after my divorce. I never received a response. Like the stalker I didn’t want to be, I hunted him down. My cheeks heated at the thought of what I did to find him. One of Mr. Jones’ clients had several properties that he used as collateral for something. He taught me how to look up titles as part of our research to verify ownership of the properties.
One day, on a whim, I looked up Anders. I had just enough information about him to find this place. Frankly, it was more luck than skill. Thankfully, Anders Gonzales wasn’t a popular name. I filed away his address for my own fantasies and was glad now that I had.
“You can do this, Grace. If he says no, he says no. Your life isn’t harmed in any way by asking him a question,” I said out loud. I took a deep breath and then another, trying to psych myself up.
I grabbed the letters from the seat beside me. It was my proof of who I was. That I was telling the truth. That I really needed his help. They were all well-worn and torn in some places. I carefully wrapped them in my coat and held them to my chest as I stepped out into the rain that had picked up as I sat there debating. No time like the present.
I paused before knocking. Long enough to hear the faint hum of music coming from somewhere inside and a few cuss words strung along after a clattering of metal on wood. I smiled at that. Anders never held back in his letters. I learned more than one new word from him and apparently, he’s exactly the same in real life. A warmth settled over me at that. I knew him. I may never have met him, but I knew him. He would help.
This time, when I raised my hand to knock, I didn’t hesitate. The sound coming out was steady and sure. No going back now.
“Yeah?” He answered a moment later. He leaned against the door jam and crossed his arms. Even leaning like that, he was taller than I imagined. His voice was deep and gravely. Sweat dotted his brow and dripped down the line of his white shirt. A white shirt that hugged his chest and biceps. Tattoos covered his arms, wrapping around them and highlighting their contours.Good lord. Why did I never ask for his picture? I could have been enjoying it the entire time. I was struck momentarily dumb as I stared at him. He cocked one thick eyebrow at me as he moved his arm to lean against the doorjamb, further highlighting just how much muscle he had. His shirt rode up a little, and I saw hints of tanned skin and dark, coarse hair. I swallowed several times.
Get it together, Grace.
“Anders Gonzales?” I finally got out. My pulse had picked up from nerves and something more as I took in his tousled brown hair and light brown eyes. An amused smile played on his lips at my obvious appreciation and subsequent idiocy.
