Muse. Sommer Marsden

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       Chapter 2

      She turned to see Clara Oliver come rushing up and fold her mother in a big embrace. The woman stood about eight inches taller than her mom and was decked out in a bright floral draped blouse, hot-pink slacks and tall heels. She was the exact opposite of Dani’s mom. Colourful and imposing as a peacock.

      Dani blinked. It had been ages since she’d seen Clara and her son. And, speaking of her son, Chris came striding up behind his mother, looking sheepish. He had his hands shoved way down in the pockets of his khakis, and the slouch he’d adopted when they were teenagers when he wanted to be invisible. He looked about as comfortable as a zebra at a gathering of lions.

      ‘Ages! It’s been ages!’ Clara exclaimed, gripping her mother so tight she looked like a python taking down a lamb.

      Dani pressed her lips together to keep from laughing. Mostly because her mom wasn’t the most affectionate person and especially not in public. A little giggle slipped free when Helen literally pushed her hands against the larger woman’s arms and levered herself free. She smoothed her hair, looking flustered and more than a little stunned.

      ‘And Dani!’ Then Clara was coming at her, arms wide so her flowy blouse looked like butterfly wings. A cloud of sweet perfume seemed to linger around her and her lipstick was the bright red of a STOP sign.

      Dani took a deep breath and resigned herself to the affection just as she was engulfed in a warm, soft embrace. She hugged the older woman back. ‘Good to see you, Mrs Oliver. It’s been a long time.’

      And it had. About fifteen years. The Youngs had lived a few doors down. She’d been in high school with Christopher, him being a year or two ahead of her. They’d hung out as kids, wandering the neighbourhood in the summer, being bored together.

      When she was finally released, she stepped back and saw he was watching her. She smiled. ‘Chris.’

      ‘Dani,’ he said with a small nod. Finally, as if not quite sure he wanted to, he moved in and gave her a quick hug. He smelled good, she noticed. Wood smoke, cotton, fall air. It was a nice scent that made her remember what it was like to be hugged by a man on a regular basis.

      She pulled free as the two mothers chattered, catching up, Helen keeping a safe foot or so between herself and Clara lest she try for another public display of affection. ‘You look like you wish the floor would open up and swallow you whole,’ she said softly so only he could hear.

      His face split into a grin. It was his best feature, that grin. She’d always thought so. ‘If only it would. What a gift from the gods that would be.’

      She laughed. ‘You’re a good son bringing your mom here. A gaggle of mostly women hocking their discarded clothes in hopes of new treasures.’

      ‘My sister’s in Florida so I was her only hope. And I couldn’t say no.’ He was watching his mother, a half-smile on his face. ‘Since my dad died she doesn’t go out a whole lot. And she really wanted to come, so …’ There was that shrug again.

      ‘I think they have a little refreshment area set up,’ she said. ‘How about I buy you a coffee to reward your good deed?’

      His gaze had drifted to her table where all her clothes were laid out. He reached out and stroked a single finger along the fabric of the white teddy she’d displayed on top. A shiver ran through her. It was as if she was magically linked with that piece of clothing and his fingertip had travelled down her skin.

      She cleared her throat, a reflex when she was flustered.

      It cleared his head and he withdrew his finger. ‘That would be great. We can catch up.’

      She asked the older women what they’d want from the vendor and together they managed to wend their way through the sea of people who had gathered to trade clothes and attend the silent auction.

      Once they’d hit the line she bumped her shoulder playfully against his as she had when they were young. ‘So, what’s up? Still got the art thing going on?’

      He seemed to relax a little with the familiar topic. ‘Yep. Still doing the art thing.’

      ‘Freelance?’

      He nodded as they shuffled forward in the line. ‘I sell paintings, I do some graphic work freelance, and I teach a night class.’

      ‘Wow,’ she said, bumping him again. Why was he so stiff and uncomfortable? They’d spent hours upon hours in each other’s company growing up, until her family eventually moved. They’d attempted to stay in touch during college, seeing each other occasionally at parties, sending occasional letters and cards for holidays. ‘Who thought the boy who liked to blow up random things in the summer would turn out to be a teacher.’

      He smiled, his cheeks blooming with a little bit of colour. ‘Not me. But a friend who teaches full-time at the community college talked me into it. It’s kind of fun, to be honest. The people are a bit older, they’re looking to learn something new. No hopes of being the next Picasso or Warhol. Just the urge to express themselves.’

      ‘That is awesome,’ she said. They shuffled forward a little more and she turned to see if she could spot Clara and her mom. They were behind, milling around the tables, checking out clothes.

      ‘You?’

      ‘Me? Oh, I’m boring. I work as the office manager at a doctor’s office. Kind of fell into it, liked the people, liked the doctors and liked the normality. I only started after Bob and I got divorced. I was writing for the local newspaper at the time, but that little thing didn’t pay much and I needed more money. Single woman and all.’

      He’d finally turned to look at her fully. She saw how blue his eyes were. Just as blue as when he was seventeen. They hadn’t changed at all nor had his hair – an unusual shade of red mixed with brown. It looked brown most of the time until the light hit it just right and then it shimmered with deep-red highlights. She’d always marvelled at the colour, even French braiding it one summer when he’d let it grow long. They’d laughed until they’d coughed over that.

      ‘Why are you smiling?’ he asked, touching her elbow and nudging her forward as the ridiculous line moved again.

      ‘Wondering if I could get a braid in the close-cropped hair.’

      His bark of laughter startled the older woman in front of them. She turned with an annoyed glare. Which made him laugh harder. ‘Sorry,’ he mumbled as she turned her back to them.

      ‘Doubtful,’ Chris said. He nudged the floor with the toe of his shoe. ‘I was going to ask about Bob but now I guess I don’t have to. Sorry to hear about the … about that.’

      ‘Divorce,’ she said, nudging him. ‘You can say it. I won’t burst into flames … or tears.’ He nodded. ‘What about you? Ever get married? Got a girl? Babies?’

      His eyes widened. ‘God, no. I mean, to babies. Not yet. No. I had a girlfriend for a long time but we never got married. Good thing, too. It didn’t work.’

      She flinched just a little. ‘Sorry,’ he said.