Willow Read Free Page B

was born in Kuybyshev, now known as Samara; she came to the United States with her father when she was a child. He had proudly stated that she spoke English with the faintest of accents and had done very well in school, better than me in fact. The gist of what I got from him was that he was fiercely protective of her and that she had sacrificed a lot to be with him. The rest was a mystery to me but I always thought my dad would be around long enough to eventually tell me everything. Sadly reconciled I shook my head.
    There is never enough time, and there aren’t many chances. I guess we have to make the most of the ones we do have and we should never be careless enough to let the others slip away.

Chapter 5
    I was thankful I had brought my cream colored sweater because it was chilly. Anne and I sat outside the Pizzeria and waited to be served. She was looking at me sympathetically when she said, “You’re always so quiet.”
    Lamely I remarked, “I don’t mean to be rude, I’m just thinking.”
    What could I tell her, that I felt hopeless, lost, and that I was uncomfortable around her because I didn’t know her? The truth would be far ruder than silence, or so I thought.
    She was still looking at me. Was that pity I saw in her dark, almond-shaped brown eyes – my dad’s eyes ? I hoped not, I didn’t want to be seen at all.
    Anne Scott was my dad’s sister. She was twenty-two when I was born and had never married, although she was never without the company of men. Her wavy auburn hair fell just below her shoulders. Today she had a half up-do. Her appearance was impeccable, tidy, and pin-up glamorous. She wasn’t overweight but she was curvy and a couple of inches shorter than me. Even now, men stared. Unlike me she adored attention and I admired that she wasn’t shy.
    Anne owned and operated a bakery in town that was popular for its old-fashioned soda fountain. Anne loved to bake but she couldn’t cook...at all. She had one full-time employee - an older gentleman named Benjamin Dalton. He was a retired teacher and also a widower.  Ben, as he preferred being called, was born in Mississippi but moved to Kansas when he was young. He was a jovial and kind man. He also liked to tell stories and I was told he had many talents. Anne said she was lucky to have him and when I was ready, I could help out in the bakery.
    An hour passed but Anne and I had exchanged few words. I felt lonely, even in her presence. It was a weeknight and there were few people milling about.  As I picked at what was left of my cheese pizza, Anne excused herself to speak to one of her gentleman friends. Before she left I asked permission to walk across the street to the chocolate factory, which just so happened to be the same chain that had a store in Old Colorado City. Was I seeking to ground myself through nostalgia? All I knew is that I needed to go, or maybe I just needed to get away.
    I walked in a hurry, but in a hurry for what? To my left a sporty black motorcycle caught my eye. Then I noticed the rider. Tall and very slim, he too was covered from head to toe in black. I looked away, indifferent. As I passed him I noticed his head was turned in my direction and I could feel his eyes bore into my back. Seeking shelter from being seen I hurried up the stone steps and opened the door.
    The store was old and the wood floor creaked as I moved about. A teenage girl stood behind the counter waiting to offer assistance. I scanned the items and recognized the dark chocolate pretzels my dad liked so much. I knowingly and mournfully smiled and went over to the baskets where I chose the usual…chocolate covered gummi bears. I reached inside my backpack trying to locate my wallet, but nothing...I kept searching.
    I heard the bells chime. A presence drew near but I didn’t look up. I heard the movement of a leather jacket and then the girl spoke.
    An attractive voice greeted her in return before handing over a 10.00 bill. “This should cover it.”