…continued…
Erika leaned back in her chair, looking through the curtains of Spanish moss outside the office window. The oversized oak tree protected her view from direct sun, yet allowed in enough comforting rays to warm her face and throw a soft golden light on her desk. Living and working in Savannah still felt like a dream. Not always a happy one, but a dream nonetheless. As if she had taken on the life and identity of a completely different person in a completely different period of time. The slow pace of traffic driving around the park square, the orchestration of church bells ringing off in the distance, the horse-drawn carriages and green and orange tour buses all seemed foreign. A complete juxtaposition from the hustle of downtown Cleveland. Erika knew the differences would culminate when the folks back home started talking about snow and apple cider while she continued on in sundresses and sweet tea.
It had been over two weeks since the night with Charles. That night with Charles. The failed kiss. The humiliation. The overloading of feelings. They hadn't spoken since. Not a phone call. Not a text. Nothing. She did miss it. She missed talking about books and going for coffee. The random conversations and spontaneous laughter. Most of all, she missed him. Simply being in his presence made her skin warm and her cheeks tingle from the smile she constantly had on her face. But she knew not seeing him, and likely cutting him out forever, was probably for the best. He was married, and she was selfish. If she was going to have him she wanted all of him. The void in her chest hurt. She could feel it with every breath. She didn't realize just how much of an impact he had made on her. How much he had burrowed into her heart and her mind. Perhaps the failed kiss was a blessing in disguise. It forced her to look reality in the eye. Yet she still found herself gazing out the window, her mind adrift in the memory of one of their shared moments. What she'd give for a shared moment where they were completely each other's. But that would likely remain an unfulfilled fantasy she'd be better to turn away from.
Erika had thought about texting him. The feeling would fall onto her like a shadow almost every day. Sometimes she could distract herself. Spend time with work friends or dive into a book, but even the books reminded her of him. Every page a hair on his arm or a flash of his smile. She had to delete his phone number from her phone. She knew if she kept it she'd eventually text him and say...well she wasn't really sure what she'd say. "Hi" didn't seem like it would cut it. "I'd never abandon you" seemed honest, but not exactly the way to start a text. There was no right way and too many wrong ways to start the conversation. She still remembered his number. The numbers were branded into her memory, so if necessary she could still reach him. Thankfully she at least had enough self-control to not sporadically punch the numbers into her phone. And when she went out she didn't take her phone with her. Because then the alcohol couldn't whisper into her ears what she wanted to hear and propel her into contacting him.
She turned back to her work. It had been hard to concentrate the first few days after their time out by the ocean. And while she still found her thoughts lingering elsewhere she could at least type out several sentences on the computer before Charles pushed his way into her mind. From time to time she'd drift off and snap back to reality, only to realize she had typed some of her daydream conversation on the computer. Thankfully she caught those lines of dialog before forwarding anything to clients. At least she felt fairly confident she had.
Nobody around the office seemed to notice. She was still the new girl, so maybe her coworkers gave her the benefit of the doubt. Plus it helped that the pace of work and life, in general, moved comfortably slow, so catching up on her lingering work at the end of a day didn't prove difficult. Had she mentally drifted away back home she would have been reprimanded more than a few times?
Stop, Erika. This is your home now.
She found herself doing this more and more. Referring to Cleveland not as where she came from, but "back home." She had no intentions of moving away any time soon, even if her heart found a way to crawl into the pit of her stomach on a daily basis as she longed to go back and try the night with Charles over. She'd manage. She'd make-do. She'd survive. She always had. Plus, she really wanted a winter free of snow for the first time in her life. Both for herself and so she could let friends back home--
--there you go again, Erika--
--let her friends back in Cleveland, she corrected herself, know about the beautiful days while they were digging themselves out of lake effect snow drifts.
"Hey there?" came a voice, interrupting her momentary stupor. Erika shifted her eyes from her computer monitor to the woman behind the screen. Sandra, a woman not much older than herself, had wheeler back from her own desk and peered at Erika between a stack of paperwork and the monitor's edge.
"How's it going, Sandra?"
"Oh, not bad, not bad. Wondering if you had given my little question any more thought?"
Erika backtracked through the handful of conversations she'd had with the woman. Nothing rang a bell. "I'm sorry...?"
"About meeting up with my friend."
"That's right, sorry. Bit scatterbrained today." Now that Sandra mentioned it Erika couldn't believe she failed to remember. It felt like every other day Sandra asked if she'd like to be set up with one of her friends. James, or Dwayne, or Stew, or, well she couldn't remember the name. But Sandra insisted she thought the two of them would click. Maybe they would. And at times Erika really considered it. Would probably be a good idea to focus her attention away from Charles. Away from that entire situation. Especially now with the cloud hanging over that entire thing. Perhaps in another few days, she'd feel up for meeting someone else.
Right now I'm still trying to get over misreading signs from a married man and feeling like a complete idiot.
Erika didn't say any of that. Instead, she said, "I'm just about done getting my apartment in order. Maybe in another week or so. You know, in case things go really well and we end up back at my place." She gave Sandra a playful, overzealous wink. Sandra laughed at the wink, as Erika knew she would.
"Okay, fair enough. Don't want to be sifting through boxes for your birth control when the moments right-"
"-Sandra-"
"Hey, I get it. Once my NuvaRing fell out under the bed. I didn't even know how that happened-"
"-Sandra-"
"Had to stop everything with him. Digging around under the bed. Then I see the dog run off with it hanging from its mouth and-"
"-Sandra!"
"What?" She looked around. Others in the office were looking at her, listening to the story. "Oh, ha," Sandra snort-laughed, then lowered her tone. "I'll check back later."
"Thanks."
Okay, so I bought myself at least another week. Who knows what kind of mental state I'll be in at that point.
Erika looked back at her monitor. The time on her computer indicated lunchtime. She pushed herself out of her desk, grabbing her purse.
"I'm gonna go grab something to eat. You guys want anything?"
A murmur of "no thanks" responded.
She looked at Sandra and motioned out the door. She figured she should at least extend the offer to her as well. Sandra held up her plastic container of salad.
"If I eat out during the week I plump up like a good gravy. Eating out is for the weekend. Thanks though."
Erika grabbed her purse and walked down the 200-year-old steps of the restored office building. Her hand traced along the wide railing as the wooden steps groaned out its age. Outside, the heat wrapped around her like a wet towel, as sweat instantly formed where shirt collar touched the back of her neck. In her months in Savannah, Erika learned to slow her own pace of walking as if attempting to slip through the humidity without it noticing her. Although she'd rather walk faster, something she'd picked up going to college in Ohio and hurrying from one bar to the next while wearing mini-skirts in sub-zero temperatures, walking slower in Georgia had its advantages. It allowed the gentle breeze to cool her skin and kept the sweat, at least most of it, at bay.
She made her way through the throngs of tourists and cut down a side alley where a little BBQ joint hid away in the shadows of buildings older than the country itself. The BBQ shop was more storage unit than anything else, with an aluminum sliding door tossed up during open hours. Despite being in prime view of tourists walking down the street, few ever seemed to notice the spot tucked into the alley. Charles was right when he said to look for restaurants visited by locals and not visitors. Erika herself walked past the alley countless times before ever realizing a restaurant existed. One day a week or so ago she almost tripped over an untied shoelace, so she cut down the alley to lace it back up and avoid the unrelenting traffic of wandering tourists. Then, when she looked up, the BBQ shop seemed to appear, as if out of a dream. A deliciously succulent dream. In a week's time, she'd eaten at the literal hole-in-the-wall a half-dozen times.
A woman with a Scottish terrier waited for her order. The owner of the BBQ joint handed a Styrofoam container over the counter, as well as a small baggie of fried chicken skin for the dog. The pup licked his lips and sat obediently, eyes never wavering from the glorious snack. The woman pulled out a small strip, offering it to the dog. The dog's tail dusted the ground as it wagged, all while making short work of the treat.
Erika placed her order. Pulled pork sandwich with fries. She had been doing so well eating healthy, at least until she stumbled upon the BBQ shack. Her diet went right out the window, but she thought she deserved the last week of finger-licking deliciousness. If anything could help her move past the desire of a perfect man, it was meat dripping in homemade BBQ sauce. And while the food could never sever her mental connection with Charles, the few moments the food remained on her plate did blank out her mind as her taste buds took over. The pulled pork sandwich she ordered came topped with fresh coleslaw, giving it a fantastic crunch and the fries reminded her of a place back ho--back in Cleveland. She thought it was the seasoning salt put on the airy crinkle fries.
After paying and receiving her container she left the friendly confines of the alley and walked to the park square across the street. A large statue of a man brandishing a sword stood fixed in the center, with tourists taking pictures and sitting around it. Despite reading all the plaques and designations of the man in the square several times, she couldn't recall the man's name or what he did. At least other than brandish a sword. Perhaps the visitors would have better luck with their memory. Erika found an open bench and made her way over.
The sandwich always brought her taste buds to life. The vinegar of the sauce and the small amount of sugar in the coleslaw combined to forge a perfect balance, while the salty fries completed her flavor satisfaction. A piece of cabbage stuck to her cheek. Erika could feel it clinging to her skin, like a climber hanging on the side of a mountain. She had forgotten to grab napkins, so she rummaged through her purse for something. She found Charles' handkerchief. She'd washed it the day he let her use it. Originally, she had intended to give it back, yet despite it sitting in her purse every time they had met since, she never had the urge to hand it back over. It felt like an intimate gift and yet she knew it really wasn't. Just a piece of cloth to wipe her face. And now the piece of cloth smelled like lavender fabric softener. She couldn't help but smile at the memories of him wiping her face, or her downing the entire bottle of Coke. A smile pulled at her cheeks. If anyone were watching her they'd probably think she was crazy, but she didn't mind. She had been crazy in a way. Crazy over Charles. Perhaps she still was.
Deep inside the bowels of her purse came the buzz of her cell phone. Likely someone from work changed their mind and suddenly had the craving for BBQ. Or they were out of printer toner and needed her to make a quick walk to the local office supply shop. Whatever they wanted she decided to finish her meal before answering. The phone could wait. Her pulled pork, on the other hand, couldn't.
Erika watched a flock of permed heads and pastel shorts walk past, some marveling at the statue, others bypassing the brick and mortar constructions to take pictures of flowers growing from the expertly trimmed bushes. A child and his father played with a collection of Spanish moss, tossing it over each other. The father lovingly placed strands over top his son's head like a wig. Erika tossed a few of her fries to birds that had been patiently eyeing her lunch for some time. She used to go with her mother out to the lake as a child to feed the ducks. They'd pick up a few loaves of discounted bread at the day-old bakery shop and sit for hours, tossing bits to the eagerly awaiting birds. Usually, she had a blast. Occasionally an overzealous goose would happen on them and they'd throw a lump of bread to distract the goose as they found another feeding spot. It wasn't until later in life she discovered the dangers of feeding ducks bread. Something about the bread expanding in their stomachs and causing problems. She envisioned ducks randomly exploding as they waddled down to the water. Although part of her was skeptical. She'd never seen any combusting ducks during her childhood. And yet now she wondered if the same were true with fries and small birds. If pigeons started popping like firecrackers in the square, she'd have her answer.
Erika tossed her trash into one of the park square's green wastebaskets, then returned to the alley joint for a few napkins. Wiping the grease and salt residue off her skin she dug into her purse to find out what work wanted. But the text message didn't come from work. An unsaved number stared her cold in the face. A number she'd recognize anywhere. Charles' number. Her heart smashed against her ribcage as her eyes ran over the number again and again. As if the screen had played a trick on her and any moment it would revert back to someone from the office. Her chest felt tight. She had to force herself to take a breath. For the briefest of moments, she considered not opening the text and deleting it on the spot. Not that she didn't want to read it, or that she didn't want a message from Charles. Instead, she was terrified as to what it might say. That he might reject her further somehow.
Is that even possible?
She closed her eyes, took a few long, deep breaths, then returned her gaze to the phone and opened the text.
Show tonight.
City Market.
7 PM.
You should come.
Four simple lines. Four simple lines Erika couldn't get out of her mind. She saw the text in everything she looked at for the rest of the day. The computer at work. The paperwork given to her by a client. On the back of her eyelids when she blinked. She lost the rest of the day at work, her thoughts circling the text message like sharks ready to feed. Time didn't just slow. It seemed to stop altogether. She could have sworn a few times the clock on her computer actually went backward. Trying to distract herself, she'd check client emails, but found she just kept reading the same lines over and over again.
After what felt like a lifetime of waiting, the five remaining hours came to an end. Erika snuck out of the office before her boss could place his hands on the back of her chair, lean over her shoulder, and ask how she was getting along with everything. She didn't think he meant any harm with it. Just an older southern gentleman who didn't understand personal boundaries, but those seemingly simple questions always ended in 15-minute talks about grandkids, spiked ice tea, and the importance of using shell noodles in mac and cheese instead of elbow noodles. Today Erika just didn't have the time.
Since receiving the text her heart hadn't stopped pounding on her chest like a mallet against a gong. In fact, with every passing moment, she felt more and more on edge. Numb. Nervous. Petrified. And yet excited at the same time. She made it home by 5:30, a thick lather of sweat coating her entire body. She peeled off the damp clothing and immediately hopped into the shower.
For a long time, she let the hot water run down her body without ever moving. She considered not going. Ordering some Chinese, and staying in. If she rejected his invite wouldn't that give her the upper hand?
Now you're just being childish.
Upper hand or not she wanted to see him. And at the very least they could have a bit of closure to their abbreviated friendship. Plus she'd love to hear him sing. He had always refused to sing on the spot. From time to time she'd coax him, try to pull out a few verses, but he never gave him. When she looked into his eyes she could tell he didn't refuse out of stubbornness. More like someone who didn't want to revel in their own skill. They didn't want to boast. He'd say he'd sing when the time was right. Apparently, he thought such a time had now come. A final deep breath pushed her in the direction of going and she lathered up her hair. It wasn't until she looked down at herself and realized she hadn't shaved her legs in over a week that she'd need more time than originally planned in the shower.
If this is going to be the last time you see him, you might as well look damn good doing it.
Yet as she washed and scrubbed and shaved her confidence exfoliated along with the dead skin. Her fingers traced the stretch marks on her butt that seemed to have magically appeared overnight a few years ago. The marks weren't overly large, or even all that noticeable, but she could feel them. Both with her hands and her mind. The day she discovered them she cried, then immediately went to the computer to look up every possible cure. Short of surgery or magic voodoo the stretch marks were there to stay.
She pushed the thought and the feeling of her marks away and finished her shower. She didn't have time to sulk about the natural aging process. The beautifully frustrating aging process. If she had money like Pamela's parents she could have sprung for injections and implants and microneedling and whatever else they did to ward off aging.
Let's not think about Pamela, okay?
Stepping out of the shower she wrapped herself in one towel before twisting her hair into a second. She checked the time.
Jeez, Erika! A 30-minute shower!?
She was running out of time. 45 minutes before the show and she had no makeup on, no outfit picked out, and her hair was twisted up in a frayed towel. She'd need to hustle. And likely accept being fashionably late. Maybe being late wouldn't be a bad thing?
It'll show you're supporting his music, but not tripping over yourself to get there.
Walking to the closet her towel came undone and she tripped.
"We're going to pretend that didn't happen," Erika said out loud.
She waved the taxi down outside of her building a little before 8. She decided to not bring her phone again, as she thought the urge to text Charles following the show would be far too great to resist. In the few times she'd been to City Market, parking had proven far too difficult, thanks to its close proximity to most tourist destinations and hotels in the historic district. Thankfully, with so many tourists around the city had plenty of public transportation options.
Erika carefully slid into the back seat. It wouldn't take much for her dress to ride up. She wore a mint green sundress with spaghetti straps. It flowed down to her mid-thigh, tapering around her waist and hugging just enough of her booty to give definition, yet airy enough to be flowy and fun. She managed to add loose curls to her hair before teasing out some volume, all while applying copious amounts of hair spray. With just a subtle touch of lavender into her eye shadow, she was rather impressed with just how good she looked in the little amount of time she spent getting ready.
The cab slowly made its way up to City Market, which occupied several large blocks a stone's throw away from River Street. Small boutique shops and restaurants clung to historic buildings, like barnacles on a ship, spilling out into a pedestrian-only avenue. Despite the heavy flow of tourist foot traffic, Erika enjoyed the few times she'd made it to this part of town. However, she'd never been in the Market at night, so she didn't know where live performances took place. She had the cab drop her off on the far end of the Market in between a small park square with statues of soldiers and a cash-only pizzeria.
Her chest heaved with nerves. She thought perhaps she'd be able to keep everything under control, but as soon as the cab stopped and she stepped out her nerves returned like the rush of humidity around her body. She could feel her pounding heart against her rib cage like a caged animal trying to break free. She breathed in deeply, trying to calm herself. The aroma of pizza filled her nose as her stomach growled. She didn't have time to eat dinner.
God, what I would do for a slice right now.
She held back though, not wanting to tempt fate with tomato sauce and her dress. Knowing her luck she'd stroll up to the performance with a giant red stain in the shape of a triangle pizza. A drink, on the other hand, sounded fantastic.
Erika walked down the center of City Market, around tourists and locals alike, standing in the pedestrian-only walkway. Restaurants on both sides of the avenue offered outdoor seating with menus prominently displayed on illuminated stands impossible to miss. Some of the restaurants and bars had second floors with an array of music coming out of each. She assumed Charles must be playing outside, otherwise, he probably would have said the actual name of the business in the text.
She ducked into a small bar that specialized in nothing but frozen drinks. A few dozen slushy machines spun behind the bar, each swirling tantalizingly refreshing colors of blues and reds, pinks, and greens. She ordered something white, as she still feared spilling on her dress. The drink both burned and cooled as it slid down her throat, easing her nerves just a touch. Tipping the bartender, she ventured back out into the humid evening. The night felt extra thick as if it could open up and rain at any moment, but every night shared a similar feeling, and Erika had lost faith in her weather forecasting abilities.
Back outside she continued making her way through the mass of people. She walked past a dinner party of loudly talking and laughing patrons. An elderly couple sitting on a bench while they rested their feet from what likely was a long day of sightseeing. A handful of children marveled at the horse-drawn carriage station, where two horses were standing, eating their fill from bags tucked around their noses. Erika considered walking up to the horses and their keepers when she heard it. She heard him. Charles. There was no mistaking it. Even though she'd never heard him sing before she'd know that soulful southern voice anywhere. It stole her breath and a beat of her heart. Her arms tingled. For the briefest of moments she froze as if any sudden movement might frighten the voice away, or she might wake up in her bed and the voice would fade into the distance. But as she turned, slowly, carefully, the voice remained. Her eyes scanned, trying to place the music. Trying to place the singing. Trying to place Charles. Up a half-block, at the beginning of City Market, sat a single performer, on a wooden stool, acoustic guitar in hand. He leaned into a microphone as he sang. The sound of his voice drew her in like a fish caught on a line. She didn't fight it. She let him reel her in.
Tables from the neighboring restaurant scattered around him, offering a built-in audience. Some listened. Others laughed and talked and ate amongst themselves. Truthfully Erika didn't know what the other guests were doing. She didn't look to them. Her eyes were for him and him alone. He wore a weathered straw cowboy hat; its brim bent and curled up at the sides while the front drooped down like a sultry lip. Stubble dotted his squared jaw, running along his neck to a blue striped button-down. The top several buttons lay open, letting in just a glimpse of his powerful chest. His sleeves were rolled up above the elbow, clinging to his rounded biceps and expansive shoulders.
Erika flowed toward the music, riding every sound wave he produced like a surfer coming into the beach. A table in front and off to his side sat open. She slid into the seat, her eyes forever on him. Her ears never leaving him.
His song finished and he looked up, eyes scanning the crowd. Scanning, until he found her. He flashed a smile. A smile of pure happiness. Of receiving the perfect surprise. The perfect gift. Their eyes locked. Warmth burst through her chest, followed by a cold numbness. His look pulled oxygen from her lungs and for a moment she forgot to breathe.
"I'd just like to thank y'all for comin' out tonight. Listening to some of my music. Few of my favorites. Few of my own. So y'all just sit back and enjoy yourselves."
Charles glanced back at Erika before starting back up, leaning into the microphone as he sang a Johnny Cash song about rising water.
Erika watched him. His every movement. His every breath. She watched his lips part. She watched his foot rock back and forth on his wooden stool. She looked over the acoustic guitar, strings flailing at the tuning pegs. She looked at the worn hole where the edge of his palm rested. She looked at--
--Warmth filled her chest and she bit down on her lip, to keep herself from crying and laughing from happiness--
--She looked at the black and white Forest Gump "Keep Savannah Historic" sticker fixed to the guitar under the bridge.
Her hand caressed along her collarbone where the fabric of her dress met skin as she lost herself in his voice. In the fantasy of being with him.
A few people clapped, snapping Erika out of her daydream. She blinked awake and joined the clapping. Most of the people around her were in their own conversations at dinner or joking with friends over drinks, oblivious to the music and the pure talent in front of them.
"That was a song I grew up on," Charles spoke into the microphone to those listening. "Livin' on a farm this was always a song us kids would sing. Parents hated it, but it was singing to Mr. Cash that turned me on to music." Charles shifted on his stool, moving closer to the microphone while making sure his guitar remained close to a lower, second microphone. "But now I want to sing one of my own songs for ya'll. One I wrote 'specially for someone in the audience right now."
All feeling left Erika. Time slowed. She could hear the wood of his seat creak on the cement. She could hear him breathe. His fingers slid delicately over the strings as he began. Each note hung in the air. Quiet. Like a slow lullaby. He leaned into the microphone as if telling it a secret.
A million stars above
Reflected by the ocean
Brilliant midnight blue,
Every one of those lights
An idea, a thought, a dream,
of you.
Goosebumps flushed up her arms. She no longer could breathe. She couldn't focus on breathing. All her thoughts. All her desires. All her own dreams were of Charles. The lights around them seemed to fade away. The people around them disappeared. No other sound existed. As if he sang to her, and only her, on an abandoned planet, inhabited by just the two of them. Erika could feel her cheeks blush and a smile grow.
While my timing isn't perfect
It rarely is
I keep my eyes on you
My guiding light,
Because I refuse to believe
With all your stars in my sky
We're just two sailing ships
Passing in the night.
She hung on every word. A fire burned inside of her hotter than anything she'd ever felt before. Erika bit down on her lip as she tickled the back of her neck. She felt like she could float away. And she loved it. She loved him. Something had come alive deep inside of her very being she'd never thought existed. Like a flower bursting from inhospitable soil. She wanted to let tears of happiness stream down her face. She wanted to sing to the world just how she felt. She wanted to wrap her arms around him, feel his heat encapsulate her as he pressed his lips to hers. She wanted to feel his naked body. She wanted to discover every inch of him as he discovered every inch of her.
By the conclusion of the song, Erika could no longer feel anything in her body. She didn't know if she'd be able to stand, let alone talk to him.
"Well, that's my time for tonight," Charles spoke into the microphone. "I'd like to thank y'all for spending some of your evening with me. It was a pleasure to play for all y'all. If y'all visiting please enjoy your time in our beautiful city. For you locals, I'll be back here next Wednesday. So stop on by for a drink and music. Once again thank you and have a good night."
Charles leaned away from the microphone, flipping the switch to 'off' before doing the same with his guitar mic. He stood, setting his guitar down onto an open stand behind his stool.
Erika breathed in deeply, trying her best to control her emotions. Her heart rattled away in her chest but she was pretty sure she could at least stand. Although she really had no idea what she'd say to him.
You'll probably just stutter over your words and go in for another kiss.
She had to hold back a laugh because she knew there was a good chance of that actually happening. But it didn't matter. Nothing else mattered. As she stood from her chair a shoulder bumped past her. She looked around, and then she saw it. Saw her. Pamela wrapped her arms around Charles and the two embraced. Erika's heart sank to the bottom of her feet and burst into a million pieces.
Of course, that song wasn't about you. It was about her.
Her mind instantly turned on herself. Her knees felt week. She needed to sit down but not there. Not in front of them. Anywhere but there. She sniffed back a tear. Her eyes welled as tears built up, threatening to burst through the dam of her determination.
"Erika, is that you?"
Erika's shoulder's dropped. She pinched her eyes shut, wanting to get away. Wishing she could tap her heels together and disappear. A tear slid down her cheek. She took a pull of oxygen and turned, dabbing the moisture away.
"Hi, Pamela!" Erika tried to inflate excitement but her voice quivered. Emotions pounded behind her eyes, trying to escape.
"It's so good to finally see you!" Pamela said, offering a brief and awkward hug. "I've just been so busy, you know. So many important things I'm in charge of."
"That's..." she pushed back more than a quiver, "that's what I've been told."
Pamela turned to Charles.
"Isn't his singing just adorable?"
"He's very talented."
"Well, I did teach him everything he knows," Pamela joked a line that came across practiced. She'd obviously said it more than once. "Now if he could just put as much work into his real job as he does his music he'd really make something of himself."
Erika didn't know if she should speak. She didn't need to. A drop of rain fell on Pamela's shoulder. She looked toward the sky as more drops feel.
"Oh dear," Pamela said. "And I was so hoping to spend some time with you. But I simply melt when it rains." She touched Erika's arm. Erika had to do everything in her power to avoid pulling away. "Another time, perhaps." She turned to Charles. "Come on Charles, let's get you packed up and out of here before the downpour hits."
Pamela pulled Charles back to his gear. Charles looked over his shoulder, wanting to say something to Erika, but she didn't notice. Her eyes had already started to swell and she was walking away as quickly as she could. It was now a race to whether her eyes or the sky would begin to downpour first.
…to be continued…