Something To Dream On (6 page)

The sound of a car pulling up comes from outside. That must be Lizetta. Shoot, I should have cleaned this place more. She is going to think I can’t take care of myself, let alone Etta. I pop up and head to the kitchen for a towel and start dusting.
 

My crazy plan is deviously brilliant! Truthfully, I may have stuck Jensen with a dog he isn’t ready for. However, I never would have tried to sway him if I wasn’t certain he could provide for her.

Then again, his little-boy look could deceivingly mean he is an expert serial killer and I am screwed.

I sneak a peek into the rearview mirror. Why don’t I keep a makeup kit in my desk? That changes tomorrow! I want to scrub off my face and start over. At least now my hair is presentable. Thankfully, I had a soft pink blouse and a decent pair of jeans at work, so I am no longer in those hideous, spit, blood, and fur-covered scrubs.

A couple of pinches to my cheeks to bring out a natural glow do nothing. Why do magazines give useless makeup tips and imply everyone can look perfect with a little lip gloss and a smidgen of mascara? Can that possibly work for anyone?

Yeah, it can. It always worked for Laura, my arch nemesis who mocked me for my eating habits. “Fat-etta, eaten’ sloppy burgers with chedda.” What a horrible person.

I smooth my blouse and check to see that the buttons are all fastened and I am covered. As I run my hand over my stomach, the memory of Laura’s taunting amplifies. Who am I kidding? I’m a fool for getting my hopes up.

Gah! This stops now! I swear, once she gets in my head, it’s like I’ve stepped into quicksand.
 

The stairs of Jensen’s duplex are nearly defeating, thanks to me bringing two, overfilled, paper grocery bags. The weight in one shifts, and I am barely able to twist and stop cans from toppling onto the hood of the car in the driveway below. It’s the one I saw while helping Jensen—a nineteen seventy Dodge Challenger that is in the most unfortunate color of bile green combined with urine yellow that has been diluted with muddy water. That poor thing looks so sick that I feel as bad for it as I would an ill uncle.

Behind the door, Etta barks. Aw, she sounds happy! Jensen answers before I can knock and darts to grab a ripping bag. “Did you rob a pet food store? You didn't have to do this.” He takes the second bag and invites me in.

“I was serious about helping. You should be set for a while.” Etta hangs out on the floor. Her jumbled blanket makes me suspect she’s had company while watching the Sharks game on TV.

He’s a hockey fan? Oh dear God, yes!

Lord, please don’t let him be a Kings fan.

I join Etta, and she nuzzles against me like she did to Jensen in the clinic. “How are you both holding up?”

A beat-up copy of
Beowulf,
a couple of textbooks, and a stack of CDs sit on the coffee table.
Beowulf
? That book is way over my head. Why couldn’t he have a copy of
Steppenwolf?
Then I could make a joke about the band.

Would he get that? My family would never accept him if he didn’t.

My eyes flash back to the CDs and catch an Aerosmith logo. Whew! If it was Bach, we’d be doomed.

“We're good,” he says.

We sure are.

Oh, he was talking about him and Etta.

In the corner of the sparse room sits a practice amp. Just beyond that is a nook of a kitchen. Inside it sits a six-string electric guitar along with a Marshall half stack. I’ve heard that many musicians are cold-hearted and bad news for women, but they aren’t all sex-starved pigs who only bang models and keep notches in their bedposts, right?

Jensen joins us on the blanket, and Etta sticks her head between us. “Aw, that is so sweet. I just love this girl. I’m so glad to hear you say it is going well.”

“You know, I always wanted a dog. There may have been a reason why I never made this place too much my own. Now she can help me fill it.”

“That is such a sweet answer, but I can’t help but still feel a smidgen guilty. I didn't mean to pressure you.”

I can feel my eyes deepen in warmth. “You didn't pressure me. If anything, you reminded me of what I want out of life.” It feels so good to be honest, but man, I sound like a chick. Am I okay with that? There are so many changes for me to digest. It would probably be easier if I could get past worrying about how I come off to people. I am a good, responsible person now. I can do this. This dog thing, it’s totally going to work out.

“That is such a sweet thing to say. You two are going to be great together.”

“I hope you are right.”

“I’m certain of it.” Lizetta checks out the room again. I should have cleaned more. She doesn’t seem to be judging though. She’s probably looking around because that is what you do when you enter someplace new, but what if she thinks my place isn’t good enough for Etta? You need to childproof a home, but do you need to dog proof it? Why didn’t I think of this before she got here? Maybe I should ask her.

My lips start to move, and then I realize my question is foolish. What do I expect, that I am supposed to put plastic plugs in the outlets so Etta doesn’t zap her paw? That’s ridiculous!

It is ridiculous, right?

What kind of guy gets this nervous over taking care of a dog? The Man Club is going to yank away my balls and cancel my membership.

I should say something. Now would be the prime time to ask questions about caring for Etta.
 

This man gives some of the sweetest, most amazing answers. It makes me feel like he should be easy to get to know. However, he seems a little apprehensive when it comes to conversation. Do I make him uncomfortable? Honestly, he seems distracted. He does have textbooks on the coffee table. I’m probably interrupting his studies. I don’t want to be rude and overstay my welcome.

Since my hopes for an offer of a glass of water, a soda, or a drawer to put my belongings go unanswered, I stand and grab my purse. “Well, call if you need anything. I'll see you in two weeks for that follow-up appointment.”

“Uh, yeah. Okay.” He says it like he is surprised that I am leaving, and then a look of realization crosses his face. “I’m sorry. I’ve been a terrible host. Truthfully, I have too many things on my mind, and I’m worried about giving Etta all that she needs. I didn’t mean to come off as ungrateful for what you have done.”

“It’s fine, Jensen, but are you really okay? Do you need me to take her? I can give her a good home.”

His answer jumps out quickly. “No, we will be fine. I am absolutely certain of it.”

 
I smile. “I am too.”

Just short of reaching the door, a glimpse at a photo locks my feet in place and nearly takes the breath out of me. A boy and a woman stand next to a painting that makes me dizzy with disbelief. Patches of trees and flowers sit among the desert. Midnight blue embraces the earth. Stars fill the sky, yet a cluster of them dominates the center. They remind me of The Star Tarot card. “Wow! Where was this taken?”

“My mom’s old house. My brother took the photo about fifteen years ago, not long after she finished the painting. That’s her and me next to it. Eddie tried to get as much detail as possible.”

“Seriously? She painted that? Did she copy it from something?” This painting is a perfect match for my dream—the same dream the psychic saw in the cards—except I’ve never seen it from this angle before. The patches look more like paths. Is it that I am freaked out, or is there something in this painting that makes my eyes drift left?

“No. Why?”

“Maybe I’ve seen it before, like in a gallery or something.”
 

“I doubt it. Are you much of an art lover?”

“No, it just seems familiar.” Part of me wants to share the craziness of how, but can I tell him it matches both a recurring dream and a Tarot reading without sounding nuts? A lot of people roll their eyes at even the notion of Tarot cards and psychics. Also, the only person who knows about that dream is Griffin. It’s always felt too personal to share.

But there must be some reason that Jensen has this painting. Is he the thing that shakes up my world?

No, that Tower sounded more like an event than a person. Besides, Jensen seems too sweet to cause me problems. If he were dangerous, Etta wouldn’t have warmed up to him.

I’ve got to find out what this all means. Unfortunately, Jensen has given absolutely no indication that he would ever be interested in seeing me outside of Etta’s appointments. How could I change that?

I leave with a simple good night and a determined resolve. I may have to get creative, but I will find a way to draw this man into my life!

CHAPTER TWO

Wednesday, April 19

Self-confidence is everything—or so they say. When it comes to my job, I have it in abundance; however, when it comes to men …

I tell myself I am pretty, which deep down I think I am, but I don’t feel attractive. When you don’t feel attractive, you often see yourself as ugly. When you have spent years hearing you are ugly and that no man would ever want you, it is hard to believe elsewise.

Today is Etta’s two-week follow-up appointment, so I spend the morning fidgeting with pens, my ID tag, my nails—anything to keep my hands busy. I need to give Jensen the right impression. At least my scrubs are pretty pink ones that complement the green in my eyes and bring out the rose tones in my skin—and they are clean. Even if I’m having a bad day, these scrubs make me look like I’m little Miss Sunshine.
 

Dr. Leopold calls me into an exam room. What exactly do I say to Jensen? I can’t turn into a giggling mess again.

The doctor keeps asking me to take care of just one more thing before I head off. Doesn’t she know I have important work ahead? Sure, I’ve had two weeks to figure out my words, but I’m still clueless.

Each tick from the clock adds another flutter to my nerves. Rats! Etta’s appointment is now. I have to be the one to see her. If I miss Jensen today, I’m hosed for a few more weeks.

Five minutes after the scheduled appointment time, I manage to break free and dash to the lobby with hope of being greeted by Etta. The room is empty.

Griffin slips up and gives me a hip bump. “Saved him for you. Sugar Booger’s in room two.”