I Speak...Love (A Different Road #3) (5 page)

As ugly as my childhood was, I always found beauty in nature. Nothing I ever owned was beautiful, but beauty could always be found within short walking distance. Even a weed, which is something most people hate and say is a nuisance to their lawn, is beautiful. If you get down on your hands and knees and position yourself just right with the sun, then look through the lens at a fluffy white dandelion, it will light up like an orb and glow magnificently. When the shutter clicks, and you know in your heart you just took an amazing picture, it turns that something ugly into something breathtaking and beautiful. Not just the weed but my heart, too. When I upload the pictures to my computer and see a radiant dandelion with a beautiful, sunny blue, white puffy cloud sky, it rights my upside down past.

I grab my work uniform of black pants, a plain white t-shirt, and my chef jacket, then lay them on my bed. I strip out of my workout clothes, toss them in the hamper, then go into the bathroom and turn on the shower. The room quickly fills with steam and I get in.

As the hot water hits my head, I close my eyes and my mind quickly goes back to photography. The world is filled with an abundance of beauty, yet it never seems to find its way to me.

Just as a weed is beautiful, so is the weathered face of a homeless woman sitting on a park bench. One morning, I chose to go for a very early morning walk with my camera to get a bagel and a hot cup of coffee. I took it to go and on the way home, I saw an elderly homeless woman sitting on a park bench with her eyes closed. After what was a very cold night, her dark, tanned, sun-kissed face was raised up toward the warm rising sun. Her wire cart with all of her belongings was sitting next to her, and her hand protectively gripped the edge. Each of her deep wrinkles on her face told a heartbreaking story about her life. Even though she was dirty, and her hair was matted to her head, she was beautiful. I had to stop and sit on a bench on the other side of the walkway. I set my bagel and coffee down, then I lifted my camera and snapped a photo. A fraction of a second before the shutter clicked the woman’s lips tipped upward into a small smile. After the photo was taken, her striking blue eyes opened and she looked directly at me. Her smile grew on her face, and her eyes sparkled. I’ve never shown anyone that photo, and I think it’s the most poignant photo I’ve ever taken. I grabbed my bagel and coffee, then I stood up and walked over to her. I set them both next to her leg and smiled at her. Before my hand could leave the bag, she gently placed her hand on mine. I looked into her esoteric eyes, then placed my other hand on top of hers. I know what it’s like to be homeless. I know what it’s like to have all of your worldly possessions fit into a small shopping cart, or in my case, a simple backpack. If I look hard enough at the photo and look deep into her eyes, I see a reflection of myself. The very next day at the exact same time, I made the trip again. I bought another cup of coffee and a bagel to give to her, but she wasn’t sitting on the park bench. I never did see her again.

Turning off the shower, I grab a soft, fluffy, clean towel and dry myself off. I put on my pants and shirt, then quickly dry my hair and put it into a bun on the top of my head. I dab on minimal makeup, then I grab my chef jacket and put it on. I walk back into the bathroom to dab on some lip gloss, but I catch my happy reflection in the mirror. Turning toward the mirror, I look at the woman staring back at me. The woman staring back at me is such a stark difference than the one I was only a few years ago. I look at my name elegantly embroidered on the pocket of my chef jacket, then I look up and stare into my own eyes. Then something that hasn’t happened since my tampon box was stolen . . . happens. A hot tear sears down my cheek. Again, it’s not because of loss, but because I’m happy. It’s so very dangerous for me to allow myself to be happy. It always has been. I wipe away the tear, then get in my van and drive to
California Chef
for my morning meeting.

At noon, there’s a knock on my door and I look at my watch confused. Maddy said she’d be here around one. Where’s my secretary? Before I can get up to find out who it is or to see where Caleigh is, the door opens. It’s Josh. It’s my daily—
River would like to extend his heartfelt invitation for you to join him for lunch
—visit. Heartfelt—my ass! He doesn’t want me there any more than I want to be there myself. I’d rather go to the dentist and get all of my teeth pulled—without Novocain. It’s like sitting in front of a firing squad being in River’s office with him and Josh staring at me from the other side of the desk like I’m some sort of a freakish enigma. River likes to taunt me every chance he gets. He doesn’t think I do a damn thing at this company, but what that spoiled, rich boy doesn’t understand is, without me doing the actual work, this company would have tanked years ago.

River never sees the behind the scenes work that goes on. He thinks he has the most important job, and he can’t see past his own flawed perfection. He doesn’t do it anymore since he met Joss, but while he was out gallivanting at fundraiser galas or escorting women around town, I was at the office working. While he was soaking up corporate gifts and doing meaningless publicity bullshit, I was knee deep in doing actual work, sometimes until the sun came up. Then I’d hear word that he was running his mouth because I didn’t come in until nine in the morning after only getting a few hours of sleep.

“River would like you to join us for lunch today,” Josh predictably says.

Like I didn’t know those words were coming.

“I already have plans for lunch,” I tell him, removing my thick, black rimmed glasses from my face.

Usually it’s a lie, but today it’s actually true.

“I’ll tell him,” he says with a high and mighty nod, then closes my door.

“You do that,” I say sarcastically out loud to the closed door, then rub my fingertips on my closed eyelids.

A sharp knuckle knocks hard twice on my door, then it opens. That’s Caleigh’s signature knock. Like the few people I allow in my life, in the beginning, it was hard to trust and let Caleigh see the real me. I’m fucked up in the head, but Caleigh knows how hard I work. I see it in her eyes when she looks at River or Josh when they talk down to me. Why don’t I just stand up for myself? Easy. That would include actually talking to them and talking can only lead to more talking, then I wouldn’t be able to control what’s been trying to escape past my lips for almost two decades. It’s just easier to let River think I’m a lazy ass piece of shit. I know I’m not, and I know how hard I work to keep my dad’s dream alive, and that’s good enough for me.

“Do you need anything before I go to lunch?” Caleigh asks.

“No, thank you. Have a good lunch,” I reply.

“Can I bring you anything back?” she asks.

She knows I’m always so bogged down with work, that I usually down a room temperature, pre-packaged, high-calorie protein shake from my drawer and work through lunch. She always offers to bring me something back, which I always decline. More times than not, she brings me something back anyway.

“No, thank you. Maddy will be stopping by with lunch around one when you get back. You can just send her in,” I tell her.

Her eyes immediately perk up, and her face lights up with a smile. I grab my glasses and slip them back on my nose, then say, “That will be all.”

She closes the door behind her, but not before she looks back at me one more time with a cheesy grin. Caleigh’s been my secretary since I started working here after I graduated from college. She’s in her mid-forties and has been married three times. She’s never had any children, and she is completely devoted to her job and me.

I go back to the report sitting in front of me, and my eyes start to cross looking at all of the numbers. I rip my glasses off, and with them still in my hand, I rub my forehead and the pounding headache that’s just starting to rear its ugly head.

“Stephen,” I hear whispered in front of me.

I open my eyes and see Maddy standing in front of my desk holding one of
California Chef’s
catering coolers. I set down my glasses, look at my watch and see that it’s after one o’clock. I quickly stand up, giving myself a headrush, then I walk around to her.

“Maddy, I didn’t hear you come in,” I say, removing the heavy bag from her hand.

“Are you alright?” she asks concerned, looking at me.

“I’m fine. I just have the beginnings of a headache. It’s nothing some food can’t fix,” I assure her.

“Here, sit,” she says, pointing to one of the dark brown, leather chairs in front of my desk.

She walks over to the wall of windows and partially closes the blinds, darkening the room to where I don’t have to squint with my headache. She comes back over and unzips the cooler I sat on the floor between the two chairs. She removes two containers, then peels the lid off one and hands it to me. She reaches in the side of the bag, then hands me a fork, a knife, and a napkin. The delicious smells instantly make my mouth water in anticipation. She reaches back into the bag and removes a chilled bottle of water, then twists off the cap. I dig into the chicken and the instant I close my mouth, the flavors explode on my tongue. It’s so good, I close my eyes and savor the mingling of flavors.

“This is amazing,” I say once I’ve swallowed, then I open my eyes and point at the chicken with my fork.

“Really? You like it?” she asks.

“Like it doesn’t come close to describing how good this is,” I say, looking at her. “Aren’t you going to eat?” I ask when she hasn’t taken the other container for herself yet.

“I will. I just want to make sure you’re good first,” she says, handing me the water.

I take a sip of water, then place the bottle on my desk. She stands up and starts to unbutton her heavy, white chef coat. My once moist mouth immediately goes dry watching her fingers work each button. She drags the coat over each of her shoulders, then carefully folds it in half and lays it over the back of the chair, revealing a somewhat tight t-shirt. Underneath her t-shirt, I can clearly see the outline of her lacy black bra. She grabs her container of food, then brings her legs up and sits crisscross on the chair. She peels the lid off, then she digs into her food. I watch as her pouty lips part and she takes the first bite. My thoughts instantly imagine those pouty lips wrapped around my cock and my pants begin to strain around my growing erection. Her eyes come to mine, and she raises her hand to cover her mouth while she chews. I bring my ankle up and rest it on my other knee to hide my hard on.

She swallows, then asks, “Are you sure you’re alright?”

“I’m much better now,” I say and smile at her.

I’m completely fascinated watching her eat.