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Rune Alignment
Chapter 22
Bobby growled and tore the earphones from his head, tossed them aside, stood, and rubbed the back of his neck with his left hand. Gleason watched him pace in a four-step box, right hand chopping away at the problem. He murmured to himself, not seeing her standing there, so deep in his thinking he was. Suddenly he saw her and immediately stopped. They looked at each other.
"How long have you been standing there?" he asked her.
"Long enough," she answered.
"Did you sleep well? Feel ok?" He bent over and shut his portfolio.
"I had that dream again."
He looked puzzled, "What dream?"
She crossed the room to him and replied, "The same dream I've been having for years. It doesn't matter." She leaned against him and asked, "How long did I sleep?"
He checked his watch and said, "Almost two hours. We need to think about getting ready for dinner. How should we do this?" Gleason shook her head as if to say, it's up to you. Bobby thought a moment and then suggested, "Why don't I get ready here, then we go to your place and you get ready and then we go." His hands indicated the sequence. "We'll see where we are on time and maybe do something nice before dinner. Sound like a plan?"
"Sounds good to me."
He gave her a quick kiss and said, "I'll be out in a few," and headed for his bedroom.
"Bobby?" He stopped and turned. "Don't shave." He smiled and nodded.
He stood at his closet considering what to wear. A part of him wanted to ask her to shower with him; but he knew that was way, way off. She is so fragile, he thought. She needs to see someone when this is all over. He made his selection and stepped to the bathroom.
Gleason sat on the sofa. Bobby's portfolio sat beside her. She looked down at it, Coach, huh? Expensive. It was well used, still in excellent condition, but it was clear that it was a tool, not an accessory. He had been listening to the calls and writing notes. He had looked disgusted. She looked across the room, considering.
If I look, I'll betray a trust, he'll think less of me when he learns that I looked; and he'll find out, they always do. Plus, if I look, what he wrote will upset me, I'll probably freak out again. He's going to get tired of me and my emotional shenanigans. I should get some pills. And, in the end, I don't even want to know. I've lived it, there's nothing new in those calls. What happens, happens. Her sense of resignation surprised her. She stood and walked into the kitchen for a bottle of water, no ice.
Edward had a car waiting, not a cab, a car – with a driver. Eames stood in disbelief, her mouth open, she looked up at Edward. He smiled and nodded, "I wanted this to be special." The driver smiled at the little lady, opened the door and Edward guided her in.
"Edward, I am stunned." She couldn't stop smiling. "I feel like I'm going to the prom."
"Just wanted it to be nice. You deserve nice, more than nice, but this is nice. I'm glad you're happy."
The driver stopped at the carriage livery at Central Park. "Enjoy your ride," he said to the pair as they exited.
Sledge led Eames to the first carriage in the queue, the driver was expecting them. "Evenin', folks," he said with a nod, a tip of his hat and a wonderful smile. He pulled a short step stool from nowhere, set it below the first step and took Eames' right hand in his. He took her right elbow in his left hand and virtually lifted her in. She turned and watched Sledge climb in. A velvet and wool throw lay on the seat. Sledge lifted it and exposed a bouquet of mixed flowers.
"Edward! Oh . . . I . . . I don't know what to say."
"Just enjoy. Here have a seat." Sledge was having as much fun as Eames. He was delighted by her surprise. She is so tiny and sweet, he thought still smiling.
She sat and he joined her, sitting close; he put an arm around her and she snuggled in. He pulled the cover over their laps and up onto her left arm. The driver turned from his seat, nodded with two fingers to his hat, and smiled and faced forward. "Hett! Up!" and off they went.
Gleason sat at the kitchen table thinking, not thinking, remembering, wondering, hoping, fearing, wishing. She was a million miles away when Bobby turned the corner and entered the kitchen. She heard him come in and turned. She couldn't believe what she saw.
He stood, feet apart, in a midnight blue, almost black, suit with a plain maroon silk sweater. The suit had an interesting sheen as the jacket turned from his chest to his shoulders. The sweater covered him from neck to belt, but showed the mind what promises where underneath. He wore dress shoes with socks that matched his sweater. He hadn't shaved and his hair was just mussed enough. "Is . . . is, this – ok?" he asked with arms outstretched. She saw his weapon clipped to his left hip.
Gleason stood slowly, took the two steps to him, and said, "You just keep getting better and better."
He smiled and seemed to relax. He checked his watch and said, "Well, should we go to your place?" He removed her shawl and bag from the closet, handed her the bag and draped the shawl around her shoulders.
She couldn't take her eyes from him. She couldn't stop smiling. He opened the door and ushered her out.