Chapter Thirty

Leah sat at the small patio table on her rooftop deck, looking out over the buildings lining Jefferson Street, wondering why Sandler felt it necessary to bring up romantic feelings. There was no one in her life right now for whom she had feelings, and even though Mark did, she didn't share them. She barely had friends, or rather people she might call a friend. How did he expect her to resolve her feelings for John when there was no need because there was nothing to replace them?

When her telephone rang, she looked back over her shoulder and considered answering it, but decided against it. She had some thinking to do. She had to remember all the things in the LA house that she might want to keep; those things that were special…more important than most of it.

John's attorney had all the important papers…marriage license, birth certificates, mortgages, and investment accounts, so she didn't have to worry about those. She began to think of her earliest times with John…before the kids came along, and how bound and determined she was to record everything. She wrote photographs, pictures and videos on the previously blank notepad. Next was her private box containing all the letters and notes John had ever written her.

The phone rang again, and she turned for a moment and glared at it, then turned her attention back to her list. Her jewelry included items that had belonged to her mother and John's mother as well as pieces John had given her over the years.

Laughing, she remembered her kitchen. Though she couldn't take it with her, it brought back the memories of John ripping the kitchen out three times before he felt he got it right, fussing and fuming the entire time while she maintained a difficult smile because through it all, she had loved her original kitchen most; something she never told him.

Every morning after he got called to the hospital the night before, she'd wake up to a red rose in a bud vase on her night table. She wrote down 'bud vase.'

Mentally going through the children's things would be difficult. Other than the photos and videos, much of what they had were their clothes and toys. She had their memory books that she had religiously kept up-to-date, containing locks of their hair at different ages and all the teeth the tooth fairy ever paid for. How odd a feeling to have a physical piece of her children at the same time she couldn't touch them. Moving her hand to her chest just above her heart, she realized she had a physical piece of them all. Even in death, John was still taking care of her. Silent tears began to flow. Setting the pencil down, she bowed her face into her hands.

She had no idea how long she had sat crying into her hands. The phone had rung several times, and now someone was persistently knocking at her door. She didn't budge until the next knock came with a voice.

"Leah, it's Trapper. I know you're in there." He knocked again. "Leah!" he called a little louder.

Pushing the chair away from the table, she rose and walked to the door, leaning on it with her lips at the crack where the door was latched. "What do you want?" she said feebly.

Holding the knob, Trapper moved closer to the door and said quietly, "I know what you're doing. I don't think you should do it alone."

"I'm fine," she said, choking back a sob.

"I don't think so. Open the door, Leah. Please." He heard her throw the bolts, but the door didn't open. Turning the knob, he pushed, taking one step inside and looking around before he entered and closed the door behind him. He walked to the patio table, and looked down at the notepad, reading her list and taking a deep breath, letting it out through his nose.

Leaning on the half-wall of the roof-top deck, she watched the lights of the city slowly brighten as the sun sank in the sky. She didn't flinch when he put his arms around hers, grasping each of her wrists in front of her. Closing her eyes, she let herself feel the strength of his hands and arms, the warmth of his body against her back and the comfort of his breath moving across her cheek. Was she taking advantage of Trapper by letting him get this close? Was she cheating on John for allowing this John to console her?

Moving his lips close to her ear, he asked in a quiet, deep, soothing voice, "Are you alright?"

She didn't answer his question, but rather answered her own. She couldn't cheat on John because John was dead. She couldn't betray the trust and love her children had for both of them because they were dead. And this John in this moment made her feel. She turned in his arms and looking into his eyes, she moved her hands to either side of his face, tiptoeing until her eyes closed and her lips met his only for a second. They were soft and warm, and his breath was sweet, and she found herself pressing her lips against his, opening her mouth and giving him the gentlest touch with the tip of her tongue.

Trapper hadn't moved; he hadn't moved his hands from her waist nor had he stepped back away from her. When she looked back into his eyes, he met hers with understanding, and even now, he didn't let her go.

Her eyes slowly dropped, her head slightly bowed, and her hands moved to his chest even as his chin rose imperceptibly, the corners of his mouth turned up slightly, and his eyes followed hers.

"I'm sorry," she whispered.

"You have no reason to be sorry," he answered as softly.

Holding on to his jacket lapels, she snorted. "Dr. Sandler was right. I wanted to feel something…tangible…again. I'm afraid I've used you."

His expression settled into a satisfied smile. "Did it help?"

"Yes, I think it did," she said, chuckling.

"How?"

Looking back into his eyes, she said, "In my mind, I wasn't kissing John. I was kissing you. And I don't feel guilty."

He took both of her hands from his lapels and kissed them, then turned back into the apartment with his arm around her. Stepping backward one step, he took the notepad from the table. "Have you started packing yet?" She nodded. "Put this in your suitcase. You won't need it again until you arrive at the house. We have plans for the weekend."

"Oh, really?" she said, smiling.

"Mm hm. Now go change into your little black dress. We're going to get some fresh crab, and then we're going to a little blues club I know where local guitarists provide the entertainment."

She headed for her bedroom, but stopped and cocked her head before she turned. "How do you know I have a little black dress?"

Grinning, he answered, "Doesn't every attractive woman have a little black dress?"

She disappeared into the bedroom, but left the door open. "Trapper, make yourself at home. There's tea, juice and milk in the fridge. Glasses are in the cabinet next to the fridge."

Pouring himself a glass of tea, Trapper wondered back out to the deck and watched people moving up and down Jefferson Street, some dressed for the evening, some dressed to spend the evening on the street. Twenty minutes later, he was still people-watching when Leah came out of her bedroom, dressed in a long-sleeved, knee-length, midnight black jersey tube dress that clung to every curve of her body. She had dressed it up with a long double strand of white pearls and stiletto heels. "Trapper?"

He turned and froze, sucking in the side of his mouth as his eyes slowly moved from her eyes to her legs and back up. Setting the glass he was holding on the kitchen table before he reached her, he motioned toward the door. "Shall we?"

Smiling, she walked out the door, handing him the key, and as he walked down the stairs behind her, he noticed there were no lines underneath her dress. There was no zipper on the dress. There wasn't even a back seam which made the whole look very smooth.

When they reached the sidewalk, Trapper held her hand.

She stopped walking. "I am a big girl."

Smiling lasciviously, he chuckled and answered, "No doubt about that. But you walk much too fast for those heels. You'll break your leg." He looked at his watch. "On second thought, we need to hurry." Grabbing her hand, he pulled her next to him, placed his hand on the small of her back and guided her quickly down the sidewalk, turning left at Taylor where the seafood vendors were. There was still a crowd even though some of the vendors had already closed.

When they stopped in front of Leo's spot, Leah looked up, opening her mouth wide in surprise. "Carlotta, what are you doing here? I thought you had to rest."

Leo walked up behind her without her seeing him, and when she turned, he took her face in his hands and kissed each cheek. With tears in his eyes he said, "My Carlotta is free of the cancer. She doesn't go back for six months."

Throwing her arms around Leo's neck, Leah laughed. "That's wonderful news!"

By this time, Carlotta had rounded the case, bringing her children with her. Speechless, she and Leah held each other, crying together at the good news. Trapper and Leo each picked up a child, and the oldest, five-year-old Lorenzo, leaned over for his own hug.

Turning to Trapper, Leah asked as she wiped her eyes, "How did you know?"

"Carlotta's oncologist is a friend of mine," he said, smiling.

"Come, come," said Carlotta, pulling Leah behind their space where a table was set with candles, crab, salad and wine. They ate dinner in the moonlight with the lights from the covered sidewalk casting a yellow glow their way and Italian music drifting out of Alioti's Restaurant just down the sidewalk.

"Leah, Carlotta and I were worried. We haven't seen you for weeks. When Dr. McIntyre came by to ask us to stay tonight, he told us you haven't been well."

Leah covered his hand. "Did Dr. McIntyre tell you what was wrong?"

"No. He said that would be up to you."

Looking over at Trapper, she winked. "I had to have heart surgery, Leo. There was a weak spot on my heart that Dr. McIntyre and another doctor fixed."

"You're her doctor? I thought…"

"Leo, he's not my doctor. Dr. Gates is my doctor. But Dr. McIntyre is Chief of Surgery at San Francisco Memorial where I was a patient, so he assisted Dr. Gates."

"So you're not…" Leo said, moving his finger back and forth at them.

Laughing, Trapper smiled over at Leah and answered, "We're friends."

"For now," Leo said with raised eyebrows, nodding his head mockingly.