Dance With the Devil: ChapOne-1

CHAPTER ONE-1

Orange County, California

“I'm sorry, Nick, I just don’t know what I want to do,” Sheila said. "I guess I'm still in shock over the notice to vacate."

She wished for the hundredth time that the owner of the cottage she rented in Corona del Mar hadn’t decided to sell it. As a widow, she was entitled to her late husband's social security and his pension from Datalink,which, along with the money she earned as a tempm added up to just enough to buy necessities and to cover rent on the 1,000 square foot, charming, garage conversion. "I dread the idea of an apartment and I can't afford even the oldest, smallest, miles-from-the-beach condo."

Nicholas stopped walking. Sheila turned back to see why. He took her hands in his and said, “Let's pool our money and get a nicer place than either of us could afford on our own."

So there it was. A proposal, of sorts. Not of marriage, but of a horridly practical plan that would end up with her cast in the role of wife. She'd been dreading for sometime that he'd suggest a change in their relationship. But she hadn't anticipated a half step. She should have been angry. Instead, she wondered how, when it came their relationship, such an intelligent, funny, and kind man, could think a Neanderthal.

He watched her for a moment and then a look of dismay crossed his face. "I'm sorry. That was stupid. Please, just forget it."

That stung. The only thing worse than receiving an unwanted, unromantic, practical, semi-proposal was having it almost instantly withdrawn. Sheila decided there wasn't any point in chastising him.

She said, "The problem is that I can't make any decisions about where I'm going to live until I've seen my older brother about my inheritance money."

They held hands as they walked along the edge of the waves. The late afternoon sun grew bigger and became more orange as it descended toward the glinting, blue Pacific. A moisture laden, cool breeze pushed its way onshore. Beach goers began to pack up their gear and leave. Sheila like the beach best in early morning, late afternoon, and in the off season, when it was nearly deserted.

Once over the horrible shock of William's death and through a period of deep mourning, she’d sold their place and moved into the cottage because it was just a block from the beach. At fifty-five, she was on her own for the first time in her life. She'd discovered that she enjoyed being alone. Two years later, Nicholas had come as a pleasant relief from having too much of a good thing.

But moving in together, even after a year of spending most of their free time together, she wasn't at all sure that was a good idea.

She stole a glance at him. He wasn't exactly handsome, but he was nice looking. He was tall with thick, white hair and a white, neatly trimmed mustache. At sixty he still had a trace of the apple cheeks he must have had as a young boy whose family came from Scotland. She tended to be casual about her appearance and wore only the most comfortable clothes and shoes, habits left over from her days as a hippie. Her hair was white, too, but she colored it in a reverse weave that added light brown tones. Nicholas was always carefully groomed and dressed, even when playing tennis or golf. It got her goat that they looked equally fit, but she had to work out three or four times a week to stay in shape. Nicholas was a wonderful man. In an instant she could compile a long list of his fine qualities. But she had never felt for him the passions she'd felt as a young woman dating and marrying William. She believed passion should be as large a part in the equation of her feelings for Nicholas as the fact that he was such a gentleman, that he was so honest, and that he was incapable of doing anything of a dubious nature. All excellent qualities. Still her heart resisted.

Her cell phone came to life playing a new age melody. She let go of Nicholas's hand and dug it out of her little handwoven purse.

“Sheila?” her younger brother’s voice beamed to her from Mateo.

“Tom?” Even after all the years he’d been a priest it was still hard for her to call him by his taken name. The rarity of a phone call from him prompter her to ask, “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.”

"I can't help worrying about you. Did you get that fake belly you asked me to send?"

"I did. Thanks for getting it."

"I know you said no questions, but I'd like to know why you needed a stage quality fake belly."

"I'll tell you someday. I promise."

Since the cell phone she'd sent him didn't work in Mateo, she said, “You must be in the city.”

“Medillin,” he said, “We’ve had an outbreak of typhus. We need tetracycline, but we can’t get any. Not even on the black market. Are you still working at that pharmaceutical company?”

“Yes, I’m still temping at Beckman.”

"Could you ask if they donate drugs to poor clinics?"

“I'll check first thing in the morning."

“People are dying here.” His voice broke. “Old people and children,” he sobbed.

Sheila gasped and said, “Are you sure you’re all right, Tom?”

After a moment he said, “Forgive me for a moment of weakness. Things are very tough, with the drug cartels fighting for power and corruption tearing the government apart."

“I really wish you’d come home or at least get out of there.”

“God, in his wisdom, put me here and here I'm going to stay," he said. “Please send the tetracycline fastest possible. I love you and miss you, Sheila. Vaya con Dios.” The connection went dead.

Sheila closed her phone. She was deeply shaken. She told Nicholas the gist of the conversation. Then she added, “He used to be a surfer. Not at all the kind of kid you'd think would grow up to be a priest. Very athletic. Pugnacious. Sitting on his surf board, he used to fight other surfers who'd try to chase him off the best spot to catch a wave. When I think of what my little brother's done with his life, it makes mine seem so petty.”

"You took care of your husband, managed a household, and raised two wonderful kids. Nothing wrong with that."

"But there wasn't anything special about that. And its all in the past. I wish I could find something of significance to do now."

"Sending the tetracycline to your brother will save lives. That'll be pretty significant."

That was a deeply satisfying thought. For the first time since the notice to vacate had arrived, she felt happy. Even optimistic. She couldn't help smiling. She said, "Yes, it will be significant."

They turned back and walked toward the parking lot where they'd left Nicholas' car. He insisted on helping her climb over the boulders along the shore. Even though she was perfectly capable of making her own way, she enjoy the gesture. She felt deep affection for him. Perhaps, at fifty-eight, she was foolish to want the irresistible, mad love of youth.