AN INNOCENT MAN
by
Margaret Marr
Heather pulled into the grocery store's parking lot and failed to see the car she cut off. The man blasted his horn and shot her a bird. "Watch where you're going b...." The rest of his sentence was blown away with the wind.
Heather shook her head. It was an honest mistake. With the time change, it turned dark a lot earlier, making it hard to see and drive at night. She parked the car and got out, placing her purse strap over one shoulder.
She picked up the milk and bread and chicken she planned on baking for super and stood in line waiting her turn. The tabloids screamed warnings of end times and monsters from outer space. The weather was suppose to be the worst in centuries with terrible snow storms and floods. Doom and destruction on every cover.
She sighed and shifted the milk from her right hand to her left. Finally, it was her turn. "Hello, how are you today?" she asked the cashier and flashed her most cheerful smile.
The cashier mumbled something Heather couldn't understand. The girl probably hated her job and didn't want to be there. "Fifteen dollars and eight cents," she said and held out her hand for the money. Bubble gum popped and snapped in her mouth.
Heather paid and gathered her purchases. "Thank you," she said, but got no response.
Out in the parking lot, she came within one hair of getting hit by a man racing to beat another man to the handi-cap parking space. There were no handi-cap tags on either car. The man who won the spot jumped out and threw down a cigeratte and ground it under his heel.
"How ya doing, babe?" He looked her up and down and licked his lips.
Heather shuddered and picked up her pace, keeping her eyes on the pavement. After she got passed him, she looked up to see a man's dirty fingers reach toward the back pocket of another man's jeans. He glared at her and snatched his hand back and hurried away.
Heather sighed. "Are there no descent people left in this world?" She tried to find good in everybody. If she couldn't find anything, she made excuses for them...that one was abused as a child, that one lived in poverty and so on. But sometimes, like tonight, people looked dark no matter how hard she tried to see some light in them.
The sharp smack of a hand connecting with a cheek caused her to jump and wince.
"I told you to get in the car and shut your mouth!" Another man shoved his wife in the passenger's side of the car. "I don't want to hear another word leave those lips." The woman's face was red and blotchy and streaked with tears. She cowered against the door. The man pounded the hood of the car with his fist on the way to the other side. Realizing she had stopped and was staring, Heather started walking again, hoping she could make it to her car without further incident. She didn't know how much more wrong she could endure seeing.
A bag ripped and Heather turned toward the source of the sound. A little old woman stood helpless as her bag of canned goods slipped through the hole and rolled in all directions.
"Oh dear," she said and tried to catch the last can as it fell.
"Let me help you with that."
Heather caught her breath and stared.
A good-looking man stooped down and scooped a rolling can of beenie-weenie up off the pavement. He quickly gathered all the other cans and set them loose in the trunk of the old woman's beat-up Chevrolet. "I'll run inside and get you another bag so you won't have all that extra work carrying them in your house."
"Thank you, young man." The old lady put her hand on his arm and smiled.
"No problem," he said and headed for the grocery store. He moved like a pro quarterback...confident, strong and fluid. Sandy, blonde hair curled at the nap of his neck. He greeted everybody with a wave or a slap on the back.
Heather's hand flew to her chest, trying to catch her run away heart. The stars swept aside, and the sun broke through the darkness. Finally, an innocent man.
She went to the store every day for a week to see what days the man went. Besides going on Wednesday, her grocery day, he also went on Monday and Friday. Today was Friday and since she'd already been to the store for the week, she had no reason to go, but she pawed through her cabinets, anyway, looking for an excuse to go.
I need spices. She hadn't cooked anything using spices in her life, but now would be as good a time as any to start.
Later as she clutched her bag of chili powder, thyme, cloves and basil, she peered from behind a brick support post.
The man was talking to a couple of other guys who looked a little too unsteady on their feet. "Let me drive you guys home," he said.
"Come on man, the nights young. We still got a few more bars to hit."
"We're not through yet," the other whined.
"Neither one of you are sober enough to be driving." He grabbed for the keys.
"It's only eight o'clock, buddy. We don't want to go home yet," the other slurred.
Heather drank the man in...his blue eyes, day old beard stubble and the way he crossed his arms over his chest while he argued with his friends. He was tender, but tough. She wanted to know this man. She wanted to look into his eyes and fall forever.
"Heather, honey, what are you doing out here in this cold?"
She jumped. "Grandma you scared me." She grasped her chest, trying to catch her breath. "You have quite a load there. Aren't there any carry outs working?" Heather took the buggy from her grandmother and followed her to her car.
"You know how they hate to bag all that cat food I buy for my precious kittens. When they see me coming, they scatter like a flock of spooked birds. You didn't answer my question. What were you doing lurking behind that post?"
Heather opened her mouth, but nothing came out. How was she suppose to tell her grandmother she was spying on the most wonderful man she'd ever seen in her life, who didn't have the slightest clue she even existed? "I...um..."
"It's okay, dear, you don't have to tell me. Young people today have their own agenda." She patted Heather's arm.
The man drove by with his two buddies slumped down in the seat. He must have managed to talk them into letting him take them home. For a second their eyes met.
Heather froze and felt heat creep up her neck and flood her cheeks. She felt as limp as an old dishrag. His eyes stripped her bare, leaving her shaken and under his spell. It was almost as if he knew she'd been watching him.
On Monday, she hid behind the same support post and surveyed the parking lot. She saw him insert his key in the lock of his Toyota truck. Even that simple act was sexy.
"Jake!" His head turned toward the voice.
Jake. Now, her man had a name.
A petite woman with short, blonde curls squealed and threw her arms around his neck. He picked her up and swung her around. "Hey, little girl, where have you been?" His voice was so sexy!
The girl let go and grabbed his hand, then twirled into his arms. They started to dance.
Heather was stricken. He had a girlfriend, and he was dancing with her right out in the parking lot in front of God and everybody. How romantic. She held one fist to her chest and felt her heart breaking. She should have known such an amazing man would already be snatched up.
On Wednesday, she went to buy groceries like a normal person. She told herself she wouldn't try to look for him, but even now she was glancing down the isles and out the windows that lined the front of the store. Get a grip, she berated herself. He's got a girlfriend, and if he's half as nice as he seems, he's not going to break his girlfriend's heart for you.
"Heather, can I take your groceries out?"
She turned to see, Norman, an older man with a boyish face. He was a little slow and shy, but he was one of the best carry outs the store had to offer. Besides he was sweet and she suspected he had a crush on her. "You sure can." She flashed him her brightest smile, the one she always saved for him.
Friday she decided to change her hiding place. By now it was quite obvious to some people, she was doing something a little strange. So she hid at the corner of the store and peered out from the side of the building. Her eyes moved over the parking lot and back two times. Nothing. Where was he?
Someone cleared their throat.
She shrieked and swung her fist at the man behind her.
He caught her wrist. "Hey! It's okay. I'm not going to hurt you."
Heather's heart came to an abruptt halt, then started hammering wildly against her ribs. Jake held her wrist in a gentle hold, and those blue eyes stripped her bare again. She'd been caught.
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to spy on you. It's just that you're the first innocent man I've encountered in a long time." The words spilled from her lips in an uncontrollable rush.
"Innocent man?"
"Yeah. You're not guilty of being rude, lewd or perverted and best of all you're not guilty of being abusive. I just wanted to watch you. The way you helped that old lady pick up her groceries. You didn't do it with half a heart, and you even went all the way to the checkout and got her another bag. And making sure you're friends got home so they wouldn't cause an accident and kill themselves or worse kill an innocent child." Heather bowed her head and whispered. "The way you danced with your girlfriend."
"Girlfriend?"
Heather looked up. "The girl with the short blonde hair."
Jake laughed softly, a low virile sound. "That was my sister. She's taking dance lessons and was showing me what she learned."
"Oh." Did he have a girlfriend? Surely he must. She didn't dare ask him, though she was dying to know.
"I have a confession to make," he said. "I've been watching you too."
Heather thought her heart was going to fly right out of her chest. "Really? I've never noticed it."
"For quite sometime, actually. I usually hide behind the potato chip rack or a sleezy tabloid. Did you know Art Garfuncle is really and alien hybrid?"
She laughed and felt his warm masculine fingers tighten on her wrist. "Really? What else did it say about him?"
"I don't know. I was too busy watching the way your eyes sparkle when you smile. The way you light up someone's day with just a glance. One guy always looks like he's died and gone to heaven every time he rolls your groceries out to the car." His finger carressed the inside of her wrist, sending shivers of pleasure up her arm.
"You must mean Norman. He's really sweet." If he didn't quit what he was doing with his finger, she was going to melt into a puddle at his feet.
"I guess he's as love sick over you as I am."
Heather sucked in her breath. Did she hear him right? Did he say love?
"Would the pretty lady with the raven curls please go out with me tonight?" He smoothed a loose curl out of her eyes, and his finger lingered in her hair.
When she could breath again, she found her voice. "Yes. I can't think of anything I'd rather do," she whispered.