"Yes, about that," Branden replied, arranging his features into a serious expression. He hoped he'd gotten all of the crumbs out of his beard. "In the time I've been here, I've grown to like you a lot, and it occurred to me that … Well, no one would really count this as a first date … I was wondering if we could go somewhere together, after hours. Maybe a cup of coffee or something?"
Melinda's expression wavered at the question. If she was honest with herself, she cared for Branden a great deal. He was attractive, they had excellent conversations, and he knew the pain that comes with losing someone you love. He was perfect, and that was the very thing that kept her from accepting his offer as each of her cells was begging her to. William had been perfect as well. Before they were married, he had been absolutely unrivaled. Every morning, she would wake up to find breakfast waiting for her, or her feet being massaged, or a morning bath drawn. Throughout the day, well-hidden notes would turn up in her purse, her portfolio, her glove compartment, and nearly anywhere else she cared to look. Sometimes the message was a simple "I love you". Other times, it was a sonnet, or something inspirational. She would return, in the evening, to an immaculate house. Her dinner had always been ready and waiting for her. William was far from the best cook in the world, but by then, it barely mattered. If a man like that could tear out her heart …
Melinda slowly shook her head, hoping there weren't tears in her eyes. She couldn't live through it a second time. She was certain of that. If she let it happen again, it was going to kill her.
Sadness moved through Branden like a rolling wave. He had no doubt that he could tell exactly what she was thinking. Her divorce had come up often enough in their conversations, and it was evident that Melinda still bore the scars. He tried not to hate the man that had done this to her, but it was difficult. He could feel the eagerness in Melinda's spirit to banish the loneliness they were both suffering. Fear was the only thing holding her back, and William was the beast that had put it there.
I have to be patient with her, he thought, if I truly care for her.
"I want to say yes," Melinda interrupted his thoughts, "but the last one still hurts too damn much. I'm worried that if I jump in again … " Her voice broke into a slight hiccup.
"I know, Melinda. There's no rush. People tried to push me out there not long after Claire passed. Told me it was for my own good, but every one of those things ended in disaster because I wasn't ready. I hadn't grieved enough. No matter what people tell you, you can really only do things when you're ready. I'm not going to rush you, but I want you to know I care deeply about you. When you're ready, I'll be here."
"I want you to be here until then," Melinda replied. "Please don't stop coming. Your visits have made me happier than you realize."
"Now there's a coincidence," Branden answered her, "because visiting you has made me happier than you might realize. I doubt I could stop coming here if I wanted to."
Melinda seemed genuinely happy to hear that, and the pair of them began to clear up the remnants of their lunch together.
***
It took nearly three hours for word to trickle down to Zoey about what had happened in her mother's office, and she wished for once that the staff Melinda Forde employed was more given to snooping and spreading gossip.
She couldn't say she was overjoyed with what she eventually heard, but Zoey had to admit it was a positive start. Slowly, her mother was building a new relationship, and Zoey was determined to help her along in any way she could because she wanted Melinda to be as happy as Stelios was making her.
"They obviously love each other," she said to herself. "But for some reason, they aren't doing anything about it."
Right then and there, she made a vow to herself: if they weren't going to, she would.
When she got home, Zoey put in a call to Stelios, and they discussed her new role as a meddling kid.
"You can't lead people to love," Stelios remarked. "You can bring them together, but they must take themselves to love. Your mother will get there in her own time."
"I suppose you're right, but ‘her own time' seems to be one tenth of a snail's pace."
"You have to be patient, Zo'. These things take time. I tried to rush on a plane … "
"Yeah, and I've been meaning to talk to you about that. I thought maybe a simulator … "
"It's still hard for me to even look at a plane, never mind get in one."
"I know, but I've been looking into it, and there are some things we can do together to lessen your anxiety. For instance, if you know how a plane works and what to expect, that's one step closer to making getting off the ground easier. I learned that a plane goes through eleven hours of maintenance for every hour it's in the air."
"But people still die, Zoey."
"Yes, that's true, but they also die falling out of bed. You have a better chance of going that way. Fulton drives us around all the time, and the chances of us dying that way are one in thirty thousand. The chances of what you're worried about happening are one in thirty million. Statistically speaking, you have nothing to worry about."
"I don't think talking about this is helping," Stelios interjected, the anxiety in his voice evident. His parents had been that one case in thirty million, the winners of the worst lottery Stelios could imagine. He could see their plane in his mind's eye, sailing across the heavens without a care in the world. He could hear them pointing out the clouds to each other, giving shape to the clumps of condensed water vapor. A stewardess was walking down the aisle with her cart, handing meals and snacks out to the passengers as she passed. A ginger-haired girl was making a joke, and her parents were tangled in fits of laughter.
Then the plane shook. First, a little rumble, then a loud, teeth-rattling quake. Through the window, he could see smoke billowing from one of the engines. People were screaming, and the pilot's voice came over the intercom, struggling to remain calm.
Stelios felt his chest tighten horribly. He thought he could actually smell the smoke. A sheen of sweat cascaded down his forehead. His eyes were alight with cabin fires, and he held his smartphone in a death grip.
Zoey heard his ragged, wheezing breath, and every part of her leaped to attention at once.
"Stelios? Are you all right? Tell me what you're feeling right now," Zoey said, her voice full of concern.
"My palms are sweaty and, my fingers are tingling," he answered in a weak, gasping voice.
"Remember your refuge in the forest, Stelios? I want you to close your eyes and visualize it now. Close your eyes, and listen to my voice. Try to remember the clearing."
Fighting to regain his composure, Stelios did as he was told. At first, his imagination kept trying to show him the plane crashes he had seen in movies and news reports. But soon, Zoey's calmer, quieter voice filled his ears, offering him hope. He began to feel his breathing slowing down with each word.
"See the lake," she was saying. "See the crisp blue lake. Watch the surface ripple as the wind blows across it. See the sailboat perched on the calm water, its sail billowing like a robin's breast."
The more she talked, the more meditative Stelios became, and the clearer the picture in his mind appeared. Very soon, his palms were cool, and the tingling that had plagued his fingers was gone. In time, his chest began to loosen, and he began to feel like a human being again.
"Picture the lush green grass of the island, which grows ankle-high and feels like a carpet. See the olive trees with their twisting branches, sun-drenched leaves, and hanging fruit."
"What is this called, Zoey?" Stelios asked.
"Guided imagery. Is it helping at all?"
"Actually, yes. I feel much calmer now than before."
"Great. Why don't we try something else?"
"That's a good idea, Zoey. Just not today. Right now, I'd really like to talk about something else." He felt as though he'd barely survived one of the trials of Hercules, and unlike the ancient hero, he needed a rest.
"Well, all right," she replied. "What would you like to talk about?"
"Why don't you tell me what you're afraid of?" he asked.
The question caught Zoey off guard, but she recovered quickly and started on a story about a wasp's nest in the bushes of her childhood home and the all-consuming terror it had inspired in her. They ended up talking for another two hours before Zoey had to give in to sheer exhaustion.