His Purple Heart

26 - Friendships and Likeships

I spent the next two weeks in my studio, working furiously on a private piece for a client. I even ate dinner in the basement sometimes, and other times I couldn't be bothered to cook so I ordered takeout. Last night I had sushi and it was amazingly good.

Trystan had sent me chocolate and different variations of mint candy and white flowers every day so far, but I haven't personally heard from him. To say I missed him was an understatement, but I'd made my decision and I was going to stick by it.

However I couldn't ignore the mellow ache sitting on my chest night and day. And every time I thought of Trystan, which was often, the ache got worse, weighing down on me like a heavy boulder.

Pursing my lips, I stared at the work in front of me. I liked where this piece was going. The client had specifically requested something happy, but romantic, and despite my somber mood, I'd managed to capture a sense of hope and eternal bliss in the bold bright colors I'd chosen to work with.

My doorbell rang, the sound startling me into action. It was nine o' clock in the morning for crying out loud, and I was still in my night robe.

I knew who was at the door before I ran up the basement steps. I yanked the front door open, realizing that I'd forgotten to lock it again. The mailman, Alvin, stared back at me, his blue cap sitting high over his forehead.

"Good morning, ma'am. I have another personal package for you," he said, handing me a device with a pen attached to so I could sign my name.

I signed the paper impatiently and waited for him to hand me the package so I could continue with my day. I wanted to get back in the studio to add the finishing touches to the piece I was working on before heading out to the bayou with Addison.

"This better be good, Alvin. I've had it with you ringing my doorbell at these ungodly hours," I said half serious, half joking.

"Just doing my job," Alvin said in his deep Louisiana drawl. "I don't know what Mr. Debney did to you, but maybe you should just forgive him if you want this to stop. It's been two weeks now."

Alvin couldn't have been very old, he looked to be in his late forties. He was as thin as a pipe with dark brown skin and a salt and pepper mustache. He had a lazy eye and a friendly smile. I half smiled and took the box and bouquet of flowers that he carefully handed over to me.

"He's a persistent one isn't he?" I asked in a wistful tone I seemed to have no control over.

"Yeah, his kind doesn't come around very often. Most men don't bother go through all that trouble to get a woman back unless she's very special. Those flowers cost a lot. I should know. I've had to send my share of I'm-sorry flowers to my wife back in the days." He smiled and his entire face lit up as he recalled a memory of days gone by.

I clutched the oblong shaped box under my arm and smiled. "Can I ask you what you did to her?"

"This one time I accidentally ran over her dog, and she believed I'd done it on purpose, because I had voice my dislike for the yapping chihuahua on numerous occasions. I sent her flowers five days in a row before she accepted my apology. I think two weeks is more than enough torture. Give the man a break. Whatever he did can't be as bad as running over a dog and killing it."

Alvin shoved the device back into a satchel hanging at his side. When he looked back up, I could tell that although his wife had forgiven him, he hadn't forgiven himself for running over her beloved chihuahua.

I chewed on my inner cheek. "I don't know, Alvin. I'll think about it okay? I'm actually quite interested in seeing how long he can keep this up for."