The Fig Newtons and Blockbuster gift card were from Maggie, I knew. That cookie was one of the first solid foods I’d nibbled on about a month after I’d come out of the coffin, and we’d spent so much time at Blockbuster in my crash course to get up to speed with the twenty-first century, the staff knew us by name. The surf shop gift card was from my hang-ten buddy, Neil. Not that I can hang ten, or even five, but Neil and I had bonded through surfing. A far cry from when he was ready to bash me with the tire iron. Saber cupped my cheek, brushed a tear away with his thumb.
“They really like me.”
“Yes, Sally Field, they do, but no crying on your very first anniversary. We have things to do.”
The rest of Wednesday afternoon and evening, Saber and I made memories. First we strolled St. George Street, had a bite of free pizza (I took the smallest one), and then stopped to taste-test gelato. The whipped cream-looking treat coats the tongue like a lover’s kiss, and I couldn’t resist testing three flavors. Between the gelato and tiny bit of pizza, my stomach groaned. I can eat real food, and I eat a touch more now than I used to, but my stomach is too shrunken to tolerate much. We headed to the bay front next. Specifically to the marina. Surprise! We were taking the sunset sail on the Schooner Freedom , the replica of a nineteenth-century blockade-runner. For two hours, Saber and I sat hip-to-hip near the bow and held hands. The nearly full moon rose early, and we watched dolphins riding the ship’s wake as they escorted us past the city sights. After dinner on the second-story veranda at A1A Ale overlooking the bay (Saber ate, I picked), he took me back to the bay front, this time to the horse-drawn carriages. One carriage with white bows and bunting on the sides displayed a sign on the back reading Happy Anniversary.
“Saber,” was all I choked out before he kissed me.
Our driver was a man in his fifties with a careworn face, shaggy salt-and-pepper hair in a thin ponytail, and look-into-your-soul blue gray eyes. I knew that intense gaze from somewhere but couldn’t call up the memory. Then again, duh, I likely saw him every time I guided a ghost tour. Saber had to have paid the man something extra, though, because the driver didn’t start the tour spiel that was part of the whole tour-by-carriage gig.
Saber must’ve read my mind, because he held me close and whispered, “He’s just driving us tonight so we can enjoy the evening and cuddle.”
“Works for me,” I murmured, pulling his head closer for a kiss.
We kissed again at the Love Tree. Actually got out of the carriage to stand under the palm tree that grows right out of an oak tree. The legend is that if you kiss your lover under the commingled trees, your love will last forever. When the hour-long carriage ride ended back at the bay front, the driver turned his intense gaze on me. He winked, and in a rusty voice said, “Never underestimate the power of love.”
Caught off guard, I could only smile, thank him, and take Saber’s hand to step out of the rig. As I glanced at the driver a last time, a shiver shimmied up my spine.
“You cold?” Saber asked. “Your blue hoodie is in the car.”
“It is?”
He dropped a kiss on my nose. “Yep, because we have one more excursion before your anniversary night is over.”
A walk on the beach in the almost full moonlight. What could be more romantic? A yellow comforter, a bottle of sweet tea for me, wine for Saber, and daringly making love on the beach with just the shadows of the dunes to give us the illusion of privacy. We stayed on the beach for hours, talking, touching, just being together. My heart was so full, my body so sated, that I drifted to sleep in the cocoon of Saber’s arms later, knowing what feeling cherished truly meant.
Thursday afternoon, we were back to business, but I didn’t mind in the least.
Saber wrote a coded message to Candy while I first checked for Maggie’s package (not there), then wrote thank-you notes for my anniversary gifts. Oh, I’d called, too, and left messages, because no one answered their phones. But good manners were important, and writing a note was an extra way to show how much I appreciated my friends.
Snowball wreaked havoc batting my cards and stamps around, but she was now snug in Saber’s sling. The sling he didn’t need anymore and hadn’t been wearing for the past day, but Snowball had dragged the thing to Saber and meowed until he put it on.
“You work tonight?” he asked as I finished sealing and stamping my last note.
“Shoot, I knew I forgot something. I’ll call, but I imagine I’m back on the schedule, since I’ve been off for three days. Will you stay here to wait for word from Candy?”
He rubbed the back of his neck. “I thought I’d go with you and run interference if that ghost hunter shows.”
Elise Williams, owner of Old Coast Ghost Tours, confirmed that I worked the early shift tonight and Friday, but was off on the weekend. Then she told me what a riot my friend had been on Leno Wednesday night. My bad. I’d forgotten all about Jo-Jo’s appearance.
“That spot increased our business,” Elise said. “In fact, your tours are sold out for tonight and tomorrow.”
“They are?”
“I’ve asked Janie and Mick to help you out. Keep the autograph hounds from bothering you.”
Autograph hounds?
I must’ve looked queasy as I said good-bye, because Saber got up to steady me.
I gripped his shirt. “Did you happen to remember about Jo-Jo being on Leno?”