Roger slowly shook his head. “I’ve been running this business ten years,” he told them. “Ten long-ass years.” He looked out at the water on his left, mesmerized by the green hue of the rollicking waves. “Fucking carrots,” he muttered, taking another bite of his healthy snack.
“And in ten years, I have to say, that was the best damn cruise I’ve ever seen.” He broke into a wide grin, and Sophie’s mouth dropped open. Grant felt immensely relieved.
“You two have sold out almost every cruise since I’ve been gone!” Rog exclaimed. “I wondered how you pulled it off, how you were so successful, and I’m still not sure, but I think it has something to do with your fucking singing, Madsen. How the hell did you come up with that idea?”
“Sophie encouraged me to do it, Rog.”
“Grant sang one night, and the passengers kept asking for him to do it again,” Sophie added. “Doesn’t he have a gorgeous voice?”
“I wouldn’t go that far, Taylor,” Rog retorted. “But it does seem to put the passengers in a good mood, and happy customers are returning customers. Look, it’s clear to me that you two have done a kickass job running my business. I’m going to rip Tommy and Dan a new one in a second, but I want to reward you for your hard work. After tonight’s cruise, you have two days off.”
Sophie almost squealed, but Grant said, “Are you sure you don’t need us on Wednesday and Thursday?”
Roger chuckled. “Christ, Madsen, take some time off and don’t complain! Now go tell your two coworkers to get their lazy asses up here.”
As Sophie and Grant made their way down the stairs, Grant reached out his arm to stop her. “Do you know where we’re going after meeting with Jerry tomorrow?”
She shook her head.
“The White Sox versus the Cubs, baby. An afternoon game!”
Her face lit up with pleasure. “It’s a date.”
19. The Womanly Touch
She came out of Jerry’s office and immediately noticed him sitting on the chair. His head was tilted back against the wall and his eyes were closed, revealing eyelashes that seemed much too long to occur naturally on such a masculine face. Female runway models would kill for those luscious lashes. His position showcased his long tanned neck and the slight protrusion of his Adam’s apple.
As Sophie approached his quiet form, she smiled fondly, realizing he had fallen asleep awaiting his turn with Jerry. Softly she sat down next to him and gently nuzzled the crown of her head into the crook of his neck.
His first conscious awareness was the clean lavender scent of her hair. What an exquisite way to wake up. He was touched by her intimate snuggle, and with eyes still closed asked, “Did I conk out?”
“Yes, sleepyhead. Why are you so tired?”
Sophie sat up and Grant slowly followed suit. Both nightmares and Roger’s snoring had limited his sleep. He decided on a half-truth. “The snoremeister is back.”
“Oh, that’s right. Rog is home from the hospital! You poor thing.”
The door swung open and Jerry gave Grant the evil eye. “Do you need a goddamn engraved invitation, Madsen?”
Grant jumped out of his seat and swiftly entered the office.
“At least I didn’t catch you two kissing this time—yack!” Jerry growled.
Ten minutes later the two parolees strolled outside. Grant wore a coral-colored plaid madras shirt over jeans, and Sophie a baby-blue camisole and white pants with light blue stripes: cool clothing for a hot late-June day.
Grant was in a hurry. Rushing to keep up, Sophie asked, “How was your meeting with Jerry?”
“Fine,” he replied, tight-lipped.
They hustled down the steps, and Sophie felt an irritated tightness in her chest. Mr. Aloof had returned.
“Hey,” she cried, causing him to pause on the concrete sidewalk. “The Sox game doesn’t start for a few hours, right?” Grumpily he nodded. “Well, where are you going then, in such a rush?”
He didn’t have an answer for her. He just had to keep moving, had to keep running from his past. Unfortunately, she insisted on following him.
“How about we use the time to find you an apartment?”
“An apartment?”
“Yes. You told me staying with Rog was temporary, and with the fat paycheck we just got, you should be able to afford the deposit on a place now.”
Lost in thought, he bit his lip. “But I don’t have any furniture.”
She smiled. “Me neither. I think that’s why there’s something called a furnished apartment.”
Her teasing did not go unnoticed, and he would have smiled if not for all his nervous fidgeting. “You’ve already thought this all out, huh? Are you also, um, planning on getting a place of your own?”
“I can’t afford it right now. I have school loans to consider. Besides, I like living with Kirsten.”
“Well, what if I like living with Rog?”
Sophie snickered. “Yeah, you love living in that little studio with Se?or Snore—our boss nonetheless—listening to him complain all day long about eating vegetables.”
This time he did manage a smile. “Aw, c’mon, Rog and Ms. Broccoli are getting along much better these days.”
“Well, I don’t want to be the one they turn to for couples counseling,” Sophie said. “Can you imagine being married to that man?”
“I still can’t believe Rog was married,” Grant replied.
He scraped his hand through his cropped black hair, eventually admitting, “I need to move out. I need to find my own place. It’s just … I don’t know, for some reason it’s hard to go through with it.”
Sophie sighed. She knew exactly what he meant. “Maybe because getting your own place would signify starting a new life after prison? Maybe that’s why it’s hard to bite the bullet?”
He seemed jarred by her comment. Her profound psychological insight always caught him off guard. He also kept forgetting she had a first-hand understanding of re-entering life after prison. She was probably scared as well, wondering if she could make it on the outside. Prison had ripped away their fledgling twenty-something sense of self-confidence.
“Maybe. Maybe I don’t feel ready to start over,” he finally replied. “Maybe I don’t know if I can. That, and I’ve never really lived alone. I always had roommates in college, and I bunked with my buddy Simkins in the Navy. And then,” he ducked his head, “I lived with a cellmate for two years.”
She instinctively clasped both his hands in hers, her soft skin cradling and comforting his fidgeting hands. “It’s okay, Grant. There will be no more cellies for either of us. We’re not going back. And after the total lack of privacy in prison, you deserve your own place.”
He glanced at their enjoined hands and then into her piercing gaze. “We both have lots of memories we’d like to forget.” After a pause, he continued. “I want to move forward. I do. I want to start over, whatever the hell that might bring.” He swallowed hard. “I, um, I wouldn’t mind, um …”
His voice was halting, trembling, before he muttered, “Damn!” He dropped her hands and angrily jammed his into his pockets.
“Grant?” she ventured tentatively.
After a long exhalation, he reluctantly returned her gaze.