Cracks in Their Shells

The spell was broken by Becca's scream. She scrambled clumsily over the edge of the tub and onto the towel she had placed on the floor. She was alone, crying, and still shaking from the most intense orgasm she had ever given herself. She gripped the towel to her mouth and half screamed, half sobbed into it, aghast at what she had done. Even though it wasn't real, the shame of her thoughts of letting a man make passionate love to her was more than she could bear. She cried uncontrollably for some time before she raised herself from the cold tile, dried herself, and dressed. She hazarded a look at herself in the mirror but couldn't make eye contact with her reflection. Still sniffling, she finally drew enough courage to face herself.

"I don't think I can do this," she whispered. The tears began again.

*********

Across town, another lonely soul was having his own doubts about whether he should go through with his date with Becca. Logan kindled a fire, poured himself a glass of bourbon, and put on some soft jazz that suited his mood. He went to the bedroom he used to share with Laura and reached for a dusty box on the top shelf of the closet. Returning to the fireside, he turned on a lamp, took a sip of his drink, and took a deep breath as removed the top of the box. Inside was almost 25 years' worth of letters, birthday cards, concert and movie ticket stubs, a few Polaroids, as well as a lock of blonde hair, a modest diamond bridal set, and an obituary. It was a sampling of his life with Laura, spanning their relationship from their high school sweetheart days up until her death.

Logan drained the amber liquid from his glass and refilled his drink. He smiled sadly at the pictures: Senior prom, homecoming, the family at DisneyWorld, the boys in Halloween costumes, and the two of them on an anniversary cruise. He read a few of the cards, but what he was really after lay at the very bottom of the box. Taking another deep breath, he opened the envelope with shaking hands and a tear.

When it became clear that Laura would not survive her cancer, she penned a letter to Logan with the instructions that it was not to be opened until after her death. In it, she shared a couple of funny stories, gave some instructions regarding the boys, and expressed her final wishes. She also gave Logan her blessing to move on without her and to find someone new.

"You have been my rock throughout good times and bad, my dearest, and I know you will always hold me in your heart. But while you remember the past, don't let that keep you from living in the present and planning for the future. I know it will be hard, but find someone who will take care of you and who you will care for, as you have always done for me. I love you, Logan Mathews."

"I don't know if I can do this or not, Laura Mathews," Logan said to a picture of his bride. "Today is the first time in five years that I have felt alive again, and I'm scared to death, Laura. I hope you understand..."

Logan's voice trailed off as he was startled by a loud pop from the fireplace. A glowing ember fell onto the hearth, shined brightly for a moment, then died. He used a scoop to toss it back into the fire, where it quickly began to glow again. Was it just the whiskey affecting him, or was it a message? Whatever the reason, Logan took it as an "I meant it" from his late wife. Like the dying ember, he was being given a chance to burn again. Returning the items to the box and the box to its shelf in the closet, he looked at himself in the mirror over the dresser and repeated the words he had spoken to Laura. Only this time, he was talking to himself.

"I don't know if I can do this, and I'm still scared to death, but I'm for damn sure going to try."

He went back to the living room and stared at the fire for a while, then fell into a peaceful sleep on the couch.

*********

"Becca, is everything okay?" Her sister Cassie's voice was groggy from being awakened after midnight, but coherent enough to know that something must be wrong for Becca to call her at that hour.

"No. Well, maybe. I don't know!" Becca sobbed into her phone.

"Do I need to come over?"

"No, I don't want you to have to do that. I'll be okay. I need to talk to you about something that happened today." Becca told Cassie everything that had happened the day before, leaving out the bath debacle, of course.

"So let me get this straight." Cassie was fully awake by this time and greatly interested in what her sister had told her. "You had a date that wasn't really a date, but it kinda turned into one, with a guy who's a few years older than you but is a handsome and charming gentleman, is your boss's brother, isn't an axe murderer, didn't try to kidnap you, and is making dinner for the two of you tomorrow, er, today? I'm missing the part where there is a problem, Bex."

"You know what the problem is, Cassie. It's me."

"Becca, we can't control what happened in the past, and you know you did nothing wrong. I've seen what you've gone through all these years. Logan isn't William, and William is somewhere he will never be able to hurt you or anyone else ever again. I know you can't just flip a switch and make it all go away, but it's been fifteen years, Becca. You deserve to be happy. There are still gentlemen in this world who know how and want to treat women right. It sounds like Logan is probably one of those gentlemen, but you'll never know if you don't give him a chance."

Becca's blood ran cold at the mention of William's name, but she knew her sister was right. Was she going to continue to torture herself, or was she going to do as Cassie said, give Logan a chance? It wasn't going to be easy, but she knew the decision she needed to make. In fact, she had just made it.

"Cassie, I'm sorry I woke you. Thank you, though. You've always been there for me."

"And I always will be. That's what big sisters do. Now, go and get some sleep. You've got an exciting day ahead of you. I want to hear all about it, by the way, even if it means waking me up again in the wee hours of the morning. Love you, Bex."

"I love you too, sis."

As she had done earlier that night, Becca went to the bathroom and looked in the mirror. Her cheeks were tear-stained, but her eyes were full of a new-found determination. Taking a deep breath, she resolved:

"I CAN do this, and I WILL." Then she added with a smile, "I hope you have sweet dreams, Mr. Mathews."

*********

Logan's dreams were sweet that night, or more accurately, bittersweet. Still, he awoke early and refreshed and set about his day. After a quick breakfast, he went into his cabinet shop and sprayed the final coat of lacquer on a set of cabinets so they would be ready to deliver on Monday. That left him the better part of the day to finish making the legs for Sophie's piano bench and attach them to the box that would frame the seat. Satisfied with the work, he gave the finished product a final sanding and two coats of lacquer and called the project complete. He then went to pick up groceries, cleaned the house, and found that he still had about three hours before Becca was to arrive. Settling into his recliner, he picked up a book he was reading to prepare for a final exam. When Martin and Mitchell had gone off to NC State, Logan decided to go with them, only he was taking his classes locally in Boone at Appalachian State. He had an undergraduate degree in history, "a damn useful degree for a cabinetmaker," he often wryly joked, but dreamed of being a college professor. Until he could knock out the foreign language requirement, though, he was stuck at the masters' level.             

He shaved and showered and, as Becca had done the night before, took stock of what he saw in the mirror. His 5'10" frame carried a shade over 190 pounds in a package that could best be described as a "dad bod." What he lacked in height was offset by taut, wiry muscles produced from his work with heavy tools and from handling cabinets and the raw materials needed to make them. His thick, dark brown hair was beginning to show streaks of gray around the temples. Crows' feet ran from the corners of his brown eyes and his mouth, but he attributed those to the line from the Jimmy Buffett song that goes "wrinkles only go where smiles have been," even though he hadn't had much reason to smile since Laura died. Despite these imperfections, Logan maintained a certain rugged middle-aged handsomeness.

"Dashing. Debonair. Full of shit." Logan laughed to himself. "It'll have to do."

Choosing what to wear was an easy enough task for Logan. He owned two pairs of jeans that weren't ripped or stained from his cabinetry work, and one of those pairs was dirty. He chose a green and gray checked flannel shirt to pair with his jeans and declared himself ready. Looking at himself in the mirror again, he dabbed a little mildly-scented aftershave on his cheeks, then went to start on supper.

Logan seasoned and breaded two boneless chicken breasts, then prepared his secret blend of spices to mix into some tomato sauce. Ten after 6:00. Becca would be there in twenty minutes, but it would only take a few minutes to prepare the noodles. Time crawled by. Twenty after 6:00; ten minutes to go. Logan lit a pine-scented candle to cover the aroma of the fried chicken. 6:25. Logan remembered that he hadn't brushed his teeth and rushed to take care of that need.

6:28. The doorbell rang. Logan looked in the mirror one last time, ran his fingers through his hair, and declared himself ready. "Here goes nothing."

*********

Becca rested fitfully after her talk with Cassie. She still felt pangs of uncertainty, but she was determined to go through with her date with Logan. When she finally went to sleep, she was so exhausted that she slept through her alarm. Waking to find that the office opened in 25 minutes, she hurriedly readied herself and flew out the door. If she was lucky, she would hit all the traffic lights right, and she would only be a couple of minutes late. Luck was not on her side this morning, however, as not only did many of the lights catch her, but she got behind a school bus that seemed to stop every half block. Resigning herself to the bad start to the morning, she finally got to the last light before she reached the office. Yellow. "Crap, I'm running it," thought Becca. Red. "Whew, I just made it." She turned into the parking lot, along with a city of Boone police officer. She slammed her fist into the steering wheel, cursing the way this day was going.

As she parked her car, she hung her head in resignation to the ticket she was about to receive. The officer approached her car, walked past her, and entered Janice's office. Finally, something had gone Becca's way this morning.

She scurried into the office at ten after 8:00, just in time to hear the door to Janice's office close loudly. The police officer was nowhere to be seen, so it stood to reason that he was in the office with Janice. Becca set about getting her computer up and running, put on a pot of coffee, and looked in her mailbox. Seeing a request for a new client's payroll, she printed the checks so the owner could sign them and pay the employees of his tree service business.

Becca heard loud voices coming from Janice's office. Then it hit her: the police officer ran a tree service business as a side job. She didn't recognize him in his uniform because he hadn't been dressed that way when he came in to establish an account as a new client. He and Janice must have been arguing over the payroll checks Becca had not gotten ready. She placed the checks in a file folder and crept to Janice's door. As she lifted her hand to knock, the door flew open and the red-faced officer bumped into her, knocking the file folder to the floor and spilling paychecks around the hallway. Becca stumbled into a wall but saved herself from falling. Embarrassed by his body block of a lady half his size, the officer began apologizing profusely.

"Becca, you wouldn't happen to know why Mr. Christopher's payroll checks aren't in the accounts file drawer, would you?" Janice's face was stern and her voice ice cold.

"Uh, yes ma'am. They're right here." She stooped down and picked up the scattered checks. "The printer was out of ink, so I stopped to get some on my way in. Mr., I mean Officer Christopher, these are ready for your signature." Becca meekly handed the folder to the client, who continued to apologize for running into her. He took the folder and hurried out the door.

Becca slowly turned to face Janice and receive the ass-chewing she knew was coming. When her eyes met her boss's, Janice broke into uncontrollable laughter.

"We went to high school together," she explained. "He was an asshole then and is an even bigger one now that he's got a badge and a gun. I sure am glad we didn't lose that account that's going to require us to print three paychecks each week." Janice's laughter grew to a howl. "That was quick thinking on your part. He would be really pissed if he knew you have at least half a dozen ink cartridges in the supply closet. Now, what's got you running late this morning?"

Becca was relieved that she wasn't in trouble, but still flustered by her hectic morning. "I didn't sleep much last night, but when I did, I overslept. I'm sorry, Janice."

"No apology needed. Poop occurs. Let me guess, nerves hitting you about tonight?"

"Yeah," Becca replied glumly.

"If it makes you feel any better, Logan is just as nervous as you are. It may take him a while to learn to live again. Be patient with him, but be yourself, Becca. It'll be fine, I promise."

"I wish I could be as sure of this as you are. What kind of things is he into? Maybe we'll have at least one thing in common we can talk about. Oh, and I want to take a dessert. What does he like?"

"He's not picky. You already know he loves that dungeon of a workshop -"

Becca interrupted her boss. "I don't know why you're so down on Logan's workshop. He's got some neat projects in there, including one you're going to appreciate."

"You're right, I shouldn't be hard on him about that. It gives him something to do to take his mind off Laura."

"I feel like I'm competing with her, Janice. It's awkward enough for me to be asked on a date after all these years, but with a guy who's suffered with losing his high school sweetheart, it's even more so."

"Don't think like that. Sweetie, just be you. You're going to do great! If you want to know what he's into, bring up history if you want to get him talking. He's taking classes at App State for some odd reason. Something about being a professor, but I don't know if he's serious about that or just pulling my leg. You grew up on a farm, so surely you know a little about outdoors stuff. He likes to fish and go camping, and he's a decent skeet shooter, even though he doesn't hunt anymore. Pete goes to the range with him a couple of times a month, and Logan always outshoots him. Oh, you could also ask him whether Hulk Hogan is better playing a face or a heel." Janice chuckled at this last suggestion.

"What in the world does that even mean?" Becca queried.

"A face, or babyface, is a good guy in wrestling. A heel is a bad guy."

"I see. Hopefully we won't be that bored. I'll keep that in mind, though."

"Becca, if all else fails, talk to him about Christmas. He loves it, and everything that goes along with it. Santa in the mall. Carols - the carolers know they will be received well at Logan's house. Lights. Shopping at local stores. Hot chocolate. Hallmark movies where the small-town guy gets the big city girl in the end." Then, Janice coyly added, "Mistletoe."

"Janice! I suppose he wears flannel and owns a Christmas tree farm in Vermont?" Becca liked those cheesy movies as well.

"No to the tree farm, but I would bet money that he will be wearing flannel. Which reminds me. I'm sure you want to look nice for your date, but don't overdress. It will make him uncomfortable. Jeans and a sweater will be fine."

"Got it."

Becca busied herself with her administrative duties, but the butterflies in her stomach wouldn't subside. She made a couple of careless mistakes that were out of the norm for her, but luckily Janice caught them before any damage was done. The third time this happened, Janice told Becca to take the afternoon off. She gave her secretary some money and instructed her to get her nails done. Becca thanked Janice and asked her to put in personal leave for her remaining hours.

"Don't worry about it. Consider it a gift. Good luck tonight, and remember, just be yourself!"

Becca was frustrated by the way her day had gone thus far, but inwardly thankful to have the afternoon to pull herself together. She decided on red nail polish to put her in a holiday mood, then went by the cosmetics counter at a department store where she got an understated makeup treatment. She splurged on a new red sweater to match her nails. After taking care of these tasks, she went to the grocery store where she picked up a lemon cake and a bag of coffee. She wanted to contribute to their date in some way. The cashier complimented her on her appearance, which helped put Becca at ease. She smiled and thanked the older lady, who somehow seemed to know her plans for the evening.

"Have fun on your date tonight. The other guys at the party will be envious of him."

Becca blushed shyly but thanked the lady again for the encouragement. The day was finally starting to look up for her. She still had a couple of hours before she was to be at Logan's house, so she made a few stops to do a little Christmas shopping. Arriving at her apartment, she unloaded her purchases and took stock of herself in the mirror. Nails: Perfect. Makeup: Spot on. Sweater: Fit in all the right places. Hair: A little hairspray to control a couple of flyaways and all was good. Becca was not a vain person, but even she would admit that she looked and felt pretty this night. She hoped Logan would feel the same way.

She pulled into Logan's driveway at 6:27. Gathering the cake, coffee, and her wits, she marched to the front door as though she were off to the gallows. Reaching for the doorbell, she took a deep breath and said to herself, "Here goes nothing."

*********

"Welcome to my humble abode. Let me help you with that," Logan said as he took the cake and coffee from Becca. "You didn't have to do that, though." His smile was wide and warm. "Roscoe! Get out of the way!" A beagle mix hound had appeared and was giving his master's guest the sniff down.

"He smells Nikki, my cat," Becca informed Logan. "Don't you, Roscoe?" Roscoe wagged his tail upon hearing the visitor call his name.

"Good, you have Roscoe's approval," Logan chuckled. "I'd hate to have to kick you out before we even get to supper because the dog didn't want you in his house. He lets me live here so long as I keep his bowl full."

Becca reached down to scratch the ears of her new four-legged friend. "We always had two or three dogs on the farm when I was growing up, but I can't have any in my apartment. The landlord lets me get by with having a cat, though."

"Well, let me know if he gets to bothering you and I'll put him in his kennel."

"Oh, he's not bothering me, are you Roscoe?" The dog's tail continued to thump the floor. "Wow, something smells delicious."

"Chicken parmesan, as promised. It's one of my specialties. Fruity Pebbles and ham sandwiches are my others." His joking put Becca at ease. "Supper will still be just a few minutes. The chicken is taking a little longer than expected, but it won't be long. Let me take your coat. If you need it, the bathroom is the second door on the right. Feel free to look around, and please, make yourself at home."

Becca handed Logan her coat and purse and looked at her surroundings. The house was of a typical 1970s ranch style but had been remodeled in the not-too-distant past. A fire burned cheerily in the stone fireplace that was centered on an end wall. Above the fireplace was a beautiful mantle made from an eastern cedar log with its characteristic red heartwood. Two guns rested in a rack above the mantle, which was adorned with an assortment of coffee mugs, pictures, and trophies the Mathews boys had won in their youth. The brown leather recliner and couch were angled in such a way as to allow viewing of the fireplace or the tv in the corner.