Page 41 of Queen of Ruin

“You made me feel important, like my opinion mattered.”

“It does matter,” he consoles with sincerity.

“And you’re not that old,” I add, even though it is true he could be my father, he doesn’t act like a father, or at least none that I know. But the word old puts a line between us, one that I want to step over – one that I ache to step over, ignoring the fact that the gold wedding band on his left hand reflects the light from a nearby streetlamp.

He reaches out, taking a piece of my hair between his fingers, and I shiver as if the strands of my hair have nerve endings, and I can feel it the same as if he were touching my skin.

Tilting his head, he looks at me thoughtfully, and I know what he’s going to say before he says it. Embarrassment unfurls in my stomach, turning to sadness.

“You know I can’t ask you to come back to my hotel room with me, right?” he implies, his voice laced with regret, and dare I say with a hint of the same longing I feel.

I nod, unable to trust my voice, and I feel something claw its way up my throat threatening to make its way out, something like a whine or a protest, but I know better.

“You are a very bright young woman, and you should remember that,” he insists.

I ask myself why I’m so enamored by this man that I only met today, how I feel connected to him, but the answer eludes me.

“You have to know how inspired I was today – especially today – when I needed it most,” I admit.

He lets go of my hair and it’s as if he’s released me, his words bringing me back. “You have renewed my faith in the young people of today, Miss Bowen.”

The space between us is charged like the air right before a storm, full of untapped energy just waiting to be ignited.

“My angel – his name is Freedom/Choose him to be your king/He shall cut pathways east and west/And fend you with his wing.”

“The Boston Hymn’s fourth stanza,” I observed, quietly.

“Do you know what it means?” he inquires, and I shake my head.

“It means to elect freedom as king. God’s own angel, sent to rebuke the misdeeds who sit on the throne and replace them with freedom, and he will protect you with his wing.”

I’m not sure I understand it, but I take the morsel and stuff it in my pocket for safe keeping.

“Thank you,” I manage to say.

He smiles, and a soft laugh escapes his lips. “For what?”

“For renewing my faith in Emerson,” I confirm.

“Ah,” he graces me with a mysterious smile. “You were always faithful. Perhaps you just needed a reminder.”

16

RESPECTABLE GENTLEMEN

DARREN

“I’m not that naïve girl anymore. I understand the difference now between someone being nice and when there’s real interest there. Your father…” she falters, and I stay quiet, holding my breath as I give her time to finish.

“He saw in me something that I needed, something I was desperate for.” She shrugs. “There wasn’t anything inappropriate, Darren.”

“Maybe I wanted to see something bad in him,” I admit. “Because if there was a fault, I could justify my anger.”

It’s not just my anger at the situation, it was my anger with him by creating this shadow that was impossible to step out from.

“But that’s the thing. We all have faults. Perhaps he didn’t spend enough time at home, put work first, didn’t go to your little league games, or expected too much from you. Those are his faults. Being unfaithful wasn’t one of them.”

I shrug and turn away from her, looking out at the woods. “I wasted so much time being angry, when he’s not the one I should have been angry with.”

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