Phyllis Mathis is a writer, a psychotherapist, and a life coach, living and working in Littleton, CO. Her novel is entitled Cold Counsel. Check out her website: Resonance: your life, in tune.
Read earlier chapters of Cold Counsel here.
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Chapter 14
Saturday morning Susan woke to the strengthening light, refreshed and content. She yawned and stretched before checking the time. Nine o’clock, on the dot.
She heard the sound of a lawn mower from outside the house, as close as her driveway. Lawn mower? No, snow blower. Same thing, thought Susan. She threw back the covers, stepped into her slippers and stood at the window, peeking through the curtains. It was one of those days.
Sunshine was making its appearance like an A-list celebrity at a Hollywood bash. Susan caught her breath as she peered at the dizzying brightness. She squinted hard as her eyes adjusted to the light. A foot of snow lay on the neighborhood, draped over the landscape like a crisp down comforter. Millions of snowflakes sparkled atop smooth expanses of pure white magic.
The sky was clear and heartbreak blue. Pale at the horizon, deepening its hue as the eye moved upward. Not a cloud to be seen.
Bill Munson, Susan’s next-door neighbor, was happily clearing her driveway with his snow blower. She felt a twinge of guilt over his generosity, but then she remembered how much he loved any excuse to use his winter companion – the Toro snow blower. Bill had called it a Power Throw when he’d shown it to her last November. He was such a nut for that thing. It was a waste of power to confine its use to Bill’s medium-sized driveway, and he couldn’t let so much goodness go to waste, so Bill took it upon himself to clear the driveways of everyone on the block. He loved to wait until the city snowplow had deposited its hard-packed ridge on each side of the street, preventing everyone from backing out of their driveways without shoveling. Bill was the neighborhood hero.
He’s too old for that kind of thing, thought Susan. But then again, perhaps that kind of thing kept him young. She thought of her father, and a shadow of grief passed through her, but it didn’t stay. Couldn’t stay, now that she had the sun.
The phone rang.
“Hello?”
“What are you wearing?” said a low, sultry, female voice.
Liz.
Liz loved to catch Susan off guard by doing or saying something scandalous at any given moment. One evening, shortly after Susan’s divorce, the two of them had enjoyed a lovely dinner at Leann Chin downtown. On the way back to the car, Liz had stopped in the middle of the parking lot, lifted her shirt, and yelled, “Wheeeee!” just to watch Susan blanch like the uptight Scandinavian she was bred to become.
“I’m stark naked in front of the window, hoping to give Mr. Munson a thrill,” she conspired.
“Good luck with that,” Liz shot back, “he only has eyes for his Toro.”
“Don’t I know it,” she replied, “He won’t even look up for my come-hither stare.”
“I hate when that happens,” Liz retorted. “Damn waste of a good come-hither.”
“What are you doing?” asked Susan.
“I’m getting ready to pull a pan of scones out of the oven.”
Susan’s stomach growled at the thought.
“I thought I would bring some over and we could have breakfast together.”
What a fabulous idea. “Oh my God, that’s so great. I’ll get dressed and put on some coffee.”
“Make it strong. I’ll be over in ten minutes.”
Susan hung up the phone and moved toward the dresser to find something to wear. She threw on a mismatched set of sweats, and stood at the mirror to tie back her hair.
As she stepped back into her slippers, the thought struck. Lunch. With Kevin. Today. She sat back on the bed as if someone had pushed her off her feet. A bolt of fear mixed with thrill hit her in the solar plexis. Oh boy, she thought. Here we go. Thank God for Liz.
Coffee dripped through the maker, fragrant and steamy. Susan was setting the table in the kitchen when Liz blustered through the back door.
“Damn, it’s cold!” she said. “Don’t let the sunshine fool you. Here, take this so I can take off my boots.” She handed the plate to Susan. The scones were still warm. “The whole neighborhood is out, you’d think it was spring. Don’t these people know it’s below zero out there?”
“They’re Minnesotans, suckers for a little sunshine,” Susan offered. “So are we.”
“Don’t remind me,” spat Liz, feigning disgust. “God! It’s forever since I’ve seen you. We have a lot to talk about.”
Translation – I have a lot to tell you.
“Yes we do,” said Susan with a smile, anticipating the shock on Liz’s face when she would finally fess up to her date with Kevin.
Liz chatted through breakfast, catching her up on the latest with Dave, the latest on her job, the latest on Rosie. The latest. When she’d run out of steam, Susan dropped her bomb.
“I have a date today.”
“You what? What the hell? When did this happen?” Liz was sputtering now, hating to be left in the dark. “Girl, you’re supposed to call me, first thing, when something like this happens. You? A date? Today? Who is this guy? Do I know him?”
“Well,” Susan began shyly, “his name is Kevin Sorenson. He works with Jenna at that office over in St. Paul. I met him the night of Ken’s basement party.”
“Is he cute?” Leave it to Liz to order the priorities.
“I wouldn’t put it that way, exactly. Certainly not cute like Malcolm. Nor charming, really. Which is not to say he’s not…compelling.”
“Uh-oh…he’s what? Ugly? Short? Bald? He’s not bald is he? Please tell me he’s not bald.”
“What do you mean? I kind of like bald men. What’s wrong with bald men?”
“Oh my God, he’s bald.”
“He’s not bald.” Susan pictured his long dark hair streaked with strands of gray, tied with a simple leather thong. “Far from it. But even if he were, I wouldn’t mind. No, he’s definitely not bald. In fact, he wears his hair really long. Longer than mine. In a ponytail.”
“You are shitting me.”
“I wouldn’t.”
Liz sat back in her chair and let her arms flop down to her sides, thunderstruck. “Jesus, Mary and Joseph, he’s a hippie.”
Susan had her elbows on the table and both hands wrapped around her coffee cup, poised in front of her mouth for a sip. She paused, thinking of Kevin, standing at the front of the conference room, looking composed and casual. Somehow he managed to come off professional and slightly hip, with a hint of scruffy.
“Hippie? My God, Liz, listen to yourself. You sound like your mother. No he’s not a hippie. He dresses too well to be a hippie.” She paused. “He does have a certain carelessness about himself… kinda California, but with corduroy and tweed, instead of cargo shorts and sandals. He does have an earring, though.”
Liz remained slack against the chair with her mouth open, speechless. This was a moment of delicious satisfaction Susan rarely experienced with her friend. She smiled and sipped her coffee, enjoying her triumph.
Coming out of her stupor, Liz slapped the top of her thighs and stood, grabbing Susan’s elbow and pulling her to her feet. “In that case, there’s not a moment to lose.” Susan set down her coffee as they headed down the hall.
“Where are we going?” she whined. “I want my coffee.”
“To your closet. We’ve got to find you something to wear!”
story by phyllis mathis, all rights reserved
Fiction 
