Read Online Rosemary's Gravy by Melissa F. Miller - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Melissa F. Miller
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lunch today.”
----
M y heart was pounding so loudly as we crept along the narrow alley that I kept waiting for Felix to tell me to keep it down. Leaving the car and sneaking into the garden to spy on Pat seemed like a medium-bad idea to me, but he was dead set on it. So here we were, tiptoeing through the trashcans.
“Are you sure your dad won’t drive past your car?” I whispered.
He turned and gave me an exasperated look over his shoulder. “I’m sure. That was the whole point of parking where we did. He’ll come up from Santa Monica Boulevard and go into the apartment building from the front.”
I trotted along behind him. I won’t lie. My apprehension about confronting Pat was mixed with anticipation and a little bit of heady excitement. I felt like we were doing something thrilling, if possibly dangerous. Felix must have been feeling the same way because he glanced back again and grinned at me.
“Come on,” he urged, grabbing my hand to pull me even with him.
We came to a stop in front of the wrought iron gate and stood staring at the dark apartment. No lights shined through the windows. No shadows moved inside. The place was dark and quiet. The only illumination came from a security light mounted on the trellis that sheltered the patio. Felix took his keys from his pocket and eased a long silver key into the gate’s lock. He turned it, and the gate swung silently toward us. He stopped its motion with one hand and gently nudged me through the opening.
“It looks like we beat him here. We’ll go in through the garden. Follow my lead,” he whispered in my ear after pulling the gate shut and locking it behind him.
His warm breath tickled my hair. He reached for my hand again and laced his fingers through mine. If you’d have told me yesterday that I’d be sneaking around holding hands with Felix Patrick, I’d have told you you were a lunatic. But here we were. Just us, the stars fighting through the cloud cover overhead, and a pale crescent moon. The garden was as lush and fragrant in the night as it had been midday. The sole difference was that the blooms were closed up as if they were sleeping. The only sounds were the tinkle of the water feature and the soft crunch of crushed stones underfoot as we wended our way along the path.
He stopped suddenly as we reached the fountain, and I stumbled into him.
“Sorry. What’s wrong?” I asked, any illusions that we were taking a romantic walk shattered by the way he tensed his shoulders and held up his palm.
“Hear that?”
I strained to listen. A car’s engine was drawing nearer. As the low growl grew louder, he stiffened even further.
“That’s him,” he said.
I had my doubts as to whether a person could really identify a specific Mercedes’ engine by its sound. But his voice was full of conviction, so I decided to take his comment at face value. As the car pulled into the driveway that led from the front of the house, Felix squeezed my hand so tightly my knuckles ached. I squeezed back.
“Now what?” I whispered, as the engine turned off and the sound of a car door slamming shut echoed through the courtyard.
He pulled me to the side of the path and led me through the dense magnolias to a side porch I hadn’t even noticed during our interrupted lunch. The porch abutted the kitchen, judging by the gleaming appliances visible through the French doors. He hurried to the edge of the porch and shimmied between the side of the house and the fence that separated the building from the stucco home next door.
I followed suit and we side-stepped along the fence until we reached a large window that looked directly into a small parlor off the kitchen. The window was framed by cream-colored linen curtains that were tied back and afforded us a perfect view. A small Tiffany-style lamp cast a dim light in the room. I could make out a fireplace with an ornate mantle and two Queen Anne chairs. They were covered in a muted silk stripe. Between the
----
M y heart was pounding so loudly as we crept along the narrow alley that I kept waiting for Felix to tell me to keep it down. Leaving the car and sneaking into the garden to spy on Pat seemed like a medium-bad idea to me, but he was dead set on it. So here we were, tiptoeing through the trashcans.
“Are you sure your dad won’t drive past your car?” I whispered.
He turned and gave me an exasperated look over his shoulder. “I’m sure. That was the whole point of parking where we did. He’ll come up from Santa Monica Boulevard and go into the apartment building from the front.”
I trotted along behind him. I won’t lie. My apprehension about confronting Pat was mixed with anticipation and a little bit of heady excitement. I felt like we were doing something thrilling, if possibly dangerous. Felix must have been feeling the same way because he glanced back again and grinned at me.
“Come on,” he urged, grabbing my hand to pull me even with him.
We came to a stop in front of the wrought iron gate and stood staring at the dark apartment. No lights shined through the windows. No shadows moved inside. The place was dark and quiet. The only illumination came from a security light mounted on the trellis that sheltered the patio. Felix took his keys from his pocket and eased a long silver key into the gate’s lock. He turned it, and the gate swung silently toward us. He stopped its motion with one hand and gently nudged me through the opening.
“It looks like we beat him here. We’ll go in through the garden. Follow my lead,” he whispered in my ear after pulling the gate shut and locking it behind him.
His warm breath tickled my hair. He reached for my hand again and laced his fingers through mine. If you’d have told me yesterday that I’d be sneaking around holding hands with Felix Patrick, I’d have told you you were a lunatic. But here we were. Just us, the stars fighting through the cloud cover overhead, and a pale crescent moon. The garden was as lush and fragrant in the night as it had been midday. The sole difference was that the blooms were closed up as if they were sleeping. The only sounds were the tinkle of the water feature and the soft crunch of crushed stones underfoot as we wended our way along the path.
He stopped suddenly as we reached the fountain, and I stumbled into him.
“Sorry. What’s wrong?” I asked, any illusions that we were taking a romantic walk shattered by the way he tensed his shoulders and held up his palm.
“Hear that?”
I strained to listen. A car’s engine was drawing nearer. As the low growl grew louder, he stiffened even further.
“That’s him,” he said.
I had my doubts as to whether a person could really identify a specific Mercedes’ engine by its sound. But his voice was full of conviction, so I decided to take his comment at face value. As the car pulled into the driveway that led from the front of the house, Felix squeezed my hand so tightly my knuckles ached. I squeezed back.
“Now what?” I whispered, as the engine turned off and the sound of a car door slamming shut echoed through the courtyard.
He pulled me to the side of the path and led me through the dense magnolias to a side porch I hadn’t even noticed during our interrupted lunch. The porch abutted the kitchen, judging by the gleaming appliances visible through the French doors. He hurried to the edge of the porch and shimmied between the side of the house and the fence that separated the building from the stucco home next door.
I followed suit and we side-stepped along the fence until we reached a large window that looked directly into a small parlor off the kitchen. The window was framed by cream-colored linen curtains that were tied back and afforded us a perfect view. A small Tiffany-style lamp cast a dim light in the room. I could make out a fireplace with an ornate mantle and two Queen Anne chairs. They were covered in a muted silk stripe. Between the
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