Dear Mystery Guy (Magnolia Sisters Book 1) Read online

  She closed her eyes tightly, wishing that she could go back into the dream and fight that hold on her so that she could see the place that she was always dreaming about.

  One therapist had told her that she was not really in water, that the water was symbolic, that it was her subconscious fighting to show her her missing memories. He had also advised her not to force it, but he had told her that years ago and she was now twenty-one years old. If she didn't get back her memories now, when would she get them back?

  It was twelve years since they found her. Time was slowly winding by. In a next couple of years she would be thirty and then forty and then fifty. Further and further away from her closed-off memories and no closer to who she really was.

  What did the ring mean? Was it because she hadn't settled the whole proposal thing with Mike that there was this new wedding band element in her dreams?

  She winced as her head started the familiar pounding after one of her dreams. She should have gone to the church social with Mike. Then she wouldn't have had the dream and now the headache.

  She had the whole night in front of her with a headache and new mysterious element to her familiar dream. It was going to be a long night.

  Dear Mystery Guy

  I had an awful weekend. First, I had the dream again, the one where I am drowning and somebody is holding me down, and then Patricia texted me to tell me that she was going to be off the island with her husband. He doesn't like us and thinks that Patricia is too generous to us.

  Anyway, I asked her to help me find a job and she said that she would see what she could do when she gets back in six months’ time. I was really looking forward to getting away from the supermarket and Ted, but with Patricia away I am sure that finding a job on my own won't be easy.

  I can't do regular interviews on my own. A side effect of not having a voice is that a potential firm will have to make special allowances for an interview; most of them will not be too willing to do that but I am still going to try. I have to. I won't have Patricia around to ease my way through life forever.

  I realize, now more than ever, what a blessing Patricia is in my life and if it weren't for her I would not be where I am today.

  I sometimes wonder how mute persons dealt with the telephone system before there was texting. When you are totally mute like I am, there is no sound whatsoever. I laugh without sound, I cough and there is a little sound but really I am like one of those old silent movies where people do things and you have to deduce from their actions what's going to be next.

  It sucks that I can't speak.

  If I could speak, I imagine that I would have said hi to you by now. You know, I saw you in the parking lot the other day. It would have been so easy to say hi. Make the first contact.

  In my imagination I would be confident and approach you but the truth is I am not really the most confident woman in the world. I am still a bit self-conscious about my scar. It used to look hideous to me but years of cocoa butter use has faded it somewhat.

  *****

  "What are you writing?" Keisha asked behind Della.

  Della swung around. "It's for therapy," she signed. "I am supposed to be writing down my thoughts. I have been getting the same dream again."

  "Oh." Keisha frowned. "What brought that on?"

  Della shrugged. "That's why the therapist said I should write stuff down that is going through my head. How was your weekend?"

  Keisha sat in a chair across from Della and sighed. "I don't know if I can deal with Scott's family. If I marry him I would be inheriting a possessive mother who still treats him as if he were a baby. It is off-putting. And he allows it. I am wondering if he expects me to treat him the same way, because I am not interested in being any man's mother."

  She shook her head. "We are going to have to sort that out."

  Della grinned and signed. "That's not going to be difficult to sort out."

  "Oh yes it is." Keisha ran her fingers through her hair roughly. "Before my parents died, my mom treated my dad like he was a baby. Even when I was young I found it disturbing. How was your weekend?"

  "I was here." Della got up and stretched. "All weekend. I didn't feel like going anywhere, seeing anybody. My sisters were all busy with one thing or the other. So I just stayed home alone."

  Keisha grimaced. "You are a young, gorgeous woman. If I looked like you I would be booked for the weekend while a zillion guys battled for my attention."

  Della shook her head. "I am not gorgeous."

  "Mike thinks you are," Keisha said earnestly. "And if you spent a little more time in the mirror you would see that you are. Maybe you should jazz up your appearance a bit--you know, comb your hair in something other than a ponytail. Wear some nicer clothes."

  Della rolled her eyes. "My sisters already tried the makeover bit with me. I hate being made up. It feels fake and my ponytail is a simple hairstyle to comb, and I can barely afford rent and food. I have no money for new fancy clothes. And even if I had money the first thing I would do is sort out my larynx. The surgery costs loads and loads of money, you know."

  Keisha shook her head. "Those are just excuses. I think you don't like drawing attention to yourself because of your past."

  Della frowned and sat down. "What now?"

  "Yes." Keisha nodded. "It makes sense. Somehow, you subconsciously think that you are a nobody because you don't know your history. And you feel that whoever slashed your throat is still out there to get you, so you downplay your femininity. You are trying to hide."

  "No, I am not." Della shook her head uncertainly.

  "Oh yes," Keisha said, "it makes sense. You have loads of issues, Della, and you are trying to sabotage your own life. See, Mike loves you and you push him away and you like a guy who you do not even know because he is not attainable or available, and it is all because you are hiding."

  Keisha glanced at the clock and groaned. "I am going to be late for work. Sorry for analyzing you; it's a side effect from being a psychiatrist’s receptionist. I picked up a thing or two."

  Long after Keisha had gone, Della sat in the same spot contemplating her unsolicited analysis. She was not hiding away; she had gone out couple weeks ago--or was it months ago?

  She was not a party animal, and it was hard to be social when you couldn't speak. She was more of a homebody and these days she was weary of going out with Mike. She just didn't like him the way that you should a guy you are contemplating marrying. It would be cruel to string him along.

  Maybe she should just tell him what she was feeling; she was working up herself to doing just that.

  Chapter Five

  Thursday Della went to work almost twenty minutes early. She still earned a frown from Ted Nepaul but he didn't say anything to her. The supermarket was in its busiest period of the year. He probably had lots more on his mind than her.

  Thursday was the day that the mystery guy shopped, and she was anticipating seeing him today. It was something of a grand occasion for her, especially now that she had started writing to him every day. Oddly, she felt closer to him, maybe because she envisioned that she was speaking to him like a friend.

  He walked into the supermarket near five-thirty. He was dressed all in black. Black jeans, black shirt. Even his watch was black. It gave him an urbane look; usually he was in dark dress pants and a white shirt, like he was coming from work. Today he looked casual and laid back.

  She could see a spattering of hair on his arms where the watch rested. His hair was neatly trimmed and he was cleanly shaven. He looked smooth and handsome and well rested. Unlike last week. Like he was more at peace now. Something had changed for him. She wondered what it was.

  He got a cart from the dock area and Della watched him keenly as he walked past Sally's station and into the supermarket.

  She looked across at the other ladies; they were all watching him. Olivia caught her eye and gave her a thumbs-up before turning to her customer. Della watched him as he headed toward the fresh produce aisle and then d
isappeared farther down the aisle.

  She sighed in disappointment as he disappeared from her line of vision. She concentrated on cashing the five persons in her line and then she saw the mystery guy heading for her line. She was the only person free. Her heart skipped a beat. He had more than ten items in his cart but she didn't care.

  "I have eleven items," he said. His voice was husky and low. "I hope that won't disqualify me from this line. I see the sign says ten items or less."

  Della blinked rapidly and shook her head in the negative. This was one of her dreams, she was sure. He was really here in front of her, talking to her. She smiled at him.

  And he grinned, showing her perfect teeth. He started unpacking his trolley and his phone rang.

  Della looked over his items; today he was really shopping light, mostly fruit and vegetables. Maybe he was not going to be around for the Christmas holidays.

  "I am in the supermarket," he answered his phone. "Of course I will be at your wedding on Sunday. Yes, I have a plus one." He chuckled at what the other person said on the line. "No, I won't forget the venue; how can I? It's the east section of Hope Gardens. Don't worry, I'll be there. I won't forget."

  He hung up the phone and finished unpacking his shopping cart. He gave her an apologetic smile.

  Della's ears prickled with the information she just heard. She smiled back at him shyly. Her hands felt a little nervy as she picked up his items and scanned them.

  He handed her a credit card and then an ID: his driver's license.

  She looked at the ID closely. His name was Luca Lawson. His address was 112 Norbrook Avenue. His birth date was June 3, 1979. He was 34. Thirteen years older than she was; that wasn't too bad. He certainly didn't look it.

  She swiped the card and handed it back to him, along with a pen for him to sign his name. In the meantime she inhaled his perfume greedily. He smelled good, expensive.

  This was first contact. She knew his name and now his address and even where he was going on Sunday.

  This was more than she ever thought she was going to get in her fantasyland when she wrote to him. And she had written to him every day this week, sometimes twice per day. She was having the dream almost constantly now and it still had the added element of the ring.

  Tonight she would write him again but this time he was no longer Mystery Guy. He was Luca Lawson. He had a name. She twirled the name in her head. Luca, Looka, Luke. She liked it.

  He picked up his few items and gave her another smile and left. He was just being polite.

  He hadn't really seen her. She was just one face in a sea of people that he probably saw and didn't register, but he had been unfailingly polite and effortlessly charming.

  If she wasn't already under his spell, she would surely have been spellbound by his smile tonight.

  She watched him as he strolled through the door. He was tall and broad-shouldered. He didn't look as if he had an ounce of surplus fat on him.

  It was the first time since coming to the supermarket that he had paid with a card. He usually paid with cash, even when he had several more items than he had this evening. She thought that it was fate that he got a phone call when he came near her. This was supposed to happen. She was supposed to know his name and address.

  There was a reason why she was so drawn to him. God wanted them to meet. It was that or she was slowly going off her rockers and had turned into a stalker.

  After all, she had been traumatized when she was younger. The possibility was always there that some day she would have a complete mental collapse. Maybe she was degenerating slowly.

  She shook her head and quelled the urge to laugh at herself. She had never been this fanciful before.

  Chapter Six

  "It's nice of you to suggest that we go somewhere today." Mike gave her a boyish grin. "You know, I was thinking that you were trying to avoid me."

  Della felt guilty when she saw his happy face. She had suggested that they go out this Sunday because she wanted to go to Hope Gardens and he had a car; it was more convenient to go in a car than to take the bus.

  It was something that they had done in the past too, drive around and chat. Well, Mike chatted and she signed. They hadn't done that in a long while and when she texted Mike, suggesting that they go somewhere today, he had been over the moon happy.

  But she had thought about it all weekend. Going to Hope Gardens would help her unravel one more layer of the Luca Lawson mystery. She would see his friends or family and she would get to see his plus one.

  That had bothered her all weekend. He had a plus one. She was obsessing about it. Who was his plus one?

  The thought had occurred to her that she was being a bit weird and this was stalker behavior, but she couldn't shake the feeling that she needed to see him.

  It was puzzling, this driving need to see him today. She looked across at Mike, who had opened the car door for her and was regarding her with a smile in his eyes.

  "You are so pretty, Della, with your hair out like that."

  Della smiled and mouthed, "Thanks." She had thought that a change was in order. She had combed out her hair and had marveled at its length; it was in her mid-back, thick and wavy. She had quite forgotten how long it was.

  Maybe Keisha was right in saying that she had been hiding. She had also worn one of her nicer sweater dresses in a nice lavender shade, her favorite color.

  Mike cleared his throat and held her arm before she could slide into the car. "Have you thought about it?"

  Della's eyes skittered from his. She should have expected this. Mike must have been thinking about the proposal and thought that she had made an extra special effort to be dolled up for him.

  She swallowed and then turned around and looked at Mike wearily. "I thought about it."

  Mike nodded eagerly. "And?"

  "I don't love you, Mike," Della signed, "not like I should love a potential husband. And before I marry anyone I want to know who I really am."

  Mike stepped back from her, a disappointed slant to his mouth. "I figured that's what you would say. I thought you'd give me the we are too young argument too."

  "You did?" Della asked. She looked around in the parking lot. A car drove up and parked in front of one of the apartments. "You want us to go to Hope Gardens and talk?"

  "Sure. Why not?" Mike said, watching as she got into the car and closed her door. He went around to his side and turned to look at her. "But I hoped that...I don't know...I guess I was just being overly ambitious but we have known each other for over a year and you are a great girl."

  "And you like the idea of having a wife who can't speak," Della signed. "Hence, no nagging."

  Mike chuckled. "No. Well...there is that too but seriously everybody agrees that you would be a great catch so I didn't want to waste any time, you know."

  "Me?" Della mouthed. "Really?"

  "Yeah." Mike started the car. "You are smart and pretty and you have integrity. Remember last year when you found that purse from Sister Grandison at church and you gave it back with all her money?"

  Della frowned. "Isn't that the normal thing to do?"

  Mike shrugged. "I would give it back too but there are so many other people who wouldn't, even at church. And then there was Pastor Johnson; he told me if I didn't propose to you soon he would do it himself."

  Della's eyes widened and then she started laughing.

  Mike glanced at her as she hugged the side of the door. He was chuckling too. "Pastor Johnson is a good catch; he is not old enough to be your grandfather yet."

  "You are so funny," Della signed. She thought of the lovable and affable elderly pastor. He was recently widowed. He must have been egging on Mike to propose.

  "I want us to stay friends," Della signed, "but we can't if you are holding out some kind of hope that we can be together."

  Mike stopped at a stoplight and looked across at her. "Friends. I can do that. You have to promise that you won't get jealous if I see somebody else, though."

>   Della chuckled. "Promise."

  "I got a promotion last week." The stoplight changed and Mike drove off. "I am now the regional IT manager for the bank. The youngest manager at that level. At twenty-six that's not too bad, is it?"

  "That's great!" Della signed. "Really great."

  "I'll be stationed in St. Lucia for a short while." Mike grinned. "Maybe I can find a lovely St. Lucian woman to propose to."

  Della nodded. "That would be something."

  "Sure you are not jealous?" Mike asked again. "Because I am still on the market."

  "Sure," Della signed. "I want you to be happy."

  "Okay," Mike said. He drove into Hope Gardens and parked under a huge weeping willow tree.

  He turned to her. "So why are we here?"

  Della groaned. "Promise you won't be mad?"

  "Promise." Mike held up his hand. "Wait, you are not here to behead roses, are you?"

  "No." Della bit her lip and then mouthed, "I think God wants me to be here."

  Mike chuckled. "He does?"

  Della nodded. "I am sure of it. I am absolutely sure of it. There is this premonition, this feeling, this urging, this knowing, that this particular man I am going to spy on is vital to me somehow."

  "A man?" Mike raised his eyebrows. "We are here to see a man? I mean, spy on a man. Hmmm... How old is he?"

  "Youngish," Della said.

  "I can't believe this." Mike placed his hand over his heart dramatically. "This is heartbreaking. You really know how to cut a guy deep."

  Della signed rapidly. "I have to know why I am so drawn to him. I have never felt like this before. It's like an out of the blue kind of fascination. Can you understand where I am coming from with this?"

  Mike released a long sigh. "No. Well, sort of. You think he is a brother or your father or something?"