ChapterSix
Noah
Igroan in irritation as I squint an eye at the clock: 5:17 am.
Fuck.
I roll over, punch and fluff the pillow, shift my restless legs, pretend I can't feel my screaming bladder.My knees ache, and I haven't even gotten out of bed yet.
I smell coffee, though, and I thank myself for remembering to set up the auto-brew last night.That was something Taylor always did, and it's been hit-or-miss since she died whether or not I remember.Weird how the thought of her name doesn't bring instant, excruciating agony like a gut punch, now.It hurts, just not as bad as it used to.In those early months, that thought would've left me on my knees.Now, it's a bad cut while chopping carrots instead of a gunshot to the solar plexus.
I toss the blankets back and roll out of bed, grunting as my stiff joints protest.They'll loosen up and I'll stop feeling it in a few minutes, but the first few steps, first thing in the morning are a little achy these days.Aging is a bitch, ain't it?
I wander into the kitchen in my underwear, pour myself a cup of coffee, dash a splash of half-and-half into it, stir, and step out onto the front deck.
Yes, it's 23 degrees out.Yes, it's brutally cold with the wind chill taking it down to single digits, especially when I'm clad in nothing but a few inches of cotton, but it's bracing and wakes me up.Weird habit, I know.
I head back inside, sip coffee, and browse the news on my phone.I got a voicemail from Jim last night after I went to bed; he’s always been a night owl.
"Heya, good buddy, it's Jimbo.Listen, a reporter from some website based in Juneau wants to do an interview with you.Something to do with the intersection of sports, firefighting, and fundraising.I dunno, she went on and on for like ten minutes, and I admit I tuned out a little.I know you're not likely to agree, but I gotta pass along the message.Anyway, that's it.Call me back…afterseven am.Not everyone is up at five-a.m.every day.Freak.Kiddin'.Love ya, bud.Bye."
I grin as I listen.God, I love that guy.He's loyal to the bone, kindhearted, and funny.He's quite literally given me the shirt off his back; I make a mental note to call him later.
I stare at my phone, at the list of old voicemails.There are some recent ones from Jimbo, Frankie, Noel, Doug, Lisa, our union rep, about my dues…and the last voicemail I ever got from Taylor.
There's a missed call notification, too—MORGAN WHEELER in red letters.
And if that's not a metaphor for my life right now, I don't know what is: a three-year-old voicemail from my deceased wife and a missed call from a woman I'm developing some extraordinarily confusing feelings for.
The missed call was at 5:23 this morning—while I was out on the porch in my underwear.No voicemail, though.
Knowing she's a morning person like me, I refill my coffee and tap the missed call; for some reason, the phone burbles strangely instead of ringing normally, but I'm not a digital native, so smartphones often confuse me.Yeah, I'm old like that.Or just crotchety before my time, I dunno.
The weird burbling ringing stops, the phone makes a…how d'you describe it?A hum?Blip?It makes a weird sound, and then the whole screen is Morgan.
In the bathroom.
Topless.
It's a split-second look, but the image of her bare chest imprints itself on my brain, permanent, indelible, and infinitely arousing.While not especially large, her breasts are plump and high, firm and taut, a pair of pert and perky apples ripe for the plucking.Her nipples are small and darker than the surrounding skin with a small bullseye of pale pink areolae and those delicious little bumps around the nipple and areolae.A handful each, begging to be loved.
Her jet-black hair is loose around her shoulders and she has a hairbrush in her hand.She's not looking at the screen in the instant that this occurs.
In the lower right-hand corner of my screen is a smaller window showing me, close up and obviously shirtless.
"Shit!"I blurt."Sorry!"For some reason—out of sheer, blind, stunned panic, I guess—I clap a hand over my eyes instead of tilting the phone away.
I hear her screech."What the hell?"
"Whathappened?"
"I don't know!"A pause."I'm dressed, now.You can uncover your eyes."She sounds amused, at least, instead of stabby.
I drop my hand, and she's wearing a pale pink terrycloth robe."Morgan, I'm so,sosorry.I had a missed call from you, and I was just returning it."
She frowns at the screen."I didn't call you.When was the call?"
"Five-something.Five-twenty, five-twenty-three?"
