SUNSET ROMANCE: 7) A BOX OF CHOCOLATES

My Saturday Evening Post

9.

Suddenly, Elsa finds herself drained, and feeling depressed. Hoping a nap will refreshen and cheer her, she returns to her room.

As she slips into deep sleep, a number of brain cells from the nether region of her cerebrum gather to dance and sing. The result is a dream that takes Elsa back to her adolescence. She is 17, has just been asked on a date by a boy she’d had a crush on for six months—a feeling of exhilaration. And then, somehow or other, as is the surreal nature of dreams, the boy transforms into Miles Stewart. And in her dream Elsa learns that Miles has been searching for her since they were both teenagers.

Elsa opens her eyes, suddenly awake, breathless for a moment.

Disoriented, she consults the digital clock with large green numbers on her bedside table: 5:14.

Were it not for late afternoon sunlight streaming through gaps between shutters, Elsa would not have been sure whether it was day or night, so deep had been her slumber.

Slowly, she lifts her legs off the bed and plants her feet into sheepskin slippers. She remains dazed for a full minute, unable to dispel the image of Miles Stewart from her mind.

Finally, Elsa reaches for a glass of water, drinks it slowly, and lifts herself into the wheelchair.

As Elsa rounds the corner into the foyer, she stops abruptly. For a long moment she thinks she’s still dreaming. Sitting patiently on the reception sofa, smiling directly at her, is a familiar and very welcome face.

He rises to his full, if slightly crumpled, six feet. “Hello Elsa!” Discerning her confusion, he wonders if she remembers him. “It’s me, Miles Stewart. I brought you these.” He leans over to pick up a small package on the sofa and hands it to Elsa. “I hope you like chocolates.”

Elsa’s heart thumps until she finally finds her voice. “Miles? I don’t understand how…? I love chocolate!”

“They run a shuttle between Goleta and here. I talked my way onto it.” Miles pauses. “People always told me I have a gift of the gab. Probably because I talk too much.”

Elsa opens the See’s Candies box and helps herself to a double dark chocolate chip truffle.

Carol-Ann has already alerted John Mulberry, and now the weasel stands observing from the doorframe of his office, lips parted in disbelief, a tiny muscle spasm on the side of his left eye twitching uncontrollably.

“Can you stay for dinner?” asks Elsa

“They’d have to drag me away,” said Miles. “And they might.” He eyes Carol-Ann, who, on the phone to Sunset’s sister facility in Goleta, is glaring at him

“Shall we?” Miles offers his elbow to Elsa.

Elsa rises, accepts Miles’ elbow—and together they amble into the cafeteria.

Sara Barton, having seen the tall gentleman patiently waiting, correctly guessed who it was, and she organized a table for two by candlelight.

“I must still be dreaming,” says Elsa softly to herself.

Back at reception, Ernesto, shaking his head, sidles up to Carol-Ann. “The walking dead are taking over the waiting station,” he whispers.

“Not on my watch,” hisses Mulberry, looming from behind. He looks sternly at Carol-Ann. “Did you discover how the heck he got back here?”

“Mr. Stewart told Goleta he was expected for an appointment to discuss moving back here.”

“And they believed him?”

Carol-Ann gestures toward the cafeteria. “I guess.”

“I’ve had just about enough of this,” mutters Mulberry, tightening the knot of his tie and buttoning his suit jacket.

“What are you going to do?” asks Carol-Ann, barely disguising her mirth.

“I’ll dispatch him back to Goleta,” Mulberry snorts, then commands, “Order up special transport.”

“What’s the big hurry?” she says. “Don’t make a scene. So what if they have dinner? Maybe they’ll decide on their own not to see each other again. The living dead are a fickle bunch, set in their ways.”

Mulberry digests this, nodding. “All right, I’ll give them until seven o’clock.”

From a discreet distance, Mulberry, Carol Ann and Ernesto—staying late—watch as Elsa and Miles appear to connect on a wavelength exclusive solely to one another, the rest of the world be damned.

“I dunno.” Ernesto looks down, shuffling his feet. “I got a bad feeling about this.”

“They’re so romantic,” coos Carol-Ann.

“Shut up,” Mulberry admonishes through clenched teeth.