Simply Being Belle (10 page)

Although she
hadn’t given him specifics about the things she had seen, she had conveyed that
she’d seen horrific things, and she discovered it hadn’t killed her to acknowledge
that reality.  She had never spoken to anyone about the trip before, but
instead had kept the memories locked tight within her—encased within a special
compartment in her mind that she forced herself to access whenever she felt she
might be growing lazy or complacent, or begin to take her good fortune for
granted.

“You’re a good
person, Belle.”

Dare’s words
startled her, and she stopped walking.  She met his earnest gaze with weary
eyes.  “I’m doing the best I can,” she admitted with a laugh.

“Your best is good
enough,” he assured her.

“Oh, I know,” she
said with an unconvincing smile.

“Do you?”

She smiled.  “Sometimes.”

***     

Later, as Dare
walked her home, Belle found herself studying his handsome profile. 
Periodically she caught a flash of light from the intermittent street lamps
above them, each illuminating the chiseled planes of his face.  The effect was
dazzling, and caused her to go weak in the knees every time her eyes lighted on
him.

Was she so shallow
that a handsome man caused her to swoon? she wondered. She was being ridiculous. 
Besides, he was an attorney.  She’d sworn off attorneys.  And even if she
hadn’t, she didn’t have time for one in her life.  Heck, one attorney was
enough in any situation, she realized with a smile. 

Only one
attorney in any room
.  Wasn’t that the punch line in some joke she had heard
recently?  Lord knew, she had heard many jokes about those in her occupation.

Sometimes the
jokes annoyed her.  She knew many, many honest and conscientious lawyers like
herself.  But then, she knew others who lent credence to the jokes.  Which type
was Dare? 

She knew the
answer to the question before it had fully formed in her mind.  He was
conscientious and hardworking, and her frustration with him had much to do with
his stepping into her shoes at Legal Aid, and less to do with the person he
was.  

She realized, she
liked him.  At least, she thought she did.  Or maybe it was his lips she liked. 
She smiled at the cheeky thought and reached a hand to her own lips,
remembering the kiss.  When she noticed Dare watching her speculatively, she realized
she needed to switch the channel in her brain—to think about work—which was
familiar and comforting like an old shoe.    

“I’m worried about
Rosaria,” she said crisply.  Yes, that’s the ticket, she thought.  Work talk. 

He paused in front
of her porch steps and met her eyes.  “Me, too,” he admitted. 

“I still think we
should call the police.”

“I don’t think so.
 As I told you at the office, it just doesn’t make sense to me that Biggs would
threaten Rosaria.  But hey, didn’t we agree this was a night out and away from
work, and talk of work…”

“I didn’t make any
such agreement,” she pointed out.  “Maybe it was Lacey who made that promise.”

“Maybe it was,” he
mused, “but I’m holding
you
to it.”

She groaned. 

“Being away from
work really is torture for you, isn’t it?” he observed sadly.      “Well, yes,”
she admitted.  “Is that so bad?”

He cocked his head
to the side.  “Yes.  This is a night off.”

“I don’t need a
night off,” she protested.

“Well, I do,” he
said.  “I can’t even begin to keep up your pace.  Imagine how difficult it is
for me at Legal Aid, stepping into the shoes of the mighty Belle.  You’re an
office legend.”

“Really?” she
said, the corners of her lips twitching into a smile.  So her coworkers missed
her?

“Yes!” he said,
throwing his hands in the air.  “Every move I make, somebody is compelled to
point out how you would do it differently—better, more efficiently, yada, yada,
yada.  Turns out even my coffee making doesn’t compare to yours.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

She smiled. 
Dare’s revelations warmed her heart.  “They miss me,” she said, smiling
wistfully.

“Oh, yeah, they
miss you.  Heck, I miss you and I haven’t even worked with you!”

Belle stood in her
kitchen, studying the calendar on her refrigerator.  Only twenty-four days
until she could return to work.  She wondered how Rosaria Rodriguez was doing. 
She wondered if Dare was handling the case in a thoroughly professional manner,
but grudgingly conceded he was likely the picture of professionalism.  However,
she still could not fathom his willingness to consider that Biggs might not be
the evil ogre she purported him to be, but instead seemed determined to give
the man the benefit of the doubt.      

With a sigh, she
stepped away from the calendar and surveyed her kitchen.  It was early, barely
past six o’ clock, and as much as she had hoped she might be able to sleep in
this morning, she simply could not.  Her internal clock was set. 

She popped a
couple pieces of bread into the toaster, and then crossed the room to the
refrigerator to pull out butter and jam.  When the antiquated toaster finally
ejected the bread, it came out crusty black.  It was probably time to buy a new
toaster.  With a sigh, she tossed the burnt slices to the dogs, instead
deciding on her usual breakfast of yogurt and granola.

Once done eating,
she left the kitchen and headed upstairs to get ready for her day.  Ready for
what, she wasn’t exactly sure.  After her conversation … confrontation … with
Millicent before, she resolved today to at least attempt to take her boss’s
advice to both relax and find a hobby.  She wondered, was she truly a
workaholic incapable of any activity outside a nine to five existence—or in her
case, seven to eight? 

The day before, she
had finally finished up in the garden.  She had briefly wondered if gardening qualified
as a hobby, but decided it probably didn’t in her case.  For her, it
essentially involved more toiling than enjoying.  Since there was nothing
leisurely about her gardening pace, she decided to be done with it and to move on
to something new.

“Hobby … hobby,”
she mused aloud as she selected her outfit.  She pulled out a pair of denim
shorts and a soft pink top.  She hoped her choice of clothing would suit her
choice of hobby, though she could only wonder still what her hobby might be.  She
dressed quickly and then headed back downstairs.  She stood in her living room,
surveying the space. 

Suddenly, her eyes
lighted on a crocheted afghan her Aunt Edith had given her years before.  She
had visited her one summer when she was eleven or twelve, and her aunt had
taught her how to crochet granny squares.  At that tender age, she’d yet to
develop the surly attitude that had marked her early teen years.

Belle’s eyes lit
up as she hurried to the afghan.  She lifted it, feeling the warmth beneath her
fingertips.  She wondered if she still had a crochet hook and skein of yarn
tucked into the chest on the other side of the living room.  She had purchased
the items several years before, but had never used them.  She hadn’t had the
time.  Well, she had the time now.  She had the time—and a new hobby!

She grinned
gleefully, retrieved the items, and was pleased with herself as she dropped
into the rocking chair to begin crocheting granny squares.  Curiously, her
fingers seemed to remember exactly what to do, and she began working at a brisk
pace. 

By eleven-thirty,
her hands ached from the constant repetitive motion of guiding the hook through
the yarn as she grasped, pulled, and grasped yet again.  She decided to polish
off the square she was currently working on, and once done, tied off the yarn
and laid it atop the tall stack she’d already crocheted. 

She surveyed her
work.  She must have crocheted some ten squares, and she was pleased to see
most were of a consistent size and shape.  They were actually quite square, in
fact.  Belle suspected that was half the battle, and also suspected the other
half was figuring out how to connect the squares together to make an afghan. 
Her aunt hadn’t taught her that part.

She continued to study
the squares.  Suddenly, she realized she wasn’t feeling especially relaxed. 
And as far as hobbies went, she suspected she’d grow bored with this one,
unless she learned other crochet stitches.  Perhaps she should take a class,
but she really didn’t have time for a class.  Would Millicent expect her to
take a class? 

She envisioned her
living room filled with afghans of every color, cozies of every size and shape,
and saw a rather stark picture in her mind’s eyes of herself, wearing a cap
with a puffy ball on top.  She saw herself offering them to friends as birthday
and holiday gifts.  It wasn’t a pretty picture, she decided, and she tossed the
granny squares aside.

On to the next
hobby.

She decided to
tackle the hobby search on a full stomach, and hurried to the kitchen to make a
quick lunch.  She made a peanut butter sandwich, grabbed a banana, and strode
outside to the picnic table to spend some time with the dogs.

Dogs!

She could train
the dogs!  That might make an interesting hobby.  Wait!  She could show her
dogs.  She had friends who traveled to some of the most prestigious dog shows
in the country to show off their perfect pets.  One of her dearest friends
showed champion Labrador Retrievers.

Belle found
herself growing more and more excited by the prospect of her dogs as a hobby,
until Cy suddenly appeared in front of her, his one eye widened in hopeful
anticipation of receiving a bite of her peanut butter sandwich.  She couldn’t
help but chuckle.  Obviously, she thought her dogs were absolutely perfect, but
she knew a one-eyed dog and his three-legged companion weren’t likely to score
well on the show circuit.  Oh, well.

She ate half the
sandwich, polished off the banana, and then tossed the dogs the remainder of
the sandwich.  Tri especially loved peanut butter.

She stood up,
spreading her arms wide.  “I need a hobby,” she said loudly.  The dogs thumped
their tails in response.

Suddenly, she
heard her neighbor, Mr. Hennessey, calling her name.  She glanced toward his
yard and spied him at the fence, waving her over.  She trotted over to him,
glad for the distraction.  Searching for a hobby was proving awfully tiring.

At the fence, she
greeted her neighbor warmly.  “How are you, Mr. Hennessey?” she asked loudly,
enunciating her words carefully, since the elderly man was hard of hearing.

“Good!  And
yourself, young lady?”

“I’m hanging in
there,” she shouted at him.

“Good!  Good! 
Hey, I have something for you,” he shouted back.

He bent down to
retrieve something.  Belle couldn’t see him behind the six foot fence that
divided them.  The elderly man was gone an awfully long time, and her eyes
widened fearfully.  Finally, she stood on tippy toes in an attempt to see him,
and sighed with relief as he finally rose up with a groan.  She watched him
curiously as he passed her a box of blueberries. 

“Thought you might
enjoy these,” he said loud enough for the neighborhood to hear.

She smiled her
thanks, nodding enthusiastically.  She had always loved blueberries, especially
when they were large, ripe, and bursting with flavor as these appeared to be. 
“Thank you so much!” she shouted. 

He nodded and smiled,
and shuffled off toward his back door.    

Belle carried the blueberries
inside and put them on the kitchen table.  She studied them for a moment or
two, wondering if these berries might somehow morph into a hobby. 

Canning!  She
could learn to can.  The more she thought about it, the more excited she
became.

She had a garden
and several fruit trees.  What better way to keep her cupboards stocked with
fruits and vegetables than to can her very own?  It was a brilliant idea. 

When the phone
suddenly rang, Belle snatched it up.  “Hello!” she said cheerfully.

“My, don’t you
sound chipper,” Lacey observed.  “What’s the scoop?”

“I think I may
have decided on a hobby,” she said enthusiastically.  She had filled Lacey in
on Millicent’s insistence that she both get a hobby and learn to enjoy her
quiet time.

“Pray tell,” Lacey
said in a bored tone.  “What is your hobby?”

“I’m going to
learn to can fruits and vegetables!”

“What?”                                                                                                          

“I’m going to do
some canning.  You know, put up preserves.”

Lacey gave a
disgusted snort.  “Belle, are you for real?”

“What do you
mean?”

“Do you know how
much work is involved in canning, when you can just as easily purchase your
fruits and vegetables fresh at the Farmer’s Market?  And frankly, in the off
season, you’re far better off these days stocking up on canned fruits and vegetables
at the supermarket.  Did you know studies have shown there’s really no
discernible difference between the vitamins, minerals, and nutrients in the
canned varieties of fruits and vegetables at the grocery store versus fresh or
frozen varieties?” 

“No, I didn’t know
that,” she said, deflated.

“And, too, there’s
always the chance you might make a mistake in the cooking and sealing process
and poison the lot of us with your green beans.  Hey, but I didn’t mean to
burst your bubble,” she said.  “But—I do suspect when Millicent suggested you
get a hobby, she was thinking about something more, well, I don’t know,
enjoyable.  Spending hours in your kitchen toiling over a hot stove isn’t
exactly what she had in mind.  But that’s if you’re asking me my opinion.”

“I suppose you’re
right,” Belle sighed.