doorstep. A second, deeper voice answered it. Two shadows danced briefly in the frame of the door, a key tinkled, slipping into the lock and, with one last chuckle, the door swung open.
A younger Trumaine and a beautiful woman entered the house.
Trumaine looked jaunty and tended to smile a lot more than his older counterpart.
The woman had fair, long and rebel hair. A glint of sunlight must be trapped in it, because it shone every time she moved her head around. Her nose was straight and her full lips were eternally curled in a smile; a warm, genuine, good-hearted, carefree smile.
Nothing could be said about her eyes, since she was making a point of keeping them shut.
“I can’t see a damn thing!” she said playfully. “You know, this is how accidents happen. I feel like I’m gonna fall on my face and break my nose any minute now. I’ll bleed all over your paint job and you will have to start over again!”
Trumaine stared back in surprise. “Paint? Who told you about the paint?”
“My nose, you idiot.”
Trumaine sniffed at the air, realizing the smell was still in it. She chuckled and he shrugged.
He took her hand and led her toward the dinette table, where they laid the bags they were carrying.
“Can I open them now?”
“Not yet, Shanna ...”
Her full name was Starshanna Andrews, of course, but Trumaine used to call her all possible variations her name allowed: “Shanna,” “Hanna,” “Star” or even “Starsha.” Lately, he had begun to think that “Hanna” was too a common name, while “Star” or “Starsha” sounded a bit weird and way too spacial, so he had settled for “Shanna.”
“Step,” he warned as he guided her down the flight of stairs to the living room.
“Stay,” he told her, and Starshanna let out a sonorous bark. Trumaine rolled his eyes. That’s what it’s like having a harebrain for a fiancée, he thought.
He strode to the French windows and threw them open. As if a dam had just burst, light flooded in, washing the interior of the house in a bedazzling white. The light was so intense that even Starshanna, behind her closed eyelids, had to squint.
“Can I open them now?”
“Not yet, one moment more.”
Trumaine hurried through the living room, quickly retrieving the occasional rag and piece of junk he had left behind, cramming it all into the unlit fireplace. He wiped his hands on his trousers then, again, he took Starshanna by hand and pulled her toward the center of the room. He turned her around so that she would look at the house from the most favorable position.
“Now?” she pleaded.
“Now,” conceded Trumaine.
Shielding her face from the dazing light with the palm of her hand, Starshanna opened her eyes ...
They were bright, amber eyes. Sweet but also smart, searching eyes that hinted to the complex world that lay beyond them.
It wasn’t Starshanna’s tight body or her fit breasts or her round hips that had conquered Trumaine when he first saw her. It was her eyes and her smile, and he would have spun forever on a pin just to keep looking at them.
It took Starshanna a while to get accustomed to the light.
“So?” asked Trumaine, tense.
He would never admit it, but he was worried about Starshanna’s response. What if she didn’t like it? He had spent a whole year remodeling the house. Would he find the strength to get rid of it all, he wondered, if she didn’t like it? It wasn’t the money, or the time—he had enjoyed all the tedious, meticulous work it had taken. It wasn’t that; it was the piece of himself he had put in it, and he wasn’t sure he could get rid of that.
Trumaine glanced at Starshanna with longing, but she didn’t say anything yet, so he just stood there, like an idiot, looking at her. She walked about the living room, around the sofa, by the mantelpiece, inspecting closely everything she saw. Trumaine suspected she wasn’t just exploring the house—she was teasing him.
“So?” he asked, antsy by
A younger Trumaine and a beautiful woman entered the house.
Trumaine looked jaunty and tended to smile a lot more than his older counterpart.
The woman had fair, long and rebel hair. A glint of sunlight must be trapped in it, because it shone every time she moved her head around. Her nose was straight and her full lips were eternally curled in a smile; a warm, genuine, good-hearted, carefree smile.
Nothing could be said about her eyes, since she was making a point of keeping them shut.
“I can’t see a damn thing!” she said playfully. “You know, this is how accidents happen. I feel like I’m gonna fall on my face and break my nose any minute now. I’ll bleed all over your paint job and you will have to start over again!”
Trumaine stared back in surprise. “Paint? Who told you about the paint?”
“My nose, you idiot.”
Trumaine sniffed at the air, realizing the smell was still in it. She chuckled and he shrugged.
He took her hand and led her toward the dinette table, where they laid the bags they were carrying.
“Can I open them now?”
“Not yet, Shanna ...”
Her full name was Starshanna Andrews, of course, but Trumaine used to call her all possible variations her name allowed: “Shanna,” “Hanna,” “Star” or even “Starsha.” Lately, he had begun to think that “Hanna” was too a common name, while “Star” or “Starsha” sounded a bit weird and way too spacial, so he had settled for “Shanna.”
“Step,” he warned as he guided her down the flight of stairs to the living room.
“Stay,” he told her, and Starshanna let out a sonorous bark. Trumaine rolled his eyes. That’s what it’s like having a harebrain for a fiancée, he thought.
He strode to the French windows and threw them open. As if a dam had just burst, light flooded in, washing the interior of the house in a bedazzling white. The light was so intense that even Starshanna, behind her closed eyelids, had to squint.
“Can I open them now?”
“Not yet, one moment more.”
Trumaine hurried through the living room, quickly retrieving the occasional rag and piece of junk he had left behind, cramming it all into the unlit fireplace. He wiped his hands on his trousers then, again, he took Starshanna by hand and pulled her toward the center of the room. He turned her around so that she would look at the house from the most favorable position.
“Now?” she pleaded.
“Now,” conceded Trumaine.
Shielding her face from the dazing light with the palm of her hand, Starshanna opened her eyes ...
They were bright, amber eyes. Sweet but also smart, searching eyes that hinted to the complex world that lay beyond them.
It wasn’t Starshanna’s tight body or her fit breasts or her round hips that had conquered Trumaine when he first saw her. It was her eyes and her smile, and he would have spun forever on a pin just to keep looking at them.
It took Starshanna a while to get accustomed to the light.
“So?” asked Trumaine, tense.
He would never admit it, but he was worried about Starshanna’s response. What if she didn’t like it? He had spent a whole year remodeling the house. Would he find the strength to get rid of it all, he wondered, if she didn’t like it? It wasn’t the money, or the time—he had enjoyed all the tedious, meticulous work it had taken. It wasn’t that; it was the piece of himself he had put in it, and he wasn’t sure he could get rid of that.
Trumaine glanced at Starshanna with longing, but she didn’t say anything yet, so he just stood there, like an idiot, looking at her. She walked about the living room, around the sofa, by the mantelpiece, inspecting closely everything she saw. Trumaine suspected she wasn’t just exploring the house—she was teasing him.
“So?” he asked, antsy by
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