Death Waxed Over - Tim Myers [47]
“How would we be able to tell?” I asked. “She’s never shown the slightest interest in whether I’m around or not, unless it’s mealtime and I’m the one feeding her.”
“Come on, Harrison, admit it. You and my cat have a special bond.”
“Heather, if it helps you sleep better at night believing it, good for you.” I started toward the back of the store when Esme herself trotted out. Proving my point, she ignored me completely and leapt into Heather’s arms.
I added, “Oh, she’s absolutely devoted to me. You were right all along.” I reached out slowly, then scratched Esmeralda under her chin. She purred softly, moving her neck until I had the precise spot she wanted. She would have probably stayed like that for the rest of the night, but I wasn’t going to spend it catering to her whims.
Heather said, “Honestly, I don’t know why you’re afraid to express any affection for my cat.”
I looked directly at Esmeralda and said to her, “You’re not the worst roommate I’ve ever had in my life.”
Heather laughed, then said, “See, Esme? He does care.”
Esmeralda seemed singularly unimpressed by it all.
It was time to change this particular subject. “Are you finished up here, or do you have much more to do? I could help, if you need a hand.”
“You spend too much time around the complex as it is. You deserve a life of your own, Harrison.”
“Yeah, well, that’s open for debate. So what do you say? If we both dig in, we can have your cleaning done in half the time.”
She frowned, then said, “You know what? There’s nothing that needs to be done here that can’t wait until tomorrow. Why don’t you buy me a drink?”
“I guess I could.”
“Gee, your enthusiasm is underwhelming.”
“I was just thinking we could go upstairs instead. I’ve got some wine chilling in the fridge, and there’s beer if you prefer that.”
She said, “Harrison Black, are you trying to take advantage of me, say, by plying me with alcohol?”
“No, Ma’am, I’m a Southern Gentleman. If you’re not in the mood to be plied, I won’t try. I promise.”
She laughed, then said, “Just in case, I think I’ll bring Esmeralda along as our chaperone.”
“That’s a dandy idea. You can never be too careful these days.”
After locking up her store, we headed upstairs and I opened my apartment door. Esme squirmed out of Heather’s arms and ran inside. I called out, “Don’t get too comfortable, you’re not staying over this time.”
What a surprise; Esme ignored me completely.
Heather looked around and said, “I just love what you’ve done with the place. Honestly, Harrison, don’t you ever get tired of candles? They’re everywhere.”
I looked around at the candles scattered through the apartment. There were botched and more successful attempts of mine on display from more experiments than I could name. I’d managed to butcher techniques in pouring, rolling, gelling, dripping, molding, flaring, twisting, marbling and incising candles in my attempts to perfect my newfound trade. I was in the process of burning my failures; it gave me real satisfaction that even if some of my efforts weren’t the most beautiful candles ever made, they still gave off light, and in many cases, aromas that brought back memories I’d thought I’d lost long ago. “I don’t know, I think it looks just about right.”
She laughed and asked as she picked up one of my latest efforts, “What happened here? Did you run out of wax?”
I plucked the candle out of her hands. “Hey, that’s one of my better ice candles.”
“Candles and ice? You’re kidding, right?”
“Trust me, this is really a cool process. You take a dipped taper and put it in the center of a cylindrical mold. Then you arrange the ice chips in the mold around it and pour the hot wax in. It’s not nearly as tough as it looks.”
“So you say,” Heather said.
“It’s the truth,” I said. “Take it, burn it, enjoy it.” After all, I’d given Millie a candle earlier. One of the best things about making candles was sharing them with the people around me. Heather didn’t even put up token resistance. “I love it, but it’s too pretty to burn.”
“Candles are meant to be enjoyed.