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The
doorbell rang. Olivia’s hands were covered in the white flour and egg
mixture she was using to bread raw chicken to fry for the picnic. She
hollered in the direction of the door, “Just a minute!” She shook her
head, haphazardly wiped her hands on a kitchen towel, and quickly headed
for the door.
Her
hand slipped around the knob twice before she was able to turn it. “I
thought you said you would be here at noon,” she said, opening the door.
“Tom…”
Olivia blinked when she saw the man’s uniform and clipboard.
“Telegram for Miss Hortense Olivia Tully,” he said then smirked
slightly.
Olivia was used to seeing that odd expression, when anyone used her full
name. She held her hands up, like a freshly scrubbed doctor in an
operating room. “That’s me.”
The
messenger pushed the clipboard in front of her. “Sign here, please.”
Olivia gingerly took his pen and signed where he indicated then handed
back the mucky pen.
“Sorry.” She displayed an apologetic smile.
He
took the pen, wiped the residue on the back of his pants then pushed it
back into his shirt pocket. He flashed her a bright smile and handed her
an envelope before turning to step off the porch. “Have a nice day,
Ma’am.”
“Oh
wait!” She held up a gooey index finger. “Let me get you a tip.”
He
turned back. “That’s okay. I think I’ve had enough dough for one
morning.”
Olivia excitedly ripped the envelope open and with sticky fingers,
unfolded the telegram. It read, Roses are Red STOP, Violets
are Blue STOP, If you’ll marry me STOP, I’ll marry you
STOP, Happy Birthday! STOP, Your loving detective, Tom.
“So,
will you marry me?” said, a soft voice in front of her.
Olivia lifted her moist eyes to see Tom, flowers in one hand and a
small box in the other. She squealed and lunged forward to wrap her arms
around his neck.
“I’d
be crazy not to.” She pulled back and gazed into his hazel eyes. “Yes,
I’ll marry you, Tom Trask.” She pressed her lips to his.
He
pulled away, stepped back, dropped to one knee, and handed her the
flowers. “I wanted to write you a romantic poem, but I’m not much of a
writer.”
She
smiled with tears in her eyes. “This is the most romantic poem I have
ever read.”
“Let’s make it official.” He held up the ring box.
She
lifted her left hand, still covered with flour and egg, and they both
burst out laughing.
* * *
*
‘Happy Birthday to you, happy birthday to you, happy birthday, dear
Olivia, happy birthday to you,’
they sang in unison.
Olivia listened to the, out of tune, slow-moving tempo of, Tom, Charlie,
Floretta, and a few of Olivia’s co-workers from the library. She clapped
her hands then leaned forward to blow out her candles. “That was the
worst singing I have ever heard,” she said, as she straightened. “And I
loved it.”
Olivia began plucking the candles from the cake, licking the frosting
from each one before setting them on a plate. Uncle Charlie’s backyard
proved to be the perfect place to have a surprise party. And a
successful surprise it was. Detective Tom Trask had planned it well.
Olivia expected a picnic and a stroll on Santa Monica beach, but first
Tom had to stop at Charlie’s house to pick up some beach chairs.
The
back porch was decorated with brightly colored streamers, twisted and
swaying from maple to pepper tree. Pastel helium filled balloons bobbed
and floated lazily from their cotton string tethers.
Aunt
Floretta smiled warmly and gave her a peck on the cheek. “Happy
birthday, sweetheart.”
An
arm slinked around her waist, and she felt the heat of Tom’s body next
to her. “What did you wish for?” he asked and then kissed her on the
neck.
“Oh,
no, you don’t,” She gave him a soft kiss at the corner of his mouth. “If
I tell you, it won’t come true.”
“Yes
it will.” He turned her to face him. “I’ll make sure it does.”
Olivia held up her left hand and gazed at her engagement ring. “I don’t
think you could make me any happier than you’ve made me today.”
“Stick with me baby,” he said in his best, James Cagney. “There’s a lot
more happiness where that came from, and I got dibs on the next fifty
years to prove it to you.” |
