4.6 The Abyss of WonderLand
A while later, we rode something called the Arctic Rescue. They called it a straddle coaster. I was hesitant to do that, but the guys talked me into it. “It only goes 40 miles per hour,” Bob said. “You can be that brave.” Timothy argued, “She can skip it if she wants.” Forty miles an hour? Cars on the freeway go faster than that. Thinking like that seemed logical, even though I could hear the screaming and could see the way some of the riders were hanging onto the sides of the cars with whitened grips which should have told me that my initial judgement was correct, but I bowed to the pressure. And, of course, once the thing started moving, I discovered that riding such coasters was a lot different than sitting in a car seat contained in a nice, sturdy and comfortably heavy metal frame. Coward me, I shrieked and squealed most of the way down, and when the ride ended, I had legs so shaky I could barely stand up. Never, never again. I sincerely hate roller coasters of all kinds! Timothy’s arms around me and a few kisses for reassurance made my terror slip away. I leaned into him and forgot my moments of panic, but I did take the time to glare at Bob. He was the one who’d talked me into going on the ride. I wouldn’t be listening to him again. Feeding the stingrays in the Bat Ray Shallows was cool. It was kind of scary if you thought about how in the wild, rays could sting, but these didn’t. They felt like smooth rubber, only wet. Not impressive. But animals in all shapes were wondrous (even the scary sharks,) and we learned more about all the amazing sea creatures as Frank continued to weave his stories and offer fascinating facts. We ate lunch with the orcas. Luckily, our food was better than their raw fish. I had tortellini with marinara sauce and a side of roasted butternut with cranberries. I was also served a couple of tablespoons of Brussel sprouts, which was my absolute favorite vegetable. . . oh, and we got cupcakes for desserts. Of course, mine was chocolate. Meanwhile, the orcas were putting on a show, jumping up and diving down, excited about something. They were racing around their tank, faster than an animal that weighs more than 12,000 pounds should ever be able to go, at least that’s what I thought, but obviously the orcas didn’t agree. After stuffing ourselves, we moved into the stands of the Orca Encounter arena and saw the presentation. I guess that’s why the orcas were all agitated. They wanted a full audience to perform for. Timothy and I were spooning together, as old folks like my grandmother used to call it. The guys sat behind us. I know they were on duty, guarding us from the evils of such folks as Mr. Peters, but I think both Terry and Bob were enjoying the day as much as Timothy and I were. Bob, though, kept talking about how much fun the Artic Rescue was. He tried to convince me that I’d enjoy it more the second time. Not a chance.
4.5 The Abyss of WonderLand
In between all the oohing and ahhing, there were some sweet exchanges between Timothy and me. Neither of the guys paid attention to what we were doing since they were busy watching anyone who got near us, so a few kisses, hugs, and verbal interactions made the morning even more special. Being with the one you are falling in love with and sharing everything, well, let’s just say, that I was feeling like those jelly fish, just drifting in the watery depths of wonder. Timothy I was learning why some men called their wives honey. It was for the sweetness of their presence, the way the right woman seemed to bathe everything in a bubble of delight: with a smile, a kiss, a soft laugh. Everything Penelope did ricocheted inside my soul bouncing happiness about. How could I have lived without her quiet song? Of course, I had moments of disquiet. What if after our trip to San Diego, Penelope didn’t want me by her side? What if she grew tired of the trauma of men like Peters plaguing us, and even worse, what if she refused to join her life with mine? Could I endure a future without her? Such dark thoughts only struck me now and then. I couldn’t dwell in such worry, not when I was soaking up her joyfulness, her great enthusiasm for everything she saw. She was the zenith of all I’d ever wished for. Because she was beside me at that moment, laughing over the antics of a silly seagull strutting away with a piece of ice cream cone, I inhaled deeply and centered her warm giggle deeper inside my soul. Penelope The sea turtles at Turtle Reef were just my cup of tea. It’s not like they were cute, but they were enormous and rather sweet. We got to touch them and feed them. They seemed gentler than the seals had been. But in defending the sea lions, those seals did have the most adorable whiskers, and barked just like dogs. Well, almost. The turtles didn’t do anything except take lettuce from our hands. The turtles apparently had no speech, although Frank said they made a sound like a heavy yawn, emitting that sound in the water as a small eruption that came from their lungs. Perhaps they also blew some bubbles, but, in general, the turtles didn’t seem like you’d want to spend a lot of time with them, unless sea turtles were your thing.
4.4 The Abyss
I was a little unsure about picking up a fish and offering it to a sea lion, but after Terry showed off, saying it was easy, the rest of us followed suit. The shiny black female I fed had tickly whiskers and very bad breath, well, at least fishy breath. I guess that wouldn’t be nasty breath to another sea lion. Maybe, in fact, it was like cologne or perfume to other seals: eau de sea stink. We watched a show called Flippers, Facts, and Fun: the Sea Lion Experience. The show was adorable, funny, and incredible because the sea lions were more obedient than any dog I’d ever seen. (Yes, I know that some people don’t like seeing trained animals, but these sea lions (and otters) seemed quite happy to demonstrate their prowess in barking, diving and being cute. And it was probably easier for them to get mouthfuls of fish for a performance than to retrieve them in the wild where the sea lions might have to do an obstacle course with boats and sharks.) We toured the Jewels of the Sea where we got close and more or less friendly with a lot of jelly fish. First there were the moon jellies. They glowed. Then, there was a fourteen foot tall aquarium! It was like being in the ocean with them, except a lot safer. The interactive passages allowed us to stare up at a Gallery where we were surrounded by bioluminescence. It was all so wonderful. I’d say it was the highlight of the adventure, but Bob and Timothy both liked the fact that they got to touch the rubbery creatures. Timothy said the jelly fish felt like gelatine, the kind that is hard enough to make into cubes and sort of shimmies when you wiggle it. Bob said the jelly was a slimy balloon. Terry and I just hung back, more comfortable watching than putting our hands into the water. Next was the shark encounter. I was glad we didn’t feed or touch the sharks. They looked fierce and mean as they swam their restless circles. None of them paid any attention to us, which was a good thing. A staring shark might have given us nightmares. (Jaws in the flesh?) The Reef tidepool was filled with little kids. We didn’t stay there long, but we did see the starfish, mostly salmon-colored, although a few were tannish brown. All of them were elegantly shaped, like geometric art. (Okay, except one. It was missing a leg or tentacle or whatever. But Frank assured us it would grow the part back. He said that losing a limb was often a defense mechanism for the creatures, like a lizard losing its tail when a cat chases it.)
4.3 The Abyss of WonderLand
“Bob is right. We have dolphins, orcas, belugas, and penguins to see,” Timothy said, smiling at me. “But to get you into the mood, you’ll have to change into something more appropriate.” I glanced down at my zoo sweatshirt and glanced at Timothy puzzledly, but Timothy was already pouncing over to a bag stuck in the closet. “Here,” he said. “A Sea World rescue tee and another hoodie in case it gets cold. I’m afraid the website only had one cap without children’s characters. We all get a Mako shark, which I believe is from SeaWorld Orlando, but we’ll have to make do.” The men topped their heads with the caps, and I went into the bathroom to change into Sea World clothes. I actually liked my zoo sweatshirt and tee better, but I didn’t tell Timothy that. He was like a little boy with how cute he acted when he had gifts to hand out. The same limo driver was waiting for us in front of the hotel. (Mr. Peters was not sitting on one of the fancy couches anticipating our entry into the lobby, which pleased everyone. Terry seemed so happy about it that he cocked a full-lipped smile, a rarity for him.) I discovered that our driver’s name was Alan. He gave us a quick good morning, then headed directly towards Sea World. The vistas on the way were gorgeous, all ocean scenes. Bob said he saw dolphins out in the bay, but the rest of us missed them — if there were any. A bit later, we arrived at the entrance to Sea World and marched ourselves to guest services, which was right next to the restrooms, for all the people who drank too much coffee while munching on breakfast muffins. Thankfully. Timothy had signed us up for the Ultimate VIP Tour (of course.) So, we were met by a middle-aged man with a fringe of white hair on both sides of his head. The man, Frank, he told us to call him, was wearing a cool, dark blue official shirt, jeans, and a fleece jacket that informed us that he was a staff member, even though his badge hanging on a lanyard around his neck had already assured us of that. Frank said we’d be starting our visit that day with the sea lions, so we all piled into the little cart he was driving and headed off about as fast as a toddler on his tricycle, which was a good thing since there were a lot of people not paying attention. Frank had to beep at them to move sometimes, because the visitors often seemed completely oblivious to the occasional vehicles heading down the path where they were walking. But even though it seemed at times that we were only making a snail’s passage, Frank putted us forward. He seemed extremely skillful at dodging kids darting out in front of him and people ambling about without looking before they rushed to one side of the path or the other. Thankfully, there were no crushed pedestrians on the way to see the beautiful black circus seals.
4.2 The Abyss of WonderLand
“Bridesmaids?” I sighed and thought about it. “Sammy and Cara, if they could get free. Well, I know that Cara could, even if she’s in middle of a painting, but Sammy would have to ask for time off.” I stopped then, suddenly realizing what Timothy had just done. He’d spun the wedding into a reality feast. “Oh, you,” I said. I felt like slugging the man, but I didn’t. Instead, I took another gulp of coffee, topped my muffin with some honey, crammed it into my mouth, and chewed. There was silence between us then, me because I was chewing, he because he was cautiously waiting to find out what I’d say next. At least, I imagined so. But I couldn’t help letting my mind babble on. “I guess Simone should be a bridesmaid, too — and Judy. They were essential in bringing us together.” Timothy snorted. “You, my darling are as unpredictable as the stock market.” I knew little about that. Mostly, I thought the stock market was something akin to gambling, although I knew that lots of people said it was necessary in order to save up for their retirement. I guess it was something I should investigate. There were huge stack of things I needed to learn about, come to think of it, but if what Timothy said was true, after he bit me, I’d have a very long time to soak it all up. That was the good part about marrying a Pooka, at least I think that was a good thing. “If you involve the latter two ladies, the wedding should be an evening event. Simone, especially, has clients who depend on her.” I nodded, but it seemed odd that since she owned her own business she couldn’t take off a day. But that didn’t matter. Evening was good. “You’ve got me going again,” I said, sighing woefully. “I wasn’t the one who was talking about bridesmaids,” Timothy teased as he nuzzled my neck with his lips. I suppose we might have discussed flower arrangements, cake designs, and wedding invitations if a knock hadn’t suddenly pounded at the door. I could tell right off that it was Bob. He somehow made a fist against the door’s wood sound hollow and lengthier than a knock in general. Terry’s knock was more timid, a question, not a demand. Timothy stood up, walked over, and after looking through the peekaboo, opened the door. “We were just wondering when we were leaving for Sea World,” Bob asked. “That was supposed to be a surprise,” Timothy growled. I noted that his growl was nothing like Bob’s and Terry’s. Theirs sounded wolfish. Timothy’s was gravel striking wood.
4.1 The Abyss of WonderLand
There were a thousand things I could have said at that moment, like back away or don’t pressure me, but it was my fault the conversation had come up. I’d said yes when Timothy popped the question. And, then there was that other part to our moment of drama. Timothy still WANTED TO MARRY ME. Wow!!!! I guess the shock of that realization is why, instead of arguing, putting him off, or hedging about the when’s, where’s and how’s, I just blurted out, “My father’s dead. I don’t have anyone to walk me down the aisle.” Timothy sat down on the chair beside me and placed his arm around my shoulders. “Well,” he said, giving his attention to the subject as if my resistance to getting married had all melted away. “There’s Chris Shafer, the dancing instructor. Or Chef Stevens. And, we could ask Jack Peters . . .” When Timothy added the name of the crazy vampire hunter, I burst out laughing, which is exactly what he’d been hoping for. Meanwhile, while I was recovering with a healthy gulp of coffee, Timothy shoveled a heap of scrambled eggs on his plate and mine, sorted through the muffins and found either a walnut or banana bread one, offered me one (chocolate chip, of course, then poured himself a second cup of coffee. He refilled my cup, too, knowing that I always wanted more of the black nectar. “Now, seriously,” Timothy said after a minute. “Andrew would love to walk you down the aisle and so would Ed Sanders. Since Ed is your boss, that might be ideal. That way he can’t blame you for missing more work days while we’re off on our honeymoon.” I nodded as I thought about it. He and his wife certainly deserved to be included in the wedding since they were the ones who had set us up for that first meeting at their house. I nodded and took a sip of my cup of fresh coffee. Yes. Mr. Sanders would be perfect —if he’d agree. Of course, I was pretty sure that Judy wouldn’t give him any choice. She’d insist in that way she had of getting everyone around her to agree with her wishes. (I don’t mean that to sound negative. I loved Judy, but she was halfway between a hurricane and a tornado, except not destructive. But definitely a strong force of nature.) “And your bridesmaids?” Timothy asked.
3.31 The Abyss of WonderLand
A selection of muffins were nestled invitingly in a wicker basket and tucked in beneath a gold cloth napkin. Under metal covers, sat a huge pile of scrambled eggs. Another platter held bacon, sausage, and ham slices, and a third hid a mound of hashbrowns underneath its metal lid. Timothy had ordered enough food for the entire hotel staff. “We skipped dinner, so I thought we deserved a big breakfast,” Timothy told me as his eyes scanned my hair. “You look nice, my darling, but I like the wild side of you, too. Don’t forget that.” The wild side of me was feeling very tame after our night of enthusiastic bed play. I felt like purring after so many orgasms, and if I’d been counting kisses, I think we would have beaten the Guinness Record Book for close encounters of the romantic kind. Timothy was grinning down at me, having come to stand behind me where I’d sat down so I could start serving up some of the fluffy eggs. “Does this meet your breakfast wishes, or is there something else you’d like?” he asked. “I could order pancakes or waffles.” I laughed. “We have a whole basket of muffins. I even saw some chocolate chips ones. And there’s a jar of honey. What else could we need? Only, shouldn’t we invite the guys over so they can enjoy our feast?” Timothy shook his head vigorously. “Nope. I’m not sharing this intimate breakfast with them. I plan to pretend you and I are on our honeymoon.” After the night we’d just had, I doubted there’d be any difference — except for the piece of paper you get at the end of that big shindig called a wedding. I guess there might be an argument in favor of it if my mother, father, or grandmother were still alive. They’d want to see the big event. But, I didn’t even have a father to walk me down the aisle. And my friends were busy with other things. “Planning your wedding?” Timothy asked, his lips curved into a devastating smile that told me he was once again probing my thoughts. I think I blushed. My face felt hot. Perspiration attacked. Maybe I was coming down with the flu, but I doubted it. Timothy took my hand in his, massaged it a moment, then slid into his seat, still holding it. “We can have the wedding in the chapel at Silver Falls,” he murmured softly. “You’ll like it there. I promise, but if not, we could shop around until you find exactly the right location. If the chapel doesn’t please you, we can use the reception hall in Silver Fall’s headquarters, or if it’s a smaller celebration, our house would work. Would you like that?”
3.30 The Abyss of WonderLand
When Timothy came out of the bathroom, he was wearing not the jeans and tee I’d expected, but a fluffy white robe. I guess that made sense because he’d told Terry and Bob that we were staying in and ordering room service. That was great. We wouldn’t have to battle the reception room where a hotel full of newsmen might or might not be berating Mr. Peters for his wild story of vampirism. Although I found the man’s fears and beliefs utterly ridiculous, a bunch of like-minded idiots would not be fun to contend with. I sighed, especially when I turned to give Timothy a thorough examination. His hair was wet. He hadn’t done a good job of drying it. That made me want to rub it with a soft, fluffy towel, like a wet dog that I was afraid might suddenly give a good shake of water spray. At least, that was my impulse . . . until I saw the drops of water scattered across his very manly chest, and because the robe was only loosely belted, when I peeked further down via the robe’s opening . . . Oh, my. Let’s just say, that wasn’t all I saw. Timothy and I never got around to ordering food. Why bother when the snacks were so delicious, and other things occupied most of our focus? The mattress was lovely for sleeping, too. I slumbered like Sleeping Beauty, but when I woke up in the morning, I had snarls in my hair instead of curls. Timothy had already risen and was outside on the balcony, fully dressed in his sharp looking black jeans and jean jacket. I took advantage of his absence and fled to the bathroom where I set to work dampening, working the hair down, and smoothing it out. There were some lovely products on the shelf of the bathroom, not the ones that Simone had bought for me to use, but others that seemed quite adequate. When I re-entered the main room, I found not only Timothy, but a full breakfast waiting on the table with China plates, white cloth napkins, and little pots of jams and honey. We morning greeted each other with chaste kisses, but any embarrassment I might have felt for what we’d done in the evening and night seemed to have vanished. It was like we were an old married couple, a thought that was scarier than climbing a roof-tall ladder. I pushed the notion away, determined not to wiggle it about with all its ramifications and self-debates.
3.29 The Abyss of WonderLand
Timothy finally spoke as I was still debating what else I’d miss in heaven. (Definitely coffee. How could I have left coffee out of my angelic desires?) Timothy cleared his voice, grabbing my attention away from my musings. “I can’t shower when your face is showing such demonstrative appreciation for those strawberries,” he declared, giving me a toothy smile. “I need to mentally record the images and replay them later when you’re off at work.” He was laughing slightly, but in a serious a way. The mouth showed one thing. The eyes, dark with those golden highlights that gleamed like backlit jewels, indicated the depths of his thoughts . . . and his amusement. A thrill buzzed through me at his words, yet I felt slightly choked in disbelief. Timothy wanted to record a finger-licking, lion-maned and free of make-up memory of me? That was utterly ghastly. I was probably at my worst at the moment, stuffing my face. Geeze, I might even have chocolate smears across my cheeks and mouth. Timothy chuckled. “Even your thoughts are more delicious than anything on that table. But, I need to clear a couple of things up before I head for the shower. I very much want you to marry me, Penelope. I want that so much I was willing to accept your uncertain agreement, but the expression of your eyes and thoughts didn’t show love. It displayed pity for my plight. I won’t accept that. You have to feel the depth of love inside you. You have to desire me as your husband as much as I desire you as my wife. Not just carnally, but with every breath you take.” It was the most romantic speech I’d ever heard. No soap opera lead character and no moving, tear-staining, tissue-wetting hero on a tv movie had ever said anything quite so emotionally wonderful. I wiped a tear, then turned to argue about the pity side of it, but Timothy had already retreated. I heard the shower water start up and realized I’d have to wait a bit to tell him that I did love him. Truly. In the meantime, the drama of the moment was kept from churning my insides into the lemon juice of worry by grabbing another bite of strawberry and chocolate. A piece of cheese was next, then a juicy red apple. By the time I’d finished that, my hunger had dived down into my stomach, happily satisfied.
3.28 the Abyss of WonderLand
When I glanced at Timothy again, his face had grown darker. He looked slightly angry, but not scary angry. He looked like a man whose dreams had been crushed. “I am not about to wiggle out of my proposal,” Timothy said. “The proposal still stands, and it will always stand, Penelope. But plain or ordinary, you are definitely not.” “You’re reading my mind again.” I almost stamped my foot, but I didn’t. In spite of that, the towel on my head fell down, and my wet hair streamed down my back. Timothy jumped up, picked up the towel, and said, “Isn’t there a hair dryer in there?” I sighed. I hated the things. Hair dryers left my hair a flying flurry, but I shrugged and followed Timothy back into the bathroom, which was still steamy and moist. Frizz would happen no matter what I did, I supposed. “They should have sold miniature lion shirts. I would have bought you one of those. I love your mane,” he chortled. Easy for him to say. He had sleek hair, the kind that always did exactly what he wanted, rain or drizzle. Timothy, saying nothing further, found the dryer and turned it on. I reached out to take it from him, but he shook his head. “My treat for waiting for you to finish your shower,” he told me. He did a good job. I must say. If gallery owner, art collector, and pooka weren’t enough to satisfy him, he could be a hairdresser, as well. The women would flock to his hair salon, begging him to work on their tresses (and to moon over his gorgeousness.) Again, he chuckled. “Thank you, but no. I will only do this for you, my darling. I won’t touch another woman’s hair.” That was nice to hear I decided. It appeared that I was the quietly possessive type, desirous of his full attention. The thought of him looking at one of the fem fatales that often seemed to surround him with lust in their eyes, stabbed me. He grinned down at me but didn’t respond to my stomach-clenching jealousy. We returned to the main room of the suite, my keeping silent about such thoughts and he, if he read them, saying not a word. “Your turn in the shower,” I said, as I rushed over to grab up one of the chocolate covered strawberries. He remained unobtrusive, leaning against the wall, his arms crossed, his eyes watching me as I chewed. I guess he was allowing me to muse over my current non-life-changing thoughts. At that moment, I was savoring the taste of chocolate and strawberries. Wow! People always talked about the ethereal light, the choirs of angels, meeting God, and sitting around in Heaven playing small, golden harps. None of that appealed to me. I wanted there to be chocolate, books, and delicious red apples, like the ones on the hotel table. I’m sure there were other things I’d miss, but those three would be at the top of my list of demands if one could demand things in Heaven.