A SMILE FOR CELESTE
by
Alisha Steele
SMASHWORDS EDITION
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PUBLISHED BY:
Alisha Steele on Smashwords
A Smile for Celeste
Copyright © 2006 Alisha Steele
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Smashwords Edition License Notes
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A SMILE FOR CELESTE
Celeste was doing dishes when she heard a motorbike coming up the street. One of those ‘crotch rockets’ as Adrian, her son, so crudely called them. This one had a high-pitched ‘rheeeeee’ that itched in her ears and vibrated behind her eyes, like a fly trapped in a bottle. She reached up, hands covered in suds, to stop the wine glasses from shivering on the shelf above her. The engine cut off in front of her house.
“Hey, how cool is that?” she heard Adrian yell, followed by the slamming of the screen door.
She dried her hands and swiped at the tendrils of straight, black hair that had escaped her bun to tickle her damp skin. July in Toronto was too blasted hot, unless you were fortunate enough to be able to afford air conditioning. Celeste wasn’t. As a waitress, she barely made enough to get by. Since Richard had left four years ago—always Richard, never Rich, and certainly never Dick—money had been very tight. He had cleaned out their bank accounts before he’d disappeared—the dick.
Money was such a constant worry now that whenever she looked in the mirror she saw more feathery lines around her eyes, deeper creases between her brows.
Yes, she was still attractive. It was her Spanish blood that saved her from looking as haggard as she felt. Olive skin and good bone structure can hide a lot. But her dark eyes had a lifeless, haunted look now. And her full lips always turned down. Adrian said she was too skinny, too. The poor boy’s plump, laughing mother had died the same year his father had left. Replaced by this wisp-thin replica that Celeste herself hardly recognized.
“Hey, Ma! Come check out Jace’s new ride. It’s killer!” Adrian was hollering at the top of his lungs and Celeste winced, anticipating the call Mrs. O’Toole would be making. The old woman next door never left her house, so she had to do all of her neighborly complaining by telephone. Celeste flicked off the phone’s ringer as she walked by.
“You’re going to be late, Adrian,” she said as she stepped onto the porch.
Her son was sitting on a sleek, yet extraordinarily ugly, lime green motorcycle. His new friend Jace tipped an imaginary hat to Celeste as she approached them. “Ma’am,” he drawled. His pale blue eyes twinkled at her, flashing merrily against the golden tan of his skin.
Celeste once again thanked God for her dusky complexion. It hid the blush this young man always seemed able to summon. She’d met him half-a-dozen times now, and he still managed to fluster her. He was just so lovely. Tall, young…firm. Oh, to be nineteen again.