A Candy Heart for Shirley
by
Terry Wright
“I’m in love, I’m in love, with a beautiful girl,” Norman sang, dumping the little red box of candy hearts on the kitchen table. His blood ran hot as he pushed aside the butcher knife, spread out the hearts, and turned each one face-up so he could read the stamped words.
Be
Mine. I’m Yours.
There had to be one in here somewhere, he thought, a very special one.
True Love. Sweet Talk.
There had to be one for Shirley.
Kiss Me.
Yes. It was a pink heart with blue letters. He held it to the ceiling light, examined it as if it were a gold nugget. Kiss Me! Would she or wouldn’t she? Tonight’s the night.
“You
nasty little boy!”
Throat clutching, he shot a glare to the rocking chair in the living room. “Shut up, Mother.” But she wasn’t there. She’d died ten years ago, left him this dingy apartment with the ratty carpet and worn furniture. He clutched the candy heart in his fist. “You’re not going to ruin my Valentine’s Day.”
Shirley
doesn’t love you!”
“You’re wrong, Mother.” He swiped the candy hearts from the table and watched them clatter across the stained tile floor. She wasn’t going to interfere in his love life this time. Not like before.
He looked up on the wall where he kept reminders of those Valentines, the pictures of women he’d loved: Sarah Dixon, Molly Shore, Karen Lovell, and Terri McConnelly. With each picture, he’d hung something he’d taken from them: a necklace, a ring, a bracelet, and a lock of hair. He only wished the pictures were color photos instead of newspaper clippings.
Headlines: “Another Woman Found Slain on Valentine’s Day.”
“They didn’t love you either!”
Ignoring his mother, he retrieved a Valentine’s card from his pocket, a happy-eyed puppy wagging its tail in front of a towering red heart, a monolith to love. Be My Valentine was written on the heart in sparkling white letters.
“Shirley doesn’t want a Valentine’s card from
you, boy!”
What did his mother know? He opened the card. It was blank inside. He licked the back of the Kiss Me heart, got it good and sticky, and stuck it on the card...the card for Shirley.
Tonight.
Down the hall, a door creaked. Keys jingled. High-heeled footsteps faded away. He raced to the window, as he did every morning, watched her emerge from the doorway below and stroll to a waiting cab. She wore his favorite red dress and blazer. Perfect for Valentine’s Day. Sunshine gleamed off an ivory leg as it disappeared behind the car door. The cab sped off.
“Have a wonderful day, Miss Shirley Swanson.” He’d gotten her name off the mailbox downstairs. “See you tonight.”
Mother laughed.
“But this candy heart...” He showed the card to the rocking chair. “It’s a perfect Valentine’s gift.”
“Like all the others, she still won’t kiss you.”
He picked up the butcher knife and thumbed the sharp edge. “They never do.”
