Blind Love

By John Migacz

Blind from birth, Samantha Sullivan lives in darkness, but her sweet nature brightens everyone she meets.
Wounded veteran Quint Griffin is fighting the darkness in his soul, but is losing the battle.
Can love bring light into both their lives?

• Language: English
• Publisher: John Migacz
• Release date: Jun 22, 2017
• ISBN: 9781370140626

Book preview

Chapter 1

Hartford, Connecticut

Quint Griffin squinted as the morning sun glinted off the oncoming bus window. The CT Transit bus roared to a stop with a screech of brakes and a belch of diesel exhaust. On the sidewalk, Quint held his breath and waited for the air to clear. His lungs didn’t need yet another insult. He waited for the doors to squeak open, then started for the stairs.

The bus driver waved him back. Hold up a minute.

Quint stepped aside. Why the wait? He’d had enough walking and was already late - any later and Jason would be pissed. Then again, pissed was Jason’s usual demeanor, so it wouldn’t really matter.

A very pretty titian-haired woman wearing dark sunglasses made her way to the front of the bus. Quint stared. This woman was a knockout - a gorgeous face, beautiful long red-gold hair and, even wrapped in a navy peacoat and wearing dark-blue pleated pants, he could tell she had a smoking hot bod.

She tentatively reached out to the driver, then patted his shoulder. Thanks, Bill.

He smiled and nodded. You’re welcome, Miss Samantha. You have a good day, now.

Quint tapped his foot, his irritation overcoming the woman’s attractiveness. Come on, woman. Yeah, you’re beautiful and everyone notices you. Now move it.

The woman stopped at the top of the steps, reached into a large handbag and pulled out a bundle of white sticks. With a flick of her wrist, the bundle snapped into a white cane with a red tip.

Ah, shit. Quint felt his throat tighten and guilt flood his chest as he moved further out of the way. He watched this lovely woman make her way confidently down the steps as easily as a sighted person. When she alighted, she waved her cane in small arcs in front of her, took five steps forward, then stepped off to her right down the sidewalk.

Quint jumped onto the bus and walked down the aisle, mirroring the steps of the blind woman, his gaze never leaving her. When he reached the back of the bus, he watched her until they pulled away and she faded from sight.

He flopped into a seat and thought about going through life blind. It would be so hard, with so many difficulties to overcome, yet the confidence that woman exuded had been impressive. He looked out the back window and stared, as if he could still see her.

He wondered if she’d be on the bus tomorrow.

The next morning, Samantha sat by the bus window and reveled in the warm morning sun. The heat felt good on her face, and she hoped that winter was finally over. For some reason, she felt like this wasn’t just a new day, but a new time in her life. Something good hovered just ahead, ready to blossom. Walking into it would be wonderful. She smiled at her own fantasies. It was probably just the warm sun.

The bus hissed and squeaked to a halt at the fourth stop by her count. The next stop would be hers. She perched on her seat and waited for the driver’s signal.

Anticipation of coffee and a bagel overrode the morning’s problem of finding only one matching shoe in the closet. It had taken her another five minutes of searching before she discovered that the mate had fallen out of the shoe rack. She’d considered just wearing another pair of shoes, but knew Cali would somehow find out and berate her for not following the fashion plan posted in Braille on the inside of the closet door. Fashion was a religion to her roommate, and Cali its high priestess.

She heard the bus door squeak open and felt a few passengers brush by.

You’re clear, Samantha, said the driver.

She walked to the front of the bus, reached out and patted his shoulder.

Thanks, Bill. Have a good day.

You too, now.

It will be, just as soon as I’ve had my coffee.

Samantha stepped to the door, snapped out her cane and walked down the stairs.

Quint watched the woman as she stepped off the bus, and his male protective gene revved into overdrive. When she turned and walked down the tree-lined street, he followed for half a block before he halted. What the hell am I doing? He pushed aside the thought as the woman stopped and flared out with her cane. When she tapped the wrought-iron railing protecting a tree, she turned left. Quint glanced up to the sign over what was probably her destination.

The Coffee Cafe.

The Coffee Cafe? There’s a lame name. Couldn’t they come up with something more original? How mundane. He snorted, his writer’s mind already wordsmithing. How about Déjà Brew, or Thanks a Latte, or… He pushed aside the thoughts as the woman he now thought of as Samantha pulled open the door.

The smell of coffee floated into his nostrils.

Coffee… Yeah, coffee sounded like a good idea.

Quint raced to the door and caught it before it closed. He reached ahead of her and opened the inner door. Allow me.

She hesitated a moment then entered, cane swishing in front of her. I’m not incapable of opening a door, she said without turning. I’m only blind. There’s no need to treat me differently.

Wow, he said. My chivalrous heart has just been stomped on and my momma’s hard-taught manners have been shattered.

She halted and turned her body toward where she thought he was. She was off by a quarter turn. Sorry. I guess I was too blind to see that you were just being mannerly.

Quint stepped into her line of sight.

Cute comeback, he said, but the damage won’t be a problem. My chivalrous heart is re-inflatable and the shattered manners will be a delightful puzzle to reassemble. He hoped for a smile, but she only nodded once, then walked unerringly toward the polished wood counter. He stared after her, a little bit lost for words. His mind told him to walk away, just leave. But when his feet followed her to the counter, he didn’t even protest.

Hi, Samantha. Your usual? said the young girl behind the counter. The white nametag on her sun-yellow uniform proclaimed her Julie.

Yes, indeed, said Samantha. After eating through your entire menu I’ve found what’s best, so why change a good thing.

Coming right up.

Quint stood well behind Samantha, far enough away to stay out of her space, but near enough, it seemed, to smell her perfume. Perfume that smelled like a citrus forest with diaphanous-clad nymphs splashing in a stream. Splashing nymphs? He shook his head in an attempt to rid his mind of the computer game visuals.

Julie dropped the blind woman’s everything bagel through the cutter, placed it into the toaster, then prepared a mochaccino and set it on a tray. Samantha reached into her purse and pulled out a credit card. Julie ran the card and placed it back in her hand. Sit, and I’ll bring it over when it’s ready.

Thanks, Julie, said Samantha, and headed for the booths against the far wall.

Quint stepped up to the counter.

Can I help you? asked Julie.

Quint took his eyes off Samantha and smiled at Julie. I’ll have the same as Samantha. He glanced over at the blind woman as she settled into a booth. He wondered how she knew it was empty.

Oh, do you know Samantha? asked Julie.

Yeah, but not as well as I’d like to, he said. Or half as well as I’m going to. I’ll take our tray over when it’s ready.

As Julie took another customer’s order, Quint thought about calling Jason and telling him he’d be late. His bagel dropped from the toaster and Julie assembled everything on one tray. He glanced over to Samantha. She was so lovely, so poised, so… so screw Jason.

Thanks, he said to Julie. Grabbing the tray, he wondered how Samantha would react to his being the waiter and walked to her booth.

Chapter 2

Samantha sat on the smooth, plastic-covered bench and waited for her coffee and bagel. She really needed a caffeine hit this morning. With Cali on the road, mornings were a trial. Had she become too dependent on her roommate? Assembling this morning’s outfit, including the shoe fiasco, reminded her that just dressing without help could be a chore for a blind person - at least dressing correctly, as Cali dubbed it. Cali had separated her clothes into sections by color, and each hanger had a Braille tag telling her what hung below. A Braille list of what color shirt would go with what color pants or skirt was taped to the closet door.

Samantha didn’t see how it mattered, but Cali insisted. Samantha once suggested that it would be easier to own the same color of everything, but Cali’s choking response squashed that idea. She never could come to grips with the fact that it didn’t matter to Samantha. Cali didn’t care that the word ‘color’ meant nothing to a person blind from birth.

And fashion? How was that important? Cali’s explanations were as unfathomable as were her attempts to explain color combinations. Samantha remembered Cali’s dismayed condemnation, You can’t wear that purple shirt with that shade of yellow slacks!

Samantha guessed it mattered to a sighted world, but all she cared about was the feeling of fine textures on her skin, and comfortable shoes on her feet.

She heard footsteps and the sound of a tray sliding onto the table.

You’re not Julie.

No, I’m not, said Quint. She’s busy with customers, and I asked if I could bring the tray over.

You’re the chivalrous stomped heart with the shattered momma.

That’s shattered mom-taught manners. My chivalrous heart has re-inflated, by the way, and Momma is fine.

How nice.

May I join you?

Samantha lifted her head in the direction of his voice. She’d been told that this was polite to a sighted world. Why?

Well, Julie put both our orders on the same tray, and it would be such a bother to rearrange them.

That sounds pretty lame, but OK, sit. She placed both hands on the table. I’m sure there’s another reason - perhaps doing your good deed for the day and aiding a blind person?

She heard him slide into the seat across from her, and turned her head.

Nope. No good-deed doer here.

The sound of cups and plates moving on the table caught her attention.

No, indeed. I’m just using my chivalrous charm to hit on a beautiful woman. Your coffee’s on your right at three o’clock, he tapped a finger in front of the cup, and your bagel is eight inches ahead at your twelve.

She paused for a moment, thinking about his using the clock to aid her in locating her meal. Did he know other blind people? Samantha slid her hands across the table and found her coffee and bagel where he said they’d be. She lifted the cup and inhaled the wonderful aroma of freshly brewed coffee for a moment, then sipped and sighed. Samantha reached for her bagel, and focused her awareness on the man sitting across from her.

His consideration put a plus mark in the appreciation column but a check mark in her wary list. There weren't any bad vibes coming across the table. If anything, a sense of peace floated her way.

You handled the food layout well. Do you know other blind people? she asked as she took a bite.

Just one other, he said.

She put down her bagel. Did you hit on them too?

He chuckled. No. If I had, Joe would have probably strangled me. If he could catch me, that is.

His mellow voice and laugh were pleasing to her ears, and this conversation was becoming very enjoyable. Are you hitting on me because you’re such a gargoyle that only a blind woman would find you attractive? she said, and sipped her coffee.

Gargoyle? No, not at all. I’m more the Frankenstein type. Giant head, bolts in my neck, and… He leaned forward. …big feet.

She couldn’t control the smile that shot to her lips. If you’re really a Frankenstein, your feet probably belonged to someone else.

He snorted. Lady, you are one tough sell.

‘Cause I’m not in the market to buy anything. She bit into her bagel and chewed slowly, letting the everything bagel’s different flavors spark the different parts on her tongue.

She heard him pick up his coffee, sip, then put it down. Samantha felt his presence across the table. Definitely male, but he didn’t seem brash, sympathetic, or worse, pitying. She lowered her shield a little. What’s your name?

Quint Griffin, he said.

Quint? That’s a different name. It sounds cowboyish. She held her coffee cup in both hands. You a cowboy, Quint Griffin?

Not me, but my family used to own a ranch in Montana. My grandfather’s name was Jason Quint. We inherited his lean build and his name, but my brother got the Jason, and I got the Quint.

Interesting. Now I’m picturing you dressed as a cowboy. Boots, ten-gallon hat and a western shirt.

He was silent for a moment and she wondered if she’d overstepped, then she heard his bagel plop down onto his plate.

Nope. Just sneakers, jeans, and a sweat-shirt. I am wearing the ten-gallon hat, though.

Samantha couldn’t help the snort that blew out her nose. I doubt it. She listened closely to his actions. Bite of bagel, sip of coffee, and a wipe with a napkin.

So you haven’t always been blind? he asked.

The question hit her like a poke in her breastbone, and she felt her face flush.

Sorry, he said. Too personal?

Samantha took a breath. Seemed that way for a moment, but no, I guess it’s OK. She ran her finger up and down the handle of her coffee cup. I’ve been blind since birth. She placed both hands on the table and leaned forward. And you are very perceptive to come up with that conclusion.

Bite of bagel, sip of coffee, and a wipe with a napkin. If you’ve been sightless since birth, how did you know what a cowboy dresses like?

Cali.

Uh, if that is an acronym for something, I’m clueless.

Yes, I get the impression that you are.

This time he snorted.

Cali is my sister from another mother. She describes visuals using shapes of items. We must have used a ton of Play-Doh and Lego figures when we were kids. Samantha smiled at the memory. She still has a problem trying to describe colors. She chuckled. What is fuchsia anyway?

I’m not quite sure myself, he said. His cellphone buzzed.

Need to get that? she asked.

A moment later the buzzing stopped. No. It’s just my brother being his obnoxious self. He thinks he’s running a boot camp and being late to work is a mortal sin. A click told her he’d placed his phone onto the table. So what line of work are you in? he asked.

What makes you so sure I work at all? She sipped at coffee that had lost its heat, but she was glad the conversation hadn’t.

Well, humm… He drummed his fingers on the table for a moment. I guess it’s that you seem so energetic, self-reliant, and brimming with confidence. You wouldn’t be one to sit back and do nothing.

His evaluation surprised her. It was spot on, except for the confidence part. She had accepted that others thought of her as disabled, but she never felt disabled, she was just herself, and it was all she knew.

Confidence outside of her carefully crafted world, though, was another thing. Especially meeting people. When meeting a man, she went with what her gut feelings told her about him. If the vibes were wrong, she hosed the man with sarcasm. If good, as they were with Mr. Quint, she blustered with bravado.

You’re right, she said. I do hold a job. I’m an airline pilot for World Air.

She felt the table jerk and waited on his response.

Wow. Your landings must be hell on your passengers.

A bubble of laughter forced its way to her lips. This Quint guy was interesting. The reason he was interested in her was another question. How about you?

"I’m a wannabe writer, and currently work with my brother, Jason. He’s CEO and head honcho of Griffin Gaming. I do coding and write copy. It’s a huge company employing a total of two people.

What do you do when not flying? he asked. His hand touched hers lightly, then withdrew.

Samantha thought about his touch for a moment. There wasn’t any charge of electricity, or heating of her loins, as in the romance novels, but it was gentle, nice - and he didn’t push it.

I’m actually your worst nightmare, she said.

A bald, butter-covered gnome with a cattle prod and a bad attitude?

That one had her laughing out loud. No, although it does make me wonder about your nightmares.

Not a nightmare. I once worked for him. She felt the table shake. I shudder to even recall my short youthful employment at that toy company.

So no jolly old elves or kindly toymakers?

No, just angry gnomes. You work with any jolly old elves?

No. Actually, I’m a telemarketer, she said.

So… my second worst nightmare. The table tilted slightly - he must have put his elbows on it. Is one of the requirements that you be psychic to know just when people are sitting down to dinner?

It’s one of my superpowers, she said. Speaking of which… Samantha raised the cover on her wristwatch and touched the face. I need to get to work. She slid out of the booth. It’s been nice talking with you, Mr. Quint. She held out her hand.

She heard him rise as well. Umm… It’s Quint Griffin, he said and clasped her hand.

Whoa. There was that little electric sizzle. That little flash of awareness of something deeper. She held his hand, reluctant to let go. He covered her hand with his other one. The warmth that sunk into her belly faded when he released her hand.

I’ve enjoyed our banter, Miss Samantha. Can I see you again?

The warmth felt good, something she didn’t want to ignore. I hit this coffee shop every Wednesday through Friday.

Then I’ll see you tomorrow, he said.

Not if I see you first. She grinned, then snapped open her cane, and stepped toward the exit. She held up a hand. No need to see me out.

Quint watched Samantha walk to the door and exit, her cane swinging in small arcs in front of her. He took a deep breath and smiled. Damn, she was attractive, but there was something else there as well. It was more than just his protective gene flaring. That had faded after they shared the first few sentences. This woman didn’t need protecting - it was other people that needed protection from her rapier wit.

He wished he could have seen her eyes. The glasses were so dark they were impossible to see through.

He collected their plates from the booth and headed toward the trash. Were her eyes damaged? Scarred? Maybe she looked like Little Orphan Annie - just blank white spots? Or glowing blood-red demon eyes with electric sparks flashing in them?

Demon eyes? He shook his head. His and Jason’s latest game, titled Demon Hell Spawn - Escape from Gehenna, must be infecting his brain.

Quint tried overlaying each weird scenario onto Samantha’s face but they all felt stupid. If the eyes were the window to the soul, hers would be molten gold.

He shook himself again and headed for the door. Golden eyes - sheesh. What the hell was he thinking?

Quint pushed her image out of his brain and headed for the home-slash-office he shared with his brother. The blood-red demon eye thing had him thinking about a cover for Griffin Games’ latest offering. He could use that eye thing. Work was where his concentration needed to focus. But as he walked the ten blocks home, Samantha’s lovely essence kept drifting into his thoughts.

Quint hadn’t taken two steps into the old industrial loft before Jason started in.

Where the hell have you been? He glanced up at the clock. Your rehab walk should have ended an hour ago.

Quint ignored the comment, not letting it push his button as it so often did. He walked to the desk across from his brother and sat. I was having coffee with a beautiful woman.

Jason snorted. Yeah. Right. Maybe in your dreams. You probably overslept again. He ran a hand through his hair, and leaned forward. We gotta have those patches re-coded for the alpha version by today.

Yeah, I know. And if you hadn’t been working so hard perfecting your prick-persona, you’d have seen the new code in your dropbox. I finished and sent it to you last night.

Quint pulled a blue racket ball out of his desk drawer, leaned back and tossed it into the air. He caught it, then shot it into the air again. Also, I have an idea for the game cover. I’ll draw up a draft and shoot it over to Billy.

Jason clicked on an icon, nodded, then blew out a breath. Thanks for the update, and thank God for a teenaged cousin with an incredible graphic bent. Jason grimaced. We’re going to have to pay him sometime. He rubbed his hands over his face then ran his fingers again through his dark hair.

Quint let his chair plunk forward. "What’s up? You seem more stressed than your usual