by Gail Dayton
He hated the helplessness in part because of old lessons too well learned. On the streets, survival meant staying strong and in control, because the sharks were waiting to attack at the first sign of weakness. Eli knew Marilyn wasn't like that, but it was hard to shake off ingrained responses.
But mostly, Eli hated appearing so weak and useless in front of Marilyn, hated her seeing him that way. He tried to do as much as he could himself, pushing a little further every day. He was determined to get himself into the wheelchair before the thing got returned to the rental agency. But he had trouble finding the opportunity to try it on his own, given the size of the apartment. Marilyn was always right there the minute he looked like he wanted to move.
Finally Eli made up his mind. She was in the shower. He was still in bed. His bruises were healed save for some lingering green-yellow discoloration. The muscles of his good arm and leg were as developed as they were going to get. It was time.
He swung both legs out of the foldaway so he could bring his good arm in reach of the wheelchair sitting just beyond the sofa's armrest. He pulled it into position and managed to heave himself mostly upright on one leg. He was just about to try turning his butt toward the chair when the bathroom door opened.
"Eli Court!"
Marilyn's shout startled him. Not so much the shout, but the anger in it. Eli lost his precarious balance and went down, managing to grab the edge of the bed to keep from hitting the floor too hard. The foldaway mechanism scraped a big chunk of skin off his ribs, but he didn't think the fall did any damage to his bones, broken or otherwise.
"What the hell are you doing?" Marilyn charged across the small apartment to kneel beside him. "What were you thinking? Have you lost every morsel of sense you ever had in that tiny pea brain of yours?"
"I was thinking it was about damn time I got myself in that damn wheelchair by my own damn self." He pushed her away, his bruised pride and his scraped ribs both hurting more than they ought. "Why did you have to screech at me like that?"
"What did you expect me to do? Stand there and watch you break your neck?" She grabbed his arm as he pushed at her and lifted it, gasping when she saw the raw, red skin down his side.
"Damn it, Eli--" Marilyn broke off and sank back onto her heels, then slid her feet from under her until she was sitting on the floor. She curled forward until her forehead rested on his shoulder next to the sling. "I want to strangle you," she said, voice quiet. "Or maybe shake you till your eyes roll back in your head."
He didn't have a clue what was going on, except Marilyn had her head on his shoulder and he didn't have an arm free to hold her with. One was broken and she was leaning against the other one. Just seconds ago, she'd been obviously, flamingly angry. Her words still held the threat of violence, but her voice held something else. Sadness?
"Marilyn--" Not knowing where to go from there, Eli fell silent. He lifted his broken arm in its clumsy cast until his fingertips could brush against her shoulder, move the dark curls back. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing." She popped to her feet. "Why should anything be wrong? Who cares if you break your neck because you're too macho to admit that you need someone else, even if it is just for a few days?"
She bustled into the kitchen and started banging cabinets, looking for something. Eli wasn't any too sure she knew what she was looking for.
"So what if you leave half your skin on the bed frame? No big deal."
"It's not." Eli agreed with her. Except he got the feeling that Marilyn meant the exact opposite.
He blinked, stunned into silence. Could that be it? Was her anger because he'd been hurt? Because he could have been hurt a lot worse? This was the first time he'd really seen her angry since the hospital. Nothing much seemed to make her mad. He never got a rise out of her, even when his teasing edged into the blatantly sexual. But before, she'd lost her temper because of the money, because he could have been hurt by someone trying to steal it. This time...was the same?
Marilyn vanished into the bathroom and reappeared carrying a tackle box which she set on the bed. "This is going to hurt," she said. "But you're so macho, I'm sure a little pain won't even make you blink."
Probably not. He was still having trouble getting his mind around the idea that his pain could affect her. "I'm sorry if I upset you."
She shrugged the apology off. "I'm not upset. Would it be better to get you up off the floor and then doctor your scrape, or doctor it first and then get you up?"
"I figured you were getting tired of waiting on me hand and foot. That you'd be pleased there was one less thing you needed to help me with." He watched her, willing her to look at him.
She didn't. "Up first, I think. Then the doctoring won't have to be done twice."
"Marilyn." Eli wanted her attention, insisted on it.
Finally she looked down at him, where he still sat on the floor. "If you're in such a hurry to get out of here," she said, "you might want to remember that you'll get there faster if you follow the doctor's orders. You could be starting over again from square one right now, after that stunt you just pulled."
"Don't you want me gone? Your mother's been calling every day to complain."
"Let her. If she didn't have you to complain about, she'd just find something else. It's my apartment and I'm happy to have you stay as long as you want."
He lifted an eyebrow, telling the growing warmth inside him that she didn't really mean it, she was just being polite. "You want to be careful, making open invitations like that. You might get more than you bargain for. You might never get rid of me."
"That wouldn't be all bad." She crouched beside him, offering her shoulder. "You're an easy houseguest, Eli."
"'Cause I stay where you put me?"
Her burst of laughter almost overbalanced them as they started up. He slid his butt onto the bed and leaned back to see her face.
"You do anything but stay," she said. "Lift your arm. Let me see what you did to yourself."
Eli obeyed, relieved by her laughter. "What can I say? I've always been easy."
Marilyn shot a glance at his face, shaking her head at him. "I'm sure you are. But I meant that you're easy to live with. You eat whatever I feed you. When I have things to do, you entertain yourself, but if I'm bored, you're willing to entertain me. Heck, you even share the TV remote."
She got up and went into the kitchen area where she wet a clean washcloth. "In fact, the thing that probably irritates me the most is the way you won't ask for anything. If you can't do it yourself, you do without."
That wasn't true. Exactly. He could tend to his own scrape, but here he was with his arm up in the air, letting Marilyn scrub off what little skin was left. Anything that meant her touching him he wouldn't argue with. He couldn't stop the sharp intake of breath as the threadbare cloth rubbed across a particularly raw spot.
"Sorry," she murmured. "I'm trying to be gentle, but it needs washing before I put anything on it."
"I know." He could scarcely believe it. "Not many would bother. Being gentle, I mean. Especially for somebody like me."
Her sharp look slashed at him. "What do you mean--'somebody like you'?"
"You know what I mean."
"No. I don't. Explain it to me, please."
He sighed. If she didn't understand, he couldn't explain it. Thing was, he thought she did know what he meant. She just didn't agree. Which both blew him away and worried him. Without better defenses, Marilyn was going to get herself hurt, if not by him, then with someone else further down the line.
"Trouble," he said. "I'm nothing but trouble."
"You're a pain in the ass. But you're not trouble. Not to me. You rescued me from the bad guys, remember? That makes you one of the good guys." She opened the tackle box, a homemade first-aid kit, and rummaged through it until she came up with a tube of antibiotic ointment.
Eli sighed. Things were getting uncomfortably serious, had been for a while. But he had one or two more things to say before he tried to lighten them
up again. "It's been a long time since anybody cared if I got hurt. I'm not used to that. So I'm sorry if I upset you."
Marilyn stroked the ointment carefully over his scrape, her gentle touch stirring things down inside him that had nothing to do with sex. Or not much anyway. "You've been taking care of yourself a long time, haven't you?"
He nodded, wondering where she was going with this. He didn't really want to think right now, just feel.
She went back for more ointment. "I can see how it would gall you to be dependent on someone else. And I really don't want to do for you what you can do for yourself. But can you understand that right now there are things you just can't do?"
"Sure." He'd agree to almost anything right now if she'd just keep doing what she was doing. She could move right across his chest all the way to the other side. So what if the sling and cast were in the way. He could move them.
"I'll make you a deal," she said.
"Anything."
Marilyn paused and blinked up at him, a smile spreading slowly over her face. "Who was it said to be careful about issuing open invitations?"
Eli grinned back at her. "Long as you don't kick me out, babe, I'm all yours. Anything you want."
She smacked the back of his head. He was beginning to think of those light blows as love pats.
"I should know better than to think you might give that up," she said. "I've about decided that the only way you'll stop propositioning the nearest woman is if you're unconscious."
"Or dead," he agreed.
"Bite your tongue. I don't want to hear that word, dead." She capped the ointment, dropped it in the kit and went on. "It's like your brain is on autopilot. If there's a female handy, you open your mouth and a proposition pops out, even if you don't mean a word of it."
"If I didn't mean it, I wouldn't say it." Eli tried to hold her gaze, but she looked away. He went back what she'd said. "What's your deal?"
"I know you have to test yourself, see what you can and can't do as you heal. I'd like you to promise me you won't try anything new unless I'm there."
"So you can catch me in case I fall on my ass?"
Marilyn slanted a look at him. "It's not your ass I'm worried about."
"What do I get out of the deal? If I promise you, what do you promise me?" He didn't know why he asked or what he wanted, but he wanted something. Wanted more.
"I promise to catch you. And bite my tongue when you start doing something stupid."
He shook his head. "That's part of my promise--to let you catch me. And I don't care what you say. Your promise has to be different. Has to be something I want."
"Well, that leaves out sex, doesn't it?"
Instantly his body went hot and tight, zero to sixty in point five seconds. He never would have brought it up, certain she would not only refuse but probably kick him out if she thought for one second he was serious. But she was the one who brought it up, sounding like she honestly believed he didn't want it. Was she nuts?
"Marilyn--" Eli racked his brain for words to convince her of the truth, and the phone rang.
"Promise me first, Eli," she said, moving toward the phone.
"I promise. But you owe me one back."
"Yeah, yeah, okay. Fine." She picked up the receiver and punched the button. "Hello? Oh, hi, Mom."
Marilyn put the phone against her shoulder as she plucked a T-shirt from his bag and tossed it to him. "And put on a shirt," she whispered.
"Hurts." He raised his arm to show her his scrape again. But that wasn't the reason he left it off. Not anymore.
Six
***
Marilyn's mom wanted a ride to the store. Marilyn had been gone maybe half an hour when Eli realized the phone he heard ringing wasn't on the television. He backed his chair into the corner and dug his cell phone out of the magazine basket.
"Court," he said. "Talk."
"Eli, is that you? Where are you?" Teresa's voice sounded high and thin. Scared.
"Around. What's up?" He wheeled to the sofa and dug the remote out of the cushions to mute the TV.
"Are you in Pittsburgh? What about Pete? Where is he?"
"He's safe. Talk to me, Tee. What's going on?"
"I need to find Pete. I want my son."
"He's safe. What about you, Teresa? Where are you?" The ache in his gut told him she wasn't where he'd left her.
"I want my son." Her voice rose in pitch, nearing hysteria.
"What do you want him for? What's going on?"
"Damn it, Eli, give me my son. He's my son. You can't keep him from me."
"He's my son, too, and I'm not going to let you trade him for a week's high like your mother did you."
Silence roared in his ear a long moment.
"I wouldn't-- I never--" Her protest came too slow, too full of stammers.
"Don't try to bullshit me, Tee. Where are you? At the shelter?"
"They hate me. I couldn't stay."
Eli closed his eyes in weariness. He had tried. Again and again, he'd tried, but some people carried their own destruction around with them. "They don't hate you. They have rules. Rules that help you. Keep you safe."
"I can't do rules. You know that. You gotta help me."
He could hear the desperation in her voice, the way he'd heard it so many countless times before. "I can't do that, Teresa. I told you. This time you brought Pete into it. If you don't stay where I put you, if you don't do what I said, I can't help you anymore. Didn't I tell you that?"
"But Eli--"
"Didn't I?" He pressed, needing her to believe him.
"Okay, yeah, that's what you said. But you didn't mean it. I know you didn't. You can't."
"I can. I do."
"But he's going to kill me if I don't tell him where Pete is. You gotta help me, Eli. You have to."
"Who's gonna kill you? Flash? He can't find his ass with a diagram and a flashlight." Not exactly true. Flash had a nasty nose for profit and a vicious streak that rivaled a cornered rat. Only Flash didn't have to be cornered.
"Eli, I'm scared."
"I know." He could feel himself softening, the way he did every damn time Teresa got herself into trouble. She was the mother of his son. He didn't love her. Never had, truth be told.
But he loved Pete. Loved him with everything he had in his crippled heart and blackened soul. He'd never known he could love anything so much, never thought it possible, before that tiny, reddened body had been placed in his arms seconds after his birth. Pete had blinked his big eyes up at Eli, his crying stopped, and Eli tumbled head over heels in love.
He'd barely been sixteen himself, but he'd sworn at that moment that he would never let his son down, never betray him the way Eli was betrayed, the way Teresa was. Pete would be safe. He would have what he needed. When he was a baby, he'd needed Teresa, so Eli had made sure he had her.
She'd been clean back then, mostly. She kept the dingy apartment he'd found for her as nice as possible, took good care of the baby. When Eli had the chance to escape the streets, she told him to go. Pete was almost a year old by then. Tee had a job and a grandmotherly neighbor to watch him. They were okay, doing good. So he'd grabbed his chance and run. But he always came back.
He had to. He needed to see how they were doing, how big Pete was growing. That's why Eli got the cell phone, once Pete was big enough to start school and could remember numbers. Pete could call him any time, for any reason, even just to talk. If he needed something, Eli came. He'd always sent them money. These days he sent it straight to Pete. Eli didn't need much. Pete and Teresa did.
Pete didn't know Eli was his father. He wanted it that way. The kid didn't need to know. He deserved a better father than Eli. He deserved a better mother than Teresa, but she was all there was.
Though the last year or so, when Pete had called and they'd talked, it seemed like Pete had been the one looking after Tee rather than the other way round. Maybe he didn't need her so much anymore. Eli hoped so, because even if he wanted to, he didn't kno
w what he could do for her this time.
"Eli?" Teresa sounded hopeful at his long silence. She had always been able to tell when she was getting to him.
"Go back to the shelter, Tee. You'll be safe there."
"I can't." She sniffled, working hard to sound pitiful. "I'm high. They won't let me in. Come get me, E. You don't have to bring Pete. Don't tell me where he is. Just come get me."
"I can't. I wish I could, but I can't." He didn't tell her he was almost glad he couldn't. He wanted to help her, and yet.... And yet.
"Damn you, Eli! Fuck you!" Her words got even filthier. "You could. You just won't. You always did like that kid more than me. Well, I don't care. I'm going to find him anyway. I'm giving him to Flash. You hear that? I'm going to give him away."
"No, you won't." He knew she couldn't find him. The boy wasn't even in Pittsburgh, but Tee's ranting still made his gut ache. "I won't let you hurt him, Tee. Not anymore. You've hurt him enough already."
"I'm sorry." She was sobbing now. "I'm sorry, Eli. I never meant to. It's just--it's hard, you know? It's so hard, and I'm so fucking scared all the time."
"Go back to the shelter. There's a park across the street. Wait there till you come down. Flash won't look for you there." He hoped she would do it, but didn't have any faith that she would. Teresa wasn't much good at follow-through when she was high, unless somebody held her hand every step of the way.
"Can't you come get me? You don't have to tell me anything. Just come get me. I'm in the old neighborhood."
"Believe me, Tee, I'd come if I could. But I can't. I really, honestly can't. Go back to the shelter."
Her crying made nonsense of the words she still tried to speak. When she finally caught her breath, she said "Tell Pete I love him. Tell him I tried. I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry."
