by Gail Dayton
"Why?" Eli wheeled his chair toward her. "You liked it. I know you did. Or was that somebody else's tongue in my mouth?"
"Don't, Eli." She tried to move away, but he'd blocked her into the corner between the kitchen counter and the bathroom door.
"Don't what? Don't kiss you? Too late. Don't be crude?" His laughter was harsh. "Too late for that too. Don't want you? It's way the hell too late for that."
What did he mean by that? Then the question skittered away as he wrapped his arm around her waist and leaned his head against her stomach. His broken leg angled into the corner behind her so that she stood virtually between his legs. Standing up had been another mistake, a big one, given the level of his head and the fact that he could get closer to her.
She pushed at his shoulders, trying to push him away, but he merely tightened his hold. If she didn't have to fight against the part of herself that reveled in his touch, she might have been able to escape.
"Come on, Marilyn. What can it hurt?" He turned his face into her, nuzzling her stomach, his breath coming warm through the knit of her sweater, softening her resistance.
His leg cast bumped against the cabinet and Marilyn found strength to break free. She retreated back to the dining table. "You," she said. "It could hurt you. Have you forgotten your broken bones?"
"I promise I wouldn't feel a thing." His smile was wicked as he came toward her again.
"It would hurt me," she said, then.
That stopped him. "How?" He looked down at his casts. "I'd be careful. You'd have to be on top, obviously, but I'd keep my arm back. The cast wouldn't touch you."
She shook her head, lower lip caught between her teeth. "That's not what I'm talking about." How could she explain it to him when she wasn't entirely sure she understood it herself?
He frowned. "Then what--?" He watched her a long while as she chewed on her lip.
After a minute or two, he looked away and started rocking the wheelchair slightly with his hands on the wheels, as if he wanted to move it, to come closer, but couldn't quite work up the intent.
"I don't think that's a problem, Marilyn," he said then, lifting his eyes to watch her. "Yeah, I know you're a forever kind of girl-- I mean, you fell in love with your husband when you were still in high school. But we both know I'm not a forever kind of guy. I'm not the kind of guy girls like you--"
"I'm not a girl, Eli," Marilyn broke in, needing him to see everything that stood between them.
"No, you're all woman. Even more reason. 'Cause I'm not the kind of guy women like you fall for. I'm strictly short-term, completely resistible. I know it. You know it. So where's the problem?"
He rolled the chair a few inches closer. "It's just a walk on the wild side. What's wrong with that?"
She shook her head. "I don't know. I mean--I don't know if I can. I'm--" She took a deep breath. She didn't know if she had courage to say it out loud. But this was the new Marilyn. Even if she was as big a coward as the old one. "I'm afraid," she said, to prove she wasn't.
Eli's head jerked back, as if her words had been a physical blow. Then he nodded. "Okay. I get that."
He fell silent, apparently thinking, a few more minutes before speaking again. "This is the deal, Marilyn. My side of it--what I want from you in exchange for what I promised this morning. I want you to think about it, really think about trying this thing out with me. Just for a while. However long it lasts."
His gaze met hers and held it. "I won't push, now you know I'm serious about what I want from you, as long as you take it seriously. Take me seriously. You do, don't you?"
He watched her, so intent it made her quivery all over again, waiting until she nodded. "Yes," she said. "I know you're serious."
"Okay then." He backed away. "So, you think about it--seriously--and decide what you want."
For the next several days Marilyn tiptoed around Eli. She would have liked to think they tiptoed around each other, but it wouldn't have been true. Eli stomped around in figurative steel-toed boots, given that he was barefoot in a wheelchair the vast majority of the time. He knew what he wanted, crazy as it seemed, and made no secret of it.
Marilyn, on the other hand, didn't have a clue. Or maybe she did know exactly what she wanted and it scared the pee out of her. And she didn't know what to do about any of it.
Then her sister called. She hadn't heard from either one of them since Christmas.
"Kate, hi. What's up?" Marilyn didn't ask whether Mom had put her up to the call. She knew the answer.
"Mom's birthday. She's seventy next week and Sue and I want to have a birthday party for her."
"Great. What can I do to help?"
"Not a thing." Which meant that the party was all Kate's idea, all Kate's plan. Sue taught high school English and didn't have time to blink this time of year, much less plan a party.
Kate went on. "Just show up over at Mom's Saturday night. Sevenish. Bring your friend."
"My...friend? Which friend?"
"The--um-- Don't you have someone--um--" Kate faltered, apparently unable to accuse Marilyn of living in sin, even in a roundabout fashion.
"You mean Eli? He's staying with me for a few weeks."
"Yes. Yes--um--Eli. Bring Eli."
"What about a present?" Marilyn decided to quit torturing Kate.
"You know Mom. She says she doesn't need presents."
Marilyn laughed. "And then she gets insulted if you don't bring one."
Kate laughed too. Sometimes she could be almost human, when she wasn't trying to out-Martha Ms. Stewart. "You're right. Better bring a present."
"All right then, Katie. I'll be there. I'll even bring Eli, if I can talk him into coming. You be sure to tell me if you need me to do something, okay? I mean it."
"Okay, okay. I'll call you."
When she hung up, Marilyn knew she wouldn't hear a peep. Kate had control issues.
"I heard my name," Eli said, bringing himself closer in his chair. "What was that about?"
Marilyn sat down at the table. Sitting kept him at a slightly safer distance. Though she was pretty sure no distance was exactly safe. "Mom's having a birthday party. You're invited."
"Thanks, but no thanks. I don't feel like being the number one exhibit in your mom's private freak show."
"I don't blame you."
Eli backed toward the living area, then returned. "Why'd she invite me? Your mom hates me."
"She's also about to die of curiosity. I guess inviting you to the party is easier for her to do than calling and telling me to bring you over for inspection."
He shook his head. "No way. I'm staying right here."
"Suit yourself. Of course, this means I'll spend all evening getting grilled about you. Who you are, what you do, how you wound up at my house. On and on and on and on..."
"Won't work. You're trying to make me feel sorry for you, but I'm still not going."
"I said fine, didn't I?" Marilyn pushed him back to give herself room to stand and headed for the front closet. "I'll take pictures. Maybe I can just pass around a few pictures of you and shut them up that way."
"Still can't talk me into it. But go ahead and take your pictures. Should we fold the bed out for a pose? You got a timer on your camera? We can take one of us together."
"On the sofa. Not the bed." Marilyn found the camera bag on the middle shelf and got it out.
"You're no fun." He pretended to pout.
"Never said I was. I think the last pictures on here are left over from Christmas." She turned the little 35mm camera on, pointed it and took a picture.
She flatly refused to open the sofa bed for the picture Eli wanted. But she did figure out how to work the very basic timer and managed to get a couple of pictures of the two of them, without cutting off their heads and feet to take a picture of their stomachs like Mom always did.
When she got them printed, Eli took one and mailed it to Pete. He left a few dollars in the envelope where he got the stamp. He'd taken to hiding money in places
around the apartment--in her dresser, or the sugar canister--because she wouldn't take it when she went to the supermarket or anywhere else.
He slipped another photo out of the stack, one of the ones of him and Marilyn together, where she was laughing at something he said. That one went in his gear. He knew better, but he couldn't stop himself.
Eli knew better than to go to her mom's party with her, too. But as Saturday crept closer, his guilt level grew. Or maybe it wasn't exactly guilt, but if it wasn't, he didn't want to think about what it actually was.
"I'll go to the party with you." It was Saturday morning and Eli sat in his wheelchair, fresh from his shower, the plastic bags still around his casts, while Marilyn pulled their breakfast toast from the toaster. The minute he spoke, he wished he hadn't, but couldn't take it back.
She stared at him in surprise. "You don't have to. I don't mind."
"I mind. You have to face this--this family inquisition thing because of me. I should be there to face it with you. So you don't have to do it alone." He should take the out she gave him. He didn't do moms. Or any relatives. But here he was arguing her into it. He'd gone nuts.
The look in Marilyn's eyes changed, softened somehow, and she got this little smile that was part happy and part sad. It made Eli ache somewhere down deep inside in a place he didn't know he had, much less could ache like that.
"Thank you, Eli," she said after a minute. "I'd like that."
Her sudden acquiescence surprised him. He'd expected her to argue more. So, did the fact she didn't, mean she really wanted him to go and was glad he'd offered? He hoped so, but wasn't sure.
He wished he was glad he'd made the offer. He wished he was glad she accepted it. He wished he could stay home tonight. He truly did not want to go to this party. But if Marilyn needed him, if she wanted him there, he would go.
So, at six o'clock that night, he found himself fighting his way into jeans with one leg split open almost to his ass and a long-sleeved T-shirt stretched to the limit over his cast. He shaved carefully and put his good earring in, the tiny diamond stud he wore on the right side above the little gold loop on special occasions. Then he vacated the bathroom and twiddled his thumbs while he waited for Marilyn to get dressed.
She looked classy in that red sweater he liked. It made her look soft, approachable. Touchable. But of course he didn't dare, not after the way she'd reacted to his kiss.
She thought kissing him was a mistake, jerking away from him like she'd touched a snake. He didn't have any business kissing her, grabbing her like some asshole the way he did, but he hadn't been able to stop himself. And for a minute there, in the middle of the kiss, Marilyn had kissed him back.
She'd melted into him, gone all soft and womanly and kissed him back. Till she remembered who she was kissing. She promised to think about doing it again, about maybe doing more, but he knew she wouldn't. It didn't have anything to do with how old she was or how old he wasn't, no matter what she said. It was all about Eli and who he was, and that was no kind of man for Marilyn.
On the drive over to Marilyn's mom's house, Eli got to hold the present--a box of fancy perfumed powder. Mom lived east, practically to Monroeville, in an old suburb built up and down steep hills. The houses that backed up to Mom's street sat at the top of fifty-foot unbroken flights of stairs. Marilyn said she and her friends used to watch deliverymen wrestle appliances up those stairs for fun.
Her mom's house sat flush with the street, with the backyard descending in steep railroad-tie terraces from the daylight basement level. Eli caught a glimpse of it as Marilyn wheeled him up the sidewalk from their parking place three houses down. It took some effort to get him inside the house once they reached it. She helped him hop up the few steps to the porch, then left him balanced there on one foot, holding onto the wall, while she went back to wrestle the wheelchair up.
The front door opened while all this was going on, but the short gray-haired woman who had to be Marilyn's mom just stood there watching, without offering to help or call anyone else to do so. It made Eli mad, but he bit back the words that wanted out. He didn't need to antagonize people before he got through the door.
"Who is it, Mom?" A woman's voice called from inside. "Is Marilyn here?"
The woman who appeared moments later could only be one of Marilyn's sisters. Tall like Marilyn, but thinner, with a perfectly groomed cap of light brown hair, she peered out through the glass at Marilyn who'd just gotten the wheelchair onto the porch.
"Well, for goodness' sake, Mom, why didn't you call one of us to help?" And the sister came outside in time to get in the way while Eli was trying to turn and sit down.
"Kate, if you could grab the wheelchair handles," Marilyn said, smoothing Eli's ruffled waters, "we can do the rest of this. We've had plenty of practice."
Eli held onto the wall, waiting, watching while Marilyn and her sister did a little shuffle dance before sorting themselves out on the narrow porch. He let Marilyn hold his arm, though he almost did it better by himself these days. He needed that extra connection with her in this place where he felt so out of place and unwelcome. It had been a long time since he'd been in this position, and he didn't like it any more now than he had then.
Marilyn bent down to "help" him with the brake. "Just till the cake," she whispered in his ear. "I can last till the cake, then we're outa here."
"Sounds like a plan to me," Eli muttered back. He checked the movement on the chair and nodded.
"Let's get you in out of the cold," Sister Kate said in a voice so sweet Eli almost broke out in sugar hives. She opened the door and he wheeled through, crowding Mom a little when she didn't back up quickly enough.
Marilyn's family was assembled in the old-fashioned living room. Eli hadn't seen anything like it--family or furniture--except on TV. He shook hands with Joey, glad to see a familiar, mostly friendly face, and gave him his coat. So did Marilyn, except she hugged her brother instead of shaking his hand.
Eli watched Marilyn for a clue as to what he should do next and overheard Mom in a hissed conversation with Kate.
"What made you think I wanted that--that criminal in my house?" Mom was saying. "What brain fit made you invite him?"
"Shh! He'll hear you," Kate hissed back.
"I don't care if he does." But Mom still whispered.
Kate went on as if Mom hadn't spoken. "And I invited him because you kept going on and on about how you didn't know anything about him, you wanted to know who he was, you wanted to get a look at him--well, now you can find out anything you want to know and look at him to your heart's content."
"He's probably casing the place, checking out what he can steal," Mom said.
"Relax, Mom," Marilyn said out loud, making her sister jump and blush. "You don't have anything worth stealing. If Eli were a thief, which he isn't, he'd turn his nose up at your ancient TV and your Betty Crocker stainless."
Eli grinned. Damn, he liked this woman.
"Everybody," Marilyn went on, "this is my friend Eli Court. You'll have to forgive him for not getting up for the obvious reason. Eli, this is my mother, Delores Franks."
"Hey, Delores." Eli wheeled his chair closer and bumped his good fist against the one she tried to keep out of his reach. Her expression made him grin--all scrunched up like she'd just stepped in doggie doo. That's what Mom would call it. No word so crude as shit would come out of her mouth.
Marilyn introduced him to Sister Kate and Kate's husband Norman, and to Sister Sue and Sue's spouse Trey. Sue looked closer to Kate's age than Marilyn's, somewhere in the next decade. She looked like a high school teacher, which it turned out, she was. English. Trey taught algebra. Norman was a loan officer at some branch office bank, and Kate apparently did nothing except live slightly beyond Norman's income.
"And what do you do, Eli?" Kate asked brightly when everyone's credentials had been established.
"I fix things."
"Things?" Mom still glared at him. "What kind of things? You a fixer? You mak
e dead bodies go away?"
"Things. Toasters. Lawnmowers. Chainsaws. Dishwashers. Furnaces. Motorcycles." He didn't know why he explained, since it would probably be more fun to go on letting Marilyn's mom think he was some kind of small-time hit man. But Marilyn had never asked and he wanted her to know.
"There isn't much I've found that I can't fix. Though it's a little tough to do right now without two hands. And those computers they put in cars these days have made them too much trouble to work on unless you spring for all the fancy tools. I probably will someday, when the time comes."
At the conclusion of his long speech, everyone stared at him, including Marilyn. He winked at her as he grabbed one of the fancy cheese-and-cracker things Kate had put on the coffee table and popped it in his mouth.
"Dinner!" Kate clapped her hands together, as if she'd just invented the concept. "Everyone go sit down in the dining room and I'll get it on the table."
"Let me help you with that." Marilyn moved toward her sister, but Kate waved her off.
"No, no, I've got it. Sue can help me if I need it. You get Eli taken care of." And Kate bustled away.
He rolled his eyes when Marilyn looked at him, and they both hid smiles. He could move himself to the table just fine, but apparently he wasn't to be left unattended.
Eight
***
Marilyn took the handles of the wheelchair to push him into the dining room, but bent down beside him when he beckoned.
"Is it just me," Eli murmured when she got close enough to hear, "or does it seem like Kate is a little hopped up on speed to you too?"
She laughed. "She's always like that. I've had the urge to strangle her at least once a day since we were kids for being so bright and cheery. I think she has a 'speed' metabolism."
"What's so funny?" Mom demanded as she passed.
"Kate," Marilyn said, surprising Eli. "We were just wondering how much coffee it took for her to have energy enough for everything she does."
