What I Remember Most

by Cathy Lamb

  “Then don’t touch it. You’ll be disappointed. It feels like wood. ”

  It felt oddly intimate to be that close to Kade’s bed. He slept here. Under the moon. When it was summer and winter. Naked? Half naked? Boxers? This was a bed you could bounce and cuddle in. “Why bald eagles?”

  “I love the bird. And they mate for life. They do this incredible dance in the air. They lock claws, spin and tumble, then break away, do it again.”

  “For life?”

  “Yes.”

  “Life is a long time,” I muttered, then shut my trap.

  “Life is a long time. Right person, good life.”

  I thought of Covey. If we were bald eagles I would take my talons and I would scrape him from his head, through his eagle dick, and down his wings. I would rip off his feathers, then stick my longest talon in his heart and turn it. I exhaled. Whew! Way too violent, Grenady, I told myself.

  “You don’t agree?” Kade asked.

  “I think it takes an enormous amount of luck to meet someone you can be in love with for your entire life.”

  “Me too. But I believe in luck. Don’t you?”

  “I believe in good luck and bad luck, but mostly I believe that when the good luck arrives we should be grateful and when the bad luck arrives we should beat the crap out of it.”

  “You always say things that make me think, Grenady.”

  I could tell he was amused. I turned back toward the bed and the in-love bald eagles. I wondered how many women Kade had had in this room. He was tall, rough, raw, incredibly masculine, and manly. It was a small town and I hadn’t heard anything, but a man like that certainly wouldn’t have to live an abstinent life. Still. Dating someone in a town like this would be awkward, too. When you broke up, the whole town would know it. Ugh. No privacy.

  I decided that I did not like any of the women who had been in Kade’s bald eagle bed. All were undoubtedly weird with odd compulsions. They probably liked eating drywall or hoarding Barbie dolls and earwax.

  I turned away from the bed on which one could bounce and cuddle before I grabbed him and pulled him down. He was my boss, problem number one. Problem number two, I was still married. Problem three, he would not want me to grab him and might be disgusted. Four, I do not need a man in my life to screw with my head again.

  I left the bedroom but kept stopping to enjoy his home, the peaked ceiling, the chandelier made from antlers . . . and the staircase. Honestly, it was the neatest staircase I’d ever seen. The banister was built to resemble entwined branches.

  I stopped to touch it. “You did it, of course?”

  “Yes.”

  “I think I’m going to steal your idea and paint a background of these branches, then make a collage on top of it, okay?”

  “It’s yours. You now have the penguin chair, the giraffe, and the branches on the stairwell. Anything else?”

  “I think I’ll take the rock fireplace, too.”

  “Hard to carry out the door.”

  “I’ll manage. I brought my muscles with me.”

  The pirate eyed my muscles and I eyed his. I let my gaze flutter away before I made an awkward lunge.

  “So tell me about the house. Did you draw pictures for years? Go to sleep dreaming about it?”

  “Both. I was young when I went to prison, but I was old enough to know I never wanted to go back. I used to lay on my bed in that damn cell and envision a new future, my own home. Not a small, cramped apartment. Not a dangerous neighborhood. No crime, no drugs, no guns. Pretty soon I was thinking about a home in the country, with a view of the mountains. That sounded better than the ghetto and gang fights.

  “I’d heard about Oregon, had never been, so I started studying towns and I settled on central Oregon. There was fishing and hunting and skiing, all things I wanted to try. I wanted land, outside of a small town, and I knew I’d find it here.”

  “And here you are.” I spread out my arms. “I love it. I’ve never seen a home like this.”

  “Come outside. You’ll like the view.”

  On the deck, the cool wind puffed by, the blue sky endless, the town of Pineridge spread out below. The view at night, with the twinkling lights, would be magical, especially if you were sitting in Kade’s hot tub. “How do you ever manage to leave your home and go to work? Leave the view?”

  “It can be hard.”

  “I bet. You work all the time and you’re away from this? Now that’s a problem.”

  “I miss it sometimes. I’ll be sitting in the office and thinking about being up here.” He grinned, so sweet, and leaned against the railing. It made him a little shorter. Maybe down to six two.

  “You can watch the weather change, the seasons change. Animals?”

  He nodded. “I see deer, squirrels, coyotes, raccoon, rabbits, bald eagles, golden eagles, peregrine falcons, and skunk, which I avoid.”

  “Have you named them?”

  “Named the animals?”

  “Yes.”

  “No. Not that friendly with them yet. Maybe when they come up and have a pizza with me I’ll start naming them.”

  “You have to name the animals. They’re your neighbors, only they’re furry and speak in their native animal tongue.”

  “Better than neighbors. They mind their own business and don’t gossip.”

  “Animals are not known for gossiping or minding others’ business unless they want to eat them.”

  Was his smile a tad flirty? Was I delusional?

  We were standing rather close. I could see that his dark eyes had flecks of green. I imagined him totally naked and in that hot tub with me on top of him, my breasts in his hands. I was burning hot in seconds. “It’s cold out here. Shall we go in?”

  “Thank you for coming to our semiannual State of the State of Hendricks’ Furniture,” Kade said to all of us, smiling in front of that towering, two-story stone fireplace.

  We clapped, and a few people whistled and hooted. I smiled. Rozlyn winked at me. She was wearing a low-cut blue dress to show off the spectacular girls. She’d said to me, “I decided to dare to be daring tonight.” She tapped her head. “I think it’s time to try everything now.”

  Eudora was cool and elegant, as usual. She had been rock climbing in a gym that day. “I rock climbed when I was younger—outside, not inside—and found it much more challenging than what I did today by far. And back then, I was wearing a heavy backpack full of gear, too.”

  Gear?

  “First off,” Kade said, “I want to thank Grenady for planning our party.”

  The applause and hooting was deafening.

  “I think we’ve moved up about ten levels in terms of class,” Kade joked, and everyone laughed. “Six months ago we were out on the deck in lounge chairs, slamming beers that I’d packed in coolers and eating pizza. This time we have a catered event with lasagna and calzones and wine poured for us by waiters in black with red aprons.”

  “Fancy!” someone called out.

  “And we have candles and flowers, glasses not paper cups, silverware that isn’t plastic, and napkins wrapped up in some strawlike stuff. Now we’re livin’ the high life.”

  People pounded the tables and clinked their wineglasses as the fire crackled in the fireplace behind him.

  “But, seriously, Grenady, this is real nice. Thank you.” One person called out, “Bravo,” and others followed suit. “Speech! Speech!”

  I laughed, but good golly God, inside I felt all choked up and dang emotional. I liked these people. It had been a long time since I’d been around a group, not counting the kids in my art class, who I liked as much. In fact, it had never happened before.

  Most of the employees at Hendricks’ are men. This is not sexist on Kade’s part; it’s simply that most of them are carpenters, which is a male-dominated field, and he has a furniture-building company.

  Although they would be bringing wives and girlfriends, the overall atmosphere I wanted was masculine, no frills and fluff—that was not Kade, that w
as not the company, but Hendricks’ was first class. So I needed a classy, Oregonian, natural, organic style.

  Over the tops of the crisp white tablecloths, I used burlap as a table runner. In the center of each table I put wildflowers, heavy in red, in three Ball jars on top of a stack of wood that represented the furniture we made.

  I bought wood chargers at a dollar store and used those under the pure white plates. I bought red napkins and tied raffia around them. I put out tea lights in wood candleholders on the tables, which I knew would sparkle off the crystal water and wineglasses. I also placed them on the hearth, the serving tables, and in the kitchen. I turned the lights down and the rock music up.

  “So let’s talk about the company,” Kade said. And he talked. Not too long, but enough to give us a clear picture of where we were. The finances were, in his words, “reflective of all of us working our asses off together,” which made everyone laugh.

  He talked about what type of furniture he wanted to build in the future, and how he was going to expand the markets.

  “I want Hendricks’ to grow, but to be honest, I don’t want the company to grow so much that I’m working eighty hours a week, or that you’re constantly working overtime. I know you have family and friends, and Phil and Glenna need time to get out for their annual hunting trip and come home without, yet again, any deer.”

  Oh, funny. Phil and Glenna stood up and bowed to loud applause. Phil yelled, “Hunting season isn’t only for the hunting. We drink beer, too!”

  “And we want to make sure that Harry has time for his fake motorcycle gang,” Kade said.

  Harry stood up, white hair still thick despite the fact that he’s seventy. “We’re not fake, Kade. We’re bonified! Certified! We’re dangerous. We’re lawbreakers! Don’t mess with us, son, don’t mess with us.”

  “And,” Kade said when the laughter died down, “we have to have enough time off so that Cory and Lan can, hopefully, get out there and find a date one of these years.”

  Cory stood up and protested, stabbing his fork in the air three times, “I had a date! Six months ago today. I had one, Kade! And I’m hopin’ for another one! Anyone got a sister? A cousin? A friend? A woman friend.”

  Kade thanked all of us for our hard work and then, “So let’s get to the fun part. Your semiannual bonus checks.” He rapidly called out people’s names, including mine.

  “Thank you, Kade.”

  “You’re more than welcome, Grenady.”

  I heard the happy chatter, the laughter. I opened my check. Oh, my shoutin’ spittin’ Lord. It sure was profitable to work for Kade. There was a note: “Party Planning,” and then the amount he paid me, over and above my bonus.

  I caught his eye. He smiled. I smiled back.

  Soon someone turned the music back up, the tables were pushed aside, and people started to dance. I have hardly ever danced in my life. I ended up dancing with Rozlyn and Eudora, Cory, Petey, and Angelo. It was a lot of fun. Rozlyn kicked off her heels and taught us a new dance that involved a lot of hip twisting and arm waving. She told me later, “I’ve always wanted to do that. Gotta boogie when you can.”

  I didn’t dance with Kade, but I wanted to.

  For these reasons I didn’t: One, he is my boss. Two, I might try to take off his clothes. Three, he might not want to dance with me.

  Ugh.

  Still, it was fun, and a couple of times I saw Kade watching me, that hard-ass face smilin’.

  I stayed afterward to help clean up along with about ten other people. The people who stayed to clean took home the wildflowers in the Ball jars. Kade insisted I take home one of the large bouquets. I would give it to Rozlyn. He would bring the other in for the lobby.

  Tildy’s waiters and waitresses said good-bye to Kade and me and left with their gear, the table and chair people came and grabbed their stuff, and before I knew it, everyone was gone, the last of the candles flickering, the fire burning down.

  “Sit down and have some of Tildy’s chocolate cheesecake with me,” Kade said. “I was too busy talking to eat.”

  “Me too. She told me to tell you she outdid herself again.”

  “She always does.”

  He cut me a slice and we sat on his couch in front of the fire. It was like we were an old married couple. We talked about the food, then we talked about the people there, the funny things that were said, the social dynamics.

  He asked how I became so adept at planning parties, and I said, “By force and by curse. That would be in my other life.”

  “If you want to talk about your marriage, I’d like to hear about it.”

  “If I talk about my marriage, I’ll start plotting evil ways to have my soon-to-be-ex husband beheaded.”

  “Don’t. That would be a crime.”

  “Might be worth it.”

  “That bad?”

  “Worse. Stupendously worse.” I realized I was clenching my jaw and forced myself to unclench it. “It was a poor decision on my part. Lost my brain on that one. Suckered in.”

  “We all make poor decisions.”

  “This was a doozer of a poor decision.” I rubbed my face. “Calamitous.”

  “How’s the divorce going?”

  “Also poorly.”

  “Will it be over soon?”

  “Probably not. He doesn’t want the divorce and he’s making things hard. His strategy is to crush and annihilate unless he gets his way.” I waved my hand. “Let’s not talk about this. If I do, I’ll turn into a raving mad woman.”

  “Do you have a good attorney, Grenady?”

  “I do.”

  “Do you need money to pay for the divorce?”

  “No, I’m fine.” I don’t take handouts.

  “Are you sure? I can give you the money if you need it—”

  “No.” My tone was snappish. I am sensitive to people offering to help me. There was always a catch, an emotional string, something that I would then owe to someone else and be beholden to, as if now they owned a piece of me and I had to pay it back in blood money. That was a scraggly mess I didn’t need in my life. “I can do it on my own.”

  “I’m sure you can, Grenady, but I’m happy to help if you change your mind.”

  “I got it. But no. I do not need help.” Now I was irritated. “Now you’re being irritating.”

  He chuckled. “Dang. Don’t want to irritate you.”

  “I don’t want you to irritate me, either.” I crossed my arms. I hated Covey.

  After a second Kade said, “So what’s the next collage you’re going to make?” and I took a breath, reined in my prickliness. We talked on, and soon it was natural and easy.

  About an hour later he got a call, picked up his phone, saw who was calling, and said, “I’m sorry, Grenady. I have to take this. It’s from that hotel in San Francisco—you got this business, remember? The man who owns the hotel has a vacation home in Carmel. You sold him a desk and two chairs. Anyhow, I told him to call tonight.”

  I nodded. “Go for it. I want to be alone with another slice of cheesecake, anyhow.” I felt silly being there still. It was late. I would leave as soon as Kade was off the phone.

  It was warm in front of the fire and most of the lights were off. A few candles still burned on the mantle where I’d placed them.

  I leaned my head back on his leather couch for only a minute. For one minute I would close my eyes, then I’d be back up. I would say good-bye to Kade when he was off the phone and head to my house....

  One minute.

  I woke up snuggled under two thick, white blankets with a pillow under my head. I sat straight up, totally confused. My hair was half over my face, and I pushed it aside.

  I was in front of a rock fireplace.

  My apartment does not have a rock fireplace.

  I was on a leather couch.

  I don’t have a leather couch.

  Someone was making bacon.

  I don’t have bacon.

  “Oh, my shoutin’ spittin’ Lord.” I peer
ed over the couch and saw Kade in a blue tank top and jeans making coffee, early morning sunlight streaking through those two-story windows. “This is bad,” I choked out.

  “Good morning, Grenady. And it’s not bad.”

  “Bad, bad, bad.” I tried to stand up, quick as I could, but my feet were caught in the blankets and I landed on the floor. I said a bad word, untangled myself, and popped up like a jack-in-the-box. I had spent the night at Kade’s house. His house! He was my boss! “I’m so sorry, Kade, I’m leaving. I’m so sorry.”

  “It’s no problem, Grenady. Want some coffee? I made bacon and eggs for us.”

  “Uh-oh. No.” I whipped around the couch, aiming for a fast exit, hit a carved wood chest and went straight down, again. I said yet another bad word and scrambled up.

  Kade was right there. “Are you okay?”

  “Yes. Yes, I’m fine. I have to go. What time is it?”

  “Seven thirty.”

  “I can’t believe this.” Then I heard myself mutter, “Shoot me a possum.”

  “Why can’t you believe it? And what did you say about a possum? Come have some of my coffee. You’re not late. Plus, the boss will give you a pass. He’s a reasonable guy, and I said last night that no one needed to be in today until ten o’clock.”

  “I know, I know. But I’m still here and they’re not and I can’t believe that I’m here still. Oh, my God. Where is my purse?” I put my hands to my head. “I can’t remember . . .”

  “It’s in my office. But come and sit down and have breakfast with me. I never have company in the morning.”

  Never? I thought. Never? No women in the bouncy, cuddly bed? “Kade . . .” I turned to him. “Are you kidding me? I can’t stay and have coffee with you.”

  “Why not?”

  He was barefoot. Casual, strong, that body hard and muscled out. He made it hard to think.

  “I can’t have coffee with you. I need to leave. This is a small town, Kade. I don’t need people talking about me, about us. I spent the night at your house. This is so bad.”

  He shrugged. “No one knows. I don’t care if they do. I stopped caring about what people think of me many years ago.”