Just as predicted, the musical horn from the limousine tooted on that Sunday afternoon as Michael returned.
He entered the door, “Hi, Honey! I missed you.” He gave Amber a brief peck to the lips and then entered the family room where Paulette sat. “How's my girl?”
Paulette smiled in return as she received a kiss on the cheek.
Amber called up the stairs, “Trista, Dad's home!”
Trista galloped down the stairs, “Daddy!” Upon hugging her stepfather, she excitedly informed him of how well she could do penny drops.
“Really? Well that's great! I'm proud of you!” Then Michael asked Amber the usual question. “What's for dinner?”
“I've got chicken marinating in the refrigerator. I was waiting for you to come home before putting it on the grill.”
“That sounds great! I'll go down into the wine cellar and pull a bottle for dinner.”
But this only meant that Amber should wait about an hour before putting the chicken on the grill. Gone for nearly five days, Michael apparently felt it was best to pay a visit to Linsey's chamber some four-hundred feet below the wine cellar. Most likely he would return with a half-empty bottle of some Pinot Noir and a full wine glass that would be dumped into the sink.
This was just another one of those things that added to Amber's unhappiness as a wife. She wondered how long it would take for a husband in mourning to get over the loss of his wife. She presumed maybe a year-or-two before all would be well. But going on eight years, their anniversary in just two weeks, Amber still felt the presence of Linsey in her home.
Consider the hypothetical example of a woman only a few months from presenting her husband with divorce papers, but is surprised with his unexpected death. How devastated she is. How she sobs at his funeral and lays a rose on his coffin while crying out, “I love you!” She might even confess some months later to sleeping on his side of the bed and often praying and seeking his guidance. It's sad, really, how death restores the years to those early moments of falling in love. If your wife hates you and constantly nags, don't worry. She will love you with all her heart as you lay in the casket.
If death can restore love to a bitter marriage, imagine the effect it has on a man or woman who loved a spouse so dearly. The fact is a deceased husband or wife will continue to be loved. You can never compete with a dead person! Expect photos, souvenirs and sentimental gifts to continue to be displayed in the home for years to come. Instead of competing with the deceased spouse, why not treat your lover with care and befriend the beloved departed while showing respect? He or she is in a better place and wishes only the best for you. At troubled times you can even ask the departed, “Did he or she do this with you as well? How did you deal with it?” You'd be surprised how an answer is most often given.
Unfortunately, Amber did not understand this. And this might have been half of her problem all those years. But then it certainly was odd of Michael to have made a death mask of Linsey and then develop it into a statue-head to be adored as some relic that appeared to grant the power of clairvoyance. Pictures and a few souvenirs is one thing. But to treat a piece of morbid artwork as if it were somehow an incarnation of a deceased spouse, then place it in a chamber to be visited in near worship would be enough to disturb anyone.
Ten minutes after six o'clock, Amber stood outside, flipping the chicken on the grill. Upon returning from the basement, Michael brought with him a half-empty bottle of Pinot Noir and a full wine glass that was carefully dumped into the sink.
Michael's eyes darted at Amber, “So what was wrong with wheelchair lift?”
This surprised Amber. She didn't recall making mention of it. “Huh? Oh yeah, it stopped working Wednesday night and then started up again this morning.”
“So it stopped on the night I left town, and then started working on the day of my return?”
Amber maintained a blank stare.
“Hmmm…” Michael quickly walked over to the stairs and operated the lift while following it up to the second level and back down again. “Well it seems fine. I don't notice it being off track or any burning smells.”
Amber further added, “I know, it's weird. Maybe there was a short or something. Maybe we should have someone come out and take a look.”
Michael said nothing else and walked over to the patio door. “Is the chicken almost done?”
“I just flipped them over before you came up.”
Michael then ordered, “Well why don't you go outside and see if they're almost ready. It smells like they're burning.”
This was another small item that contributed to Amber's sudden dislike of her husband of seven years. Once-upon-a-time he would excitedly asked, “Mmmmm… What's for dinner?” To whatever answer given, he would surely exclaim, “It smells delicious. I can't wait!” But now he only asked the question in such a way to make sure Amber did her wifely duties. It wasn't uncommon for Michael to complain of how it was being cooked, or demand that she check to see if it was done.
While outside, Amber soon realized why she was ordered out of the house. She concluded that Michael was asking Paulette about the recent days of his absence. In fact, Paulette probably made mention of the wheelchair lift while Michael initially greeted her. The two often spoke through facial expressions and near intuition. That was the only explanation Amber had for Michael's sudden knowledge of the wheelchair lift.
* * *
For over seven years, Amber hadn't a morning when she could just sleep in. Caring for both Trista and Paulette required that she rise early. Even with Trista on summer break, and enjoying her new schedule of sleeping in late, it was still necessary for Amber to awake early and care for Paulette.
Strange things were beginning to happen in the Dickly castle. There was almost a subtle energy of change that was soon to lead to disaster. If you've ever examined the days in retrospect to a sudden crisis or catastrophe, you might have noticed many mishaps along the way—indicators that could point to something about to happen.
On that Monday morning after Michael's return, a small indicator light flagged trouble in the Dickly castle. In the middle of preparing Paulette for her bath, Amber soon galloped down the stairs and into the kitchen where Michael poured his first cup of morning coffee. “Michael?”
“What?”
“There's no hot water.”
“No hot water? What do you mean?”
“I was filling up Paulette's bath water and it's cold. There's no hot water.”
In the middle of taking a sip of coffee, Michael nearly slammed the cup down on the counter. “Oh for cripes sake, Amber! What are you talking about, now? What the hell is going on around here? First the wheelchair lift won't work, and now we have no hot water?” Michael slapped the kitchen faucet to the hot water position and wacked the water on as if smacking someone in the face. His finger trembled in outrage while under the water, gauging the truth in what Amber was reporting.
Amber watched in disbelief at her husband's behavior. It was in that moment that Amber realized she was married to a grumpy, old man. He was certainly not the person she fell in love with.
Then he pounded the faucet back down with a hammer fist while speaking words of vile blasphemy, asking God to curse those things which were already in a poor state. Michael growled at his young and beautiful wife, “Can't you take care of the house like a wife is supposed to do? I mean can't you take care of this? There's no hot water! So call a freaking plumber! I've got a business to run and don't have time to waste at the dingbat farm!” Michael stormed back upstairs.
And so the young and beautiful Amber was nothing more than a dingbat who couldn't function as a housewife. The last time Amber heard the word dingbat would have been some late night rerun of All in the Family. Did her husband really see a comparison between Amber and Edith Bunker?
Although in further resentment of her husband and very close to deciding she no longer loved him, Amber looked through the phonebook for what appeared to be a decent plumber. S
he always felt that the first ad in the section of a phonebook was an indicator of a professional business. But the first plumbing company advertised was a good hour away. It was necessary to follow the page down until finding one located in Mapleview. Mapleview wasn't far from Sillmac, so that was the plumber who received the call on a Monday morning in June. Amber was promised to have a visit by about eleven o'clock that morning.
In the meantime, poor Paulette was informed of the inconvenience. “…unless you want to take a cold bath.”
Paulette shook her head, no.
Of course Amber wasn't going to start the morning unwashed. With a visitor coming, she had to be in her best appearance. Amber washed her long, beautiful hair while being careful not to make contact with the cold water as best as possible. Then she sponged herself down in the shower and quickly rinsed while shivering. How lucky I am to be the narrator. For only I can see Amber's beautiful, naked skin with goose bumps and many other treasures left to imagination.
While Amber dried off, Michael rudely entered and announced his need to do morning sit-down business. And of course he had to crudely ask, “What are you taking a shower for? Can't you wait a couple hours? Do you have somewhere important to go today?”
Amber remained silent while thinking to herself, “It's better than being a miserable, stinky, old man!”
Amber dressed in the bedroom while Michael did his business behind the closed bathroom door. While Amber brushed her hair in the bedroom mirror, Michael emerged upon the sound of the toilet flushing—hadn't even washed his hands! The bathroom always stinks when a man does sit-down business. This is why most of us kindly spray aerosol, turn on the fan and shut the door while exiting. But Michael left the door wide open so that the vilest stench that one might expect to smell in the nursing home wafted into the bedroom, nearly causing Amber to gag.
Amber exclaimed, “Pew!”
The old man was proud of what he birthed. “What, you think you smell like a rose?”
Again, Amber remained silent while thinking to herself, “At least I wash my hands and spray aerosol when I'm done.”
Lately, Michael had a problem with Amber's appearance. He watched as his young and beautiful wife applied lip gloss then asked, “Why do you have to dress up every day? Every time I see you, you're in some cute, tight-ass jeans or shorts and a nice top. I mean it would be nice to have a normal wife that dresses in normal clothes.”
Amber was finally at rope's end as she put the lip gloss down. “A normal wife; like a grumpy, old, fat, miserable hag? She'd be the perfect match for you!” Then Amber stormed out of the bedroom and back downstairs.
* * *
Just as promised, the doorbell rang at five minutes to eleven o'clock. With Michael upstairs in his office, Amber rushed over to the door to answer. Her heart nearly stopped and her face flushed when she saw who the plumber was. The gorgeous hunk who accompanied his miserable, haggard wife in the grocery store on Saturday now stood at Amber's doorstep. If you recall, Amber took great delight in exchanging deep, bedroom eyes with him on Saturday and twitching her ass while walking away. She was safe in that moment as his wife was nearby. But Amber was in trouble, now. Not only was the gorgeous hunk away from his wife, but he remembered Amber, as evidenced by the mischievous smile in his eyes.
“Hi, you called for a plumber?” Now he was asking to come in!
“Uh, yeah, we're having trouble with our hot water.” Amber stepped aside and motioned the plumber to enter while her eyes remained fixed to the floor.
“I'm Alex.” He extended his muscular arm.
Amber finally looked up and took his hand for a brief, business shake.
“And you are?” It was so rude of the sexy, delicious, little lady not to introduce herself.
“Amber; Amber Dickly.”
“Dickly? As in Dickly's Hardware?”
Amber smiled and nodded.
“No offense, but your stuff is way, too overpriced!”
“Uh, that's my husband's business. I've never even stepped in a Dickly's.” Perhaps mention of her husband would have restored Amber's safety.
But Alex didn't care about Mr. Dickly. He asked with a playful grin, “If your husband owns a chain of hardware stores, why can't he fix the hot water?”
It was a good question in Amber's mind. “Well, he's upstairs in his office doing busy things.”
“Oh, I get it; the business guy that doesn't know how to use tools?” Making a couple potshots at Amber's husband certainly strengthened his ego and confidence, enough for Alex to get down to business. “So why don't we look at the most logical thing, first. Have you checked your hot water heater?”
Amber shrugged her shoulders and shook her head, no.
“Okay, can you show me where your hot water heater is?”
“Ummm… it's probably in the basement.”
Clearly, the sexy, delicious, little lady was clueless of anything mechanical. She was just Alex's type! He asked, “Can you bring me to your basement?”
“Sure!” Amber motioned the plumber to follow, this time being extra careful not to twitch her ass under the cute, denim shorts.
It was almost as if Alex could instinctively locate the utility room in the basement. Although Amber hadn't the first clue of where it could be located, Alex nearly led her to the room once downstairs. He opened the door, flipped on the light and then examined the hot water heater for a moment. “Well what do you know about that?”
Amber was suddenly nervous. “What? Did you find something?”
“Yeah! The valve that allows water to the hot water heater is closed. There's no water coming in. Are you sure no one was down here before?”
“Not that I know of.”
Alex wore a queer expression and then turned the valve open. “We should wait a few minutes to check for hot water. Are you sure maybe your husband wasn't down here?”
It just wouldn't have been a logical explanation. Considering Michael's behavior, he was very surprised—extremely irate—that there was suddenly no hot water. And Amber certainly didn't close the valve. She wouldn't have known the first thing about it. “No one was down here as far as I know.”
Waiting some minutes before checking for hot water would have left plenty of time for an activity that Alex so badly wanted. But he wasn't sure about the customer. She seemed so uneasy with his presence. With such uncertainty, Alex would have to follow plan B. He spent a few minutes with Amber in the utility room, explaining the anatomy of the hot water heater, sometimes drawing close with no other purpose but to feel her energy and smell her scent.
Plan B was unfavorable for Alex. In reality, he never executed plan A or plan B, but rehearsed them in recent time in case ever needing them. Plan B was less aggressive, more subtle and left the ball in a customer's court. After finally verifying that hot water had been restored to the Dickly Castle, Alex pulled out his business card with direct, emergency number. “Here's my card. If anything ever comes up—anything, leaky pipes or maybe the valve for your hot water heater is suddenly closed—you give me a call. Call me anytime, day or night. I'll be sure to answer.” Then his eyes smiled so mischievously, hoping the customer would get the message.
The ball was now in Amber's court.
Chapter Twenty-one
A couple weeks passed since the incident with the hot water heater. Michael and Amber celebrated their eight-year anniversary together that was nothing spectacular, just a nice dinner out and some more jewelry from Michael as a gift. But it did surpass seven years together, which surely meant both husband and wife made it through the seven-year itch.
But Amber certainly itched while laying in her bed, alone, on a night when Michael was away on business. Sex wasn't all that great in recent months—actually in the past couple years. Michael was becoming increasingly unappealing. Due to her husband's old age, it was beginning to feel for Amber that sex was being had with her father. Michael's breath was beginning to remind her of some crotchety, old man. And although sh
e did her best to overlook these small items for the sake of intimacy with her husband, Michael was having increasing difficulty with performance. The man was overworked and neglected to care for himself. He ate much, too well while on the road. His stomach grew into more than just a cute pouch that a lovable hubby might develop in older years. Rather, it was like having a partially-deflated beach ball wedged in between her and Michael. High cholesterol and blood pressure was causing circulation problems for the old man. Although beta blockers and cholesterol medicine significantly corrected a potentially dangerous health problem, Michael's testosterone levels were in serious decline as he obviously reached andropause (menopause for men). To put it bluntly, the man needed help “getting it up” in bed. Thankfully, Michael's doctor determined that he was healthy enough for sexual activity. But although male performance drugs were safe to use, intimacy required extended foreplay—servicing Michael for bothersome periods of time, if you will—which usually led to frustration and irritability for Michael as he complained that Amber wasn't doing it right. She often wondered if Michael was really into sex anymore.
Sex was just no fun, at all, for Amber! Ashamed, she sometimes recalled younger years when some boy would make out with her and rub his swollen desperation against her thigh. And before Trista was born, Amber enjoyed exhilarating sex with Matt (Trista's father). In younger years, guys were always ready for Amber. And although she hadn't thought much of it then, looking back, it felt so good to be wanted and desired.
Who else might have appeared in Amber's imagination while stirring restlessly in bed? Desiring a young man so strongly, Amber suddenly imagined the plumber. Alex was so muscular, so much more appealing than her crotchety, old husband. It would only be necessary to touch Amber, and the flames would ignite between them. Alex left his business card with emergency number, even emphasized answering a silly call brought on by a sudden closing of the valve to the hot water heater. The ball was in Amber's court. But why was she so hesitant?
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