After Hours: (InterMix)

by Cara McKenna

  “Lots of people don’t. Lots of people who aren’t dealing with possibly being medicated for the wrong disorder.”

  “That’s just an excuse.”

  I shrugged, laying my full house down to trump Lee’s three of a kind, and collected my winnings. “Not an excuse, just a factor.”

  “Like I said—too much credit.”

  “Until somebody gives me reason to think that encouraging you is detrimental to your treatment, you’ll just have to get used to it.”

  “I’m not real used to getting the whatcha-call-it. The benefit of whatever.”

  “The benefit of the doubt?”

  “Yeah,” he said, tossing all the cards in a heap and seeming done with losing for the time being.

  “Well, I don’t see how anybody can be expected to get back on their feet, if people keep kicking them when they try to stand up.”

  “I guess. But people must fucking love kicking, considering all the boot marks I got on my ass.”

  “Sadly, I think you’re right. Some people do get off on kicking.”

  “Thanks for the game, Nurse Downer,” Lee said, pretending—rather poorly—to find my wisdom depressing. He was welcome to the act, if it made him feel safer.

  “I prefer Ms. Coffey,” I said, standing when he did. “But anytime you want a game, I’m happy to whup your butt.”

  He responded with an eye roll and a “Whatever,” but I knew I had him.

  * * *

  If part of me was secretly wishing Kelly might initiate another encounter, then I was secretly disappointed.

  No catching me after sign-out, no turning up at my bedroom door. No calls. No nothing by the time my next pseudo-weekend arrived after Tuesday’s shift. Not that I had the time. I was babysitting Jack most of the day on Wednesday, and Thursday was for chores—an overdue trip to the grocery store, maybe call some apartment listings and work on moving away from campus. Though I was procrastinating that latter task.

  I needed to ask Kelly which neighborhoods to avoid in Darren, and I’d rather do that casually, during lunch on the ward. A phone call seemed too . . . personal. Ridiculous, when what we’d done on his couch and floor and bed had been pretty fucking personal. But calling him . . . That seemed too familiar, now that we’d sunk so thoroughly back into professional mode. Too normal, when I didn’t want Kelly to become a normal thing. He was what he was, and what had happened had been transcendent. I’d probably even mess up and let him seduce me again, if he hadn’t lost interest. But I would not put myself in a position to start thinking about him like a potential boyfriend.

  What we’d had for those two days had left me pretty self-satisfied, the secret wrapped around my shoulders like an invisible mink. Add to that my progress with Lee, plus two perfectly instinctual, by-the-book emergency sedations, and I was feeling damn-near confident. Damn near like I knew who I was, and trusted that I could survive the jungle I’d parachuted into.

  I got to Amber’s early on Wednesday, wanting to take her up on an offer to cut my hair before she left to go do more of the same, at work.

  She settled Jack on the floor with his trucks and got me ready at the kitchen table, draping a towel around my shoulders. As she finger-combed my hair, I marveled at how gentle it felt, after Kelly’s fists. The entire world seemed softer. Even the ward’s linoleum had looked cool and soothing after the burn of Kelly’s carpet.

  “Girl,” Amber said, scrunching my curls, “you are so overdue for this.”

  “Tell me about it.”

  “What do you want? Anything special?”

  “Nah.”

  “Something short and trendy?”

  “Like our toddler hair stays styled for more than five seconds.”

  “True. Something more romantic? I hear hockey fans can’t resist a girl with a mullet.”

  I snorted. “Just whatever. Just as long as I can still put it in a ponytail.”

  Amber evened out the layers and did that thing with a round brush and a hairdryer I envied. Normal women don’t stand a chance when they leave a salon.

  “Thanks,” I called, preening before the bathroom mirror. “Looks great.”

  “I gotta take off,” Amber said, leaning in the doorway. “But before I go, I gotta know. Who is he?”

  I whipped my head to the side. “Pardon?”

  She laughed. “Oh yeah, busted. You only ever say pardon when you’re being extra proper. Overcompensating.”

  “Why do you think I met a guy?”

  “Because you’re . . . I dunno. You’re all different. You’re even walking like you got laid.”

  Fuck a woman so hard she wakes up half-crippled. “How so?”

  “I don’t know,” she sighed. “All slinky.”

  I brushed past her, heading down the hall. “Well, I’m not seeing anybody, so you’re hallucinating.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  I snatched her keys off the kitchen counter and tossed them at her. “Don’t make yourself late.”

  Amber shouldered her purse and kissed Jack good-bye. “I will find out,” she warned me with an accusing finger. “I’ll be back a little after five. Oh and don’t let him pick at that hole in the couch. I can’t keep his frigging fingers out of there.”

  I rolled my eyes at the soft cuss and waved good-bye.

  If only this Amber were here all the time. Fun Amber, harried but generally responsible Amber. My mischievous baby sister. But the second Marco or whoever the next Marco might be rolled up in his stupid truck or SUV or on a motorcycle . . . poof. Self-destruct Amber, come on down!

  Though for now, things were peaceful. Jack was behaving, which meant life must have been pretty uneventful of late. When Marco was coming and going, Jack got way less of Amber’s attention, and you could tell from the way he acted out. But our day was nearly crisis free, the only incident being when a particularly large ant ran across Jack’s ankle and scared the bejesus out of him.

  Kids aren’t so bad, really, I thought, kissing his hair as he sat sleeping on my lap, conked halfway through a DVD. I’d spent so long assuming I didn’t want any, having felt cheated of my childhood, raising Amber, then giving up my carefree college years to care for my grandma. I’d grown convinced I didn’t have the energy to make that serious a commitment again . . . But Jack did weird stuff to me. Made me think maybe I had more capacity to love than I’d let myself believe. Or maybe the responsibility just didn’t intimidate me so much lately, after the kind of babysitting I’d been doing at Larkhaven.

  Amber got home early with bags of fast food in tow, enough for the three of us. While she gathered plates and glasses, I noticed another bag she’d left by the wall, heart sinking to discover it held a twelve-pack of beer. Marco’s beer.

  Like you’re even surprised?

  “Marco coming over?” I asked, in that incriminatingly casual tone Amber would have no trouble seeing right through.

  “What? No.” And I could see right through her, too.

  “You bought his brand,” I said, nudging the bag with my toe.

  “It’s my brand, too.”

  I shot her a look that said I wasn’t fooled, then dropped it. It’d been a good day. A fight-free day. Far be it from me to wreck that.

  At six thirty I got my jacket on and kissed Jack night-night.

  “Thanks again for the cut,” I told Amber. “And dinner.”

  “Oh, shush. Thanks for giving up your day off for me.”

  “It was fun. Really.”

  “I hope it’s not my fault there’s some sad man out there someplace, all alone when—”

  “God, stop it. I’m not seeing anybody.”

  “Yuh-huh.”

  I backed my way out the door, eager to escape her interrogation. “I’ll see you both soon, I’m sure.”
>
  Dropping into the driver’s seat, I felt unexpectedly energized. Maybe I’d grab groceries now, instead of the next morning. I liked being in the grocery store at night. That was when my mom had done her shopping, after dinner, and when I was little it had made me feel special, riding in the cart with us face-to-face—well, face to bosom, anyhow—and getting her all to myself for a rare half hour.

  I stuck the key in the ignition and turned.

  A-rr-rr-rr-rr-rrr.

  “Oh come on.”

  A-rr-rr-rr. Thump thump.

  “No, no no no.” I stroked the wheel beseechingly, but the Tempo wasn’t soothed. The fifth time I tried to turn the engine over, something made a scary grinding noise and I yanked the key out. “Motherfuck.” I rested my head on the wheel, took a deep breath, and calmed down.

  For the first time in my life, I could afford whatever repairs were needed. And I wasn’t due anyplace for thirty-six hours. If this had to happen, now was the best possible time.

  Still, I didn’t have AAA and I doubted a garage would be able to have me running again tonight, not by the time I managed to get to one. Plus a tow would cost me a chunk, and maybe the thing only needed something cheap. A jump, or a spark plug—I was thoroughly clueless about cars. There was an obvious answer to the problem. A big, muscly answer, about six feet and four inches’ worth of obvious.

  I sighed. At least we had the same schedule. Unless he was out wooing some other woman, Kelly would probably be perfectly happy to come rescue me. After all, it was number one on his tablet of man-commandments, those things guys were supposed to be able to do for their women. He’d already grilled me a steak. He’d fucked me half-crippled. Check the car thing off the list and I was in serious danger of fulfilling his macho prophecy.

  The notion made me weary, but I dug in my purse for my phone and scrolled to his number. My heart migrated north, like an Adam’s apple thumping in my throat as I listened to the tone.

  “C’mon, Kel . . .”

  After three rings, “Booty call?”

  I had to laugh. And I had to admit to myself, I was relieved he wasn’t off boning another girl when I needed him. “I have a favor to ask. A really annoying one.”

  “That’s my favorite kind. Shoot.”

  “My car won’t start. I’m at my sister’s in North Woodley.”

  I heard him grunt softly, like he was getting to his feet. “I’ll be there in an hour.”

  “Any chance you know anything about the engines of late-model Tempos?”

  “I may. And if I’m lying, I’ll bring a tow bar. Two-wheel drive?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Manual?”

  “Yes. And thank you.”

  Keys jingled in the background. “Address?”

  I dictated it.

  “On my way.” He hung up before I could say good-bye.

  I went back inside, finding Jack rolling his dump truck back and forth along the sofa cushions. Amber was crouched in front of the fridge, stacking beers in the crisper.

  She glanced up. “Forget something?”

  I shed my jacket and dropped my bag on the counter. “No, my car won’t start.”

  “Oh damn. Need the Yellow Pages?”

  “No, I called a friend. He’ll be here in an hour. If he can’t fix it, he can at least tow it out of your driveway and drop me home.”

  “That’s an awful handy friend to have. Who is this guy?” She drew out the guy, batting her eyelashes wildly.

  “He’s my coworker—an orderly from my ward. We’ve hung out a few times after work.”

  She shut the fridge door. “What’s an orderly, exactly?”

  “They do all the butch stuff. Restraining patients, lifting heavy equipment, escorting people. Just sort of be there, in case something needs doing.”

  “Like a bouncer?”

  “Pretty much.” Bouncer, orderly, prison guard. Whatever kept Kelly on top in a power struggle against dangerous men.

  Amber made a face. “An hour, huh?”

  “Yeah.”

  She looked to the microwave clock and nodded. “I gotta bathe Jack, but afterward you want a beer? Watch some bad TV?”

  “Sure. But let me deal with bath duty. You’re still in your work clothes.”

  “Best sister ever,” Amber declared, and disappeared down the hall to change.

  I wound up opting for a pop, but it was nice, sitting on Amber’s couch with Jack in his PJs between us, making fun of the people on a reality show. Reminded me of all the nights I’d spent babysitting Amber when I was a teenager. Hell, when I was eight. It made me want to drape my arm around her shoulders or stroke her hair, but those days were long gone. She was twenty-three, not five, drinking a beer instead of Hawaiian Punch. She was a mother herself now. A real mom. And my years spent raising her felt diluted by that distinction.

  I glanced up at the sound of a vehicle approaching then going silent.

  Amber was on her feet, jogging to the front window. “Blue truck?”

  “Boo truck!” Jack said, rattling his own such plastic vehicle in the air. “This is my boo truck!”

  “Yes it is,” I confirmed, smoothing Jack’s hair as I stood. I grabbed my keys and met Kelly as he was striding up the driveway. “Hey! Thank you.”

  He shrugged, eyeing my car. “What’s it doing?”

  “Nothing, sadly. I turned the key and it went ruhhr, ruhhr, ruhhr, then it made a worse noise, like a grinding squeal.”

  “Get in and try to start it.”

  But before I could—

  “Hey,” Amber called from the steps, waving for us to come inside.

  Oh Lordy. Did I really want Kelly meeting her and Jack? It felt too personal. But then that thought made me feel like a guy, all leery and compartmentalizing.

  Kelly looked to me and I nodded, knowing it was way too rude to refuse. We headed for the house.

  “I’m Amber,” she said as we reached the steps. She was using a toned-down version of the annoying, helpless-little-girl voice she employed when flirting. Find me adorable! it said, like our apple-cheeked faces didn’t scream the message loud enough. Protect me, you big, strong, capable man!

  “I’m Kelly. Nice to meet you.” They shook, Amber’s hand gulped by Kelly’s giant paw.

  “And that’s my nephew Jack,” I said, nodding across the room to where his huge eyes blinked at the stranger.

  Kelly waved. “Nice truck. Mine’s blue, too.”

  “This is my boo truck,” Jack said, then went back to playing, apparently satisfied by Kelly’s vehicular credentials.

  “Awful nice of you to come out and fix my sister’s car.” Amber was doing that other thing that annoyed me, developing a mild Southern accent, the auditory equivalent of parasol twirling. Unseen, I rolled my eyes.

  “You thirsty?”

  Kelly shook his head.

  “Need anything?”

  “Nope. I’m good.”

  “Well alrighty,” Southern Amber said, sounding disappointed. “I’ll let you get to work, then. Come in and get cleaned up when you’re done.”

  Back outside, Kelly opened my hood and we dicked around for at least twenty minutes, with no luck.

  “I can’t fix this. Not without getting underneath it, and a jack’s not going to cut it.”

  “Shit.”

  “But I brought a bar. I can tow you. Your hair looks nice, by the way.”

  I suppressed a reflexive urge to preen. “Thanks. Can you recommend a garage near work?”

  “Not really. But give me ’til tomorrow or Friday and I can probably fix you up.”

  My stomach sank. I didn’t want to be beholden to Kelly for this. Having to call him in the first place was disempowering enough. Dependent enough.
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br />   “You don’t have to. Maybe there’s a cheap place in Darren that could do it.”

  “Just let me,” Kelly said, leveling me with his stare.

  “Okay, fine. But not for free or anything.”

  “For the cost of parts, if you need any.”

  “And labor.”

  Kelly wiped his hands on a rag, real slow and thorough, with his eyes narrowed. “Pay me in some other way, if you want.”

  My inner fuse lit in an instant, and it was a short one. It always became shorter when I was near Amber. Like whatever impulsive chemicals we’d inherited from Mom surged when we got close. It must have shown on my face, as Kelly spoke before I could berate him for basically inviting me to prostitute myself for automotive favors.

  “Whoa now, crazy-eyes. Chill. I’m only trying to flirt. Not subjugate some vulnerable woman who can’t pay her fucking mechanic.”

  It pinched the flame off, right before I exploded. My shoulders slumped and I abandoned my outrage. “I’m paying you in money.”

  “Fine.”

  “Including labor.”

  “I said fine.”

  Why was I acting like such a douche about it, when Kelly was probably just trying to be chivalrous?

  Because he was behaving like a boyfriend about the situation, I realized. And I couldn’t start thinking about him that way. I couldn’t let things start feeling that way, because . . .

  Because why not?

  “Hop inside and put it in neutral. You steer and I’ll push. We gotta move you down to the road so I can get at your front bumper.”

  It took a while, but we managed to get the car onto the edge of the street, and Kelly backed his truck in front of it.

  He started pulling tools out of his bed. I watched his arms flex in the waning daylight, all covered in bruises and scars and black grease. Did I like him, like him? Probably. Was being with him, romantically, really such a terrible idea . . . ?

  I didn’t have the first fucking clue.

  He was a good guy, but he put me on edge all the time. Made it so I couldn’t relax, always monitoring myself to make sure I was sticking to my guns, retaining my independence.

  But the sex was fucking insane.

  But, he needed way too much control, and so did I. If we wound up in a relationship, it’d be an endless power struggle.