Caught in the Crotchfire

by Kim Hunt Harris

  I took the scissors but it was slow going using my left hand. “You’re not going to look now, though, right?”

  “Are you kidding? Of course I am.”

  “Why, Tony Solis. I should tell your mother.” For a second, I regretted the joke. A million years ago, when we were sneaking around behind his mother’s back and meeting for secret trysts, I would make that empty threat. Neither of us wanted his mother to find out then, because we knew she would not hesitate to kill us both.

  “She’d just tell me it’s about time,” he said. “You want me to come around the other side and do it from there?”

  The scissors kept bending the fabric instead of cutting it, but I finally got it.

  “Okay,” I said. I took hold of the waistband of my jeans with one hand and the fence with the other. Tony got on his haunches again and put his hands under my armpits. He lifted me and moved up about a foot, then the edge of my jeans caught again.

  “Ha!” I said, triumphant. I wasn’t so fat I got stuck!

  Except the tug almost made me fall again. I clutched the fence again. “Wait, wait.” Tony held still, hoisting me in mid-air, and I quickly let go of the fence and ripped the bit of denim out of the fence.

  I rose the rest of the way and stood, still clutching my jeans, trying to figure out the quickest logistical way to get from one pair of pants to the other without flashing my bare naked behind. I looked around the dumpster. There were a couple of alley lights but it didn’t appear there was anywhere I could go that was completely dark.

  I toed off my shoes and stood as close to the back of the dumpster as I could, while Tony stood behind me to block the way.

  I took a deep breath and grasped the jeans with both hands. “Are you really going to look?” I whispered.

  His face was dark, but I could still feel the intensity of his gaze. “Are you telling me you don’t want me to?”

  I thought for a second. “Nope.” I slid out of the jeans as fast as I could, and he held the sweats for me. They were up and over my hips in record time.

  I could see his teeth flash in the dark. He looked like a happy man.

  “Okay, you two,” one of the cops said. “All set?”

  I took a deep breath, ridiculously happy. It was because I’d been rescued from my distress, I told myself. And a little bit because of Tony’s smile.

  Big Mr. Henry came out with a key and unlocked the back gate, and Tony and I followed the cops around the side of the house to the squad cars. I had to repeat my story to three more cops. It was kind of annoying and I should have been in a bad mood. But I wasn’t.

  Chapter Ten

  Date Night

  I was in such an obnoxiously good mood the next day, I started to annoy the other groomers at Flo’s Bow Wow Barbers. I didn’t care. Love was never failing. I finished my dogs, made polite conversation with Doreen and dredged up some actual admiration for the Snow Baby baby she’d received the day before. Back at Trailertopia I jumped into the shower, getting ready for Date Night.

  I couldn’t stop thinking about Tony’s grin in the dark last night.

  I was ready early, so I took Stump over to Frank’s and went back into my prayer room for a quick thank-you prayer.

  When Tony knocked, I opened the door and smiled at him.

  “Surprise!” Tony’s niece Isabella jumped out from behind him.

  I jumped, only partly pretending shock. I put my hand over my mouth to hide my dismay. “Oh my gosh! You scared me half to death!”

  Isabella giggled. “You didn’t know I was coming!”

  “I did not know you were coming, that’s right.” I looked at Tony. “This is a surprise.”

  “I was at Margaret’s house and said we were going to the movies. She begged me to take her.” He shrugged. “She’s been begging me to take her to see the new Scooby Doo movie for two weeks. Is it okay?”

  What was I going to say, no? I did like Isabella. It just wasn’t what I had in mind for the evening.

  Isabella scooted happily into the middle of the bench seat and tugged at her seat belt. Tony reached over and helped her buckle it, tugging the belt to tighten it.

  Immediately, she moved to slip the shoulder strap behind her.

  “Nope, nope, nope,” Tony said. He cocked his head at her. “Where is your memory, Bella? Are you a forgetful old lady? We just talked about this,” he chided gently.

  “But it’s going to choke me,” she said with a dramatic but clearly fake pout.

  “No, I’m going to choke you if you don’t wear your seat belt right, and then I’m going to take you home and no movie for you.”

  “You’re so mean,” she said, but with clearly no real heat in it.

  “And don’t you forget it.”

  We went to Joe’s Crab Shack first, because it was near the movie theater and it had a playground for Isabella.

  We got a table on the patio, and I tried to find something on the menu that looked both (a) not a thousand calories and (b) not so healthy that I would pout later. I gave up and ordered the chicken Caesar salad with the dressing on the side.

  I couldn’t help but pout a little, though, as we passed by the Julia Roberts romantic comedy poster and Tony bought three tickets for Scooby Doo and the Creature From Inner Space.

  Isabella sat between us. There went the hand-holding. There went the possibility of Tony’s arm around my shoulders. I mean, I liked Isabella, I really did. But less and less by the minute.

  After the movie, she parked her butt once again between us, and I couldn’t help but think that she would be just as safe by the door. But that would be silly and selfish, so I smiled and nodded and pretended to laugh as she told the same knock-knock joke ten times. Then she got quiet and fell asleep.

  Tony’s eyes met mine over her head and he smiled. For a second it was as if she was our child. It had almost happened. We’d had a child — well, we’d had a pregnancy. The promise of a child. But even if that pregnancy hadn’t ended when a pickup t-boned me on the Idalou Highway, I couldn’t imagine a moment when Tony and I looked at each other fondly over the head of our sleeping child. I could imagine, easily, lots of drama train-wreck moments. But a moment like this…no. Wouldn’t have happened.

  He pulled into Trailertopia and killed the motor, then reached up and flicked off the dome light before we opened the door softly, so as not to wake Bella. I pushed my door gently closed with a soft push, and he did the same, and silently walked beside me up the wooden steps of my front deck.

  I turned to him, anticipating a good night kiss. But he was looking back toward the truck, as if he was distracted. A thought suddenly occurred to me.

  The constant accompaniment of Tony’s family members. It wasn’t just a coincidence. He was orchestrating things so we wouldn’t be alone.

  “Did she wake up?”

  He kept looking toward the pickup. “No, I thought maybe…but no. She’s still asleep. Well…” He turned toward me with that enigmatic smile. “I guess I’d better be going. Get her home.” He leaned in to give me a quick peck.

  I took hold of his shirt front and held on. Not roughly, but firmly. I stood on tiptoe and kissed him again.

  “Tony,” I said.

  He raised his eyebrows.

  “Are you keeping people around us so you can avoid being alone with me?”

  As soon as the words were out of my mouth, I sank slowly back down and steeled myself. Tony would not lie to protect my feelings. Not when I’d asked him a direct question.

  He didn’t answer, though. He just looked at me with those deep brown eyes. I tried to read what was there. Sympathy? A touch of embarrassment, maybe?

  “I don’t know,” he said finally. “Yeah, maybe. A little.”

  We stared at each other, neither of us sure what to do or say next.

  I took half a step back. “You don’t have to, you know. You can say you don’t want to be around me. I can handle it.”

  “It’s not that I don’t want to be around
you,” he said. He reached out and ran a finger through my hair, from my forehead to my ear, his face serious. “It’s not that. It’s just…”

  We stood in silence for so long that my heart became heavy with dread. If he couldn’t say it, it must be bad. Very bad. Maybe he was ready to break things off for real.

  At the thought, my throat got tight and my eyes burned. I blinked, panicked at the thought that this was the moment I’d been dreading, when I’d spent the entire day so convinced that he really wanted me.

  “Salem, it’s not — ”

  “Tony!” Isabella called from the pickup. She was crying.

  He rushed down the deck steps to reassure her. I could hear him shushing her, telling her he’d take her home in just a minute. I walked to the edge of the deck, my arms wrapped around my waist, hugging myself against the mild chill of the night, and listened as he comforted Isabella softly.

  He walked back to me with a lopsided grin. “I do come with a big family, you know.”

  “I know that. I also know it wouldn’t be big if couples didn’t manage some time alone every once in a while.” I regretted that as soon as I said it. I didn’t want to make him feel like he had to choose between his family and me. And I certainly didn’t want to give the impression I was ready for us to have another baby. But the words were out there.

  His smile faded and his jaw locked. He stuck his hands in his pockets. “Yes, well…” He looked at the ground. “I need some time, Salem. You have to give me some time.”

  I had a thousand questions, but I wasn’t sure I was ready for the answers. So I leaned down, gave him a light kiss, and went inside.

  Chapter Eleven

  Escalation

  All in all, I wasn’t in the best frame of mind to be contemplating a weekend with my mother. Friday morning, I stumbled into my prayer room and lit my candles, but I was irritated before I even got started. If God brought me more confusing messages, I was not going to be happy.

  Trust in the Lord with all your heart, and do not lean on your own understanding. Proverbs 3:5 (ESV)

  I bowed my head and sat back. Actually, that felt like sound advice. It wasn’t as if I had a better idea, at any rate. I said a prayer of gratitude, with a side plea to maybe remind me at regular intervals over the weekend that I was to remember that (a) Love never fails and (b) trust God over my own understanding, just in case it looked like (a) might be incorrect.

  As Friday progressed, I felt myself reciting the two verses over and over. My stomach was in knots, anticipating the weekend ahead. By three in the afternoon, though, I decided I needed to call in reinforcements. I walked outside to the sidewalk in front of Flo’s.

  “Windy, call Les.”

  “Dialing right now, honey,” Windy said.

  Dakota pulled up in his pickup and saw me. He grinned and gave me a thumbs up. I returned the gesture, but inside I was kind of a wreck.

  “My mom’s going to be here in about three hours,” I said. “I’m not sure I can handle it.”

  “Do you need to call her and cancel?”

  “No, I — I can’t do that. I have to go through with it. I just — will you pray for me? I mean, right now? And all weekend?”

  “Of course I will.”

  He said a prayer, and I did feel better, if a little foolish. I was talking about a weekend with my mother, not combat.

  “Bonnie and I will be thinking of you all weekend. Do you need a ride to church Sunday morning?”

  “Actually, yes. I’m going to see if Mom will come with me, and if she does, we’ll ride together.” But who was I kidding? Mom wasn’t going to go to church with me. “But I’ll probably need a ride.”

  “Okay, then. I’ll see you Sunday morning. Between now and then, call me if you need anything. Seriously, Salem. Day or night. Call me.”

  It was comforting to know that I could call, but I hoped it wouldn’t be necessary. I didn’t like that what he said sounded uncomfortably close to what God was saying the other morning in my devotional time. I didn’t understand it, but I didn’t like it any more from Les than I had from God.

  Trust in the Lord. Don’t lean on your own understanding.

  Love never fails.

  I recited the words over and over as I finished my dogs, as Doreen drove me home yet again, as I watched the ticking clock creep closer to six, when she was supposed to be there.

  The problem was, love kept getting pushed aside by a rotation of anxiety that I would set Mom off, then resentment that I should feel anxious at all, when I was the one trying to do the good thing here, then a long list of I-thought-I’d-gotten-over-that-a-long-time-ago memories.

  A few weeks before, I had gone by the outlet store and picked up some cute place mats and napkins to decorate the table. I put them out now, thinking that I would have preferred to have an entirely different house to invite Mom to, but they did not sell those at the outlet store.

  Frank came in and plopped down on the recliner. Stump climbed into his lap and was already getting droopy-eyed.

  “Hi,” I said. “Listen, I’m making a Fat Fighters recipe for dinner.”

  He froze, and his eyes got a little wide. “The celery thing again?”

  “No, tonight it’s spaghetti squash tacos.”

  He blinked. “Spaghetti and tacos don’t go together.”

  “It’s spaghetti squash. With black beans and taco seasoning.”

  He snorted. He was Hispanic, and his mother was an excellent — and authentic — cook. She would have fainted before she’d used pre-made taco seasoning.

  But he wasn’t at his mom’s house. He was at mine, and the meal was free. “I just thought I should warn you. Also, my mom is coming over to stay for a couple of days.”

  Frank nodded. “Excellent.”

  “Yes, well…we don’t see each other much, so if I start acting weird, it’s because, well…I’m a little weirded out about the whole thing.”

  “No problem.” He went back to watching some Spanish-speaking drama where a curvy long-haired rich woman and a maid seem to be having a disagreement about something.

  I pulled up the Fat Fighters app and found the recipe I’d marked earlier. I read through it quickly, realized I had retained nothing, and read through it again. I read the first three steps and decided that was enough to be getting on with for now. I washed the squash, then cut it down the middle and cut out the seeds, tossing the soggy mess into the sink for the garbage disposal to deal with. I put the two halves on the cookie tray and slid it into the oven. Then I realized I hadn’t preheated, and took it back out to preheat, going back over the recipe with the level of concentration of someone studying for the bar exam, then slid it back in when it seemed like enough time had passed for the oven to be at 375. Then I slid it back out when I realized I’d placed the squash with the cut sides up, when the recipe had clearly stated “cut sides down.”

  “Loser,” I muttered under my breath. “Can’t even cook a friggin’ squash right.”

  I closed the oven. Frank was standing behind me.

  “Aaagh!” I jumped back. “Jeez, Frank, what are you doing? You scared me.”

  “Who are you talking to?”

  “I wasn’t talking.”

  “I heard you say something.”

  I stopped for a moment, running the past fifteen seconds through my head. I realized with some embarrassment what I’d just said. Mom hadn’t even gotten here yet, and already I was a mess.

  “Nothing,” I said. “I was just talking to myself and freaking out too much.”

  “Is this that weirdness you were talking about?”

  “Yes,” I said firmly. “Exactly. My mom makes me a little crazy.”

  Les had talked about this some in meetings, about how the addict and alcoholic tends to beat everyone to the punch, running themselves down before anyone else has a chance.

  I tried to remember if my mother had ever come right out and called me a loser. She called herself that, then she’d wrap her arms arou
nd me and say, “We losers gotta stick together, right?” Others could be swept into this fun society, too — her friend Susan, mostly. They’d get drunk together and do something crazy or embarrassing, then giggle over what losers they were. It was a badge of honor.

  Misery loves company. Those two loved each others’ company, that was certain.

  I hadn’t thought about Susan in a long time, but the memory left a sour feeling in my stomach. Susan could be okay sometimes, but mostly I just wished she’d go away. Her son was a creep, and Mom never spent time around Susan without doing something that made me mad or ashamed.

  Memories of Susan were not going to keep me focused on loving my mom, so instead I recited the verse from that morning’s devotional over and over. I chopped onions and cilantro and said, “trust the Lord” over and over under my breath until the words lost all meaning and started to sound like a made-up language.

  Six o’clock came and went, and I checked my phone to see if maybe she’d texted me and I’d missed it. Nothing. I went outside and checked to make sure she wasn’t driving around, lost, but the trailer was pretty easy to find. I walked out to the street and made sure you could see the number on the little white picket fence that covered the tongue of the trailer. Everything looked fine. I was glad I’d asked Frank to mow, though — the yard was no backyard paradise like the Bates place, but at least the grass wasn’t overgrown.

  I went back in and checked the beans. But they were beans — they were either hot or they were cold, that’s pretty much all beans could do. It wasn’t like I was making a souffle that might fall or something.

  I stewed for a while, then decided to text her.

  “Dinner’s almost ready,” I texted, because ‘Dinner’s already ready,’ would sound too petulant and get us started off on a bad note. “Are you close?” I hit send, then stared at the phone.

  Nothing, for ten more minutes.

  “Frank, do you have your phone with you?”

  He made a noise that sounded somewhat affirmative.