by L. B. Dunbar
“I should probably let you go. I have work to do here and I need to find something else.” The statement tastes bitter. I have nothing against being in this garage. In fact, I’m less stressed here than my previous employment, and the change has been rather nice. I go home at a set time and no work follows me. However, I need more income than Brut pays me.
“Maybe I could ask Ivy for something within the therapy school.”
Cripes, I can’t take more handouts. “No, Edie. That’s sweet, but I’ll figure things out,” I add with weak confidence. “I always do.”
“What about starting your own business?” Edie offers, and I snort in disbelief.
“Please. I can’t start a business right now. I need to feed my children first.” It’s a bit of an exaggeration, but I can almost picture Edie nodding. She knows what I mean. She told me she worked for years in a job she was good at but didn’t fulfill her like her position as manager of the therapy school. Gotta put food on the table somehow, she joked.
“Is everything okay between you and Hank? This is a lot to take in.” Edie softly adds.
“I’ve gotta go,” I practically whisper, my eyes closing once again.
“Okay. Call me if you need anything. Let’s get together this week.”
“Sure,” I say, my voice lowering. We hang up, and I pinch my forehead with my fingers. It’s going to be a long day.
“Why didn’t you say you needed more money?” The gruff voice startles me, and I spin to face Hank, arms crossed and leaning against the waiting room door. I’m ready to accuse him of eavesdropping, but the concerned expression on his face matches the pit in my gut. I can’t look at him. I refuse to feel sorry for him. It’s my turn to wallow in sorrow. My heart aches and I turn back for my computer although I’m blankly staring at the screen.
“And why can’t you start your own business?” The question brings to mind the night I told him of my dream. I’m blinded by the sweet memory of us dancing.
“I can’t.” It’s the only explanation I can give him. I see the reflection of him in my screen, but I don’t want to talk about this. I don’t want to talk at all. I need to find a new job and quickly.
“What about Pendelton?” Hank was pretty adamant I shouldn’t work for such a man, especially with his son’s advances. I tried to explain it was more about proving myself than getting the job. I wanted to feel I could acquire the account on my own.
I shrug, hoping to dismiss Hank, but I feel him step closer to my chair. I hear the rustle of his hand in a pocket and sense him lifting an empty coffee mug from the desk. Something metallic rattles against the ceramic and I turn with curiosity.
“If you still want to work for him, he’ll see you. I guarantee it.” His eyes weigh on the side of my face, but I don’t look up. Instead, I focus on the mug and the two metal cylinder pieces inside it.
“What’s this?”
“Spark plugs. His precious Bentley won’t start without them. I expect he’ll be calling soon. Better be ready for interview number two.” I can’t help but look up, questioning what he’s done. His only response is a wink before he turns for the garage.
30
A grand gesture, take two
[Hank]
I don’t tell her how I went to Pendelton’s offices. The low-rise building is black and sleek with a modern exterior of glass, but the inside contains dishware posters as its décor. The images prominently display their antiquated products. It’s a contradiction to the building and the designs Midge showed me. I don’t really want her working here, but I know she wants to prove herself to this ass, prove something to herself, and I want to help her see she can do anything. This is my grand gesture.
“Can I help you?” A pretty little blonde asks from behind a high counter desk. I don’t have an appointment, but Pendelton will see me. We’ve been working on his pricy toys for a decade.
“Hank Paige. Pendelton is expecting me.” When Midge didn’t get the job, I made him a counter offer, either see Midge as he promised, or his vehicle won’t run. He didn’t believe my proposition, so I’m here unannounced to collect on my threat. Instead of the old, white-haired man with a mousy looking mustache, I’m greeted by a man in his late thirties, clean-cut, sharp suit, tugging on his cufflinks.
“May I help you?” he offers, sneering at my hand and thinking twice about shaking mine. Grease sits under my fingernails. I left it there on purpose. “I’m Julian Pendelton.”
“I’m here to see the old man.” He’s definitely the one who interviewed Midge, and my fingers twitch to punch him. We stand facing off like one of those this or that comparisons. He’s prim, trim, and refined, like some of the dishes portrayed in the pictures on the wall. I’m the chrome edge and leather straps on Midge’s designs.
“My father’s busy. What can I do for you?”
“I’m thinking you remember Midge Everette. She interviewed here last week. She and your father had a deal.”
Julian smiles slowly. “Of course, I remember her.” The implication is clear. Midge made an impression, and this man hoped to collect with his offer.
“She’s my girl,” I clarify for him, “and your old man made her a promise. I’m here to see he holds true to that.”
“Why do I sense there’s a threat in your statement?”
“No threat. I keep my promises.” My eyes narrow as I wait.
“I’ll pass on your visit to my father.” He straightens the already stiff cuffs and excuses himself.
As I exit the building, I can’t miss the Bentley, parked front and center before the building. A quick unlatch of the hood, and I find what I need, proving I’m loyal to a fault.
+ + +
Although it’s nearly midnight, I finally have a chance to call her.
“Did I wake you?” I hear her rustle under the sheets, and I wish I was there. I’d smother her with my apology, kiss away her fears, and draw her against me.
“You okay?” Her voice remains steady, distant, and hesitant. I don’t like the separation I feel from her, but I know I put the space between us. Her silent treatment earlier in the day kills me. I don’t want it to be a reminder of someone else, although it is. But it also makes me reflect on the fact, I did this to myself. Midge was willing and wanting to give me an out for my son, and I pushed her over the edge. Still, I find it curious she asks about me, as if she’s worried about me, when I’m worrying about her. It’s a strange sensation to think she really cares about me.
“I’m good,” I say for lack of something else. I swipe a hand over my hair. Shit, this is difficult. “So, Pendleton finally called.” It isn’t a question. She sent me a text earlier in the day to tell me he did. I’ve been at the crisis center since three and it’s been a hectic evening.
“What did you do?”
“I just made him hold up his end of the deal.” Silence fills the line and I can almost imagine her twisting her lips with thought.
“Why?” It isn’t a question I can answer, knowing she’s upset with me. Because I love you.
“It’s my grand gesture,” I awkwardly explain. “I want to please you. I want you to be happy. If working for Pendelton means you get what you want, then I want that for you.”
“You didn’t have to do that,” she says, not addressing what I’ve just admitted.
“I wanted to.” It’s true. I want to do everything for her. “Let me drive you there tomorrow.” Sensing she’s about to object, I interject, “It’s insurance.”
“Insurance for what?”
“He’ll actually see you. He’s not getting his engine running until he does.” She huffs softly, but not fully giggling at my joke. I miss her laughter, and my heart pinches knowing I put the sadness in her.
“You nervous, little lady?” I cough to cover the slip. I’m trying not to pressure her, but I can’t help myself. She’s my little lady.
“No.” She pauses. “I think it’s lost its luster the second time, but I guess I should thank you for looking out f
or me. I know you must have done more than take those plugs.”
More. I owe her so much more. I want to give her so much more. I ignore her probing statement. I don’t want to explain the altercation with Pendelton’s son.
“No thank you is necessary, baby.” I wince at the use of another endearment, but I can’t help myself. I want to wrap her up and hold her and I’m tempted to U-turn to her house. I’m on my way home, and my bed wouldn’t be the same since I had her there last night. Her scent fills the sheets. “Let me drive you tomorrow,” I repeat.
“You don’t have to do that.” Her voice softens.
“Please. I want to.”
“Okay,” she hesitates. “The meetings at ten.”
“I’ll be ready.” Tomorrow won’t come soon enough.
+ + +
Leaning against the hood of Brut’s SUV, I wait. Midge seemed nervous during the ride here, fidgeting with her skirt. She remained quiet, rubbing at her forehead. Hopefully, it was nerves for the interview and not me. She returns forty minutes later. Crossing the parking lot, she takes my breath away in her tight red skirt and high heels. She’s a vision of businesswoman on a mission, and the determination on her face goes straight to my pants. I’m hardening as she strides toward me, and I itch to wrap her in my arms and kiss the crap out of her when she gets close to me. I hold the thought. Her lips curl slowly, and I step forward.
“Well?”
“At least, he saw me this time.” She shrugs, a touch of the confident woman fading a little. Her forehead pinches, and she reaches for it. “He said he’ll get back to me.”
I open the SUV door for her, telling her I need a moment. I step up to the Bentley, return the plugs, and then turn for the building. There’s a sense of being watched, so I salute the glass. Asshole. He better give my girl a chance.
Climbing into the SUV, I find Midge with her head against the window, stroking her forehead again.
“You okay, baby?” Her eyes close at the endearment, but I don’t care. I’m worried.
“I think I’ve worked myself into a headache. It will pass.” She continues to rub, massaging at her tense skin. We drive a few minutes in silence, and I wait on edge for her to explain what happened.
“It was good, though, right? He loved it.” I can’t stand the quiet between us.
“I think I did well. He was attentive, unlike his son, and took notes.” Suit guy comes to mind, and I cringe. He’s the type of guy she should be with, dressed the way she is. She’s smart and talented in a business sort of way. They would fit one another, and I grip the steering wheel harder. I don’t want her to fit with the uptight suit. I want her with me. She goes silent again, her head resting against the glass. I reach out for her leg, and when she doesn’t brush me off, I squeeze.
“I just need some acetaminophen or something,” she groans, but a half-hour after we get back to the shop, she squeezes at her temples as she sits at her desk.
“Why don’t you go home?” I offer.
“Brut will hate me. I already took time this morning. It’ll pass in a little bit.” She sits up, but the strain on her face hints at the pain.
Sometime after noon, I demand she take a break. The computer has to be adding to the ache.
“Lie down for a bit in the office. I promise no one will disturb you.”
“Maybe I should just go home?” Even her voice sounds stressed.
“Can you drive?” I don’t trust her nod. She doesn’t look well. Stepping forward, I lead her to the office.
“Just an hour. I’ll feel better in a bit.” I don’t know why she’s trying to quantify the time. If she hurts, she hurts. I spread a blanket over the couch and help her to her side. She curls into herself, clenching at her head. It pains me to watch her, so I kiss her hair and head to the shower. I’ll have work to make up, but right now, I need to be close to my lady.
31
It’s just science
[Midge]
I drift but don’t sleep. Drills zoom in the background. I think I hear water running. I will myself to melt into the couch. Not certain how much time passes, I sense someone before me. Fingers brush over my hair, and I know from the touch it’s Hank.
The cushions at my back are removed, but I don’t question anything. My head is killing me, like a vise wanting to squeeze my brains out. The pain above my left eye is severe enough I can’t open it even though the lights are off in the office and the blinds on the windows have been pulled. Gentle hands shift me, and Hank lies beside me. I can’t even muster the energy to ask what he’s doing.
“Lift,” he commands softly, and I pick up my head, my eyes opening in a fog. He presses my head back down against his bent arm. His other hand comes to my head, massaging light circles at my temples with a tender thumb.
“That feels nice,” I mutter although I’m not certain I speak. A light kiss on my forehead rewards me, and I realize the words left my mouth.
“I hate seeing you like this, little lady.” His typically rough voice sounds deeper, the concern a warm bath enveloping me. We stay quiet a moment as he works his magic with his fingers on my head.
“Were you like this with her?” The question isn’t angry or sharp or sarcastic. I’m curious as I recall him brushing and braiding my hair. I’d like to think I’m not a jealous woman, but I realize I am in regards to Kit Carrigan.
“Like what?” He stiffens beside me.
“Intimate.” His body relaxes.
“Isn’t that a fancy word for sex?” He chuckles softly.
“I didn’t think so. It means tender, close, connecting.”
“Then no. She didn’t suffer like this, but she would get stressed out. Sometimes, I needed to talk her down from the proverbial ledge. She was confident on stage but unsure off it.” There’s more he isn’t saying, and with the pain in my head, my heart can’t handle any more. He kisses me again, lingering at my hairline.
“Please, don’t think about her right now.” His voice cracks, and I shift against him. I nod but the movement pinches; however, his body heat seeps into me. He smells freshly showered and spicy. He cleaned up for me. My leg slips between his.
“Did you see Lawson?”
He chuckles in response. “Lady, quit worrying about everything. I’m going to see him tonight. I found a transition counselor, and she’s helping me figure out how best to enter Lawson’s life.” It must be so difficult. It’s not like someone said, surprise, I’m pregnant, and he has to learn to be a father from scratch. He’s starting at the top, when the child is an adult and has special needs in addition.
“That sounds like a good plan.” Another kiss meets my forehead while his thumb moves over my skin. We grow quiet a second.
“Intimate,” he repeats as if he’s been thinking about the word. “I like the sound of that.” I smile in response, because I don’t really want to talk anymore. Sensing this, he adds, “Rest, little lady. Let me hold you. Let me be here for you.”
The words remind me of our first meeting. Hank is here for me, and I walked away from him. I’m so confused, and it all adds to the pain in my head. Settling into the rhythm of his massage, I allow my body to relax, drifting deeper against him. It’s a weird state of consciousness, not being able to move, and right now, I don’t want to.
+ + +
There’s really no rest for a mother, so hours later, when I’m finally home, Liam springs on me. “I need to make a volcano.”
For the love of all that’s holy, what?
“When is it due?” I’m holding my breath, but I know the answer.
“Thursday.” Thankful for small miracles, this gives us two nights to work on this thing. I don’t even want to ask how long he’s known about it or complain that he has baseball practice in an hour and we don’t have a single supply. After two hours and a hundred dollars at the local hobby store, I have the ingredients for a kickass volcano. Of course, it’s almost nine o’clock when Liam gets home from practice, and he wants to start the project. We
’re mixing up paper maché batter because I can’t have the kid who wants to use a simple soda bottle and a mint candy.
“We need to make it look as real as possible.” He uses hand motions to emphasize the boom he thinks this project should express. He’s been working on research behind the scenes, and I’m proud of him for not asking me for every detail. I’m more worried about his paper than the physical volcano, but tonight I don’t have time for proofreading. As he’s stirring up the mush for the maché, the doorbell rings, and I can’t imagine who is soliciting at this hour. Assuming it’s a marketer of some type, I peek through the window first and find Hank standing on my stoop.
“Hank.” As I open the door, I breathe out his name like I need to intake him for air. He looks so good standing under the front light, his hands in his pockets like a nervous teenager. My heart skips a beat. “What are you doing here?”
He looks down at his feet for a second and then up at me, eyes silvery.
“You broke up with me.” My mouth opens, ready to protest. I didn’t. I just wanted to give him the space he’ll need for his son. He speaks before I can explain. “I decided I’m not letting you.”
He steps into the living room, forcing me against the door, and kisses me tenderly in his Hank way. Soft pulls and full exploration like he wants every corner, every crevice before he’ll release me. I’m stunned into submission, and my eyes remain closed even after he pulls away.
“Mom!” My name brings me back to reality. I hear the scrape of a kitchen stool on the wood floor.
“Hank, tonight probably isn’t a good time to—”
“Hank,” Liam calls, standing between the kitchen and the living room. “Come see my volcano.” Hank peers down at me, a smile slowly forming. He leans in to kiss me quick, and I brace myself for the too-short connection. Only he stops, lingering. After three short pulls at my lips, he steps back. I’m stunned again. He’s changed it up. Still holding the doorknob, my back against the wood, I watch his backside as he heads for my kitchen and Liam’s science experiment.
