by Kelly Martin
Chapter Three
I moved in a few hours later. It wasn't like I had a lot to pack. I hadn't brought much with me from Oklahoma. My trunk wasn't huge and, frankly, though I loved my family and my life in Oklahoma, I wanted to move on. Start over. Try something new. I didn't want to be burdened or loaded down by my old life. I wanted to start fresh.
And I'd been living in a small hotel room since the dorm debacle had left me homeless. It wasn't the worst hotel ever, but it was still a hotel and as such, still had the smells and… uh… sounds of a typical hotel. It wasn't like I was crying to stay.
So, after I shook hands with Mrs. Bainbridge (the woman didn't even require me to sign a lease right off), I went straight to my crappy hotel and packed my few suitcases: clothes, a few books, the Bible my preacher father insisted I take with me to college, even though I hadn't wanted to, a few grooming supplies, and my high school state championship ring. We won state my senior year. I had been the quarterback, and it had been awesome. Girls tended to like that in Oklahoma. So far, from what I saw in Tennessee, they didn't seem to care about Oklahoma state championships.
Right now, you might be wondering if I was at Linley College on a football scholarship and the answer would be no. In addition to the broken leg I'd gotten playing, I tore my ACL doing something stupid a few weeks after that championship game and pretty much wrecked my chances of ever getting to play football again.
It stung, but it was okay. It wasn't like my life revolved around football. I liked it, but it wasn't everything. I had surgery a few weeks later and my knee did still hurt from time to time. I caught myself walking with a limp occasionally if I'd really pushed myself. Those steps at my new house would probably cause it to hurt every night. Oh well. At least it was cheap and the company wasn't half bad. A little stupid limp every once in a while wasn't going to stop me from all that.
By the time I took all three loads of my stuff up the stairs (the fourth time I'd been up there all day), I started having second thoughts. Those steps were a killer and, okay, sure I was only nineteen years old, but ouch. I wouldn't dwell on it though. Limping wasn't the worst thing in the world and I wasn't a whiner.
I sucked up the pain, downed a pain reliever or two, and settled back on my new leather couch in my new apartment. I had to admit, it rocked. Much better than the dorm room I was supposed to have. My father would have said God was smiling on me. I would have smiled politely, but called him crazy in my head. I have a new view on things now.
A few hours later, the sun started to set and I still hadn't moved a muscle. I was too busy enjoying the thought that 'this' was my home. It was almost too good to be true.
My stomach started growling as the smell of what I assumed was vegetable soup floated up the stairs. Was it Mrs. Bainbridge or J? I didn't know, but I knew I wanted some. I couldn't exactly go 'ask' for it because, quite frankly, that would have been rude. Still… it smelled so good and I hadn't thought about bringing any groceries with me. Stupid, I know, but I was so excited about having a place to stay that I didn't exactly think things through.
A few minutes later, my cell phone vibrated on the table in front of me. It was Mrs. Bainbridge. I should probably mention that we exchanged numbers so none of us would actually have to go up or down the steps to the other's apartment to ask a simple question. Technology. Don'cha love it?
The text from Mrs. Bainbridge let me know that there was food on the first floor and I was expected to come eat it. I mean, one, I liked being my own man. But two, okay, it was sort of nice to be cooked for again. Sort of like being home with Mama. Wondered if she fixed her cornbread like Mama? With sweet corn in the mix? I hoped she did. I missed being home sometimes, especially where it concerned Mama's cooking.
I let her know I'd be down soon and went to the bathroom to make sure my hair was halfway decent. I told myself I wouldn't do that all the time. But this time was special. This time, I had to make a good impression. I didn't want to be the stereotypical male slob. I wanted to be better to my gender than that.
Plus…
J would be there.
And I bet she wouldn't be a slob. Her long, thick, black hair would probably be pulled back, just right. She might even have on a little make up.
Thinking that, I sprayed a little cologne on because I didn't want to be outdone by her. Sure didn't want to be a slob to her cuteness. That wouldn't do.
First or… uh… second impression and all.
I took one last glimpse of myself in the mirror and messed with my hair some more, so it looked nice, but not messed with — which was exactly what I was doing, but I didn't want it to look like I cared. It took a lot of work to make it look like that.
I heard Mrs. Bainbridge's faint yell from two floors below asking if I was comin' or not in that proper British/Southern way she had about herself. I threw on my shoes, shook my head to psych myself up, and shut the door behind me. On the second floor, I took time to peek into J's apartment. Her door was wide open. Curiosity more than anything. I just wanted to see if she was still there. I didn't linger because I'm not a peeping Tom, but I did see boxes strewn around the room. She was in the middle of unpacking too. I had to wonder where she lived previously. Obviously with the town sheriff as a brother, she was local so it would make sense that she had more than me, but still… she had a lot. Lots of books by what I could tell.
I found myself staring into her little living room, a small peek into her life that I didn't really know, for longer than I had planned. Mrs. Bainbridge yelled a second time and I jumped to attention, already down two stairs before I had time to even think about what I was doing. Mrs. Bainbridge would have made a great drill sergeant.
I got to the bottom of the stairs and was met with the potent smell of the most wonderful homemade soup. Dare I say even better than my mother's? — but don't tell her that if you see her. She gets uptight about it. She doesn't want anyone's 'anything' better than hers, but from the smell alone, I could tell Mrs. Bainbridge's cooking had her beat.
Like a stick with a carrot on a string, I followed the smell past the stairway, down the narrow hall, and into an opulent open door. Inside I saw Mrs. Bainbridge sitting at the head of the table and J passing out bowls. They looked to be expensive bowls… like China. I sure didn't want to drop any. I knew how Mom was when I dropped a piece of her wedding set. It wasn't my bottom's finest moment.
"About time." Mrs. Bainbridge greeted me with an old lady smirk. I don't know if 'greeted' is the right word. More like scolded, but in a way where I didn't feel scolded. I can't explain it the right way. I've never been good with words which is ironic since I want to be a writer, but think about any older lady that you've disappointed. You know that tone? Yeah. That was her.
Mrs. Bainbridge wasn't a lady I ever wanted to disappoint. "I'm sorry. I just had to get ready."
"Ready? It's not a date. It's supper." Mrs. Bainbridge smiled. "Unless you want it to be a date." She winked at J who shook her head, never taking her eyes off of her task of laying out spoons.
"You know this is business, Mrs. Bainbridge. No one is dating here." J didn't even look at me when she said it. Like I wasn't even there. Defeated, and sort of sorry that I even took the time to make myself look halfway decent, I sat down at the large table across from J. The table could seat ten comfortably, but we were all seated at the far end with Mrs. Bainbridge in the head position.
J might have said it wasn't a date, but I thought I knew better by how she was dressed. A flowy, nice sage green shirt — sage is a color, right? Sage green shirt. Bohemian maybe? With billowy sleeves, untied strings around the neck and a white tankish undershirt underneath. Her long black hair was down and pulled back into a half ponytail, or whatever those things are called, with a few little, long ringlets around her face. And I could see some make up on her.
Strangely, that made me feel better about all of this. She'd dressed up for me too… well, dinner with me and Mrs. Bainbridge, but… ME! Mainly me. Just like I'd dre
ssed up. So, she really did care what I looked like… or rather how she looked to me.
And I told her so. I couldn't help myself. "You look very nice tonight," I said with, I'm sure, a goofy grin on my face. I couldn't see it of course, but I could feel it.
J tilted her head at me with a bewildered expression on her face. That couldn't be good. "Thanks. Oliver's coming over."
And there it was. The first time my heart sank over Oliver Weston, and definitely not the last. I know I'm getting ahead of myself, but if I could… I would…
Let me take a second to chill out. I'm sorry, but Oliver is a sore spot with me. I didn't know it then, not at supper with J and Mrs. Bainbridge. I didn't know how much I'd grow to hate that man… if you can call him that.
At the time I was just a lonely guy who had been kicked when he was down. Oliver would do that to me a lot in the coming months. And I would never want to kill another human being as much as I'd want to kill Oliver.
But like I said, I didn't know that then. All I knew was I felt a little stupid for thinking J had dressed nicely for me. What an idiot!
"What about me, Walker? Don't I look spectacular?" Mrs. Bainbridge smiled and overdramatically flipped her perfectly curled white hair off her shoulder.
For a second, I didn't really know how to answer. I knew enough to know better than to say the wrong thing to a woman, especially an older woman… especially a woman I just met… especially a woman who was both my landlady and possible meal preparer.
She stared at me.
I stared at her.
Finally, I said, "You don't look a day over forty in that lovely purple dress."
She smiled brightly. "That's very nice of you to say. Especially since I'm a tender age of thirty-nine."
I knew that was a lie so I laughed. And she scowled. So I stopped.
And a second passed.
And a lump formed in my throat.
And finally… Mrs. Bainbridge let out a laugh like I'd never heard before. It was accompanied by a slap on the table and her head thrown back. "Relax, son. I'm just messing with you."
J snorted, very unlady-like, very cute.
And I did what Mrs. Bainbridge said. I relaxed.
