by Brenda Hill
“You’d better start thinking of something to help you. You’re such a tiny thing that you need something to balance the power.”
“Well, not that gun. It’s a .45, too big and heavy for me. Mac always kept it in the headboard, and that’s where it’s going to stay. Besides, I could never actually shoot anyone.”
Terry rolled his eyes. “Heaven save me from bull-headed women.”
“You didn’t think I was so bad when we were on the sofa.”
“You had me at a disadvantage. You know how we men are when our pants are down.”
“I seem to remember you were the one who pulled them down and mine as well.”
Taking the exit to Yucaipa, Terry wiggled his eyebrows at me. “We’re almost home. Shall we pull them down again?”
***
Over waffles the next morning Terry kept studying me.
“Okay, what is it?” I asked.
“Honey, let’s make a trip back to Milo’s. They had all kinds of weapons.”
“I told you—”
“How about a stun gun? That might be the perfect solution for you.”
“What about my pepper spray?” Gathering the dishes, I stacked them in the sink.
“It’s okay in some instances, but I think you need something more powerful, something that would drop a two-hundred pound man. At least take a look. If you don’t, I’ll worry myself sick about you.”
“Well, that’s not fair. Talk about coercion at its best. Or worst.”
He shrugged and pulled me onto his lap. “You know what they say about love and war.”
A half hour later, we were back at Milo’s.
“What do you have in stun guns,” I asked.
“Didn’t like the pepper spray?”
“We’d feel better—” Terry broke off at my look. “Okay, I’d feel better if she had something stronger, something I know will do the trick.”
Bruce took several items from the showcase and placed them on the counter. While most were black and varied from a smaller rectangle about five inches long to a large flashlight-shape of about twenty inches, two looked exactly like cell phones. I picked up the silver one.
“This is a stun gun?”
“Thought you’d like that. See this?” He pointed to the silver nodule on the end, to what I thought at first glance was the antenna. “This shoots 180,000 volts into your attacker. It’s also an alarm. You can carry that around and everyone will assume it’s your phone.”
Terry asked, “But is 180,000 volts enough to stop a two-hundred pound man?”
“The higher the voltage, the more damage it’s going to do.” Bruce selected a three-inch rectangle with two little silver or chrome nodules on the end. “This little baby shoots a million volts. It also comes with a holster.”
“A million volts? I don’t want to kill anyone.”
“Stun guns don’t kill. You have to have high amperage as well as voltage. Lightning’s amperage is high; that’s what fries the body. This plays on the attacker’s nervous system. A half-second zap will double him in pain, two seconds and you got spasms and disorientation. Over three will put him down. And, the higher voltage will travel easier through thick layers of clothing. Just remember, though, no matter the shape or price, the difference in voltage is the difference in how long it takes to put him down. So the question is, how long do you want to struggle with an attacker?”
We walked out with the million-volt gun.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Armed with my new stun gun, I previewed homes in San Bernardino early the next day. The first one was a three-bedroom ranch, but I didn’t get far. As soon as I opened the door, a musty, moldy smell hit me. I thought it might be water damage, and the bulging kitchen and dining room walls and warped floors confirmed my guess. Without venturing into the rest of the house, I turned around and left.
The next one on my list, a small three-bedroom ranch-style home, looked presentable from the street, but the weeds and loose trash scattered in the neighborhood caused me to pause. A group of teenage boys next door watched with sullen faces as I drove up, their baggy pants hanging to their knees and their caps on backward. The loud bass of their rap music throbbed in my ears, so I pressed the gas and drove on.
By three in the afternoon, I was so discouraged I headed east, thinking I’d stop first in Calimesa, then, if I didn’t find anything, continue on to Beaumont and Banning. I almost took the exit home, but if I wanted to have an open house that weekend, I needed to get the details to Ben for the newspaper.
On the freeway, I allowed myself to think about Shanna and her reaction to my letter, counting off the days until she returned from vacation. If they stayed the full two weeks, they wouldn’t return home for another four or five days. Then, depending on how late they got home, they could pick up the mail that day or the next. Maybe five, possibly six days until she called. Assuming she’d call after reading my letter. Of course she’d call. Wouldn’t she?
And when she did, what would she say? One part of me wanted desperately to know and the other was terrified at the thought of what she might decide to tell me.
That afternoon I previewed four more homes, determined to find something. Finally I checked a small two bedroom, one bath, in Banning. While it was tiny, the neighborhood showed well with mowed lawns, and the houses, while small, were all in good repair. Outside, young families worked on their lawns and washed cars. I liked the feeling of the neighborhood and the location was convenient to the market and drugstore. It would make a nice starter home, so I decided to book it. When I called the office, Nina said Ben wanted to talk to me.
“Can you drop by the office?” Ben asked.
“Anything wrong?”
“Just the contrary. I might have a buyer for your condo.”
I hustled back on the freeway, back to the office. A buyer? It couldn’t be; my condo wasn’t even in the system yet. And I wasn’t ready. I’d have to go through everything once again, sort what to keep, what to give to Shanna. Most of all, I didn’t know if I was going to get the new house. There hadn’t been enough time to even process the bids. Holy shit, where would I move?
Yet I couldn’t help but marvel at how fast my life was moving. And changing. After so many years of the same routine of working, coming home, preparing a family dinner on Sunday, then back to work on Monday and starting the process all over again, I felt a new excitement in life, something I’d never felt even before Mac became so ill.
I punched in Terry’s cell number and swung by the house to pick him up. As my significant other, I wanted him with me.
***
“I’m the buyer,” Ben told me, “and I’ll pay cash if you can vacate the condo in two weeks.”
I’m sure my mouth hung open. “You want my home? What on earth for?”
“I want to bring my aunt out from Ohio,” he said, his silver hair glistening under the high-density lamp he used to fill out contracts. “She’s my mother’s last living relative, and she’s too old to have to worry about the cold and the house’s upkeep.”
“That’s wonderful, for all of us, but two weeks? That’s impossible, Ben. I don’t have the new house yet, and besides, there’s the time involved. How can I possibly get packed and moved when I have to work every day? I’d need at least a month.”
“My aunt has a buyer for her house and she needs to move quickly. I don’t want to put the old girl through the stress of having her things in storage while we find her something. Your condo would be perfect, but I need your answer now.”
Oh, damn. I must have looked panicked because Terry took my hand.
“It’s up to you, honey. If you want to take the offer, I’ll help you move.”
“But we don’t have a place to move to.” I swallowed hard. Damn, what a decision. But cash? This deal was a sure thing and I wouldn’t have to sit out the time wondering if my house would sell. My mind whirled with possibilities, the image of sending a check to Stan and Maggie standing out as the brigh
test. But how could I possibly try to work and move in less than two weeks?
“How about if I sweeten the deal,” Ben said, as relaxed as if we were simply in a friendly conversation. If I hadn’t known he was such a consummate salesman, I would’ve sworn he didn’t really care if he made the deal or not. And, just like the typical client, I sweated, worried about making the right decision.
“What if I upped the offer by another three-thousand?” Ben said. “Say, in cash, to help with the inconvenience of moving so quickly. That would bring the total up to your asking price. Now what do you say?” He sat back in his desk chair, tipping it back so far I worried it would flip over, but he patiently waited for my response, effectively using the age-old salesman’s technique of making the offer sound great, then keeping silent. The adage used to be, “The first one who speaks, loses,” and even knowing the game, it was working on me. I reacted just like a novice—fearful of committing so soon, yet afraid of losing the cash.
“Damn, Ben. No wonder you’re so successful,” I told him. “But I need some time to think straight.”
“Don’t take too much time. I want your answer by tomorrow or the deal’s off.”
***
On the way home, Terry and I discussed the pros and cons of Ben’s offer.
“If I take it, we wouldn’t have to bother about showings,” I said, driving east on Yucaipa Boulevard. “I hate trying to keep the house straight for people tromping through all the time. But the biggest consideration is the opportunity to pay off Stan and Maggie. Oh, how I want them out of my life, and the sooner the better.”
“I know that’s what you want, but are you sure that’s the wisest thing? Don’t forget, they’re your daughter’s aunt and uncle, and it’s going to be difficult for her if her mother and her father’s family are at odds.”
Caught by the red light at Oak Glen Canyon Road, I thought about his words, but exhaust from the city bus in front filled the car and my stomach rolled.
“I know you’re right,” I said, my hands tightening on the wheel, “but I’m not sure I’m that noble.” Damn, wouldn’t the light ever change? I felt a tightening of my neck and shoulder muscles and the beginning of a headache. “Perhaps one day I’ll be able to forgive them. But not now.”
I rotated my head left and right to ease the pressure, but my temples were throbbing. I couldn’t wait to get home and out of my clothes. A nap would be heaven. I didn’t want to think about packing and moving, and I certainly didn’t want to think about forgiveness.
***
At home my stomach felt knotted so I fixed a light supper of scrambled eggs, toast and sliced tomatoes. Terry zapped some bacon in the microwave, but I didn’t think my stomach could take anything greasy.
“I still don’t know what to do,” I told him, munching on dry toast and taking a big drink of a diet cola, hoping the fizz would settle my stomach.
“Honey,” he said, helping himself to the bacon, “I’ll support your decision whatever it is, and you know I’ll help.”
Leaning over the table, I gave him a light kiss. “I appreciate it, but how can I work and get packed and moved at the same time?”
“I’m a great packer,” he said. “Don’t worry. You do your thing at work and I’ll do the packing. It won’t be so bad. At least you don’t have an attic full of stuff and your garage is pretty clean.”
While Terry cleared the table, I wandered the condo, assessing my belongings. After Mac’s death, Shanna had helped me sort Mac’s things, and about the only items I kept were family pictures, the boxes of cards, and a few personal items such as his wallet and cufflinks. Now, I just wanted rid of it all. After everything that had happened, I wanted to dump Mac’s things into the garbage, but there was Shanna to consider. And Kyle. Perhaps one day he’d like his grandfather’s jewelry, and Shanna, I’m sure, would want the pictures and cards. I made a mental note to ask when she called. If she called. I was beginning to wonder if the letter had been a good idea after all.
Terry came up from behind me and slipped his arm around my waist, pulling me to him. I leaned back against him.
“So many decisions to make, so much to do,” I said. “I just want to run away from home.”
“You can’t run without me, you know.” He nibbled my neck, and while I felt a delicious tingle, the strain of the past few days kept me from enjoying the kisses. I couldn’t relax.
“You need a massage.” Arm around me, Terry led me to the bed. “Strip down to your underwear and lie on your back. Or, you can take it all off, but you’re liable to get more than a massage.”
I’d never had a massage. In all my years of marriage, Mac had never offered to rub my feet or back. Sometimes, after standing all day at an open house, I’d feel achy all over and I’d ask him to rub my feet. I made sure I took a shower before asking, but even then he’d make it so clear he found the chore distasteful that I quit asking and rubbed my own feet.
Now, the prospect of a foot rub was more tempting than the best sex in the world. In just my bra and panties, I lay across the bed.
“Scoot down to the end so I can reach you,” Terry told me, returning from the bathroom with my body lotion.
I did so and waited, not knowing what to expect. He started with the fingers on one hand, gently working every inch to my shoulder, then moved to the other hand. After he massaged each hand and arm, he started on my feet, rubbing my heels, my ankles and even between my toes. He had me to turn over, and he concentrated on my shoulders, working his way to the base of my skull. His warm, slippery hands massaged and kneaded the tightened muscles until I moaned in pleasure. I couldn’t believe what I’d been missing all my life.
“You should make an appointment with Dr. Cole in Redlands,” he said. “He’s my chiropractor, and he’s the best.”
“Ummm,” I answered. When he stretched out beside me, I felt liquid all over. “Want the favor returned?”
“Later. I want you to relax and feel better. You have some decisions to make and you need to make them tonight. I’ll heat some hot cocoa and we can talk.”
Damn, I loved that man. No wonder his wife hadn’t wanted to let him go.
I jerked upright. Where had that thought come from? I didn’t want to think of Terry’s wife. She was a shadowy figure in the background, an unwanted presence I didn’t want to acknowledge. When I heard Terry approaching the bedroom, I slipped on my robe and shoved all thoughts of her aside.
***
We sat in bed and sipped cocoa. “Okay,” Terry said, “let’s settle this so you can relax and get some sleep. What do you want to do? Without worrying about anything else, what does your first instinct tell you to do?”
I snuggled against him and sighed. “Take the offer and run.”
“Then that settles it. All the rest we’ll figure out as we go.”
“But all this stuff . . .”
“You let me worry about it. I’m more than a pretty face, you know. I’ll get it packed.”
“But where would we stay until the house is ready?”
“There’s my apartment,” Terry said. It’s a small one-bedroom, but it’ll do for now.”
“Funny, but I’d forgotten about your apartment. But what if we don’t get the house?”
Terry shrugged. “Then we’ll find another. Or, if you don’t get the house, you might consider following through on your original plan to move to Minnesota. I’d be willing to make the move. Hell, I’d go anywhere with you.”
I set the cup on the nightstand. “I’m not sure I want to do that now, not while things are so tense between Shanna and me. Besides, I have a job here.”
“You could get a job there.”
“But I know everyone here, the lenders, the mortgage brokers—”
“You could get to know them in Minnesota.”
“But I’d have to start from scratch there, and we’d have to find a place to live . . .”
“Honey, you’re talking about details. Where you live isn’t nearly as
important as how you live. I’d like you to remember that.”
“But there are so many things to consider.”
“Of course there are, but nothing we can’t handle. What’s more important? Staying in one place because you’re worried about what could happen, or grabbing onto what you want and working out the details as they come? If Shanna were a baby, or even still living with you, then yes, you’d need to be concerned about everything affecting her.
“But honey,” he went on, “that’s not the case, and isn’t it about time you grabbed some happiness for yourself? As for Shanna and the baby, how can you make them happy if you’re not happy yourself? Live life. Don’t be afraid of it.”
What he was saying sounded good, but since it was foreign to everything I had ever done, I wondered if I could do it. But I suddenly realized I wanted to. Very badly.
“I don’t think I’m ready to move to Minnesota now,” I said. “I just want our house in Forest Falls, a house where you and I could start fresh, without anything from the past hanging on. We’ll make it into our home.”
Sitting up, I looked around the bedroom, at the bed Mac and I had slept on for years, at the special dresser he bought because it had the small top drawers for his jewelry and personal items.
“I’d love to get rid of everything, except our new sofa, and start fresh. Just buy what we want for the new house.”
“Sure would make my packing job much easier,” Terry teased.
Now I was getting excited. “We could have a moving sale this weekend and what we’ll make from that should help toward the new furniture. We could . . . I suddenly remembered the open house I’d scheduled. “Damn. I have to work this weekend.”
