The Guy Next Door

by Toni Blake

  “I guess you’re really not so bad,” he admitted, pulling back to look down his nose at the miniature cat. Then he shrugged. “In fact, I kinda like you in white.”

  Realizing that it was past midnight, he detached the cat from his chest, lowered him to the floor, and went into his bedroom. Stripping down to his underwear, he pulled back the covers, then lay down, hoping for fast sleep. He didn’t want to think about Holly Blake anymore. He didn’t want to think about anything.

  He almost wished Aunt Marie was here to talk to, but he quickly stopped the impossible thought—it was useless to wish for what you could never have. He had to face it—he was alone now and he had to get used to it. No wonder he was talking to cats.

  ***

  Derek lay on the old, nubby couch watching TV. Scooby Doo. His favorite. The picture on the screen was fuzzy and sometimes it rolled, but that was okay.

  His father was sleeping. He slept late on Saturday mornings.

  Actually, his father slept late every morning, but weekends were the only time Derek could enjoy it—the other days he had to get himself up and off to school.

  The scent of alcohol hung in the house, in the room. It seemed to seep from the furniture, from the floor, from the peeling wallpaper all around him. How could one man fill a whole house with the way he smelled?

  Then footsteps. Angry footsteps. Too quick for Derek to think or move. A familiar and helpless dread converged on him and he froze in place. His chest went hollow, empty.

  "What the hell ya think you’re doin’? Get your lazy ass off that couch and get me somethin’ to eat!” The voice came slurred, hard to understand as the stench of alcohol on his father’s breath gushed down over him, stale and potent.

  Derek stared at his father for a second, wishing vaguely for some kind of escape, then started to rise from the couch.

  “You deaf, boy?”

  He hadn’t moved fast enough, and a still-heavier odor of alcohol pressed down on him as the first thrashes came. His curled into a ball on the couch—not a decision but a physical reaction, like those little gray pill bugs that curled into a circle when you tried to kill them—and-instinctively used his arms to cover his head. He gritted his teeth and fought back tears, but stayed as quiet as possible. Talking back only made it worse, made it last longer. Stay quiet and eventually he just got bored with it.

  Derek’s eyes jolted open and found the blank whiteness of the ceiling. Sweat drenched his body—the sheets stuck to him.

  Looking around, he recognized his bedroom. Recognized his life.

  It’s over, not really happening.

  I’m thirty-one years old, not a kid anymore.

  I’m in a different world now where everything’s okay

  He sighed with a mixture of sadness and relief.

  “Meow.”

  “And I have a cat,” he said, lifting his head to glance in the direction of Claws’ voice. The white kitten perched on his stomach.

  He reached up to pet Claws, at the same time lying back to stare again at the ceiling. Damn, it had been a long time since he’d had any of those dreams. But every now and then, one snuck up on him, reminded him. It still had the ability to shake him. And to take him back there.

  He took a deep breath, then checked the clock beside his bed. His alarm would go off in five minutes anyway, and he didn’t particularly feel like lying there rehashing the dream, or the reality behind it. Lifting Claws off his stomach, he pushed back the covers and trudged to the shower.

  Maybe this was Holly’s fault. If he hadn’t been thinking about how different they were, he probably wouldn’t have invited those memories to start skulking around in his subconscious. He turned on the water and let it blast down over him and bring him that much more back to reality.

  As he showered, he realized that he was actually looking forward to going to work today, looking forward to toiling away in the hot sun. Hard work was good for the soul, Aunt Marie had always told him. And it was also good for occupying your mind.

  Out there on the job site, with hammers and nails and two-by-fours, that was where he belonged. Unlike in Holly Blake’s house, or even in her life. He wished he’d never let that pretty face lure him over to help her with her windshield wiper fluid. He wished he’d never laid eyes on her at all.

  Quit thinking about her, for God’s sake. Just go to work and have a nice, normal day. And maybe afterward he would pick up those flowers and take them to the cemetery like he’d meant to a couple days ago.

  Ten minutes later, he poured Claws some milk and opened the last can of tuna in his cabinets. He’d have to stop and pick up some cat food on the way home, too. “See ya, Claws,” he said as he left.

  He’d almost made it to his truck when he saw Holly step out onto her front porch. Damn. He quickened his pace. With her once again toting Emily on her hip, it was like a flashback to yesterday morning, except that today she wore a thin, cotton gown, white with a blue flower print—no robe—and he thought if he looked hard enough, he might be able to see through it. And except that today he wanted, as much as possible, to avoid her.

  “Good morning,” she said, stooping to get her paper.

  He took a deep breath, then lifted his eyes to her. He tried not to see her beautifully messy hair, or the smile that had the ability to entrance him. “Morning,” he replied, reaching to open the door of his pickup.

  “How’s Claws?” she asked.

  “Better, now that he’s cleaned up,” he replied. Then he swung his gaze in her direction. “Oh, I forgot to tell you, you were right. He’s white.” Damn it, though. He hadn’t exactly meant to make conversation with her—it had just popped out. Why did he have to find her so easy to talk to?

  “Want to come in for some coffee?” she asked. Her voice sounded tentative, hopeful.

  Which made it harder to turn her down.

  But he did anyway. “Um, no thanks—can’t. Running late,” he said. Even though it was exactly the same time that he’d bumped into her yesterday morning.

  “Oh,” she said, sounding a little crestfallen but also clearly trying to cover it. “Okay.”

  “See ya,” he said, hopping quickly into the truck and slamming the door.

  And he didn’t know if she answered because he reached down and twisted the volume knob on the radio, turning it up loud, appreciating loud music more than ever, this morning of all mornings, because it might help drown out all the stuff inside him he didn’t want to pay attention to.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Holly sat on a wooden stool at the head of the classroom. One by one, she read the words on the spelling test out loud to her class.

  “Traveling.”

  But her mind wasn’t on the spelling test. In fact, it wasn’t even anywhere in the school building. It was back at her house, in her living room, last night, in the arms of Derek Cassidy.

  What a fool she’d been! First leading him on, and then not even taking the time to explain. She’d been so frightened of her own emotions that she’d just wanted to be close to Emily, to hold her, to feel safe. Derek, of course, had just the opposite effect on her. Beneath the weight of his passionate kisses, Holly had felt completely reckless, completely out of control.

  “Suitcase.”

  But was that so bad? Was it so horrible to feel a little bit reckless for once in her quiet life?

  Okay, that’s it. I have to quit being so uptight, quit being so concerned with what’s proper. Just because a woman became a mother didn’t mean she lost all feelings of desire.

  And if the past few days were any indication, maybe becoming a mother somehow actually increased it.

  She glanced back down at the spelling list and found her place. “Here’s a tricky one,” she told the class. “Vacation.”

  She watched the puzzled looks on their little faces, and inside she smiled knowingly. How much simpler it would be if she were only stumped over the words on a spelling test, rather than stumped over her entire life.

  **
*

  Pulling in the parking lot at the daycare center, Holly slid the gearshift into Park, then rushed into the small brick building. Her eyes fell immediately on Emily.

  The baby beds here were different than Emily’s friendly Pooh-adorned bed at home—here the wooden slats somehow reminded Holly of prison cells. It was no fault of Miss Carol’s, but she just hated leaving her baby for eight hours each day.

  “Hey, sweetie,” she said, giving Emily a big smile as she approached the bed that held her daughter and reached inside to pick her up. She cuddled the child to her chest, then pulled back to kiss her soft little forehead.

  Emily returned her smile, accompanied with slobbering, and Holly grabbed a burping cloth from the diaper bag next to the bed to wipe her daughter’s mouth. “You’re Mommy’s good girl,” Holly said.

  Gathering Emily’s belongings, she waved across the room to Miss Carol on her way out the door. Most days she stopped to chat with the caretaker for a few minutes, just to find out how Emily’s day had gone, but today she was in a bit of a hurry.

  Instead of putting Emily in the car, though, Holly made the split-second decision to venture into the play yard outside the daycare facility. True, she was in a hurry, but she already felt guilty about what she’d decided to do tonight, especially after having been away for so long the previous evening, so she resolved to at least make a little time for her daughter right now.

  She moved through the grass toward a big concrete turtle that sat near the swings and slides where the older children played. Lowering the diaper bag onto the turtle’s shell and Emily’s carrier to the ground, she dug out a small quilt and spread it in the grass. Then she lay Emily on the quilt, sitting down beside her.

  “Got your belly,” she said, ticking the baby through her sleeper. And Emily giggled—got your belly was one of her favorite games. But even as Holly continued to make her daughter smile and release small spurts of laughter, her mind drifted.

  When she’d come home from the hospital last night, Derek and Emily had looked completely cozy together. She almost even had the impression that they’d bonded a little or something. She didn’t think she’d ever seen anything so adorable in her life and just remembering it warmed her heart.

  And so, despite herself, she was trying to think of a plan, of some way to show Derek that she really did want something with him and that she really could make time for him in her life. If she got another chance, she wanted to do things differently—not screw it up like she had last night.

  And that was why she was in a hurry, not to mention why she was starting to feel incredibly guilty—for wanting to spend her time away from work in any way that didn’t involve Em.

  She gazed down to find Emily peering expectantly into her eyes. “Honey,” she said, “you’re going to be spending the night at Aunt Michelle’s house tonight.”

  “Waouuu.”

  Holly wasn’t trying to get rid of her daughter. Really, she wasn’t. But she had to face it—life went on after motherhood. And there were times when mother and baby needed to be apart, even if it was very hard. “Aunt Michelle is always saying how she never gets to see enough of you,” she said to help reassure herself. “And you know how you love going over there. Your cousin, Nicholas, has that bright mobile you like so much—remember? It always makes you smile.”

  “Gaaaa.”

  Still, despite her own words, the guilt continued to eat at Holly. After all, how could she leave Emmy after waiting all day just to be with her? How could she choose anything over their precious mother-daughter time?

  And then that other part of her—that alive, ready part that she’d encountered so often since meeting Derek a couple days ago—whispered in her ear when she’d least expected it. Aren’t mommies entitled to just a little fun? A little romance?

  She released the breath she didn’t even realize she’d been holding. That voice was the little push she needed to go through with this.

  “Tomorrow’s Friday,” she told Emily, “and after that we’ll have the whole weekend together. I promise. So,” she said, “do you mind giving Mommy the night off?”

  “Aaaaa,” Emily said, this time smiling boldly up at her with twinkling eyes and a bit of spittle at the corners of her mouth. Then a bird twittered in the distance and Emmy pointed a tiny finger toward the noise, making Holly smile.

  ***

  Holly had called her sister, Michelle, from school at lunchtime, knowing that her family had returned from their Florida vacation sometime this morning. She hated to impose on her sister this soon after coming home, but she also knew Michelle didn’t mind. Michelle had a ten-month-old son of her own, and had told Holly not to even bother going home for supplies—Nicholas had some unisex clothing and would be willing to share with his cousin.

  Michelle had sounded thrilled to hear her actually wanting to spend an evening on her own, and she supposed her sister’s excitement over the occasion was warranted. Holly had been completely wrapped up in Emily since the day she was born, maybe even more so than most new moms—considering Bill’s death.

  Though it had been difficult to have just picked Emily up and to already be dropping her off again. And she’d been in the process of saying a prolonged goodbye when Michelle had grabbed her shoulders and herded her toward the door. “She’ll be fine, Mommy,” her sister insisted.

  “Call if she needs me for anything—”

  “She’ll be fine, Mommy,” Michelle said again, this time more emphatically. Then she gently shoved Holly outside.

  Holly had stood on the porch, peering in as her sister grabbed up one of Nicholas’ stuffed toys and wiggled it merrily before Emmy’s eyes. Emmy’s smile, as usual, warmed Holly’s heart, and finally made her feel it was all right to leave.

  Now, driving home, she appreciated her older sister’s gruffness. If not for Michelle’s insistence, she might have changed her mind and brought Emily home like usual.

  And she supposed she shouldn’t think about Emily anymore if she could help it. Of course, it would be impossible to block her baby out of her mind entirely, but she had taken Emily to Michelle’s for a reason, and she figured she’d better start thinking about that reason, or more precisely, thinking of a plan.

  When Holly pulled into the driveway, Derek’s truck was still gone—he wasn’t home from work yet. But he’d be there soon—even before she’d met him, the music he blasted through the neighborhood had let her grow accustomed to his afternoon schedule.

  When she stepped inside the house, she felt funny at first to be there without Emily.

  But don’t think about Emily. Think about Derek. Think about last night. Think about all the things he could have done to you if you hadn’t panicked and run away from him.

  So she shut the door to Emily’s nursery, hoping that having it out of sight would help keep Emily out of mind, as well. Then she sat down on the couch and tried to think.

  She could just be honest. She could pick up the phone and call him, explaining very gracefully that she’d been foolish last night and that she hoped he’d allow her to make it up to him.

  But no. She’d acted so frightened and awkward that she’d have to do something a little more convincing if she wanted him to give her another chance.

  On a lark, she rushed to her bedroom and began digging in her underwear drawer. At the bottom, she found what she sought—black lace lingerie she’d gotten at her wedding shower three years ago. Michelle had given it to her, but she’d never worn it—she’d never had the inclination somehow, never thought of herself as the kind of woman who could get away with that kind of blatant sexiness.

  She had a feeling Michelle would approve if she wore it tonight.

  But then what? She let out a forlorn sigh. Was she going to go knock on his door and dance around his living room in it? Do some kind of strip tease? Nope, besides how silly the idea sounded, she’d never have the guts to just show up on his doorstep wearing it anyway.

  Think of something that’s more
you.

  Leaving the bedroom, she wandered aimlessly around the house, hoping for inspiration. And once in the kitchen, she glanced out the window, slightly dismayed to see that he still wasn’t home. She checked her watch—he was late.

  Then she glanced around her. It was a perfectly organized, everything-in-its-place room. She had more spatulas and ladles and spoons than she could put to good use because she had an affinity for kitchen gadgets and seemed to accumulate them by the dozens.

  Then an idea hit her. She could cook for him. They said food was the way to a man’s heart, and it just so happened that she was a pretty good cook. Though she hadn’t made many big meals since Bill had died, because it was difficult to cook for one. So maybe she’d find some way to sneak into his house, set his table, start a fabulous dinner, and surprise him when he finally got home.

  But wait—bad idea. Sneaking into his house? That was more than a little intrusive. He’d have every right to be angry. And it might create an even much more awkward situation than the one she was trying to make up for.

  And besides, what if he didn’t come home at all?

  He was always home by now.

  So what if he had some hot date tonight and had gone to her place to change? Or what if he just went to her place, period?

  She tried in vain to recall if Derek had been carrying anything besides his lunchbox this morning, like a change of clothes. And she decided she would actually prefer that to the alternative—because the idea of some chick rolling around with him while he was still hot and sweaty and dirty from work made her feel completely sick with jealousy!

  She tried to imagine the kind of woman Derek might be seeing. Probably someone who wore too much makeup.

  And skirts that were way too short.

  Tramp.

  Of course, a woman like that probably wasn’t afraid to wear sexy lingerie. In fact, she probably had dozens of sexy bras and panties and nighties in every shape, color, and revealing fabric known to man, and she was probably putting on a fashion show for Derek right this very minute.

  Utterly dejected, Holly released a huge sigh and checked her watch. The fashion show would probably end soon and then the two of them would probably start making out on her couch. And she probably wasn’t acting like a scared fifteen-year-old, running to the next room to hide.