by Diane Munier
They're talking, Dad's saying, "She won't hear you, she's not a morning person," Marcus saying how I was out jogging at sun-up. Dad saying he was lying. Marcus saying he was telling the truth. Dad saying how city life and the demands of my new job may be changing me, and Marcus coming half-way up the stairs, I can tell by his voice, and calling my name a couple more times. And someone closing the front door. Then it is quiet.
I don't answer, I'm just waiting. I don't know how I know, but I know he's standing on the stairs, and he wants to come all the way up. He wants to look at me. He wants to see me lying in my bed. He'd been preening around for me. I saw it.
I groan cause I'm such a liar. To myself. I lie to myself, protecting my inner motherless child and all. I just lie and lie and lie.
I hear the stairs creak, then his slow steps in the hallway.
“Bedilia?” He's peeking around my doorway, his bright green eyes, a face that never loses its ability to make me gasp and howl…inside.
"Marcus?" I say like he might be…say…Steven or Enrico. I pull up the covers.
He's put his hand over his eyes. "I'm sorry Bedilia. I just…Artie got a call…nothing big…drunk Joe fell asleep in the street again. He said we should go ahead…I was…well, we got off rough this morning. I know you took it hard…about me leaving the force. I should have explained. I really thought your door was closed and when it wasn't…you were upset…I got this…crazy idea that what if…you did something. I'm sorry."
I am well covered now. He'd gotten an eye-full, like underwear and legs bare and no bra. An eyeful.
"I'm sorry," he repeats like he's trying to be…sorry. He looks at me and swallows a mouthful of lust. I think.
"You…didn't ask me where I'm going," he says.
I just keep staring. Well so does he. I might be a sexy sight or something. Hope so. He is, all showered and flannel shirt over white t-shirt and jeans perfectly worn and formed, not sagging like a rodeo clown, but relaxed and…just right.
This not talking thing is working for me, so I just keep staring.
"I wanted to explain…and when you didn't answer…I jumped the gun. I told you I've seen too much. I didn't mean…your privacy," sweep of his hand. "Hey, we're going fishing…pancakes."
Stare. Stare.
"Junior will be glad to see you, though, and Artie will be back soon. Get dressed, Artie's got your waders packed. Come on down."
I move my legs over the side of the bed, and I'm sitting there. "What are you doing?"
"What…are you doing?" He keeps his eyes on my face, and I let him wonder a minute…what I'm asking about. I'm not sure either…what I mean.
"Leaving the force? You love that job."
"I already told you," he says. But his face…he drops his eyes a second and swallows. I've got him now.
"What would you do?" I say.
"Billy's selling his place."
"My old job?" I worked at Billy's all through high school, then summers during college. It kept me from being available to babysit Junior. Most of the time.
"I'm buying it…with Artie. Artie is going to retire in a couple of years and help me run it. By then I'll be ready to take the bar…practice law I mean."
Oh. "Who's going to have Dad's back?"
"He's fine," Marcus scoffed. He's leaning his shoulder on the doorframe now, ankles and arms crossed. "Something happened. You're worried. You're…different. How you doing in the big city?"
"Great," I say, chin up. "Yeah Capone and I have conquered that city." I hold those green cop eyes. I can do it…practiced on Artie. I'm uncrackable.
But I feel some tears building.
"You can tell me…right?" he says his arms uncrossing.
"What?" I take a corner of the sheet and dab at my face. His chest…it's calling to me like a nice memory foam pillow…that talks and…snuggles you.
"Well…I think of you like that…Artie's daughter. Artie, Bedilia."
I keep wiping.
"Here," he says taking a few steps in and grabbing a couple of Kleenexes from the box on my dresser. He brings them to me.
It's like I'm designing my personal rom-com.
"I know how hard change can be," he says. "You're upset. You need to get a pole in the water so things can get straightened out again. Get…dressed. Your pancakes are getting cold."
I take the Kleenexes, and he turns a bright red, looking down at me with that fatherly smile and this not fatherly look in his eyes. It's perverted, him speaking about a pole and pancakes.
He does that crackly swallow again. "Wait until you see Juney. All he's talked about for a week is seeing Miss Bedilia again."
Oh, smooth. Bring up the kid. My eyes are really leaking now. He gets me more Kleenexes. I should ask how the little turd is doing, but I don't. Lord knows Artie keeps me informed of his every move. I've got sibling rivalry there. I'm conflicted between loving the little grunt and wanting to destroy him.
He hands me the tissues, and I look up at him, and he gets this sappy look like he's found himself after teetering for a minute and thinking something less than stellar, but now he's back on track, and he's looking sympathetic and dad-like.
He smiles encouragingly, but he's still here…in my freaking room.
I wipe my eyes on my sleeve bringing my arm up for a minute and putting it down quick effectively knocking the stretched collar of the old shirt off my shoulder. Yeah, that shoulder has a match on the other side. Two of them. See what you're missing?
He was a regular at Billy's. Lunch crowd. He used to watch me. Not all the time or even most of the time, but sometimes.
I haven't got anything he hasn't considered…a lot. But the Artie thing…and he doesn't sleep around. He's got Juney.
He's a good guy. But he needs to see me without the Artie fence…moat…walls…guards on the walls…hot boiling vats of oil on the walls.
I've let down the drawbridge.
Jessica? For real?
No and no. Even if it wasn't me…not her. He doesn't know what he needs. He never has. He thinks of Juney and he floats along. His hair looks great, I'll give her that…but no I won't. His hair always looks great.
I wipe my nose and sigh and give him the doe eyes like he's made me see the light. I rub the bare shoulder and yeah his hungry starving eyes lose their righteous glint for a few flickering seconds, and he clears his throat and tells me to get downstairs, and he gets out of there and the film on my potential blockbuster snaps off the reel.
I've got a lot of fishing to do.
Chapter 9
Marcus is right about the water. A plan unfolds accordion-like pages, endless scenarios. I'm getting my old job back, that's a given. They say you can't go home…maybe I never really left. It's The Truman Show…my life. Chicago was an illusion.
I wish.
"Bedilia," Dad calls, his gloved hand closing on a beautiful shimmering fish which he holds for my perusal then drops into the basket at his side.
I give out a "Whoot," from upstream, and Marcus does the same further up.
I sigh as I look at him…Marcus, not Dad…standing in the lazy current, the brightness creating an arch around his…I fumble to put my pole under my arm and dig my phone out of my bra. I snap a picture of Marcus, and he's looking at me.
I make the slightest move, he looks. Possibly afraid I'll drown and take out Artie. But I'm not shy about the picture taking if he even gets what I'm doing.
I have a collection in a file on my phone. I need an update. Waders and a wife beater…I'm freaking freezing, but he's already told me he runs hot.
So it's back to fishing and letting my plan unfold, and he's making his way to me now. Least I like to think so.
"Hey," he says, lifting the lid on his basket to show me two fat ones. We're very close, and I look up at him, and it's a little like looking straight into the sun, but I don't squint.
He does. He squints behind his dark glasses. I love the way the sides of his eyes have that crinkle. I love his should
ers, roundy but straight across. His lips…they could eat the corn off my cob any day. That's gross, but you get my meaning.
He smirks at me a little and walks around me shaking his head. Yeah, whatever. Deal.
Chapter 10
Dad wanted to cook the catch right here at the picnic site which is no surprise, he loves to do that, so he fusses around and makes the fire and puts his two beauties on the grill. He's telling me all about purchasing Billy's.
"You're the one who told me I need to think about my future," he says as he carefully seasons the fish.
"Sure but...did you announce this at the station? Two years?"
"I'm ready pumpkin face," Dad says.
My eyes jet Marcus's way already knowing he's smirking. He loves when Dad calls me that. He knows I love-slash-hate it because I don't have a round face. It's heart-shaped, and he turns me into an adolescent girl when he says that, not the sexy siren I'm trying to be here as I crunch handfuls of potato chips.
"Hey…want to see a natural arch?" Marcus says bringing Artie the last of the fish cleaned and ready.
"Get over yourself, Stover. I'm not looking down your throat," I say.
"Suit yourself," he says walking off. He's put on a dry t-shirt, and he wears his jeans again. My very favorite nearly disintegrated ones.
"Don't take too long," Artie calls.
"Back to the law?" I ask trying to catch up to Marcus and zip my jacket while I continue our conversation from this morning. "I thought you gave that up when you joined the department."
He isn't ruffled by my question. "Nose is red," he says flicking the bill on my cap.
"I hate that," I say like a girl, holding onto my sun-sensitive nose that defies sunscreen.
He laughs. "Don't be a hater."
"I hate you," I say, and I smile at the end of it, and he smiles too. "That's supposed to upset you."
He makes a little gasp and clutches his heart. "How's that?"
"Stupid," I say.
He shakes his head. "You remind me of Juney."
"Ha-ha." I'm a little stung he should bring up my 'sibling' like this.
"Hey…the natural arch is too far away."
"So…what are we doing?" My heart picks up. He's gotten me off on our own on porpoise? Yes, I meant to say porpoise.
I'm giddy!
"Well…he ah…he needs your support."
I stop. "Who…what?"
"Your dad. He needs you to support the retirement idea. It's…hard." He's looking at me, he's talking to me like I am Juney.
"I get it," I say, also like Juney. "No…you know what? I know I've been away with school…and…life? I get that, Marcus. But he's still my," I emphasize 'my' by spreading my hand over the center of my chest, "dad. And you," I point at him, "don't get to tell me how to speak to him. Alright?" I fold my arms and throw my weight on one leg and stare.
He is rubbing the back of his neck. "Sorry."
"I'm a little tired of that too. Sorry doesn't…take it away." That's twice he did the sorry routine on me, twice in one day.
"Take what away?" His hands go to his hips.
"Your arrogance." I'm out of control—I've done air quotes.
"My what?"
"Hubris. Pride. Assholery."
"Wha…?"
"Jessica? For real? Isn't she like…a hundred?"
"Okay, okay. Be nice."
"Why? Why should I? I'm nine."
"You said it…."
"Oh," I bat my hands at him and walk away. I give him the bird, but I don't look back.
I don't know what just happened, but I told you we'd dropped another level. I told you we were in a new place.
He catches up, hand on my arm. "Bedilia…slow down. Give me a chance to explain."
Artie is busy cooking, but he's looking our way. He's curious.
Explain what? That I need counseling?
"It's about Juney isn't it. You don't have to worry. He's getting to really…he's a, it's getting better between them."
Oh, I can see the whole deal in his eyes. There's a conflict between Jessica and Juney. I love that little cretan.
"Doesn't she have a couple of…?"
"No. She doesn't have children."
"But I thought you didn't want to do that to Juney. You said you weren't going to date until he was older." I kind of mean this and I kind of don't. Yeah, I'm a liar, too, a big one. I'm pretending it's always been about Juney.
"He is older Bedilia. You just said it, he's nine. And he's never had to share me before, and he's fighting it. But Jessica's been patient. She's been…."
"I don't want to hear how Jessica's been," I say, a little too much intensity on the 'J.'
"Hey…no one replaces you."
What does that mean?
"I told you, he can't wait to see you."
Oh…that's what it means.
"And I can't wait to see him," I say sweetly. And we stare at one another just a beat too long.
Artie calls us to dinner.
Chapter 11
He's not that glad to see me. After the awkward ride home in Artie's truck, me sitting between Artie and Marcus, one half of me asexual, the Artie side, what do you think, and the other side on freaking fire, well after that it was another attempt to clean up and meet downstairs for Juney's homecoming from his grandmother's house and feign normal.
Half an hour later I open the door and wave to Elaine as she drives off. Juney's a cute kid, looks just like Marcus must have, super cute. I have to admit I'm really glad to see him. "Hello Junior," I say, playing up the name he hates.
"Hello Bedilia Susannah," he says, like touché.
He squeezes under my arm with his backpack and walks right past me. "Where's Dad?" he says.
"Out back with Artie. Hey, don't I get a hug?"
"No," he says, taller than last time, when I left for Chicago, and he wouldn't come and give me a hug then either.
And he goes out the back door, and I hear Dad say, "Hey there he is," like it's Justin Bieber and Dad's a middle school girl.
So it's high-fives between him and the Beebs. I have my hands in my pockets, and I'm not exactly hurt, but hey, am I that bad? I've wiped this kid's butt for heaven sakes.
So I'm out there, and Marcus is holding him, cause even if he's nine, he's more like six than nine in terms of being affectionate. I always assumed it was because of his screwed up Mom. I was the same way—kind of needy, but I grew out of it.
So I squeeze into the glider next to Dad, and he puts his arm around me. It's old times.
They are telling Juney about the fish. Marcus kisses his cheek, but he won't look at him. He does look at Artie when he tells him his fish were bigger than his dad's. He smiles then.
This kid only ever wants to play the most convoluted games. Can't we just play Uno? I ask him that. I don't want to start the game of Life nine o'clock at night. Especially when I have to shop tomorrow for Thanksgiving.
But I know he's trying to punish me the little brat. Then I remember about Jessica, how he's giving her a hard time, and I soften. But he's giving me a hard time too.
"No Uno," he says, drunk on power. He's laying out the board game.
"Juney," Marcus calls up the stairs.
I put my finger to my lips so Juney won't call out and Marcus will be forced to come up here for the second time today.
"Hide, hide," Juney whispers.
For the first time, we are giggling together. We run in circles, and I try to squeeze behind my hamper, but it's too much trouble, and he grabs my hand, and we run across the hall into the dark front bedroom and drop between the bed and the wall. My heart hammers as I hear Marcus's footsteps approach. "Juney? Bedilia?" he sing-songs. We hear him walk along the hall, into my room, still saying our names. We are so still, so serious. Marcus is in the doorway now. He snaps on the light. We don't move.
He switches off the light and enters the room, goes to the window, my crow's nest. He's looking out, even with us now.
"Great view Bedilia," he says low, noticing what a great view I have of his whole house. I start to raise up, and Juney pulls me down.
Marcus turns suddenly and growls loudly and takes two big steps to Juney and grabs him and Juney squeals and giggles and Marcus throws him on the bed. Then he reaches for me, and I'm airborne and I'm laughing and squirming, and I land hard on the bed next to Juney. Juney bobs up and scrambles to his feet and runs out of the room, and Marcus has a pillow, and he's hitting me with it, and I curl in a ball for a minute and the pillow slams against me, and I'm laughing, then Juney is back, and Marcus is hitting him with a pillow too, and Juney hits back and I grab a pillow and start to swing, but I get in the middle of father and son and get smacked around at the same time, and I go down and bounce off the bed onto the floor, and they call my name in unison and hands are on me, and Marcus ends up holding me like I'm a little baby, cradling me against him while Juney stands on the bed and finally shows me a little mercy, "You alright Bedilia?"
And I look at Marcus and all the care and concern in the world. And I mouth his name, but no sound. And I almost say it, "I got fired," and the light comes on and, "What the hell," Artie says.
Chapter 12
Holy moly. I let Juney sleep in my room, and I go across the hall and fall onto the wrecked bed that used to belong to Mom and Artie.
He saw it…Marcus did…for the first time, he was in the crow's nest where I make my porn. About him. Where I spy and stalk and violate his privacy. The scene of the crime.
We were just goofing around. We can't even do that. It doesn't work. Is it just me? Is he feeling this at all? Something? I know he feels something. But he won't act on it. He won't. He's so obnoxiously proper. He's like an apostle or something.
He looked so guilty when Artie turned on the light like his own son wasn't right there like I was stark naked.
I was in his arms, and it felt…I fit there.
"Bedilia?" Juney calls me from across the hall. He does this. He loves to do this, have the power to call out…and I come. I get it. I do.
