by Diane Munier
As soon as Dad is gone, "What do you want me to do?" the subject of my secret Marcus Stover admiration society asks as he wipes his shiny lips with a napkin.
I'm crushing pecans with the rolling pin, and it's quite therapeutic…kind of like splitting a cord of wood in its own way. I have forbidden him and Dad to talk about Chicago. I have made it clear I will not be suing anybody, and so they need to drop it.
But I know Marcus is not going to drop it. I had to tell Dad three times, but he has more right than Marcus to pry.
"You can peel apples," I say.
"Bedilia?"
I look at him.
"You were only gone five months."
"Six," I correct, "and you're still talking about it." In front of Artie, it was all moral outrage over the legalities, but it won't be that now.
"It's pretty much a cliché, right? Young girl from a small town, big city mogul hires her to be his 'private secretary?'"
"You're still copping on me when you did the exact same thing. Five months."
"Six," he corrects me now. "I waited how long to date? You told me you admired it or something. Now I'm what…some slick idiot who uses his money and position to overwhelm and intimidate young girls who are out on their own? Jessica is thirty-eight for your information."
I have my hand over my mouth. He got caught up and spilled the beans. Hand on mouth turns to fist on hip. "A cougar?"
He tries not to smile, tries to be stern. "This is all bull. White is what…thirty-five?"
"You Googled him."
"Google," he sneers. "You think we didn't run him through the system?"
"Andy and Barney. No wonder I couldn't get out of here fast enough."
He stands up and stares at me a minute. Then he takes his plate to the sink and leans there, folds his arms. "Is it over?"
I am now making pecan meal. Soon it will be flour.
"He's a jerk," he says.
I go to the frig. I am so stirred, so emotional suddenly, or still. I get the apples out of the drawer and throw the whole bag at him. He catches them against his stomach with one arm, and his knee comes up.
"Bedilia!" he says, approaching me holding the apples against him.
"Stay away from me." I mean it, but I'm smiling too, but it's evil…what I feel. He's teasing me about all of this? I don't think so.
"Hey," he says like he wants to be friends, "come on. I'm just a little pissed off," he says like that excuses him, "because our girl got railroaded by a rich asshole."
"No, no. You don't get to say I'm a cliché, a private secretary, and all the rest," I say.
"You're no cliché. He is. I didn't sleep last night…I keep thinking of what you said. Bedilia, are you just home licking your paws? Are you home for good?"
"First off no more names. You don't know him or how it was so…stop. Second, I got that job from hard work and a kick ass grade point average and sterling references from my professors so stuff your little damsel in distress and mustache twirling villain bit. And, what if I am home for good?"
He stares but he has the trace of a smile. "So how was it? With him."
"That's all that matters? How many times I let him hold my hand?"
"For starters. Did you fall for this guy?"
"What do you think?"
"After last night…I don't know what to think."
"Then don't," I say softly. "It's worked so far, right?"
He glares a little. "First off, I have a girlfriend. She owns a hair salon. It's gossip central in those places. I don't want to do it this way to you especially or to her."
"Do what?"
"Cheat. They'll blame me, but they'll crucify you."
They will. He's been chased, relentlessly chased and she came from behind and took the lead and caught him. But they're all invested. If they can't have him themselves, at least she's a member of their pack. I wasn't even in the running.
But…everything happens for a reason. Having survived the girls in Chicago when White pursued me openly and eagerly…these girls from Lowland don't even have stingers.
"What are you thinking of doing?" I say.
He gets closer until his forehead touches mine. I am literally dizzy from his nearness, this conversation, his touch.
"What would Artie say about…," he can't seem to finish.
"Us? You can say it. Us."
I hear him swallow, move my palm over his hammering heart. His pectoral muscle twitches.
"You asked me…if there was something between us. I thought you meant bad feelings. Then you asked if I am attracted.
I tried to be so careful about it," he says.
"Why did you let me go," I say, and his hand moves from my arm to my face.
"I never let you go."
He takes my hand from his chest and kisses it then, and finally, I feel his lips against some part of me. My eyes have closed, and my heart knows. He is utterly, completely mine. We ease back into the hug we'd started to share earlier when Dad interrupted. My ear is pressed where my hand had been. I can't imagine a better feeling than being against him, being held by him. I am no longer in this kitchen, I'm wrapped in him. He's what I'm in. The rush of love I feel is so overpowering I cling to him to stay on my feet. I never felt anything like this with Myron. Affection, yes. But I couldn't consummate with him. My muscles resisted him. I saw the doctor, thought maybe it was his size though I wasn't sure what a proper size was as I had no one to compare Myron too. But it was not his size, it was me. I couldn't do it with him. My body simply would not relax and receive him.
And still he put up with me, pursued me, wanted me, defective me.
Defective me…in love with someone else.
Always.
Chapter 25
We are not declaring ourselves. That is what we decide. He has a girlfriend, and he must first speak with Artie. He won't disrespect Artie. He says my dad has higher hopes for me than marrying some older guy with a kid.
I say first off it's not a kid, it's Juney, Dad's grandson for all intents and purposes. Second of all Marcus is not some older guy, but Dad's son, for all intents and purposes. And lastly, he is not speaking to Artie, but we are.
He might have found Jessica pushy, but I wrote the book on getting your way. Only child here.
He considers what I've said and agrees. But he's been the recipient/victim of so much of Artie's gushing over me for so long, he's programmed to think I deserve, 'more.' More of what I don't know. He and Juney exceed what I'd hoped God had for me in the great universal scheme. I guess I'll spend a lifetime letting Marcus know. Am I talking marriage? I'm not. But I don't know where else these kinds of feelings can go. Add Marcus's love…eventually, and there you go, a hundred miles an hour pitch straight to the glove.
One thing at a time. We know we have a meal to produce. Juney gets up all fuzzy and sleepy, and he and Marcus wrestle a little cause yeah, I get it, the pent up energy. Then Marcus makes his pancakes. He's already peeled the apples, and I've added the goodies, and I'm putting them into a couple of pie shells as we speak. It's like I feel so creative, like the big cog in my wheel is gone, and it's spinning madly, and I'm giddy. So giddy it's hard to concentrate, but I'm starting to and pretty soon the pies are going in the oven.
I teach Marcus and Juney to make noodles. It's so much fun with the tension gone, and we haven't kissed, and we both seem to know we can't. If we kiss, we'll make a baby. I believed that in grade school, and I believe it now. If I kiss him, I'll boink him, and his sperm will join and swim like an Olympian to my egg and the two shall be one and…baby! There will be no stopping us. Not even Juney could as we'll just lift the ban on Call of Duty, fulfill his dreams and turn him lose. We could bring the house down then, and that kid wouldn't even blink as long as that controller was in his hand.
So the kiss must not be unleashed when seventeen people are coming to dinner tomorrow. And Marcus has his process—break up with J (I'm no longer saying her name) and talk to Dad.
Chapter
26
Marcus takes the call. Dad is sitting in his cruiser on the square when he's t-boned by an elderly man who's possibly had a stroke. The elderly man is in Lowland to visit his daughter. Other than the perils of a stroke, he comes through without a scratch. As for Artie, Marcus says his hip appears to be broken, and possibly some ribs. "Get ready. Find your shoes," he says firmly.
Marcus had just finished taking the turkeys out of the brine and putting them in the refrigerator in the mudroom when the call came in. Now he is moving with authority as he pulls on his flannel shirt over his white T-shirt. He'd taken the flannel off hours ago because we'd been knocking out the food and it got too warm in here.
"Will he be okay?" I call out as I go in search of my shoes.
"Yes," Marcus says firmly.
I've been waiting for this all my life. Waiting for it and not waiting for it. Now it's here. "His hip and what else? His ribs? How many? Is he conscious?" I'm looking for my shoes. Marcus yells for Juney to 'turn that thing off,' and grab his coat.
He's asking what, and Marcus is saying Artie is hurt, and I'm thinking, oh God.
So we get ourselves together, and Marcus is calm and humorless, telling me what to do, and I'm doing it. I'm in the truck now, Juney in the middle, and he's telling us to put our seatbelts on. Once we do Marcus barrels us toward the hospital.
We park in front of emergency, and I'm out with Juney as Marcus rounds the front. He waits for me, takes my arm and in we go. We're taken back, no problem on that. Dad is conscious and saying how ridiculous it all is, and I'm not to worry.
He is in agony. X-rays show a mangled hip and two busted ribs which are not, thank God, poking his lung. They are taking him into surgery as soon as the surgeon gets there.
"It'll be okay," Dad says patting my hand. Juney is there too, and he's patting both of us. Juney leans over Artie and grips him in a hug. Marcus makes to pull Juney off, but Artie says, "It's okay. I'll be okay champ."
Juney pulls back and whispers, "Hugging in the kitchen."
Artie shoots a look at me as he's patting Juney. "Ditto Champ. That's my boy."
"Your vacation is over," he tells Marcus.
Marcus doesn't make the proverbial joke about Dad going to great links to get some time off and get Marcus back on.
He tells Artie not to worry about a thing but to get better.
"Son of a bitch," Artie blurts out. "Better save me some turkey."
We are shuttled into the waiting room then, and Marcus brings us each a Coke. He'd turned the oven off before we left home, he said, so I shouldn't worry like I give a flip about the oven.
"Better start calling people and telling them there's a change of plans," he says sitting next to me.
"I can't do that. People are counting on that dinner. It's too late for them to thaw a turkey."
"Suit yourself, but how are you going to be here and at home doing the Martha Stewart?"
"I'll call Teresa," I say. I walk to the other end of the room, and that's what I do. Teresa has me go over it, what I know about Artie, what he said, how he is, the surgery, how long the surgery, do I need her to come. She's coming if she can get someone to come into work and cook the dinner shift.
I say, "No. I'll call you."
She says not to worry, she'll move the whole dinner to Billy's place. No problem at all. That will work out fine. People can come and eat then visit Artie, she says, but I don't like that last part so much.
"It depends on how he's doing," I say. And in a flash, I know…over the mystery of a cell phone, through the tower from me to her, I know…comes to Artie…she's got shares.
We finish the plans and hang up. I am one bewildered girl as I notice Marcus is also on his phone. He has a lot to do now. I can hear it being laid on him…the pressure.
"Go on," I tell him.
He's shaking his head no.
"You go," I whisper. "Juney can stay with me. There's nothing you can do here. I'll call you soon as he's out."
He's looking at me, finishing talking to switchboard Brenda. There's sure to be some domestics with the holiday. That's the thing about it. Domestics are potentially the worst.
He hangs up. "This town can go to hell until Artie gets out."
See, Dad would never do that. He would go. That's why the people elect Artie every four years and no one even tries to run against him. "You have to go, Marcus," I say. "That's what he'd want, and we both know it."
"Me too," Juney says. "He'd say that Dad."
"So this is how it is?" he says.
"Teamwork," I say, but I don't mean a word of it. I want to be this woman, this stoic, strong woman, but I want him out of here so I can run to the john and sob.
"Call me as soon as he's out okay?" Marcus says, and I see the conflict in his eyes. I don't want to send him out conflicted.
"It's what he'd want," I repeat.
Marcus nods. "Be good," he says to Juney. For me, it's this approach, this grip on my hand, his face moving toward mine, quickly, and this kiss that hits the corner of my open mouth.
Juney's mouth is open too. I have to grin. Marcus has squeezed my hand and moves off awkwardly, looking back at me before he pushes out the door. "Call me," he says before he lets the door close.
I have stood here like a very addled person who's on overload. Dad in surgery, Juney gawking, my first kiss from Marcus, Thanksgiving dinner plans blown to hell, and Teresa hooking up with Artie. These things aren't all equal in gravity or importance, but they all rank. Wow.
I tell Juney I'll be right back, and I walk quickly to the restroom. Through my fog, I can still feel Marcus's half-on kiss. I touch my lips and instead of crying I smile. I'm looking in the mirror at a real dummy, but it's going to be okay, just like Marcus said. "God," I pray, "help Dad. Help Marcus. Thank you."
I wash my face then, just the half Marcus didn't touch with his lips. I don't want to lose his DNA any sooner than I have to.
Back in the waiting room I sit next to Juney and he moves closer, and I put my arm around him and he very magnanimously works his long skinny arm around me and we sit uncomfortably entwined for a few seconds. "It'll be alright," he says, just like his dad but I think he's been crying some.
"Oh sure. They do this stuff all the time," I say.
"Yeah," he says kindly.
I lay my cheek on his hair and for a few minutes we sit silently that way, and that's when I remember his whisper to my dad, "Hugging in the kitchen."
"Hey Bedilia, do you think boys my age should have their own cell phones?"
"Not really," I say. "Why?"
"Oh," he sighs hugely, "just wondering."
"Nice try," I say.
"Are you and Dad…like in love?"
I laugh a little. "We're…good friends. You know."
"Friends who love each other?"
"We're like family. So that's love, right?"
"You should tell Grampa Artie. He'll be so happy."
"Will he? Like…hugging in the kitchen?"
He is very still for a few silent beats. Then, "I'm not supposed to tell but since Operation Love Boat is complete and Artie's hurt…."
"Operation Love Boat?" I say flatly.
"It's our secret."
"Wait a minute. Did your dad say I was the…you know…the prettiest girl in Washington?"
He looks like it's judgment day. He's playing with his fingers like they're a bunch of fat worms. "Almost."
"What did he really say?" I might have moved my consoling arm into a headlock.
"Well, he said there goes the most infuriating girl in the state of Washington. Like that." He'd mimicked Marcus, catching his father's self-righteous tone perfectly. Now I know he's telling the truth, and I ease my hold and pull away from the little turd.
"Don't be mad. It worked, didn't it? Grampa Artie said he'd activate his old cellphone for me if I said that thing about you being pretty and watched for hugging and kissing and reported back to him. Like we're working a case, he said."
"Grampa Artie said my dad wouldn't know love if it fell on him in an explosion." He seemed to like this idea a lot, and he was laughing now, no conscience at all about singing like a canary.
"And Jessica?"
"Well…that's how I earned the ten dollars. It wasn't like I did anything. Grampa Artie just noticed what I was already doing. For services rendered, he said."
"Diabolical," I say in a kind of awe. "But Juney…let me tell you something. From here on out I will be around. And it will be my mission to make sure you're a good boy. Got it?"
He stares at me, his father's eyes, his father's concentration. "Alright, Bedilia."
"Alright, Juney."
Chapter 27
They pin Artie's hip. It isn't an overly long surgery, long enough, but after four hours he is out of recovery and back in his room.
"Most brutal thing I ever went through," he tells me. He says he isn't in pain. He is still feeling the effects of the anesthesia. It will be wearing off soon.
"You still here buddy?" Artie says to Juney.
"Yeah," Juney says allowing Artie to pull his head in for a hug. "Does it hurt?"
"Nah. I'll be out of here in no time," Artie says.
That's not what the surgeon told me out in the hall. With even the beginnings of Parkinson's thrown in the mix, Dad is looking at a good month of recuperation and rehab. It's a nasty break, and even though pinned it remains to be seen if he'll walk as ramrod straight as he always has.
He lets Juney go and starts on me. "You need to get this boy home. I know you've still got lots to do."
"Teresa is helping me," I say.
Dad misses a couple of beats staring at me.
"Okay. She's a real trooper…Teresa," he says. Then he gulps. I guess he's been asexual too. We're puritans.
