by Diane Munier
I leap off of him. Pull at the sticky shorts, pull them from crotch. I am fumbling to gather everything.
“Where are you going now?” he says sitting up.
“Home,” I say like he should know.
“Let’s shower. We’ll eat….” He is up and his hands…. “Sarah. Sarah. Don’t run away. Let’s be together. I’ll help you. Whatever it is…we’ll do it. Slow down.”
I am clutching my things. “You can’t do my work, Spencer. Only me.”
“Let’s shower and I’ll make us breakfast while you work.”
I’m not sure…yes or no…I’m not sure.
“I will go home,” I say.
“I’ll see you in a few minutes, right? You go home then and I’ll cook over there.”
“You cook?”
“I can. A couple of things. I’m learning.”
“Oh. Well…good-bye.”
He laughs. “Sarah…you make good-bye so final. It’s like I’ll never see you again.”
I can’t help it. Good-bye is a very final word. It’s just the way I say it.
I pull away from him then. I am a mess. A stinking mess, truly, but he hasn’t seemed to mind. He watches me, then he’s there to help me unlock the door. He lets me out and he follows me. He reaches around and undoes the locks on the door. He lets me out. He grabs my arm before I can leave. He kisses me. “A few minutes. I’ll be there.”
I just nod. I don’t know what to do with him. But I’m figuring it out. I look back, on the porch, I look back. He’s standing there…that grin.
“Watch where you’re going,” he says, “Sullivan.”
I’m trying to.
Me and Mom Fall for Spencer
Chapter Twenty-Two
Mom is already at work when I get home. I enter the kitchen and it has that sad silence of aftermath, scene of the crime…a broken cup on the floor, a coffee stain there. She’s dropped her coffee.
I lay my bag on the kitchen table and get paper towels and clean. If I told her it was hard, splattered everywhere, dried now and difficult to clean, unfair, if I said that she would laugh me off, say it was no big deal, get over it, in the scheme of life, in that, there is more, get your head up, she’d say.
There was a day her light skim helped me. But now, if I gave her a chance, I would go away. While she looked, I would pop into nothingness and she wouldn’t notice…hadn’t noticed.
Every noise is magnified. I am looking over my shoulder for Spencer. I don’t want to meet him here, in this space. I don’t know why. I’ve slept with him in Frieda’s house. I’ve slept there…with him. And now I don’t want to meet with him here? I don’t.
I make sure the door is locked and I run upstairs and get in the shower, let the water hit me for a long time and the memories, the feelings.
I’ve been touched and held. I wonder if I look the same. I whip the shower curtain back so I can look in the mirror over the sink. I look…the same. I smile, but I look the same. And I have a hickey.
I feel different, I swear I do. I feel…excited. And worried. I don’t know why I’m worried.
When the water is tepid I shut it off. For a long time then I am stuck here, hands on the faucets, dripping, staring at the drain. Spencer. Oh God. This won’t leave me, won’t swirl down the drain. This is…inside.
I may have momentarily escaped his want.
But I can’t escape mine.
So I get dressed.
But I do not open my laptop.
Later, at Cyro’s I plunge in, I don’t say good morning. Cyro is still in bed. I know where Jason keeps the extra key so I’ve broken in, technically, but this is not the first time.
I turn on the lights. Right away I see a mouse stuck on the trap in the corner, its legs still pedaling frantically. It’s not the only issue I am avoiding. Spencer was knocking on my back door when I got out of the shower and I never answered.
And I ran over to Cyro’s once dressed, literally ran. This is why what I’ve started with Spencer is wrong. I’m in trouble.
So I just don’t look there, the presence of the mouse somewhat dwarfed by my own problems. I go in the kitchen. The traps in here are still empty. I start at the sink.
My hands are in the soapy water when Spencer knocks at the back door. I don’t know how he knows to come here, but I open the door and go back to the sink. He carries a bowl and it’s fragrant.
“Breakfast,” he says. He sets the bowl on the table. “There’s a broken basement window. That’s how the mice get in,” he says.
I don’t answer. I’m thinking of what to do.
Then he tells me he’ll be right back, a light touch on my waist and he leaves. I think he is going for Ned. That is my guess.
I take the new dishtowel off the bowl he’s brought over, and it’s eggs and cheese on the top and tomatoes cut up.
I call Cyro. If I can get him up that will be all I need to hide behind…from Spencer.
Spencer is back before Cyro is up. He knocks and I say to come in. I am back at the sink scouring a fork.
“I brought paper plates,” he says. Those are under his arm, and he carries the two buckets of paint Mom bought him. “Is Cyro still in bed?”
“Um…yes.” Scour, scour.
“Well…you want to eat?”
I do. I just now realize I’m starving. “Okay,” I say, and the table is full of mail, opened and unopened, and two fly-specked salt shakers. It’s not a place where I want to sit and eat, and it puts us close and facing one another, knee to knee.
Cyro comes out of the bedroom, using a crutch. He is in a T-shirt and boxers. He looks at us, mostly at me, shaking his head.
“Morning, man,” Spencer says.
Cyro goes in the bathroom.
I know he feels invaded.
Spencer digs in. I stack the mail, serious looking to the left, junk to the right. I take the junk pile to the trash and sit back down in front of my food. Then I take a bite.
“What do you think?” he says. But when I look at him, the question is bigger. It’s about us. What do I think? Which time…when you were holding me in your bed or knocking on my locked kitchen door?
“Sullivan?”
I’ve had my eyes closed.
“Think he’ll let me paint his living room?” He looks around. “Shit this needs it too.”
“You,” I have to clear my throat, “…you ever panted…oh no…painted before?”
He laughs. “Like cherry tomato?”
I have to smile. Hardy-har.
“I’ve panted, I mean painted before Sullivan.”
“Cute. Just go in there and do it,” I say.
“Does he still have his gun?” he says.
“He’ll be okay. Just do it. Don’t ask.”
“Yeah,” he says, that deep eye contact he can make so easily, “some people…they don’t like a lot of questions.”
“You don’t,” I blurt in case he means me.
He smiles like he’s taking a dare. “What do you want to know?”
I eat quietly for a minute. “How you bought Frieda’s.”
“Cash,” he says, clever. He forks a mouthful, he chews, still smiling.
“Why Frieda’s?”
“Fresh start…like I told you.” He says this, like an umbrella he pops open to keep off the rain. “I always wanted to live north. My real estate agent sent me the ad. I decided quick.”
“Were you in trouble?”
He has to take a big bite now. He has to chew, lick his lips. “No. I’m not in trouble. I’m…out of trouble.”
“Something happen at your school, with your job?” Why can I only think he was involved with a female student? What else do male high school teachers do that they have to leave town over?
“No. Nothing like that.”
“You…ever been locked up?”
He laughs. “No jail time,” but there’s something a little off in his answer.
Maybe I’ve hurt his feelings? Or maybe he’s mad, like before when I read hi
s palm…without his palm of course.
“I only have today…the present…that’s why it’s a gift or something.” He laughs.
What does he mean repeating these broken bits of slogans…does he mean any of it?
“Brothers?” I say.
Now he does miss a beat. Looks down at his plate. “Only child, remember?”
“Yeah. It’s something you said….”
“To a dog,” he interrupts. “I was talking to a dog.”
So he knew…I knew. He had looked at me when he’d said it…to Ned. But people told dogs the truth. I did. Except when I had to have King put down. I didn’t tell him until right at the end. That was my first and only lie.
“He’s in WITSEC,” Cyro says, suddenly emerging from the bathroom. He about gives me a heart attack. I have to start listening for more than Spencer’s voice.
Spencer turns to face him. “I’m not in WITSEC,” he says…like vehemently.
“The hell you’re not,” Cyro says. He leaves then, stumps to the living room.
“Are you?” I say again. It makes perfect sense. “You’re in WITSEC.”
“No,” Spencer says again, two hands on the table.
“What dog is that?” Cyro calls from the living room. If he can see Ned, then Ned must be out of the yard.
“Son of a bitch,” Spencer says and he runs out the back door.
I run to the living room…well I walk fast. “Did you call Colin or something?”
Cyro doesn’t answer right away. He’s in his recliner again and he’s craning his neck to watch Spencer chase Ned all over the place trying to get him back in the yard.
“Cyro, did Colin tell you Spencer was in WITSEC?” A million thoughts are running through my head. I’m trying to look calm. Maybe I don’t even know Spencer’s real name.
“No,” Cyro says still not taking his eyes off of Spencer. “You Google him yet?”
Well maybe I have, but nothing really showed. Nothing at all actually.
“It’s an alias,” Cyro says in this thin voice like he can barely be bothered to move his lips he is so engrossed in Spencer’s movements as he tries to corner Ned.
“Okay Ironsides,” I say folding my arms. He’s speculating.
He laughs at the name.
“Leeanne,” I say, happy to throw her under the bus. “Sorry.”
He’s shaking his head. He picks up his paper then. “Give me some of that stuff John Doe brought over.”
“Just so you know, Spencer,” or whoever he is, “is painting in here today.”
That does wipe some of the smug smile off his face.
I walk blindly back to the kitchen, see the food there he’s prepared, and everything he’s said and done rushes through my mind and in this new WITSEC frame it’s like I’m getting ready to star in an episode of Dateline.
Who did I get naked with last night?
Me and Mom Fall for Spencer
Chapter Twenty-Three
Spencer has dragged Ned around Cyro’s house to the backyard. He is in the process of penning him there, and running some water through the hose.
I am taking Cyro another plate of Spencer’s food.
“Doe can cook,” Cyro says receiving the plate with interest.
So I’m back in the kitchen scrubbing things when Spencer enters all out of breath with Ned behind him trying to get in. Spencer says no, very loudly, then he closes the door. Well he slams it.
I wonder if he wants to take Ned back to Barb. I hope not.
“He’s impossible,” he says to me, like Ned’s a teenager caught smoking weed.
Spencer goes to the door beside the pantry and yanks it open. The dank cellar air fills the room. “I’m going down there to find a paint brush and something to stop the underground rodent railroad.” He says this like Scarlett at Tara, the clod of dirt in her hand. I mean he seems to be all about resolve right now.
“There’s one in the living room,” I say. “A rodent.”
“I’ll get it,” Spencer sings a little like it’s always up to him to set things right.
He goes down the hall to the living room and I go back to my scrubbing. He comes back in the kitchen, takes the trap outside, fights with Ned, comes back in swearing that dog is going back to the shelter today, only he says too-day. Then he is marching down Cyro’s rickety basement stairs. I hear him trip, curse, say he’s alright and carry on with an occasional crash and more cursing.
Eventually there is hammering. No more rodents. It’s so nice to have a man around the house.
When he finally emerges, paintbrushes in hand, I have thrown all the science experiments out of the fridge.
And I want to know if he’s who he says he is.
“Spencer, about…what Cyro said….”
“You’re still on that?” he whispers, shaking those brushes at me. “I’m not going to be defending myself every time some rusty gear grinds another inch and he decides to spurt something…crazy. So just drop it, Sullivan.”
“But you’d tell me?”
He shakes his head. “You want the truth,” he says getting closer.
“Yes,” I say thinly, licking my lips in case I’m about to be kissed.
“I saw your underwear those two times. Yes, I mean just what you think I mean.” He smiles then, and it’s kind of evil. “Changed my life,” he says, smirking in the direction of my…knees. But when he brings those eyes back to mine…I dry gulp.
He brushes against me as he leaves the room and I am effectively knocked off topic.
Cyro’s kitchen is pretty clean when I leave his house hours later, no it is gleaming. I leave Spencer painting away. He and Cyro are hitting it off. Cyro is more talkative than I’ve heard him be in years.
When Spencer had first gone in there to get the room ready for paint, Cyro had told him he was a good cook. Spencer said, thanks, and he was learning. Then Cyro asked a lot of questions like, where’d you grow up, any military service? You were a teacher? What school was that?
Spencer said, “Look Cyro, I appreciate your interest, but fresh start means just that. I’m not in WITSEC and I don’t want a rumor like that to get started. And we’re not doing Law and Order, man.”
So Spencer was the one who brought up WITSEC. Cyro never said one way or the other if he believed Spencer’s denial. The answers to Cyro’s questions were vague, but Spencer insisted he wasn’t in the program. “You watch too much television, man,” Spencer said.
That’s when I heard Cyro’s big-ass silence.
I made them both a couple of sandwiches and said I’d be going home to work and taking Ned with me. They were practically kissing over a mutual love of the Broncos when I slipped out.
So I have worked all day on my computer. Mom has been home for a couple of hours. She’s called to me, but I haven’t answered. Now I let Ned go downstairs and I ask her to put him in the yard. She says we have to talk and I say, “Not now, I’m working.”
It’s almost six when I hear Spencer and Ned in my yard. I go to the window and Ned runs around and Spencer throws a stick. Spencer is paint splattered—it’s even in his hair. He looks happy, rewarding Ned with a furious rub-down, like he’s making up for yelling at him earlier.
WITSEC would explain the loneliness, wouldn’t it? But he doesn’t look lonely now he looks happy.
I don’t know how long I am there before he catches sight of me and waves. I wave back. He points at my garden, then lifts his hands in question. I know it needs picked. I know, tomorrow is the market. Then I hear the backdoor close and I see Mom in the yard making a beeline for Spencer.
I lift the glass so I can hear. Mom draws near to where Spencer waits, hands at his sides, fingers curled. If this was the Wild West he’d have the six shooters right there on his hips. Too bad it’s po-dunk Michigan.
I hear her say to Spencer, “Sarah didn’t make it home last night.”
I hurry out of my room then, down the stairs and through the kitchen, out the door. Ned is happy to see m
e. He runs wildly to me, barking.
Spencer rebukes Ned. He pats his leg for Ned to come and Ned pretends to, then circles back to me.
“Mom,” I’m saying, “what are you doing?”
Mom is in her lounging dress. She’s holding a drink, I don’t know what. Her hair is done and she has on the jewelry that means a date. “Go in the house, Sarah.”
“What?” I have to laugh some. “Go in the house? For real?”
“C’mon,” Spencer says to me, kind of ignoring Mom, “let’s pick this thing.”
“Did you hear what I said?” Mom repeats to Spencer.
“About Sarah? I heard.” He turns to me, “Hey get the baskets.”
“I know she was with you. I called Leeanne and she wasn’t there.”
Spencer shrugs. He goes to the tomatoes and starts to fill the front of his shirt.
“You think I’ll sit by while you take advantage of her?”
“Of Sarah? C’mon, Marie. I’m not getting in the middle of this.” He smirks and shakes his head while he keeps picking.
“Mom,” I say, “that’s enough. You need to go in the house.”
“He’s taking advantage. I told you this would happen. You’ve got a crush on him and he’s using you,” Mom says.
“Hey,” Spencer says, his shirt full, “get the baskets, Sarah.” Then to Mom, “Marie…I’m not using Sarah. That’s bullshit and you know it.”
I don’t want to leave. “You get the baskets,” I say to Spencer. “They’re right inside the back door.”
He looks from me to Mom and he goes for the house.
I am looking at her, wanting to throw something at her, some vegetable, for saying Spencer is using me. That’s so embarrassing and she has no idea how I feel. “Mom go inside.” When she gets going she doesn’t listen. No matter what she keeps going.
“You’re being such a fool,” she tells me. “Did you have sex with him?”
“Mom!” I yell. “You’re…just stop.”
She takes off toward the house and Spencer is coming out now, his shirt empty, one basket already weighted in his hand.
Mom gets close to him. “I called Colin about you. There’s something on you. You don’t just come to a place like this, just show up. You think because we live in a small town you can exploit us and we won’t know? Buster you’re nothing new. This world is full of conmen and sinners. I could see it on you first day but I was willing to give you a chance, had you over to our house, tried to help you out. You knew she was vulnerable and you went right for her.”
