by James Dobson
A stack of clean blankets and two pillows sat like lumps in the hallway just outside the room. Not the old worn-out blankets, either. Tyler had grown accustomed to those from being banished to the extra bed, usually because Renee had caught him staring at another woman. These were the nice blankets, usually reserved for company.
He peeked inside. Renee’s petite, fit form stood, motionless, dressed in a tight-fitting athletic top and spandex shorts, as though she were ready for an evening run. She was just standing there, staring.
“What are you doing?” he asked.
“Here,” she said, startled into action. She pointed to the end of his desk nearest the wall. “Help me move this.”
He obeyed, lifting the heavy end as they dragged it across the room. They set it down at an angle that would make it impossible for him to use, comfortably or otherwise.
“Is someone coming to visit?”
Renee turned her gaze toward Tyler’s, then stepped forward, grabbing his arms and wrapping them around her waist in a hug. She caressed his stubbled jawline, then kissed him long and hard before pulling back and resting her head against his chest. He drew her face to his and kissed her back. This wasn’t about his being late and not calling. She was clearly upset about something. He slowly ran his fingers up her back to her long, dark hair. Then she pulled away.
“I can’t,” she said, a tear forming in her eye.
He kissed her nose, then her forehead. “Why not?”
“My dad called.”
This time Tyler pulled away, seating himself on the edge of the desk. “What happened?”
Renee brushed away the tear, blinking several times before saying anything. Tyler felt momentarily awkward. He hated this kind of stuff. Renee’s parents were always calling about something. Usually it was her mom complaining about Renee’s dad and his crazy nonsense, or going on and on about their latest health woes. But rarely was it her dad who called.
“My mom fell. The ambulance came and, well, they’re at the hospital now. They thought she might have broken her hip.”
“Again?”
She nodded. “But I got through to my dad after I called you and apparently the doctors think she’ll be OK. A bit bruised. She sprained her arm trying to catch herself.”
Another tear.
“And you know my dad. He can’t take care of himself worth anything if she’s not there to cook and pick up after him.”
Tyler tried to inject a bit of levity. “I don’t think he’d remember to change his underwear if she didn’t lay out his boxers for him.”
“Exactly.” She smiled, slightly. “So now I have to figure out what we’re going to do.”
“We?” It came out before Tyler could check himself.
“I was thinking they could come and stay with us. Just for a while.”
“Here?” He glanced around the room, looking for any reason that wouldn’t work. “They can’t stay here. Imagine if your mom falls again while climbing the stairs? And this room…it isn’t big enough for them! I can hardly squeeze around the bed! There’s gotta be somewhere else. Somewhere better.”
Renee perched herself on the edge of the bed. “I know, I know. But there is nowhere else. They certainly can’t afford one of those rehabilitation centers right now. So I was thinking—and this is just for a week, two tops—that they could move in here and stay in our room.”
Our room. That’s what had come of living together three years. He missed the days when there was just his room. When any overnight guest was there for a short, no-strings-attached frolic. And now he was being asked to give up the master suite in exchange for this room. This very small room.
“It’s downstairs,” Renee stated over Tyler’s silence. “No steps to manage. And there’s a shower instead of a tub. It’s perfect, really.”
“But…it’s our bedroom.”
“I know. I’m sorry, Ty baby. But don’t worry. We can celebrate our anniversary in here just as well as downstairs.” She patted the mattress reassuringly.
He half-smiled, but that wasn’t what he’d been thinking. In fact he’d forgotten, once again, about their upcoming anniversary. He’d been thinking that this wasn’t what he had signed up for when Renee suggested moving in with him. At the time he’d naïvely thought it would make sex easy. No special dates or grand gestures required. Living together would mean that anytime he wanted it, all he had to do was roll over. And that’s how things had been…at first.
But the longer they lived as domestic partners the more tension he felt over the increasingly intertwining and interdependent realities of their lives. Especially the business loan. And retiring that debt would require at least another eighteen months, a year and a half more of near-marriage.
He looked into the same eyes that had drawn him so deeply into the longest serious relationship he had ever endured. Her eyes were pleading while her lips formed an alluring pout. Truth was, he did care about Renee more than he wanted to admit. He couldn’t throw her out in her time of need—especially over something like her mother falling.
Tyler reached out toward her. Their hands met, and he sighed. “You’re right, of course,” he heard himself say. Then he cursed silently.
Renee beamed. “You mean it?”
He shrugged.
She tugged him off the desk, kissing him again.
Tyler glanced around the still-disorganized room. “I guess we should finish getting this room in order.”
“Later,” Renee said. “I’ve got a surprise for you first.”
* * *
He tried to like it. Or rather, he tried pretending to like it, but it was no use. Leeks and asparagus hardly made for a hearty dinner. Where was the meat? Where was the protein? This meal quite possibly ranked as the worst ever.
“So, you mentioned good news,” Renee said over dessert: apple slices with honey and cinnamon.
“I did?”
“On the phone.”
“Oh, right.” He gladly set down his fork, shoving away his plate. “A new client.”
Renee reached across the table with her fork and stabbed one of his apple pieces. “Another rich and jealous lover?”
He took a sip of wine, shaking his head. “No, no. Not like that. This one’s different. Kind of a big deal, actually. Should be interesting. A bit of a mystery.”
“Mystery sounds good.”
“It is. Only…I don’t know. My client doesn’t want the police involved, and I’m a little uneasy.”
“Police? Sounds serious.”
“It is. I’ll probably stop by to see what Smitty thinks…just in case.”
His eyes landed on a frame on the mantel cycling through a series of pictures. He saw himself standing proudly alongside his old partner, both dressed to the hilt in their formal uniforms. Tyler hated that picture—a constant reminder of the life he’d traded away. But Renee loved it because, in her words, it made him look “hot,” whatever that meant in reference to an almost-fifty-year-old guy. The rest of the photos held far less significance.
Standing with Renee at some ski lodge.
A solo shot of Renee making a cheesy smile, holding up a fish she’d caught during a tent camping trip they took together when they first met.
Then came Renee’s family. Her father, his head mottled with age. Her mother, fragile and lean. Tyler had never really known his own father, and his mother had died before reaching such an advanced age. Ambushed at fifty-four by pancreatic cancer.
“So, when are they coming?” he asked, still staring at the picture frame.
“Hmm,” Renee mumbled while finishing the last bite of apple off his plate. She swallowed hard. “Well, as soon as possible. Tomorrow would be good, but…”
She hesitated.
“But what?”
“Well. You know how much I hate the drive through the mountains alone and—”
“Renee,” he said warily. “You do remember that I have work to do, right?”
“I know, I know. But…it
will only take a few hours. Can’t you come with me?”
Tyler felt anger in his throat as the afterglow of their earlier romp dwindled back to annoyance. Renee seemed eager to fit Tyler into the mold of her father, a man who had spent forty-some years of marriage doing anything his wife asked at the drop of a hat and sacrificing his dreams and desires for an existence Tyler would have found smothering. He told himself he had no intention of spending his life catering to the whims of a needy woman and, God forbid, potential kids.
He looked back toward Renee’s relatively youthful face smiling beside his own from the picture frame. Would she end up as gaunt and decrepit as her mother? Would he end up like her father, sidelined by life with no real reputation to speak of or even hobbies to enjoy? Would he be stuck eating leeks and asparagus for the rest of his life?
“I…don’t want to.”
“Oh.” Renee cast her gaze downward, then grabbed the dishes from the table and started toward the kitchen. “I understand. You’re busy. I’m sorry to bring it up. I can manage. Somehow.”
“Renee, don’t be like that. I just got this case. It’s important.”
The dishes clattered into the sink. “No, really. I get it. Sometimes things are more important than…family.”
“Renee!” he said, hoping to stand his ground. But it didn’t matter. No further conversation would take place between the two of them for the rest of the night.
Chapter Seven
Julia Simmons watched her nephew jerk himself away from his mother’s reach and then scan the mall parking lot for potential witnesses. No twelve-year-old boy likes to be surprised by a hug his friends might see. He huffed away as Maria Davidson wilted back toward the car, her dejected stroll in stark contrast to the hurried sprint she’d used to deliver Jared’s forgotten backpack.
“Let me guess,” Julia said as her sister slunk into the passenger seat. “He didn’t say thank you.”
Maria flashed an exaggerated pout. “I guess I’m off the cool list.”
Julia laughed while putting the car into gear. “I don’t think either of us is on Jared’s cool list anymore.”
Maria extended her arm as if to pause the car’s forward movement. “Wait! What movie did he say they were seeing?”
“The one about micro-robots gone wild.”
“That’s right.” Maria reached toward the dashboard to tap in the title Micro-Predators II. “Here it is. The movie ends at twelve thirty. Add an hour for them to get pizza afterwards—”
“—and that gives us until one thirty.” Julia completed the sentence. “We should go downtown. When was the last time we ate at Vesta?”
“Perfect!” Maria flashed a predatory grin. “Nothing like an upscale dipping grill to cheer up a mom banished from the domain of cool.”
As they pulled out of the parking lot Julia considered the idea of her sister falling out of style. At thirty-five, Maria Davidson remained a remarkably attractive woman, her blond hair and effortless spunk creating a feminine charm other women couldn’t help envying. She had never been shy about wearing the latest designer fashions. The outfit selected for today’s sis lunch outing, for example, would turn every male head in the restaurant. While it was too risqué for Julia’s taste or comfort, Maria enjoyed flaunting curves even her son’s adolescent buddies found impossible to ignore. Regardless of Jared’s attitude toward his mom, Maria Davidson would never be totally banished from the popular class.
“So, how’s Troy?” Maria asked while checking her hair and makeup in the visor mirror.
“He’s doing fine. A bit stressed lately. But fine.”
“How was your night at the Omni?”
The question prompted a slight blush from Julia as she remembered celebrating six months with Troy.
“It was very nice.” A smile lingered on her lips.
Maria’s eyes shot in her sister’s direction. “Julia Davidson,” she said. “You naughty girl!”
“The name is Julia Simmons,” she protested. “I’m his wife, remember? There’s nothing naughty about it.”
Both tried to suppress a sly grin.
“Well, I’m jealous. It’s been a long time since I’ve been naughty.”
Julia rolled her eyes. “You’ve got to be kidding. You just broke up with what’s-his-name three or four months ago.”
“Jonathan. And it’s been six months.”
“Right, Jonathan.”
“Don’t act like you forgot his name. He liked you first, remember?”
“And then he saw you and I became yesterday’s news.”
Maria looked out the window to avoid her sister’s I told you so rebuke.
“I warned you about him,” Julia said.
“You warn me about everyone I date.”
Julia decided to retreat. “Anyway, Troy and I had a great time.”
Maria softened. “Marriage looks good on you, Sis.”
“Thanks. It feels good.”
“I guess I was wrong about Troy.”
“How’s that?”
She hesitated. “You know. I said I thought you needed someone more…well—”
“More hip?”
Maria nodded uncomfortably. “You have to admit, he wasn’t someone who would have shown up on my hot list. He was kind of, I don’t know, peculiar.”
Julia gently slapped her sister’s arm. “He was not peculiar. He just got a bit tongue-tied around me. ‘Smitten beyond words,’ he used to say. I thought it was sweet.”
“That’s what I mean. He uses words like smitten. Who says things like that? I bet he still calls you my lady.”
“Not anymore. I insisted he cut the noble-gentleman shtick.”
“Good.”
A brief silence passed between them.
“I remember what else you said,” Julia reflected aloud. “You said I should find someone less religious.”
Another nod. “I still think he needs to ease up a bit in that arena. You’ll end up like Angie. Mark my words, the elegant Julia Davidson—”
“Simmons!”
“Sorry. The elegant Julia Simmons will become infamous for wearing frumpy sweat suits while pushing a double stroller through the neighborhood.”
Julia winced at the reminder of a caricature her sister still couldn’t shake. A caricature Julia herself had helped embed in the popular imagination throughout her award-winning career with RAP Media Syndicate.
“I seem to recall you also saying marital sex would put me to sleep.” She turned toward Maria. “Trust me. You got that one wrong too.”
They shared another sly smile.
“How are Kevin and Angie anyway?” Maria asked. “She looked so adorable at the wedding in her maternity bridesmaid’s dress.”
“I’ll let you know next week. I’m flying out tomorrow afternoon with Troy to see them. Kevin has an important presentation he wants Troy to attend.”
Maria lifted a single brow. “Really? You’re going to DC?”
“Troy said he thinks it’s time to release myself from self-imposed exile.”
“Wow.”
“I think I’m ready,” Julia said.
“You don’t sound convinced.”
“I’m ready,” she said. “I guess I’m just a bit apprehensive going back to the place where I nearly destroyed my best friend’s marriage and ruined Kevin’s political career.”
“You didn’t destroy or ruin anything,” Maria objected. “You simply did your job.”
It was the same thing Julia had told herself a hundred times before. She hadn’t known her editor would play fast and loose with the Breeders story or that the pictures of Kevin with another woman had been staged. Still, she felt guilty about the wave of journalistic success the story had propelled.
“A job you quit, by the way,” Maria continued. “You made it very clear you disapproved of what happened.”
Julia accepted the reminder with a thin smile.
“Angie and Kevin are fine. You shouldn’t worry.”
�
��I know. I just wish—”
“Hush,” Maria interrupted. “It’ll be fine. You’ll see.”
Julia did her best to agree. “How’s work?” she asked to change the subject.
“Oh, you know. Every other day we get another prediction of ruin.”
“I thought things were turning around.”
“Like I said, every other day.”
“I’m sorry.” Julia empathized with her sister’s growing sense of insecurity. “Still looking for something better?”
“Who isn’t?”
The question prompted Julia to make a mental note: Finish the story on unemployment. She had pitched a unique angle: a year-in-review feature that would connect the dots between twelve months of layoff and closure announcements and the dramatic spike in anxiety-induced depression. Nearly everyone who still had a job worried about losing it. When would the next shoe drop? Would there be another market crash? What if the government made another cut to the unemployment fund? Every news syndicate included a regular feature speculating about how the economy would change in the wake of what the Wall Street Journal now labeled The Meltdown of 2042. Every economist had a different viewpoint. None seemed to have a clue.
Julia had recently warmed to Troy’s opinion. The crash had occurred after revised revenue projections confirmed the economy was chasing fertility rates over a steep cliff. The ratio of dependent seniors to younger workers was simply unsustainable. The pyramid had flipped, leaving too few productive young straining under the economic burden of an aging population. The past decade had brought a net decline in the number of households for the first time in the nation’s history. Fewer households led to empty, unsellable homes. Lower property values led to lower consumer confidence, further reducing spending on goods and services. The resulting decline in corporate profits dried up most of the business capital necessary to invest in growth or innovation. Dominos fell in a predictable sequence. They would continue to fall.
Even shrinking the social safety net, while inevitable, hadn’t helped. Some said the cuts might have deepened the crisis because business leaders had followed the government’s lead. Nearly every sector of the economy took a hit, with the notable exception of the senior-care industry. That’s why millions of former engineers, architects, manufacturers, sales managers, retailers, builders, and journalists found themselves giving baths and fixing diabetic meals for a living. The old still had access to the cash they hadn’t spent raising kids.
