Love Octagon

by Felicia Rogers

  Randi expression of hurt made even Kevin wince.

  “And Leah, give the procreating a break, will you? Five kids in four years! Tie ’em already!”

  Martha didn’t stop, even when Leah broke down into tears, she kept right on track, going to her next victim. “And Shannon, grow a spine. Stop whining because you don’t have any biological children. I bet if you asked nicely, Randi would be more than happy to just drop Pierre right onto your lap. It’s obvious to anyone with eyes she doesn’t want the kid.”

  Randi gasped. Shannon ran from the room, crying. But Martha didn’t stop. Like a speeding freight train, anyone in her way would be run over. At this point, you didn’t even have to be in the way. Kevin moved back against the wall, fighting the urge to shield his face. As he watched, Martha stalked toward another victim.

  “Now for my favorite—Karen. You know, when you first arrived I knew you’d be trouble. How could two alpha females such as us co-exist? I knew it wouldn’t be easy, but for Kevin, I was willing to try. Anything for the man I love.” Martha gave Kevin a scathing look, and he cowered, trying to blend with the wallpaper.

  Martha continued, “For the last six years, I’ve watched you as you pretend to lead. I’ve allowed you to delegate as I secretly went behind you and fixed your mistakes.”

  “What?” Karen interrupted with shock.

  “Please. Do you honestly believe you were able to accomplish anything on your own?” Even when Karen’s eyes flared in disbelief, Martha continued, “Karen, you must understand. I’m the female head of the household. If the household fails, then I’m a failure. Last night was the first real time I’ve stepped back and allowed you to truly take charge.”

  “But…”

  “Dear, you’re not listening. All those other times, I was secretly helping you. Like I said. I couldn’t allow the family unit to fail.”

  Karen’s hands hung at her sides, clenching and unclenching.

  “Now I have to say I’m disappointed. But I know we can fix this mess. First, we have to organize the chores and get this house back in working order before it gets any more out of control.”

  Karen’s eyes held the look of a wild woman. She balled her hands into fists. Kevin saw what was coming, and he could have stopped it, but part of him thought it was deserved.

  Karen lit into Martha like white on rice. She took her down to the ground, straddling her around the waist, and punched her full in the face. Martha tried to wiggle free, but Karen held her pinned down too well.

  While they were wrestling, Martha yelled, “You aren’t helping me organize this, now are you?”

  Kevin hid a laugh behind his hand. Martha had completely lost her mind. There wasn’t a woman in the house who was going to help her do anything after the things she’d said. What had she been thinking?

  Although his mind wandered, Kevin’s gaze stayed glued to the fight before him. Martha reached up and grabbed a handful of Karen’s hair and pulled backward. She twisted, taking Karen to the ground and gaining the upper hand. Martha rolled on top of Karen, this time with her own fists working.

  “If I had helped you, maybe you’d be winning!” shouted Martha.

  Kevin had seen enough. “Candace, help me separate them.”

  Candace didn’t hesitate. She grabbed Martha and flung her up into the air a little too roughly while Kevin helped Karen off the ground.

  Martha backed up, straightening her clothing, and smoothing her mussed hair. Both women were breathing heavily.

  Martha spoke first. “Well, now we’ve settled that. Shannon, you and Leah work on the little kids’ rooms. Candace and Karen can clean the bathroom mess. And Dana and I will clean the dining room.”

  No one moved. No one spoke. The silence in the room was deafening. If someone had dropped a pin, Kevin knew it would have been heard by all.

  Martha’s hands fell to her hips. In a haughty, ‘I can’t believe you’re not moving’ manner, she said, “Well? What are you all standing around for? We have things to do.”

  “Yeah, Martha. You’re right. We have things to do. And they don’t include helping you. Come on ladies. Grab the children, and we’ll go to the park to play.” Karen’s speech caused a mutiny, and all the women went upstairs and dressed for the day as Martha stayed in one position as if frozen.

  Kevin could hear the chaos as the herd prepared to leave. He stood in the open living room doorway and watched Martha do her impression of a statue. Cathy, Billy, and Emma could be heard begging to go to the park, but they were denied by reason of lineage. Kevin could hear Randi grumble about taking care of Martha’s children as she thumped her feet against the upstairs floor. No one was willing to do anything for Martha at this point.

  Get a bunch of women together and what could one expect? Kevin was surprised one of them hadn’t exploded before now.

  Karen led the pack, and they followed her right out the front door. A resounding thud echoed through the rooms as the bolt clicked shut. Martha unfroze, walked to the door, and yelled as the van drove away. “I don’t care if you leave and never come back! I have Kevin!”

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  As Martha began work on the dining room, Kevin was sentenced to clean the upstairs with the help of Cathy, Billy, and Emma. But the three kids were no help.

  Before he reached the first bathroom, the kids mysteriously disappeared. He thought about calling for them or maybe running and telling their mother, like a big tattletale, but in the end decided to just clean the bathrooms himself. Honestly, how bad could they be?

  When Kevin walked into the first bathroom, he almost gagged. Lifting the lid to the commode, he noticed someone had forgotten to flush.

  Pushing down the white handle, Kevin turned his back on the porcelain apparatus and stared at the sink. The counter was littered with toothbrushes, toothpaste, hairbrushes, hair bows, hand towels, old washrags, and a number of other things that he couldn’t identify. Taking a deep breath, he thought, Nothing ventured, nothing gained. The sooner he started, the sooner he’d finish, right? Maybe there would be time to find Angela and go on the whitewater rafting trip. Although somehow, he doubted it.

  To get started Kevin picked the easiest task. First, he placed toothbrushes in the holder. Then he returned brushes and hair bows to the appropriate drawers. Next, he stuck hand towels and washrags in the laundry basket that was stored in the bathroom closet. Last, he placed the other items on the counter in one neat pile. Hopefully their owners would know where they went.

  Next, Kevin picked up the toothpaste that lay on its side, missing its lid. While searching for the missing lid, he marveled over how messy a few children could be. The sink was covered in large, blue globs of fresh toothpaste. The counter top contained a dried mess resembling old spit. Little white dots decorated the large rectangle mirror above the sink.

  Shaking his head at the situation, Kevin wondered where the toothpaste lid had gotten too. As he bent down to search the floor, his realized his sock felt wet. Looking down, he noticed water coming from somewhere. Then he saw it, a wave of liquid rushing over the side of the toilet bowl.

  “Oh, no!” Before he could grab the plunger, a big, brown wad floated to the top and right onto the floor next to his feet. In one giant leap, he sprang from the floor to the counter. The commotion must have made some noise below because, not long after, Martha arrived.

  “Kevin, what is all this noise about? I’m downstairs in the dining room with the door closed, and I can still hear you—” She interrupted herself when she glanced down and spotted the mess.

  “Kevin! What have you done?”

  “It wasn’t me. I swear.”

  “Are you going to tell me what happened or not?” Martha asked as she grabbed a towel and tried to stop the water from reaching the hallway carpet.

  “All I did was flush, honest.”

  “It must have been full when Pierre went. He never flushes. We’ve drawn diagrams, made charts for sticker rewards, and still he forgets.” Ma
rtha sighed deeply before adding, “I’ll clean this.”

  “Good,” Kevin answered with relief.

  Martha lifted an eyebrow before continuing. “I’m stuck in the dining room anyway. Where the spaghetti sauce set on the wall all night, nothing is bringing it off. The dried flakes are coming off, but it’s leaving a red dye behind. I think the easiest way would be just to paint over it. I have a can of white set up and ready to go. If you can go downstairs and start the painting then I’ll work up here?”

  “Okay. Sure but I’m showering first.”

  “But, why? Why would you shower before you paint?”

  Staring her directly in the face, Kevin said, “Because I am.”

  Hopping across the counter top, Kevin took one big step down and landed in the hallway. He pulled off his socks, holding them pinched between two fingers, and handed them to Martha.

  Kevin bent over to look at his feet. Before he could look up, Martha dropped his socks, causing them to land straight on his head. Kevin used a hand to swipe them onto the floor, cringing at the thought of what was buried in the fabric. Furrowing his brow, he picked them up again with two pinched fingers. If Martha wasn’t going to clean them, then there was only one place for them to go. He carried them to the trashcan, pushed the lever with his pruny feet, and dumped them inside.

  Walking away, he shivered with disgust. Okay. Kevin was a man. And, most of the time, none too clean. But there was a line even he wouldn’t cross. And this was one of them.

  After depositing the filthy socks, he headed for the shower. He washed from head to toe. His feet he doubled, no tripled, no more than that—he washed his feet about seven times. He washed until the skin was red and raw and he was sure the germs were completely gone, along with the top part of his flesh.

  It took forever but when he finally felt clean, Kevin stepped from the shower onto a towel and dressed for his next project—painting.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Just like she said, Martha had the dining room set up and ready for the painting activity. The floor and table were covered in plastic. The window was taped off in blue painter’s tape. Brushes, rollers, a paint tray, a ladder, and a paint can were already at hand.

  Kevin opened the gallon of paint and frowned. Not even a quarter of the container was filled. How was he going to paint this whole room with such a little amount?

  After a few moments’ thought, Kevin remembered Martha had said just to paint with what they had; then they would worry about getting more later. So, that was what he did.

  He poured the white paint into a tray, placed his roller in, brought it out, and rolled the paint onto the ruined walls. He was sorry about Martha’s expensive wallpaper. It must be killing her to have to cover it with paint. A person would think wallpaper that held a designer name would also carry some kind of stain protector. And who would put expensive wallpaper in a dining room which held anywhere from nine to eleven children. Why, it was ridiculous anyway.

  Up and down he moved his arm as the paint rolled on. Kevin whistled a tune as he worked, happy to be out of the bathrooms above. With each swipe, the paint dwindled. But on he worked. Kevin was proud of the progress, and a smile tinged his lips.

  Kevin placed the roller in the paint then laid it against the wall, a gasp escaping his lips as pink smeared where the white should have been. He glanced around in time to see Emma laughing and pouring a cup of red fruit juice into the paint can.

  “Emma!”

  The cup dropped, red liquid spilling onto the clean floor. She scurried from the room like a little mouse running from a hungry cat. Kevin wasn’t happy. Now his remaining paint was ruined, and the room was nowhere near finished.

  Kevin guessed a trip to the hardware store was in order. He didn’t tell Martha or the kids he was leaving. He didn’t bother changing clothes or checking his appearance. He grabbed his keys and wallet, and left.

  Thirty minutes later, Kevin pulled into the parking lot. Before making it to the doors, he heard a loud voice. A man with a big, black box, which resembled an amplifier wrapped around his neck and a microphone in his hand, yelled at the customers as they approached.

  “Repent! Repent, I say. Would you know an angel if you saw one? Would you know a demon if they offered you a gift? How foolish we are! We look at the things of this world, and we idolize them. Money, possessions, people. We think the more we have the more happiness it will bring. I’m here to tell you the only happiness is in this Book. You must read this Book. You must study this Book. You must live for Him and Him alone.

  “Don’t be deceived. The grass is not greener on the other side. People tell you lies. They do not have your best interest at heart. Do not be like Job, and bemoan your fate, begging for death. Do not say you haven’t done wrong. We all do wrong. Repent. Repent!”

  Kevin walked through the electronic sliding doors and into the hardware store, shaking his head. Where do these crazies come from? Imagine standing out in a parking lot and ranting at people like that. Who even knew what the man was talking about?

  Clearing his mind of the scene, Kevin found the appointed aisle and studied the many different varieties of paint. There was the exterior and interior, which was fairly simple to figure out. Then there was the gloss, the semi-gloss, the satin. Along with all the different information for the place they would work best. Then there were all different shades of white to choose from. It boggled the mind. There was antique white, off-white, white-white—the list went on and on. What color was he supposed to choose?

  Kevin dug in his pocket for his cell phone, realizing suddenly the pocket was empty. He must have forgotten the phone at home. Great.

  “Well, I’m surprised to see you here.”

  He peered around and spotted Angela. She was smiling. “Hi, Angela. How are you? How was your trip down the river?”

  “I’m doing all right. But my trip was canceled. My friend picked up a stomach bug.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry to hear that.” Kevin glanced away, embarrassed for a moment. He’d been thinking about her for most of the morning. Did it show? To cover his embarrassment, he asked, “So, what are you doing here? I thought all your home projects were complete?”

  “Well, they are. Since my rafting trip was canceled I thought I would come and take a class. On Saturdays, the hardware store offers a class to help people learn how to improve their homes. I can use all the help I can get.” She smiled at her words. Looking him up and down, she said, “You look kind of rough.”

  “Do I?”

  Angela walked forward and picked white paint flakes from his hair. “Let’s just say, I can tell you’ve been painting.” She stared at his rear, and he glanced behind to see what she was staring at. Turned out his rear was covered in paint as well. Had he backed into the wall? She was going to think he was totally inept.

  Cringing, he said, “Yeah, I have. But I kind of ran out of paint in the middle of my project.”

  “So, you came to get more?”

  “Yeah. Only now that I’m here I don’t remember what color or what kind I need to get to match what I already have.”

  “Been there, done that. Here are your options. You can go home and check. You can guess at the color, or you can just buy enough for the whole project and start over. And are you ever going to call me and ask me out? I mean, I thought we’d bonded over the last couple of days. And to be honest, I thought you would have called me a couple of days ago. Have you only been talking to me to not hurt my feelings? Is all this going to change when we get back to work? Are you going to act like you haven’t discovered a kindred spirit? Tell me, Kevin. I need to know.”

  Kevin pretended he didn’t hear anything she said other than the paint purchasing advice. He couldn’t go down that road right now. So he answered her with, “Yes, I think I’ll get enough to just start the project over. That sounds like a great idea.”

  Her hands went to her hips in a haughty manner. “Kevin!”

  Kevin snickered under his breath
. He just couldn’t help it. The words flowed from his lips. “You’re cute when you’re angry.”

  “Kevin…” Her tone was no longer angry. Now it sounded breathless.

  “I’ve been going to call you but…”

  “I know, something came up.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Kevin, what do you want from me? I mean, do you see us having a relationship? I know we only went out the one time, and I wasn’t the most entertaining date, but this week it seemed like in our brief meetings we connected. We have so much more in common than I imagined. At first, I’ll admit it. I just thought you were cute. And the ladies in Personnel dared me to ask you out.”

  Angela wrapped a strand of hair around her finger and began twisting it, holding him mesmerized.

  “Generally, I have a strict policy about dating men I work with. Not from personal experience, you see, but I’ve noticed over the years some of the messes the other ladies in the office have gotten into, and it hasn’t been pretty! I mean they date; they get married; they share intimate, private things; and then they break up. They spend the next forty years of their lives wondering what he or she is going around and saying about them. I just didn’t think it was worth it. But in your case, I made an exception.”

  A whoosh of breath drifted past her lips, her gaze drifted downward as her foot scuffed across the floor. Batting long lashes, she looked up at him. A smile lifted the corner of her lips, highlighting the beauty of her eyes. Frustration with his newfound life situation caused his fists to ball at his sides as he continued to listen.

  “I came out of my shyness, and I did the asking. Then we went out that one time. After which you avoided me, like I had the plague or something. I knew you weren’t gossiping about me because nothing Mark, Jerry, Fred, or Tom said was consistent enough for it to actually have come from you. It was all stuff they made up in their own heads. So I figured you just didn’t enjoy my company. Which of course, I understand. I was a total stick in the mud at the club. I’ve never been clubbing. Honestly, clubbing just isn’t my scene.”