by Inez Kelley
Conviction revved his voice from jazz to swing with a piercing trumpet blast. Low in her gut, a tremor grew and a small whisper echoed. Maybe this time she had bitten off more than she could chew.
Her swallow squeezed down her tight throat before she faced the console. Reaching for the familiar, she latched on to flirtation. “It’s not the size of the word that matters, Doc, it’s the way you use it. Although I’d much rather have a nice big adjective than an itty-bitty pronoun, if you get my meaning.”
His laughter lifted the tension, easing the mood back into play. Thrust and parry. Jab and retreat. A bit more banter, a little more flirting and the show faded to a close.
“Good show, guys. Doc, your face was priceless. Wish I’d had my camera.” Intoned from above, Justine’s amused words echoed before clicking off with a snap.
“Glad to provide your entertainment for the night, Justine,” Bastian called. Whirling on Charlie, he shook his head. “You never fail to surprise me.”
“Hey, I’m not a shock jock for nothing.” Reclining on her chair, she smiled up at him. “I’m just warming up, too.”
“Yeah, well, bank the fire for a while. I’ve got to go get some sleep before I do this double.”
A double followed by his regular shift meant thirty-six hours. He would only be off a few hours before their show on Friday. She wouldn’t see him until then. Before, it wouldn’t have bothered her. But now she minded a great deal. It seemed like too long to be parted from him. Concern bloomed in her stomach as she trailed after him to the hall.
“How about I bring you dinner tomorrow night? Save you from the cafeteria food.”
“Sounds great. Are you cooking?”
Of all the talents Charlie had, her skills in the kitchen were not ones she bragged on. No one would die from eating her cooking, but they wouldn’t be writing any recommendations either. “Maybe. If not, Mom will be. I’ll make sure it’s edible.”
“That’ll work.” Pulling her close, he pressed a brief but firm kiss to her mouth. “I’m starting to feel like just your best friend again. It’s been hours since I kissed you.”
“Then shut up and do it right.”
“Bossy.” His smile lasted until his lips danced over hers.
Kissing was a lost art form for many, an act lost in the frantic race to more. Bastian took his time, tasting each corner of her mouth before sipping again from her lips. Each touch was a delicacy to be savored. She couldn’t remember any kisses before his that titillated her senses and sent her brain spinning. It was like getting buzzed without the wine. Clinging to the hard line of his shoulders spiced that wine and increased the hum.
“You two are so adorable.” Justine snickered.
Bastian reluctantly pulled away and cleared his throat. “Ready to go? I’ll walk you out.”
“No, I’ve got some more stuff to wrap up. You go on. Ron’s still on the road so I’m in no hurry to get home.”
“All right. See you tomorrow.” He dropped a quick peck on Charlie’s cheek. Both women watched until the door clicked shut behind him before laughing.
“He’s so cute. You’d think a man who sees people naked for a living would’ve forgotten how to blush.” The adopted-motherly love rang clear in Justine’s voice.
“He’s a paradox, all right. He can talk blow jobs on the air but turns pink over a kiss. I think he separates himself, you know, clinical versus personal. And I like his personal just the way it is, sweet. Dr. Hot aside, Bastian is still pretty shy.”
Charlie swung back in the broadcast room with Justine on her heels. As she did her wee-hours show intro, the older woman typed some sequence of keys into the computer. The printer whirled to life in the outer office.
“I hate the end of the month. Nathan and his damn spreadsheets. If he is so all-fired worried about ratings, he should get rid of that crappy morning crew and get some real personalities in here. They put you back to sleep, not wake you up.”
Used to the monthly grumbling, Charlie let her spew for a few minutes. When she had vented enough, Justine sank into Bastian’s chair and sent her an inquiring look. “So, going to marry him?”
“Don’t know.” Charlie shrugged. “Thinking about it.”
“You could do a hell of a lot worse, you know.”
“I know.” Idly flipping through memos on the clipboard, she studied the manager over the brim. “How’re things with Ron?”
The pause was too long, drawing Charlie’s frown. Justine kept her eyes trained on the status bar blinking on the computer screen. “We’re working on it.”
After a bit of radio commentary and selecting a three-song block, Charlie turned to her manager. “You okay?”
Justine melted into the chair. “Some days yes, some days no.” Her mouth opened to say more but then snapped shut. “I shouldn’t be talking to you about my marriage troubles. You’re trying to figure out if you should get married. I don’t want to scare you.”
“You’re not going to scare me any more than my mother has. What’s wrong?”
“I don’t know. Maybe I was just too young when we got married. Maybe I lived through my boys too much and have that empty-nester shit happening. Everything just feels stale. Little things irritate me about him. Like we’ve been married for over twenty years, he should know by now that his socks are in the left-hand drawer. Why does he insist on waking me up to ask every damn day?”
“Maybe he just wants to talk to you.”
“Once you’ve been married as long as I have, talking’s overrated. I know everything he’s going to say, right down to the pauses.” Justine typed another sequence of keys and hit Print. “I know it’s me. I’m just bored with everything. Maybe I need hormone therapy or something. I’ve always wanted a mustache.”
Charlie worried her bottom lip. “What about Ron? Is he bored too?”
“Who knows? I doubt it, as long as he has supper on the table and a weekly nookie break, he’s fine. We’re talking about the man who owns twelve identical blue shirts.”
Stomach churning with anxiety, Charlie rubbed her temples. “Do you love Ron? I mean, like you did when you got married.”
“Who knows? I love him, but back then I think I was in love with love. Now, we’re comfortable, bland but filling, like chicken soup.” When Charlie didn’t speak, she cocked her head and fixed her with a hard look. “Why? You wondering about Doc?”
Unable to find the words to explain her racing thoughts, Charlie shrugged. “I don’t know what I’m feeling or thinking half the time anymore. I’m just confused.”
“You know what I think your problem is? You two did it backward. Most people are attracted to each other, do the bedsheet bingo, fall in love, get married. Then they have to learn to be friends if they’re going to make it through the rough spots. You two met and became friends, fell in love without the hanky-panky and settled into a routine. You were so busy being just friends you didn’t recognize the falling part. Now it’s there and you’re afraid to go back and pick up that last step.”
Conversation paused while the Stones sang about satisfaction and Charlie lined out another three-block. Justine fetched her paperwork and keyed in more numbers. The rhythmic scratch of a highlighter filled the silence as numbers were tallied and analyzed. She dug into the console drawer for the Tylenol, swallowing four with a gulp of cold coffee.
“Maybe you’re right,” Charlie murmured a long while later. “Not a great way to start a marriage, huh, picking up leftover pieces?”
“I don’t know, I guess it depends on what you do with those leftovers.”
A heaviness formed in her gut. Leftovers. Her mother made soup with leftovers. Chicken soup. Comfortable, bland but filling chicken soup.
“Boo, wake up.”
Caz blinked his eyes and groaned before rolling over. “Go away.”
“Come on. I need your help a minute.” Bastian grabbed the blanket and yanked it off with a sharp snap. He got an eyeful of back tattoos and bare ass. Whoa, way too early for that much
nudity. He dropped the sheet back over Caz’s butt.
“What time is it?” Mumbled into the mattress, the words were hard to understand.
“Almost six.”
Caz pushed himself up on his arms to squint at his brother then collapsed back down. “I just went to bed an hour ago, leave me alone.”
“Come on or I’ll be late for work. Put some clothes on, too.” He exited the room and waited in the hall until Caz joined him, stretching and scratching his bare stomach. He’d donned low-slung sweat shorts that threatened to fall off his hips. Tangled and knotted, his long hair obscured most of the left side of his face as a jaw-popping yawn showed his back molars.
“All right, I’m awake. What?”
“Attic.” Bastian already had the landing door open and was climbing the stairs.
“Attic? Jesus, Bastian, there are spiders and shit up there.”
“Get up here.”
He heard the low muttering long before his brother joined him. Face twisted in a grimace, Caz looked around the neatly stacked room and shuddered. “One spider, man, and I am outta here. I don’t do arachnids.”
Bastian pointed to the huge steamer trunk sitting on top of several footlockers. “I need to get in my old footlocker and I can’t move the steamer by myself. So grab a handle and quit bitching.”
“What the shit do you need in there for?” Caz looped a hand around the strap and tugged but was jerked back. He eyed the heavy trunk with furrowed brows. “What the hell’s in there, a dead body?”
“A dead body would weigh next to nothing as long as this thing’s been up here.”
“Not if it was Aunt Clarice. She was huge.”
Bastian shot his brother a hard stare. Whisking the hair from his face, Caz shoved at the trunk with a grunt. It didn’t budge. “Wonder what it is?”
“I have no idea. Mom packed this stuff up years ago.”
“Mom weighed maybe a hundred and twenty pounds. No way she moved this thing.”
“She probably packed it once it was on top.”
“So let’s unpack it and then move it.”
“It’s locked and if there’s a key, it’s long gone.”
Caz glanced around, spied an aluminum baseball bat and went to grab it.
Bastian stilled his reach with a fast hand. “It’s an antique, Boo. You’re not breaking into it. Just grab that side, okay?”
The chest barely moved under their tugging. They locked eyes and nodded, tightened their holds and counted. On three, they pulled and the straps came off both sides.
“Shit,” Bastian spat, dropping the wrecked handle.
“Oh well, broken now. Stand back.”
Bastian had just enough time to flinch away as the bat smashed into the lock. It clanked to the floor with a dull bang. Lifting the damaged lid, Caz laughed.
“Hey, found your old weight bench, all of it. And who bowled?” Four brightly colored bowling balls rested on a bed of huge metal discs and poles.
Bastian raised his brows. “Granddad. Why would she box all this stuff up?”
“With Mom, who knows?” Caz shrugged and started unloading weights. In minutes, the trunk was light enough to be moved to the floor. Bastian swung the blue footlocker around as Caz reached for the black one. The faint scent of cedar flooded the room from almost identical boxes holding vastly different treasures.
“What are you looking for?”
“Some things for Charlie’s surprise.” Palming a small object, he showed his brother.
Long blond hair rippled with a head shake. “You’re delusional but whatever. Hey, look. Remember this?” Holding up a Magic 8 Ball, Caz grinned and shook it with a watery swish.
Bastian looked up from his keepsakes and snickered. “You loved that damned thing. I used to tell you it was possessed by gypsies.”
“I threw it at your head more than once. I’m surprised it never cracked.” Caz laid it aside and dug further into his box. Rolled posters and magazines shifted with loud scrapes. A small intake of air sounded and he pulled out a cigar box.
A tremor started in Bastian’s gut as his brother cautiously pried the long-dried tape off the box and lifted the lid. Caz’s bare shoulders stiffened. A long minute passed. A twitch developed over his lip. The lid snapped shut and he handed the box over.
“Get rid of that, will you?”
Bastian cracked the lid. Two small bags of dried, shredded leaves were tightly bound by stained rubber bands, a leftover stash of pot from long ago. Their mother would never have thought to invade her youngest’s privacy by opening the box. Bastian slammed the lid shut and nodded. “No problem.”
“Wasn’t my drug of choice anyway, but it’s better not to have it around. Probably stale, right?”
There was no way Bastian could have missed his brother’s eyes trained on the box or the bouncing of his left leg against the floor. He tightened his hold on the faded cardboard. No, I’m not letting you slide back down. Stay strong. You’ve come too far.
“Stale, right, probably. Anything else you need me to get rid of?” Stillness reigned for a moment. Bastian held his breath. Caz blew through his mouth in rhythmic bursts. Recognizing the exercise, Bastian waited until the fixated gaze dropped and tensions ebbed.
“No, that’s it. I didn’t hit the hard shit ’til I moved out. Probably why it’s still here. Didn’t need training wheels anymore, went straight to the Harley and crashed.” His voice rasped with strain.
“You all right?”
“Yeah.” Caz sniffed, looked at the box under Bastian’s arm again and plastered one hand to his chest. His thumb swooped over the name Grace. Whoever the woman was, simply her name gave Caz strength. Calm washed in and Caz nodded before rummaging back inside the footlocker. “Yeah, I’m good. Leave it alone.”
Bastian repacked most of the items in his trunk, snapped the lid down and dusted his hands. Grabbing the few selected things and the cigar box, he stood. Sheets of penciled music notes had stopped his brother’s digging.
“You know, some of these aren’t half-bad. I’d forgotten about them,” Caz murmured, papers clutched in a shaky hand.
“I’ve got to get to work. Turn the light off when you leave.”
Before descending the stairs, he looked back. Caz hadn’t moved. Engrossed in the scores, he sat tapping rhythms on his knee, head bopping to unheard melodies. He chased his demons with song while Bastian flushed dried temptation away.
Chapter Eight
“You’re always trying to get me to take my clothes off.”
Charlie frowned at him. “Shut up and take this ugly thing off.”
Behind the nurses’ station, Bastian shrugged out of his white coat as she unfurled the measuring tape. Jennifer, the charge nurse, grinned and whistled. He shook his head and sighed. “Hurry up.”
“Then cooperate.” Pulling his arm out, Charlie stuck the measuring tape in his armpit and skimmed it down to his wrist. Noting the number, she scribbled it on her forearm and started with his other arm.
“I assume this is for the costumes?”
“Yep.”
“What are we going as?”
“I don’t know yet. It depends on what’s available. I want to be there when they open this morning.” She leveled his outstretched arms before wrapping the yellow tape around his chest. “Don’t breathe a minute.”
A ponytailed nurse wearing a scrub top with bright yellow bears rounded the station and leaned on the counter, watching in fascination. “Hey, Charlie, fitting him for a harness?”
“Oh, hi, Suzanne. You never know what I’m going to find in the Costume Corral.”
“It better have pants,” Bastian grunted.
“Oh, stop whining or I will put you in a loincloth, Tarzan.”
“And you’ll take pictures and distribute them to the nursing staff.” Jennifer laughed.
“No, she won’t. Don’t you ladies have something to do?” He dropped his arms but Charlie thrust them upward again and wrapped the tape measure a
round his waist.
“Oh, we can spare a few minutes,” Suzanne teased.
“Wonderful.” His low growl tickled Charlie’s ears, and she smiled before penning another number on her wrist. “Hurry up,” he whispered, looking over her head to the nurses.
“I don’t do fast. Now, spread your legs.”
He did her bidding and she dropped to her knees. He jumped when she tucked the metal tabbed end into his crotch. “Charlie!”
“Stand still or this is going to take all day.”
“I need my camera. Be right back.” Jennifer chuckled and headed toward the staff lounge. Bastian moaned and dropped his head.
“I think you should put him in tights and a cape,” Suzanne offered, a laugh not well-hidden in her words.
“No tights,” he snapped. “I did that already, never again.”
“No, not a superhero, she should look for a Cupid costume,” Jennifer yelled from the break room.
“Oh God. No wings either, Charlie.”
She snickered. “I thought maybe we could be a hooker and a pimp.”
“Fine, at least then I could wear pants.”
“Who said I was going to be the hooker?” she asked, rising from her crouch. She pointed to the ground and he squatted in front of her. When she wrapped the yellow ribbon around his head, he tried to look up, but she put her hand on his crown. Jennifer snapped her camera phone with a loud click.
“All right, enough.” He stood, reaching for his coat.
“You’re disgusting.” Frowning over the numbers on her arm, Charlie glared at him. “Your waist measurements haven’t changed one damn millimeter in an entire year.”
“I don’t get off on ice cream and s’morgasms like other people I could name.” He smirked.
“You’re not normal. Eat a Twinkie or something, will you?”
“How about wedding cake?”
“Sure. Go crash a wedding and pig out. Let me know what flavor it was.” Charlie scowled at her handwriting. “Do you have one leg longer than the other?”
“Not that I’m aware.”
“Then I messed up. Let me redo it.”
Back on her knees, Charlie held the edge of the tape tightly into the vee of his crotch and ran the yellow tape down to his left ankle. The firmer she pressed, the more he wiggled. “Uh, Charlie, I know my pant length and I’d really prefer you get your fingers away from there soon.”
