Unfinished Muse

by R. L. Naquin

  Since there was a small possibility that taking two bottles was against some rule nobody had bothered to tell me, I slid the extra into my pocket, rather than attach it to my belt. At the last minute, I grabbed the Beastie Dust and added it to my belt. Better to have it and not need it.

  I’d been thinking hard about what my mom had said—if their way wasn’t working for me, I had to find my own way. I’d decided to give one last try at this the Muse way. If that didn’t work, then let the crafty people of the world beware: Wynter was coming.

  I bolted out of the building as quickly as I could and managed to avoid contact with anyone else. When I got to Alex’s neighborhood, I parked up the street from his house and made my way up the sidewalk, invisible and ready to fight my hardest to get him back on track.

  No matter what.

  I barely thought about the process when I stepped through the front door. I’d done it enough times lately, it felt like second nature. When I entered the kitchen, Oscar let out a yip and hopped out of his bed. His toenails clacked on the floor on his way over to me.

  I knelt to get closer to him. “Where’s your Alex, sweetie? Is he downstairs?”

  Oscar gave me a doggy smile and a short bark. He turned and went the direction I’d come, not toward the basement door.

  “Okay. We’ll go that way, instead.” I followed him on the plastic runner down the hallway.

  At the end of the hall, Oscar stopped in front of Alex’s door and whined.

  I wrinkled my nose. I knew from my initial excursion how that room smelled. “If you say so.” I stepped through the bedroom door.

  Alex was still in bed. The curtains were drawn, his clothes were on the floor, and the smell was worse than I remembered.

  “Dude.” I shook my head. “Dude, seriously.” I unhooked my bubbles, prepared to use the entire bottle on him if that’s what it took to get him out of bed. “What the hell happened to you?”

  Oscar, unable to morph through walls like I could, was unhappy being stuck out in the hall. He clawed at the door and made a series of annoyed, sharp barks.

  Alex groaned and pulled the pillow over his head.

  Disgusted, I blew a string of bubbles at him. “Get your ass out of bed. What the hell is wrong with you?” Maybe that wasn’t the most inspirational thing I could have said, but he did take the pillow off his head, so my method wasn’t totally crap.

  Oscar banged on the door, then continued scratching and barking.

  Alex threw the pillow at the door. “Alright. I’m up. Knock it off.” He sat up and swung his feet to the floor, then sat there, rubbing the stubble on his face. “Stupid dog.”

  I stood within inches of him and blew bubbles directly at his face. “Get moving, soldier. That dog’s not going to walk itself.”

  He muttered something incoherent and stood to pull on a pair of pants that had been hanging over the end of the bed. He yanked off the tee he’d been sleeping in and replaced it with a fresh one from the dresser, along with a clean pair of socks.

  I sat on the edge of his bed and watched, feeling like a voyeur with really bad taste. Once he ran his fingers through his sparse hair to set it straight, he open the door and scooped Oscar into his arms.

  “I’m sorry, buddy.” He planted a kiss on the dog’s head. “Had some trouble getting moving today. Let’s go outside.”

  I sighed. It was a start. Maybe the fresh air would do him some good and make him easier to work with—more suggestible.

  I traipsed behind him blowing bubbles of encouragement. Occasionally, the wind picked up and the bubbles went wild, but mostly, the breeze was at our backs and my efforts smacked him in the back of the head as intended.

  Oscar had a long leash, and he led us from tree to tree, across the street to sniff an intriguing bush, around the corner to snap at a dirty sock left in the gutter, then down a few blocks to a park where his little legs finally wore out and he dropped to his belly on a mound of grass next to a bench. Alex took a seat and got comfortable. I got the impression this was part of their regular routine.

  “Guess this is it for us, Oscar.” Alex stretched his legs out and crossed his ankles. “After this, I’ve got to make some changes.”

  I blew bubbles directly into his face. “Like building a replica of your house in toothpicks, perhaps?” I blew a few more for good measure.

  He sighed. “No more screwing around, Oscar. Time for me to do something more with my life. He was right. I’m too old to live with Mom and play in her basement all day building models. It’s time to do something with my inheritance. Investment banking isn’t much fun, but it’s respectable, I guess.”

  Oscar wagged his tail, lifted his head, and whined.

  Alex shook his head, shoulders slumping. “I’m sorry, buddy. I won’t be able to take you with me.” He sniffed and looked despondent.

  I scowled. “Who the hell have you been talking to?” I blew so many bubbles, I felt lightheaded. “You march back to the house and get back to work on your masterpiece, Alex. Come on, man. Don’t give up on your dreams.”

  Alex leaned forward and scratched Oscar’s head. “Real life isn’t about dreams, I guess. Being an adult means giving things up.”

  “What? No!” My head swam from hyperventilating on bubbles, so I dropped to the bench next to him. “There’s no giving up in toothpick art.”

  Alex pulled Oscar up onto his lap and massaged the little guy’s floppy ears. “We had a good run, though, didn’t we?”

  The man was talking as if his entire life was over. Until that moment, I hadn’t really wondered what he did for a living—he was always home when I got there. That he was living off his inheritance hadn’t even crossed my mind.

  The more I found out, the less I knew about him. But I did know this: the only time I’d seen Alex happy was when he worked on his building project. I was a Muse. I would not sit back and watch a man give away his soul to a nine-to-five job he didn’t want or need while leaving his dreams behind simply because some asshat told him he should.

  I rose from the bench and walked behind a nearby tree. The only other people at the park were a young mother and her twin toddler boys. Mom pushed a stroller under another tree and released her little ones, who tore off toward the sandbox. Nobody was paying any attention to me.

  I flicked the button on my belt and became visible again, then clipped my bubbles to their spot. When I appeared next to Alex’s bench, I did my best to look distressed and overheated.

  “Excuse me.” I panted a little, pretending to be out of breath. “Did you see a Pomeranian in a green bowtie come tearing past here?”

  Alex glanced up at me, frowned, then shook his head. “No, I’m sorry.” He sat up straighter. “Do you need help looking?”

  I dropped to the bench in feigned exhaustion. “No. Thank you, though. He’s an idiot. He’ll come back home when he runs out of energy.” I fanned myself with my hand. “I don’t know why I bother to go after him. He does this all the time.”

  He patted Oscar and smiled at me. “I understand. It’s dangerous out there. They don’t realize how dangerous.”

  I nodded, then stuck my hand out. “I’m Wynter.”

  He gave my hand a firm shake. “Alex. I’ve never seen you around here. Do you live nearby?”

  I took a deep breath. I’ve never been especially good at lying before. But I’ve never been especially bad, either. “About four blocks from here. Over on Brown. You?”

  “Two blocks in the other direction. What do you do?” He wasn’t flirting, exactly, but he did appear truly interested. As if he didn’t get a chance to talk to other people very often.

  Maybe he didn’t.

  We chatted awhile about my job as an operator at an answering service—not a total lie, since I did have that job once—and about his lack of a job, due to having inherited money when his dad died fifteen years earlier.

  “But, what do you love, Alex?”

  He gave me a sheepish look. “It’s stupid.”
>
  “Nothing’s stupid if it makes you happy. Some days, lime Jell-O makes me happy.” I wrinkled my nose. “Unless it’s got fruit or carrots or something chopped up in it. Jell-O is only good if it’s smooth.”

  Alex chuckled. “Agreed. Well, my hobby’s not as cool as Jell-O, but I build stuff with toothpicks.”

  I raised my eyebrows. “Seriously? Like, what, bridges and stuff? I’ve seen some pretty amazing things online.”

  Oscar shifted in Alex’s lap, then moved to the space between us to rest his chin on my leg before going back to sleep. I smoothed the soft fur behind his ears.

  Alex gave a small shrug. “I’ve built bridges before. Right now I’m…I mean, I was building a replica of my house.”

  “Was?”

  He shrugged again and scratched Oscar’s back. “I gave it up. I need to do more important things.”

  “Alex.” I sat without speaking until he finally made eye contact with me. “What’s more important in life than doing the thing that brings you joy?”

  The cloudy, uncertain look I’d seen in his eyes for the past several days appeared to recede like a slow tide. “Maybe you’re right.”

  I smiled. “Alex, I may not be able to catch my dog, but trust me. I’m always right.”

  Chapter 20

  When I left, Alex had an excitement on his face he’d been missing since the previous Thursday. I was confident his enthusiasm for finishing his project was fully restored. I’d have liked to stay and watch, but I still had two more clients to reignite.

  My fingers were crossed that Missy was back to work and not screwing around with her fingernails again, but I didn’t hold my breath. The fact that all three clients fell off the wagon at the same time had me suspicious. Of what, I wasn’t exactly sure, but something—or rather someone—could be working against me. Maybe.

  Or maybe I just sucked at this.

  Whatever the reason for my failures, Missy was hard at work on a Sudoku puzzle when I got there. The scrapbooking supplies she’d so painstakingly sorted last week were piled in a haphazard stack on the kitchen counter. Some of the pretty papers had rings on them from where she’d left a water glass or coffee cup.

  Baby Cassie lay on her back on a blanket on the floor, bare feet wiggling in the air and hands swatting at the brightly colored safari animals dangling above her. That didn’t bode well for getting Missy moving on her project. I may not have had any kids of my own, but I knew having a baby in the room wasn’t the best way to concentrate on anything—except on the baby.

  “Fine.” I sat on the floor next to Cassie. “I’ll wait until naptime. I’ve got all the time in the world.”

  Of course, that was a big fat lie. I had a little over two weeks. We had a little over two weeks. Cassie cooed and giggled at me. I hadn’t noticed it before, but apparently babies could see me as easily as dogs could.

  Interesting.

  I unclipped my bubbles and blew them in Missy’s direction. “Time to get back to work, Mama. You don’t want to go to the party empty handed.”

  Cassie giggled and her eyes followed the bubbles across the room.

  Missy sighed, and a fat tear rolled down her cheek.

  Not the response I’d been looking for.

  She unfolded her legs and climbed from the sofa. “Gabe!” She took a few steps toward the hallway that led to the bedrooms. “Gabe, I need to do a load of laundry. Can you watch her?”

  A pale man with red hair and a headset poked his head out of the bedroom. “Yeah. Okay. Now? I was about to level up.” He saw the look on her face and frowned. “Are you alright?”

  “I’m fine. I just need to get out for a few minutes. Get some air.”

  He nodded and pulled off his headset. “Go ahead. We’ve got this.” He grinned down at the baby. “Don’t we, sweetie pie?”

  Missy disappeared into the bedroom for a moment, then reappeared with a basket of dirty clothes and a bottle of detergent. She dropped a kiss on Gabe’s cheek. “Thanks.”

  He grinned and picked up the baby, cuddling her against his chest. “You go get some air, Mommy. Daddy and Cassie will be here planning world domination.” He blew a raspberry on Cassie’s cheek, making her giggle.

  This was the first time I’d seen Missy’s husband. I liked him. He seemed sweet, and Cassie obviously adored him.

  I followed Missy out the door.

  She went down the steps, around the corner, and into a room lined with washers and dryers. No one else was in there, so she flipped the light on and got to work.

  I backed out, trying to decide what to do next. After a moment, I turned and ran for my car. Breathless, I rummaged through the trunk and the backseat. Fortunately, I’m not the tidiest person in the world. I found three socks, a pair of yoga pants, two T-shirts, and a hoodie. Good enough. I shoved it all in a reusable, cloth grocery bag, grabbed a handful of change from the ashtray, and jogged back to the laundry room.

  Before I stepped inside, I tapped my belt and became visible.

  Missy looked up from her sorting and smiled. “Hi.”

  “Hi.” My grin was probably a little too big. I was still getting the hang of this friend thing. A person can’t erase a lifetime of habitual self-isolation in two weeks. Awkwardness was still a thing for me.

  I opened a washing machine and tossed my bag full of assorted car discards into it, then lowered the lid.

  “You forgot your detergent.” Missy gave me a curious look, like she wondered if I’d ever done laundry before.

  Of course I’d done laundry. But my apartment had its own washer and dryer. Laundromats were kind of foreign to me.

  I opened the lid and peeked inside. “I did. I totally forgot.” I fumbled with my bag, as if I might find some inside, a magical grocery bag that yielded any item I could wish for. Unfortunately, my bag remained stubbornly empty.

  “Here. Help yourself.” Missy handed me hers. “I hate when I have to go all the way back upstairs because I forgot something.”

  I nodded. “Me, too. Thanks.”

  She tossed the last of her whites into one machine and a pair of jeans into another. “I’ve never seen you around. Did you just move in?”

  And…we were back to making stuff up. “I just moved here, and I’m staying with a friend until I get a place of my own.”

  “Oh. I wonder if I know your friend.”

  “Um…” I bit my lip while I measured laundry soap into its cap. “Do you know…Alfonso?”

  She thought about it. “Dark hair, drives a blue Honda?”

  My smile faltered and I returned her detergent bottle. “I’m staying with Alfonso’s friend, Terrence.”

  She frowned. “I’m not sure I know Terrence.”

  I dropped quarters into the slot on the machine, bobbing my head cheerfully. “That’s who I’m staying with. Terrence. Yep.”

  The back of my neck was sweating. Making stuff up was hard.

  I hopped onto the machine and folded my legs. “Have you lived here long?”

  She set her machines and fed them the obligatory quarters. “About three years. I’m living in 1117B with my husband and baby. We like it here.” Once both her machines were running, she slid onto one of them and sat facing me. “Gabe’s off today, so he stayed with Cassie.”

  I sat there looking at her, not knowing what to say after that. Alex had been a little easier, but women were tough for me sometimes, and small talk was my Achilles heel.

  After a long, uncomfortable silence, I remembered how I’d handled Alex, and stuck my hand out. “I’m Wynter.”

  She shook my hand. “That’s so pretty. I’m Missy. Which isn’t a name at all, really, but it’s all I’ve got. I always figured my mom was too startled by having a baby right after she turned forty to actually think up a real name for me.”

  “It’s nice. And I’m sure your parents liked it when they gave it to you.”

  Her expression darkened and she looked away. “Yeah. Well.”

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t r
ealize they were a touchy subject.” I could not believe my luck in finding a way to get her parents into the conversation so fast. Maybe I wasn’t so stupid at this after all.

  “Well, no. It’s not like that. They’re awesome. In fact, that’s part of my problem.” She pulled something out of her pocket. “Forget it. Want some gum?” She tossed me a piece before I could answer.

  I unwrapped it and stuck it in my mouth. “Thanks.” So much for guiding the conversation in a subtle, non-invasive way. We chewed in silence for a little while. “My mom’s weird,” I blurted, rupturing the silence. “And her birthday is next week. I have no idea what to get her. What do you get someone who clips coupons to use as decoupage on her coffee table?”

  “A newspaper subscription?” Missy laughed. “I don’t know. I’m the last person to ask for help on that one. My parents’ fiftieth anniversary is coming up soon. I thought I had the perfect gift, but now, I have no clue.” She blew out a dramatic lungful of air and pushed her hair out of her face. She looked miserable.

  I chose my words carefully, afraid to spook her off the subject. “What were you going to get them?”

  “I was making them a scrapbook.” She shook her head. “But that’s stupid. It’s their golden anniversary. I should be doing something more—like a cruise or something.”

  I stared at her, incredulous. Was that the problem? She thought she should be buying them some huge, expensive gift instead?

  “Don’t you think your parents would rather you spent the money on their grandbaby?”

  She popped her gum as she considered it. “Maybe. I guess. But the scrapbook seems so stupid. Like a six-year-old drawing a picture of her stick-figure family so Mom can stick the picture on the fridge with magnets.”

  I shrugged and blew a tiny bubble with my gum. Since the gum wasn’t meant for it, I wasn’t very successful. “The phrase ‘It’s the thought that counts’ exists for a reason. Plus, scrapbooking is hard. It takes a lot of thought, creativity, and work. Anybody can go to a travel agency and buy tickets. Money isn’t love.”