A Perfect Tenant

by Steve Richer

  Storm Libbie.

  He was smiling, though. A storm that was a breath of fresh air, perhaps.

  He knew Alice felt the same. It was nice that the two had been for lunch and got to know each other a bit.

  He crossed the street and went into the bank.

  He didn’t believe Libbie had things to do in town. She was just giving him a ride to be helpful.

  Slowly, the queue edged forward.

  It was a shame he hadn’t gotten to ride the bike today. He’d been looking forward to it. But Libbie had been right, the rain had come down hard as they drove in.

  He reached the front.

  “And how may I help you today, sir?” asked the clerk.

  “Hi there. I just had some paperwork to drop off. I believe it required signature in the presence of bank staff.” As he spoke he fumbled in the inside pocket of his leather jacket.

  Funny. The pocket was empty.

  He was sure he recalled slipping the envelope with the paperwork in there. Had he missed the pocket and the letter dropped to the ground? If so, it was no doubt lying in a sodden mass in a puddle back at home.

  “Sorry, I…” He checked the other inside pocket. Nothing.

  Behind him he heard angry mutterings. People impatient not to spend what remained of their lunchbreak standing in line in a bank.

  He smiled apologetically in answer to the woman’s impatient look. Checked the pockets of his jeans. The outside pockets of his jacket.

  Still nothing.

  “I’m sorry. I was sure I’d brought it with me.”

  He checked the inside pockets again.

  “Excuse me, but are you going to be here all day?” That was the woman behind him in the queue. Looked like a librarian. Voice like a trucker.

  He smiled at her again.

  “I…” He felt panic welling up in his chest. Something as simple as this and he’d screwed up! One simple form. One damn signature.

  What was Alice going to say? They’d have to complete the form again. Bring it in another day. Explain to Franco why payment was delayed and hope that wasn’t going to cause a problem.

  “Well?”

  This time he snapped an angry glare at the woman and she shrank back, then turned to the guy behind her, muttering angrily.

  “Sir? If there’s nothing I can help you with right now, I’m going to have to suggest—”

  He shook his head and stalked off, not waiting for the clerk to finish his sentence.

  What had he done with the form? How could he have been so careless?

  ~ ~ ~ ~

  Outside, Libbie sat in the car, smiling to herself about how successful today had been.

  And now there was Tom, striding back toward her as if impatient to be in her company again. How sweet.

  He opened the door and leaned in, eyes searching the car’s interior.

  “I don’t suppose…” he began, then started again. “You didn’t see an envelope in here, did you? Might have fallen out of my pocket.”

  “An envelope? Why no, I’m sorry. Was it important?”

  “No. No, not really. I can deal with it another time. No sweat.” He smiled wanly and she saw just how hard it must be for him to force that smile.

  “You good to go now, or was there anything else?” she asked.

  “No. All good. Let’s get out of here.”

  “Let me just get rid of the trash,” she said, indicating her empty coffee cup with its plastic lid, sitting on the car’s dashboard.

  She stepped out of the car, breathing deep. A shaft of sunshine burst through the clouds as she moved over to a trash can and deposited the cup. The paper cup, and its plastic lid concealing the ripped-up remains of an envelope containing an Authorization to Transfer Funds form.

  She was going to break these people. Slowly, step by step.

  Then she turned back to the car and Tom forced another pained smile.

  The day was just getting better and better.

  Chapter 14

  By evening, that little escape with Libbie seemed so long ago to Alice. Sneaking away from the office for lunch, and then the little adventure as they detoured so she could show off the Whitetail Lane property. Such a release!

  But now…

  Sitting in the big easy chair in the den, trying to ignore the sound of the TV. Struggling to concentrate.

  She’d shown Michael Tuckett a draft of her pitch for the Mapleview account and he hadn’t been impressed.

  She’d thought it was coming together nicely, but he’d torn it to shreds.

  “Those charts and graphics look pretty,” he said, “but anyone can see it’s just window-dressing. The figures are cosmetic and unsubstantiated. You’re telling the story you think your audience wants to hear rather than telling them what you need them to hear. There’s a difference. Or didn’t they teach you that in business school?”

  That had stung and he’d known it had as soon as he said it, from the look on his face. Tom had been a favorite of Tuckett’s. He’d started at ground level and worked his way up, and Michael had taken him under his wing. The older man had always said he saw something of himself in Tom, a young man made good.

  Which was in complete contrast to Alice, who’d joined the company at a higher level, straight from business school.

  The subtext behind Michael’s criticism was that if only Tom hadn’t blown it at Pierson Newport, he’d have done a far better job on this bid than Alice had.

  Or maybe that was only what Alice heard in his criticism. She knew she shouldn’t take it personally. He was just trying to get the best outcome possible for the company. And he was right. She’d only shown Michael a draft and she’d known it needed work. She should have waited until it was as good as she could make it before showing him.

  And so now she was sitting at home, still working on the document, while Tom watched something mindless on TV.

  She’d wanted to talk to him about it, but when she got home he’d seemed distracted. Focused on cooking, and not open to conversation.

  Even when they’d broken to eat, he’d seemed closed in.

  Maybe that was her, too, though. Maybe she was really the one who didn’t want to talk. Didn’t want to admit to herself that even after a year out Tom might have something to bring to the pitch that she couldn’t offer.

  So instead of sitting at the table to eat, which was their normal time to catch up with each other’s days, they’d filled plates and eaten in front of the TV. And now Alice sat staring at her screen, wishing she wasn’t so bone-weary all of a sudden.

  She needed to focus, damn it!

  She needed to get this right.

  “Sweetie? You interruptible?”

  She hated that. What if the answer was no? She’d already been interrupted!

  “Sorry. Later.”

  “No. It’s fine, honey. What is it?”

  He’d moved from the far end of the couch to sit nearer to her, leaning forward with his hands gripped between his knees.

  “I went to the bank today.”

  And this was supposed to be news? She bit back on that response. She was tired and irritable, she knew. That wasn’t his fault, it was her.

  “Yes, hon’?”

  “Those papers. I couldn’t find them.”

  “So why did you go to the bank?”

  That was her first response: logic, trying to work out why he would go to the bank if he didn’t even have the papers. Then: he hadn’t done it! One simple job and—

  “No, I had them. I’m sure I had them. But when I got there… Well, I didn’t anymore. I could’ve sworn they were in that envelope you left on the console table by the door. You did put them in there, didn’t you? You didn’t take them with you by mistake? You were the one who’d originally been going to the bank.”

  “You’re saying it was my fault? You didn’t check the envelope. Are you telling me you took an empty envelope all the way to the bank?”

  “No! I mean… I don’t know what I me
an. I’m just trying to work it out. I was sure I’d taken that envelope, and the papers were inside it. I don’t know what happened.”

  It took so much effort not to be angry with him. Not to let her wellhead of frustration burst out across him. But she knew that wouldn’t be fair. She took a deep breath.

  “Right, let’s work through this together. Do you remember picking up the papers?”

  He nodded. “I did. In the envelope. I checked they were inside.”

  “And you put them… where?”

  “My inside jacket pocket.”

  “They couldn’t have fallen out?”

  A shake of the head. “I remember checking them again, to make sure they were secure.”

  “And when did you check them again?”

  “In the bank, I think. When I went to hand them over to the clerk.”

  “Could they have fallen out on the way? When you were on your bike?”

  He looked briefly sheepish, then shook his head again. “No. They were secure. I just can’t work it out. They must have fallen out somewhere.”

  Alice sighed. She could hardly work it out for him.

  He was staring. He’d noticed the sigh. It had been hard to miss. And now he thought she was judging him, which she was.

  One simple task…

  “I don’t know what you expect from me, Tom,” she said, letting some of the frustration come out in her tone. And the tiredness.

  Was she supposed to do everything herself?

  “I’ll get another form.”

  “You didn’t even pick up another form when you were there?”

  “I was confused! I didn’t know what to think, everything happened so fast!”

  He had no right to be getting angry with her. She wasn’t the one who’d screwed up. And he hadn’t even picked up another form.

  “Really, Tom. I don’t know what to say. Don’t worry, though. I’ll do it myself. I’ll call Franco to apologize and I’ll take time out from work to get another damn form and I’ll stand in line at the bank when I have a million and one more pressing things to be doing, and…”

  She sensed a darkening at the edges of her vision. A flush of heat across her cheeks and forehead.

  She knew what it was immediately, and from the look on Tom’s face he’d read the signs too.

  When had she last checked her blood sugar? She couldn’t remember. She knew she needed glucose now, though.

  “You just sit there, sweetie. I’ll get your stuff.”

  “No. Don’t bother. You’ve done enough today.” She stood unsteadily and waited for her head to stop spinning. “I’ll do it myself.”

  She found her bag on the console table by the door, and rummaged inside it as she headed to the bathroom.

  For a mad moment, she imagined pulling that missing envelope out of her bag, but she knew that wasn’t possible. She hadn’t taken it with her. It wasn’t her fault.

  She almost didn’t make it. Her head was swirling, her vision blurring. But stubborn determination not to have to rely on Tom in the middle of a row carried her through.

  She pushed the door shut then went to wash her hands. Breathing deep, she steadied herself before finding a glucose tablet and swallowing it whole. It was the fifteen-fifteen rule. She needed fifteen grams of carbohydrate to raise her blood glucose and then wait fifteen minutes to see if she was back to normal.

  It was a thing she’d done a million times. A thing Tom had done for her. A part of her life. Their life.

  She sat on the edge of the bath, waiting for her vision to clear and her dizziness to ease.

  She wouldn’t admit to herself that she didn’t really want to go back out there now.

  That she didn’t know how to pick up again after a row like that.

  Was it her fault? His?

  She knew the bank thing was his fault, of course, but the row itself?

  It would be easy to say it was a hypo thing. When you were a diabetic, you could blame blood sugars for just about anything and nobody would dare contradict you.

  Above anything else, she was disappointed in Tom. One simple thing. That’s all she asked.

  She was working so hard to keep them afloat, and he couldn’t manage one simple thing?

  She’d thought they were strong. A team. But a team was only ever as strong as its weakest member. She hated herself for even thinking that. And hated that circumstances had led her to think it.

  She couldn’t do all this again. Not now. Not ever.

  She couldn’t face another year like last year.

  Another incident like last year’s.

  She didn’t think she could stand it.

  And she knew their marriage couldn’t.

  Chapter 15

  Never go to bed on an argument. That was the one piece of life advice his pop had given him.

  The old man’s words had kept coming back to Tom that night, as he lay by Alice in the darkness. Her back was turned to him, a gap between them. They’d mumbled goodnights, but no kisses, no contact.

  He’d been concerned about her. The blood sugar thing. It wasn’t like her to screw up like that, but she’d done it a few times recently. The stress of work, he supposed.

  And he was hardly helping things with his forgetfulness.

  He must have slept eventually, because when he awoke daylight was streaming in through the gap in the curtains and he was alone in the bed.

  When he went downstairs, Alice was taking trouble to busy herself at the coffee machine.

  How long was she going to be mad at him?

  “Hey,” she said, twisting and smiling awkwardly.

  “Hey, sweetie.”

  “You sleep?”

  “Not much. You?”

  “Probably about the same.”

  “I’m sorry, sweetie. I messed up. I shouldn’t have tried to blame you.”

  “I’m sorry. I was unfair to you.”

  “Your blood sugar…”

  She shook her head. “No. We can’t blame that. I’ve been unfair to you a lot lately. I’ve been tired. Stressed. Over-reliant on you.”

  “I’ve been worried about you. That you might be over-doing it.”

  “I don’t want work to come between us.”

  “Hey, you promised me business-class! Don’t try backing out now.” He winked. Smiled. He always knew he could win her over with a wink and a smile.

  “You want to haul your ass over here so I can show you I’m sorry?”

  Tom paused, as if weighing up the offer, and she looked around for something to throw at him. All she found was a dishtowel, and by the time it was mid-air and heading in his direction, he was halfway to her.

  He swiped the towel out of the air and then he had her in his arms. It felt so damned good!

  They kissed and he lifted her back up so that she was half-sitting on the kitchen unit. The kiss lasted. He wasn’t going to let go of this moment in a hurry.

  Eventually, he leaned back, still holding her, and said, “So just how sorry are you?”

  She laughed and pushed at his chest. “I have to get to the office. I’m running late already.”

  He gave her his best kicked-puppy expression and she laughed again.

  “Maybe later,” she said. “We need to make more time for each other, don’t we?”

  “We do.” He kissed her again and it felt like the old days.

  “And don’t worry,” he added. “I’ll call Franco and explain. He won’t be as sympathetic to me as he would to you, but I’ll take it on the chin. My fault. My responsibility. And I’ll go to the bank again.”

  “I love you.”

  “Damn right you do. Now get that gorgeous ass in to work and earn me business-class, you hear?”

  She laughed and wriggled free, and as she squeezed past him he slapped that gorgeous ass just because it was there and it was so utterly perfect. Suddenly, everything was right with the world again.

  He took a coffee upstairs to the guest bedroom, which he used as an offi
ce. Once he’d flipped open the laptop, he checked his inbox. The job he’d been expecting had come in overnight, so he reached for his Bluetooth headphones, ready to start work.

  It was dull stuff, mostly transcribing long legal reports from bad recordings, but it kept him busy and paid at least a little toward the mounting bills.

  Best of all, it was low-stress and low on responsibilities. The work came in, he did it and checked it through, and then he sent it off again. Lives didn’t depend on it. Businesses weren’t made or broken on the back of choices he made about the words he’d heard or misheard, and how to punctuate them.

  Minimum wage. Minimum responsibility. It wasn’t perfect, but it suited him just fine right now.

  It was safe and steady.

  Just like Tom.

  Or just how he wanted to be.

  He lost track of time, working on automatic, so when the doorbell chimed he didn’t notice it at first. Then the sound penetrated his cloud and he jumped in his seat, realizing he’d already heard that sound a couple of times and someone must really be wanting his attention.

  He went downstairs, opened the door and found Libbie.

  He smiled in greeting. He still couldn’t work out how he could be simultaneously genuinely pleased to see someone and just a little on edge in her presence. That girl sure had a strange effect!

  “Tom. I can call you Tom?”

  “Of course you can. Only Alice calls me sir.” The joke didn’t sound right, but it was too late now.

  “Listen, I hope you don’t think I’m being cheeky, and please feel free to say no to me, but I have a commission this afternoon. I’ve just been to check it out and I think I need some help. I figured you’re at home all day, so maybe you’d be interested in coming out and lending a hand? I could pay. Not much, but it’s something. I know things are tight.”

  He was sure she didn’t realize how comments like that hurt, the implication that he might do just about anything for a few dollars. It hurt because it wasn’t far from the truth.

  And he always hated when people thought that because he worked from home he wasn’t really busy and could drop whatever he was doing at a moment’s notice.