Only Uni

by Camy Tang

  “Doing what? Experimenting with the bacteria at home as well as work?”

  Her nose shot up. “For your information, tonight I’m going to bleach some mold to death.”

  “Oh, that’s right. That going well?”

  “I scrubbed the walls down earlier this week. This weekend, I’m going to pull up that nasty carpet. There’s hardwood floors underneath, you know.” She smiled, quite pleased with herself. She’d probably never even changed a lightbulb before moving into her current candidate for Flip That House.

  “You’ve been busy.”

  “Tell me about it.”

  The truth about Kazuo and his ex-wife had been gnawing at Spenser’s gut, and he knew he needed a good moment to come clean. He also held out a small hope she’d forgive him. So, he’d been thinking of sticking his neck out and asking her to dinner this weekend. Guess that plan was out, but he could still spend time with her. “I’ll help you.”

  “What?” Trish couldn’t seem to make her jaw work and close her gaping mouth.

  “I can pull up carpet.” He wasn’t an imbecile.

  She frowned and her torso tilted sideways as she checked him out from head to toe. “You can?”

  His mouth closed, and he glared at her before he caught the quirk in the side of her mouth. She’d got him. He sighed. “Tell me where you live and what time you want me to be there.”

  “You’re serious?”

  “I covered myself in orange goo for you the other week.”

  She smiled, a rather nasty one. “That was rather amusing.”

  He took a step backward. “I guess you don’t need my help . . .”

  “No! No, I do.” She flapped her hands at him as if that would keep him from walking away. “Thanks for the offer. Ten o’clock?”

  “Great.” He’d probably get lunch with her, and the work shouldn’t be too hard.

  Covered head-to-toe in a Tyvek suit, complete with hood, safety goggles and a mask, Trish clambered up the ladder and spritzed bleach solution onto the natural mural on her bathroom ceiling. She stumbled down the ladder and escaped to the doorway, breathing in the chilly night breeze from the wide-open front door and kitchen windows. The bathroom fan coughed and gagged as if it would die any moment, but it had run for a solid half-hour already. Maybe it was a hypochondriacal electric appliance.

  So, Spenser had offered to help her pull carpet tomorrow. She’d been shocked and still couldn’t figure out why he’d offered. Seemed kind of strange. He couldn’t be interested in her, could he?

  Her heart fluttered, and her gut simmered. No, she should ignore her excitement — No looking! — and treat him like a coworker and a friend. For the sake of her three rules and to protect her heart against his charm, and because of Kevin’s unwanted attention that one time. Thankfully, Kevin had been ignoring her, although he’d deigned to say good morning last week.

  Back to Spenser. She would be businesslike and efficient when he showed up tomorrow. She would toil and sweat and show her most unattractive side. She wouldn’t flirt or laugh, or even smile at him.

  Hmm, I wonder what I should wear . . .

  Spenser couldn’t imagine anything more revolting.

  He stood in the archway to Trish’s living room. This close to the carpet, he could smell the faint musty odor. A mosaic of browns and grays colored the surface in ancient stains.

  She glanced up at him with apology on her face. “You don’t have to stay.”

  The temptation to cut and run tugged at his feet. That or bolt for the open door so he could hurl his breakfast into the weeds.

  He could tell her about his past another day, another time. He wasn’t even sure if he’d find a good moment to spill his guts about Kazuo and Linda.

  Trish opened and closed her hands, as if wavering between shoving him out the door or grabbing him by the shirt to keep him from escaping.

  But then she turned toward the carpet, and her shoulders sagged. She seemed to shrink under the weight of the work ahead of her. If he didn’t know her already, he would have suspected her of playing his emotions to get him to stay, but this was Trish. “Don’t worry, I wouldn’t desert you like that.”

  She smiled, magnificent and beaming, brighter than the sunlight outside, so infectious that it made him grin in return. He couldn’t understand how she always did that, and why it always surprised him.

  She set him up with a mask, safety glasses, heavy gloves and a utility knife, and they started at opposite ends of the room. They cut the carpet into four-foot widths, making it easier to tug the pieces from the tackless strips, although she still had a hard time. But she persisted, as if she had a personal stake in the removal of that nasty carpet.

  She yanked up a stubborn piece. “If only my dad could see me now.” Her voice had a bitter, metallic tang to it.

  “Why?”

  “He told Mom he didn’t think I could do the repairs. Ha! I showed him.” She rolled up the carpet she’d unhooked. “I took your advice and did Internet searches to figure out how to pull up old carpet. Oh, and I secretly raided my dad’s Time Life books.”

  “My dad had those. He actually used them, too. He would work on the house while Mom took my brothers and me to church on Sunday.”

  “He didn’t go, too?”

  “Not at first, but he did later. I miss him. He passed away when I was in college.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry.” The droop in Trish’s mouth fascinated Spenser, even though dust and grime coated her hair, even though she wore no makeup, even though her baggy clothes did nothing for her figure.

  He could segue the moment into Kazuo. No, too abrupt, too much like a confession spilling out. He didn’t want to sound guilty for not telling her about his past history with Kazuo. Maybe he’d mention his own struggles with faith. Then she’d understand how he hadn’t handled that situation in a very Christ-like manner . . .

  She turned to a new section of carpet farther away from him. Too late. The moment was gone.

  They removed all the carpet — from the front room, the hallway, and Trish’s bedroom. He noticed the folded camping tent and lack of furniture. “Where will you sleep?”

  “I’ll set the tent back up after we clear off the carpet pad. I have an old sheet to lay down on the floor.”

  He frowned at her.

  She shrugged. “What else can I do?”

  He had no answer.

  They hefted the last of the carpet outside to the dumpster she had rented. They started pulling up the tackless strips with crowbars, but one mighty heave sent a piece of wood flying up to graze the back of his wrist. Spenser bit his tongue hard before he could let loose with a vehement cuss word.

  “Are you okay?”

  Spenser grimaced at the beads of blood from the scratch. It burned, but it wasn’t deep. “I’ll be fine.”

  “I have a first aid kit. Let’s clean it so it doesn’t get infected.”

  “No, it’s not that bad.”

  Instead of insisting and dithering over him, she shrugged and went back to work. Spenser stood there in shock. Weren’t Asians supposed to offer multiple times because people always refused the first time? He felt gypped. Well, he couldn’t renege like a wuss. He tackled the wooden strips.

  The rest of the tackless strips came off smoothly. The carpet pad, however, had reached its last legs years ago. Exposed to the light, it fell apart in their hands, leaving pieces stuck under the staples. They picked at the crumbling bits, trapped by so many staples that Spenser wondered if the person who laid the carpet pad had been obsessive-compulsive.

  Trish laughed at the staples. “Looks like whoever did this had fun.”

  He grunted and yanked at another staple. His jaw ached from being clenched, and sweat trickled down his gritty face in sticky rivers. She didn’t look much better, but her staunch persistence forced him to keep up his pace. His fingers felt worn to the nub, and he’d never get the little foam crumbs out of his nails, blackened like he’d been digging coal.

/>   He’d lost any desire to bring up anything personal.

  They took a late lunch where they laughed and bantered together. He couldn’t ruin the atmosphere between them. He’d wait until after they were done.

  They went back to work and pulled off the carpet pad and most of the staples by late afternoon. They were almost done when his pliers slipped, and he ended up pinching a chunk of his skin. With a strong grunt, he grabbed his hand and sat up on his heels.

  She peered at his hand. “Did it break the skin?”

  “No, doesn’t look like it.”

  “We should bandage it. It’s all red.”

  This time he didn’t refuse. They washed their hands and she took care of his injury. He watched her bent head, her serious face.

  She was beautiful.

  There was a brief silence. Here was his chance. “I wanted to get back at Kazuo.” Stupid! He couldn’t have put it a better way?

  “What?”

  He paused to relax his jaw. “Kazuo’s the reason my wife left me and Matthew.”

  She turned so pale, he grabbed her in case she passed out. She shook his hand away. “You’ve known Kazuo from before?”

  “We’re not exactly friends.”

  He could almost see her brain wheels running, the pieces clicking into place. “That weird week you kept asking me out . . . that was right after Kazuo showed up at work that one time.”

  Busted. “Yeah.” This wasn’t going well. Every deepening line between her brows and around her mouth made him feel smaller and smaller.

  “You said you wanted to get back at him?”

  He didn’t say anything.

  “You mean you used me like a Kleenex? Is that what it was? This whole time? Even this?” She flung her hand out toward the living room as her voice rose in pitch.

  “I stopped asking you out because I liked being around you and being your friend.” He grabbed her arms and held on even though she tensed under his fingers. “It’s not about Kazuo anymore.”

  Her face had closed up. He’d never seen her so cold, without any kind of movement or emotion.

  “I know what I did earlier was wrong, but God’s been working in me. That’s true even if you never believe me.”

  She turned her head away from him and pulled out of his grip. “Leave.” She wasn’t being hysterical. He knew she would be later.

  He exited the front door, heard it slam behind him, and got into his car. Now she’d probably avoid him like the plague.

  Wait a minute.

  No.

  He couldn’t believe he hadn’t thought of it sooner.

  He fumbled with the handle and thrust the car door open. He raced up the cracked driveway, waded through the weeds, pounded on the closed front door.

  She didn’t open it.

  “Trish!”

  “Go away.”

  “I need to tell you something.”

  “Then say it.”

  “Let me in.”

  “No way, Jose.”

  “You don’t want the neighbors to hear this.”

  He didn’t think the veiled threat would get through to her, but he started when she flung the door open. “Go — ”

  He grabbed her by the shoulders and muscled his way in, kicking the door shut.

  She yanked away from him. “This better be — ”

  “You need to get tested.”

  “What?”

  “For HIV.”

  She sucked in a sharp breath and stared at him, wide-eyed. Her body started to shake, but he didn’t dare touch her — she looked like she’d fly apart at any moment.

  “I’m sorry. I know this is hard to hear. But . . .” He had to take a deep breath before he went on. “About a year after we separated, Linda found out she had HIV. Matthew and I were tested, but we were clean. Linda had already broken up with Kazuo by the time she found out, so it’s possible she didn’t get it from him, but if you slept with him, you need to be tested.”

  Trish raised shaking hands to her mouth. Her eyes didn’t move away from him, and he could see every corner of her fear. “Trish, did you . . . did you ever have sex with him?”

  Her denial erupted in a searing glare. “What kind of a question is that?” Meaning, yes, of course I did.

  “Did you ever have unprotected sex with him?”

  She tried to swallow, couldn’t breathe for several long seconds.

  “Yes. Twice.”

  TWENTY-NINE

  She had to ask him the question that could change the rest of her life.

  Are you clean? When was the last time you were tested?

  Kazuo had reassured her he was clean after the two times they’d had unprotected sex, but now, after hearing how he’d broken up Spenser’s marriage, and about Linda’s HIV, she wasn’t so sure.

  She pulled her legs up and tried to curl her body into her car seat. Spenser had hurt himself in telling her. She’d been able to see it in his eyes, in his voice. Maybe he’d also been earnest when he said that he liked her company and that it wasn’t about Kazuo anymore. A part of her was intrigued, but she also didn’t want to be intrigued. He was fun to banter with, but trusting him?

  She needed to drive to Kazuo’s place. No, she should take one of her cousins with her for protection. For support. For strength.

  Because he’d just charm her again. He’d say whatever he wanted and she’d believe him. She still couldn’t quite trust herself, despite the way she’d been able to spurn him the last few times she’d seen him.

  But no. No matter how she felt — or didn’t feel — about Spenser, she couldn’t bring in someone else to witness her talk with Kazuo. She couldn’t expose Spenser’s failed marriage to anyone, not even her cousins. She couldn’t even risk a hushed conversation that could be overheard. This was Spenser’s secret. She didn’t have the right to allow anyone else to know.

  She had to do this alone.

  But not alone. She hadn’t been following rule number three very closely — she kept forgetting to pray — but not now.

  “God, if ever I needed you, it’s now.” She rested her head against the steering wheel. “I almost don’t want to know the answer. Please help me when I go to Kazuo’s apartment. Keep my head clear. Help me not be tempted. Zap me with something, Lord, because I’m going in.”

  She missed the view from his loft apartment. As she waited for Kazuo to answer her knock, she stared up at the tall windows above the door, remembering the way the sunlight filtered into the room, warming the honey-colored walls. Remembering the days she could almost see San Francisco from the bay windows in his living room, when the smog had been blown away after a rain.

  Strange, his apartment had seemed darker as their relationship started to sour. Or maybe she had looked out the windows less because he hadn’t wanted her to be anywhere but inside, with him, inspiring his paintings.

  He opened the door a crack, then swung it wide open — as wide as his smile. “Trish.”

  She entered cautiously, as if the room were booby-trapped with handcuffs or cages to trap her there so she could never leave. Then she noticed the show on the HDTV. “Is that one of those K-dramas?”

  “Er . . . no.” Kazuo darted in front of her and turned it off. Then he faced her, opening his arms wide and his smile wider. “You’ve come back. Now I can finish my masterpiece, your painting.”

  “You still haven’t finished it?” He’d been halfway done when they broke up months ago. “I thought you were going to show it at your uncle’s new art gallery in Japan. That opens in only a couple months.”

  “I told you, you are my muse. I can’t finish it without you.” He tried to embrace her, but his hands felt slimier than a squid. Her gaze skewered him as she backed away.

  Who cared about his art show? She was stalling. She needed to just confront him with what she really wanted to know. “I didn’t come about your painting. I need you to tell me the truth. Do you have HIV?”

  Well, that cooled his ardor pretty quick. Kazuo
became very still. “No.”

  “When was the last time you were tested?”

  He thought a moment. “Several years ago.”

  “You told me you were clean.” She spat it at him through clenched teeth.

  “What brought this up?”

  “Spenser told me about Linda.”

  His eyebrows rose, then fell. Then he had the audacity to smile, the scum. “That was years ago. She means nothing to me, babe. Just you.”

  “I don’t care how you feel about her.”

  “I know you don’t.” His voice had patronizing sprinkled all over it.

  She shoved her fist in her back pocket so she wouldn’t take a swing at him. “I care about the fact she has HIV, not that she was one of your lovers.”

  “Oh.” He reached for her, but she jerked away. “Don’t worry. About six months after we broke off, I found out. I had myself tested, I was clean. She got it from her boyfriend after me, whoever he was.”

  The relief crashed on her like a tsunami wave. Trish dropped into a chair, her head in her hands. She forced air through her lungs. Clean. He might be clean. She might be clean. She still needed to be tested, but the threat no longer oppressed her like a guillotine blade hovering over her neck.

  She sat there for so long, she didn’t notice his hand on her shoulder until her heart rate had settled down. She reached up to brush him off, and he grasped her hand instead.

  But her body didn’t respond to him as it had before, and her mind seemed almost disconnected. It was as if her brain had been tucked away safe behind a glass wall, to be able to see the lines of dissipation around his eyes, to not be influenced by warm hands or warm smiles. That had to be from God, this strange place of safety. She pulled away from Kazuo without a single drop of regret.

  She stood. “Good-bye, Kazuo.”

  “I can’t finish my masterpiece without you.”

  She walked to the door. “Use another painting for your uncle’s art gallery. You’ve got tons.”

  “Ah, yes. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  Her hand froze on the doorknob. “Tomorrow?”