“I want red meat,” Leah said abruptly, as they made their way to the back for a table out of the morning sun. James sat down, but Leah remained standing. “Steak and eggs; rare on the steak and well-done on the fried eggs. And lots of black coffee. Would you order for me,” she said, rather than asked, her eyes averting his. She turned to leave. “I’ll be right back,” she added over her shoulder, almost managing to break a smile before she left.
James scooted into the booth, nodded that he had heard her request, but didn’t know or care whether she had seen it. He was still grinning on the inside and didn’t feel chatty. He was content in his own body, but could tell that she wasn’t. It must be that her bad dream was still bothering her. He went ahead and ordered a lighter breakfast of oatmeal, cottage cheese, and juice for himself.
Leah was still in the bathroom, or at least that’s where he thought she was, when the food came out. “No, the meat and eggs are for the lady,” he explained to the waitress who tried to put the heartier fare in front of him.
Fifteen minutes later, Leah was still not back. This is ridiculous! He didn’t feel as if he should go back to the restroom and call out to see if she was okay. How tacky was that? He certainly wouldn’t want her checking on him if the tables were turned. He took a bite of his oatmeal. It was cold. Well, he would wait a while longer for her. It was her food that was getting cold. His was already there.
Ten more minutes and two more cups of coffee later, and he decided to go to the restroom, but not for her. His bladder couldn’t hold much more. He walked into the men’s room, did his thing, and came out. The door to the ladies room was blocked open with a ‘closed for cleaning’ pop-up cone placed in the doorway. He leaned inside, looked around, and saw someone in the stall.
“Hallo,” he called out.
“Hey, it’s closed for cleaning. You can either hold it or use the men’s room. Oh,” said the matronly woman with the toilet bowl brush in her hand as she looked out from behind the partition, “Use the men’s room. This is the ladies room, sir.”
“Oh, sorry.” James didn’t want to explain to a stranger—or to anyone—that he had lost his girlfriend when she went to the restroom. The Beatle’s tune, ‘She Came In Through the Bathroom Window’ went through his head. On second thought, he’d take one more look. He glanced back in the ladies room and saw that it didn’t have any windows. Now this was a mystery that needed to be solved. How in the hell did she just disappear, and what could he do about it?
He walked back to the table, sat down, picked up a little plastic container of strawberry jam, peeled back the covering, and used his coffee spoon to scoop the red glob into his oatmeal. He stirred mindlessly, then looked up and saw Leah walk through the front door. He bit back the urge to ask, ‘Where in the hell have you been?’ and ‘Don’t you know it’s rude to ditch your breakfast date?’ Instead, he found more power in saying nothing. He took a bite of his sweetened cold mush, and realized he had lost his appetite. He forced himself to swallow the gruel and quickly washed it down with the now lukewarm coffee. What a crappy morning this was turning out to be!
He didn’t look up at her. He was afraid he’d reveal a strong negative emotion if she saw his eyes. It was better to keep his head down and ponder the strings of scarlet swirls in the gray mass of once-hot breakfast cereal. He felt her hand on his and looked up.
“I am so sorry,” she said. “I thought I’d be back before you missed me. I, um, had to go get some,” she rolled her eyes, “personal hygiene products. I didn’t want to make a special trip to the store and, God, call attention to the situation. I just ran across the street to the gas station. I thought I’d be in and out before the food got here. As it was, they had a power failure, the pumps stopped, and they couldn’t ring up any sales on the cash registers. They kept telling me that it would be just one more minute and…”
James put his hand on top of hers. “Don’t be embarrassed about that. I mean, if it had happened to me, you would have understood, I’m sure. Not that I’d start a period or anything, but…” James began stammering, and Leah started giggling. He knew she had a visual of him going in to buy himself tampons or winged pads or whatever it was that women used. He had no idea what they were beyond what he had seen in commercials. “Sorry,” he said with an affected lisp, a twist of his wrist, and a big smirk, “it’s just that when it’s my time of the month, I get so bitchy…”
He thought he was being funny, but at the word ‘bitchy,’ she froze. “Hey,” she said with complete honesty and no bitterness, “I can be quite the bitch, but that’s not who I am normally. True, I get a bit cranky a day or two before and on ‘day one,’ but it was the nightmare that sent me over the edge this morning. And then I messed my pants, and well…I woke up with someone pouring cold water on my head after a very realistic nightmare, and then found out that I had to deal with a period on top of that. Sorry, I shouldn’t have taken it out on you. I usually just stomp around the house, and since I live alone and there’s nobody there, no one’s feelings get hurt.”
“Well, apology accepted. I’ll just mark my little calendar so I can do the eggshell-walk starting, what, 26 days from now?” Leah nodded and grimaced. “Because you are not going to be alone anymore, okay?” Leah nodded again, but this time smiled. “I’m glad you smiled at that one. I really like being around you. But please, don’t take off again without telling me. I didn’t know whether to be scared or mad. Hey, is that steak still a little warm? This oatmeal is cold.”
“Okay, here,” she said, as she cut a piece of meat from the middle of the steak. “Open wide and chew your food well, sweetie. Is it okay?” she asked, as if she was talking to a two-year-old. James nodded, exaggerated his chewing, and played the part of the toddler, eliciting a giggle from Leah. “Good, you take the meat, and I’ll take the oatmeal. I like it better cold and with a little milk on it.” She poured the cream from the little steel pitcher onto the pinkish mass, stirred it in, and took a big bite. “Um, um, good,” she declared. They were back to normal.
*25 Family Values
He opened her car door. “Okay, where do we go first?”
Leah waited until he was inside to answer. “I don’t know. What did you have down on your list?” She looked over and saw that he had pulled out his motel stationery ‘notebook’ and was looking through it. “Oh, and don’t forget to buckle up; click it or ticket, you know?”
“Yes, Mommy,” he replied, and reached across and buckled in. He settled back into the seat and rolled the word ‘Mommy’ around in his head like a ball of warm clay, squeezing it, rolling it between his palms into a snake, wrapping it around his fingers. Mommy: he was going to make her a mommy one day.
“Hello! Hello!” Leah finally reached over and smacked him on the arm to pull him out of his daydream. He jerked his head back and realized that he had been fantasizing. “What’s the matter?” she asked jokingly. “Didn’t you get a good night’s sleep last night?”
James tipped his head, squinted his eyes, and looked at her with a smirk. “Well, it started out fine, but, no. I’m okay.” Quick, recover! Don’t let her in your head! She can’t know about you sneaking out. “Hey, how about if we do the pen and paper shopping first, then go to the library? If we have those, I can do the maps, and you can at least get started on your codex this morning. Then maybe we can do a little research and see where we can get colonial-era clothes and shoes. Sound like a plan?”
James didn’t wait for her answer, instead, he turned toward the window—he didn’t want her to look at him. He still had a little ball of that ‘Mommy clay’ he wanted to play with.
“Even if you really weren’t an only child, you were reared as one, weren’t you?” Leah asked, seemingly out of the blue.
Uh-oh. If Leah wasn’t peeking into his mind intentionally, she was at least thinking along the same lines as he was: children and parents. “Um, yeah; an only child reared by his doting grandfather. He adored me and gave me lots of attention, but made sure
that I was neither spoiled nor a brat. I was given chores to do, and good manners and good marks were mandatory. How about you? Did you have any siblings? I mean, did you have any when growing up?” he corrected, remembering the 18th century triplets her mother had just had.
“Mom always wanted more kids, but Dad didn't. I mean, I wasn't an accident or anything. Mom didn't go poking holes in his condoms or go off the pill without telling him. I mean, when one person's dream was to live the fast life in NYC, and the other wanted a big garden and babies, where's the middle ground? Well, I guess that would be me. He'd do anything to make her happy. He loved me dearly, but one kid was enough. He said that he already had the perfect child, so why should they have more? Dad didn't get to have the high profile position in LA or New York City that he always wanted, but did fine lowering his goals, establishing his own video production business in Phoenix. So, Mom put up with the heat in Arizona and well, they stayed married for me, which made me feel like I had compromised two lives. But they didn't try to make me feel like that—really, they didn't. I was loved and the only thing that would have been better would be if they loved each other like they had when they were newlyweds. But I guess fairy tales don’t always come true, do they?”
“We’ll see,” he said. “I mean, I think we have it planned out well. I don’t see what could possibly go wrong with us and what we’re doing.”
As soon as the words were out, he knew they were poorly chosen. Fairy tales were meant to be happy and fun, and his explanation of their journey to the past was of a calculated procedure, with no romance or passion involved. He didn’t know how to fix what he had just said, so stayed mum. Hopefully, she realized that he was just a tongue-tied Brit who had a hard time expressing his feelings about her and their future together.
They rode the rest of the way to the crafts store in an uncomfortable silence. Leah pulled into a parking place—she had found a prime spot, under a tree, so they were in the shade—and turned off the ignition. She didn’t get out or even unbuckle. She breathed out with a snort of resolve. “You said you wanted children. You didn't change your mind or anything, did you?”
“Hell, no! I mean, heavens no. And as far as any career interference goes, I doubt we’ll have a problem with that. I mean, since we both pretty much want to stay ‘back,’" he nodded his head to make sure that she was still agreeable; she returned the nod. "I think we'll have our hands full with living off the land or whatever you want to call it. I mean, I doubt that I could make it as a blacksmith, but I would try if I had to. I would prefer to be a farmer rather than a banker, ugh, or a trapper or…well, just about anything else. I want to be with my family at all times. How about you?”
“Well, duh? Women didn't work outside the home unless they were maids, whores, or whatever. Even schoolteachers were mostly men. And I sure as hell don't want to clean up anyone else's messes or, or...well, you know what I mean. No, I do not intend to work outside of the home. Hmph!”
James chuckled at her little exclamation of intent to be a stay-at-home wife. The silent treatment was over. "Yes, I’m sure you’ll have your hands full with helping your mother with your siblings until we have children of our own...”
Leah shared a blush with James at his presumption. He didn’t even try to continue the sentence. They were both still shy when it came to that topic.
“Well, I don't think we'll be starting on a family for at least four and a half more days. Hopefully by then, Bibb will be back, and we can get married." Leah looked askance at her last remark, avoiding his face. Whether or not he was gay, he still had great curbside appeal.
James didn’t say a word. He couldn’t have if he tried. His grin was stretched so big that his mouth wouldn’t open. He was going to have a real wedding night soon!
*26 Clark Kent
“Here you go,” he said, and put down a hundred dollar bill.
“Thank you, Lord Melbourne,” the clerk said with an all-knowing grin.
James could see that he wasn’t being mean or teasing when he called him by his title. He had a look on his face like he—and only he—knew the secret that he was really ‘Lord’ James Melbourne.
“Please, just call me James,” he said, trying not to grimace. “I’m in America, and it doesn’t sound right over here.” James suddenly realized that he had just told a full-blown lie. ‘Lord’ had never sounded right in front of his name. Well, no, he admitted to himself; it didn’t bother him when he was surrounded by his long-time friends and peers at his club. There it felt like it was part of his connection to his extended family, the other members. They were comfortable with their titles and so was he when he was with them.
“And I never got your name,” he asked to be polite, although it would be nice to call him something besides ‘clerk’ when referring to him.
“Clark,” the clerk replied.
“Like Clark Kent?” asked Leah, as she walked in the door. “Hi,” she said, acknowledging James, “I just came in to get our late breakfast.”
“Well, actually,” the clerk began indecisively. He didn’t know whether they would make fun of him or not—probably not since the dude was some sort of British royalty, and the woman was a decent sort. “Actually,” he repeated, “that is my name, or my first two names. My full name is Clark Kent MacLeod.”
“Scottish then, aye?” James asked with a brogue.
“Originally; I still have lots of cousins over there, and that’s where my two older brothers were born, but my parents came over here when Mom was pregnant with me.” Clark looked over and saw Leah pawing through the little refrigerator. “Here,” he said, and offered her a plastic bag, “Go ahead and fill ‘er up. No one else has been eating those. I’ll have to throw them out if they go beyond the expiration dates.”
Leah accepted the bag and started her little ‘free breakfast’ shopping trip. “Did your mother know that Clark Kent was the alias of Superman?” she asked innocently.
“Yeah, actually she did. I half think she did it to piss off—excuse me—make Dad mad. Every one of the firstborn males in my father’s family since the mid 1700’s has had the same name. She thought it was bad enough having a husband and a first son with the name Atholl Grant MacLeod, but Dad didn’t. He was Atholl the 7th and my eldest brother was Atholl the 8th. When she had another son, she wanted to name him something plain and simple, like Bill or George, but not Dad. He went in and signed the birth certificate of his second son with the name Atholl the 9th. Man, was she mad! I think she almost divorced him over that one. And then when she got pregnant with me, well, she wouldn’t even let him know when it was time to go to the hospital. She had her girlfriend drive her in when her water leaked or broke or whatever that’s called.
“Anyhow, she wasn’t home that night to make his dinner. She called him and said to phone in an order or pizza. She wouldn’t be home for a while, that she had to help a friend do something or whatever. It was a lame excuse and he was suspicious, but he wasn’t the type to care much about anything. He found out where she was by accident, though. The neighbor lady came over to get pajamas for my brothers. She said they were spending the night with her because Mom was at the hospital, having her baby. He was so mad when he found out that he went to the bar and got shit-faced—I mean, he got real drunk.
“Mom called him from the hospital the next day and said she hoped he wasn’t too disappointed. This time they had a daughter. He didn’t care about no stinkin’ girl, so she was happy. She had me dressed and bundled in pink for over a month before he found out. He never changed the diapers, so he wouldn’t have known. But my oldest brother, Eight, he was watching her give me a bath and asked how come his little sister had a dick. Dad heard him and was so mad that, well, he left. He went home to Scotland—took my brothers with him, too—and never came back.”
Clark shrugged his shoulders at the revelation. “His loss, I guess. Mom had called me ‘Sissy’ up until that time. Since he was gone—and she said ‘good riddance to bad rubbish’ ab
out him—then she could tell everybody my real name. She said she called me Clark Kent because I started out with a secret identity, just like Superman. Well, my secret identity was that I was a ‘young’ man not a ‘super’ man, but it was fun. At least, I’m not Atholl the 10th!”
“Gee, and I thought the middle name Ignatius was tough,” James said. “Thanks for brunch. I’ll see you tomorrow, about the same time unless you want me to pay for a couple more days right now?”
“Nah, I’ll see you tomorrow. I’ll try to get some new pastries in or at least more varieties of yogurt. Those are pretty good if you freeze them first. Almost as good as ice cream.”
*27 We Should Read
“I think it’s about time we read at least the second letter,” James suggested pensively. “I mean, right now we’re acting on the information just from the first one, which was really just a way for me to, um, get in touch with you…”
All of a sudden, James felt embarrassed. He cleared his throat a couple of times, hoping that it would also clear his head, but that didn’t work. Maybe it was the phrase, ‘get in touch with you,’ that was tripping him up. He looked over at Leah to see if she had picked up on his discomfort and the reason for it. He had forgotten to keep his thoughts guarded.
Leah hadn’t responded to his proposition about moving forward with the histories because she evidently hadn’t heard him. She was still deeply involved with modifying her sketches and adding to her lists. There was no telling which one she was working on now. She was as bad as he was about bouncing all over the place with her thoughts and activities.
I wonder if she has ADD, too, he thought. Two parents with the same genetic trait would probably pass it on to their children. He released a long sigh, then realized it was very loud, and probably sounded wistful. Gulp. That wasn’t what he should be thinking of—change of thought time. Shirts, shirts; he needed to find someone to make a shirt for him or do it himself. No, he didn’t have time to sew since it would all have to be done by hand, and he had already volunteered to help her make her backpack and…
Aye, I am a Fairy (The Fairies Saga Book 2) Page 22
